TiIt has been, hasn't it? I've been keeping. Feels good to get a post up.
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Herbert
It was all Herbert could have done to keep up with the bulk of the party. The events that then transpired left him with a thousand tendrils of thought that grasped at his waking mind with oppressive need for reconciliation. The hellish chimeras of snake and rabbit disturbed the murky memories hidden deep in the recesses of that abyss called the subconscious. Yet that was not the most striking thing to happen upon that snow-covered mountain; to bear witness to that so arcane and charnel act, well, it had left tremoring fractures upon his very psyche.
Even now, safe deep within the wild forest of books and shelves, he felt the thoughts still troubling him. He could not keep his hands still. Each page he had to fumble apart from the next, fighting against the tremors. He had read books on medicine, first with the singular drive of furthering his medical understanding of death, and then morbid curiosity grasped him about his dear Liza’s condition, and if perhaps he could diagnosis it. Drifting eerily from aisle to aisle, he must have been the very image some ephemeral spectre of a lost soul, eternally searching for that which they would never find, dressed as he was in crumpled archaic clothes. Books upon books were scanned, but his mind was always pulled away and distracted, and twitching hands would ram books back onto shelves before continuing their futile search.
It was useless. He knew it. If he wanted his Liza back, the simplest route seemed that unnatural pathway only partly elucidated by Twain. He decided to try and research it further, but with not much luck.
In the end he must have stalked silently past the librarian half a dozen times, entering new areas of the dense wood of information. But he could find nothing save for fanciful nonsense or superstitious ramblings on the act of defying death. Whispering shades in his mind taunted him; he knew there were secrets underneath the fold of sordid amnesia brought about by his transmission into this future world. But lo, he could not recall them, no matter how much he strained.
Herbert gazed out of the window and into the sea. On the surface of it, the array of unusually docile creatures was beautiful, but that façade was porcelain thin once you realised the magnitude of the open ocean. There was a crushing primordial fear of such vastness, a cancerous horror whose roots reach into the illimitable pasts and fathomless abysms of the night that broods beyond time.
Herbert’s foot began tapping, and as he turned back to his book, his frustration grew. He could not focus. His heart raced. The words seemed black smear upon the page. Still the devils jibed inside his head. It was too much. Overwhelming.
With a roar, Herbert through the book he was holding hard and fast down the aisle. Then, silently, he fell to his knees.
He sobbed.
It was all Herbert could have done to keep up with the bulk of the party. The events that then transpired left him with a thousand tendrils of thought that grasped at his waking mind with oppressive need for reconciliation. The hellish chimeras of snake and rabbit disturbed the murky memories hidden deep in the recesses of that abyss called the subconscious. Yet that was not the most striking thing to happen upon that snow-covered mountain; to bear witness to that so arcane and charnel act, well, it had left tremoring fractures upon his very psyche.
Even now, safe deep within the wild forest of books and shelves, he felt the thoughts still troubling him. He could not keep his hands still. Each page he had to fumble apart from the next, fighting against the tremors. He had read books on medicine, first with the singular drive of furthering his medical understanding of death, and then morbid curiosity grasped him about his dear Liza’s condition, and if perhaps he could diagnosis it. Drifting eerily from aisle to aisle, he must have been the very image some ephemeral spectre of a lost soul, eternally searching for that which they would never find, dressed as he was in crumpled archaic clothes. Books upon books were scanned, but his mind was always pulled away and distracted, and twitching hands would ram books back onto shelves before continuing their futile search.
It was useless. He knew it. If he wanted his Liza back, the simplest route seemed that unnatural pathway only partly elucidated by Twain. He decided to try and research it further, but with not much luck.
In the end he must have stalked silently past the librarian half a dozen times, entering new areas of the dense wood of information. But he could find nothing save for fanciful nonsense or superstitious ramblings on the act of defying death. Whispering shades in his mind taunted him; he knew there were secrets underneath the fold of sordid amnesia brought about by his transmission into this future world. But lo, he could not recall them, no matter how much he strained.
Herbert gazed out of the window and into the sea. On the surface of it, the array of unusually docile creatures was beautiful, but that façade was porcelain thin once you realised the magnitude of the open ocean. There was a crushing primordial fear of such vastness, a cancerous horror whose roots reach into the illimitable pasts and fathomless abysms of the night that broods beyond time.
Herbert’s foot began tapping, and as he turned back to his book, his frustration grew. He could not focus. His heart raced. The words seemed black smear upon the page. Still the devils jibed inside his head. It was too much. Overwhelming.
With a roar, Herbert through the book he was holding hard and fast down the aisle. Then, silently, he fell to his knees.
He sobbed.
How many characters have we actually got active?
Not including NPC characters: Vaughtar, Ariel, Dayna, Dimitri, Natasha, Charles, Wolfe, Hirsch, XIII, Herbert, Mallaidh, and Vata. So 12.
Herbert
The ascent had left Herbert aching in the joints and with muscles afire, yet he had not complained. He leaned heavily on the loaned walking stick, a black thing with a rubber handle and peculiar spike on the bottom. Even still, so stretching was the exertion that Herbert was almost glad when they were able to halt, even if it meant at the foul ruins. The wrongness was still here, but it seemed more nuanced now, no doubt due to his recent enlightenment. Twain’s methods had been… interesting, but Herbert had willingly accepted the existence of magic; the evidence was next to irrefutable. Shades of the world previously hidden, now danced in all their grimness.
An outcrop of slab and stone invited Herbert to rest against it, and he obliged gratefully. The team went about excavating. He knew little about them beyond their names; he had spent much of his time alone or with Twain; after all, they all had their respective homes to return to, it made little sense to become attached. After he regained his breath, he pulled a bottle from his pack and swallowed in three large gulps, the water icy cold and oh-so refreshing. He wiped the beads of sweat from his brow with a gloved hand and stared up at the sun. The snow still clung to the mountain in thick blankets and droves, but Herbert was sure he had burnt the exposed areas of his face, for they were tender and felt rather too hot.
A chittering caught his ear, stealing him from the brief respite. A flash of fur sent off-white bones sprawling. The sight of the bone creature recalled to him another such beast.
“Ariel, stop.” Herbert’s voice rasped with urgency. Pushing himself off the wall, he strode over to the main pile of bones. The bones were small and eclectic, but tiny spider-web strand seemed to stretch between them; it’s magic still holding. “I do believe we may have met, or at least his kin.”
Herbert went about gathering the bones up, stooping and crawling, following the barely perceptible hints of magic that bound in. Occasionally, thrown-up piles of snow bounced against him as he searched, oblivious to all else. When the bones sat in a jumbled pile, Hebert stood and brushed off his hands, watching expectantly.
“This creature may be like us, or it might be from this world. Regardless, it is not doubt important in understanding in its fullest what happened here.”
Mallaidh
Perhaps the quietest of all the party, Mallaidh rarely took her eyes off the ground a few feet in front of her, yet they focussed on a point far beyond. Her brow was imperceptibly creased. The great sword leant against the front of her shoulder and she held in with both hands, clinging to it with white knuckles. However, even the sword did little to comfort her, and she felt a touch dirty and dishonest for holding to it with such a fervent determination and stubbornness. It was as though the floor of her heart had been pulled endlessly inwards, and the gaping chasm it left had been filled with an aching numbness; such was singular to the hollow grief of loss.
The ascent had left Herbert aching in the joints and with muscles afire, yet he had not complained. He leaned heavily on the loaned walking stick, a black thing with a rubber handle and peculiar spike on the bottom. Even still, so stretching was the exertion that Herbert was almost glad when they were able to halt, even if it meant at the foul ruins. The wrongness was still here, but it seemed more nuanced now, no doubt due to his recent enlightenment. Twain’s methods had been… interesting, but Herbert had willingly accepted the existence of magic; the evidence was next to irrefutable. Shades of the world previously hidden, now danced in all their grimness.
An outcrop of slab and stone invited Herbert to rest against it, and he obliged gratefully. The team went about excavating. He knew little about them beyond their names; he had spent much of his time alone or with Twain; after all, they all had their respective homes to return to, it made little sense to become attached. After he regained his breath, he pulled a bottle from his pack and swallowed in three large gulps, the water icy cold and oh-so refreshing. He wiped the beads of sweat from his brow with a gloved hand and stared up at the sun. The snow still clung to the mountain in thick blankets and droves, but Herbert was sure he had burnt the exposed areas of his face, for they were tender and felt rather too hot.
A chittering caught his ear, stealing him from the brief respite. A flash of fur sent off-white bones sprawling. The sight of the bone creature recalled to him another such beast.
“Ariel, stop.” Herbert’s voice rasped with urgency. Pushing himself off the wall, he strode over to the main pile of bones. The bones were small and eclectic, but tiny spider-web strand seemed to stretch between them; it’s magic still holding. “I do believe we may have met, or at least his kin.”
Herbert went about gathering the bones up, stooping and crawling, following the barely perceptible hints of magic that bound in. Occasionally, thrown-up piles of snow bounced against him as he searched, oblivious to all else. When the bones sat in a jumbled pile, Hebert stood and brushed off his hands, watching expectantly.
“This creature may be like us, or it might be from this world. Regardless, it is not doubt important in understanding in its fullest what happened here.”
Mallaidh
Perhaps the quietest of all the party, Mallaidh rarely took her eyes off the ground a few feet in front of her, yet they focussed on a point far beyond. Her brow was imperceptibly creased. The great sword leant against the front of her shoulder and she held in with both hands, clinging to it with white knuckles. However, even the sword did little to comfort her, and she felt a touch dirty and dishonest for holding to it with such a fervent determination and stubbornness. It was as though the floor of her heart had been pulled endlessly inwards, and the gaping chasm it left had been filled with an aching numbness; such was singular to the hollow grief of loss.
Aaaawe.:)
Mallaidh
Something about the slender girl with green eyes, Dzel apparently, made the hairs on the back of Mallaidh’s neck rise. For such a young and tiny thing, her motions were like flowing quicksilver: effortless and graceful. Nonetheless, she appreciated that she’d get to lay eyes upon her sword after fearing it lost forever, so she bowed her head at Rozalind in thanks.
After that the conversation turned to magic, a topic that many present seemed to have a firm grasp in, whilst Mallaidh was completely at a loss. She shifted in her chair, wishing she could contribute in some way. In the stories magic was a work of the divine and the dreadful, but the people around her made it seem as though it was almost just a language to be learned, with talk of runes, and how they all spoke the same language, and other arcanery. Therefore, she kept quiet.
Even when the winged beast appeared with much commotion, Mallaidh held her tongue, even though her blood thrummed in her ears. She ran a hair through her fiery locks, and sighed deeply. The gravity of the situation was setting in, and she was ready for it, but she was no fool either. Strangers surrounded her. The room was small and an unfathomable distance underwater. That knowledge seemed to make the air cloying and thick. Yet, she was sure her tale would be an epic to be told for generations.
People then seemed to agree that they wanted to return to the land of ice and fire Mallaidh could only barely remember. They had lost men there it seemed, to the dragon no less, and at this Mallaidh’s hands clenched – that was her prize, her doorway to legend.
Herbert
“What was I thinking?” Hebert asked incredulously, “I did not intend on… on… well, experiencing whatever that was.” He took a gulp of dry air. The tea could only come too soon. His lips were parched and talking his dry throat.
“How long were you there? Did you see everything I saw?” Herbert rubbed his eyes, “I’ve had other experiences too, but I’d forget them quite quickly afterwards, I thought they were just dreams, but this most recent “dive” has burnt them into my mind. I’ve seen…” Herbert stopped in a painful splutter. Behind Twain stood, as beautiful as she had in life, Liza, with a finger pressed to her soft lips and her eyebrows arched. Slowly she shook her head, as if to say, “Not him, those secrets are ours”. Then, gradually, she faded, and Herbert stared into space. He was stunned.
He shook his head. His mind went about processing what that meant. Looking Twain in the eye, he said, “I’ve seen too many things.”
He licked his lips and tried to build up some moisture. “Is it foolish for me to be questioning my sanity right now?” Then he let out a mirthless laugh, “Does doing so mean I still am sane?”
He got up out of the bed and almost collapsed, but steadied himself on the wall, and then stood shakily. “A walk would do me good I feel.” He looked about the metal prison and sniffed, “I never much cared for submarines.”
Something about the slender girl with green eyes, Dzel apparently, made the hairs on the back of Mallaidh’s neck rise. For such a young and tiny thing, her motions were like flowing quicksilver: effortless and graceful. Nonetheless, she appreciated that she’d get to lay eyes upon her sword after fearing it lost forever, so she bowed her head at Rozalind in thanks.
After that the conversation turned to magic, a topic that many present seemed to have a firm grasp in, whilst Mallaidh was completely at a loss. She shifted in her chair, wishing she could contribute in some way. In the stories magic was a work of the divine and the dreadful, but the people around her made it seem as though it was almost just a language to be learned, with talk of runes, and how they all spoke the same language, and other arcanery. Therefore, she kept quiet.
Even when the winged beast appeared with much commotion, Mallaidh held her tongue, even though her blood thrummed in her ears. She ran a hair through her fiery locks, and sighed deeply. The gravity of the situation was setting in, and she was ready for it, but she was no fool either. Strangers surrounded her. The room was small and an unfathomable distance underwater. That knowledge seemed to make the air cloying and thick. Yet, she was sure her tale would be an epic to be told for generations.
People then seemed to agree that they wanted to return to the land of ice and fire Mallaidh could only barely remember. They had lost men there it seemed, to the dragon no less, and at this Mallaidh’s hands clenched – that was her prize, her doorway to legend.
Herbert
“What was I thinking?” Hebert asked incredulously, “I did not intend on… on… well, experiencing whatever that was.” He took a gulp of dry air. The tea could only come too soon. His lips were parched and talking his dry throat.
“How long were you there? Did you see everything I saw?” Herbert rubbed his eyes, “I’ve had other experiences too, but I’d forget them quite quickly afterwards, I thought they were just dreams, but this most recent “dive” has burnt them into my mind. I’ve seen…” Herbert stopped in a painful splutter. Behind Twain stood, as beautiful as she had in life, Liza, with a finger pressed to her soft lips and her eyebrows arched. Slowly she shook her head, as if to say, “Not him, those secrets are ours”. Then, gradually, she faded, and Herbert stared into space. He was stunned.
He shook his head. His mind went about processing what that meant. Looking Twain in the eye, he said, “I’ve seen too many things.”
He licked his lips and tried to build up some moisture. “Is it foolish for me to be questioning my sanity right now?” Then he let out a mirthless laugh, “Does doing so mean I still am sane?”
He got up out of the bed and almost collapsed, but steadied himself on the wall, and then stood shakily. “A walk would do me good I feel.” He looked about the metal prison and sniffed, “I never much cared for submarines.”
How do I delete posts? This is not meant to be here. nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
We've had this problem before. I don't think there is a way.
I am convinced in 6 months we'll have the entire original cast again. Welcome back Tsukino!
@bbyangellike
We are, feel free to drop us a CS.
We are, feel free to drop us a CS.
Noted, thanks.
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