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Post by jokester on Dec 7, 2011 0:10:38 GMT
"Right," Sam frowns, running a hand thoughtfully down the backpack. "Ten point six seven... and an exploding universe... I think we're good," she nods. "If we can find a parallel Strand and edit this so that it'll perform something which I am reliably informed is, for reasons unbeknownst to anyone I've ever met, known as a Hojo Desperation Leap." She looks up. "We might be able to do that... if we cannibalise some of the tech you guys have. Do we try?"
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Post by Snowfire on Dec 7, 2011 0:14:14 GMT
"It's the best option we've got as far as I can tell. Go for it."
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Post by Professor H. Talhoffer on Dec 7, 2011 10:26:55 GMT
"Sounds good. Do it."
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Post by jokester on Dec 8, 2011 3:49:40 GMT
A series of small rowing boats containing between them an entire orchestra rows into view for... some reason, and begins playing the A-Team theme. Regardless of the amount of effort you put into the attempt, in time to come you will only ever be able to remember a montage of brief snatches of the ensuing events, set to that same music. Sam, Xylia and Talhoffer stand around a flipchart spawned from somewhere, taking turns to point at various parts of various diagrams and ask or answer questions on the intricacies of Universal Strand Theory. Talhoffer ass-pulls a set of protective masks and a welder and hands them out, kneeling beside the backpack in preparation. Victor scribbles equations and calculations furiously on various sheets which he hands, smoking, to Talhoffer, who frowns, turns them upside-down, tilts his head slightly, raises his eyebrows and nods. Nimue leans against the rail and produces a packet of bon-bons, which Xylia then snatches from her and pours into her hands, concentrating, cupping them around the ensuing magical light and turning her face away, eyes closed, muscles ready to flinch, as she directs the light as best she can. Sam sits amid the components of a half-rebuilt trans-dimensional travel device, running her fingers over the parts and supplying brief explanations of what she knows of each for Xylia to write up while Victor dances gleefully among them, hands poised in anticipation like a child in a sweet shop. Nimue adjusts the aim on a ballista and gestures the others to stand back as she kick-starts the siege weapon towards a small metal link connecting two components. Victor carefully disassembles Talhoffer's teleporter with a scalpel and a screwdriver while behind him Talhoffer takes apart Victor's teleporter-location device with a sturdy-looking section of bulkhead and a sword-blow. Nimue prays in some heathen tongue of goat-blood and iron, and then plunges her hands deep into the bowels of the backpack, her eyes black and flaming as the hellish light of an Infernal Combustion Engine combines with the natural golden glow of the back-pack's own power source. Xylia clamps one hand to her head in concentration while holding the backpack in the other, and the precise Time-Space-Fiction Matrix co-ordinates of the Stones appear on one of the three extra display screens the device now seems to have been given. Talhoffer and Sam perform what appears to be a good-cop-bad-cop routine to convince the device to comply. Nimue chants some more of her black speech while Xylia performs some more telepathy, and the screen on the backpack containing the Stones' co-ordinates begins to glow with more hellish light - it has been blessed with the Talk of the Devil, permitting it to bypass certain travel restrictions just by knowing the name of where it wishes to appear.
Eventually, they all stand back and admire their result: a unique mix of magic, religion, science and narrative, built by combined effort of the arcane, the divine, the strong, the skilled and the knowledgeable. Xylia and Talhoffer note that the combination seems to work quite well and muse to themselves that separating people into five classes based on those five attributes and bringing them together as parties with one of each would totally make the kind of problems and campaigns that they seem to be faced with by whatever cruel omnipotent being decides the fate of worlds such as this one a whole lot easier. Xylia, in particular, gets as far as the mechanics of saving throws before her mind snaps her back to the situation at hand.
A fusion of parts from three separate teleport-based devices all hotwired together with soldered metal, repurposed wires, stabilising magic and a roll of duct tape that someone apparently found. In theory, the device - which Sam has seen fit to christen the Strand and Deliver, a name which is now written on it in damp crayon - should, as it is currently set, travel up any Strand of sufficient strength that will permit it to reach a point on a quantum parallel with the Blue Strand that links the Stones in Fairyland to Fiddler's Green, at which point it will explode out of, across and through the void of reality ("Void of Reality," Victor insists. "The capitals make it sound like a real thing"), instantaneously blowing themselves into that same Blue Strand, while an automated detection system reverses the polarity of the directional buffer and thus causes them to begin travelling back towards Diversity, landing (hopefully) right in the centre of the Stones. The quantum effects may well burn out most or all of the upgrades the backpack has been given, but the calculations have been done and all are certain that the device itself - and it's ability to get people to Everroyal - will make it out intact. Other effects of the journey may involve an outside chance that the five travellers will come out the other side in each other's bodies, 50/50 odds of arriving very slightly on fire, and an almost certainty that two to four plot holes will manifest at some point in the Space-Time-Fiction Matrix - but Sam assures you that, if the probability diagram drawn up is indeed accurate, all of these plot holes will almost definitely manifest within a universe she calls "BBC's Robin Hood" and therefore no-one will find their sudden presence unexpected.
"So now," Sam says, "All we need is to find a parallel Strand connection - some metaphysical link or similarity between Diversity and Fiddler's Green that will be obvious enough for the SaD to drag all five of us into. Any ideas?"
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Post by Professor H. Talhoffer on Dec 8, 2011 10:55:21 GMT
"Well... Fiddler's green is full of the tormented souls of those who cannot move on to the next world, right? So there ought to be a fairly strong similarity right... here." I point at my own chest.
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Post by jokester on Dec 8, 2011 17:21:58 GMT
Sam blinks, and then slowly smiles.
"Bingo. We got ourselves a big ol' parallel Red Strand to ride. Everyone gather round the Professor and hold onto this."
She hooks the backpack over Talhoffer's arms and adjusts a couple of controls. Everyone else finds some part of the device to maintain a firm grip on.
"Right. Everyone think of a Red Strand and a Blue Strand. Remember that we want to go half-way up one and back down the other. It might not help, but at the very least, remembering where you're going can stave off the worst of the existential confusion. Also the jet lag. And, uh, if you three Undead can concentrate on, y'know, what it's like to be, like, a soul trapped indefinitely on a plane of existence from which you were never meant to be prevented from leaving... uh, Nimue, can you -"
"Trust me," Nimue interrupts grimly. "I can extrapolate."
"OK, excellent. I guess we're good to go."
She loops one arm through a strap on the Strand and Deliver at the last moment and reaches in to activate something. The world and everything about it, all light, all sound, all sensation, all sense of being half-fades, half-implodes from existence with a sound like a hundred thousand SATB choirs singing the word "pwuf" in harmony, and the device drags all five out of the universe in such a way that each person's arm seems to stretch elastically before jerking the rest of them after it.
For timeless instants there is the sensation of travelling super-fast, as if at the speed of imagination itself, so fast that you can't actually see what it is you're travelling past or through. And then, after some indescribable period, there is a horrendous lurch, like that experienced by a passenger in a car as it rounds the peak of a steep hill at high speeds, only made more acute for the lack of alternative sensation and stretched out for seconds, minutes, hours.... maybe whole eternities; who knows? Emotions flash into the five collective brains from nowhere - emotions of fear an shock and desperation and uncertainty.
And then... something happens. The movement, such as it was, seems to have stopped. The five travellers look around. Around them, there is nothing but each other. Themselves, their clothes, and the items they were holding when they commenced travelling are all here, but beyond that there is simply... nothing.
"What happened?" asks Victor. "Are we there yet?" Nimue mumbles. "Something's wrong," Xylia insists. "This is nothing like the Stones." "Oh bugger," Talhoffer groans, as he picks up in advance what it takes the others slightly longer to notice: the chilling, terrible cold of Undeath Incarnate.
"Doctor Temporis," Life-in-Death smiles, embracing him almost playfully from behind. The same kind of playfully as an orca juggling with a bleeding seal pup. Victor stiffens.
"Milady," he squeaks. One facial muscle twitches involuntarily - which for a Revenant is damned impressive. "Hello." Life-in-Death releases him and moves on.
"And my dear, dear Professor," she purrs - or is it a growl? Hard to tell with this one - as she traces a finger around Talhoffer's ear, her fingernail brushing the edge of his hair and sending fiery bolts of cold through his circulatory system, spreading out from that point.
"And of course, our newest friend, without whom none of us would be right here right now," she laughs, moving to run both hands through Xylia's dark Vampire hair before skipping back to a point where she can see them all. "A big hand please for Xylia Islane J'Seelie (Deceased). How are we all?"
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Post by Professor H. Talhoffer on Dec 8, 2011 18:23:36 GMT
"Misplaced." I answer, curtly.
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Post by Snowfire on Dec 8, 2011 20:48:29 GMT
"And otherwise occupied." I add on to Talhoffer's statement. Then Victor's last name registers and I spin towards him. "Wait a sec, your last name is Temporis?" I ask incredulously.
((OOC: Excuse me a moment, I need to go laugh hysterically.))
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Post by jokester on Dec 9, 2011 2:16:07 GMT
"...it, uh... is," Victor replies, nervously. "Is... there a problem?"
Life-in-Death seems almost as amused in-character as Bryden is out of it (and Bryden is very out of it), although she retains her composure - or whatever it is she has in place of composure. She says nothing.
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Post by Professor H. Talhoffer on Dec 9, 2011 15:07:08 GMT
"So, LiD, what are you doing here, anyway?"
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Post by Snowfire on Dec 9, 2011 17:31:56 GMT
"Not exactly a problem..." I reply slowly.
((OOC: Which bit of the device am I holding?))
"I think she may be stopping us. Which is interesting."
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Post by jokester on Dec 9, 2011 17:53:09 GMT
Xylia is grasping the top of one of the loops around Talhoffer with one hand and the adjustment tassle at the bottom of the backpack with the other, apparently. You have no idea how hard it is to work out a table to convert RNG results into locations on a pimped-out backpack.
"I'm just doing my job, Professor," Life-in-Death replies with a volatile mix of restrained glee and soft malevolence. "The job I inherited from my Number One when I inherited our newest family member from him." She indicates Xylia with an elaborate gesture which seems to involve producing and concealing a pair of dice through slight-of-hand, for some reason.
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Post by Professor H. Talhoffer on Dec 11, 2011 9:27:08 GMT
"I... see."
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Post by jokester on Dec 11, 2011 13:17:13 GMT
"But of course, Professor. Whatever strange being brought you into existence did, at the very least, see fit to grant you the gift of sight." She looks down and smiles. "Which may very well have been a bad idea in the long run. Certainly, a lack of sight would increase your chances of surviving for long... intact."
Both Talhoffer and Xylia become aware that the void is changing slightly. Solidifying, as it were. Gaining some measure of form, or at least a crude and offensive imitation of form. It hasn't finished yet, so the scenery forming far below them is blurred and misty, too much so to make out what it is. Nonetheless, there is a vague impression of... what might be liquid, or at least not quite solid. Swamp perhaps. Mire. Marsh. Something. And there are things - Talhoffer an Xylia cannot yet identify their shape or even if they are alive, but there are things, dragging themselves over the surface of the... the whatever it is.
Some base revulsion causes them to involuntarily look away, but even without seeing it they can feel this new landscape (seascape? whatever) forming beneath and around them, like the uncomfortable sensation that occurs for a second in the back of the mind when viewing an uncannily lifelike wooden doll. They can sense that something is coming. Something big and unpleasant. And maddening.
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Post by Professor H. Talhoffer on Dec 12, 2011 11:00:24 GMT
"Mrs LiD, would you care to tell us what is going on?"
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Post by jokester on Dec 12, 2011 17:32:12 GMT
Life-in-Death gives what was probably meant to be a mock-pout.
"Oh, I suppose, if explanations are really all that very important to you. Just because you asked so nicely. It's dear little Xylia, you see - she died, not that long ago. Of course. But she did have a last request, a last request that came as part of the package deal when she switched to my department from the other guy. Which means it became my job to carry out the request which my dear Number One had thus far failed to."
She absent-mindedly produces the dice again, spinning them on two of her fingers and allowing them to fall into her palm. Both come up ones.
"She asked that we teach her to lose," she continues, looking up. "And I've always believed that learning is best done through practice... even when it's something that can only be practised once. It's a shame that she should have to drag down one of my own special favourites with her, but - well, if she didn't doom her allies along with herself, however could we truly say she lost?"
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Post by Professor H. Talhoffer on Dec 12, 2011 22:46:08 GMT
"Xylia, you... What?! Ok, ok... No, What? I mean really... What?!"
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Post by jokester on Dec 13, 2011 19:19:53 GMT
Life-in-Death pulls a deckchair from her dress (a dress which, by the way, definitely does not contain enough space to store a deckchair in), unfolds it with a flick of her wrist, and reclines, also producing what appears to be a bag of jelly babies, to better watch the inevitably-ensuing conversation.
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Post by Professor H. Talhoffer on Jan 8, 2012 20:34:00 GMT
to better watch the inevitably-ensuing conversation. So... About that?
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Post by jokester on Jan 13, 2012 4:00:22 GMT
Apparently, the conversation in question was not so inevitably-ensuing as circumstances would have led one to believe. In actuality, Xylia appears to have chosen completely the wrong time to go into an unexplained coma. Life-In-Death clears her throat, taps her foot a few times, whistles a few snatches of songs which haven't been popular since they buried Vaudeville. Eventually, she sighs and stands up - the deckchair and jellybabies disappearing when no-one's looking.
"It's no fun when they're already unconscious. Can you even go insane when you're in a coma like that? I don't even know. Neither me nor the other guy. Between us, we're meant to know pretty-much everything."
She glances at the three still-conscious people around her, all of whom appear to be pretty nonplussed. Talhoffer vaguely notices that whatever solidifying process this plane of existence was undergoing has apparently been postponed for now.
"I'm terribly sorry, folks; I'm not entirely sure what we do at this point. Kind of my entire purpose for being here revolved around her." She gestures at the unconscious ex-fairy Vampire. "Um... unless you've got any suggestions... Anyone here play backgammon?"
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Post by jokester on Jan 13, 2012 4:02:51 GMT
(For reference, Henry J. Vaudeville was buried on 17/12/81 at 0600 hours, in a small churchyard in the older part of Everroyal. His Fans Shall Not Forget.)
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Post by Professor H. Talhoffer on Jan 13, 2012 9:08:14 GMT
"I play a little, but I'm no expert. Personally, I much prefer Cripple Mr Onion."
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Post by jokester on Jan 13, 2012 21:18:33 GMT
"Huh. No kiddin'? Well... I might be able to find a deck somewhere. Some of the, y'know, Slimy Eldritch Things might be sentient enough to teach... We could play until she wakes up. Or until you get bored and desert her, that could work. Technically, I have no obligation to hold you here if you're not, y'know, with her..."
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Post by Professor H. Talhoffer on Jan 16, 2012 22:40:02 GMT
"Ok, shall I deal?"
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Post by jokester on Jan 18, 2012 0:16:14 GMT
"Sure, deal away. You two in?"
Victor and Sam stare confusedly, and then hesitantly nod, apparently in the hope that agreeing might make things start making sense. It does not.
"Anyone else here sentient enough to play cards?" Life-in-Death calls into the darkness. There is a pause, a few rustles and the odd squelch. Then:
"I believe I have the knack," replies a... deceptively normal voice, actually. A figure walks out of the blackness and nods towards you.
"Who are you?" Life-in-Death asks, turning to him.
"Call me... the Insider."
Meanwhile, Victor has shuffled up to Talhoffer.
"You got a way out of here, H?"
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Post by Professor H. Talhoffer on Jan 18, 2012 5:47:16 GMT
"I'm working on it. Still needs some thinking. Try to keep them talking while we play. You do know how to play, right?"
I deal the cards, making sure to slip the top one up my sleeve first.
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Post by jokester on Jan 20, 2012 16:56:35 GMT
Victor nods slowly and backs away. Life-in-Death produces a fold-away card table from... presumably the same place as the deck chair came from, and manages on the third try to line it up underneath the dealt cards floating in the air.
"So... milady... which modifiers are we to use?" Victor asks, drawing Life-in-Death's attention away from Talhoffer.
"I'm a particular fan of the Sender of Eights," the Insider comments. Life-in-Death nods and smiles.
"Indeed. I've always preferred complexity to simplicity, so I tend to play with all of them. Except the Death mod. I tend to reject that one out of principle."
"Indeed," Victor nods nervously. "That I can understand, coming from you, milady. Death, after all, is one of the few things you cannot interfere with."
"Are you implying I would cheat, Doctor Temporis?" Life-in-Death demands. Victor blanches.
"I would deeply like to see the entity that could cheat against me," the Insider sighs. "I doubt we need to worry."
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Post by Professor H. Talhoffer on Jan 20, 2012 17:25:49 GMT
"I believe it is you to play first, my lady."
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Post by jokester on Jan 23, 2012 15:50:52 GMT
Life-in-Death has a 7 of Staves, Ace of Swords, 3 of Turtles, 5 of Cups and 3 of Octograms visible face-up. She places down a 2 of Crowns next to them, forming a six-card onion.
The dark figure of the Insider to her left has visible a 2 of Octagrams, Queen of Elephants, 9 of Staves, 6 of Cups and 3 of Oct...a...grams...
Wait, what?
That's impossible, there was only one 3 of Octagrams in the deck.
You glance at all the other visible cards on the table. Victor - J Cr, 6 Sw, 8 Cu, 6 Co, 2 Oc again. Sam - A St, 10 El, 6 St, K Cr, A Sw again.
Everyone appears to have at least one duplicate of someone else's card.
Life-in-Death notices your glancing. "Oh, of course, my apologies," she says, in a distinctly non-apologetic voice. "The laws of mathematics as you understand them do not apply here. This place has no laws, nor does it have mathematics. You may have noticed, for example, that we are currently sitting where there is no ground and breathing where there is no air. But don't worry - if anything, it just makes the game more interesting."
As it happens, the Insider is forced to fold (his/her/its concealed hand comprised Q Co, 3 St, Q Co, 6 El, 4 Co), as is Victor (9 Cr, 4 St, 10 St, J Cr, 2 St). Sam, however, with an expression of determined concentration (the kind people often put on when trying to convince themselves that now is not the time to flip out and run around screaming and waving your arms in panicked elipses), drops a Queen of Crowns from her hand and pushes it forward along with her King and two Aces, forming a Double Onion.
"Where did you learn Cripple Mr Onion?" Victor asks. Sam shrugs - almost apologetically.
"I dropped in on one of the more powerful universes that plays it once," she explains. "Some men on a riverboat taught me while I was en route to deliver an important message for someone. I lost. Badly."
Life-in-Death seems very amused by this. "I gather that's an important part of the gaming experience," she comments. "Pray, how many such universes do you know of?"
"Ones that play Cripple Mr Onion? Uh... two main ones, not counting your own apparently, plus the various offshoots of those two on, like, the lower planes, of which I think there are... y'know, a lot. Or there were. Lately, one of the main ones seems to have got... misplaced. You'd probably like the remaining one though, it seems to be kinda like yours except maybe not so crazy."
"Fascinating," Life-in-Death smiles. "I must make note to travel more often. Perhaps Ms Von Braun will be... malleable enough to convince..."
Meanwhile, you've checked your own cards, and found that they go 10 Cr, 8 Co, 2 Tu, 8 Tu, A El in your hands, and 3 St, J Oc, 5 Cu, 10 El, Q Sw face-down on the table. Oh, and whatever that one up your sleeve is.
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Post by Professor H. Talhoffer on Jan 24, 2012 3:30:44 GMT
Play them all, and argue that since the laws of mathematics do not apply, I have scored everything. Twice.
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