If you don't know what this is yet lurk moar, you'll be averting your eyes in no time. Now where were we?
We last left off with the party barging on in a very irate Kiynen who has recently laid a clutch of 5 eggs and is still sensitive about it. Still, no one died in the process and Addy seems to have sworn fealty to them,... whatever that's about. So we return to the party,... who has already split up with Tracy venturing to Cardashil to try and find a lead on the elvenniggers who keep jacking their shit. Infernius has been assisting Slovenia in felling trees and reinforcing the outer wall of Durpistan. Torcuil has been getting bantzed by Snek, and a bunch of stuff I'm probably forgetting and will get shit on reminded of.
With no further adieu,....
550 replies and 13 files omitted.
>20
Fine, Tracy is able to grab onto the edge of the wall, preventing her from being sent clear off the edge of the wall, hanging over the extreme drop (which, she could get out of, but still).
>>67247Meanwhile, Torcuil changes course to follow Tracy
while giving Infernius the basic rundown on how to pilot the ship.
[1d20+27 = 41]>>67250Tracy clicks her hooves together to activate her shoes levitation function and makes another jump.
>>67252Just throttle and steering, nothing extensive
>>67253^_^
NOW Tracy can move about on the wall, undetectable, and without getting vaulted at the wall. Its a good thing too, because after a few moments a squat head peeks over the edge of the wall on the Dwarves side. "Nah, probably the birds again. I told you, you need to increase the tension on those springs!"
"But if I do that, then we won't get to *see* the birds get launched."
"Oh come off it, its never gonna work,...." the voice diminishes as it departs.
>>67254Tracy's still need invisible, mind.
Tracy moves towards where she saw the manlet poke his head out.
>>67255Peeking over the edge, Tracy spies a staircase leading to a ledge with a door leading into the network of structures. There are several such staircases further along the wall, all of them facing toward the main wall.
>>67257Tracy hops down and sets off along the staircase.
>>67258Its not a long staircase, essentially just a defensive choke-point in the exterior defenses. The ledge isn't exceptionally big, essentially a balcony (except without a rail, cuz they're dwarves). A single wooden door leads into the compound.
>>67259Tracy realizes that she forgot her lock-picks in the towers mess hall, and has to spend several frustrating minutes taking 20 to open the lock with one of her knives.
which is a convient excuse for her faggot having already tucked himself in and not remembering her ranks in that skill.
>>67261The absence of immediate observers allows Tracy the time necessary to open the door. It doesn't have an external lock, but she is able to wedge one of her knives to trip the latch. The door opens with a click and swings open slightly.
>>67262"Hmmm." Tracy coos to herself, trying to salvage some self confidence as she makes her way past the door into the coridoor.
>>67263Through the door, Tracy can hear the echoes of countless voices echoing through the halls on either side of the door. Light filters into the hall from deliberately designed cracks in the wall and ceiling, illuminating the inside.
>>67264"Hmmm.. fancy place.." Tracy mumbles inaudibly to herself as she passes deeper into the cavern.
[1d20 = 5]
Listen check to hear how close those voices are
>>67266Tracy's ears ring from the echoes.
>>67266Distant, not close enough to observe Tracy if she enters the hallway, and none of them sounding alerted or otherwise impending.
>>67266>>67264Tracy heads further in towards the noises, wherever they are. Invisible and moving silently.
>>67268Tracy enters the hallway.
>>67270Its a long hallway that runs parallel to the wall. There are several doorways on in either direction (no doors tho), as well as a staircase at the end of the hall.
>>67271Tracy slowly sneaks down the hall, peaking through the doorways on either side of her as she goes.
The Man stood looking out over the harbor from the penthouse window. Beneath him the carpet had been ripped out and the floor was bare. Behind him there was open space where a wall had stood, and a bar table occupied what was once an open living space, its surface unfurnished. For a year he hadn’t found a buyer for the unit, and so kept it as his own. But he was finally persuaded to sell the unit at a loss, and the new owner wanted extensive changes to the layout. After concluding a meeting at a restaurant, he thought he’d visit the unit at midnight to stare out the panoramic windows one last time.
As he did so, he thought back to a night that ended in that room a little more than a year before. That night had centered on two struggles against two friendly enemies. One, he win against, or so he thought. The other, he would let win. It started with a confrontation. A duel, in whatever way fiour against one could be considered a “duel.” Violent though it may have begun, it swiftly became cordial and countries. It became no less contentious. The battle had shifted from the physical to the mental as he haggled for control of a prize unicorn. After hours of mental chess, they seemed to reach an agreement that left him with the prize.
The victory did not last. It did not even last a single day. He was back to struggling for the prize he thought he had won, trying to get to her the next day, trying to find her the next week, and trying to enamor her the next month. What he was so sure was already in his grasp was in fact only gained after a very long and arduous series of tasks. And even then, he never got to enjoy his victory. In a way, the hard-fought prize remained unclaimed.
This did not bother him. No, his victory did not last, but what does? Everything that is won is eventually lost, and nothing struggled for ever remains. “All glory is fleeting.” What had made that night different, what had made it stand out in his memory after an eventful year, was not the permanency of his triumph, for surely it did not have that. Why that night in particular lingered in his memory more than a year was the sheer thrill of the struggle itself. In the intense back and forth of the negotiation, he found the best focus and expression of his talents and abilities. In trying to figure out what his opponent wanted, in determining what he had to give away, and in trying to persuade the opposing party to make the exchange – he felt alive. He felt like he was good at it. Like a portion of his being that normally lies dormant had been activated, and it was that portion that most closely aligned with what made him different. He knew how a pure bred hunting dog, trained as a puppy to run and chase and hunt, and bred from generations of hunters, felt as it chased after fowl. As it feels, or believes it is about to feel the bird in its jaws it knows that it is doing what it was created to do. Whether it catches the bird or not doesn’t matter much to the dog. It is experiencing its being in action in a way that it will not when it returns to its life of lazing around in the house with occasional walks around the block. So too did the Man’s talents and creativity lay dormant for most of the year since.
[Read more] >>67874Out in the far distance, the Man could see a light of a passing ship coming into the harbor, and various other moving lights of vehicles along the shore. These were other people in motion. Their lives were advancing, and so too was his, he figured. He took a sip from the glass of honey sweeten tea he bought at the restaurant earlier, and his mind focused back to the other struggle in that night. The Blue Mare had tried for months then to lay a sort of claim of ownership to him. And for those months he resisted, fearing there was a deeper malevolence. But in that night, he let himself go in the moment. There was something sweet about her. Something… Cute. He liked the affection. He liked to be wanted. And he figured that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if he would let her have him. Maybe this relationship could be joyous. He acquiesced to her that night, and he was hers.
His expectations for his life after this defeat proved to be as illusory as his “triumph.” The relationship would stress and sour, often turning bad. She must have lost interest in him after a while, as her affection became sparser and he was no longer her “flashy,” nor she “Mrs. Sentry.” He had not seen her at all in six months. He had to wonder if she was still out there. But this too, was alright. Most of the relationships we have with people are fraught with tensions, or are ephemeral, so why should this one be an exception? Whatever else happened before or after, he liked the affection, and he had fun that night. That night, she was cute, and it was a good experience. She was not the first person to enter and leave his life, nor was she the last. Through out the years he had known many people. They had all made their impressions on him, and most of them he would never see again. His relationship with the Blue Mare had been special and enjoyable in its own sort of way, and that night, and so many other occasions with her, good and bad, were among the experiences that made up his life.
He stood there in silence, then made a toast “to absent friends,” taking a long drink of the tea and finishing it. He turned around and looked at the deconstructed apartment where that night had ended on a joyous note. He had built this place and lived there in part, but now it was unrecognizable. All furnishings had been stripped away and even the basic layout changed. He placed his glass on the unfinished bar as he walked towards the door. That glass, which would surely be taken by a worker in the morning, was the last thing he would contribute to the unit, he thought, and he had to wonder if he had made any lasting impression in the place. His fading memories were perhaps the last remnants of that night, and so many others like it. He was unsure what to feel about all of this. The last year had not been kind, and he still did not know what the future held. He was not sure if he should be happy, sad, or angry, or if he felt much of anything at all. He turned out the lights and headed back home.
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