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Jotnotes last won the day on April 22

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About Jotnotes

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    Jot Notes #6666

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  1. Post is up. Somebody else get a post in when you can. @Mickey Flash it's a darn good thing Shalana is passed out, or else M'yr'd be dead.
  2. "A...registry?" The guard whispered hoarsely. "Th...this ain't an easy lllibrary to keep track've, ma--an!" Though he was having difficulty breathing, the gun in his face was sufficient to keep him from struggling too much. His eyes darted from the gun, to the boot on his neck, but never at the interrogator themselves. "The...only people who might've a thing like that would keep it..." He coughed, a bit too loudly and whispered frantically, suddenly panicking. "Bottom floor, big desk! They keep all the stuff they're looking at on the big desk! I don't know nothing--they don't let us near it!" Around halfway down the stairs, M'yr put the mask away again, so that he could fit down the narrow corridor. It was weird, the stairs started wide enough for possibly two individuals to pass each other with ample room, but the lower he got the closer together the walls became, until it was uncomfortable to even try walking forwards normally. The white-washed walls tightened around him, as the spiralling staircase continued to go down deeper and deeper and deeper, further and further away from the light and deep into the dark. Close to the bottom, forward progress was impossible to guarantee. The young acolyte held his breath and shimmied sideways, as the tightening walls pressed into his ribcage, threatening to crush him. Once this deep, he attempted to exhale, but only bubbles escaped from his lips. Once more, M'yr was no longer in the library, but deep in the vast open sea, where the pressure was so immense it threatened to pulverize him. Despite his strange situation, M'yr could still breathe fine, though it took him a moment to realize. At first, he panicked, trying to thrash upwards as if he could claw his way back to the up. Laughable, really, and even he knew it. Down here, water was absolute, the sea was law. Why fight it? Instead of struggling, he stayed put, and stared into the abyss for what felt like an eternity. Then, something moved. In the pits of his knotted stomach, he felt as though something massive had moved through the sea, disrupting everything around him, but he couldn't see far enough into the water to see what it was. Blinding light, a sudden star blazed to life before him. M'yr covered his eyes as the sea before him exploded, shining a spotlight onto his body and face. He lowered them, and stared, transfixed. Not a star, but a massive eye. It wasn't right in front of him, it could have been anywhere between him and several hundred miles away. It didn't matter. The eye was larger than the sea itself, seemingly, massive and yellow. It wasn't alone either, as several other hundred eyes opened around it. Smaller than the big one, but larger than he was, as always. As a brief moment of lucid thought, M'yr pointed out to himself that being small seemed to be a motif in his life. दो नोत स्त्रुग्ग्ले मोर्तल् M'yr didn't know what was said. In fact, he wasn't sure it was being said out loud at all. It came from everywhere, and the sea boiled as the thing before him spoke. The tremor made it almost impossible to hear the words at all. Yet, the sound caused the stirring in his stomach to stop, his racing mind to slow to a crawl. The endless sea disappeared from thought, and instead he focused on the terror before him. It continued to stare at him, to take him in all at once with its massive, inescapable gaze. It stared at him, looking at him and for a moment, M'yr felt almost exposed. This...whatever it was, was bigger than anything he could have envisioned. To be fixated on the small little being before it in such a way felt like an overwhelming amount of attention. And it continued to stare for what felt like...forever. He didn't know how long they were down there, how long it had watched him. Couldn't know, either. But eventually, it spoke again. वोर्ल्द'स वेइघ्त रेस्त्स ओन् मोर्तल् षोउल्देर्स् It didn't seem to pity him, didn't seem to care at all really. It was in this moment that M'yr realized, albeit only dimly, that whatever this being was had to make a definite, colossal effort to care, to pay attention. It was too big, and the world was like dust to such a being. This ungodly attention on his drowning form was made all the more terrifying by this cold, unfeeling reality. There was no mercy out in the cold void of space, no mercy for mankind. It stared forever, once again. M'yr tried to keep himself occupied by counting eternities, but failed. It spoke again. सुच छुरिओउस् अनिमल्स What even was it saying? What did it want? He didn't understand, didn't know what he was meant to get from this. Fear crept into his mind, invading his senses. He began to thrash, moving around as he did, churning the water around him. The great eye took note of this, but did not react. Instead, the eye began to close as he thrashed, and faded away. The sea darkened again, and as M'yr began to drown, he cried out in the frozen sea for sanctuary. But there was nobody there to hear him. M'yr stumbled down the end of the staircase, sopping wet. Water oozed off his soggy clothes, spilling onto the carpet and floor. He coughed harshly, spitting up sea water onto the polished stone floor. He couldn't remain upright, had to collapse on the ground in a pained, huddled heap, gasping for air. His breath condensed in the air before him as he shuddered, eyes burning in the gentle light of the library, the towering bookshelves directly hiding him from the lights themselves. He remained prone for several seconds, before getting to his feet slowly. His mind was reeling, he felt as though he might shatter into pieces, but he'd made it down the staircase, that wide, easy to travel staircase that had taken him so long to escape. He looked around. On the bottom floor, the shelves were somehow taller than he could ever have imagined. Miles-high shelves dominated the stone and wood forest of the library surrounding them, and M'yr was lost in the middle of them. He glanced down one of the halls, which seemingly stretched forever and ever. This was, seemingly, the big trick of the 'infinite library'. Supposedly, you could get lost in here forever, if you didn't know where to go. But if you did, you could find your way around quite easily. That said, M'yr was fairly certain he was close to the back of the library, so he needed to head towards the front of the library to find that table. Easy enough. He got to his feet, and noticed right away that the mask was still intact. Well, not really, as the rough wood had been polished to a gleaming blonde shine, the metallic glint of the...wood? M'yr decided not to examine it further. If the mask had turned to gold, he wasn't interested in investigating. That's just another way it was trying to sucker him into putting it back on, and he'd been so good about not hiding behind it today. M'yr stowed it away, and began to slink through the never-ending shelves, and almost immediately ran into a crumpled, familiar figure on the floor. Oh good, M'yr sighed, his shoulders slumped. This didn't bode well. M'yr knelt next to Shalana's crumpled form, and glanced upwards. Did she fall on her own, or was she thrown? He didn't know, he wasn't awake to see her plummet. He turned her face to see if she was breathing, and noticed...her skin was especially warm, in perhaps the strangest, most welcoming way possible. M'yr checked her pulse, with one hand on the side of her neck, cradling her skull as if she'd washed up on the shore. She was breathing, didn't seem to be bleeding anywhere, was just...incapacitated. He experimentally ran his hand through her hair, suddenly curious about the sensation. He'd never done that before. What did it feel like, to cradle someone defenseless in your arms? Her hair was fine and soft, and it bunched easily in his slender, smooth fingers. It was....comfortable. But invasive. M'yr realized his breathing had shifted, and his guts had knotted up, the guilt gripping him in a vice. He felt like a deer in headlights, cradling a broken body. He'd handled a broken body like this before. Just once. M'yr grabbed her hands, and slowly lifted her away from the middle of the floor, slinging her over his shoulder as best as he could. There weren't many places he could hide her body here, no gravel pit to dump her in or carpets to roll her into. Instead, he escorted her back towards...the stairs, which were no longer there. "Oh, god damn it." He muttered in annoyance. The acolyte set her down, and propped her up in a nearby chair. He didn't have much to offer her in the way of a disguise, but did rest a nearby book over her face, to hide her identity. Hopefully, in theory nobody would come looking down this alley in order to find her, and she could recover at her own speed. Moreover, if M'yr could remember that he was looking for her, he might be able to get back to her quickly. And if she woke up, she definitely wouldn't know that he'd been touching her, or moved her at all. That was arguably the most important part. With Shalana deposited, and little else to stop him, M'yr fled the aisle and moved towards the, uh, front of the library, he hoped. Walking the shelves slowly, he moved forward on and on until to his left, the shelves broke, and he could see the center of the main floor. M'yr looked around the corner, examining the opening. He didn't see anyone, couldn't hear anyone. Back the way he came, he could see the skylight he thought about entering through. Just in front of that, were a number of empty cases, that probably held curiosities of some kind, at some point. In front of him, out of place among the shelves, was a very boring portable table, over encumbered with books. M'yr crept along the shelves, slowly edging towards the table, until he finally arrived in front of it. M'yr stared. Before him was a complex array of books, each alien and unknown to him, with beautiful inset letters, fine craftsmanship and well-worn edges. He could have spent all the time in the world examining each and every one of them, but didn't, yet. Instead, he began to rifle through them, looking for one very specific book. He had to move a few of them, but found it at last. A very boring-looking clear-faced binder, filled with unassuming documentation. M'yr flipped it open, and read the front page. There was a date, and a number of documented books, and where they'd found each book. Whether they'd been translated, or damaged. The translated ones were even given titles. He'd held his breath again. He didn't exhale as he held the book aloft. The stirring in his mind as his brain raced. "Here we go," He huffed, eyes gleaming. Here we go.
  3. Post is up! @Zashiii and @Tyler if you'd be so kind as to get your posts in when you can! You'll notice @Hydrangeas that Quill has not acknowledged Lumina yet. I intend on doing that after the next two posts come out, however if either of the other two writers want Lumina to enter the scene sooner, they're free to. After the next two posts, I'll give a followup.
  4. Quill nodded, and slowly made her way back behind the counter. She took a slow, easy step and knocked something across the floor. The red-labelled can of whale meat scattered down the length of the store, rattling as it collided with the shelf. She winced, and waited for it to quit moving. Her ribs ached, and she realized she'd been holding her breath. Exhaling loudly, the felinid released her tense grip on the counter. Steady girl, she thought to herself. It's not like you to be jumpy. Let's be ourselves for a bit. She stepped around the counter, with Taylor in tow and June not far behind her. The hallway seemed to suck in all light. Before long, they were bathed in the cool, uncomfortable darkness, with only distant rain hammering the windows beyond for company. Quill felt, rather than saw, the blood clinging to the bottom of her boots. She tasted iron in the air. She paused, with one hand on the doorknob already. The other held the key. In another moment she'd open it, but not yet. She relaxed her grip on the door briefly, and turned to her Taylor. "If there's another body in this room, I'll convince Maat to pack it in, if we can. I don't like this any more than you do, but these people probably have somebody back home that will want to know what happened to them. If we can get some help, it'd be a big weight off our backs--Maat's back, escpecially." She imagined that at that moment, Maat was likely a little too concerned for the dead around here, and not the living. That was his way; he hated to let people get upset, when he could help it. It made him...very ignorant of people's feelings, at times. She plugged the key into the door, and turned it. Slowly. The knob turned, and she pushed it inwards. "Oh, goodness." Quill murmured, transfixed on the scene before them. The room was a mess, with furniture pushed against the walls in all directions. The one window in the room was a thin, wide slit near the ceiling on the far side of the room from them and rain poured in from the gap, soaking into the carpet. The furniture, the chairs and desk, the couch and coffee machine, all were pushed away from the center of the room. In the middle of which was a gaping, sucking hole. Quill entered the room slowly, and winced as her feet immediately grew cold. The entire floor was damp with water, and it pooled around her feet as she moved. The ceiling fan, and the light fixture, had crashed into the ground a long time ago, exposed wired dangling uselessly a few inches from the hole in the ceiling where it came from, and there was no light to be had. The felinid accepted the flashlight from Taylor, and shone it around, doing everything in her power to avoid staring at The Hole. The blood, it seemed, had originated in this room, but she didn't see a body, only signs of a struggle. Who had moved the furniture around, and why? With everything thrown around everywhere, it wasn't really possible to find anything of great value, though she did spy something rather interesting near the hole. Wedged into the hole, like a coin into an opening, was a large, rusted cog of some kind. She knelt next to the hole and shone the light within. The hole went straight down, into who knows what. Whatever was at the end of it was beyond the resolving power of the flashlight. Water trickled through the carpet into the hole, and washed down the strangely smooth sides into parts unknown. She listened carefully into the hole, then pulled away. "Waves?" She reported, in disbelief. "It sounds like the waves at the beach, but that's impossible. The only thing close by is...the river." She stood up, and glanced behind her into the doorway. From here, she could see it now. Bloody fingerprints and handprints by the door, struggling to open it from this side. The blood pooling under the door had oozed down the door to rest there. "Somebody was in here..." She realized. "And they might have come out of this hole."
  5. Meddle raised her arm to stop the attacking bird from striking at her face, but while prone failed to do much other than catch the strike on her wrist. The scales split apart as the nails dragged through them. Blood spattered onto her face and torso, and she couldn't help but give a short yelp of pain. Somewhere, behind the bushes and the giant birds, she could hear Scrap shouting. "You coulda warned me instead of waving your hands at me!" She pointed out. She was, in fact, only able to point it out because at the moment the bird was struck with two fast-moving projectiles, and soon after was pulled back from the attacking avian. She didn't see what they were, or where they came from. In fact, she mostly forgot about them, because she sat up instead to point an accusing finger at the other kobold, while blood dribbled up her arm to her shoulder. "I tried!" He insisted, shoulders going slack in indignation. From where Scrap was, he could see the fight as it unfolded briefly. The animals were dangerous if you were unarmed it seemed, but their companions--their strong, powerful human friends--were not unarmed. In fact, the quiet one leapt into the fight right away! Scrap couldn't see very well in the bright sunlight, but he saw two quick flashes of glinting steel--he could tell it was steel, almost certainly--and the bird recoiled in pain. Then their other friend--the stern but tough one--ran in to save Meddle. Now with her out of danger, the other two went to work battling back the buzzards. Scrap attempted to climb down from the wagon carefully, but still ended up stumbling as he landed on the soft ground, flopping forward for a second. One of the birds close by noticed his fall, and hissed at him almost like an owl, and attempted to take a cheap shot at him. Only for the human girl--Kaila, right?--to put herself in harm's way. She took the incoming slash across her back, while he got to his feet and readied his broadsword. Right then, which meant it was his job to fight-- "Aaaaaaie!" With a squawk, he stumbled backwards as the other bird snapped at him, causing him to trip over...was that an explosive orb? The ammo must have scattered in the crash! He considered ducking down for the ammo--and did a second afterward. The bird beat its wings and crashed into him and tried to claw at him, but he was able to keep his grip on the ammo and somehow suffered only minimal injury. Both hands on the ammo, he backed up, crawling along on the ground as the bird bore down on him. When it opened its mouth, he reached forward and jammed the glass orb in its mouth, then covered his ears. It bit down on the orb, which slowly splintered apart. Close by, he thought that Kaila was trying to say something to him. Her own bird was fleeing, but she was victorious. She wasn't looking at the bird near him. Not yet. Then, with a ground-shaking report, the orb erupted. The blast wasn't incredibly large, but did toss Scrap backwards along the ground, and blow the leaves back on the trees. Nearby, several birds in the nearby trees took flight all at once. Furthermore, the kobold before the large bird was spattered in blood and gore as its head erupted in all directions, spraying the ground with viscera and bone. Scrap glanced at the erupted body, his ears ringing from the blast. His face was kind of numb, but he didn't mind. He got to his feet, and surveyed the damage. Behind him, Meddle clutched her arm, but stared at the eradicated bird. The body was mostly intact, albeit somewhat bald, as the feathers had been blasted off along the neck and chest, but the crumpled form was still mostly unbroken. It's head was completely gone. "Wow," Meddle stepped forward, examining the mess. "Wijit is super good at making things explode!" Scrap pushed himself onto his feet, and turned to their human friends. "I really hope we don't need to do that again." He said out loud. "We need to save some ammo if we want to get that patent. Can you help me get this back on the road?"
  6. For those unaware, Samo is no longer writing with us, which means that currently there is only me, @Vaudevillian @The Alexandrian @Fennis Ursai @Zashiii writing at this point, which is more than enough to wrap things up. I'll have a new post up sometime today or tomorrow, which will move us into the next plot point. I'm eager to get things moving, so I'm just gonna get this post out sooner rather than later. Thanks all, for sticking with me so far!
  7. "Yeah, there you have it." The recent guard turned to the Verm. "You wanna guide them down there?" The Verm continued to stare down at them, crossbow to his chest, but hands on the trigger. He looked over each of them warily before his tail wrapped around the crossbow and he let it go, scampering down the ladder on all fours. A moment later the gate swung open to allow the wagon and its occupants passage to Trade Town. With the gate down, the Verm was able to guide them along the main road, which was a fair bit sturdier and well-kept than the roads inward. Cobbled paths led the way through the various man-made structures all around, all of them made of that fine, strong wood of the once-enchanted trees that surrounded the town. Each building had similar designs, with strong frames filled in with clay or stone typically, though a few buildings were made entirely of logs, and others still were made of sod, and built deep into the earth. There weren't terribly many shops, per say, but many different open-air booths and workplaces, where the sunlight could pour down upon them. The Verm turned inwards, up a slowly inclining hill where houses and buildings slowly got more elaborate and large. Near the top of the small hill was a large, and quite obvious structure--the sign that read "Trader's Guild" made it even more obvious. In fact, there were several large, proud signs up this far, many of them instore businesses and services with various wooden signs hanging off the front door. The roads widened as they ascended, and folks walked along the very edges of the paths. The streets up here were busy and packed, and other wagons moved up and down this route as well. All around them, men and women of all races talked among themselves while the sounds of inner city busywork rang out. The crash of the carpenter's hammer, and the ringing of the smith's mallet were audible in equal measure. It was, at this point, that it became clear that there was a clear Verm presence here. Not only were they effectively everywhere, but they worked in coordination, much like the rats in the woods, often moving in large, talkative groups in and out of the busy streets. There were more than a few on the various rooftops nearby. Was the wagon being watched? The Verm guide moved beyond even these buildings and these civilians towards what was clearly the most important part of Trade Town. Near the top of the small hill, surrounded now on all sides by buildings and streets was a large, heavy wooden door. The door was crudely carved and cured into no discernible pattern, but rather appeared to be largely utilitarian in design. Unlike many of the other streets, the only guards posted there were Verm. These guards--almost a dozen of them--were strapped down with heavier armor along their long, exposed necks and heads and shoulders, but had very little along their chests. Each wielded well-made iron spears, although the speartips also featured a cruel, jagged hook and a pointed tip. They took notice of the Verm who approached first, then the wagon behind them and moved forward to investigate. "Snol, who are half-things?" One of them prompted quickly. The guide, Snol, bowed his head in subservience. "Half-men, come to speak-meet with King-King!" He replied honestly, gesturing to their cart. "Half-things say 'King-Rat is the one-only King around!'" One of the guards snorted, amused with their supposed obedience, and stepped toward the wagon. "Half-things," He spoke, staring up at them on their cart. "Wagon-ride is fine, but can't-take into King's-Hold. Keep-cart outside, yes-yes?"
  8. The 'dear Runesmith' glanced at the chair as it was twisted and warped into form by the surrounding shadows with a skeptical eyebrow. She didn't doubt she'd be able to sit there, but that wasn't her concern. The woman on the other side of the desk was a slippery sort--she was fair in her dealings and honest, but Priscilla had reason to doubt letting people close ever again. This wasn't close, but it could be in a matter of seconds, of that she had no doubt. Priscilla crossed her arms, and sat down. She eyed the vampire warily as she shifted on her...whatever it was she was seated on. She'd heard some kind of noise of exertion, but investigating it probably wasn't worth the effort. She assumed they weren't alone in the room, and didn't bother to infer what this unknown third party was up to. Priscilla huffed, unimpressed. Of course, the vampire would remember that. She considered explaining everything to Illisandra. Her kidnapping, her forced marriage. Months of eating only putrid, unearthly chunks of rock. The various nights where her body was not her own. Being attacked by herself. How she escaped on a frigid airship with little but the clothes on her back, only to fall prey to yet another airship crash. Fighting for survival in the snowy mountains on her way to Vdara, only to realize that she couldn't afford to pay her help and rebuild her business at the same time. To do so would be dangerous; Illisandra had always held great control over their brief working relationship. To give her all of the details invited--what, exactly? Surely nothing great. The Vampire wasn't going to pity her, nor did Priscilla want pity. She could admire the struggling artisan, certainly, but admiration didn't pay the bills, or help her much at all. Worse still, to let the Vampire know her situation invited predatory action. What would she say, if she knew that Priscilla had no money or tools or means of helping herself? Priscilla figured that she knew what she'd say. And she did not care to hear it. "Well, money goes where it needs to." She shrugged. "Put it right back into the business, then moved on. I made a few different commissions after that, and then one commission went...wrong." She frowned. Talking about it was not something she was used to. Probably never would be. But she didn't intend on giving the vampire all the details. Just enough to keep her up to date. "Was trying to put together something for a customer, and ran out of what they needed so they offered to lead me out into the hills where a vein was collected a while back. We headed that way, and ran into bandits. Then..." She paused, trying to get the words right. That is, not correct, but not too far from the truth. "My client turned out to be interested in my services. Interested enough to..." She shook her head. It wasn't possible to explain without giving it all away. "Anyway. Things are better now. I recently came back into money. I have a nice little piece of property just North of here, in the mountains. I even have some of the best labour money can buy, and all the resources I need to get back to work. That's me, I guess."
  9. Yup. I'll DM you some details.
  10. Post is up, this one focuses on @Hydrangeas and @Rabbit. Once I have a post from both of them (or if one of them wants to go back to the store) I will post again detailing Quill's current actions, and what the three of them find in the back room.
  11. The door swung shut behind them, leaving Maat and Lumina in the pouring rain until they rushed across the courtyard back into the shop. No sooner had Maat touched the door however, that a muffled CRASH echoed from within, like a bolt of lightning blasting apart the shop. Maat reflexively put himself out of the way of the door, and yanked it open before peeking in. He couldn't see very well, but he didn't need to, as there was clearly somebody standing between Maat and Lumina, and Iohmar. Its hulking presence blocked out the floodlight next to the tabaxi, providing both of them only with a silhouette to observe. But not for long, as Lumina first, then Maat hurried in to assist. Gods, the smell! As soon as he stepped into the shop, it immediately became apparent that the fishy smell had returned, and that this thing was likely the source of it. Hulking, terrifying, the mass of grey flesh, bits of cobbled wood and deep, necrotic wounds was making noise as if it was struggling to breathe. From behind it, Maat couldn't see the things face, but he did see the knife in its hand. The tabaxi was trying to speak to the thing, the monster as he put it, but it didn't seem to listen, or respond. It was slowly...recovering? What had Iohmar done to it, set off a bomb in its face? Lumina was quicker to respond than he was, and bless her, she immediately reached for something behind Maat, shoving him out of the way to reach it. The half-elf stumbled, but didn't fall, while she took a chance and swung an orange cannister at the thing. It barely noticed, didn't stumble or fall. But it did turn to look at them. Maat was out of position, couldn't help immediately, and the thing went to grab Lumina by the wrist. She cried out in pain, but Maat looked away, trying to find something to attack the monster with. The shop was full of stuff, surely there was a pipe, or a broken table leg or something? He looked wherever he could, but came up with nothing. Lumina screamed, and crashed into a pile of boxes and cans, and Maat stopped looking and ran towards her, trying to help her up. The smelly, awful thing was on top of them nearly. Even in the dull light, he could see the gleaming knife in its hand. He recognized it briefly. He'd seen a similar weapon before, embedded in that dead body's neck. Could this thing be the killer? With it distracted, Iohmar moved away from the wall and attacked its exposed back, slashing at its legs, behind the knees. There was a small, audible noise of energy dispersing through the air, and perhaps the crackle of ozone as if someone had delivered a small static zap, but the monster began to convulse in response. Their friend knew magic, it seemed! Maat helped Lumina to her feet, and made a point of putting himself between her, and the thing, while their companion continued to slash and claw at the massive, dead thing. He couldn't see much of its face in this light, and he was grateful, as the harsh, heavy wheezing noises it made did not inspire faith in its humanity. Maat continued to look for a weapon, and found something at last--a length of what seemed to be a pipe, likely a remnant from some sort of gas line. It was heavy, and likely lead, but he could hold it, and swung it immediately at the monster's arm while it couldn't react. His blows, however, didn't force the monster to drop it, nor did it appear to really harm it all that much. Yet, it didn't matter. Iohmar stepped back from it, hands slick with blood, meat underneath his nails and stains in his fur. In the slanted lighting, he looked like a monster himself. Maat and Lumina caught on quick, and began trying to move the nearest shelf. Iohmar followed suit on his own side, and with great effort, the heavy metal shelves and their contents crashed down upon the monster. It remained upright for most of it, but when the rest of the shelf came down, it collapsed beneath the weight, and could no longer stand. Maat, as uncertain as he was about the monster's nature, hoped it was dead. For a second the three of them stood there, breathing heavily around the sickly dead thing. Of the three of them, Maat was unhurt, save for his shame. He hadn't exactly done all he could to protect the group, had he? If they'd been a little late, Iohmar might have ended up like Ernest. To that same effect, Lumina could have ended up like Ernest too. That knife likely wouldn't have needed much effort to hurt them. Maat knelt down next to the thing, and examined it a little closer. It didn't seem human, and certainly didn't look like any kind of person he'd met before. Originally, he'd have guessed it was an orc, or perhaps a half-giant. Getting close to it, now, it didn't appear to be like anything he'd met before. It was grey and flabby. The skin was oily and rubbery, and there was so much of it it looked as though it was rapidly losing weight. Did it even have a face? He couldn't see anymore. He coughed, and looked away, blinking away tears. Why did it smell so bad? Maat carefully pried the knife from its fingers, and examined it. The grip seemed pretty modern, with some kind of tough red plastic and a rubber grip. The blade, however, was a lot longer than it needed to be, and much wider. The other knife they'd found wasn't nearly as large. Maat reached for a nearby cloth resting on top of the downed shelf and wiped the handle and blade dry. It probably wasn't a bad idea to take the knife with them. The sharp blade would probably make easy work of... Well, he certainly hoped he'd only need to use it for cutting wire, or plastic or whatever. He doubted using this in a fight would be clean. "We barely heard you over the rain," Maat mentioned, getting to his feet. "Seems like you could have handled this...guy, on your own, though. Still, I'm glad we arrived when we did." He smiled at Lumina. "Quick thinking, by the way. You saved his hide, I think." Maat let his gaze linger on the fuel can, and curiously he took it from her with his free hand, the one not holding a knife currently. He opened it up, and smelled inside, then made a face. "Ugh, it smells even worse than he does!" He complained. "Smells like...the generator, actually." Maat swished the cannister around, trying to guess how much was left inside. "There's not much here, so we'll have to make do with what we've got." He passed the cannister to Iohmar. "We'll need this to get the ferry working, I guess. I'll take a look around for more fuel for the building, see if I can find something. In the meantime..." He glanced down at the dead body before them. "I think we figured out who killed the Store Tender."
  12. Haven't heard from @Praetorian yet, so inthe interest of momentum, we'll have someone else go. @P.N.See or @SteamWarden, if you would?
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