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[5E] The Age of Worms - Solid Snake's Campaign
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<blockquote data-quote="SolidSnake_01" data-source="post: 7119061" data-attributes="member: 63254"><p><strong>Journal of Etona: Entry I</strong></p><p></p><p>I never gathered the <em>larunyl</em>. To my surprise, I never even found them again. Instead, I have befriended some kind of silent warrior monk druid whose human blood glimmers with elf. She seems otherworldly, though not like the Eladrin or my own cousins: she is more akin to a feral guardian spirit, the sort my ancestors probably sprang from. She reminds me a little of Uncle Skaen after his last <em>dorse feu</em>. I wonder if she shape changes?</p><p></p><p>I was heading for the <em>larunyl</em> when I simultaneously heard an argument brewing between Hannah and another human I have seen around town, and I caught the flash of morning sun on glass from a point tucked away into Sprawled Copse at the base of Western Wander Deer Path Over Hill (I name everything here with no argument, no conversion. Such novelty! I agree to all my suggestions. But where is the glory of growing and speaking that perfect name to no one? It is winning a race against nothing and in front of no eyes. It is the freedom that Her Moonlit Lady knows, I hazard, but too grand for a mere elf). It was she, the shy tree of woman, the tallest female I have ever seen. That she is part elf is almost not believable.</p><p></p><p>I was so surprised to see, and then hear, one of my own kind that I found myself striding right up to her. She was spying the humans’ bickering, but my revealing her coaxed her out. So we went to see what the couple were arguing about. It was poison! Or so said the man who had just purchased the farm from Hannah, the woman. Three of his cattle – he had brought a lot of cows and they were everywhere – lay dead right in front of them.</p><p></p><p>It did not take long to understand the cause. It was obvious, once we examined the animals. It merely took a long time to <em>believe</em> it.</p><p></p><p>Lilac grows freely around this countryside, <em>laipi </em>in my language. It is a harmless if bitter plant, hardy and tasting of it. A splash of laipi had grown over the grave of Hannah’s father. The same splash was exactly preserved – to the outer edges of each leaf – within the third stomach of the slain cattle. A magical copy of itself had grown back to fullness inside the cow causing a fatal stomach ache.</p><p></p><p>Snipping off a sprig caused it to replicate also, right in my hand, though only for a moment after which it withered and died. The host plant simply regrew the missing branch exactly as it had been before. Magic. A lot of it. Wanton magic.</p><p></p><p>I convinced Darin, the man who now owned the farm, that there might be an interesting story here and some, eh, “money to be made” off the curiosity if we could get to the bottom of the mystery. Also, he did not really want to go back on his deal with Hannah – I could see that – so with his permission we delved further.</p><p></p><p>Hannah gave Rey her mother’s diary as part of what she was leaving behind. I thought this curious until later when we looked at it more carefully. The day was approaching Bustle, so I stopped to meditate on what I had seen, what I have heard so far, and on Rey. When I greeted the early twilight of Rise again, Rey had read the entire tome, at least a thousand pages! The text, like the plant, had been copied from the original. I wonder if a ripped page would as well re-form?</p><p></p><p>Hannah was off, moving into town close to the place where she works, the Emporium, a den of physical pleasures. I am very curious to lose myself in there for a time, sample everything, but I have not yet the knack of retaining the little coins of civilizations. They seem to simply evaporate after I get them. Of course, much of it is Phreet. No, she does not steal them, not any more, but simply keeping her alive and happy and moving her away from a life of crime sweep the coins into oblivion. There are never enough.</p><p></p><p>Back to Hannah again. The lilacs over her father’s grave, Haddok his name, came from a cairn near an abandoned iron mine a day’s journey away. It is called the <em>Whispering Cairn</em>. Phreet has heard of it: young humans venture in on dares and stay as long as they can. Haunted, they believe. As we now had a map to guide us, and nothing more was to be gained from remaining at the farm, we started off, though Rey had to cater to her body’s call for sleep first. I had a drink like coffee but sweeter-tasting and some fried herb cakes waiting for her when she woke up.</p><p></p><p>The iron mine is in bad shape, its main building falling to pieces, though with some work I suppose it could be restored. We would have to rid the place of stirges first. I gave a cup of my blood to one before Rey cut it in two along with its brother and then, as skillfully as she had made four motionless semi-monsters out of two flapping whole ones, bound my injuries. Her touch is deceptively tender.</p><p></p><p>We found the cairn. So had a pair of stringy wolves.</p><p></p><p>Rey shares my dislike of wantonly killing animals, so we lured them out and, to my (by now merely mild) surprise, she tamed them. We were free to roam inside.</p><p></p><p>Ancient stone furniture. An old abandoned sleeping bag. Ghostly howls and sighs of the dead. And stairs down in the back that led to a peculiar chamber – so odd was it that I momentarily forgot to be oppressed by the tons of stone above (since She has taken her leave of me, I am finding life indoors less and less bearable but more and more necessary).</p><p></p><p>We had been heading this entire time to a greenish glow emanating from down here, and now its source was revealed: a lit lantern of cold verdant light hanging from a chain in one of many alcoves at the back of a round room whose center was dominated by a stone sarfogae, no, that isn’t right, sarcoughiss. Sarcophagus. That’s it.</p><p></p><p>I had always imaged sarcophaguses, sarcophagae … stone grave boxes to be heavy and unmovable. They are not! At least, not here: this stone grave box spins with some effort to point to the different alcoves, each featuring a lantern suspended from high above on a chain, and each lantern is a different color. That is, we think that’s true as two of the lanterns appear to be missing. Oh, and yellow and indigo each have tubes that come out of the floor when you point the sarcophagus at it. At least, that’s what happened when we pointed it at yellow: a metal tube with a door in it – tall and wide enough to fit a large man – rose up and then back down. Then we spun to green.</p><p></p><p>Oh dear! The commotion when we turned the thing to green! The entire alcove collapsed and a carpet of insects swarmed out to eat –.</p><p></p><p>To eat our dust.</p><p></p><p>We did not linger.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="SolidSnake_01, post: 7119061, member: 63254"] [B]Journal of Etona: Entry I[/B] I never gathered the [I]larunyl[/I]. To my surprise, I never even found them again. Instead, I have befriended some kind of silent warrior monk druid whose human blood glimmers with elf. She seems otherworldly, though not like the Eladrin or my own cousins: she is more akin to a feral guardian spirit, the sort my ancestors probably sprang from. She reminds me a little of Uncle Skaen after his last [I]dorse feu[/I]. I wonder if she shape changes? I was heading for the [I]larunyl[/I] when I simultaneously heard an argument brewing between Hannah and another human I have seen around town, and I caught the flash of morning sun on glass from a point tucked away into Sprawled Copse at the base of Western Wander Deer Path Over Hill (I name everything here with no argument, no conversion. Such novelty! I agree to all my suggestions. But where is the glory of growing and speaking that perfect name to no one? It is winning a race against nothing and in front of no eyes. It is the freedom that Her Moonlit Lady knows, I hazard, but too grand for a mere elf). It was she, the shy tree of woman, the tallest female I have ever seen. That she is part elf is almost not believable. I was so surprised to see, and then hear, one of my own kind that I found myself striding right up to her. She was spying the humans’ bickering, but my revealing her coaxed her out. So we went to see what the couple were arguing about. It was poison! Or so said the man who had just purchased the farm from Hannah, the woman. Three of his cattle – he had brought a lot of cows and they were everywhere – lay dead right in front of them. It did not take long to understand the cause. It was obvious, once we examined the animals. It merely took a long time to [I]believe[/I] it. Lilac grows freely around this countryside, [I]laipi [/I]in my language. It is a harmless if bitter plant, hardy and tasting of it. A splash of laipi had grown over the grave of Hannah’s father. The same splash was exactly preserved – to the outer edges of each leaf – within the third stomach of the slain cattle. A magical copy of itself had grown back to fullness inside the cow causing a fatal stomach ache. Snipping off a sprig caused it to replicate also, right in my hand, though only for a moment after which it withered and died. The host plant simply regrew the missing branch exactly as it had been before. Magic. A lot of it. Wanton magic. I convinced Darin, the man who now owned the farm, that there might be an interesting story here and some, eh, “money to be made” off the curiosity if we could get to the bottom of the mystery. Also, he did not really want to go back on his deal with Hannah – I could see that – so with his permission we delved further. Hannah gave Rey her mother’s diary as part of what she was leaving behind. I thought this curious until later when we looked at it more carefully. The day was approaching Bustle, so I stopped to meditate on what I had seen, what I have heard so far, and on Rey. When I greeted the early twilight of Rise again, Rey had read the entire tome, at least a thousand pages! The text, like the plant, had been copied from the original. I wonder if a ripped page would as well re-form? Hannah was off, moving into town close to the place where she works, the Emporium, a den of physical pleasures. I am very curious to lose myself in there for a time, sample everything, but I have not yet the knack of retaining the little coins of civilizations. They seem to simply evaporate after I get them. Of course, much of it is Phreet. No, she does not steal them, not any more, but simply keeping her alive and happy and moving her away from a life of crime sweep the coins into oblivion. There are never enough. Back to Hannah again. The lilacs over her father’s grave, Haddok his name, came from a cairn near an abandoned iron mine a day’s journey away. It is called the [I]Whispering Cairn[/I]. Phreet has heard of it: young humans venture in on dares and stay as long as they can. Haunted, they believe. As we now had a map to guide us, and nothing more was to be gained from remaining at the farm, we started off, though Rey had to cater to her body’s call for sleep first. I had a drink like coffee but sweeter-tasting and some fried herb cakes waiting for her when she woke up. The iron mine is in bad shape, its main building falling to pieces, though with some work I suppose it could be restored. We would have to rid the place of stirges first. I gave a cup of my blood to one before Rey cut it in two along with its brother and then, as skillfully as she had made four motionless semi-monsters out of two flapping whole ones, bound my injuries. Her touch is deceptively tender. We found the cairn. So had a pair of stringy wolves. Rey shares my dislike of wantonly killing animals, so we lured them out and, to my (by now merely mild) surprise, she tamed them. We were free to roam inside. Ancient stone furniture. An old abandoned sleeping bag. Ghostly howls and sighs of the dead. And stairs down in the back that led to a peculiar chamber – so odd was it that I momentarily forgot to be oppressed by the tons of stone above (since She has taken her leave of me, I am finding life indoors less and less bearable but more and more necessary). We had been heading this entire time to a greenish glow emanating from down here, and now its source was revealed: a lit lantern of cold verdant light hanging from a chain in one of many alcoves at the back of a round room whose center was dominated by a stone sarfogae, no, that isn’t right, sarcoughiss. Sarcophagus. That’s it. I had always imaged sarcophaguses, sarcophagae … stone grave boxes to be heavy and unmovable. They are not! At least, not here: this stone grave box spins with some effort to point to the different alcoves, each featuring a lantern suspended from high above on a chain, and each lantern is a different color. That is, we think that’s true as two of the lanterns appear to be missing. Oh, and yellow and indigo each have tubes that come out of the floor when you point the sarcophagus at it. At least, that’s what happened when we pointed it at yellow: a metal tube with a door in it – tall and wide enough to fit a large man – rose up and then back down. Then we spun to green. Oh dear! The commotion when we turned the thing to green! The entire alcove collapsed and a carpet of insects swarmed out to eat –. To eat our dust. We did not linger. [/QUOTE]
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