X-PATH 3 : The Soviet of Dreams (completed 27 November 2006)
Capellan
Explorer
Chapter Three: Book from the Dead
"So what do we do now?" Simon wanted to know.
"We question this one." Floyd pointed to the dead leader of the grey-skinned creatures.
"... she doesn't look very talkative."
"Son, in the mornin' I'll show you a little thing I like to call the King's Posthumous Remix."
* * * * *
In the morning however, Simon refused to get out of bed.
"Homes," he said blearily when the others came to rouse him, clutching a Spider-man hot water bottle to his chest, "I feel terrible. Probably a delayed reaction to the poison -"
"Ah told y'all we shouldn't drink that Panda Cola stuff."
"He's talking about the axe injury." Coltraine won't hear ill of her client.
"- I have a delicate constitution." Simon continued, oblivious to the squabbling, "So I'll need at least a day in bed to recover."
"Well, then I suppose it's down to the three of us." Smith remarked. Which is when Beverly poked her head into the room.
"Hi guys! Miss me?"
"Yeah he did, but his aim is improving." Floyd sighed.
Beverly giggled, then stepped into the room, her hands behind her back.
"Guess what I got?"
"A brain?" Coltraine arched an eyebrow.
"No, silly." Beverly produced a small black cat*. The poor creature was dressed in a massive pink bow and its fur was permed into ringlets. "Isn't it beautiful? It has the cutest black fur!"
"I always knew she wasn't a real blonde." Simon remarked.
At last, Beverly, Smith, Floyd and Coltraine gathered to interrogate the corpse of their enemy. Floyd invoked the power of Elvis, and the creature spasmed. Its mouth flopped open and a rasping breath seeped out:
"Asssssssssssssssk."
Floyd had his questions ready:
"Who do you work for?"
"Zimmmmennnnnnevvvvvvv."
This led to a whispered conversation.
"Anyone know of a 'Zimmerman'?" Floyd wanted to know.
"Zimenev." Coltraine corrected him.
"Huh?"
"She said Zimenev. Not Zimmerman."
"Oh. Anyone know a 'Zimenev'?"
"No, but it sounds like a godless Communist name." Smith opined. "Is that the only question you can ask it?"
"No. I have one more." Floyd turned back to the corpse, ""When you want to contact Zimmer ... Zimenev, where do you go?"
"Reeeeeeeealityyyyyyy Wrinkllllllllllllllle."
"What does it mean by 'reality wrinkle'?" Smith wondered. "Some kind of magical gate?"
"We could look around town for some sign of a reality distortion." Floyd suggested.
"It's a big town." Smith reminded him.
"Then how 'bout we talk to those little folks that live on the river just outside the wall?" Floyd proposed.
"How could they help us?" Coltraine wanted to know. Floyd shrugged.
"Everything's better with midgets."
* * * * *
Isaac Whimplebottom (of the Broadleaf Whimplebottoms, not the Roundleaf branch of the family) sat with his friends on the clan's mish-mashed raft of logs, aging boats, and just about anything else they can get to float. Grubby, squealing halfling children dashed too and fro while Isaac and his friends; the closest thing the community has to able-bodied adults; dropped a line in the water, whittled themselves some smoking pipes, and watched the river go by.
"A bit o' fishin' and a bit o' whittlin' be a good day's work for an 'alfin'." Isaac remarked to his comrades.
"Aye." there was a chorus of agreement up and down the raft.
"We might even catch summat, today." Young Abraham suggested cheerfully.
"You'll catch it you aren't careful." Isaac waved his whittling knife, "Too much noise scares off the fishes, eh?"
"Speakin' o' scarin' the fishes -" Ted broke into the conversation "- we got big 'uns comin'."
Isaac watched the big 'uns approach with little enthusiam. Large folk only came for two reasons: to buy fish, or to accuse the halflings of stealing something. Which they probably had, but it was so insulting to assume they'd be dumb enough to bring it back to the raft. Big body, small brain, he reminded himself.
"Afternoon sirs and madams!" he doffed his cap with fake cheer, "Have ye come t'buy some fish?"
"No." The one who spoke had a grim look to him, and wore a sharply-pressed white shirt and a black tie, "We are seeking a reality ripple?"
"Oh." Isaac considered this. Simple. Or drunk. "Well, we got lots of ripples in the river, but those are the only ones I can tell ye about. Don't know about no ripples in reality."
"Wrinkle in reality, not ripple." The dark-haired woman corrected her large companion, "He meant to say 'wrinkle'."
"A wrinkle in reality?" Isaac sratched his head, "Begging ye pardon, but I don't know where you'd find summat like that, and I'm ain't sure I'd want to."
"What about the name Zimmerman? Do you know anyone called that?"
The dark-haired woman sighed.
"Zimenev. He means Zimenev."
"Don't know anyone called either of those names." Isaac shrugged as he mentally corrected his earlier assessment. Simple and drunk. "If ye wanted to know about fish, I could help ye. Or whittlin'. I'm a damn fine whittler, if I do say so. Whittled this pipe my own self, so I did." He gestured with his pipe while giving the crazy people a fixed grin.
Which is why he had a particularly silly expression on his face when the red-skinned dinosaur burst out of the water, grabbed him in its massive jaws, and tore his head clean off his body.
"So what do we do now?" Simon wanted to know.
"We question this one." Floyd pointed to the dead leader of the grey-skinned creatures.
"... she doesn't look very talkative."
"Son, in the mornin' I'll show you a little thing I like to call the King's Posthumous Remix."
* * * * *
In the morning however, Simon refused to get out of bed.
"Homes," he said blearily when the others came to rouse him, clutching a Spider-man hot water bottle to his chest, "I feel terrible. Probably a delayed reaction to the poison -"
"Ah told y'all we shouldn't drink that Panda Cola stuff."
"He's talking about the axe injury." Coltraine won't hear ill of her client.
"- I have a delicate constitution." Simon continued, oblivious to the squabbling, "So I'll need at least a day in bed to recover."
"Well, then I suppose it's down to the three of us." Smith remarked. Which is when Beverly poked her head into the room.
"Hi guys! Miss me?"
"Yeah he did, but his aim is improving." Floyd sighed.
Beverly giggled, then stepped into the room, her hands behind her back.
"Guess what I got?"
"A brain?" Coltraine arched an eyebrow.
"No, silly." Beverly produced a small black cat*. The poor creature was dressed in a massive pink bow and its fur was permed into ringlets. "Isn't it beautiful? It has the cutest black fur!"
"I always knew she wasn't a real blonde." Simon remarked.
At last, Beverly, Smith, Floyd and Coltraine gathered to interrogate the corpse of their enemy. Floyd invoked the power of Elvis, and the creature spasmed. Its mouth flopped open and a rasping breath seeped out:
"Asssssssssssssssk."
Floyd had his questions ready:
"Who do you work for?"
"Zimmmmennnnnnevvvvvvv."
This led to a whispered conversation.
"Anyone know of a 'Zimmerman'?" Floyd wanted to know.
"Zimenev." Coltraine corrected him.
"Huh?"
"She said Zimenev. Not Zimmerman."
"Oh. Anyone know a 'Zimenev'?"
"No, but it sounds like a godless Communist name." Smith opined. "Is that the only question you can ask it?"
"No. I have one more." Floyd turned back to the corpse, ""When you want to contact Zimmer ... Zimenev, where do you go?"
"Reeeeeeeealityyyyyyy Wrinkllllllllllllllle."
"What does it mean by 'reality wrinkle'?" Smith wondered. "Some kind of magical gate?"
"We could look around town for some sign of a reality distortion." Floyd suggested.
"It's a big town." Smith reminded him.
"Then how 'bout we talk to those little folks that live on the river just outside the wall?" Floyd proposed.
"How could they help us?" Coltraine wanted to know. Floyd shrugged.
"Everything's better with midgets."
* * * * *
Isaac Whimplebottom (of the Broadleaf Whimplebottoms, not the Roundleaf branch of the family) sat with his friends on the clan's mish-mashed raft of logs, aging boats, and just about anything else they can get to float. Grubby, squealing halfling children dashed too and fro while Isaac and his friends; the closest thing the community has to able-bodied adults; dropped a line in the water, whittled themselves some smoking pipes, and watched the river go by.
"A bit o' fishin' and a bit o' whittlin' be a good day's work for an 'alfin'." Isaac remarked to his comrades.
"Aye." there was a chorus of agreement up and down the raft.
"We might even catch summat, today." Young Abraham suggested cheerfully.
"You'll catch it you aren't careful." Isaac waved his whittling knife, "Too much noise scares off the fishes, eh?"
"Speakin' o' scarin' the fishes -" Ted broke into the conversation "- we got big 'uns comin'."
Isaac watched the big 'uns approach with little enthusiam. Large folk only came for two reasons: to buy fish, or to accuse the halflings of stealing something. Which they probably had, but it was so insulting to assume they'd be dumb enough to bring it back to the raft. Big body, small brain, he reminded himself.
"Afternoon sirs and madams!" he doffed his cap with fake cheer, "Have ye come t'buy some fish?"
"No." The one who spoke had a grim look to him, and wore a sharply-pressed white shirt and a black tie, "We are seeking a reality ripple?"
"Oh." Isaac considered this. Simple. Or drunk. "Well, we got lots of ripples in the river, but those are the only ones I can tell ye about. Don't know about no ripples in reality."
"Wrinkle in reality, not ripple." The dark-haired woman corrected her large companion, "He meant to say 'wrinkle'."
"A wrinkle in reality?" Isaac sratched his head, "Begging ye pardon, but I don't know where you'd find summat like that, and I'm ain't sure I'd want to."
"What about the name Zimmerman? Do you know anyone called that?"
The dark-haired woman sighed.
"Zimenev. He means Zimenev."
"Don't know anyone called either of those names." Isaac shrugged as he mentally corrected his earlier assessment. Simple and drunk. "If ye wanted to know about fish, I could help ye. Or whittlin'. I'm a damn fine whittler, if I do say so. Whittled this pipe my own self, so I did." He gestured with his pipe while giving the crazy people a fixed grin.
Which is why he had a particularly silly expression on his face when the red-skinned dinosaur burst out of the water, grabbed him in its massive jaws, and tore his head clean off his body.
Capellan
Explorer
"What in the name of Uncle Sam is that?"
"I believe it's an elasmosaur, sir." Johnson checked his clipboard. "Judging by the coloration, I'd say it's one of the mutant strains the Reds dug up at Tunguska."
"Well, it nearly cut the skinny blonde in half with one bite. We should get some: they make great TV."
"I'll see if we can get some DNA from the blood, sir." Johnson dutifully made a note as Smith's M60 hammered away on-screen, blowing large chunks of flesh from the dinosaur's side.
"See if we can tweak it to some armour plating, too. It's got no staying power at the moment." Patton sniffed in disapproval.
"I agree the fight was rather anticlimactic sir. Still, if we cut to commercial right after it first attacks, it should make a serviceable mid-episode cliffhanger."
* * *
"So this Reality Wrinkle thing is some kind of store?" Beverly clapped her hands in glee at the thought.
"That's what the old halfling biddy said, after we drove off that dinosaur." Smith shrugged. "A book store wasn't it, Floyd?"
"A uh-huh yeah."
Beverly stopped mid clap, her features clouding.
"A what store?"
"A book store." Ms Josephine Coltraine rolled her eyes. "You know, a place where they sell books?"
"There are people who sell books?" Beverly looked stunned.
"There are even people who buy them."
* * *
Smith's machine-gun hammered.
Floyd blinked at the carnage.
"You just shot the clerk."
"He blasphemed!"
"He said -" Floyd adopted the semi-stoned expression the pimply teenage store clerk had exhibited, "'Like, we have books on all the gods here, man.'"
"Exactly! There is only one God! All others are demons and must be expunged!"
"Y'all understand that ah'm a priest of Elvis, right?"
"I'm contractually obligated not to shoot you. But I'm confident you'll burn in Hell sooner or later."
"Well naturally, that's where all the fun people go."
"Guys? Can you quit your arguing for a second?" Coltraine frowned, "I think I can hear someone muttering in the next room."
"You're right." Smith nodded after a moment's silence. "I can't wuite make out the words but it is making my skin crawl. Let's get him."
With this brilliant plan in mind, the group crowded into the next room: they could see stairs, a closet, a back door, and shelves of books, but -
"There's no-one here." Floyd frowned, "But I still hear the voice. It's strange. Makes me want to lose my lunch. And I only had four fried chickens."
"There must be an invisible spellcaster in here!" Beverly snapped her fingers. Reaching into her bag, she pulled out a packet of glitter into the air. Unfortunately, she did so just as Smith and Simon were turning around, and the two of them wore a face full of glitter each.
"I've gone blind!" Simon shrieked, "Oh God! My mother was right!"
Things rapidly got worse from there.
* * *
"Peterson." Patton steepled his hands, the emaciated flesh of his face drawn into a bleak grimace, "I trust you've come up with some way to salvage something from this debacle?"
"I think so, sir. If I may?"
Patton nodded.
Johnson turned and pressed play on the VCR. Images popped to life on the screen.
"As you'll remember, it turned out there was some crazed bunch of cultists living in the bookstore. The team fought them for a very long time. One of the cultists was a summoner, and there were dire apes and dire wolves and who knows what else crawling all over the place by the time things were over. And of course it didn't help that the team accidentally blinded half their own people right when the fight started. Still, they got themselves out of that in the end, and managed to kill all but the cult leader. She escaped. Still, the townsfolk were very happy, and invited our team to a big feast in their honour."
Patton sighed impatiently. "I know all this. Your point?"
"Well sir, if we end the current series with the feast, it'll look like our guys saved the day. Especially if we re-cut some of the footage. No-one has to know what happened next."
"Not bad." Patton admitted grudgingly, "But what about the Panda Cola people? How are you going to get them off our backs?"
"I'm quite proud of this, sir." Johnson cued a second tape. "We've taken the footage where Smith left the others, and had him come in to dub some new dialogue. So now, instead of yelling at them for being drunken sinners, he's yelling at them for being drunken sinners who don't appreciate the refreshing properties of a nice, cold Panda Cola."
"And?"
"And then we show this."
The screen flickered to a scene of desperate battle in a ruined church. A cackling, red-skinned demon tore at Beverly's face as it crouched over Floyd's fallen body. A black-armoured figure smashed a flail down on Simon's skull. The demon leapt into shot once more, dragging Coltraine screaming to the ground as her blood spattered the walls.
The image froze, then the screen faded out to a slogan.
Drink Panda Cola. Stay alive.
So, after narrowly missing out a TPK for two sessions in a row, the group proved that the third time's the charm and got one at last. Because what you do when you're fighting an Osyluth is go looking for more enemies to join the fun.
So anyway, except for Smith (whose player wasn't there), everyone got KO'd. If they're very, very lucky, the commies just killed them. So ends the X-Path. Not what I'd hoped, but at least I got to try and use Beverly as an impromptu missile before the end.
"I believe it's an elasmosaur, sir." Johnson checked his clipboard. "Judging by the coloration, I'd say it's one of the mutant strains the Reds dug up at Tunguska."
"Well, it nearly cut the skinny blonde in half with one bite. We should get some: they make great TV."
"I'll see if we can get some DNA from the blood, sir." Johnson dutifully made a note as Smith's M60 hammered away on-screen, blowing large chunks of flesh from the dinosaur's side.
"See if we can tweak it to some armour plating, too. It's got no staying power at the moment." Patton sniffed in disapproval.
"I agree the fight was rather anticlimactic sir. Still, if we cut to commercial right after it first attacks, it should make a serviceable mid-episode cliffhanger."
* * *
"So this Reality Wrinkle thing is some kind of store?" Beverly clapped her hands in glee at the thought.
"That's what the old halfling biddy said, after we drove off that dinosaur." Smith shrugged. "A book store wasn't it, Floyd?"
"A uh-huh yeah."
Beverly stopped mid clap, her features clouding.
"A what store?"
"A book store." Ms Josephine Coltraine rolled her eyes. "You know, a place where they sell books?"
"There are people who sell books?" Beverly looked stunned.
"There are even people who buy them."
* * *
Smith's machine-gun hammered.
Floyd blinked at the carnage.
"You just shot the clerk."
"He blasphemed!"
"He said -" Floyd adopted the semi-stoned expression the pimply teenage store clerk had exhibited, "'Like, we have books on all the gods here, man.'"
"Exactly! There is only one God! All others are demons and must be expunged!"
"Y'all understand that ah'm a priest of Elvis, right?"
"I'm contractually obligated not to shoot you. But I'm confident you'll burn in Hell sooner or later."
"Well naturally, that's where all the fun people go."
"Guys? Can you quit your arguing for a second?" Coltraine frowned, "I think I can hear someone muttering in the next room."
"You're right." Smith nodded after a moment's silence. "I can't wuite make out the words but it is making my skin crawl. Let's get him."
With this brilliant plan in mind, the group crowded into the next room: they could see stairs, a closet, a back door, and shelves of books, but -
"There's no-one here." Floyd frowned, "But I still hear the voice. It's strange. Makes me want to lose my lunch. And I only had four fried chickens."
"There must be an invisible spellcaster in here!" Beverly snapped her fingers. Reaching into her bag, she pulled out a packet of glitter into the air. Unfortunately, she did so just as Smith and Simon were turning around, and the two of them wore a face full of glitter each.
"I've gone blind!" Simon shrieked, "Oh God! My mother was right!"
Things rapidly got worse from there.
* * *
"Peterson." Patton steepled his hands, the emaciated flesh of his face drawn into a bleak grimace, "I trust you've come up with some way to salvage something from this debacle?"
"I think so, sir. If I may?"
Patton nodded.
Johnson turned and pressed play on the VCR. Images popped to life on the screen.
"As you'll remember, it turned out there was some crazed bunch of cultists living in the bookstore. The team fought them for a very long time. One of the cultists was a summoner, and there were dire apes and dire wolves and who knows what else crawling all over the place by the time things were over. And of course it didn't help that the team accidentally blinded half their own people right when the fight started. Still, they got themselves out of that in the end, and managed to kill all but the cult leader. She escaped. Still, the townsfolk were very happy, and invited our team to a big feast in their honour."
Patton sighed impatiently. "I know all this. Your point?"
"Well sir, if we end the current series with the feast, it'll look like our guys saved the day. Especially if we re-cut some of the footage. No-one has to know what happened next."
"Not bad." Patton admitted grudgingly, "But what about the Panda Cola people? How are you going to get them off our backs?"
"I'm quite proud of this, sir." Johnson cued a second tape. "We've taken the footage where Smith left the others, and had him come in to dub some new dialogue. So now, instead of yelling at them for being drunken sinners, he's yelling at them for being drunken sinners who don't appreciate the refreshing properties of a nice, cold Panda Cola."
"And?"
"And then we show this."
The screen flickered to a scene of desperate battle in a ruined church. A cackling, red-skinned demon tore at Beverly's face as it crouched over Floyd's fallen body. A black-armoured figure smashed a flail down on Simon's skull. The demon leapt into shot once more, dragging Coltraine screaming to the ground as her blood spattered the walls.
The image froze, then the screen faded out to a slogan.
Drink Panda Cola. Stay alive.
So, after narrowly missing out a TPK for two sessions in a row, the group proved that the third time's the charm and got one at last. Because what you do when you're fighting an Osyluth is go looking for more enemies to join the fun.
So anyway, except for Smith (whose player wasn't there), everyone got KO'd. If they're very, very lucky, the commies just killed them. So ends the X-Path. Not what I'd hoped, but at least I got to try and use Beverly as an impromptu missile before the end.
Last edited:
Graywolf-ELM
Explorer
What can you say, the synopsis format of the encounters lets you say so much more about what happened with few words. As always, I like your writing style.
GW
GW
Capellan said:So, after narrowly missing out a TPK for two sessions in a row, the group proved that the third time's the charm and got one at last. Because what you do when you're fighting an Osyluth is go looking for more enemies to join the fun.
So anyway, except for Smith (whose player wasn't there), everyone got KO'd. If they're very, very lucky, the commies just killed them. So ends the X-Path. Not what I'd hoped, but at least I got to try and use Beverly as an impromptu missile before the end.
You haven't actually written the bit where you used Beverley as a missile weapon yet... and I was trying to leave the temple and come back in!
