[LOG] Fourth Cibolan Node -- "It's a walk-off."
Who is the most fabulous? Petrus Pitello? Sir Taran Solaris? Or Prince Caine's own son, Hrafnkel? To find out who is the most fabulous -- measured scientifically -- read on!
When our heroes last visited this node, the fourth node of the Cibolan shadowpath, such as it is, Valentine fell into a hole. Valentine also fell off a cliff. Petrus made a new friend out of a nubile half-clad native in skins. Hrafnkel defeated hordes of adorable pink furry things who wanted to eat his face off. And the group discovered the ruins of a Palace on an island on the other side of the river. The Palace is closed and the nice lady's tribe has settled in the courtyard. Some trader from Jade had sold them all exceptional cloaks -- cloaks that put Petrus's cloak to shame. All they have to go on is that Oberon once entered that Palace in a magnificent cloak. These people have magnificent cloaks. The adorable pink furry things would make magnificent cloaks. And now the team is at an impasse.
The team is currently standing on the bridge over the river and down to the Palace. Right now, the only sign of the pink furry things are bits of pink fur and a few darts. They are no where to be seen. Little puffs of smoke come out of the courtyard of the abandoned Palace. It is a very nice day in Cibola! Blue skies, big white clouds, nice breeze, the smells of oncoming death... it's all good!
Valentine says brightly, "Okay, everyone! Here's a plan: implement a change in prevailing fashions until all of those cloaks are unfashionable and totally last year's style, thus making us the best-dressed by default."
Celeste looks at Liam accusingly. The sort of look which clearly spells out: You're horrible and it's all your fault' before she sighs and wonders, "We just need one cloak?" She looks to Valentine and it's /his/ turn for the accusing look, "You and Liam have fun with that." she remarks dryly.
Hrafnkel considers Valentine's words soberly, standing with a rucksack slung over one shoulder. He looks to him with a mournful gaze. "This is going to involve pink fur, isn't it? Go on. I can take it, just break it to me."
Charles swigs from a gin-flask, his other hand resting on the butt of a his pistol. "Fraid so, mate."
Valentine says, "Unless someone has several dozen copies of a very convincing fashion magazine."
Petrus considers this for a moment, and his own fine purple cloak, and hmms. "Just am moment," he states, and ducks into the foiliage. When he comes out, shadows all around him cling to him like a friend, and trail behind him in a magnificent, rippling but insubstantial cape. A symbol drawn in pink-creature-blood glows faintly at his neck. His normal purple cloak has been stowed among his other things for a moment.
RPG: Petrus declares that he has the First Binding of Sahal (JIN-RS) gift. Use '+gift JIN-RS' to view the gift description. Last edit: 27 months ago.
RPG: Petrus used the following +declare targets: Adorable Flesh-Eating Cannibals
Liam has gotten that look alot lately, but not from Celeste. From a whole range of people. He's starting to believe that look means something. Then, when Petrus comes out of the foilage with his rippling cloak of shadows he says, "OoooooOOOOOOOoooooooh."
Celeste stares at Petrus, "It's ok, everyone. We have a montevalnian." her tone no less dry.
Petrus smiles faintly at Celeste. "I like to bring something appropriate for /every/ occasion," he says dryly. "Sadly, I'm afraid I don't have a spare; you'll have to get your own."
Hrafnkel stands there, somwhat sullenly and casts a needy look to Charles and his flask.
Charles is not a cruel man. Passes the gin.
Valentine looks at Petrus. He looks at Petrus' cloak. He looks to the fuzzy pink things lying dead all over the place. "...I want one like /his/," he says.
Celeste rolls her eyes, "Why would they abandon their cloaks if you can't give them anything they can actually emmulate?"
Petrus's cloak is two-dimensional, but still looks very cool. Every now and then, /things/ seem to writhe about within it. Toward Celeste, "I don't suppose you've ever heard the story about the clever young lad and his invisible clothes?" he asks her.
"Maybe Petrus can be our ultimate salesman," Liam says. "We can... sell them... shadow cloaks in exchange for their current cloaks? And then we will have all the cloaks! This is sort of mad."
Celeste says, "I have. That was tricking a king, not an entire civilization."
Taran nods slightly. "One down." He looks toward the many people with fine cloaks. For himself...he seems to have foregone most of his armor, but carries his shield, sword, and one golden gauntlet. He considers Petrus' cloak for a while, looks toward heaven with a brief expression of "oh damn am I gonna regret this," and then raises his golden gauntleted fist. "Be my cloak."
Hrafnkel sighs and takes a hit from Charles' flask, passing it back with a grateful nod. "You are a very civilized man." He looks to Celeste. "This isn't a very /big/ civilization, though?" He pulls the rucksack off his shoulder hesitantly, still not openning it.
Celeste turns and watches at Taran curiously, her eyebrows shoot up and her eyes widen when she recognizes the gauntlet.
The humid air gives rise to ...oh, don't think too hard about it, because it's semitransparent goo, in which float living organs. It ripples toward Taran, who stands stone-faced as it approaches, condensing (which doesn't help its appearance *at all*) and holding itself, more or less, from his neck to his ankles in a trailing cloak of ...well, goo and organs. "Will this suffice?"
Charles takes a few steps away from Taran, and drinks quite a bit of gin.
Valentine stares. "That's--we're going to need an awful lot of fashion magazines to sell that one as high fashion, mate."
Petrus watches Taran with a mixture of horror and awe. He does not comment, though, on the means. At the others, "Well, that's a few of us down. Who still lacks The Fancy?"
Hrafnkel looks to Taran, brows lifted. "Wow. That's..." He just shakes his head before looking to Charles. "Did you bring any more of that?"
Celeste says, "I'm a dragon, I do wear fancy, I am fancy. Sorry."
Valentine shrugs, and starts digging through his bag. "I didn't think to pack my /good/ cloaks, but let me see what I've got on me."
Petrus hmms at Celeste. It is a Confirmatory Hrm.
RPG: Valentine declares that he has the Grab Bag (CAN-GB) gift. Use '+gift CAN-GB' to view the gift description.
RPG: Valentine used the following +declare targets: Liam
Celeste says, "No, I'm not letting someone carve out a patch of my hide, you creepy sermenian freak"
Petrus bats his eyes winningly. "Oh, come now, Madam Generalissimo. We had some good times, did we not?"
Celeste grins crookedly and looks sidelong at Petrus, "Well....maybe...still not skinning me. No matter how much you turn on the charm." She lifts a hand and tickles under his chin briefly.
Valentine hmms, as he has acquired an enormous bundle of cloth from his bag. Shaking it out, it turns out to be utterly glorious sparkling...pants. Sized for someone much, much larger than he is. Possibly Celeste could wear them while also being a dragon. "So, piles of pink fur, was it?"
Liam looks around and admits, "I didn't bring a particularly fancy cloak. I was hoping we could ride on Petrus's incredibly cloak-based powers of cloakness to impress the locals."
Charles says, "You know."
Charles says, "If we're all trying to be all flash with our cloaks, that doesn't exactly qualify for One Best Cloak."
Charles says, "Just sayin'."
Celeste says, "It does make their cloaks dull and passe, though."
Hrafnkel also begins digging in his bag. What he draws fourth is not writhing shadows and goopy organs. It's gold lamee and rhinestone. As it comes into view he looks about himself with brooding defensiveness. "As per usual, we will never discuss what we see in Cibola on our return home."
Celeste nods firmly to Hrafnkel, "Agreed." comes her prompt agreement. Almost grateful.
Petrus makes as if he finds Celeste's creepy lizard fingers near his face pleasant, then looks back toward the others. "I've got a fine purple cloak? It /is/ stained with extraordinarily expensive dies particular to one valley in Serminia. Very nice."
"Someone made the cloaks for the locals," says Taran blandly. "Throw whatever their idea of money is at them until they make you a better one?" It would seem the knight's resolve is in not paying particular attention to his 'cloak's tendency to ooze. Near his ear.
Petrus adds, "There's even a secret ingredient."
Liam rubs his chin and says, to Charles, "True. That gives us flash cloaks, flash cloaks that might be more flash than theirs. We must be truly Kingly in our cloaks. The cloak balance of this node must be restored."
Petrus looks impressed at Hrafnkel. "Bold!" he opines.
Valentine says, "The cloak flash balance is a very important equation to address, here."
Celeste looks at Hra's cloak and bursts out laughing.
Charles says, "Might suggest we nominate one Cloak Wearer, and get rid of all other cloaks. Like a cloak purge."
Liam looks impressed at Hrafnkel as well. "Fabulous!"
Charles says, "My vote goes to the one not dripping with any mumbo-jumbo."
Valentine raises a hand. "I'm going to second the motion that we not be represented by any clothing dripping with organs. And organ fluids."
Liam says, "One Cloak to Rule Them All, One Cloak to Find Them. And One Ring to Bring Them All and in the darkness... BIND THEM."
Hrafnkel's cloak does indeed remind one of The King, but it's /not/ Oberon. He swings it over his shoulders, and the Cibolan sun is nrealy blinding on it. "Never let it be said I will not sacrifice my dignity for my people."
Liam tells Hrafnkel: "You are a bit Elvis-like. And I mean old Elvis, not hot young Elvis."
Charles says, "Elves? What, we've got /elves/ now too?"
Petrus has given up on making sense of many of the things said by Amberites. He looks at the Least Spectaculars, considering them dutifully.
Hrafnkel looks to Liam coolly. "Don't be cruel."
Peeking out from the trees is a few pink fuzzy heads. And then they disappear again. Zwoop. A few leaves fall.
"If it is the will of the group I believe my comrades would be pleased to return home," says Taran mildly. "It was my understanding that Cibolans might have a unique perspective of 'magnificent'. I would be pleased to be corrected."
Celeste cackles gleefully at Hrafnkel. His misery cheers her right up.
Petrus ventures, "They're disgusting savages. They will love your cloak."
Petrus says, "Even more unrefined than Amber, I'd say."
Valentine says, "Clearly, this calls for all of our potential cloak-wearers, with their potential cloaks, to do a catwalk stroll and turn so that we can determine which of the cloaks is..." He glances at Charles. "...scientifically most cloak-like. Really."
Charles says, "Scientifically, you say?"
Celeste grins and informs Taran and Hrafnkel, "It's all in the hips."
Liam laughs and says, "This is a magnificently terrible idea! I am all for it."
Hrafnkel looks to Valentine with a revernt expression. "You can /quantify/ cloak-like-ness? What unit of measure does one employ for such? Demi-cloaks and centi-cloaks?"
Valentine points to the bridge. "Just look at it, stretching out all catwalk-like." To Hrafnkel, "I believe they're measured in miliblings. Imperial or metric, depending on what instruments Charles brought along."
Another pair of pink fuzzy heads poke out of the foliage in the trees overhead. And then they are gone again. Pfft.
Charles rummages in a pocket. "We'll have to figure out a scale. I'd suggest logarithmic garmenticity, correlated with fabric density and standard sparkle luminosity. Should have everything we need."
Petrus ventures, "Let's just find and skin a few pink things, demand entrance, and skin anyone who disagrees with us. I imagine very quickly people will stop disagreeing with how awesome our cloaks are."
Celeste lifts an eyebrow, "And what if I am protective of pink fuzzy things because they remind my of my girlish childhood?"
Hrafnkel nods to both Begmans with an aire of seriousness that looks somewhat silly with the cloak. He looks to the bridge, vivibly baulking at the prospect of doing a catwalk strut. Petrus' suggestion is heard and a brow arches. "I see reason in this."
"Just because they are savages, as you say, sir, does not require us to behave the same way. My liquid companions are quite alive and well. If they are savages and we are civilized, it should be no great challenge to use our minds." With care, he starts walking over the bridge. And his 'cloak' seems to actively ooze to keep up with him and stay around him. The rippling effect this produces would be devastatingly attractive, were the 'cloak' not made of semitransparent organ-filled ooze.
Valentine blinks at Celeste, apparently working on connecting her with "pink fuzzy things" and flailing mentally a little in the attempt. "If we could just skin our way through node repair, I'm sure all the shadowpaths would've been de-whatever-the-problem-is-ed already. It's definitely time for a catwalk, and SCIENCE."
Charles says, "Fashion science!"
Celeste says, "We are not skinning our way to node repair. Stop whining and work it."
Hrafnkel murmurs, watching Taran with lifted brows. "It takes a lot of confidence to moarlise while strutting and covered in organs," he murmurs admiringly.
Charles finally finds his instrument. It starts as a flat wooden case, but he extends a leather bellows from the front, adjusting a lens held there. A portable gaslamp at the top is ignited, to shed bright light on the strutting cloakwearers. "At your leisure, gentlemen."
Petrus starts the walk-off, finding this whole thing quite silly, because of COURSE he is the meanest, the baddest, the bestest Montevalnan down this down. He struts, showing off his creepy cloak, which grows two-dimensional heads as he displays his brilliance for everyone, and snaps theatrically at them. He is creepy. But is he the prettiest?
Charles keeps the strange Device trained on Petrus, but as the Montevalnan's walk comes to an end, whatever the Begman sees in the clacking readouts doesn't look encouraging.
Celeste watches all this, trying to bite her bottom lip to restrain her laughter.
Liam applauds Petrus politely but he looks disappointed that Petrus did not pull his underwear out of his pants at the end of the walkway.
Petrus turns around and glowers at everyone. Top that!
Hrafnkel has seen it done. Unfortunately, he is in fact, quite smoothly moving, and even gaited, and the sheer indignity of the situation assists him in nailing that model's look of aloof disdain, just right, and puts that irritated strut in his sagger.
Liam says brightly as Hrafnkel walks the walkway, "Woah. Hrafnkel is /bitchy/ on that walkway. Look at that sneer! That disdain! I want to dress him later. He's magnificent!"
Petrus gawks. His mouth is silent, but his face screams, "Montevalnan.... pride... wavering... can't breathe."
Valentine leans over to watch Charles' readouts, and makes a thoughtful kind of hmmm.
Charles nods his agreement to Valentine, but witholds spoken judgment.
Celeste 's face shows obvious strain, She actually yanks out her knife and begins to press the edge of the blade to her palm to forestall laughter that might ruin Hrafnkel's legendary strut.
Taran walks second, the knight walking with an authoritative rigidity that his 'cloak' appears to want to counter by flowing around his shoulders, and his ankles, with every step. The internal organs fade in and out of view as he turns, the eyeballs watching the living things around them, fingers pointing at them as he passes. It's creepy. It's authoritative. And it's also fairly clear to anyone with half an ounce of sense that the knight would very much like to be anywhere but in the middle of it all, damnit. The expressionlessness itself is a kind of statement. He's almost visibly relieved at Hraf's performance. "Well done," he murmurs, and the liquid slides off him to form two or three fluid men. "Watch from nearby," he instructs. "Kill nothing that does not attack me."
Charles mutters to Valentine, "... pretty clear...."
Hrafnkel finishes his sassy walk and regards the others, coming to stop with his weight thrust on one leg, the other off at an angle, gazing from under a brazenly arched brow, tossing his hair confidently.
Muttering to Charles, Valentine shakes his head. "... And..."
Charles nods to Valentine. "We're agreed, then?"
Valentine nods firmly to Charles. "If you'd like to announce the results?"
Liam watches Taran's walk with a great amount of interest. When Taran gets to the end of his walk he looks very thoughtful for a moment and he says, "It's creepy," Liam says. "It has a certain je nai se quoi you know? A certain quality of incredible creepiness. But the Graal Knight rigidity is taking from the flowing of the organs."
Petrus doesn't need the readout. He knows he's been bested. He's just shocked. Shocked!
Taran bows to Liam as the watermen slip off. "It is not knightly rigidity," he says quietly. "It is just...extremely distasteful to me to ask such things of them."
Charles steps forward, looking down at the dials and meters on the back of his Device. "Have to say, gentlemen, that the science is quite clear. The fabulosity index is properly calibrated, I assure you. It /was/ close, though." He looks at Hrafknel, and is entirely straight-faced when he says "Congratulations. Your cloak is, objectively, the fanciest."
Celeste wipes clean her knife and tucks it away, hand still bleeding she errupts into almost side bursting gales of laughter, her face turns read, eyes stream tears, and she looks like she might topple right on over from the force of her laughter.
Liam mouths the words 'fabulosity index.' These two words have now been added to his lexicon for all eternity.
Valentine applauds! He also tells Petrus, with fine sympathy, "You have to remember the context, mate. In Montevalno, the results might have gone differently. Atmospheric pressure on the instruments and all that."
Hrafnkel huffs a breath onto his nails and polishes them lightly on his shirt, looking about himself non-calently. "Thank you," he murmurs to Charles with a gracious dip of his head. He seems to have embraced the madness.
Petrus nods. "True, true," he agrees at Valentine, as this is a fact.
Petrus clears his throat. "Humiliation for your enjoyment aside, what was the point of this?"
Celeste continues to laugh and gasp for air, hunched over as gales of mirth shake her slender throat.
"And now we must go to the people before the Palace and restore the Balance of Prince and People!" Liam says. "Now that we have an official Oberon stand-in. Think Oberon thoughts, Hraf! Think Oberony!"
Charles collapses and packs away his Fabulometer. "Which means strut a bit, and leave a string of bastards in yer wake."
Hrafnkel loks to liam, with a vigorous motion that coincidently tosses his hair again. "Mmmmyesss... I can be rather kingly, can I not?" He nods to Charles. "Fetch hither yon maidens."
Valentine asks Charles, "Did we pack the mechanical maidens? Because I remember that the ones in the shop had that problem with those gears that would sometimes refuse to unlatch after they locked in place."
A few more pink fuzzy heads peer out from the trees but the moment they lay eyes on the magnificentness of Hrafnkel, they disappear again.
That does it, Celeste's laughter begins to rob her of the ability to breath (or martial her breath) and she wobbles off her feet, laughing helplessly as she lands on her rump. Hrafnkel has apparently Broken the dragon.
Taran - now free of his 'cloak' - seems much more relaxed, but no more inclined to speech. He just turns his attention toward the goal. His fingers can be heard flexing metallically in the golden gauntlet.
Charles gives Valentine a flat look. "The Pneumofeminine Automaton project was scrapped after one too many requests for unwholesome modifications."
Charles says, "Bloody perverts in that city, by God's cogs."
That village in the courtyard across the span and in front of the Palace? It continues to AWAIT the KING.
Valentine shakes his head. "It's sad, when a perfectly innocent mechanical maiden can't be sold without worrying about unsavory uses. Sorry, Hraf."
Petrus looks to Hrafnkel. "Well, don't just stand there. Lead the way."
Celeste stops and looks at Valentine as she struggles to her feet, "Like...you'd..not..." she gives up, gasping for air.
Even Valentine's comment of dire mechanical malfunction can breach his thick veneer of aloof poise. "I may have some relatives to send some of those to, though. We can talk after I impress the commoners." With that, his turn sets his cloak spinning, and his strides across the bridge leave his cloak furling dazzlingly behind him.
Valentine smiles winningly, and sort of innocently, at Celeste. "After the pseudo-king! He needs an entourage, right?"
Celeste still giggling madly takes Valentine's arm with her none bleeding hand, "Oh, no fair grinning at me like that, cousin." her face still flushed with mirth.
Petrus still makes for a creepy cog in an entourage. He trails Hrafnkel, gloomy and doomy.
Charles heads after Hrafknel. "Scientifically selected ersatz King. Way the world should be."
"Your science neglects that people are people," Taran notes mildly. "For a crown, tampering with a machine is a negligible step."
Before the group, the gates of the courtyard await! Within the courtyard, a rather lively little village of tiny dinosaur-riding natives have settled here. They all look pretty human(ish) but they live in typical Cibolan huts, do typical Cibolan things (sacrifice people to Gods, hunt, eat), and live little Cibolan lives. Except they are all wearing magnificent cloaks. And in the center of the town, before the biggest hut in the courtyard, the chief sits on his big chair of sticks and skulls wearing the most magnificent cloak in the entire village! It is a magnificent cloak.
Behind the group, a small collection of small pink fuzzy headhunters follow behind. Perhaps they just want to watch. Perhaps they are the chorus.
Charles snorts. "Machine don't care if you're a King or a ragpicker. That's the whole bloody point."
Chin high, spine erect, shoulders back, every boldly confident step strongly reccomending his worship, Hraf makes his way across the village. A single brow is arched in noble forbearance of his lack of proper procession. He swaggers boldly forwards with dismissive looks at /their/ cloaks. Hmmf.
Celeste follows them quietly and trying not to giggle madly as she goes.
Everyone in the village stops bustling around. A woman drops her bundle of sticks. Fwwwaaaash. A child cries and then is shushed. A pot overboils. A man breaks wind. Somewhere, a God frowns down upon this small village. The chief of the village stands before his chair and raises his staff and says, in Cibolan (for those who understand such things): "WHO is this man who dares to challenge my cloak!" To everyone else he sounds like the teacher from Charlie Brown.
Petrus gets a gander at many of the cloaks they are passing and is increasingly convinced that this town is outmatched by the Hrafnkel Entourage.
Valentine tells Hraf, "He wants to know who's challenging his cloak."
Charles says, "Hey, I almost understood that. I must be getting used to the death threats from bloody savages."
Hrafnkel pulls himself up to an even greater height, studying the chief. "You may inform the chief," It seems to be going straight to his head, "That I am Hrafnkel of the great cloaks, grandson of Oberon!"
Celeste snorts, "That's what happens when you go adventuring with Valentine."
Valentine translates, helpfully.
Petrus looks impressed by Hrafnkel's delivery. Hopes it translates to the natives.
Taran just listens, that carefully blank, neutral mask in place again. It's harder to tell, now, what it covers.
The chief pulls himself to his full height, which is about five and a half feet tall. He folds his arms over his chest and he says, "Hrafnkel of the Great Cloaks, Grandson of Oberon, I demand you prove to us all your lineage! Show us that you can strut like the Once and Future King! For we are the keepers of the Door to the Palace."
Celeste chews her bottom lip again, her hand already stopped bleeding.
Charles sneaks his gin-flask out again. For nerves, strictly.
Valentine, still translating. With dramatic hand gestures as appropriate.
Hrafnkel regards the chieftain as he speaks. His brow is still arched as he patiently listens to Valentine's translation, regarding the chieftain silently for another long moment. "The strut of the blood of Oberon is not to be demanded lightly. But I will deign to show you all. Behold!"
RPG: Hrafnkel challenges a difficulty of 9. Hrafnkel chooses Grace and the gift STY-SW. Hrafnkel succeeds.
The chieftain points his finger at Hrafnkel and says, "Strut then, spawn of Oberon, but know this! Fail and your skin becomes my new cloak! Strut, grandson of Oberon! Strut and make us behold!"
Hrafnkel does indeed strut. And /how/ he struts. Sometimes, even /almost/ a prance. But not too much. Juuuust right. Never does that hand leave that hip. Never does he loose his aloof demeanor. Around the clearing he walks, shooting disdainful looks, hair tosses, and spins that send his cloak whirling here and there. When he is finished, and only when he is finished, does he strut back to where he stood and regard the chieftain expectantly.
Charles drops his gin-flask, which glugs its contents, neglected, onto the ground.
Celeste stares, and keeps staring as her dragon instincts kick in to stoop and blindly picks up the flask-eyes never leaving Hrafnkel.
Petrus quirks an eyebrow at the chief.
Valentine stares at Hrafnkel. Oh yes. That is staring.
The chieftain stares. His finger still points but his jaw goes slack. His eyes go round. His cloak seems tawdry and sad.
The people of the village fall to their knees to bow before the Golden God of Hrafnkel. They then sit up to pull off their inferior Jadean cloaks from their backs and throw them in a heap at Hrafnkel's feet. Then they bow and call him the Golden God who Struts.
And the chieftain, the chieftain, all the chieftain can say is: "Spawn of Oberon, you can /strut/."
Valentine translates, on principle, though he figures that one's pretty clear already.
Taran is not staring. Somewhere, there is a universe where 'Hrafnkel' and 'sashay' are never, ever seen in the same book. It's entirely possible that the Graal Knight is thinking very hard about that book.
Liam is, at this moment, thinking that Hrafnkel is sort of sexy for a straight boy.
Hrafnkel lifts his chin to the Chieftain, indeed not needing the translation, but waiting for it anyway. It's kinda edifying. "The Chieftain is wise to recognise my power." He says to the Chieftain, but then he shoots a quick glance aside to Valentine, "What was I supposed to do now, again?"
Valentine looks blank. "I remember entering the city, magnificent cloak--" He looks to Liam for help, while translating Hrafnkel's response.
Petrus looks toward Liam, hopefully.
Liam thinks and says, "You are supposed to be the most magnificent Prince in the land and then the node will be reset and the doors to the Palace will open. The end of the path is in the Palace somewhere."
Valentine says, "Maybe walk in to take possession of the Palace? Face the doors dramatically?"
Charles says, "A victory strut."
Celeste says, "Thank holy unicorn, light at the end of the tunnel."
Liam nods to Valentine and says, "Claim the Chief's Cloak on the way to the Palace doors. You must be /THE/ Prince of Cibola, Hraf."
Valentine says, "Aw, Celeste, you say this like you haven't been enjoying the show."
Celeste says, "I HATE Cibola. With a deep, passionate, scale-rotting loathing, cousin."
Petrus notes, as he has before, to Celeste, "Your puny mythical unicorn is nothing before the Karkadann." He looks toward Hrafnkel. "Well, don't just stand there. Snub the chief and lead the way."
Celeste scowls at Petrus, "Shhhh."
Hrafnkel doesn't turn to regard any of the members of his party behind him as they speak, only slightly indicating his his attention with subtle angles of his head as he deigns to accept this council. Maybe he takes to this too well. "Chieftain, the power of my strut compells you to surrendur your cloak, and I will go to the palace, now!"
Valentine looks around at the glorious muddy glory that is Cibola, and once again just can't get why other people don't think it's as awesome as he does.
Taran takes a deep breath as the strutting finally stops. "My cousin," he remarks mildly, "is going to slam my head into a rock wall that he missed this and I lack appreciation for it. Shall we on?"
The chieftain, with a flourish, removes his cloak. It was held on with a magnificent clasp. A truly magnificent clasp. Made to look like a glittering diamond skull. It is a bit of Cibolan bling. He hands the cloak to Hrafnkel and says, "You have won this cloak this day, Grandson of Oberon."
Charles says, "You'll be showing that to the grandkids, and no mistake."
Hrafnkel strides boldly ahead and accepts his prize graciously, nodding slightly in acknowledgement to the chieftain. "Tell your grandchildren of the grandeur of this day, chieftain." Then, taking it with him, he moves towards the palace. Still strutting. Of course.
Celeste shakes her head and follows, walking alongside Taran.
The villagers who are not completely on their knees worshipping Hrafnkel as a Magnificent God part for him. The steps up to the doors of the Palace are long and stone and positioned so that the sun glitters off the magnificence of a magnificent cloak. And there, at the top of the stairs, are the Doors. They are Closed.
Petrus follows Hrafnkel, his expression wordlessly informing all the villagers who behold it, "Yes, Hrafnekl Just Did That."
Charles almost, momentarily, seems like he may be on board with this Royalty thing. Assuming sufficiently fancy cloaks.
Liam follows Hrafnkel to the ultimate destination of serious fanciness.
Taran slants a look at the doors, and at the crowds. "Ah....are the doors not supposed to open?"
Valentine follows like a good courtier, looking rather like he needs a train to hold.
Hrafnkel stops at the palace doors, looking at them a long moment. They do not open and he hrrms. Still holding the magnificent cloak and magnificent clasp and looking bask to the others, he asks, "Now what?"
Charles says, "Push?"
Petrus tells Hrafnkel wisely, "Mayhap these primitive people do not have sentient, open-as-you-approach doors."
Petrus notes, toward Charles, "I have seen such wonders."
Liam suggests: "You are the Prince. You need to open the doors, Hrafnkel."
Charles says, "What, automatic doors? Mad Baron Whitechalk invented them five, six years ago."
Charles says, "All the rage."
Hrafnkel listens to the council with a sagely nod and then does, indeed deign to try to open the doors manually.
Celeste chuckles softly and stands by.
Valentine asks Charles, "Was that the type that we saw on that one building with the baby carriage caught in the gears? Or were those a different set of automatic doors?"
Charles says, "That almost never happens."
With Hrafnkel laying hands on the doors, the enormous stone doors swing inward as if they were on well-oiled hinges. They open to an ancient hallway not trod by anyone since the time of Oberon laying the Shadowpath. Somewhere beyond the doors lies the Throne of the Veiled King.
And from far down the hallway comes an evil laugh of the True God of Cibola..........
Liam winces a bit as he hears the strange laughter from the hallway and he admits: "This is where it gets less fun. I have Oberon's notes for the final node but you're not going to like them. You're really not going to like them."
Charles says, "Like them less than normal?"
Valentine says, "Is this fun Cibolan not liking because some people are boring, or creepy scary Cibolan not liking because some parts of Cibola are scary?"
Hrafnkel shoots a glance to Liam, his brow /finally/ un-arching. "Like them less than cat-walking in a gold lamee cloak?"
Celeste cusses bitterly, "How W'rin Bu Lai, Whai W'rin Bu Jwo!!"
Liam feels around in his pockets and then finally pulls out a bit of paper. He unfolds it and warns: "You're not going to like this at all."
Valentine mutters something about who /wouldn't/ like cat-walking in gold lamee?
Taran sighs. "Just speak. We cannot turn back without some idea what we have just opened the doors onto."
Hrafnkel nods. "So I have to not like it to open the path? Okay, done."
Petrus waits patiently for another shoe to drop.
Liam clears his throat and reads off the paper. "When Oberon reached the foot of the Veiled Throne..." Liam gestures down the cobwebby hallway and says, "That's where we are. At the Palace of the Veiled Throne. Anyway." He reads again. "When Oberon reached the foot of the Veiled Throne, he was told, 'None who live may see the face of our king.' He molded a mask of clay over the face of a dying man, and filled its eyes with glass melted from the glass eyes of dead men. In its mouth was set a copper coin engraved with the name of a dead god. With this mask to his face he passed through the veils, and saw the bones of the True God of Cibola." He peers at the group and says, "From my research, to get to the Veiled Throne, it requires a ritual of death suitable to Cibolan Burial Customs. And apparently to get some sort of trinket to get in, we need to go to a small building right near the Palace and get some sort of trinket. But it only opens to those who are dead."
Charles says, "That all?"
Liam says, "Someone's got to die and get the trinket. I don't get how that works."
Celeste pipes up promptly, "Not it."
Charles looks thoughtful.
Petrus ponders this thoughtfully. "Not it," adds Petrus quickly.
Charles says, "There are incredible advances in galvanics these days..."
Taran frowns. "It sounds like something a Feldane would be able to answer. But if you need a volunteer, then I will volunteer."
Celeste's eyes widen, "No, Absolutely not. Sir Harold and Your aunt would have my hide."
Hrafnkel peers at Liam. "Alright. I did the veiled prince strutting thing, I think someone esle should do dead."
Valentine says, "If King Oberon could do it without dying, surely we can do it without dying too. I mean, we got through the catwalk just like he did. Right?"
Charles says, "Pretty sure I could bring someone back..."
Hrafnkel tries to look reassured at Charles.
Petrus says, "I'm not sure how much I trust your notes, Lord Liam. Seems like a really good way to safeguard something important, trick them into triggering a deadly trap."
Taran raises an eyebrow at Celeste. "It is for Amber, is it not? I do not shirk my duty. A volunteer is needed. Now figure out the rest of the riddle, for clearly Oberon came through this *alive*."
Charles says, "Does it say /dead/, or does it say /not alive/?"
Taran blinks, then looks thoughtfully down at his golden gauntlet.
Charles says, "because I can do not alive a real treat."
Liam says cheerfully, "Maybe someone doesn't have to die! Maybe there's another solution! But my paperwork all points to someone dying and some sort of major throwdown with the True God of Cibola at the foot of the Throne of the Veiled King."
Liam says, "It does say dead."
Charles says, "Bugger."
Hrafnkel says, "Maybe we just nead one of those mask things?"
Liam says, "I bet we do. I bet we can fake our way through."
Celeste scowls at Taran, "I really, sincerely, don't like it." She looks to Liam, "Reckon we could do two? If he's going I'm not leaving him to go alone. If he doesn't come bakc I sure the hell don't want to be alive like a sucker to get my ear chewed off for it."
Valentine says confidently, "We'll come up with some clever plan that doesn't involve anyone dying. Not anyone we like. Not /permanently/. Anyway, it'll be fun!"
Petrus nods, slowly. "Let's blind a monkey send it in first," he suggests.
Valentine says, "What are we going to learn from a blind monkey?"
Taran nods to Celeste. "I am not in love with this plan either," he says simply. "But neither will I ask of another what I am unwilling to do myself. So I will go. Once we have figured out how it should be done."
Celeste stares at Valentine, "Cousin, sometimes I worry about you." She looks to Taran, "Like hell, you go I go. If it's not necessary neither of us need bother."
Hrafnkel listens to the Petrus and Valentine. "That needs a punch line." He looks about. "So, what of that trinket it mentioned?"
Charles says, "Should probably point out, this crosses the line from 'science' to 'mad science'. Not saying no, just saying."
"Let me do a little more investigating?" Liam says. "I knew where to find the Palace of the Veiled King. And I don't know what the trinket is. Man, all I know is that the Walrus was Paul." Liam gets a look of consternation. "But I think this is functioning now. The doors are opened. The natives can kill furry headhunters for cloaks again."
Hrafnkel looks to Charles. "You /know/ we have the utmost faith in your professional discretion." Then a nod to Liam. "Right. Research is good."
Charles says, "More worried about yours. Safety Inspectors hear I'm even thinking about this, they're gonna pay me an unpleasant visit."
Petrus nods thoughtfully. "I'll see about procuring a blinded primate," he says. "There's some furry little bastards out there with whom I have a score to settle."
Taran mmms. "Is it possible the trinket is now part of the chieftain's cloak?"
Celeste frowns and listens, unable to even pretend any of this makes sense to her.
"Okay, so..." Liam says. "The Temple is not far away from here. Maybe we try to puzzle out the final node and see if we can get out of it without anyone dying in a few days?"
Hrafnkel nods. "So Petrus is gathering monkeys, Liam is investigating, Taran is dying, and Charles bringing him back..."
Charles lifts a finger. "Theoretically."
Valentine nods solemnly. "Theory of revivification."
Charles says, "Galvanics. Way of the future."
Hrafnkel appends. "Sorry, /theoretically/ bringing Taran back."
Charles says, "I should practice on a dog or something."
Petrus says, "My sister has a dog."
Charles says, "Do you like your sister?"
Petrus shrugs.
Celeste laughs, "No."
Hrafnkel says, "Kind of inhumane isn't it? Don't you have convicts or something?"
"Let's get out of here," Liam says, "before we turn into Cibolans or something else ridiculous."
Valentine says, "We get to keep the conquered cloaks, right?"
"Yeah!" Liam says brightly. "Of course! Collectibles!"
Hrafnkel agrees. "Yes. I need a drink." He pulls off his cloak, clearly not going back in that. "You want this one, too? Doubt I'd be using it, again."
Petrus says, "Too blunt for my style."
Petrus looks to others.
Charles says, "Cloaks are antiques holdovers of the Imperial Days." He pauses. "But it looks good on you."
Hrafnkel smiles wistfully at Charles' words. "Yes... they are, aren't they?"
Celeste murmurs to Hranfkel smugly, "I am never going to let you forget this."
Hrafnkel looks to Celeste. "Fair enough. But you know the deal. We don't speak of what happens here to others."
Valentine tries on a conquered collectible cloak, and poses dramatically.
Liam applauds! Brightly! "Magnificent, Tine!"
Hrafnkel eyes Tine contemplatively, fingers rubbing scratchily at his beard. "You know, you really don't have bad bone structure."
Petrus mentions toward Celeste, "You rat on Lord Hrafnkel's fine modelling skills, and I'll explain about that time, where that thing happened." He winks at Hrafnkel. Petrus has his back!
Hrafnkel fixes Petrus with an appreciative glance. But, then sighs. "I'm going to miss being king."
Valentine smiles brightly at Hrafnkel. "Why, thank you. I give all the credit to my illustrious ancestors and their excellent choices in marriage."
Charles looks off in the general direction of the ship, already lost in thoughts and internal plans, plotting the best way to deliver thoroughly unhealthy levels of galvanic current to a dead body in order to restore it to unnatural life.
Taran seems to have very little to say; lost in thought considering the problems ahead.
When our heroes last visited this node, the fourth node of the Cibolan shadowpath, such as it is, Valentine fell into a hole. Valentine also fell off a cliff. Petrus made a new friend out of a nubile half-clad native in skins. Hrafnkel defeated hordes of adorable pink furry things who wanted to eat his face off. And the group discovered the ruins of a Palace on an island on the other side of the river. The Palace is closed and the nice lady's tribe has settled in the courtyard. Some trader from Jade had sold them all exceptional cloaks -- cloaks that put Petrus's cloak to shame. All they have to go on is that Oberon once entered that Palace in a magnificent cloak. These people have magnificent cloaks. The adorable pink furry things would make magnificent cloaks. And now the team is at an impasse.
The team is currently standing on the bridge over the river and down to the Palace. Right now, the only sign of the pink furry things are bits of pink fur and a few darts. They are no where to be seen. Little puffs of smoke come out of the courtyard of the abandoned Palace. It is a very nice day in Cibola! Blue skies, big white clouds, nice breeze, the smells of oncoming death... it's all good!
Valentine says brightly, "Okay, everyone! Here's a plan: implement a change in prevailing fashions until all of those cloaks are unfashionable and totally last year's style, thus making us the best-dressed by default."
Celeste looks at Liam accusingly. The sort of look which clearly spells out: You're horrible and it's all your fault' before she sighs and wonders, "We just need one cloak?" She looks to Valentine and it's /his/ turn for the accusing look, "You and Liam have fun with that." she remarks dryly.
Hrafnkel considers Valentine's words soberly, standing with a rucksack slung over one shoulder. He looks to him with a mournful gaze. "This is going to involve pink fur, isn't it? Go on. I can take it, just break it to me."
Charles swigs from a gin-flask, his other hand resting on the butt of a his pistol. "Fraid so, mate."
Valentine says, "Unless someone has several dozen copies of a very convincing fashion magazine."
Petrus considers this for a moment, and his own fine purple cloak, and hmms. "Just am moment," he states, and ducks into the foiliage. When he comes out, shadows all around him cling to him like a friend, and trail behind him in a magnificent, rippling but insubstantial cape. A symbol drawn in pink-creature-blood glows faintly at his neck. His normal purple cloak has been stowed among his other things for a moment.
RPG: Petrus declares that he has the First Binding of Sahal (JIN-RS) gift. Use '+gift JIN-RS' to view the gift description. Last edit: 27 months ago.
RPG: Petrus used the following +declare targets: Adorable Flesh-Eating Cannibals
Liam has gotten that look alot lately, but not from Celeste. From a whole range of people. He's starting to believe that look means something. Then, when Petrus comes out of the foilage with his rippling cloak of shadows he says, "OoooooOOOOOOOoooooooh."
Celeste stares at Petrus, "It's ok, everyone. We have a montevalnian." her tone no less dry.
Petrus smiles faintly at Celeste. "I like to bring something appropriate for /every/ occasion," he says dryly. "Sadly, I'm afraid I don't have a spare; you'll have to get your own."
Hrafnkel stands there, somwhat sullenly and casts a needy look to Charles and his flask.
Charles is not a cruel man. Passes the gin.
Valentine looks at Petrus. He looks at Petrus' cloak. He looks to the fuzzy pink things lying dead all over the place. "...I want one like /his/," he says.
Celeste rolls her eyes, "Why would they abandon their cloaks if you can't give them anything they can actually emmulate?"
Petrus's cloak is two-dimensional, but still looks very cool. Every now and then, /things/ seem to writhe about within it. Toward Celeste, "I don't suppose you've ever heard the story about the clever young lad and his invisible clothes?" he asks her.
"Maybe Petrus can be our ultimate salesman," Liam says. "We can... sell them... shadow cloaks in exchange for their current cloaks? And then we will have all the cloaks! This is sort of mad."
Celeste says, "I have. That was tricking a king, not an entire civilization."
Taran nods slightly. "One down." He looks toward the many people with fine cloaks. For himself...he seems to have foregone most of his armor, but carries his shield, sword, and one golden gauntlet. He considers Petrus' cloak for a while, looks toward heaven with a brief expression of "oh damn am I gonna regret this," and then raises his golden gauntleted fist. "Be my cloak."
Hrafnkel sighs and takes a hit from Charles' flask, passing it back with a grateful nod. "You are a very civilized man." He looks to Celeste. "This isn't a very /big/ civilization, though?" He pulls the rucksack off his shoulder hesitantly, still not openning it.
Celeste turns and watches at Taran curiously, her eyebrows shoot up and her eyes widen when she recognizes the gauntlet.
The humid air gives rise to ...oh, don't think too hard about it, because it's semitransparent goo, in which float living organs. It ripples toward Taran, who stands stone-faced as it approaches, condensing (which doesn't help its appearance *at all*) and holding itself, more or less, from his neck to his ankles in a trailing cloak of ...well, goo and organs. "Will this suffice?"
Charles takes a few steps away from Taran, and drinks quite a bit of gin.
Valentine stares. "That's--we're going to need an awful lot of fashion magazines to sell that one as high fashion, mate."
Petrus watches Taran with a mixture of horror and awe. He does not comment, though, on the means. At the others, "Well, that's a few of us down. Who still lacks The Fancy?"
Hrafnkel looks to Taran, brows lifted. "Wow. That's..." He just shakes his head before looking to Charles. "Did you bring any more of that?"
Celeste says, "I'm a dragon, I do wear fancy, I am fancy. Sorry."
Valentine shrugs, and starts digging through his bag. "I didn't think to pack my /good/ cloaks, but let me see what I've got on me."
Petrus hmms at Celeste. It is a Confirmatory Hrm.
RPG: Valentine declares that he has the Grab Bag (CAN-GB) gift. Use '+gift CAN-GB' to view the gift description.
RPG: Valentine used the following +declare targets: Liam
Celeste says, "No, I'm not letting someone carve out a patch of my hide, you creepy sermenian freak"
Petrus bats his eyes winningly. "Oh, come now, Madam Generalissimo. We had some good times, did we not?"
Celeste grins crookedly and looks sidelong at Petrus, "Well....maybe...still not skinning me. No matter how much you turn on the charm." She lifts a hand and tickles under his chin briefly.
Valentine hmms, as he has acquired an enormous bundle of cloth from his bag. Shaking it out, it turns out to be utterly glorious sparkling...pants. Sized for someone much, much larger than he is. Possibly Celeste could wear them while also being a dragon. "So, piles of pink fur, was it?"
Liam looks around and admits, "I didn't bring a particularly fancy cloak. I was hoping we could ride on Petrus's incredibly cloak-based powers of cloakness to impress the locals."
Charles says, "You know."
Charles says, "If we're all trying to be all flash with our cloaks, that doesn't exactly qualify for One Best Cloak."
Charles says, "Just sayin'."
Celeste says, "It does make their cloaks dull and passe, though."
Hrafnkel also begins digging in his bag. What he draws fourth is not writhing shadows and goopy organs. It's gold lamee and rhinestone. As it comes into view he looks about himself with brooding defensiveness. "As per usual, we will never discuss what we see in Cibola on our return home."
Celeste nods firmly to Hrafnkel, "Agreed." comes her prompt agreement. Almost grateful.
Petrus makes as if he finds Celeste's creepy lizard fingers near his face pleasant, then looks back toward the others. "I've got a fine purple cloak? It /is/ stained with extraordinarily expensive dies particular to one valley in Serminia. Very nice."
"Someone made the cloaks for the locals," says Taran blandly. "Throw whatever their idea of money is at them until they make you a better one?" It would seem the knight's resolve is in not paying particular attention to his 'cloak's tendency to ooze. Near his ear.
Petrus adds, "There's even a secret ingredient."
Liam rubs his chin and says, to Charles, "True. That gives us flash cloaks, flash cloaks that might be more flash than theirs. We must be truly Kingly in our cloaks. The cloak balance of this node must be restored."
Petrus looks impressed at Hrafnkel. "Bold!" he opines.
Valentine says, "The cloak flash balance is a very important equation to address, here."
Celeste looks at Hra's cloak and bursts out laughing.
Charles says, "Might suggest we nominate one Cloak Wearer, and get rid of all other cloaks. Like a cloak purge."
Liam looks impressed at Hrafnkel as well. "Fabulous!"
Charles says, "My vote goes to the one not dripping with any mumbo-jumbo."
Valentine raises a hand. "I'm going to second the motion that we not be represented by any clothing dripping with organs. And organ fluids."
Liam says, "One Cloak to Rule Them All, One Cloak to Find Them. And One Ring to Bring Them All and in the darkness... BIND THEM."
Hrafnkel's cloak does indeed remind one of The King, but it's /not/ Oberon. He swings it over his shoulders, and the Cibolan sun is nrealy blinding on it. "Never let it be said I will not sacrifice my dignity for my people."
Liam tells Hrafnkel: "You are a bit Elvis-like. And I mean old Elvis, not hot young Elvis."
Charles says, "Elves? What, we've got /elves/ now too?"
Petrus has given up on making sense of many of the things said by Amberites. He looks at the Least Spectaculars, considering them dutifully.
Hrafnkel looks to Liam coolly. "Don't be cruel."
Peeking out from the trees is a few pink fuzzy heads. And then they disappear again. Zwoop. A few leaves fall.
"If it is the will of the group I believe my comrades would be pleased to return home," says Taran mildly. "It was my understanding that Cibolans might have a unique perspective of 'magnificent'. I would be pleased to be corrected."
Celeste cackles gleefully at Hrafnkel. His misery cheers her right up.
Petrus ventures, "They're disgusting savages. They will love your cloak."
Petrus says, "Even more unrefined than Amber, I'd say."
Valentine says, "Clearly, this calls for all of our potential cloak-wearers, with their potential cloaks, to do a catwalk stroll and turn so that we can determine which of the cloaks is..." He glances at Charles. "...scientifically most cloak-like. Really."
Charles says, "Scientifically, you say?"
Celeste grins and informs Taran and Hrafnkel, "It's all in the hips."
Liam laughs and says, "This is a magnificently terrible idea! I am all for it."
Hrafnkel looks to Valentine with a revernt expression. "You can /quantify/ cloak-like-ness? What unit of measure does one employ for such? Demi-cloaks and centi-cloaks?"
Valentine points to the bridge. "Just look at it, stretching out all catwalk-like." To Hrafnkel, "I believe they're measured in miliblings. Imperial or metric, depending on what instruments Charles brought along."
Another pair of pink fuzzy heads poke out of the foliage in the trees overhead. And then they are gone again. Pfft.
Charles rummages in a pocket. "We'll have to figure out a scale. I'd suggest logarithmic garmenticity, correlated with fabric density and standard sparkle luminosity. Should have everything we need."
Petrus ventures, "Let's just find and skin a few pink things, demand entrance, and skin anyone who disagrees with us. I imagine very quickly people will stop disagreeing with how awesome our cloaks are."
Celeste lifts an eyebrow, "And what if I am protective of pink fuzzy things because they remind my of my girlish childhood?"
Hrafnkel nods to both Begmans with an aire of seriousness that looks somewhat silly with the cloak. He looks to the bridge, vivibly baulking at the prospect of doing a catwalk strut. Petrus' suggestion is heard and a brow arches. "I see reason in this."
"Just because they are savages, as you say, sir, does not require us to behave the same way. My liquid companions are quite alive and well. If they are savages and we are civilized, it should be no great challenge to use our minds." With care, he starts walking over the bridge. And his 'cloak' seems to actively ooze to keep up with him and stay around him. The rippling effect this produces would be devastatingly attractive, were the 'cloak' not made of semitransparent organ-filled ooze.
Valentine blinks at Celeste, apparently working on connecting her with "pink fuzzy things" and flailing mentally a little in the attempt. "If we could just skin our way through node repair, I'm sure all the shadowpaths would've been de-whatever-the-problem-is-ed already. It's definitely time for a catwalk, and SCIENCE."
Charles says, "Fashion science!"
Celeste says, "We are not skinning our way to node repair. Stop whining and work it."
Hrafnkel murmurs, watching Taran with lifted brows. "It takes a lot of confidence to moarlise while strutting and covered in organs," he murmurs admiringly.
Charles finally finds his instrument. It starts as a flat wooden case, but he extends a leather bellows from the front, adjusting a lens held there. A portable gaslamp at the top is ignited, to shed bright light on the strutting cloakwearers. "At your leisure, gentlemen."
Petrus starts the walk-off, finding this whole thing quite silly, because of COURSE he is the meanest, the baddest, the bestest Montevalnan down this down. He struts, showing off his creepy cloak, which grows two-dimensional heads as he displays his brilliance for everyone, and snaps theatrically at them. He is creepy. But is he the prettiest?
Charles keeps the strange Device trained on Petrus, but as the Montevalnan's walk comes to an end, whatever the Begman sees in the clacking readouts doesn't look encouraging.
Celeste watches all this, trying to bite her bottom lip to restrain her laughter.
Liam applauds Petrus politely but he looks disappointed that Petrus did not pull his underwear out of his pants at the end of the walkway.
Petrus turns around and glowers at everyone. Top that!
Hrafnkel has seen it done. Unfortunately, he is in fact, quite smoothly moving, and even gaited, and the sheer indignity of the situation assists him in nailing that model's look of aloof disdain, just right, and puts that irritated strut in his sagger.
Liam says brightly as Hrafnkel walks the walkway, "Woah. Hrafnkel is /bitchy/ on that walkway. Look at that sneer! That disdain! I want to dress him later. He's magnificent!"
Petrus gawks. His mouth is silent, but his face screams, "Montevalnan.... pride... wavering... can't breathe."
Valentine leans over to watch Charles' readouts, and makes a thoughtful kind of hmmm.
Charles nods his agreement to Valentine, but witholds spoken judgment.
Celeste 's face shows obvious strain, She actually yanks out her knife and begins to press the edge of the blade to her palm to forestall laughter that might ruin Hrafnkel's legendary strut.
Taran walks second, the knight walking with an authoritative rigidity that his 'cloak' appears to want to counter by flowing around his shoulders, and his ankles, with every step. The internal organs fade in and out of view as he turns, the eyeballs watching the living things around them, fingers pointing at them as he passes. It's creepy. It's authoritative. And it's also fairly clear to anyone with half an ounce of sense that the knight would very much like to be anywhere but in the middle of it all, damnit. The expressionlessness itself is a kind of statement. He's almost visibly relieved at Hraf's performance. "Well done," he murmurs, and the liquid slides off him to form two or three fluid men. "Watch from nearby," he instructs. "Kill nothing that does not attack me."
Charles mutters to Valentine, "... pretty clear...."
Hrafnkel finishes his sassy walk and regards the others, coming to stop with his weight thrust on one leg, the other off at an angle, gazing from under a brazenly arched brow, tossing his hair confidently.
Muttering to Charles, Valentine shakes his head. "... And..."
Charles nods to Valentine. "We're agreed, then?"
Valentine nods firmly to Charles. "If you'd like to announce the results?"
Liam watches Taran's walk with a great amount of interest. When Taran gets to the end of his walk he looks very thoughtful for a moment and he says, "It's creepy," Liam says. "It has a certain je nai se quoi you know? A certain quality of incredible creepiness. But the Graal Knight rigidity is taking from the flowing of the organs."
Petrus doesn't need the readout. He knows he's been bested. He's just shocked. Shocked!
Taran bows to Liam as the watermen slip off. "It is not knightly rigidity," he says quietly. "It is just...extremely distasteful to me to ask such things of them."
Charles steps forward, looking down at the dials and meters on the back of his Device. "Have to say, gentlemen, that the science is quite clear. The fabulosity index is properly calibrated, I assure you. It /was/ close, though." He looks at Hrafknel, and is entirely straight-faced when he says "Congratulations. Your cloak is, objectively, the fanciest."
Celeste wipes clean her knife and tucks it away, hand still bleeding she errupts into almost side bursting gales of laughter, her face turns read, eyes stream tears, and she looks like she might topple right on over from the force of her laughter.
Liam mouths the words 'fabulosity index.' These two words have now been added to his lexicon for all eternity.
Valentine applauds! He also tells Petrus, with fine sympathy, "You have to remember the context, mate. In Montevalno, the results might have gone differently. Atmospheric pressure on the instruments and all that."
Hrafnkel huffs a breath onto his nails and polishes them lightly on his shirt, looking about himself non-calently. "Thank you," he murmurs to Charles with a gracious dip of his head. He seems to have embraced the madness.
Petrus nods. "True, true," he agrees at Valentine, as this is a fact.
Petrus clears his throat. "Humiliation for your enjoyment aside, what was the point of this?"
Celeste continues to laugh and gasp for air, hunched over as gales of mirth shake her slender throat.
"And now we must go to the people before the Palace and restore the Balance of Prince and People!" Liam says. "Now that we have an official Oberon stand-in. Think Oberon thoughts, Hraf! Think Oberony!"
Charles collapses and packs away his Fabulometer. "Which means strut a bit, and leave a string of bastards in yer wake."
Hrafnkel loks to liam, with a vigorous motion that coincidently tosses his hair again. "Mmmmyesss... I can be rather kingly, can I not?" He nods to Charles. "Fetch hither yon maidens."
Valentine asks Charles, "Did we pack the mechanical maidens? Because I remember that the ones in the shop had that problem with those gears that would sometimes refuse to unlatch after they locked in place."
A few more pink fuzzy heads peer out from the trees but the moment they lay eyes on the magnificentness of Hrafnkel, they disappear again.
That does it, Celeste's laughter begins to rob her of the ability to breath (or martial her breath) and she wobbles off her feet, laughing helplessly as she lands on her rump. Hrafnkel has apparently Broken the dragon.
Taran - now free of his 'cloak' - seems much more relaxed, but no more inclined to speech. He just turns his attention toward the goal. His fingers can be heard flexing metallically in the golden gauntlet.
Charles gives Valentine a flat look. "The Pneumofeminine Automaton project was scrapped after one too many requests for unwholesome modifications."
Charles says, "Bloody perverts in that city, by God's cogs."
That village in the courtyard across the span and in front of the Palace? It continues to AWAIT the KING.
Valentine shakes his head. "It's sad, when a perfectly innocent mechanical maiden can't be sold without worrying about unsavory uses. Sorry, Hraf."
Petrus looks to Hrafnkel. "Well, don't just stand there. Lead the way."
Celeste stops and looks at Valentine as she struggles to her feet, "Like...you'd..not..." she gives up, gasping for air.
Even Valentine's comment of dire mechanical malfunction can breach his thick veneer of aloof poise. "I may have some relatives to send some of those to, though. We can talk after I impress the commoners." With that, his turn sets his cloak spinning, and his strides across the bridge leave his cloak furling dazzlingly behind him.
Valentine smiles winningly, and sort of innocently, at Celeste. "After the pseudo-king! He needs an entourage, right?"
Celeste still giggling madly takes Valentine's arm with her none bleeding hand, "Oh, no fair grinning at me like that, cousin." her face still flushed with mirth.
Petrus still makes for a creepy cog in an entourage. He trails Hrafnkel, gloomy and doomy.
Charles heads after Hrafknel. "Scientifically selected ersatz King. Way the world should be."
"Your science neglects that people are people," Taran notes mildly. "For a crown, tampering with a machine is a negligible step."
Before the group, the gates of the courtyard await! Within the courtyard, a rather lively little village of tiny dinosaur-riding natives have settled here. They all look pretty human(ish) but they live in typical Cibolan huts, do typical Cibolan things (sacrifice people to Gods, hunt, eat), and live little Cibolan lives. Except they are all wearing magnificent cloaks. And in the center of the town, before the biggest hut in the courtyard, the chief sits on his big chair of sticks and skulls wearing the most magnificent cloak in the entire village! It is a magnificent cloak.
Behind the group, a small collection of small pink fuzzy headhunters follow behind. Perhaps they just want to watch. Perhaps they are the chorus.
Charles snorts. "Machine don't care if you're a King or a ragpicker. That's the whole bloody point."
Chin high, spine erect, shoulders back, every boldly confident step strongly reccomending his worship, Hraf makes his way across the village. A single brow is arched in noble forbearance of his lack of proper procession. He swaggers boldly forwards with dismissive looks at /their/ cloaks. Hmmf.
Celeste follows them quietly and trying not to giggle madly as she goes.
Everyone in the village stops bustling around. A woman drops her bundle of sticks. Fwwwaaaash. A child cries and then is shushed. A pot overboils. A man breaks wind. Somewhere, a God frowns down upon this small village. The chief of the village stands before his chair and raises his staff and says, in Cibolan (for those who understand such things): "WHO is this man who dares to challenge my cloak!" To everyone else he sounds like the teacher from Charlie Brown.
Petrus gets a gander at many of the cloaks they are passing and is increasingly convinced that this town is outmatched by the Hrafnkel Entourage.
Valentine tells Hraf, "He wants to know who's challenging his cloak."
Charles says, "Hey, I almost understood that. I must be getting used to the death threats from bloody savages."
Hrafnkel pulls himself up to an even greater height, studying the chief. "You may inform the chief," It seems to be going straight to his head, "That I am Hrafnkel of the great cloaks, grandson of Oberon!"
Celeste snorts, "That's what happens when you go adventuring with Valentine."
Valentine translates, helpfully.
Petrus looks impressed by Hrafnkel's delivery. Hopes it translates to the natives.
Taran just listens, that carefully blank, neutral mask in place again. It's harder to tell, now, what it covers.
The chief pulls himself to his full height, which is about five and a half feet tall. He folds his arms over his chest and he says, "Hrafnkel of the Great Cloaks, Grandson of Oberon, I demand you prove to us all your lineage! Show us that you can strut like the Once and Future King! For we are the keepers of the Door to the Palace."
Celeste chews her bottom lip again, her hand already stopped bleeding.
Charles sneaks his gin-flask out again. For nerves, strictly.
Valentine, still translating. With dramatic hand gestures as appropriate.
Hrafnkel regards the chieftain as he speaks. His brow is still arched as he patiently listens to Valentine's translation, regarding the chieftain silently for another long moment. "The strut of the blood of Oberon is not to be demanded lightly. But I will deign to show you all. Behold!"
RPG: Hrafnkel challenges a difficulty of 9. Hrafnkel chooses Grace and the gift STY-SW. Hrafnkel succeeds.
The chieftain points his finger at Hrafnkel and says, "Strut then, spawn of Oberon, but know this! Fail and your skin becomes my new cloak! Strut, grandson of Oberon! Strut and make us behold!"
Hrafnkel does indeed strut. And /how/ he struts. Sometimes, even /almost/ a prance. But not too much. Juuuust right. Never does that hand leave that hip. Never does he loose his aloof demeanor. Around the clearing he walks, shooting disdainful looks, hair tosses, and spins that send his cloak whirling here and there. When he is finished, and only when he is finished, does he strut back to where he stood and regard the chieftain expectantly.
Charles drops his gin-flask, which glugs its contents, neglected, onto the ground.
Celeste stares, and keeps staring as her dragon instincts kick in to stoop and blindly picks up the flask-eyes never leaving Hrafnkel.
Petrus quirks an eyebrow at the chief.
Valentine stares at Hrafnkel. Oh yes. That is staring.
The chieftain stares. His finger still points but his jaw goes slack. His eyes go round. His cloak seems tawdry and sad.
The people of the village fall to their knees to bow before the Golden God of Hrafnkel. They then sit up to pull off their inferior Jadean cloaks from their backs and throw them in a heap at Hrafnkel's feet. Then they bow and call him the Golden God who Struts.
And the chieftain, the chieftain, all the chieftain can say is: "Spawn of Oberon, you can /strut/."
Valentine translates, on principle, though he figures that one's pretty clear already.
Taran is not staring. Somewhere, there is a universe where 'Hrafnkel' and 'sashay' are never, ever seen in the same book. It's entirely possible that the Graal Knight is thinking very hard about that book.
Liam is, at this moment, thinking that Hrafnkel is sort of sexy for a straight boy.
Hrafnkel lifts his chin to the Chieftain, indeed not needing the translation, but waiting for it anyway. It's kinda edifying. "The Chieftain is wise to recognise my power." He says to the Chieftain, but then he shoots a quick glance aside to Valentine, "What was I supposed to do now, again?"
Valentine looks blank. "I remember entering the city, magnificent cloak--" He looks to Liam for help, while translating Hrafnkel's response.
Petrus looks toward Liam, hopefully.
Liam thinks and says, "You are supposed to be the most magnificent Prince in the land and then the node will be reset and the doors to the Palace will open. The end of the path is in the Palace somewhere."
Valentine says, "Maybe walk in to take possession of the Palace? Face the doors dramatically?"
Charles says, "A victory strut."
Celeste says, "Thank holy unicorn, light at the end of the tunnel."
Liam nods to Valentine and says, "Claim the Chief's Cloak on the way to the Palace doors. You must be /THE/ Prince of Cibola, Hraf."
Valentine says, "Aw, Celeste, you say this like you haven't been enjoying the show."
Celeste says, "I HATE Cibola. With a deep, passionate, scale-rotting loathing, cousin."
Petrus notes, as he has before, to Celeste, "Your puny mythical unicorn is nothing before the Karkadann." He looks toward Hrafnkel. "Well, don't just stand there. Snub the chief and lead the way."
Celeste scowls at Petrus, "Shhhh."
Hrafnkel doesn't turn to regard any of the members of his party behind him as they speak, only slightly indicating his his attention with subtle angles of his head as he deigns to accept this council. Maybe he takes to this too well. "Chieftain, the power of my strut compells you to surrendur your cloak, and I will go to the palace, now!"
Valentine looks around at the glorious muddy glory that is Cibola, and once again just can't get why other people don't think it's as awesome as he does.
Taran takes a deep breath as the strutting finally stops. "My cousin," he remarks mildly, "is going to slam my head into a rock wall that he missed this and I lack appreciation for it. Shall we on?"
The chieftain, with a flourish, removes his cloak. It was held on with a magnificent clasp. A truly magnificent clasp. Made to look like a glittering diamond skull. It is a bit of Cibolan bling. He hands the cloak to Hrafnkel and says, "You have won this cloak this day, Grandson of Oberon."
Charles says, "You'll be showing that to the grandkids, and no mistake."
Hrafnkel strides boldly ahead and accepts his prize graciously, nodding slightly in acknowledgement to the chieftain. "Tell your grandchildren of the grandeur of this day, chieftain." Then, taking it with him, he moves towards the palace. Still strutting. Of course.
Celeste shakes her head and follows, walking alongside Taran.
The villagers who are not completely on their knees worshipping Hrafnkel as a Magnificent God part for him. The steps up to the doors of the Palace are long and stone and positioned so that the sun glitters off the magnificence of a magnificent cloak. And there, at the top of the stairs, are the Doors. They are Closed.
Petrus follows Hrafnkel, his expression wordlessly informing all the villagers who behold it, "Yes, Hrafnekl Just Did That."
Charles almost, momentarily, seems like he may be on board with this Royalty thing. Assuming sufficiently fancy cloaks.
Liam follows Hrafnkel to the ultimate destination of serious fanciness.
Taran slants a look at the doors, and at the crowds. "Ah....are the doors not supposed to open?"
Valentine follows like a good courtier, looking rather like he needs a train to hold.
Hrafnkel stops at the palace doors, looking at them a long moment. They do not open and he hrrms. Still holding the magnificent cloak and magnificent clasp and looking bask to the others, he asks, "Now what?"
Charles says, "Push?"
Petrus tells Hrafnkel wisely, "Mayhap these primitive people do not have sentient, open-as-you-approach doors."
Petrus notes, toward Charles, "I have seen such wonders."
Liam suggests: "You are the Prince. You need to open the doors, Hrafnkel."
Charles says, "What, automatic doors? Mad Baron Whitechalk invented them five, six years ago."
Charles says, "All the rage."
Hrafnkel listens to the council with a sagely nod and then does, indeed deign to try to open the doors manually.
Celeste chuckles softly and stands by.
Valentine asks Charles, "Was that the type that we saw on that one building with the baby carriage caught in the gears? Or were those a different set of automatic doors?"
Charles says, "That almost never happens."
With Hrafnkel laying hands on the doors, the enormous stone doors swing inward as if they were on well-oiled hinges. They open to an ancient hallway not trod by anyone since the time of Oberon laying the Shadowpath. Somewhere beyond the doors lies the Throne of the Veiled King.
And from far down the hallway comes an evil laugh of the True God of Cibola..........
Liam winces a bit as he hears the strange laughter from the hallway and he admits: "This is where it gets less fun. I have Oberon's notes for the final node but you're not going to like them. You're really not going to like them."
Charles says, "Like them less than normal?"
Valentine says, "Is this fun Cibolan not liking because some people are boring, or creepy scary Cibolan not liking because some parts of Cibola are scary?"
Hrafnkel shoots a glance to Liam, his brow /finally/ un-arching. "Like them less than cat-walking in a gold lamee cloak?"
Celeste cusses bitterly, "How W'rin Bu Lai, Whai W'rin Bu Jwo!!"
Liam feels around in his pockets and then finally pulls out a bit of paper. He unfolds it and warns: "You're not going to like this at all."
Valentine mutters something about who /wouldn't/ like cat-walking in gold lamee?
Taran sighs. "Just speak. We cannot turn back without some idea what we have just opened the doors onto."
Hrafnkel nods. "So I have to not like it to open the path? Okay, done."
Petrus waits patiently for another shoe to drop.
Liam clears his throat and reads off the paper. "When Oberon reached the foot of the Veiled Throne..." Liam gestures down the cobwebby hallway and says, "That's where we are. At the Palace of the Veiled Throne. Anyway." He reads again. "When Oberon reached the foot of the Veiled Throne, he was told, 'None who live may see the face of our king.' He molded a mask of clay over the face of a dying man, and filled its eyes with glass melted from the glass eyes of dead men. In its mouth was set a copper coin engraved with the name of a dead god. With this mask to his face he passed through the veils, and saw the bones of the True God of Cibola." He peers at the group and says, "From my research, to get to the Veiled Throne, it requires a ritual of death suitable to Cibolan Burial Customs. And apparently to get some sort of trinket to get in, we need to go to a small building right near the Palace and get some sort of trinket. But it only opens to those who are dead."
Charles says, "That all?"
Liam says, "Someone's got to die and get the trinket. I don't get how that works."
Celeste pipes up promptly, "Not it."
Charles looks thoughtful.
Petrus ponders this thoughtfully. "Not it," adds Petrus quickly.
Charles says, "There are incredible advances in galvanics these days..."
Taran frowns. "It sounds like something a Feldane would be able to answer. But if you need a volunteer, then I will volunteer."
Celeste's eyes widen, "No, Absolutely not. Sir Harold and Your aunt would have my hide."
Hrafnkel peers at Liam. "Alright. I did the veiled prince strutting thing, I think someone esle should do dead."
Valentine says, "If King Oberon could do it without dying, surely we can do it without dying too. I mean, we got through the catwalk just like he did. Right?"
Charles says, "Pretty sure I could bring someone back..."
Hrafnkel tries to look reassured at Charles.
Petrus says, "I'm not sure how much I trust your notes, Lord Liam. Seems like a really good way to safeguard something important, trick them into triggering a deadly trap."
Taran raises an eyebrow at Celeste. "It is for Amber, is it not? I do not shirk my duty. A volunteer is needed. Now figure out the rest of the riddle, for clearly Oberon came through this *alive*."
Charles says, "Does it say /dead/, or does it say /not alive/?"
Taran blinks, then looks thoughtfully down at his golden gauntlet.
Charles says, "because I can do not alive a real treat."
Liam says cheerfully, "Maybe someone doesn't have to die! Maybe there's another solution! But my paperwork all points to someone dying and some sort of major throwdown with the True God of Cibola at the foot of the Throne of the Veiled King."
Liam says, "It does say dead."
Charles says, "Bugger."
Hrafnkel says, "Maybe we just nead one of those mask things?"
Liam says, "I bet we do. I bet we can fake our way through."
Celeste scowls at Taran, "I really, sincerely, don't like it." She looks to Liam, "Reckon we could do two? If he's going I'm not leaving him to go alone. If he doesn't come bakc I sure the hell don't want to be alive like a sucker to get my ear chewed off for it."
Valentine says confidently, "We'll come up with some clever plan that doesn't involve anyone dying. Not anyone we like. Not /permanently/. Anyway, it'll be fun!"
Petrus nods, slowly. "Let's blind a monkey send it in first," he suggests.
Valentine says, "What are we going to learn from a blind monkey?"
Taran nods to Celeste. "I am not in love with this plan either," he says simply. "But neither will I ask of another what I am unwilling to do myself. So I will go. Once we have figured out how it should be done."
Celeste stares at Valentine, "Cousin, sometimes I worry about you." She looks to Taran, "Like hell, you go I go. If it's not necessary neither of us need bother."
Hrafnkel listens to the Petrus and Valentine. "That needs a punch line." He looks about. "So, what of that trinket it mentioned?"
Charles says, "Should probably point out, this crosses the line from 'science' to 'mad science'. Not saying no, just saying."
"Let me do a little more investigating?" Liam says. "I knew where to find the Palace of the Veiled King. And I don't know what the trinket is. Man, all I know is that the Walrus was Paul." Liam gets a look of consternation. "But I think this is functioning now. The doors are opened. The natives can kill furry headhunters for cloaks again."
Hrafnkel looks to Charles. "You /know/ we have the utmost faith in your professional discretion." Then a nod to Liam. "Right. Research is good."
Charles says, "More worried about yours. Safety Inspectors hear I'm even thinking about this, they're gonna pay me an unpleasant visit."
Petrus nods thoughtfully. "I'll see about procuring a blinded primate," he says. "There's some furry little bastards out there with whom I have a score to settle."
Taran mmms. "Is it possible the trinket is now part of the chieftain's cloak?"
Celeste frowns and listens, unable to even pretend any of this makes sense to her.
"Okay, so..." Liam says. "The Temple is not far away from here. Maybe we try to puzzle out the final node and see if we can get out of it without anyone dying in a few days?"
Hrafnkel nods. "So Petrus is gathering monkeys, Liam is investigating, Taran is dying, and Charles bringing him back..."
Charles lifts a finger. "Theoretically."
Valentine nods solemnly. "Theory of revivification."
Charles says, "Galvanics. Way of the future."
Hrafnkel appends. "Sorry, /theoretically/ bringing Taran back."
Charles says, "I should practice on a dog or something."
Petrus says, "My sister has a dog."
Charles says, "Do you like your sister?"
Petrus shrugs.
Celeste laughs, "No."
Hrafnkel says, "Kind of inhumane isn't it? Don't you have convicts or something?"
"Let's get out of here," Liam says, "before we turn into Cibolans or something else ridiculous."
Valentine says, "We get to keep the conquered cloaks, right?"
"Yeah!" Liam says brightly. "Of course! Collectibles!"
Hrafnkel agrees. "Yes. I need a drink." He pulls off his cloak, clearly not going back in that. "You want this one, too? Doubt I'd be using it, again."
Petrus says, "Too blunt for my style."
Petrus looks to others.
Charles says, "Cloaks are antiques holdovers of the Imperial Days." He pauses. "But it looks good on you."
Hrafnkel smiles wistfully at Charles' words. "Yes... they are, aren't they?"
Celeste murmurs to Hranfkel smugly, "I am never going to let you forget this."
Hrafnkel looks to Celeste. "Fair enough. But you know the deal. We don't speak of what happens here to others."
Valentine tries on a conquered collectible cloak, and poses dramatically.
Liam applauds! Brightly! "Magnificent, Tine!"
Hrafnkel eyes Tine contemplatively, fingers rubbing scratchily at his beard. "You know, you really don't have bad bone structure."
Petrus mentions toward Celeste, "You rat on Lord Hrafnkel's fine modelling skills, and I'll explain about that time, where that thing happened." He winks at Hrafnkel. Petrus has his back!
Hrafnkel fixes Petrus with an appreciative glance. But, then sighs. "I'm going to miss being king."
Valentine smiles brightly at Hrafnkel. "Why, thank you. I give all the credit to my illustrious ancestors and their excellent choices in marriage."
Charles looks off in the general direction of the ship, already lost in thoughts and internal plans, plotting the best way to deliver thoroughly unhealthy levels of galvanic current to a dead body in order to restore it to unnatural life.
Taran seems to have very little to say; lost in thought considering the problems ahead.