Winter's shield toss isn't terribly effective (ROLLED 2), but she manages to yank herself and Presley out of the way before it can grab either of them again (ROLLED 8).
Viola's right, it isn't done, and though her slashes satisfyingly cut through the writhing muck (ROLLED 8) the thing is still moving when it falls from the ceiling with a plop.
It spits black tar in all directions, foul smelling and hot.
A glob lands on Presley's arm (ROLLED 3) hissing and burning, his hand goes numb. [Will take a -1 on attacks for the next 2 tags].
Mary Grace is far enough away that only a few flecks land on her feet (ROLLED 6).
Winter (ROLLED 10) is not about to have anything else dumped on her tonight, and Aristotle (ROLLED 8), with grace, dodges out of the way.
Viola catches a burning glob on the back of her palm (ROLLED 5), easy enough to flick off, though it smarts.
The Horror unfurls, still twisting and curling overtop of itself, and it's kind of hard to tell, but it's at least looking a little worse for wear. Someone finish it off!
Milk is soaking into his suit and Winter is stuttering in his arms, but between the flying weapons and black tar spraying everywhere, Presley is mercifully saved from having to think about any of it. "Son of a—" He lets himself be pulled out of danger by Winter as eldritch tar burns right through his nicest jacket and shirt.
He drops his now-numb hand and uses the other one to reach for a weapon (not the morning star, that's the floor, you idiot) inside his tote bag, without question the best thing Pouch ever decided to gift him. "This is my only suit jacket!" Presley yells as he flings a screwdriver at the Horror, point-first.
Mary Grace is free now, and she's barely been touched by the gunk. Though her hair looks like shit, so, still fuck these guys.
The cheer captain shakes the last of her hair loose and dives across the room, grabbing for the rope and textbook she'd tossed. She loops the rope around the book and swings it at the Horror, determined not to let Presley get all of that sweet monster-killing action.
Splort! That screwdriver lands point first in the heart of the writhing monstrosity (ROLLED 7). The human arms go taut, standing on end, only to be smashed by Mary Grace's makeshift meteor hammer (ROLLED 10).
With one final squelch and spray of grime, the creature deflates on the ground, finally still.
"I...think it's dead now!" Aris offers hopefully, looking relieved as the creature finally goes still.
He glances up at the ceiling, just in case, before stepping closer to Pocket and looking her up and down again. They could probably carry her out of here without too much trouble, but he's still not sure that's right. As he's having this thought, something else that doesn't seem quite right catches his attention. Between the shining bangles on her wrists is a much simpler, seemingly homemade accessory constructed from hex nuts and worn leather. That, and a faint impression from the earliest moments of the memory, make him wonder. He reaches out to touch it.
The leather and steel bangle lights right up under Aristotle's fingers. He has just enough time to slip it off Pocket's wrist before a deafening roar — the flames, the shadowy tentacles, the crashing shelves and screaming cultists — signals the start of the memory, once more.
"You've gotta go!" Pocket shouts over the bedlam, offering her hand again.
Just as their fingers lace, a whippy tendril grasps Pocket's midsection.
"Tinkerbell!" El shouts, but there's nothing he can do. Pocket squeezes his hand as she's wrenched away. El makes to leap, but the floor disappears beneath him and he falls, sent away from this hell by Pocket.
The whole scene bends strangely, sudden vertigo, the only thing left solid is that hole Pocket made in the ground. Here, it looks back into the Sorting Path.
[MEMORY COMPLETE! You have found the linchpin and defeated the NPC. Get back to the Sorting Path and keep going!]
Mary Grace blinks hard as things bend. Even lying face down on the ground, hands clutched around the rope to her hogtied history textbook, she feels a little fucking dizzy.
She rolls on her back and sits up straight and it just seems to get worse. Hm. Maybe she should drink more.
"Lookin' sharp 'n' soggy, Promsley," Mary Grace says, shooting Pres a fingergun and a wink as she scooches over to the hole in the floor. "I'll spot for y'all on the other side." And with that, Mary Grace disappears into the ground. With any luck, she'll never be seen again.
Looking at the homemade bracelet in Aris' hand, he thinks of what Viola said earlier. He thinks of caring for someone and making mistakes, and to have the world punish you for those mistakes by ensuring you never see that person again. The world isn't fair—it's never been fair—but it does strike him for the first time as unjustly cruel.
Presley gives Mary Grace the middle finger before she disappears, and bends down to retrieve the Omamorning Star. Not only a powerful weapon, but one crafted from his father's gift. It was truly, incredibly bone-headed of him to drop it. He turns back to Winter.
"Carmichael." He can feel the wizFrosted Flakes stuck to his hair, in addition to all the horrible monster fluids and viscera. His hand is still numb. "After this is over... want to go on a date with me?"
Winter's grinning at the exchange between Presley and Mary Grace, quietly amused and plainly caught off guard by Presley's next question, directed at her. Her gaze cuts left, then right, but there's no one else here named Carmichael, Winter, you dope. "I..."
She thinks of El Qualls, and the way he saw Pocket. In this dark basement bathed in flame, she was something transcendant. A beacon, a goddess. It had seemed a tad over the top to Winter when they'd stepped in, but now, looking at Presley, soaked with milk, flecked with cornflakes and muck, she can kind of see where El Qualls was coming from. Maybe not quite so grand. But, sometimes, someone's just exactly who you want to see. A light in the dark.
She picks a cornflake from his hair and flicks it aside, her lips parting into a a grin. Bright, bashful bashful laughter chases that smile, wholly inappropriate for their current setting. "I... absolutely do." She tips her head toward the portal. "Let's go save a party bug."
Aris, now making an effort not to smile too wide, glances at Viola before averting his eyes. This is sweet, right? But they shouldn't interrupt, right?
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peckenpaugh2020-06-01 11:19 am
MEMORY: An Eye for An Eye
Viola's right, it isn't done, and though her slashes satisfyingly cut through the writhing muck (ROLLED 8) the thing is still moving when it falls from the ceiling with a plop.
It spits black tar in all directions, foul smelling and hot.
The Horror unfurls, still twisting and curling overtop of itself, and it's kind of hard to tell, but it's at least looking a little worse for wear. Someone finish it off!
MEMORY: An Eye for An Eye
He drops his now-numb hand and uses the other one to reach for a weapon (not the morning star, that's the floor, you idiot) inside his tote bag, without question the best thing Pouch ever decided to gift him. "This is my only suit jacket!" Presley yells as he flings a screwdriver at the Horror, point-first.
MEMORY: An Eye for An Eye
The cheer captain shakes the last of her hair loose and dives across the room, grabbing for the rope and textbook she'd tossed. She loops the rope around the book and swings it at the Horror, determined not to let Presley get all of that sweet monster-killing action.
MEMORY: An Eye for An Eye
With one final squelch and spray of grime, the creature deflates on the ground, finally still.
THE HORROR WAS DEFEATED! Find that linchpin!
MEMORY: An Eye for An Eye
He glances up at the ceiling, just in case, before stepping closer to Pocket and looking her up and down again. They could probably carry her out of here without too much trouble, but he's still not sure that's right. As he's having this thought, something else that doesn't seem quite right catches his attention. Between the shining bangles on her wrists is a much simpler, seemingly homemade accessory constructed from hex nuts and worn leather. That, and a faint impression from the earliest moments of the memory, make him wonder. He reaches out to touch it.
MEMORY: An Eye for An Eye
"You've gotta go!" Pocket shouts over the bedlam, offering her hand again.
Just as their fingers lace, a whippy tendril grasps Pocket's midsection.
"Tinkerbell!" El shouts, but there's nothing he can do. Pocket squeezes his hand as she's wrenched away. El makes to leap, but the floor disappears beneath him and he falls, sent away from this hell by Pocket.
The whole scene bends strangely, sudden vertigo, the only thing left solid is that hole Pocket made in the ground. Here, it looks back into the Sorting Path.
[MEMORY COMPLETE! You have found the linchpin and defeated the NPC. Get back to the Sorting Path and keep going!]
MEMORY: An Eye for An Eye
She rolls on her back and sits up straight and it just seems to get worse. Hm. Maybe she should drink more.
"Lookin' sharp 'n' soggy, Promsley," Mary Grace says, shooting Pres a fingergun and a wink as she scooches over to the hole in the floor. "I'll spot for y'all on the other side." And with that, Mary Grace disappears into the ground. With any luck, she'll never be seen again.
MEMORY: An Eye for An Eye
Presley gives Mary Grace the middle finger before she disappears, and bends down to retrieve the Omamorning Star. Not only a powerful weapon, but one crafted from his father's gift. It was truly, incredibly bone-headed of him to drop it. He turns back to Winter.
"Carmichael." He can feel the wizFrosted Flakes stuck to his hair, in addition to all the horrible monster fluids and viscera. His hand is still numb. "After this is over... want to go on a date with me?"
MEMORY: An Eye for An Eye
She thinks of El Qualls, and the way he saw Pocket. In this dark basement bathed in flame, she was something transcendant. A beacon, a goddess. It had seemed a tad over the top to Winter when they'd stepped in, but now, looking at Presley, soaked with milk, flecked with cornflakes and muck, she can kind of see where El Qualls was coming from. Maybe not quite so grand. But, sometimes, someone's just exactly who you want to see. A light in the dark.
She picks a cornflake from his hair and flicks it aside, her lips parting into a a grin. Bright, bashful bashful laughter chases that smile, wholly inappropriate for their current setting. "I... absolutely do." She tips her head toward the portal. "Let's go save a party bug."
MEMORY: An Eye for An Eye