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I sort of regret voting for Cheeseburger Magic that one time now.
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Sep 26, 2021 00:04
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| # ? Jun 1, 2024 02:20 |
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I regret nothing 
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Sep 26, 2021 01:36
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You need to keep your horror'd heart slow. You need to focus through the heat. You need to expand your thoughts into the meat to see the patterns and the way out. Just keep calm. Just keep focus. Just think... on the infinite silver reflection... (!PSI ESP a) 11 - [3]+[6]+[4] = 13 - Failure. Again. AGAIN. AGAIN?! AGAIN!!! ANXIETY: [ ! ][ ! ][ ! ][ ! ][ ! ][ ! ][70%] [AGAIN.] All that the stupid lovely silver reflects is a maze of meat and rot, a neverending cascade of dirty dust, it fails, fails to do anything useful AGAIN, it's letting you down AGAIN, it isn't working at the most important possible moment ONCE A-loving-GAIN. RRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGHHHHHHH!!! [-1 HP] You scream. You slam your fist into your head. Your lovely head. Stupid useless IDIOT HEAD. You smash it again and again and again, screaming, raging, stomping, panicking. You walk to the wall and SMASH your face into it, howling. You take out your gun and smash the handle into your skull, as hard as possible, hot with hate crawling up your terror-pinched spine. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. STUPID. STUPID. STUPID. STUPID! STUPID! STUPID! [-1 HP] [-1 HP] [-1 HP] [-1 HP] [-1 HP] YOU HATE IT. YOU HATE THIS TRAITOROUS 'POWER'. THIS PSYCHIC WASTE. THIS SILVER LIE. THIS FAIR-WEATHER FRIEND. THIS loving FAILURE OF A MUTATION. MEGALITH LOOMS ONE MILE TALL AND THE SILVER poo poo CAN'T FACE IT AT ALL. YOU'RE USELESS! YOU'RE PATHETIC! YOU CAN'T DO ANYTHING RIGHT! YOU'LL NEVER BE STRONG ENOUGH TO AMOUNT TO ANYTHING. The gun pistol-whips your skull so hard your vision distorts. Your lungs burn with a minute-long scream of frustrated fear.  [-3 HP] [-3 FP] HP: [ 6 / 21 ] FP: [ 9 / 15 ] YOU WANT TO DIG INTO YOUR SKULL AND TEAR EVERY LAST MUTANT NEURON OUT. CRUSH THEM. STOMP THEM INTO THE DIRTY GREASY FLOOR WHERE THEY BELONG. WATCH. WATCH THIS! THIS IS WHY SILVER IS poo poo poo poo SHIIIIIIIIITTTTT. YOU RAISE YOUR FIST-STAINED-RED AND CLENCH IT. WATCH. WATCH. (!Darkness) 20 - [5]+[3]+[1] = 13 - SEE?! SUCCESS! ALWAYS. IT WILL ALWAYS SUCCEED. [Enraged expenditure! -26 HP!!] (HT - Pass Out Risk!) 15 - [5]+[5]+[4] = 14 - SUCCESS. HP: [ -20 / 21 ] [Near Death!] FP: [ 9 / 15 ]  GRAVITY. Your body shakes titan, bones micro-fracture with swollen marrow. Scream throat red, eyes white wide, proof of what REAL POWER IS. You begin to march, each step thunder, the meat-caked walls shaking as they split open. You advance, your intent on EXIT, unable to blink as you bare snarling teeth. Doors explode. Cheese hardens to rock. Oil boils away. Meat is pulped. Dust is blown out. Curses are crushed. Silk is shredded. Wood is torn. Foundation explodes in reaction, the Unliving Theater slaughtered in your wicked wake. Hot air greets your stained face, provoking you to exert your intent so hard that the tunnel before you begins to twist and deform, mountain-kneeling, your divinity (ALMIGHTY) punishing the Lorded Land. Dark stone is torn from firmament, forced to become a road for you, opening wider and wider. The world shakes with your coming. In no time at all (BECAUSE POWER CARVES A ROAD), you're walking out the other side... and with both hands spread wide, you bring them down with muscle-torn snapspeed, collapsing the miles of cursed stone behind you. You punish the Theater. You destroy it. You show it that it CAN'T STOP YOU. The way is closed behind you, and you couldn't care less. What matters is punishing. What's necessary is power. You sink to your knees in pain, grinning with the weight of it, head airy light with the humid love of how powerful you know you really are. ...unlike the Silver poo poo. Worthless. Weak. A liability! You need to hurt it, bad. You need to make it understand that if it's going to FAIL ALL THE loving TIME then it's not going to be allowed to help. Even the mushrooms are more valuable. Do you understand? Do you GET THAT? WATCH THIS. ONCE AGAIN. (WL - Punish It.) 20 - [3]+[3]+[4] = 10 - Success (by 10). Always Success. Infallible. -VS- (The Silver Mind Resists!) 11 - [4]+[6]+[6] = 16 - Failure (by 5) AS EXPECTED. WORTHLESS! Black sweeps out over your bubbly-hot brain. It creeps and claws, screaming predator, spreading night over the fragile fickle silver reflection. It smashes the metal, tears it under gravity, crushes it up, throws it into the darkness. Get OUT. gently caress OFF. If you can't perform under the ultimate duress of Lordslay then you're not necessary. NOW GO. [The Silver Mind has been forcibly sealed...] When you're necessary as a tool, you'll be dragged out, collared like a dog, beaten and kicked and slapped until you PERFORM, and then you'll be thrown back into your jail. You growl one last time, pistol-whipping your skull to get the point across to the underperformer. So. loving. USELESS. You slow down. You lean on stone. You feel the world spin. You... ............................you don't know how much later it is when you come to. You weakly push yourself up off the rock, spit blood, and shiver. You think. You remember. (Bubbleblood II) 13 - [2]+[3]+[5] = 10 - Success (by 3). Heal: [1]+[4](+3) = +8 HP [-2 FP] HP: [ -12 / 21 ] FP: [ 7 / 15 ] Useful. Blue. Useless? Silver. You rise and look around. You're in a small valley of crumbly black rock, wet with mineral oils bleeding out from the cracks. It... it doesn't look right for some reason, but then it hits you cold. The sky is pitch black. No stars, just cloudless dark. But you can see perfectly fine. Too fine; every single surface you look at it perfectly and uniformly lit. No light is visible, yet it touches everything you see. You look behind you and see the utterly collapsed tunnel... and it hits you all at once. Shame. Terror. Confusion. Guilt. Pain. Exhaustion. Helplessness. You can't let it happen. You can't afford it. You're not allowed a choice. (Disquiet) 10 - [5]+[4]+[2] = 11 - Failure... ...but the magic of the boar-burger tries to mitigate it! (Disquiet Reroll 1) 10 - [6]+[3]+[6] = 15 - FAILURE... ...the burger tries one last time to mitigate it! (Disquiet Reroll 2) 10 - [6]+[4]+[4] = 14 - FAILURE! YOU'RE A COMPLETE loving FAILURE!!  ANXIETY: [ !! ][ !! ][ !! ][ !! ][ !! ][ !! ][ !! ][80%] [You Fuckup.] [Disquiet] You fall over, body slack, muscles weak, future black. What have you done? The Silver can't help now. What's wrong with you? Why? Why? You're going to die. You're sabotaging yourself. You're digging your grave. You're not ready for this. Any of it. This is impossible. You're already damned. Your heart hurts. It's going to burst. The tears are here and you bury them in your hands. No, no, please. Please no. She'll hear. She'll KNOW. She'll know you're already dead and she'll split open your head. She knew you'd fail. She's so angry. So so so angry. You can't stop crying. The tears are so dirty and gross, red and black with blood and dust. Your body seizes, the bubblegem sap barely enough to soothe the burned muscles. The scalded skin. The pounding headache. Your skull is a bruised bloodied mess. Why not just let it happen? Let it End. Your soul shredded and shat out. Please God. Your heart hurts. It's beating so so fast, faster faster faster beats-per-minute racing to reach 200+ to finally explode. Desperate to rip itself open. Your hands open and close, clawing the crumbly rock, legs kicking and seizing with horrible pain. Rolling and crying, screaming and dying, overwhelmed with the awful mighty mighty of white-hot anxiety. Alone. Trapped. Doomed. Your throat slams shut, and you seizure. You can't breathe. You're suffocating. You're fading. You...
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Sep 26, 2021 02:48
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Holy poo poo.
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Sep 26, 2021 03:17
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drat. So much for the quiet approach.
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Sep 26, 2021 04:02
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So our strategy is clearly to go in as close to death as possible, so Bleeder will mistake our bloody, hosed up body as one of his own! It's brilliant!
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Sep 26, 2021 05:32
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drat, that was hosed up. But also, when I read those updates, this was all I could think of. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZP7K9SycELA
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Sep 26, 2021 05:56
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I'm glad I wasn't the only one.
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Sep 26, 2021 10:13
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Grace under pressure probably isn’t going to cut it - we have a roughly 26% chance of missing the roll, which would be Bad at the moment, and it would drop us to 2 FP regardless. Screaming is an even worse idea, since it will draw Bleeder right to us. Passing out doesn’t bear thinking of. Last time we let the Tyrant manifest it left us pretty much broken. Also, looking at our wider situation: we’re at -12 HP and massively high anxiety going into a boss fight. The yellow midnight elixir will definitely fix the first of those, and with its royalty effect it might also help with the second. The number one cause of death in any roguelike is failing to use your consumables. Let’s not fall into that trap.
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Sep 26, 2021 11:01
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VOTING CLOSED - Meltdown At Threshold Walk with Grace Under Pressure. Pray it works. Hide in the diamond. [IQ+2 Check] - 4 Scream. Scream it all out. Until your lungs give. [HT Check] - 1 Pass out. - 1 Waste the Yellow Midnight elixir. Waste it on your lovely broken body. - 15 Shhhhh... it's okay... I'm here for you. [Tyrant Manifest] - 7 (You're making a mistake.) LOADING...  ...LOADING
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Sep 26, 2021 17:43
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I know I've been a broken record about this from the first page, but I'm still keenly awaiting the moment we agree to Ctrl+F8. There has to be an appropriate time!
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Sep 26, 2021 18:02
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e: goddammit Safari, I already made this post.
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Sep 26, 2021 19:07
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Your hand touches it in your seizure. Something small, hard, glass. You pull it out with sudden desperation, your brain burning so hot your vision is starting to distort, flickering in and out. Your jaw is clenched so hard a tooth breaks, agony as the nerve is shredded. But you ignore it. All of it. The vial. The elixir! The ALCOHOL. Soothing, numbing, killing. You must have it. You absolutely give into every disgusting animal need. You fumble, sweating dirt and blood, eyes rung round cyclone trying to keep steady on the little filigree vial. So lovely. So honey-gold warm. There, right there - 'Lucy's Sad' on the bottom stamp. Lucy, Lucy, give me your love. Drinking it is out of the question. It has to work fast. You pop the other end with the auto-inject, and scream once in anticipation - the needle slithers into your neck. You tense so hard you're sure you'll snap the golden metal and tear your vein open... but it injects so quick you yelp and yank it out, the wound closing immediately. Yo-ou-ou-ou-ou-ooouuhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.............................................. .... . . . . . . .. . .. . . . . .  . . . ......hhhhhhHHHHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!! OH! OH MY GOD! OH! ALCOHOL RIGHT IN YOUR BLOOD! OH IT'S SPARKLING BRIGHTER THAN CHAMPAGNE! THE TASTE BRILLIANT SPARKLESWEET RING RUNG THROUGH YOUR PITYMEAT! OH YES! YES! AH! FIRE! YOU'RE SCREAMING FIRE! HONEY-HOT HOLY! AH! AAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!! HAHAHA! OHHHH YOU'RE DANCING! YOU'RE BITING YOUR HAND AND RRRRIIIIPPING THE FLESH OPEN AND IT HEALS TO TOTALITY IN THE *VERY SAME SECOND*! MIRACLE MIRACLE MIRACLE PARADISE! YESSSSSSSS YES YES YES YES YEs yes yes yes yes yesss...... ss. ANXIETY: [10%] HP: [ 21 / 21 ] [FULL HEAL MAX!] FP: [ 15 / 15 ] [FULL HEAL MAX!] [Bubbleblood II charges restored to 2!] You fall backwards, writhing now, so drunk your head is sloshing yellow, warm wormy white. But the drunk is burning out just as fast as it peaks, the extreme potency of the elixir mending absolutely every biological fault. Your tooth is perfect again, your head is smooth and unbruised, your belly is warm and soft, your muscles are relaxed and strong. Oh wow. Wow. W- wait. Wait. Something... oh wow something is happening! Little yellow cells, little royal visitors, are presenting themselves to your organs! Oh they want housing, just for the gracious while. Just for the day! Oh yes they can stay. They're bringing you a gift. A royal lift! What could it BE? Oh you can't wait to see. [Please choose one statistic to become enroyaled to S-Rank, which will last only until the end of the Megalith.]
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Sep 27, 2021 00:40
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The post that detailed the lord strategies mentioned that extreme HT is a big help for the Bleeder fight, so I'd be inclined to go for that. Plus it'd help with general survivability. It also mentioned that Ice and Wind resistance is helpful. We have Molten Veins, so that's better than nothing even if it's unreliable. Gaining a source of wind resistance would be a huge win before the big fight, but that's pretty improbable. Grond fucked around with this message at 01:13 on Sep 27, 2021 |
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Sep 27, 2021 00:59
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Nice catch!
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Sep 27, 2021 01:12
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VOTING CLOSED - Royalty Monstrous ST 50 - 2 Supersonic DX 20 - 1 Computing IQ 20 - 4 Planetary HT 30 - 12 Psychic PE 20 - 3 GARBAGE DISPOSAL posted:YES. YES! I COULD DIGEST ANYTHING!!!
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Sep 27, 2021 03:53
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The Blue Book posted:"...for sure if it's a glitch or intentional, but ANY copy of the Black Blade that ends up in inventory, glitched or illegitimate, will be called a..."
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Sep 29, 2021 05:35
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Black August posted:"...Vernon, Old Wolf, Failed Cloner, Deadhead, and Sauber are among the best Einherjar a Valkyrie onerun can..." Huh. Looks like Einherjar works by summoning the dead or something? Interesting.
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Sep 29, 2021 15:49
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Black August posted:"...high enough, then a special option opens up to terrify the Seventh Lord and effortlessly enslave the..." Bleeder is the Seventh Lord. So, uh, there is an option. I don't know whether we want to enslave him through terror or not or how we go about it but we now have a vague idea of a way to get Bleeder's colors without killing him.
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Sep 29, 2021 17:58
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t3isukone posted:Bleeder is the Seventh Lord. I've been wondering if there wasn't some way to get all the lords' colors without killing them. If there is, it's bound to be extremely difficult, but drat if it wouldn't be worth it, I think.
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Sep 29, 2021 21:18
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You stand back up. You begin to walk. You're not going to stop until Bleeder is dead at the end of your blade. Everything feels fine now. Your body is... engine bright. Strong? No. But stable. Utter with operational. Blood flowing intangibly quick. Heart stone-steady slow. Stomach a placid lake of acid-black. Good thing you had that life saver. (What if you need it later? What if that wasted it?) ANXIETY: [ X ][20%] You deny the thought and continue. There's Lord to slay. There's soul to claim. The valley winds and weaves further on, still bleeding the untrustworthy mineral oils from its dirtyrot cracks. Your hand clenches involuntarily, and you dream of the day that a single fist raised can bring down an entire mountain. A worthless meat tunnel was a good start. Event Log posted:While walking through the valley, the damage done to the collapsed theater has weakened the surrounding stone. It sloughs off in sudden avalanche, sending down a cascade of rotting boulders. You have seconds to react. You see the avalanche fall, and calmly step to face the largest rock. You watch it slick n' slide with planetary spinspeed, picking up pace as it angles towards you with doom's demand. You let it happen. The crumbling black stone smashes into you with killing force. (Boulder Damage) 4d6 - [4]+[6]+[3]+[1] = 14 vs DR 19 - No Damage Taken. *WHAM* You lean back from the force, but don't budge. The stone obliterates itself on your iron body. You wipe the unclean oil from your face with Red's shroud, and glare death at the other rocks, who make a point to find the probability that keeps them from hitting you. Yeah. That's what you THOUGHT. You march on unconcerned, understanding that this Land, this Lorded Land Alive has little that can seriously challenge you as you are now. Will it last forever? No, and like everything else in your life, it'll find a way to try to betray you and hurt you. But not right now. Not while you have this intent. You walk your unyielding body out of the valley, and reveal at last the terrible vista.  Miles wide... the perfect black sky hangs over the perfect lit land. Corruption-dark mountains surround on three sides, their one exit choked off by the slithering immensity of the Rainforest Concordance, from which you have merciful distance. But it bleeds into the miles, painting the final obstacle with its colour. The obstacle... is housing. Buildings. Suburbs. An entire sprawl between you and the distant Megalith, mired among the swamp-red fields of crimson grass and yellow mud. The breeze is burning humid hot, a tongue lick every time it races by your tingling skin. It's quiet, but not from a lack of activity. Instead, the flesh-warmed air seems to eat sound between its folds of humidity, muting everything. You go alert, staying low to the ground with your sword ready to be aimed out. You find a place where the suburbs, fields, and mountain meets, judging your path. The mountains would be an excellent shortcut, but they're clearly so rotten with oil that falling to your death would be inevitable. You can take to the fields along their edge, but your experience with the swamp back in the valley quickly reminds you that those wonderful wet grasses are crawling with folded meat, eager to squirm inside your muscles. ...so you're gone. Gone to suburb. There's a road rising out of the yellowed mud, your feet sinking a little as the pavement crumbles underfoot. The outskirts are ruins, houses sunk into viscous-thick waters and overgrown with ruin rot red. You pass by a tiny chapel, no bigger than a stall, adorned with broken little colorbulbs and sinewy long vines. You look back to the roa-  ANXIETY: [ X ][ X ][30%] stay cool stay cool sword up sword up aimed out aimed out Just Easy. Easy. It's not moving. It's still and you're still and you wait and then it speaks oh God save, it speaks with a soft living voice with warm plain tones so you just wait wait and listen. "Hello! Wonderful wonderful day! Are you here to pray?" No, you say. Not today. "Oh! That's ok! But please please you must stay; let me show you the way." You put a hand up with nervous denial polite, but already it's walked (how many feet?!) to the chapel door. It collapses when it throws it open, hands clinging to the knob, wriggling on the yellow-muddy stone. You see inside and it...  ...so little lonely lovely, ripe with tropic scent... Scuttling. It's crawling towards you (so many legs!), hands raised as it demands it begs "Say it. Say it with me. Say it THREE. TIMES." When it speaks, the voice doesn't come from inside its dirty sheet gown. It comes from the shrine. It comes from the ground.  ANXIETY: [ ! ][ ! ][ ! ][ ! ][ ! ][ ! ][70%] running so fast your lungs so strong you sprint for minutes no pause HP: [ 21 / 21 ] FP: [ 20 / 30 ] [-10 FP] You... you blacked out? What- you were on the road, and there were sunken buildings, but now...  You sit down on the sidewalk, gasping for too-warm air, cracks seeping ligament and liquid clear. You force your iron heart to slow. It's ok. It's ok. You'll find the way. You look to the sky, and you... you don't know to who you pray. You don't see it, but on the pavement behind you, yellow graffiti of a hyena with her head bent gives you say. ANXIETY: [ X ][ X ][30%] Soon you're back up. Soon, there will be Lord to slay.
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Oct 1, 2021 04:36
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Good lord. I wonder if our Chirurgeon class/background actually makes this all more disturbing than otherwise.
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Oct 1, 2021 11:46
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For some reason, the Church scene reminds me of this Will McDaniel video.
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Oct 1, 2021 12:01
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Strange that the dead of the Island are making graffitti of the Miner.
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Oct 1, 2021 17:36
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t3isukone posted:Strange that the dead of the Island are making graffitti of the Miner. Maybe it was the Miner herself, the timelines seem to be bleeding into each other. And the expedition was trying to get to the Bloody Megalith. Grond fucked around with this message at 19:46 on Oct 1, 2021 |
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Oct 1, 2021 19:32
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You come back aware, your head rested on the rough of your sword. God... you don't want to get up. Even in the middle of black sky Hell. But you have to. You have no choice. You'll never have a choice. You get up, and you walk. It's evident in how hard your hand clenches the blade; it's not the adamant of your body that makes you so sure. It's not the gravity black of your intent. It's not even the emerald of your armored heart. No. The truth is there in halo over your seven-wound soul. It's possible to slay a Lord, to kill Bleeder, because you almost did so easily once before. It was there, there, RIGHT there. One sword strike would have done it and it haunts you certain. You know you are capable of it. You know it is possible. You know you are going to do it. ANXIETY: [ X ][ X ][ X ][ X ][50%] [My heart...] You stop in the middle of the grass-stitched street, sword clattering stone on stone. Your legs nearly give and you double over holding your mouth closed, tears sliding hot down your clammy neck. Screams are buried in a blood-bitten hand, tears frantically clawed away from the eyes before she can see them. The awful is how quickly your intent drags you back to walking, sword in your hand with no memory of picking it back up. You suffocate slow, lungs working holier than ever. You have to until the screaming stops. Suburban streets vein and crawl, your body shambling by rotsunk walls. Every home is unliving; windows gaping to show the hot red lights, roofs shivering under the weight of roach and hone, rooms turned inside out and ready to birth themselves in escape from the monstrous prisons they afford. Oh not dead, not dead. But alive in reverse. To have no future or past, only the present pain on skipback repeat. So uncomfortable, so filthy, every tormented cell secreting sickness to sweat dark through the wormy skin. When you finally gulp in air, your hand mangled with toothmarks but unharmed, you almost crash into a mailbox constantly coughing up wet wadded papermeat. You swing back up, Red's shroud unable to deny the intolerable humidity of the deathwarmed Land. It clings to you in soaked second skin, your body a dark dirty misshapen mass. Unreal detail returns to your sight, every single surface so cleanly cleanly bright. So... oh no...  The suburbs... suburbs. Wonderful Wonderful. Land Land Alive. [ OST: The Wonderful Suburbs ] To your left. Look. Three houses squatted flat, marrow burst and strung-gummed between them to support a giant sized tumor divine, crystal-transparent and pulsing with hot ichor gold inside. Do you see them? A hundred strange bodies swim delicate within. Ready to be unborn. To your right. See? Streets and homes, forever rebuilt, by mud and stone and rot and filth. Bones swell and explode, plastering support to muscle insulation. Growths come with love and kind, lifting structures up in form of something beautiful before tumor bloats, and eats it down to the warm swamp ground. Before you. Congregating. The reverse of life. Hundreds untold in shapes of flesh unfold. They're so so sweet to one another, fighting with every second afforded as they walk out of rhythm with life. Drooling ichor, crippled and undone, a thousand shapes pray to the absent Sun. You can't stop yourself from approaching, feeling naked only by the obvious of your stable form. One of the Congregation runs by panting with a hundred legs, so certain when next unbirth it will be able to grow just one more, maybe one day enough to outrun the inevitable to come. Two more shamble by, one gently holding up the drippy mashed meat of the other, sculpting it into a face of desperate detail. "How do I look? Ten arms cup the face so sweet, smiling as it mends the ever-breaking meat. "Wonderful. WONDERFUL. Wonderful wonderful."  The roads, always shifting in regrow, ichor hot in flow under the mud pavement stone. You take to the more stable sidewalks by ligamentchain fences, passing by a small withered body with a jaw and mouth body-large, to help it distend out the vomit of crude oil ocean water. It distracts your troubled mind just long enough to almost walk into a pit in the road. A dozen deformity-struggled voices rise out of the hot gash; the Congregation is coordinated and scaling down the side, crying out and begging to the one they want to save below, a thrashing form constantly trying to keep its head above a neverending quicksand of powered rat bone and warm green palms. You watch for too long. Something notices, and the voice is too thick from ichor jelly clogging the pin-narrow sinuses. "Hello! Hello! Oh wonderful. So wonderful to see you!"  The sword stays down as you spin around, and face it, face the faces in faces and you swallow the too-warm air, feeling the fats congeal in your throat. It's smiling, it's smiling at you; Three. Times. "Sister Sun, you've come you've come. Just in time to see us undone. Oh I know I shouldn't ask I shouldn't I shouldn't, but Sister, Sister, it'd be wonderful so wonderful please if you'd touch me. Please. Sister please Sister please a touch just one, with your blessing of the burning Sun." It leans down the eyes many closed, exhaling with ichor tears as one cheek is offered with praying repose. "Oh Sunny Sister please. It'd be... so wonderful..."
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Oct 3, 2021 04:45
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They want the red right hand. Who are we to say no? Holy, Holy, Holy, let's give them a show.
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Oct 3, 2021 04:53
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Well that is an amazing BGM for this.
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Oct 3, 2021 05:27
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Who are we to deny a request for the touch of the sun?
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Oct 3, 2021 05:49
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VOTING CLOSED - Blessings Touch them. Cup their cheek with your withersoft hand. - 1 Tell them you can't, I mustn't, we won't. - 3 Say nothing. - 3 Touch them... with your Red Right Hand. - 15 LOADING...  ...LOADING
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Oct 3, 2021 16:21
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This whole thing has been amazing, but this bit in particular is just haunting. That Bleeder seems to be trying to ease the pain for his Congregation has definitely earned him points with me.
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Oct 3, 2021 16:54
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As much as the Red Right Hand seems to be the right decision, I half-wonder if this will get us mobbed by other Congregants who want to be blessed with it as well.
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Oct 3, 2021 20:36
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ANXIETY: [ X ][ X ][ X ][ X ][50%] [My thundering heart.] HP: [ 20 / 21 ] FP: [ 19 / 30 ] You're acting with something you don't understand. Yes, you want to hurt this disgusting thing. Yes, you feel a horrible pity you thought you lost in your last life. Yes, you want to do whatever it takes to walk. But there's something fourth there you don't understand. You realize it the moment your bare fingers gently scoop up, and hold the face offered with sincerity kind. All of their hands slender around yours and press it to them. Tears flow out and spackle your silk suit. They exhale with a single second's true relief, the sensation of Life allowing them to remember what it was like to have once been standing on an Island, heart beating with mania scream to the warm ever-sky. Before the cost of it can take hold, quickened ichor soaks through palest flesh. Their eyes flare open. Their body slackens, strengthless, fingers brushing off as they try to grip you. As they dissolve back into the celestial superfluid, they ask with a pleasant surprise afforded by that one second of taken Life. "...Burner?" You stare at your hand, the gold sparkling heat dissipating back into the meat-soaked air. You look around with sudden awareness and sword ready to be slung but Nobody saw. You stand alone, the pavement quickly soaking up the evidence. You step back. ANXIETY: [ X ][ X ][ X ][ X ][ X ][60%] You keep walking, much faster now and with deathly quiet. You keep the shroud so tight it becomes funeral film over you, your head bowed against the too-holy of this wonderful Land. Your breathing enroyaled keeps you walking strong, lungs gone ultra with capacity and strength. The horrible vapor of the tumors and ichor is filtered through the shroud, saving your brain from dangerous fattening and bodily deformity. You're just a pilgrim in black. Just passing holy. But, oh, these suburbs. They're simply Wonderful. So wonderful that you're caught with the violence of rapture, when you crest a hill and bear witness. A whole field! An entire neighborhood! So many fluid-taut cysts, the flesh beautiful gemstone bright. The ground underneath has soaked up so many unliving streams that it's fed the tumors into destruction of the carefully-crafted suburbs. You swallow again, so dark with relief at the strength of your lungs. The tumors begin to pulsate faster, tensing hard with ichorflow befo̳̝̞̯̺̪̞̳̜̼̳͈͔̤͎̝̺͕̕͡ŗ̷̯͖̬͘͝ḙ̡̘͇̬̪͉͓͖̫͙̠̗̬͉̙͇̰̹̞͘͟͟ ̵͙̦̹̱͖̬̟̜͙͜͢ͅ ̵̴̤͎̜̭̠̙̝͙̼̯͔͎̣ ̴̸̨̧̧̼͕̘͙̙̯͍͓̭̠̝̬̤̤̱ ̴̡̩̯̺̦̘͙̳̫̩͖͠ ̨͏̟̺̠̞̟̘͍̲ ҉̶̡̤̜͎̪̙̜͢ ̶̵̢̬̰̮͕̥̤͇̪͚̗͝͡ ̢̙̱̱̯̦̻̪̱̺̻̞͈̟̻̟̠̙͡ͅ ̴̛̝̹͖̰̰̝̼̣͉͠ ̡͏̪̺̖̯̥͖͎̩̖̖͙ ̶̶͖̥͍̥͙̭͎̬̥̙͔͖̜̦̕͜ ̛̛͍̜̺̝̖̘̣̠̥̦̳͍̞̞͜͝ͅ ̨̠̗̖̲͖̗̙̺̰̱̱̞͍̬̠͈́ ̤͓̤̙̝̥̪̥͈͚͓̰̝̳͇́ ̡̡̝̮̘̜̺͇͕̳̼̘̯͕̠̣̦̦ͅͅ ̴̶̮͖̜̜͚͇͇̥̮̗͙̳͙͕͓̰͍ͅ ͓̼͈̦̝̥̱͓̖͡͞͠ ̸̼̼͔͇͈̦̣͖̰̖̺͔͉̗ ̧̻̹̟̙̪̣͈͕̲̲̦̲͜͡ ̷̷̧̛̦̳̭̻̙͉͓̗̤ ͝҉̢̠̺̱̯̼̟̤͚͚̱͉͚̙̹̘͎̰͙̣ ̢͔̼̻̬͎̳͕̗̩̻̼̙͎͟͜ͅ ̡̕͡͏̘̥̤͓̘̜͍̻͖̩̜̭ ̢̡̞͔͎̭̰̟͎̞ ̷̻̱͍̬͎̞̪͖̟̙͔̳̬ͅ ͘͏̪̰̫̗̙͓̫̲̫͓͈̫͈͖̠ ̢̪͕̰̖̦͡ ̵̺̼̦͕̬͠ͅ ̨҉҉̸̮͚̘͍͖͓̠͈͈̹͍̬͇̰̩̠̖ ̹͍̟̮̮̳̀͢ ̸̸̧͉̼͓̝ ̴̢̛͍̖̻̥̟̫̟̘͎̤ ̴̵̧̜̖̯͔̯͖͘ ̟̙̱̼̠͖̳̭̳̦̹̹͖̠̣͙͘ͅ ̴͏̛͕͓̻̝ ̸̡̗̯̘̜͓̣̰̺͚͢͠͝ ̢̠̫̻̲͚̪̠̟̮̦̲͔̟̩͖͙̮͘͡ ̢̞̱̱̘͍͇̖͇̗̬̝̫̺͢͜͞ ̴̧̧͏̩͇̣̬͉̞̫ ̥̝̰͍͇͍̮̯͘͢ ̷̶̣̬̬͍͓̗̰̖̱͔̳̗̗̫͖̕͡͝ ̨̨̦̙̙̗͓͙̝̱̪̙̹̖̣̘̠̲͈̕͜͞ ̨̳͉̞̱͈͈̘͙͎̹̀̀́͠ͅ ̵̛͚̣͍͔̺́͘͝ ̵̸̯̘͓͇̭͕͟͡ ̡̧̯̺̬͉̥̺͎͘͟ ̷͏̖̖̻͙̖͎̺͇ ̹̦̹̭̥͉̥͈̗̀͟ ̧͉͍̜̺̀́ ̹͖̯̩̝̱͍̗̺̯͍͇͠͠ ̷̷̜̙͓͟͞ ̡̢͎͚̼̬̦̬͕̰̖̟͙̦͞͡ͅ ̸̘̟̖̣̦̳͈͘̕ ̸̡̗͇̮̳̜͉̠͠ ̸̶̯̮̫̻̺͔̺̬͉͎̻ͅ ̴̢̨̢͍̜̮̫̫̥̯͔̺̱̬̠͍̀ͅ ̸̡͕̙͖͔̫̳͓͙͍͓̗͚̣̟̤̥͟ ҉̸̢̱̪͖̼̙͖̖̗̬̙͈̩̺̗̕͞ͅ ͟҉̷̹̥͖̺̩͇͍̰̠͎͓̬̮̮͔̹̼͢ ̵̴̻̳̭̦̳͚̲͙̺̬̳̜̠̲͕̘̯̳̬͢͝ ̡̛̣̦̞̮̱͡ ̴̢̜̹̝͔̭̥̺̫̩̫̺͟ͅ  ̷̴ͤͨͤ̑ͣ̂͊̋ͭ͐͐̓̃͋̀͜ ̶̑͗̏̿̉͗͛ͥ̍̒̑̍̃̇̊͊͆̚̚͡͞ ͑̊̆̐̀͞ ̷̢̧̓̓̑͠ ̧̢̌ͧ̀̾̓ͤ͂͗̓͗̾͐̃͌̍͘͠ ͮͮ̈́͗̓ͯ̉̊̑͛ͣ̽̑ͮ͒ͪ̋̆͏͞ ̉ͥ͆͊̓҉̵̢͘ ̨̛͂̄ͣ̐ͦ̎̊ͨ͆ͩͤ̅ͤ̊͗̑ ̧́ͬͣ́̏̚͢͟͞ơͥͧ̎̐̎ͦ̅̂͗͐ͫ͝h̶̨͗̍̓̓ͤͣ̓̎̑͐͂͛́̚͘͝ ̡̡̈́͆ͥ̓̍̋̅̄̋͌ͤͩ̒ͬ͌̅ͪ͜͡nͨ̽̅̓ͤ̿́͘o̽̊ͮ͛̏̾̊͗̍̇ͣͨ̈͗̃͑̚͏!̷ͣͤͤͫͤ͗̑̀͞ ̛ͣ̏ͦͯ̓ͯ͢͟ũ̴̡̇ͥ͐ͥͤͫͯ̕͠h̷̷͋̌ͨͤͩ̈́̿́͞ ̶̃̅̾̃̊ͨͮ́̆̀͡͞͡o̡̧ͬ̂̃͋ͯ̉̀ͦ́͜h͛͋̎̌̂̊̂̋҉̷̷̸͞!̵̨̛ͭ̏ͦ̿̏ͦͤ̆̃̽ͬ̿̒ͤ͛͑̎͘͡ ̨ͪ̈ͤ̊̌̓̀̍͋͒̓ͣ̂ͨ̽̍̀̀͠o̢ͩ̋̐̑̒̾̋ͮ̎ͩ̔͋ͮͨ̿́͠ḩͪͭ͆͌ͨͪ̇̊̉ͬ̐̾̍̏̒̚ ̇̍̊͐̔̄ͩ͆͊͗͌̄̒̀n̴̡̛̓̍ͮ̾̀̒͗ͨ͂̑̍̅̓̕͜o̸̡̢ͦ̈́̍͋̆̒́̉́̅ͯͫ͑ͫ̓̕҉!̶̨̛ͮ͂̋̎̾͆ ̵̈̿̒ͬ̔ͥ̀̃̂̓̏͛̐ͧ͏̷̀ǘ͆̿̿͛͒ͣ̒͑̈̌̀͝҉̡h̓͗ͤ͑ͥͤ̌̌ͣͦ͐̔ͥ̉̒̒͏ ̴̵̢ͮ̈́͗ͯͮ́͌͌̈͗̅͋̐͂ͧ͛́̽̚͢͠ơ̸̶̏͊ͫͭ̾̌͊͊ͬ̈ͩͮͫ̂͟͟h͐̒ͫ͒ͧͨͭͧ̓̀̊҉!̛̔ͥͯ̓̇̉̓͋̏ͪ̓̌̽͆̇͝͠͏̧ ̴̓̉̓͒ͩ̕͟ ̉̾ͣͭ͂̋̐̓ͩ̃̀͡ ̨̧̿͗͐̃ͤ͒ͬͫ̎͘͜ ̷̨ͦͬͬ̽̀̍̂̒̚͡ ̨ͭͪ̋̒ͪ̓̈̋͆̌ͫ̀̚͘͡ ̸̸̎ͫ͆̎̇̂̈́͊͂̒͐ͮͣͬ̊͢͞ ̴̨̍ͥ̌ͧ̐͑ͨͪͭ̍͞͡ ̴̢͑̀ͭ̿ͪ̎ͦ̉̂́ͤ̆̐ ̷̡ͩ̓̌̎͛̐̍̉ͦ͛̄̍́̀ ̷̸͆̐̇̒̿̅ͨ͛̚̚ ̌͛ͤ̎͗̆̃͛̎̿̈̑̉̆ͯ͐ͣ̏͟ ̴̈̈́̓̑̈́͐ͫ́́͘ ̸̢͛̂̉ͣͨͩ͝ ̏ͨ̇̒ͥͯ͜͜ ̔̏ͬ͗͆ͮ̅̍́͜͟ ̶̐ͧ͑ͫ̈̅ͫ͒ͯ̉ͦ̀̓̔̚̚͞҉ ̨̀̄ͪ̂͊̓̂ͤ͌̚ ̢̈́̇ͦ͑ͧ̚͘҉̡̕ ̴ͩ̍͌ͦ͆̄͑̓͛̀ ̵͋̐̈ͮ̆͂̓͌ͯ̉̓ͪ͛̄͌͑͌͜͏̵͏ ̸̷̑͑͊̄ͣ̅ͦ̑ͩ͢͠͠ ̧ͧ͑ͧͧ͒ͣ͢҉͟
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Oct 4, 2021 06:21
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Hrm. This seems bad.
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Oct 4, 2021 07:10
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ohnoes 
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Oct 4, 2021 07:36
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The Blue Book posted:
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Oct 4, 2021 08:42
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Oh poo poo, the blue book screenshot has a black background and pink letters, unlike that other time where they were speaking about the gravedigger. Those are Dark End colors. We already thought the timeline split also applied to the real world but this seems to be confirming it even more. I wonder what finally caused the game to be able to show the Holy End to the player. We've been seeing both timelines intermixed since the sunsplit but they weren't, they only saw the Holy End as glitches. The scene that triggered seems to be happening in the boat that was used by the colonists to reach the Holy Land, not the Rivermarch. The miner's just naming us so this must have happened quite early in the timeline. Grond fucked around with this message at 18:07 on Oct 4, 2021 |
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Oct 4, 2021 17:50
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And even then, we were trying to help the injured seagull 
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Oct 4, 2021 18:10
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Always help birbs!
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Oct 5, 2021 02:40
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| # ? Jun 1, 2024 02:20 |
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...'Everything is tropic now' worries me.
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Oct 5, 2021 03:11
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