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Iirc it was the Back Or the boom which shot is into the Back One of those?
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May 10, 2024 14:21
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| # ? Jun 1, 2024 10:07 |
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It actually happened right before that, after you met Melinda. And it's why Śmiercią meant to kill you for being past the final deadline.
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May 10, 2024 15:30
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 Chowder, you lovely, you silly, you tiny zoomy sweet. You have assessed the threat, and it makes your whiskers draw up like little antennae to the Throne. You cannot understand, without having seen them flyfoot and feign with the mastery of wind. Chips, the dolt, the dope, that brings worship and prayer with your every joke. You have seen the strands of joy and territory for catkine to thrive, and it's becoming a cold black light. You cannot understand, without having seen the audacity as they come away from the greatest blunder with a perfect intention's walk. Cornstarch, you slouch, you loafin' and muffin big ball of spoiled puffin'. Your great psychic has related the shape of the possibility to the Council, and it looks like a City. You cannot understand, without having seen the envy of creatures whose sheer laziness gives them the ultimate in life's methods. Prince Cattington, you regality, you showy, you purring pawing dear. You have gathered all intel and word, and it makes your cape feel flimsy against the cold of the Dreamlands nightfall. You cannot understand, without having seen them command and resplend with the mastery of kings. Stinky, you strange, with your albino hairless water-range. You've slain so much of the deep, but now you see it's emptied in pilgrimage to a cold waste road. You cannot understand, without having seen myriad trick and form of their kill's claw-climb to the shoulder's of every giant. 9th, the one deranged, living with hardcore's edge with 8 deaths to your name! You've fought in countless wars and distance, and there's nothing left to conquest... save one. You cannot understand, without having seen your heart stop in gasp while they dance back and forth over the edges of scythes. Dead Cat, you chilly small, caught up in the foams of the quantum-dark all. You've born witness to secrets no others could keep, and you know who is worthy to Dream in Quest. You cannot understand, without having seen them sleep so peaceful-still under the light of the noonday Sun. Pitch Black Cat, the stoic stealthy serene, loved from afar as you disappear with one backlook. You have stalked every shadow, and must know if the City can withstand your claw. You cannot understand, without having caught only rumor of a tail as it vanishes into the gloom. Oh blessed priest, Cat What Swims. You who coasts the cosmic vibrationals, entangled with every impossibility hidden in the zen of feles. You who will do anything it takes to fulfill the promise of Ulthar. You cannot understand, without having felt the concept of love brought about by a gentle hand on a purr-arched back. You cannot understand the curious nature of Bast's love without having known these. You cannot understand the alien nature of Bast's violence without having felt these. You have known and felt these, shown and owned them - now wake, Ambassador.  This is the prelude to the end of the Dream.
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May 11, 2024 03:29
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i was like oh hell ya ulthar cat break time but now i'm a bit more... well, same as the past few pages
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May 11, 2024 03:52
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Where do figments of imagination and flights of fancy go when the dream ends and the sleepers awaken one and all? isn't the Black Throne the seat of Azathoth itself? If we're its ambassador... just WHAT are we?
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May 11, 2024 04:10
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we do need to make a pilgrimage at some point to unlock the funny suit...
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May 11, 2024 04:36
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Randalor posted:Where do figments of imagination and flights of fancy go when the dream ends and the sleepers awaken one and all? We are the End, are we not?
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May 11, 2024 05:20
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oh my GOD. just incredible. truly these are the essence of Cat 
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May 11, 2024 11:39
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Hnh? ...  ... ... ... ... ... ... Hnnhnhnhhhh. ...  ALRIIIIGHT. FINE. YOU'RE AWAKE. FULLY ALERT. YOU'RE UP. DREAMING: [ ~ ][ ~ ][ ~ ][ ~ ][50%] You keep glaring up as you slump in rise from the grasses of midnight dew, shaking them off while you stretch in anger and walk over to step into the noisy booth.  You grab the phone with a grimace and speak. Yeah. Hi. "Ambassador. There isn't much time. I have successfully evacuated Ulthar to safety with my sister sisters, which leaves I and the Council to now war to your distant hideaway. Are you safe and well?"  Oh. Yes, quite well, thank you. Please go on, Duke Sauber. "Travel to the Moon will be impossible until we reach you, Ambassador. It will take us maybe a year to get to you; you're in the deep of the Green Meadow in the ultimate eastmost of the Dreamlands. My dear ally, stay where you are! We must reach the Vaults of Zin, to cast our votes and slays in the meet for the treaty-end of the wars. The only way to make it in time is the Moon. Be safe! We will meet again." *click* You hang the phone up. drat. You need to lay low for nearly a year? Oh well. That's not that long. You slump down in the booth and sigh, smelling the deep warm grassy airs. The Green Meadow? Alright. You get up and stretch, and then startle to near-death when a tiny little form mewls and jumps on your back. Ahhhh!! It's the little kitten! It hang-climbs and then gets to your shoulder to nibble your ear while you assess and pet. Well, it's good the kitten is here for some company during the long seasons of wait. Thank God that Ulthar was cleanly evacuated. Have the wars really reached it at last? You rub the catscratched blood pact on your hand, and nod with relief. Your successful alliance with the Duke was the right choice. Well, for now you need to find somewhere good to bunk up. You reshoulder the little kitten and walk with your sword slung low, cutting through the tremendous miles of midnight meadows, perfumed with ocean grasses and vast wounding flowers. But they don't bother you. Your flip your shroud around and spin with bladeplay, the kitten swatting while you whorl away the pollens and petals of dreamdeath. You stop when you bounce into a crude sign in the road, painted messy and stuck down with too many cables and leans. The kitten leaps off to chase some butterflies with six foot wingspans, while you read and look around. It's colored a dark green, smeared with glitter and pollens, and shaped with weird bumps and bulges. It's an advertisement for a place it claims is just down the bend. BROCCOLI BOB'S!! VIABLE COMPETITOR TO MC&D FULL LODGING RESTAURANT AND GROCER PAWN BUY AND SELL ALL REFINANCING AND LOAN AVOIDANCE WEAPON OUTFITTER 24/7 ACCESS PHARMACY CERTIFIED POOL WITH LIVE COVERAGE LUXURY BATHROOM ACtually you stopped reading after the third line, and you're skulking down the grass-choked paths with the kitten in follow. God knows you could use some sleep.
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May 12, 2024 06:21
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It's a good thing that time in the Dream does not correlate to time in the waking world, cause we've already had Smercia pissed at us once for being over the time limit (even if it was a glitch), we don't need to risk it again. Not sure we need to buy or sell anything, but surely it can't hurt too much to take a look at what's for sale?
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May 13, 2024 03:24
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 You walk for miles around the long-dark bend, stars starting to sparkle overhead in the gradient sky. The Moon... you look towards where it hides behind the clouds, a hint of pale grand. You wish Sauber and the Council well, despite knowing the terrifying potence of such a crew. You pet the black kitten and travel on, dancing slow to whorl the evils of the Green Meadow off. You wonder, do those who dream in this war suffer as cruelly as you did, once upon a time? Do they too stand awake and alive, screaming in unison as the Final City rises over all? Surely, surely. Your dance ends when you come to the edge of a mini-forest made out of enormous meadow bushes, a great gathering of branch, flower, and leaf in dead harmony. Oh, but this little forest is tamed! Look look- there's touches of the most wild ones about this place, the magic of dryads! It folds over leaf and bug in ways of safe, since following the magic of a dryad allows any flora immense health... but they have to do as she asks, which means of course this little forest has transformed into a lovely inviting trap of another kind; the financial kind. Deeper inside reveals the machinations of such magics in a deadly land, as branches become pathways in beckon to a great hub near the center, a structure of countless petals and vines in warm windy whipping, making up a loose bulging form of shelter and gracious space. The kitten mewls. You nod and agree; it honestly looks kind of tacky and too-much-effort, too-little-polish. Especially the sign fixed over the door, which has a cutesy but crude drawing of a dryad's happy face next to the title of *BROCCOLI BOB'S BARGAINS* in searing neon-painted colors. Dammit. You need to think this through before entry. At the least, you should rummage your belongings to make sure you have some currency. You find a good root to sit on, and dig into your pack to look at all of your stuff. You... oh hold on. There's two boxes you didn't realize you had. You look at the matched set, each dinged up in different ways, their withered redwood dry to the fingers. You fiddle and pop them both open to see what's inside. Your memory is pretty scattered down here in the Dream, but you know these have valuables inside. Let's see. Popping open the box with more Burn on it, you find... Popping open the box with more Red in it, you find... If you need something to trade with, these could help.
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May 13, 2024 07:04
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Raw ateel is from ADOM and is generally Bad News to use, carry, or do much of anything with. The crockettcaster sounds like a Davy Crockett - a nuke designed to be fired from a handheld rocket launcher - which sounds pretty great actually.
pumpinglemma fucked around with this message at 09:59 on May 13, 2024 |
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May 13, 2024 09:57
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Nuclear cocaine?  ...can we suitify the nuke blow Actually suitifying any of the first options (aside from raw steel) sounds like it could have some interesting results. Bloody Pom fucked around with this message at 10:12 on May 13, 2024 |
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May 13, 2024 10:10
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Went with Raw Steel and Nuclear Upgrade. No strong feeling on the former choice, and for the latter I just think the Nuclear Upgrade might be something nice to tack on our existing kit.
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May 13, 2024 10:14
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I went with the evil diamond and nuclear upgrade. Diamond might be interesting to try to suitify, and yeah, upgrades are never a bad thing.
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May 13, 2024 10:57
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+1 diamond and upgrade.
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May 13, 2024 19:36
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I was so tempted to pick the blow.
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May 13, 2024 23:59
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Atomics
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May 14, 2024 05:20
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VOTING CLOSED - Last Gifts 5th Left You... [Nuclear Gold] - A bar of extremely rare gold. - 7 [Raw Steel] - An ingot of the steel born from radiance. - 3 [Trinitite Edge] - Olivine glassblade of atom-splitting fragility. - 3 [Hellfire Diamond] - Soul-cut diamond of evil color and heat. - 14 [Nuclear Honey] - A lead pot of glowing red honey. - 9 Counselor Left You... [Nuclear Blow] - Nuclear-strength baggie of raw red cocaine. - 7 [Disco Skin Care] - A Paradisical consumable that lends stardom. - 10 [Crockettcaster] - Aim well, and speak the meteoric words. - 7 [Paradise Punch] - A Paradisical consumable that lends iridescence. - 0 [Nuclear Upgrade] - Small nuclear install that can augment some items. - 14 LOADING...  ...LOADING
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May 14, 2024 06:29
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The first world problem of this work's growing popularity is that ties are so much more rare nowadays. (I was really hoping we'd get Nuclear Skin Care; the options were tied when I voted.)
Mechtroid fucked around with this message at 22:59 on May 16, 2024 |
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May 16, 2024 22:04
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 This seems good. There's a glory of a gemstone, some kind of eerie black diamond with a weird cut and inner fire that gives it a powerful refraction. The other one, though, is a series of devices and attachments with black and red mechanical devices. No idea what to make of it, this deep in the Dream. DREAMING: [ ~ ][ ~ ][ ~ ][ ~ ][50%] Both are set into your pack while you approach the store outlet, find the door to be little more than a dense plastic tarp soaked with warding alchemicals, and affixed with cheap lights connected to cutesy floral misters. You hold the kitten under cloak cover as you move past the wet entrance, coming into an assault on the senses. This isn't a store, this is a garbage dump! Tables of irregular shapes and heights arrayed in lamentable configurations, shelves stacked so close together you can't even sidle between them, mossy boxes piled with no regard for weight pressures, walking space clogged with discarded tags and spill stains, irregular lights that barely showcase anything useful, zero evidence of a luxury bathroom. This place is a disaster. You like it. The kitten leaps down and immediately escapes into the labyrinth junk-dark, leaving you to browse in silence. This stuff is- no you really don't need to confirm, this is junk. Menially useful, but mostly pointless in a place as dire as the Green Meadow. You wrack your brain to recognize a handful of objects, and read the faded instructions on others. Egg beater... broken. A package for organics with ballistic-types tongues that 'improves stickability'... expired about 300 dream-years ago. A set of assassin's teapots... made out of a clear acrylic (that's toxic). But as you keep looking you do start to notice, through the suspicious tingle of your mitochondria, that a lot of this stuff is straight up esoteric. You're pretty sure this one blue wooden wheel with the weird notches is a busted Ocean Abacus, used to see the true shape of water bodies (very dangerous). This one little biopack has some sort of living orange 'Happy Gel' that's meant to roost in your gut and promote microbiome health, though it's completely dried out and worthless now. Right there, you're certain this is an overdue book from a place which used to be a library, stained to oblivion with red grape juice. You're lost in marvel, taking in the heaping reams of useless poo poo, when you realize you've been shot at about three or four times. DREAMING: [ ~ ][ ~ ][ ~ ][ ~ ][ ~ ][60%] 「Avi’s Question」 You look up calmly from the display of petrified once-fractal cakes, and see a dryad halfway up a tiny stairwell. Wow. She looks stressed, hahaha. Simply withered with it, shaking and trying to aim an uncomfortable looking pistol-like with a nasty armstrap to power it. But your attitude convinces her to stop shooting and stare, before she asks with corporate-casual shellshock, "You're not a Hero? Are you just a customer?" You look around confused before you get that she took you for a Hero. The sword and shield, right... no, you tell her. You're an Ambassador. She droops and comes down the stairs more, shaking even harder as the irregular lights gives away her form. She has a blanket on, but underneath she's fully dressed in a ridiculous and squared-shapen business suit, her head almost silly coming out of it. Her head, dryad-lovely, with a brilliant cloud of full-color saffron blossoms, whispering with their rumored rich spice. Poor gal seems underfed, as far as plants go; her eyes are so sunken. She walks too-firmly in her oversized fine shoes, and manages to keep the gun down while she gets a closer look at you as you lean on a counter. The dream logic is too clean to ignore, with you both immediately back to neutral. Of course you murder a Hero on sight in the Green Meadow. If there's a Hero here, they're something horribly strong that's looking to grind time in murdering nightmares that frolick here. So it's a cut to the chase. "Are you an MC&D Ambassador? Is this it?" You blink some more. What? No. You are the Ambassador of [A TERRIBLE PILGRIMAGE]. The dryad's gun-hand twitches, and she looks confused. "What?" You look confused back. Ulthar! You know? Cats? She takes a moment to clear the haze from her dreamy state, and then brightens. "Oh! The- the small killers! I remem-" she backs up suddenly and falls over with a horror-exhale, and you look down to see the little kitten scuttling past to approach the dryad. She doesn't pull the gun, and gives to paralysis as her shoe is inspected. "IS THIS A KILLER?" You look at the kitten and consider, and tell her, well yes, that's a cat. Wait, she's never seen a cat? The dryad shakes her head, and her great poompf of saffron leans weirdly, drooping. You kneel down and psspsptptpsppsspsptpsptppppssspssp to make the kitten come to you, and play with it while the dryad gets up and adjusts her hair. "So you're not part of MC&D? This isn't it?" You look at her curiously, but something in the back of your brain brightens up, fed by the sleep, and a memory gives you savvy with a whispered ('remember how poorly civilians handled the enemy territories?') and you ahh, and try to dream more Ambassador-like. You tell the dryad that you're in need of long shelter, and that Ulthar is willing to benefit her for aid in a time of need. This kind of talk seems to help the dryad, and she suddenly clicks into a sales personality, dark-sheened with the true exhaustion of doom. "O-oh wow, yes, of course Ambassador, of course. You- I'm awake, which means I'm open for business, so of course you can shelter here. OH, oh please here have a seat. This seat!" She hurries in her poor-worn suit and finds a couch made of skin and flesh, advertised as being carved from a high quality room, and peels some moss off of it with a soft-covering throw on top. You and the kitten take the seat with grace, giving a genuine smile as you sink into the very comfortable lump. She comes back a moment later with a scuffed tray and fresh mug of hot water along with a bindle of grasses. "Ambassador, this is meadow tea, which is harsh but soothing and good for avoiding the allergies of the pollens." Wow, yeah, this is some nasty tea, but it's the kind of nasty that is so novel and out-there that you keep drinking it anyways. You let her pull up a chair while she tries to officiate, finally putting the gun away when she realizes she's been pointing it around at you this entire time. "So welcome, Ulthar. Uh-" she completely forgets her script and falters, and you cleanly cut in to help her along, asking first what her name is. "Oh I'm-" she stutters and stops herself hard, and then corrects to say "Call me Broccoli Bob!" You pet the kitten while it kneads the couch, and plainly state that's not her name. She replies faster this time, defensive. "No, no I- you don't give your true name when there could be Fae. Ever. Right?" She realizes she's daring an Ambassador and seems to doubt herself, but you're quick to soothe; she's absolutely right. Bob it is. Nice to meet you.  Before she can so much as twitch a leaf, you're lifting up the little black kitten and handing her to Bob, showing her how to pet the kitten while she tries to not panic. You lay in hard and tell her that you need safe lodging for a year, and that Bob is who you're going to have it with. Could she accommodate that with a deal struck? Can she be counted on for her discretion? This proves fatal, as the dryad pets the cat hypnotized and distractedly concedes to the demands with a nod. You smile and take the kitten back, both a relief and a let down for her, and play the next card by asking for what kind of year-lodging will this be? Bob nervously drinks some of her tea, seeming to finally cohere into realizing what this dream is shaping. She says, "Well I-" and then you reach across and one-hit KO her by taking out the dark diamond, and playing with it by letting the light make pseudo-lasers for the kitten to chase. She stops her staring after a long pause, and hurries with "Ambassador, listen, I'll be honest." Yes! That was what you were leading her to. You know with dream logic certainty that she'll be clear. But, what you didn't account for was how clear she was going to be. Her voice struggles to be as corporate as it can while she mainlines tea to get her through her unloading speech. "I, uhm, I am so happy to help Ulthar by letting you stay, but, but this isn't safe and I don't know what I'm doing. I admit it." You adjust in your seat, and ask obliviously; what? She breaks the dam and starts to assault you with singing nerves. "I don't know what I'm doing. Store. The store. I just want to run a store but I don't know how. I don't know how to do it. They're everywhere. I HAVE to be here. The war killed everywhere else which means you need to do it with them or you hide like this. Like this. Alone. Nobody is here, they're in the last few cities, and that's a MC&D cornerstore on every street. They're going to kill me." You try to deescalate, staring while you wordlessly hand the kitten back over for her to pet while her eyes dart to the corners of the shop. "I ran. I couldn't do it. I left. Walked out. I left and I knew they'd kill me. Couldn't meet quota. Never. Ever. I can't- I don't know how to sell, they taught sales and I can't do those sales. Math, I can do math I know math, I see math when it's tiny many roots, but this was dark dark math that made things bleed and I didn't know how to solve for it, so, so I took cargo and ran." You refill tea for the both of you while her hands, clean of bark from being chewed off, carefully pet the purring kitten. "Cargo. All this cargo. Just took whatever was in the bins at that moment. Just shoved them into the drop-plane and went. Oh. Oh. Wait! You're a customer." Bob gets up suddenly and her flower hair slides again, revealing suddenly that it's actually a living wig. Underneath... oh! She's a brassica! One with a great deal of wither in her adoration of cabbagy leaves. She stares at the saffron wig with a sudden disassociation, which she returns from while looking at you drinking tea. "You need a year. I don't know what that's worth. I-" You decide you'll commit to this quickly, and deal with it after a good night's rest. You tell Bob that you will help her out starting tomorrow, and that she can sleep easy with you here, since you're a Heroslayer and MC&D rebel. Bob seems to accept it with the same ease she accepted the existence of cats, and ushers you. "You can take my room for now, the guest room isn't-" No. You're sleeping on the couch. It's squishy, the kitten likes it. "Oh. Okay. Goodnight. Welcome. Thank you." Broccoli Bob takes the saffron wig, and places it on a coat rack as she stumbles back to bed.  You stretch, and curl up with the little kitten in relief. Good God. You guess you'll have to turn this into a defensible position. You sleep through the dangerous night in peace, the morning seeing you being presented with coffee this time. Awful coffee. But it's hot, so you have it. Bob tells you, "Uh. It came from a prototype I took. MC&D had a patent for an omni-vending machine, and had single-type tests for stuff like coffee." You drink it fast and look at the kitten drag a dead rodent along the dirty floor. You ask Bob; you want to be a merchant? A name independent of MC&D? The dryad, still in a state of brain-fog slow, nods absently at the dream of her dream. You set your cup down and say alright, you're going to turn this place into a functional shop. You met a kobold once, you know all there is to know. In exchange, you get housing, and Bob will get a deal with Ulthar. The dryad nods again, on her third cup already, suddenly bending to look at the cat tearing the mouse apart. You snap to keep her attention, as the evil dawnlight of the Green Meadow turns the room into leaf shadows. You tell Bob that first of all, she needs a strong concept for her shop. It's the necessary foundation for its dream to have stability. Maybe there's a crown on your Ambassador head when you demand of the ill-suited dryad, What kind of place is this, Bob?
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May 17, 2024 07:15
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gecko PEDs
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May 17, 2024 13:00
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I went with Final Shop, because it definitely sounds like things are coming to a head with MC&D in the Dreamlands and lord knows we could use all the end-game restoratives we can get (regardless of if it is actually the Final Showdown, having ready access to that would be a boon), though I was kind of tempted to go with Secret Shop, but bad costs are bad.
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May 17, 2024 13:58
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Voted illegal shop since that seems thematic with rebelling against mc&d’s monopoly
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May 17, 2024 16:54
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I went lucky shop because it feels closest to the current state of the shop, so it’s most likely to gel with Bob’s style.
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May 17, 2024 18:42
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I went for Lucky shop. Final and illegal invite danger, but lucky will largely bring amicable patrons, I hope.
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May 18, 2024 02:40
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VOTING CLOSED - Building Up Broccoli Bob This is the Hidden Shop. The one that's very hard to reach, but it has the best stuff at the harshest cost. - 10 It's an Illegal Shop. You present one front, but something much more contraband is for sale behind the right door. - 6 You're the Lucky Shop. Novelties galore, and a tiny random selection of who-knows-what. - 8 A Final Shop. You're THE last stop before the final confrontation for those kind of unfortunate souls. - 10 LOADING...  ...LOADING
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May 18, 2024 04:11
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I guess we're convincing Broccoli Bob to run the Omega Weapon of stores huh.
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May 18, 2024 04:59
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For a brief time, it was looking like a triple-tie with lucky in the mix. alas.
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May 18, 2024 05:37
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 Bob opens her mouth to answer. You immediately cut her off and stand up to let the gravity of your presence fill the leafy room with more shadow. You'll tell her what kind of shop this is. You're in the Green Meadow, for one. That's insane, inside the furthest reaches of the Forbidden Land. The reason MC&D isn't here is because this place is as legendary as Xura for being a bad idea to be anywhere near; even refugees from the wars hardly go more than the very edge of these lands. The kind of place Heroes love to sulk in after they've slain their destined final foe. Practically vomiting the darkest Green shade of Mana, and crawling in its soft tufty puddles are Fae the like which they're not allowed to write words about anymore. It's remote, foolish, mad, and that's YOU, Bob. That's what this shop is. Bob nods along, overwhelmed by your further descent into the Ambassador dream, and vaguely insulted by being called insane. But she isn't going to say it's wrong. You're there to lean in like a bad dream that wants to help, pointing around with all the majesty you've earned in your dreamtimes. You tell Bob that she needs to embrace her very poor luck and circumstance, as well as the fact she's going to die. This shop needs to be way way overboard what MC&D does. MC&D does the best, of the best, of the best... but they're hoops, Bob. They're 17 contracts, a urine test, two lectures, three background checks, two-hundred credit checks, and one fingernail just so you can lease out a tape of some guy in a suit getting cut up while talking. It's garbage. They've normalized the best, made it boring, expected, too expensive and too predictable. But not you, Bob. Not you. You tell Bob, now sitting right next to her and holding the kitten up like a death relic, you tell her that this shop has to be a new Dreamlands beacon, something to survive the wars and the come of the great night. This has to be a testament to the promise of the new world, where you can hang and handle every last little unpredictable killshot coming your dumb-luck way. You're going to run a place that's exclusive in the ways that MC&D is afraid to be, a come-one-and-all tethered to what they fear; finality! Resolution! Solution. There is no ever-up profit, only the strange crash of waves whose shapes can only be liquid in motion. You'll stock things that make nations scream, and you'll sell them to a kid down the street after she finds you by accident one day, allowing her to finally resolve why her mother can't afford to rent a house, once and for all. But not every Finale will see you found, no Bob. You're shrouded, safe, removed, only there for those who really mean to WIN their last throw, those whose intent is thorough enough to want to find someone like you to stack the odds. Where does the Devil go to resupply after they've ran out of contracts for souls to sign? You, Bob. But you'll send the Devil weeping because you already sold those contracts to a fisherman who needs to speak with the whales. You're going to be the big deal nobody knows about and everyone wants, Bob. That's you. That's your bargain. You finish by giving her a heart attack with your cup clack-slapped on the tray - BOB! More coffee. Please. The dryad gets it and starts in on her fifth while decaying in the light of what she just walked into. You sip and reassure her by jabbing the air with a missing finger, telling her that she can cement the extreme of this legend by having her very first customer be none other than the greatest of Ulthar, as well as Duke Sauber. Bob finally gets a word in edgewise, setting her cup down. "Wait. You- you mean THE Sauber. Of sistered fame." You nod. Yuh. He's the primary ally to Ulthar, by way of blood pact you did with him. Bob drinks more coffee too fast and deals with what happens when you understand the full weight of uncareful wishing. You lean over with conspire, and let her know that of course, plenty of this business is kayfabe, right? All dreams are. While she can become a legend outside of MC&D's grasp, the real actual trick is going to be a healthy sustain of cordial special-grade supply. This is when you shotgun your coffee and sweep your shroud around Bob's shoulder while she asks, "You know a supplier on MC&D's level?" No! You know TWO. If this is going to be a properly Hidden shop, a truly Final shop, the place only discoverable during the eclipse, on the midnight of a blue moon, inside the eye of a category 6 storm, just underneath the lair of the final foe through a one-way door, then you need suppliers that go where the corporate parasite doesn't see Value. Do you know what that means, Bob? It means you need to talk to a smelly wet guy on a boat, and to a bunch of kobolds who turned a gate-mall into a trade commune. But that's the next step. The first is converting this vegetable. You stand up and tell her that the place needs to just become a normal shop first, to prime the legend. Which means cleaning. Taking inventory. Tossing trash. Writing records. Assessing salability. Figuring what's good to trade away to your new suppliers, and what to keep. Nourishing the dream-concept of a store in a strange place. Getting all those features advertised on that sign fully functional.  Bob once again tries to say something, but stops herself when she sees you pointing to the door outside, and hears the horrific noise of something evil being murdered to quiet. See Bob? Lunch time. Right now. You're too underfed, Bob. The door to the store is pushed open, and Bob gawks at the kitten licking the corpse of a dawnwalking nightmare it dragged to the front step. Bob leans and loses her expression, and it still hasn't returned by the time you've flayed the monstrosity, as she numbly shows you the little kitchen (that's actually just a very cluttered bigger kitchen). Her spices are ransacked, and soon lunch is served hot for you three. Look at that, Bob. Flesh that was plucked from its ribs, so they can stick to yours. You laugh madly while the kitten noisily gorges on evil sweetmeats, the dryad nibbling with quiet consideration. A good hot meal of fresh meat really seems to help her out, and has her asking, "Ambassador, what about the small details? Those are the ones I'm worst at. The, uhm, the class called them 'aesthetics'." Oh, hm. Anything goes you suppose, but it's a good idea to have something to theme towards while cleaning. It'll take one of the four seasons to get this whole place truly clean, which is enough time to get this sorry stick of a plant into a better blossomed state. Alright. You slam the table. BOB! Pay attention. Eat some seconds with more of the marrow sauce and then take a mandatory nap to think about these things- What will be the main specialization of the store? How about the aesthetics? As for you, Bob...
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May 18, 2024 07:33
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Hm, a tape of a guy cut up while talking, that feels like something that should be securely contained and protected.
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May 18, 2024 13:12
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That was one of the most enjoyable passages I’ve read in this whole game! The dreaming tyrant speaking with confidence and passion about how to build a store to shame the likes of mc&d
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May 18, 2024 14:08
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VOTING CLOSED - Pawn Stars Rescue Bob. You need a gimmick. Weapons. Anything that can cause repeatable and final-grade harm. - 2 Armors. The sort that could eat an orbital laser off of a AA battery. - 2 Relics. Crowns of Queens and Pendants of Kings next to boxes of candy. - 12 Consumables. Why hoard elixers when you can just buy them at a 9999% markup? - 5 Abilities. Legendary feats of magic and technique on easy-to-read scrolls. - 8 Bob! You need an aesthetic. Joyful. Like a mini-mall, colorful and glitzy, upbeat even in the face of finality. - 7 Natural. Dark, fully overgrown, dripping with water, like a grotto-vault. - 7 Unreal. Inexplicable, wrought with secret, dreamlike and starry. - 10 Sad. Solemn, mausoleum, heavy with finality and spirit. - 5 BOB!! You need zazz. We'll just dress you up in a way that matches the aesthetic. - 2 How about we keep the suit, but just tailor it to fit you better. - 7 Well... there's one way to really improve your suit. [-1 Rethreader Charge] - 21 LOADING...  ...LOADING
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May 20, 2024 01:52
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Well, at least we'll let Bob run the shop in style. I voted for consumables and Natural.
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May 20, 2024 03:39
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(Hey.) (Wake up.) Bob would scream, but she's too paralyzed by realizing the kitten is on her arm, and is kneading close enough she can almost feel the claws start to rip away easy at her cellulose flesh. She keeps very still and looks up at you, already overtaken with an awe that will haunt her shop of dreams for all aeterna. Before she can try to reply to your long and glaring silence, Bob is yanked up by you as you lead her from the lunch nap and to the evening's labors; first of all, she can't do poo poo while galloping around in an outfit three times her size. You're not going to ask how, or why; there's as many legitimate as lame reasons for her awful look, but all you care about is burning that down and making her anew. So you throw her to a chair, drag over a spare cloth screen stand and robe, and then tell her to get the awful thing off so you can sacrifice it to the loving dance of the autoneedle, along with a quick pick from a pile of fancy garbage that will hopefully exact-tailor something proper for her role. Bob complies, but not without a sour look about your take on her fashion being lovely. You drag away her outfit once she throws it over, and dig around to yank out the hand-held weird sewing machine. You sit, and with a simple motion, grab one of the outfits you found and force-feed it along with Bob's duds into the needle, watching as it miraculously (and very slowly) seems to spit out a singular suit made up of the two combined. Satisfied, you head back over as Bob walks out with her spare outfit, which is a massive bundle of woven flowers that makes her form indistinct and easy to disguise among brush and leaves. Before you can ask, she confirms- "I wore this for disguise when I first came here and asked the flora to house me." Oh. Well, it's lovely. But how did you manage dryad spells that strong, Bob? She sits down and has more coffee, itching her cabbagey head. "It's what I did before I left MC&D. I found and used all the enhancers I could steal, along with all the bins I dragged. It let me escape and then have enough magics to hide here. I just, I didn't know that all the cities at the border of here were long since abandoned." You tell her, not your fault, Bob. Good work escaping MC&D. Seems like the company is on bad legs. Bob says, "Something horrible is going to happen to everyone who works for them. I knew they were going to kill me, but I ran because I knew something worse is coming." As the evening comes, color and shadow deepen inside of the immense shop. You smile with a sharpness. The kitten mewls as you hold it and walk around, telling the dryad that for the rest of the night, the two of you are going to be doing initial cleaning. This shop- it's already rancid with the Deep Green Mana of this place, already stained by something deeper than dreaming, so may as well lean into that and let it bleed into everything, like a slow starry gel. Your look-around while Bob napped told you that this place would work great for selling accessories as its primary product, since there's so drat many little baubles and trinkets. Time carries on, as the suit slowly weaves in fabric liquidity, and the two of you do the dreadful slow of moving, wiping, sorting, stacking. Things get piled just outside to be dealt with later, corners are gutted of dreamdead vines and Mana sap, and surfaces and made to shine with an unreal black emerald spackle over the leaf, wood, granite, and glass. Light angles in new strange ways, the leaf shadows finding room to dance and riverspread all over the interior of the shop. Time and again, as the junk piles up so too do the corpses of evils dragged home by the kitten, their bellies butchered for sweetmeats and their bones turned to powder for ritual feed of the encouraged floras. Bob's magics over the store-land is reinforced and bound with your blood searing the soils, a dark consecration that makes the all of the Green Meadow fall silent for weeks. You both go at it tirelessly and soon mindlessly, coming into a state of deepest REM where there's soon more space than you know how to move in. The season slowly falls to a repose in preparation for the next phase, and it leaves you both with a tremendous pile of garbage, and a whole freakish allotment of wares to now catalogue and prepare for display. Bob seems to have warmed up over the time, trying to acclimate to your manic dream energy as your wounded brain gently vents nightmare after nightmare away into the role of the Ambassador, who copies Sauber's sanguine and Ulthar's playful cruel to be a personable manager of Bob's new life. With it all set and done, the next season comes, and Green Meadow turns vile with a phantom heat that is exactly what you asked for. You drag Bob out one night, another long cataloguing done, and keep her before the gigantic pile of junk you threw out. You look at Bob, and begin to undo your cuff for one hand. She looks at you, with fresh unease. "Ambassador- why did you say we need to 'put the fear of nuclear' into the Meadow? I- I don't have nuclear weapons. I don't see how-"  「RED'S RIGHT HAND」 It's funny, abstractly down in the nightmare-dream. It's just funny to you how dryads react to the presence of nuclear power. It's... it's not like how other organics react to it. It's not quite the same for them. They feel it, is the thing, smell it, soak it up like hot lapping waters; the Sun. In your hand. That telltale glow of nuclear almighty. A dryad doesn't know whether to scream with terror or awe. To bend towards its light in needing worship, or run weeping from its promise of purest fiery End. Bob lies down in the damp meadow grasses, folding up to hold herself within her gown of flowers as she stares with one peeking eye wide. She watches you smile at her kindly, before you gently sweep your palm to touch the great pile. Bob does not, cannot move, save to shut her eye, as the pile erupts into a screaming pillar atomic, fires lancing to the sky with whip and slash as the entire mess instantly vaporizes into a particle cloud that climbs to the currents that would one day deliver it to Kadath. Bob is crying, curled up and sunk down such you'd think her nothing but a joypatch of lovely blossoms. You kneel down and carefully pull her up, to let her lean on you as she tries to steady, and you show her the great black scar that now rests in the once-grass ground. See? A permanent scar. A reminder. A way to force it to remember you, Bob, and the power you have. Marked so that your shop can be found here at any chance or time, but also allowed now to exist somewhere else. But for now? Let's just exist here, with a more tamed Meadow. Come, Bob. Let's have a midnight feast to celebrate. Let's have a toast to your new career, and the one-day fall of MC&D. Bob spends a good long while just staring at the nuclear-burned patch, before she comes inside.  The season passes with a more gentle Green Meadow, though it doesn't slow the kitten from dragging back massive bodies and legions of little dead critters. Bob is much less haggard now, her suit still slowly sewing while a good diet of dead nightmares gives her back her color and gloss. You like it when she manages a real smile. THAT is what is going to win people. The inventory comes to a finish soon enough, and you happily do the 500th recount of what, and what does what, of all the what what you've found to still be functional and worth keeping. There's all kinds of interesting items you dug up, like a Hristan's war poetry book, one of the cursed red heels that came off the Singer of Cadanza's foot the night she escaped the Dreamlands for good, a ton of packets of peach puppy seeds, some old camera that takes pictures that reveal what someone would rather be doing, packs of nanobot swarms that act as ambient lighting, a lovely little sword-wand of grapevines and wine magics, one of THE original uncut tapes for Ultimate Hell Slime of Murder II, a cute cape that can invert your eye and hair color, black meteorite candy (you love how it tastes enough to go through a few packs), a complete and functional scrampler, the remains of a helmet for an Absolute Exclusion Harness (which is one degree below Absolutely Safe in effectiveness), an old weathered cap said to once belong to Kuranes' waking-world self, a magic book that teaches the most basic spell for every Colour of Mana both real and imaginary, and three gemball pendants of red, blue, and green on one string, said to be able to massively enhance one aspect of the self at the cost of the other two. And that's barely a hundredth of what's on display! They're proudly set to polished tables and crystal cases, Bob able to bounce ideas off of you and work out what aesthetic she personally likes. When the third season comes, you decide that Bob's joint is going to need some personal touches. You still have time before Sauber arrives, so you commit to the idea quickly and sit Bob down one night for another round of thicket-demon barbecue and meadow tea (now made palatable with lots of ground pixie dust), and start to cook in your brain what you want to try to do and suggest. You can do at least TWO major installs for the place before time is too short. But which two to do?
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May 22, 2024 07:09
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Nothing wrong with some games and a snack before the final boss fight
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May 22, 2024 13:17
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I went with both options that added more stock. If we want to rival MC&D, we need a diverse stock for all your end-game builds. Edit: Also, everything had votes except Voorish Sign. Can't imagine why that gets no love  Although part of me wonders just how much corruption could actually happen in the Dreamlands... Randalor fucked around with this message at 13:33 on May 22, 2024 |
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May 22, 2024 13:23
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The cape is back? Also I'll point out that using MC&D branded magic in a store that we want to keep secret from MC&D and whose proprietor hates them is not my vote.
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May 22, 2024 19:28
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habituallyred posted:Also I'll point out that using MC&D branded magic in a store that we want to keep secret from MC&D and whose proprietor hates them is not my vote. I voted Arcade because hell yeah and Blood because you can't go wrong with more powerful relics.
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May 22, 2024 21:18
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| # ? Jun 1, 2024 10:07 |
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I went arcade + sign, really wanted to lean into that secret final shop feel (complete with minigame).
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May 22, 2024 22:00
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