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Mausoleum: A Multiversal Dungeon Crawl

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troydenite Since: Mar, 2011
#1: May 25th 2016 at 7:16:48 PM

The Forever and a Day isn't your ordinary tavern. As they say, it doesn't matter how you get to the ol' Forever, only why you're there - and of course when you leave, and how. The first thing you notice on stepping into the place, assuming you have at least one eye of reasonable complexity, is how silver and shiny everything is. No mawkish medieval maids, no boorish louts, nothing even remotely grubby. Actually, nothing at all. Only purring atomic lights, bright as Hiroshima, dazzling octagonal tables, and a floor so clean you could dissect a baby on it. You might find yourself wondering if you're in the right place, only once you turn around you'll realise you can't find the door.

The tables beckon, empty and inviting. You don't notice the hypodermic nanoneedle being delivered to your left ankle via rehabilitated flea, because no-one ever does. And then ten steps in, just as you're about to take a seat, Dr. Dimmond's Dee-mensional Decalibrator does its dirty work. Everything shimmers around you in a rainbow whirl, like the cascading vortex of some chrome cistern, and then you're stuck. Well and truly. Thrown right into the thick of things. Stuffed straight into a spirit-sloshed sausage-skin torn from the collective bowels of a million contradictory social codes.

(Everyone around you is from a different reality. You can't really tell if they're drunk or not.)

(I hope you didn't sit on anyone.)

(Good luck.)

Being new and all, and hopefully not a moaning heap on the floor (because what type of adventurer would you be after that?) you begin to notice the smell. A veritable bouquet of heady perfumes, coaxed into a exotic mix that singes straight through your sinuses.

It's the drinks, of course. All of them. Each table is decked with an alcoholic array as bewildering as its patrons. Cheap beer in Guinness mugs, swilled by burly men with axes on their backs and rayguns at their belts. Absinthe in diamond decanters, lit by artsy-fartsy bohemian elfs (not Elves) and savored one green dewdrop at a time. Hospital disinfectant, genteelly sipped from its plastic bottle by a gunmetal-gray gynoid in a blood-red Victorian ballgown. Vodka hard enough to blow out Ivan the Terrible's skull, about to be tossed back by someone who looks disturbingly similar to Ivan the Terrible. And that's just what you can name. The rest of the drinks, and many of the drinkers, skirt the incomprehensible.

(You swear you see a man-sized ear of wheat hopping along at one point. The full implications may or may not register.)

If there was a fight, no-one seems to care.

Sooner or later you realise that you're seeing all this through a large pair of fuzzy pink sunglasses, and that there's a chrome bar just sitting at the side of the tavern, curiously patron-free, with someone rustling behind it.

You also notice all the other people with large pairs of fuzzy pink sunglasses. Maybe they're new, too.

biomechtraveler Since: Apr, 2011
#2: May 25th 2016 at 7:55:33 PM

thump

edited 25th May '16 7:56:09 PM by biomechtraveler

Uncandescent One Brunch Man Since: Jul, 2010 Relationship Status: Coming soon to theaters
One Brunch Man
#3: May 25th 2016 at 10:11:36 PM

With a groan and a disingenuous strand of drool, the Strongest Man in the World picked himself off of the ground.

Last he remembered, the red-haired gadgeteer had separated from the group to scout on ahead. Concerns about a spy aside, they could scarcely avoid pressing every advantage they had in the Land of Howling Demons, a peninsula every bit as antithical to human life as it sounded. Whether that advantage were spoils of the land that didn’t kill them, or relying on the expertise of a comrade that would, or even faint—and frankly ridiculous—rumors of a meeting place within the land’s heart. A tavern, no less. It would be equivalent to setting up a spice market on the bottom of the ocean.

Adlet was pressed, then, to explain to the people around him how impossible they were, but they were doing a good job all on their own. With his mouth locked into a gentle O of surprise, Adlet Meyer drank in the multitude of dress and skin tones and full-on body architecture that he’d never seen before, that roamed and floated and swam through the air in defiance of everything his finely honed collection of scientific knowledge was telling him was possible. Even the light above his head defied explanation, buzzing with the kind of glow and consistency only spoken of in the vicinity of the Saint of Lightning. In this place, when it came to impossibility, he decided blithely that its location was the farthest thing down on the list.

Something clattered off his face as he rubbed his head and straightened up, but by the time he’d gotten his bearings he’d already kicked it into the mass of jostling footwear, never to be found. Walking dumbly through the assorted crowd, mumbling the name “Forever and a Day…” softly to himself, he perked up and made his way over to the chrome bar. He supposed it was appropriate. In a tavern, what did you do but drink? He sat down confidently, jostling the stone case at his back, before finding himself bewildered at the menu and its terms. In a tavern like this, what did you do to drink?

In the end, he settled on something simple. “Barkeep!” He called amiably, lightly smacking his hand against the countertop with a wide smile. “A glass of pulque for the strongest man in the world!” Turning on his stool to face the rest of the room, Adelt rested his leg on the stool in front of him and shook his head at the chamber of wonders one final time, before craning his head to see what shape the barkeep would take, trying to keep his expectations in check and his face from contorting too far from the bonds of civility out of surprise.

If I had that kind of power, I'd have dropped a meteor on your house ages ago~
Lemurian from Touhou fanboy attic Since: Jan, 2001 Relationship Status: Buried in snow, waiting for spring
#4: May 26th 2016 at 3:01:32 AM

The Forever and a Day. The place where Mitsurou Kumoi would take his first steps on his journey. Where his journey would take him, he didn't know. What he was looking for along the way, he also didn't know. But Mitsurou knew in his heart that leaving on the journey was the next step. All because of that annoying piece of shit underclassman. Despite all his studies, Mitsurou was still lacking something as a chef. And if he had to leave his studies, his career and his world behind to achieve that, then so be it. The world was far too small a thing to hold Mitsurou back.

The polished shiny cleanliness of the tavern confused Mitsurou for a moment, and he couldn't help but think that he'd been set up and was gonna get kidnapped or something. But then everything changed. And through a mysterious process of everything making little sense and passing through the realm of nonsense, he was left in a state of things almost making sense.

While the faces (and lack of faces) were new, and much of the alcohol was unknown to him, Mitsurou still felt a sense of familiarity in the crowded den. Chaos and mayhem, perhaps, but centered around alcohol and socializing. Well, his father's countless dinner parties were finally gonna be good for something. Grinning like a shark sensing blood in the water, the young cook made his way through the crowd.

Mitsurou's mind raced as he took in the people and atmosphere. It was absolute madness. All the sights and sounds would be enough to drive a normal man mad. And the smells. Despite the cleanliness of the room, the air was so thick with the scents of alcohol, exotic perfumes and questionable body odours that the cook's nose was nearly overwhelmed. But he took it all in, his mind racing to make sense of it all.

Finally, he reached the relative calm of the bar, which strangely only had one customer at present. As someone who had more than a passing acquaintance with the setting, it struck Mitsurou as strange. Almost more so than the clientele. But it made it a good place to get his bearings. This was the first stop on his journey, he should make the most of it.

"Bartender. Carrot, orange and ginger juice."

Only after ordering did Mitsurou grab the menu, with the intent to study the alcohols and ingredients available. It was largely useless for deciding what to order, however, since Mitsurou was still underage.

Join us in our quest to play all RPG video games! Moving on to disc 2 of Grandia!
OG-Sama Mancunian Candidate Since: Jan, 2015 Relationship Status: I get a feeling so complicated...
Mancunian Candidate
#5: May 26th 2016 at 10:46:11 PM

Pretension Level: Kirkbride. Let's fucking go.

Upon the scale of interlocking scales, the flow of time is convoluted. Relativity is meaningless without a frame of settled reference. The ignorance of genius is to believe a system can categorise a truth which does not exist. Forever has no days.

The third-and-stable visitation of Girimehkala, whose name is Pachydermal Slaughter and who is at times a maneater, yet who shunned the unnecessary anthroponym, knew well this truth of absences and was not fooled. His footing was firm, and his eye remained unclouded - his esteemed master was fond of this trick, and thus the manifold asymmetry was not an experience unbecoming. The tinted eye-glasses, although unexpectedly fuzzy, were not without prior context.

Thus in his mind burned the commandment, granted by the Twenty-Third and Final Itinerant Cycle of the Grand Delusion, who is the salted eunuch and man made of a tiger, and the commandment was thus; Thrust towards the centre, that I may misinterpret everything you learn. A promising ascending whelp not yet five lifetimes distanced from his mortality, Girimehkala could not by right of will deny this covenant, and was dispatched post-haste to a backwater potentiality orbiting at planar southwest. Though unavoidable, this insult sent him a fearsome quiet wroth across his journey, devouring implicit the metaphors of many men and becoming terrible to behold, but by the time of his current arrival he was not fully sated.

In subdued vexation, Girimehkala devoured his fuzzy glasses of the sun, before working loose the six arms which were the proof of his worth, but could not intersect the ceiling and, defeated by geometry, resigned himself to sulking thunderous footsteps. The embers of a rage demand escalation before they can be soothed, and thus the bar was accosted with more force than was either necessary or wise, for they are neither. He took a stool of convenient proximity, which protested against a weight infernal yet dared not break, and refused all other life the courtesy of recognition.

"Whiskey," ordained he, in tones a husky almost-whisper. "Neat."

edited 26th May '16 10:47:02 PM by OG-Sama

troydenite Since: Mar, 2011
#6: May 26th 2016 at 11:34:43 PM

Adlet, your trepidation turns out to be reasonably well-placed. For out of the chrome-cast shadow of the bar bursts a hulking figure, bearded and bicorned. His hair stinks of asteroid dust. His horns smell of week-old brine. You realise that he has a jagged green tube sticking out of his right eye, and as the tube catches the light you see that it is - or was - the neck of a wine bottle.

(Incidentally, Adlet, if you don't know what asteroid dust smells like, imagine the mustiest, rattiest blanket in known space, pressed with several shelves of books and smothered in chalk. It's fatally dull.)

(Brine is saltwater.)

(I don't think you know what wine is yet, but give it a bit.)

"ARRRRRRRRRRR!" roars the space pirate minotaur, and then deflates with a hearty chuckle. "One gourd coming up."

He turns around, snatches an orange gourd from under the bar, then busies himself with a glowing dial on one of the alcohol teletaps. Now that you're not snout-to-nose, you see he has a magnificent red-black coat draped across his shoulders and an old tricorne impaled jauntily on his head, which nods as he hums. Soon a familiar thick white liquid streams from the nozzle, which he catches expertly in the gourd and plonks in front of you.

"Best pulque you'll find for ten Rooms around," he says proudly, already rummaging in the bar beneath for the order of the guy beside you. "Strongest Man in the World, you say? Well, you're in the right place! The name's Rum-Eyed Rufus, former captain of the good Egress Eternal - in whose hallowed mess you are now standing."

He gives the bar a reverential kiss. Then he inspects his orange and carrot with his bottle-eye, puts them down, runs the whole bar under a Germ B-Gone wide-angle death-ray for ten seconds, positions the glass, picks them up, and happily closes his fists. The juice mostly makes it in.

"And that," he winks to your neighbour, kneading the ginger until it cries uncle, "is pretty much all you get with juice, gravity-gut. Not a hint of complexity."

He shakes the pulp into an ionic incinerator, gives the glass a few more seconds of Germ B-Gone, then slides it over. You can only hope it smells nice.

"You should get yourself a real man's drink," he continues. "Like this fine strapping fellow over here. He knows how things are. Yesxir, when life has you by the tail, you down a cold one, wipe your mouth and shoot life right in the low-hanging fruits!"

Clink, goes the whiskey. It looks very neat. He leans in close enough to block the elephant-man.

"And I'm not saying that just because of our heads," he confides.

edited 27th May '16 1:39:57 AM by troydenite

Gaunt88 from Australia Since: Jan, 2001 Relationship Status: 700 wives and 300 concubines
#7: May 27th 2016 at 12:41:56 AM

A few steps behind the man with the tusks and the squint came another brave soul, long soldier's coat flapping behind her in the wake of whatever magical bullshit the tavern had used to whisk them away. In "normal" company, Dvora Lishney would have expected your standard array of surly, hostile, and worried glances. Standing beside her towering comrade, however, she felt like she was 12 again, standing off to the side of the real muscle and trying to look as tough as possible.

When she thought about it, this was actually kind of refreshing. She'd gotten in some great knocks back when she was 12.

"Gira, I gotta say," She remarked as she leaned on the bar next to her old party-mate, voice loud with dispassionate sort of scorn. "You've let me down. I thought we was going to a tavern. Not the inside of some nob's silver spoon drawer." She turned and leaned back against the counter on her elbows, looking around as the heavy pickhammer slung across her back clunked against the shiny metal edge. Where was the dirt? Where was the smog of pipe-smoke? Taverns were supposed to have these things. As it was she was tempted to put those smoke-glass spectacles back on, fluffy pink frames or not.

Still, the crowd was suitably tavern-y, she had to admit. The same sort of mix you'd see in any wayside watering hole, only... more extreme. She glanced over her shoulder as the barkeep loomed over them, taking in his combination of bestial and dapper without turning around, flicking a large-denomination copper piece over her shoulder. "Gimme an ale, would ya?"

edited 27th May '16 12:47:29 AM by Gaunt88

Lemurian from Touhou fanboy attic Since: Jan, 2001 Relationship Status: Buried in snow, waiting for spring
#8: May 27th 2016 at 3:11:56 AM

Mitsurou tried not to think too hard about the elephant ordering a whiskey, and concentrated on the sorry excuse for a juice he had been served. Well, he certainly wasn't paying for that. And now this cow-faced disaster of a fruit-squeezer was telling him what to have and not to have? Not to mention that he seemed in a hurry to break the law by serving alcohol to minors.

"Is that a challenge?"

A sharklike grin was stretched across the young chef's face, and he took the lukewarm and soiled glass of pitiful fruit pressings, drinking it all in one go. Not nearly enough carrot. Seriously, the fact that the orange came second in the name should clue some people in. And the orange pulp was in chunks because of the bartender's bull-handling.

"This juice is certainly disguisting. Tell you what, give me a proper Bloody Mary and I'll look the other way of this disaster-in-a-glass."

edited 27th May '16 3:22:58 AM by Lemurian

Join us in our quest to play all RPG video games! Moving on to disc 2 of Grandia!
DoctorThunder Since: Sep, 2010
#9: May 27th 2016 at 7:29:49 AM

Beckoned by the gruff siren's bellow of the alleged cow-captain, another young woman practically jolts to her feet. She's no longer enjoying the sake she's ordered, as in her haste, she's jostled the vessel onto the floor; actually, she is enjoying the last of it now. She swigs what was left in her cup down before sidling up to the bar.

Her outfit is quite good for sidling, in fact: Tanned leather and rugged cloth arranged in a facsimile of a traditional witch's dress, complete with a fashionable striped scarf and wide-brimmed hat. It's what Van Helsing might wear if Van Helsing wore poofy bloomers.

Resting upon one shoulder is a long-handled broom, perfectly ordinary save for the tiny budding flowers speckling across the wood. Garbed in the clothes of an adventurer, brandishing a household cleaning tool, and standing at an impressive five-foot-three (three-and-a-half, she insists if asked), she surely cuts an imposing figure amidst the hulking and hardboiled adventurers.

"So we're inside your old ship, then?" she raises a curious eyebrow, putting her investigation skills to the test. "Egress Eternal's a pretty good name. I like it! Sorry, couldn't help but overhear. Name's Marisa Kirisame, and I'm lookin' for anyone who can tell me what's goin' on with this place. Think you can help me out, Cap?"

No good investigator can help overhearing. That's what makes her such a good investigator. Behind her fuzzy pink sunglasses, framed by curls and braids of silky straw hair, Marisa Kirisame officially begins her next case.

edited 27th May '16 7:30:11 AM by DoctorThunder

wikkit Since: Sep, 2009
#10: May 27th 2016 at 8:45:56 AM

This certainly wasn't what Siegward expected to be at the end of the dark, damp and cramped crevasse that he had spent the last 30 minutes trying to maneuver into. He expected another dungeon untouched by the light of day, or a cave filled with the last demons of Izalith, or something at all familiar. Standing at the door (or as he soon realized lack of), he waited for a good few moments for something to present itself as an adversary. Nothing seemed to pay him much attention at all, let alone try to kill him. This wasn't what he expected!

Every single surface in this place seemed as if it was coated in pure silver, something not even the Gods of Anor Londo could possibly afford to do. There wasn't a single lantern, instead what looked like pure moonlight condensed behind glass, and since he had just been in a cave up until recently he felt that he would be blinded if he stared much more. The people, some of them looked fine and normal aside from their odd choice in clothing, but the rest were so foreign he couldn't even describe them. Except for one: there seemed to be a skeleton, firmly lodged into a wheel made of black rubber and steel, wearing a pompadour and glasses and chatting up a lady with golden skin. And three eyes. With all of the glasses, liquids of every color, and general atmosphere, this place could only be one thing: the queerest tavern he had ever laid eyes on.

The utter oddity of this place got to Siegward in such a deep way that he might go Hollow just looking into it too long. This internal turmoil was expressed externally in the same way he dealt with anything perplexing: a long, sonorous "Hmmmmm..."

At the far end of this place, next to the large bull-headed fellow, there looked to be two women who seemed at least a little bit more familiar. One as tall as he was, dressed like a commoner, and the other short and wearing the wide-brimmed hat of a sorcerer. As he walked towards them with trepidation, he overheard the sorcerer-in-black's question, which mirrored his own. "I'm afraid I must ask the same," he said as he jogged towards the bar, suit clattering and clanking about with each step. "I'll pay you if I must, but if you have any idea what this place is, my cow-faced friend, please tell me. Or, why this tavern was built in a canyon below the deepest reaches of the Profaned Capital!" He realized, looking at the other faces gathered there, that they were all wearing fancifully pink glasses. Now that he noticed, it only managed to obscure the slit in his helmet, so he was quick to take them off and gently place it on the bar.

Makaioh Since: Jan, 2015
#11: May 27th 2016 at 6:57:10 PM

"It's for the better good." The young girl told herself, face set in a grim mood as she walked away from the only home that she ever knew, with friends newly made. On her person was not even true traveling supplies, since she rushed away from her home dimension as fast as possible so as to not be swayed to hang back. The smiling faces of her friends flashed through her mind, digging the blade of guilt even deeper into her heart, causing her to tremble in place for a moment before pushing on. "I can see them again."

She had tried to give positive rationale to her choice, though inwardly Karin felt like the worst of heels. After all, she had all but abandoned the girls to grab onto what was essentially a carrot on a stick. In most situations, the girl would have been more clear-headed. Here though, the prize was much too tempting... It bordered on a deal with the devil and yet she hadn't hesitated in the least. If it was for them... she didn't mind sacrificing herself. They were a more worthy cause... nay, the most worthy cause.

And then the surroundings changed, the middle school student finding herself in what seemed to be a sci-fi version of a tavern. And with a pair of pink fuzzy glasses placed upon her brow. Her mind zonked out at that point, finding the matter a bit too ridiculous to comprehend. In fact, it seemed like something Togo would like. After regaining clarity though, the offensive eye-wear was ripped off and crushed under heel, ground into tiny pieces. She was here to risk her life and limb, not to be someone's little dress-up doll.

Ghosting her way through the vastly different populace than she was used to, the diminutive brunette settled down at the least crowded table that was similarly comprised with some very colorful individuals. Especially that elephant man with two many arms. "...One barley tea." Hesitating somewhat, the student decided to indulge herself seeing as she was to go fight the good fight soon. "...With ice and a bit of honey." And what an indulgence it was.

edited 28th May '16 10:59:10 AM by Makaioh

joergenjetsam from The city of constant rain Since: Dec, 2012 Relationship Status: Shipping fictional characters
#12: May 27th 2016 at 9:31:39 PM

Appearance, Reisen is on the left.

A … varied group thus far. She would not lie, it defied expectations. She had to wonder why Master thought this a good idea. Did Master really expect her to journey with this lot? Inwardly she squirmed at the thought.

The man with the head of the elephant was the standout example. Also, fuzzy sunglasses appeared a constant feature amongst them all. Too late, she deduced that she too was wearing a pair. That would not do at all; they would look ridiculous on her.

Her merchant disguise was intact, so an obfuscating tip of the hat later the glasses were gone, and two red eyes surveyed the chamber. It was all very clean. In that sense, it reminded her of the Lunar Capital, though here the purity was only skin-deep. It was after all, very much alive. That was not a problem anymore. Lifeforce was just something to live with. Should she feel bad for that bit of wordplay?

She tentatively raised her sake dish for a sip. Miss Kirisame was perfectly adequate as her mouthpiece right now, asking that question.

Looking over the rest of the group once more, an indulgent smile came to her lips. She had missed the knight and the redheard first time around it seemed.

edited 27th May '16 9:35:00 PM by joergenjetsam

Conception is sin Birth is pain Life is toil Death is inevitable
troydenite Since: Mar, 2011
#13: May 28th 2016 at 8:21:45 AM

Unfortunately, Marisa, you don't get an immediate response. Rufus catches the copper in his massive palm, holds it to his good eye, and then guffaws.

"Right, right, I forgot. You're all spanking new stowaways! One ale coming up, ma'am, and I hope you enjoy it."

Instead of pocketing it, he puts the piece back on the bar. You can only wonder what that means. Then a frothing mug zips past your nose and curls into the crook of the coated woman's elbows, coin careening after.

"We don't take metal," he explains genially to her. "No ma'am, only bright blue Cryptcoin for the good merchants of the Mausoleum, and if they ask for anything else it's your risk entirely. Don't you worry, we have an ATM - and even if you don't have anything to trade, there's always someone with a quest or two."

He puts a green plastic cup in front of the girl with the red ponytail, fills it with a beautiful zisha teapot, scratches his chin, then adds a generous scoop of ice.

"I see you're feeling indulgent, little lady. This should take the frown off your pretty forehead. And as for you, my fair-haired witch" -and here he grins at you- "an apter question was never asked! Beg pardon, Sir Knight, but she got to it first."

Rufus steps back, rubbing his hands. He gives a theatrical cough.

"Now, I'm no Draughtsman, but from what I understand you're not in one place, but three. The first, and may she be blessed, is the sainted Egress, now the Forever and a Day, docked these last fifteen my-years in the side of the peak of the tallest mountain of the good planet Yyrd-5. The second is whatever was meant to be here at this very spot, back where you all came from - and a canyon below the deepest reaches of the Profane Capital it might very well be. And the third -"

He pauses for effect, sliding a Bloody Mary to the cocky teen for good measure.

"The third is Room #06-251698, Third Iteration, of the Multiversal Mausoleum, and I daresay that's what you're all here for."

He nods his ponderous head, very satisfied at his deduction. The giant ear of wheat thumps past behind you, and Rufus gives it a friendly wave.

edited 28th May '16 8:24:05 AM by troydenite

Uncandescent One Brunch Man Since: Jul, 2010 Relationship Status: Coming soon to theaters
One Brunch Man
#14: May 28th 2016 at 10:47:21 AM

Adlet grabbed the handle of the mug with an outwardly gracious smile, but inside, his heart was gripped by a cold, reptilian hand. He could hardly look at the man-beast moving about without being reminded of that sun-spattered afternoon, the harbinger of his village’s destruction arriving with a wink and a tip of his hat. The last time he had met a Fiend this civilized, it ruined his life.

To that end, it was… very hard to take Rufus’ amiability at face-value, the red-haired man’s vision locked on the rippling musculature concealed underneath the wellwear. Despite the fact that he wasn’t sure if the creature was actually wearing shoes, he was poised for the other one to drop, and it didn’t help that its attitude was probably the only thing he understood about what the creature had just done in terms of utilizing several forms of magic in quick succession for the sole purpose of making them a drink. To be fair, he’d been traveling with a ten-year-old that spat out monsters and used them to play hide-and-seek. But this seemed an entirely new level of magical frivolousness, watching the death ray’s glow sweep over his hand before he could jerk it back. He waggled his fingers in front of his face, engaging with the light tickle, before splaying his fingers across the countertop—then snatching up the mug of pulque to bring it to his nose. He sniffed it carefully, looking for any of the telltale whiffs of poison, not that Fiends made it a habit to use subterfuge when a tooth or claw would do. But if the last few weeks had taught him anything, it was that the Fiends had depths of craftiness and complexity that not even his master could have predicted. In the end, he decided that he couldn’t quite trust the beverage, and every new sight and sound that filtered into his overwhelmed senses fanned the sudden flames of suspicion and readied his feet for the inevitable quick exit. He had to warn his comrades; a swirling, mind-boggling deluge Fiends this dense could hardly be left alone.

There was a clink as Adlet dropped a handful of polished turquoise stones onto the countertop—he didn’t know what an ATM was, and didn’t care to find out. “A Mausoleum, you say?” Adlet responded cheerily, though as he removed his leg from the stool in front of him he made a point to stealthily slip a smoke bomb into his palm. “In my experience, such places are only fit for the dead.” Adlet got to his feet, eyes searching for a front door and coming up empty. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather like to take my leave.” He said, hooking his foot into the rungs of the stool in anticipation of having to kick it into something’s face, if necessary.

edited 28th May '16 10:48:33 AM by Uncandescent

If I had that kind of power, I'd have dropped a meteor on your house ages ago~
wikkit Since: Sep, 2009
#15: May 29th 2016 at 5:06:19 PM

Some of what this bull-man said made sense, but Siegward got caught up on all the things that didn't make any sense to him whatsoever. ATM? Planet? Whatever he meant, Siegward was under the assumption that this Mausoleum was just a normal, non-"Multiversal" place of internment with something important inside. Not what he expected, at all. Like many things in this life, it gave him the desire to think about this more deeply. And to think about things deeply, one needs to start with a "Hmmmm...."

He planted himself on the stool, even if with the armor he essentially was keeping a balancing act. If he was going to spend some time here, which considering the climb back up he could, he should do as the locals do. He unhooked a cask from the back of his belt, and brought it up to the counter. "I know it's not good manners," he said to the barkeep, "but would you mind terribly if I take my own drink? I doubt there's much here for me." He popped the cork off out with surprising speed, and opened his helmet to reveal his face, with which he gulped down a good amount. "So, tavernkeeper," he said after a bit, "is this all the Mausoleum is? Because I was told that there was something important here, the Orb of...something or rather..."

DoctorThunder Since: Sep, 2010
#16: May 29th 2016 at 8:21:16 PM

The cow-headed captain's answer isn't as coherent as Marisa had hoped. In fact, he's absolutely flabbergasted her. Stomping her foot in exasperation, she accuses him dangerously with her finger. He's speaking in riddles and theatrics, and she'll have none of that, that you very much!

"Whaddaya think, I'm stupid!? I can't be in three places at once!" Marisa shouts, bright yellow eyes wide with disbelief. "I'm right here, so wherever here is, that's where I am! And here can't be anywhere but here, and that's that, right!?"

It's all very simple, really, and Marisa feels a small swell of pride for having delineated it so expertly. He'll have a heck of a time talking his way out of this one. Fortunately, thanks to gregarious Marisa over here, he won't have to.

"So let me see if I've got this right: We're in the Egress, which is inside a mausoleum, which is on a planet called...whatever you just said. That about sum it up, Cap'n?" Marisa inquires, crossing her arms confidently. She's totally got this.

troydenite Since: Mar, 2011
#17: May 29th 2016 at 11:34:24 PM

Siegward, you see nothing but the glint of Rufus's bottle-eye, like a blue star winking through a broken telescope.

"The Orb? Ah, there's nothing to that sad shanty. They say t'was Origen made the Orb, but who knows who Origen was, or if he were man or god or myth? And they say ol' Origen's Orb grants your heart's desire; that it turns matter to antimatter, or gives you the knowing of all things ever - but the thing is, no-one's ever been down past the First Floor to see it. They haven't even gotten past the Third. The Orb of Origen, everyone!"

He gives a hearty bellow and slaps the bar. Everyone's drinks jump. Except yours, which I guess is the advantage of bringing your own.

"Frankly," he admits, "I'd rather save up for a nice certified djinn's lamp, or a reality-loom. Granted, I'll have to scrounge and scrimp until I'm a doddering sack of shriveled beef, and maybe sell myself besides, but at least we know the drive-jamming things exist."

He picks up one of the crimson-haired teen's stones and rubs it shiny. His bottle-eye sends a little beam at it, stabbing its sea-green surface with a sky-blue pin. The stone shudders, but stays intact.

"No point in following a map without an X, after all," he remarks as he puts it down. "Oh, and we don't take stones either, lad. Like I said, Cryptcoin only. Hold up."

It's at this point that the witch beside you - and she is very clearly a witch, latent frilliness aside - jumps up and declaims her complete and utter confusion. Rufus takes it in his stride. His great meat-mittens smack together again.

"Now, my fair-haired witch, I do hope you'll forgive me for being obtuse. I don't usually speak of these things with much exactitude. To wit, or at least as far as my thick skull allows it: we are inside the Egress, which is itself in the peak of a mountain, which is itself - or was, rather - an entrance to Room #06-251698 of the Mausoleum. I crashed my lady halfway through, see."

He seems inordinately proud of this fact.

"Wherever you came from is also technically here, although you aren't in it at the moment. Think of it like being on the blind side of a two-way mirror, or stuck between the panes as such. The Multiverse is packed into six Floors of blinking mirrors. If you're lucky, you'll find a crack and call it a Door - but only the seekers see. And you can be in the same place but not the same space, if you catch my meaning. Think ghosts, if you find them familiar."

He adjusts his tricorne, which was drooping from all the excitement.

"Anyway, my rosy lad, that's why you can't leave. At least, not until you know your home's Room Number and Iteration. Take the wrong Door and you might find yourself in open space or a volcano or a pit of wild Mylorxizns. That's just something that happens with this joint. The Doors change every two minutes, my-time. Keeps the folks varied, and all my regulars know how to get back anyway."

He pauses, mildly embarrassed.

"Real sorry about that, wasn't expecting fresh blood. Pulque's on the house."

edited 30th May '16 4:53:28 AM by troydenite

Lemurian from Touhou fanboy attic Since: Jan, 2001 Relationship Status: Buried in snow, waiting for spring
#18: May 30th 2016 at 12:53:10 AM

Mitsurou listened to the long explanation as he took a deep sip of his drink. He couldn't understand what the others were complaining about, it sounded perfectly straight-forward. Didn't these people read science fiction? ...judging by their style of dress, they probably didn't. This was gonna be a real barrel of laughs. Well, more than the drink, at least.

"Your tomato juice is garbage," he interjected into the conversation. "Not even close to the quality you need for this drink, the balance is all off. Speaking of things being off, your tabasco sauce is way past its sell-by date. And you need to store your horseradish properly, it's tasteless. Chuck the celery salt while you're at it, because I don't think this even comes from a plant."

"In fact, the only good thing to say about this drink is that it's got vodka in it," he finished, giving another shark-grin. "I don't know if you use the cheap stuff to rip off your customers or because you actually know how to mix this drink, but I'll give you points for it nonetheless."

Join us in our quest to play all RPG video games! Moving on to disc 2 of Grandia!
OG-Sama Mancunian Candidate Since: Jan, 2015 Relationship Status: I get a feeling so complicated...
Mancunian Candidate
#19: May 30th 2016 at 6:21:41 AM

"I warned you thingth get weird out here," said Girimehkala, whose wrath was momentarily stifled - this is the benefit of Whoreborn Dvora, who commands the beast's ear by right of the incessant. Miens clashing to exhaustion throughout the prelude to the First and Final War of Darkest Tapestry, the conflict in the act of its emergence forged between them a ceasefire of the stubborn. Each sacrificed their grievance at the altar of a respect unspoken and ungesticulated, for acknowledgement would null the contract.

"That latht place we stayed at, where you got thtuck in the revolving door? That's the latht real tavern you're gonna thee for a while, kiddo. Out here it's all bright lighth and spaceporth and lover-boy over there whinin' about carrot juithe. Don't feel like you gotta look too hard, you're gonna get more. Trutht me. Thith time next week, you're gonna wish you could thmell cowthit."

Cast into soothing waters by a venting spleen and the frustration of lesser beings, Girimehkala allowed his enlightened eye to peer upon his whiskey, ordered neat; he saw the whiskey, and the whiskey was fastidious. This struck him to be pleasing, so as a gesture of almost unthinkable humility he drained the glass in a single swallow and ground it beneath his teeth as whimsical gratitude. Whether the Minotaur saw, and his name will remain beneath notice, as is the fate of his ilk, this was irrelevant; the act had taken place, and would not be repeated.

"Firtht-and-Latht, I fuckin' hate it out here. You, barkeep, whateveryournameith, don't have Cryptcointh. Not yet. I will. Here on buthineth. Open me a tab."

Girimehkala was reborn with the twisted mouth of an elephant, the last abortive corrections of a rejected karma, but had in time embraced this malfunction of symbolism. His words were hushed despite his size and came out malformed, that the wise would be forced to listen close. Whoreborn never listened close, a symptom of her value, and so her he raised his voice by three factions of the aural inch.

Swallowing the last particles of glass and thus completing his courtesy, he jabbed at her a demanding finger, trunk gesturing towards the fuzzed and frosted glasses of the sun.

"Tho, you gonna eat thothe?"

edited 30th May '16 6:21:50 AM by OG-Sama

joergenjetsam from The city of constant rain Since: Dec, 2012 Relationship Status: Shipping fictional characters
#20: May 30th 2016 at 6:23:28 AM

Reisen chuckled. The witch seemed the same as ever. Short and pugnacious.

A meeeting of theirs some time ago drifted to the forefront of her mind.

"Someone like you could never understand Lunarian science."

Same thing here, it seemed. By contrast, she herself understand quite a bit of the explanation. The overlap was not too hard to grasp, she could do something similar with her powers. Still, she could not say she was quite comfortable in this situation. She absent-mindedly stroked an ear, it was a bit dishevelled.

She took another sip of her drink, then set down the plate. After a second of deliberation, she called out. Well, Marisa heard her calling out. She didn't want anyone else to, so she made sure they didn't with a few wave adjustments.

"Over here, I think you might need some more sake."

edited 31st May '16 6:19:48 AM by joergenjetsam

Conception is sin Birth is pain Life is toil Death is inevitable
Oni-Lord Since: May, 2010
#21: May 30th 2016 at 7:17:19 AM

And so it was that among this cosmic caravan of creatures and creeps stood a competitor for the crown of weirdos. This gaunt gentleman was standing off to the side, trying to figure out what transpired in the past few hours of his life. He wasn't having any luck. He kept getting distracted by how amazingly sleek this room seemed to be, though it wasn't helped by the rosey color that the designers chose for the room. It took the skeleton a few moments to realize that he was wearing a pair of sunglesses that were not his. How they got there and how they remained on his face without any ears or a nose were questions best left unanswered my friends.

Brook reached up to pull the shades off to get a more complete look at them. It was important for a rock star to take note of his appearance after all. Wouldn't you know it, he couldn't believe his eyeholes. The garish coloring, the fuzz around the rims. It was all so...so...

"Stylish!" Brook exclaimed with glee and he placed the shades right back where they belong, on his face. The shades even matched his boa, making this an even better combination. With his mood further improved with this new fashion statement, Brook once again began taking stock of the room around him. This place seemed to be absolutely bustling with people of various shapes, sizes, and genealogy. He did manage to spy someone who caught his eye and began walking over to introduce himself.

With his cane tucked under his right arm, the afro'd skeleton approached the gynoid in the red dress. With a tip of his hat he gave her the best smile that he could, which isn't saying anything really since skulls are always smiling. "Excuse me miss." He began, using as cordial a tone as he knew how. "I hate to intrude, but I am new to this place so I was hoping I could ask a favor of you." Brook gave a respectful bow to the lady before continuing with his request that was of the utmost importance.

"Could you please show me your panties?"

Gaunt88 from Australia Since: Jan, 2001 Relationship Status: 700 wives and 300 concubines
#22: May 31st 2016 at 1:37:10 AM

Dvora raised one eyebrow as the minotaur barkeep refused her coin, only just managing not to spill the incoming mug as it flew into her grip. The place only took "crypt coin", apparently. She didn't know what that was, or how having an "aytiem" helped.

She also wasn't entirely sure if that means her drink was on the house, and as such decided to drink it as fast as possible.

Gira's answer was delivered with his usual grouchy raspy, and she just grunted and rolled her eyes. Not many people could get away with talking down to her like that. Gira managed it mainly by being... well, Gira. He was like a cart rolling through a fight between dogs. You don't try and prove how hard you are to a cart, what are you, stupid?

That being said, she couldn't help but scowl at the mention of that recent disgrace, grumbling into her mug. "... what nob designs a door that fuckin' spins?"

She didn't bat an eyelid as her comrade decided to chow down on his whisky glass - it was just one of those things he did. A man was allowed to have his habits, even an elephant-man. She just shrugged and handed her fluffy spectacles over to her peckish companion, nonchalantly looking around the group gathered at the bar. The red-haired pretty-boy looked like he was about to twitch out - she spotted him palming some sort of packet, and hooking his foot into the bar stool. Not a bad idea if there was going to be a fight. Was he going to start one? Dvora hoped so. it had been a while since she'd had a good bar fight.

The Barkeep was explaining the multiverse to the frilly witch and the onion-helmeted knight. Dvora had already had that lesson from Gira, albeit with less metaphor and more lisping. Meanwhile, the second pretty-boy was making a fuss about the minotaur's vegetable juices, earning him a snort and a faint sneer from the be-coated girl - or was that just the scar on her lip?

"Give it a rest, mate." She said to Mitsurou, downing the last of her ale and wiping her mouth on her sleeve. "Is vegetables really the hill ya want to die on?"

DoctorThunder Since: Sep, 2010
#23: May 31st 2016 at 7:47:50 AM

Marisa narrows her eyes suspiciously, removing the layers of confusion surrounding the circumstantial evidence she's been presented; like that doll she found that one time, then promptly forgot about underneath a mound of other potential treasures in her house. The Egress - the place inside which she's having her current argument - is lodged in the side of a mountain, and this mountain is located on a planet that isn't Earth.

And at the same time, this planet - and every other planet, Earth included - is located inside an enormous mausoleum. Somewhere in this place, there's a door that will get her back home, but no one knows where that is. In the meantime, there are doors to other places, too; other worlds, with their own treasures and knickknacks, some of which are statistically guaranteed to be really cool. Marisa likes those kinds of odds. They're the kinds of odds that involve her getting the cool stuff, and maybe - just maybe - getting something that will make Reimu really jealous.

In the few seconds it takes for her to process these new implications, Marisa's expression calms considerably. Given what else she's encountered in her short life, it's not as if a place like this is particularly hard to believe in. Besides, if this place turns out to be one big treasure hunt just waiting to happen, then all the better! Man, Reimu's gonna be so jealous when she hears about this!

Marisa smiles softly, now looking perfectly at-ease with where she's found herself.

"Aahhh, gotcha, gotcha. That makes sense, Cap'n. I feel you; deeply. Deeply do I feel you." Marisa nods with arms crossed, quite satisfied with herself. "So what you're sayin' is I just need to look around here until I find someone who knows which door is the right door at the right time, right? That's not gonna be a problem for me, no sir."

Upon being called back to her table by Reisen, Marisa saunters back to her long-eared compadre and slams her small palm down onto the wooden table. The sake vessel shudders but does not topple. Marisa's other hand darts out and snatches the vessel from the table, fills her cup with all the elegance of a pauper, then downs the stuff in a flash, sighing loudly and with great satisfaction.

"Reisen..." Marisa pauses for great dramatic effect, her confidence rising with every boastful syllable. "There's a crapload of treasure out there, and we're gonna go get it. Maybe you'll find something the moon princess will like. That way, you won't get into trouble for disappearing all of a sudden." Marisa suggests, secretly glad she doesn't have to report to anyone. She doesn't envy Reisen's position; the under-appreciated ward of a Lunarian princess.

"Heck, maybe some of these guys around here will want to come with us! We can make a whole big adventuring party and really stomp whatever's guarding the treasure!" Marisa loudly suggests, too wrapped up in her own plans to remember that no one has actually said anything about there being treasure out in the mausoleum.

Uncandescent One Brunch Man Since: Jul, 2010 Relationship Status: Coming soon to theaters
One Brunch Man
#24: May 31st 2016 at 9:50:43 AM

Adlet’s thumbnail stopped short of the fuse’s tip, and his faux cheer fell by the wayside as the bovine’s slew of euphemisms finally began to take hold. A studious furrow colored his brow as he stared off at nothing in particular. A two-way… mirror?

Not more than a month had passed since the last time he’d been trapped in an impenetrable magical barrier, and here this Rufus was saying this room was a flycatcher for people across… “Dimensions… worlds… stars?” He murmured to himself, thumb pressed to his brow. His master had shown them to him, through pieces of refracted glass that made what was far away seem close. And then there was the sudden mention of an omnipotent, wish-granting orb. At least, he thought? The conversation had taken a turn for the strange, and it was becoming increasingly—

There were some parts of the chatter that were beginning to—

But there were others that—

With a wooden smack, Adlet planted the glass of Pulque down in front of Mitsurou, then made to clap the picky chef on the back. “Drink up, friend!” He said with a stolid expression that made it clear he didn’t quite appreciate the picky chef’s complaints in the face of indeterminate interdimensional lock-up. “Finest drink in the Land of Aurora, courtesy of the Strongest Man in the World!”

Turning back to Rufus, he folded his elbows underneath him as he regarded the bartender with open suspicion. “You say that there’s no way out of here. But every tavern has to have a door. Simply open it up, and we can see for ourselves!” He said, gesturing to whereabouts he guessed they came in.

edited 31st May '16 9:51:37 AM by Uncandescent

If I had that kind of power, I'd have dropped a meteor on your house ages ago~
troydenite Since: Mar, 2011
#25: Jun 1st 2016 at 8:00:28 AM

""Apologies, my elephantine friend," says Rufus to you, "but we don't open tabs. Not until your next visit. We need to make sure our customers can actually come back. Same principle, lad - I'm not losing you to them Mylorxizns. Rowdy lot, they are."

He peers expertly at the ground glass lingering on your leathery lip.

"You can pay for that with the whiskey," he says graciously. "Addward?"

There is a scratchy scuttling underneath the bar, punctuated with bumps and rather interesting invective. Finally a long furry thing scrambles out onto the floor behind, winds around Rufus' stool and jumps onto the bar. Its sleek fur is brown as a roasted chestnut, its eyes a beady baleful black. Motes of amber light zigzag around its form like fireflies in a storm, and as your vision focuses you realise that they trace charts, graphs and all the mathemagical cant of Formalised Econometry.

The long furry glowing thing sits up on its haunches and looks at you with a decidedly hostile glare. Then it turns around and fixes your drinking partners with an even more hostile glare.

"What?" it demands in an annoyed contralto. "Never seen an ATM before? Oh, no, I see now. You thought I was one of those big clanking boxes. Barking speciesists, you are!"

"Ol' Addward here is our Autonomous Teller Marten," explains Rufus patiently. "He works for the Central Mausolean Bank as an authorised dealer, like many others of his, ah, furry kin."

"Oh, go lay an egg," snaps Addward. "If it wasn't for the commission fees I wouldn't be here. Anyway, I suppose I'll have to suffer you lot. Come on, pony up."

He glowers, waiting. Several seconds pass.

"For the love of latex," he groans, "I woke up for these morons?"

He sniffs, turns, and scampers away, only to run straight into Rufus's hand.

"What my esteemed colleague here is trying to tell you," says the barkeep, squeezing his squealing captive like an eel, "is he wants an exchange. He'll take whatever currency or items of value you might have and change it to Cryptcoin - after appraising it fairly, of course. Isn't that right, Addward?"

Rufus opens his palm, and the bar is suddenly graced with a streak of magic marten. Addward comes to a halt just by your trunk, teeth bared at the minotaur in apoplectic anger.

Rufus raises an eyebrow. Addward seems to weigh his tiny chances. Finally he turns to you and says, in a very low grudging tone for such a high squeaky voice:

"Alright, out with it. Laugh and I'll bite your flapping ears off."

edited 1st Jun '16 8:01:53 AM by troydenite


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