Re: The Phenomenal Fracas! (GBS2G6): [Round Three: HMS Thunderhead]
03-14-2011, 02:38 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by SleepingOrange.
The gestalt consciousness that could be said to arise from the combination of Laguja's spirit and Muriegro's body and mind (such of it as was left, anyway) became aware that it was somewhere white and noisy. The priest's body was slumped against a wall in a narrow corridor and some liquid was steadily dripping from above, landing in an already-sizable puddle nearby. Still, it was a nice change of pace: nothing was actively trying to kill anything else nearby; the scenery, thought odd, was stable and not made of meat or tentacles; and best of all, there was no demon shackling large portions of the angry god's awareness. Laguja took a few moments to fume to itself; being trapped in a false world should have posed no challenge to a being whose stock-in-trade was mental manipulation and illusion. It should have been able to see through the ruse immediately! The fact that the thrice-damned Malevolence had had the forethought, and worryingly the power, to fragment the god's mind and seal parts of it away from itself without Laguja's knowledge was infuriating. Still, it looked like that was all in the past and thus largely irrelevant. Laguja had watched as the simple little mind of the mimic had died in a kaleidoscopic explosion of power that had ended in a dwindling puff; a new round had started, and this time, the pincushion was sure of it.
What was less reassuring than the new location and absence of the demon was the introduction of the "gentlemen" that were apparently betting on the contestants' success. While they were apparently eager to see that their favored battler was victorious, to the point of intervention no less, Laguja harbored no illusions that whichever masked figure was banking on his power would be some kind of trustworthy benefactor showering gifts and assistance. The fact that he or she was complicit in the Prestidigitator's twisted spectacle inherently made them the Enemy, and therefore more akin to a leering man outfitting his rooster with clawblades for the upcoming cockfight rather than some kind of powerful ally. It also meant that there were more targets for Laguja's divine ire than it had anticipated, and therefore more planning would be required. It might be possible to turn the gentlemen against each other or their master with care, but it didn't seem worth banking on. For the moment, it was probably best simply to focus on the here and now; the eventual goal of taking down those who had taken the pair from their world was still the most important one, but immediate concerns took the forefront for reasons of safety, intelligence-gathering, and to allow some time for back-of-the-mind planning.
Plus... There were minds here. Hundreds of minds nearby, thousands close enough to be vaguely sensed. This space-whatever was crammed full of living, thinking people. It was exactly the sort of place that Laguja wanted and needed. Muriegro stood up, slightly shakily, and looked around, more for the look of the thing than to actually take in visual information. Neither the priest nor his master was more than vaguely familiar with concepts like space travel or plastics; though Laguja's general knowledge about the universe and the way it worked certainly provided for the possibility and nature of the complex polymers, their use by lifeforms outside its native jungles was a foreign concept. Still, even with the veneer of the futuristic, there was no mistaking the nature of this place: it was a tenement. The general state of just-barely-in-repair, the smells in the air, and most of all the taste of the thoughts that floated within the pinchushion's grasp... All spoke of a place where people lived because there was nowhere better they could afford and nowhere worse they could be. It was a place full of exactly the sort of people Laguja wanted and needed. It was delicious.
The priest righted himself and strode out of the narrow corridor he had appeared in, arms once more folded placidly in their sleeves. His master all the while plucked thoughts and information out of the psychic landscape, gathering names, prevailing moods, maps, trends, and any other information it thought would be valuable. If this rabble was to serve its cause, the godling would need to familiarize itself with their mental and physical worlds posthaste.
The gestalt consciousness that could be said to arise from the combination of Laguja's spirit and Muriegro's body and mind (such of it as was left, anyway) became aware that it was somewhere white and noisy. The priest's body was slumped against a wall in a narrow corridor and some liquid was steadily dripping from above, landing in an already-sizable puddle nearby. Still, it was a nice change of pace: nothing was actively trying to kill anything else nearby; the scenery, thought odd, was stable and not made of meat or tentacles; and best of all, there was no demon shackling large portions of the angry god's awareness. Laguja took a few moments to fume to itself; being trapped in a false world should have posed no challenge to a being whose stock-in-trade was mental manipulation and illusion. It should have been able to see through the ruse immediately! The fact that the thrice-damned Malevolence had had the forethought, and worryingly the power, to fragment the god's mind and seal parts of it away from itself without Laguja's knowledge was infuriating. Still, it looked like that was all in the past and thus largely irrelevant. Laguja had watched as the simple little mind of the mimic had died in a kaleidoscopic explosion of power that had ended in a dwindling puff; a new round had started, and this time, the pincushion was sure of it.
What was less reassuring than the new location and absence of the demon was the introduction of the "gentlemen" that were apparently betting on the contestants' success. While they were apparently eager to see that their favored battler was victorious, to the point of intervention no less, Laguja harbored no illusions that whichever masked figure was banking on his power would be some kind of trustworthy benefactor showering gifts and assistance. The fact that he or she was complicit in the Prestidigitator's twisted spectacle inherently made them the Enemy, and therefore more akin to a leering man outfitting his rooster with clawblades for the upcoming cockfight rather than some kind of powerful ally. It also meant that there were more targets for Laguja's divine ire than it had anticipated, and therefore more planning would be required. It might be possible to turn the gentlemen against each other or their master with care, but it didn't seem worth banking on. For the moment, it was probably best simply to focus on the here and now; the eventual goal of taking down those who had taken the pair from their world was still the most important one, but immediate concerns took the forefront for reasons of safety, intelligence-gathering, and to allow some time for back-of-the-mind planning.
Plus... There were minds here. Hundreds of minds nearby, thousands close enough to be vaguely sensed. This space-whatever was crammed full of living, thinking people. It was exactly the sort of place that Laguja wanted and needed. Muriegro stood up, slightly shakily, and looked around, more for the look of the thing than to actually take in visual information. Neither the priest nor his master was more than vaguely familiar with concepts like space travel or plastics; though Laguja's general knowledge about the universe and the way it worked certainly provided for the possibility and nature of the complex polymers, their use by lifeforms outside its native jungles was a foreign concept. Still, even with the veneer of the futuristic, there was no mistaking the nature of this place: it was a tenement. The general state of just-barely-in-repair, the smells in the air, and most of all the taste of the thoughts that floated within the pinchushion's grasp... All spoke of a place where people lived because there was nowhere better they could afford and nowhere worse they could be. It was a place full of exactly the sort of people Laguja wanted and needed. It was delicious.
The priest righted himself and strode out of the narrow corridor he had appeared in, arms once more folded placidly in their sleeves. His master all the while plucked thoughts and information out of the psychic landscape, gathering names, prevailing moods, maps, trends, and any other information it thought would be valuable. If this rabble was to serve its cause, the godling would need to familiarize itself with their mental and physical worlds posthaste.