Re: Intense Struggle! (Round 4 - Old Salem)
09-21-2010, 05:29 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by SleepingOrange.
Clara turned around as the man ran into her. Well, in actual point of fact, he hadn't run into her; he had stopped as though he had impacted, and she had a vague awareness that something had struck her from behind, but the man had stopped a few inches from Clara's actual body. She supposed that George was a larger person than she, and whatever sophisticated illusion the Monitor was employing had compensated for that so that people didn't appear to overlap. For a very brief moment, she was impressed; once this grudging respect passed, though, her mind rapidly returned to the situation at hand. She tried to remember what building she had just passed or who she had seen.
-
Clara walked down the sun-beaten and near-empty streets rather slowly for a woman on a mission. The very atmosphere of the place was tainted with defeat and fear, and it was difficult to muster significant energy for anything in the midst of such psychic gloom. She didn't particularly want to stand out from the other stolid shufflers that occasionally dotted the streets either; while she doubted people would accuse her of being a witch for moving quickly or with purpose, she simply didn't want to strike up an engagement with anyone. What if it was customary in this society to greet others with "Blessed be in the name of Glorgityschmorgle, Beast of a Thousand Young" or something? Clearly their religion was important, based on the Monitor's note, and she certainly didn't want to appear ignorant of their religion. IT sounded like that might be one of the biggest ways to look like a witch, which she was not keen on. So, she kept her head down and went with the flow.
It occurred, as she wandered the roads, that she really had no idea where she was going or how to find the others. Grand schemes and noble intentions were one thing, but knowing what you were going to do in the next five minutes seemed a bit more important right now; there was no way to organize a rebellion or spread information without knowing where her potential allies were. She nearly began casting a handful of choice divinations before remembering the dire-if-vague warnings about using magic. Clara, and the bulky man she appeared to be, stopped in her tracks for a moment, realizing for the first time the enormity of the task this secrecy presented and how much she actually relied on magic when outside her comfort zone. She quickly started moving again, but her face and the one she wore were furrowed with irritation. The blasted grandmaster had stymied her at every turn since she'd been entered into this battle; every nuisance only strengthened the urge to take down the conniving villain.
As she continued her wanderings, a peculiarly-fatalistic thought occurred. The monitor got his sick pleasure (or whatever he got out of this sadistic spectacle) from watching them fight; otherwise, he wouldn't do everything in his power to convince and coerce them to. It made sense, then, that he wouldn't concoct a scenario where it would be truly impossible to detect their opponents. Something, the pragmatic nun suspected, would come up; in short order, a villager would notice one of the less cautious contestants, or perhaps a disguise would fail. Maybe someone would simply disregard the Monitor's instructions and go on with the battle as it originally was. Something had to happen, or what was supposed to be an intense struggle to the death might turn into several days of tedious paranoia and careful role-playing. It was possible that that was the intention, but Clara somehow doubted it. With stiffened resolve and slightly-improved morale, she continued on her aimless way.
It wasn't long before a commotion a couple of blocks over caught her attention; not only was there loud noise and eventually screaming, but other people had noticed too and were moving towards that source in greater numbers and speeds than she had hitherto seen in Salem. She broke into a half-jog to see what the commotion was; it looked, from what she observed, like this area of the city was much like the rest of it had been: residential houses interspersed with businesses. There was a crowd building around a couple of houses, and there was a great deal of shouting and what sounded like the occasional scream or crash. Clara sped again and made it to the periphery of the crowd; she was standing near the door to an apothecary's, and couldn't advance further without physically pushing people out of the way. After a few moments of craning and wishing she were as tall as the person she appeared to be, she became aware of someone running into her.
Once she remembered where she was, it was easy to figure out the identity of the man who had collided with her; the realization came as something of a shock. Honestly, the last person she wanted to meet was someone as familiar with George as a close friend; she was absolutely certain that she couldn't maintain the pretense of his identity for any time at all with the scrutiny of one of his acquaintances on her.
"Oh, uh... James. Hello. I..."
Clara trailed off, having no idea where to go. It was fortunate, in a sense, that at that moment the air was pierced by another loud yell followed by a crash; after a second of shocked silence, there was a brief pounding and the sound of nearby sobbing. A piercing voice trilled over the crowd "Come on now, you're not going to let one little witch ruin your whole day, are you? You are, aren't you, you little ants!" Clara turned from her companion and muttered, "Someone has to do something about this..." loud enough to be heard over the clamor and pounding of suddenly-fleeing people. Grateful to have an excuse not to let a simple social dalliance betray her nature, the nun began pushing through the press of people towards whoever was causing the mess.
Clara turned around as the man ran into her. Well, in actual point of fact, he hadn't run into her; he had stopped as though he had impacted, and she had a vague awareness that something had struck her from behind, but the man had stopped a few inches from Clara's actual body. She supposed that George was a larger person than she, and whatever sophisticated illusion the Monitor was employing had compensated for that so that people didn't appear to overlap. For a very brief moment, she was impressed; once this grudging respect passed, though, her mind rapidly returned to the situation at hand. She tried to remember what building she had just passed or who she had seen.
-
Clara walked down the sun-beaten and near-empty streets rather slowly for a woman on a mission. The very atmosphere of the place was tainted with defeat and fear, and it was difficult to muster significant energy for anything in the midst of such psychic gloom. She didn't particularly want to stand out from the other stolid shufflers that occasionally dotted the streets either; while she doubted people would accuse her of being a witch for moving quickly or with purpose, she simply didn't want to strike up an engagement with anyone. What if it was customary in this society to greet others with "Blessed be in the name of Glorgityschmorgle, Beast of a Thousand Young" or something? Clearly their religion was important, based on the Monitor's note, and she certainly didn't want to appear ignorant of their religion. IT sounded like that might be one of the biggest ways to look like a witch, which she was not keen on. So, she kept her head down and went with the flow.
It occurred, as she wandered the roads, that she really had no idea where she was going or how to find the others. Grand schemes and noble intentions were one thing, but knowing what you were going to do in the next five minutes seemed a bit more important right now; there was no way to organize a rebellion or spread information without knowing where her potential allies were. She nearly began casting a handful of choice divinations before remembering the dire-if-vague warnings about using magic. Clara, and the bulky man she appeared to be, stopped in her tracks for a moment, realizing for the first time the enormity of the task this secrecy presented and how much she actually relied on magic when outside her comfort zone. She quickly started moving again, but her face and the one she wore were furrowed with irritation. The blasted grandmaster had stymied her at every turn since she'd been entered into this battle; every nuisance only strengthened the urge to take down the conniving villain.
As she continued her wanderings, a peculiarly-fatalistic thought occurred. The monitor got his sick pleasure (or whatever he got out of this sadistic spectacle) from watching them fight; otherwise, he wouldn't do everything in his power to convince and coerce them to. It made sense, then, that he wouldn't concoct a scenario where it would be truly impossible to detect their opponents. Something, the pragmatic nun suspected, would come up; in short order, a villager would notice one of the less cautious contestants, or perhaps a disguise would fail. Maybe someone would simply disregard the Monitor's instructions and go on with the battle as it originally was. Something had to happen, or what was supposed to be an intense struggle to the death might turn into several days of tedious paranoia and careful role-playing. It was possible that that was the intention, but Clara somehow doubted it. With stiffened resolve and slightly-improved morale, she continued on her aimless way.
It wasn't long before a commotion a couple of blocks over caught her attention; not only was there loud noise and eventually screaming, but other people had noticed too and were moving towards that source in greater numbers and speeds than she had hitherto seen in Salem. She broke into a half-jog to see what the commotion was; it looked, from what she observed, like this area of the city was much like the rest of it had been: residential houses interspersed with businesses. There was a crowd building around a couple of houses, and there was a great deal of shouting and what sounded like the occasional scream or crash. Clara sped again and made it to the periphery of the crowd; she was standing near the door to an apothecary's, and couldn't advance further without physically pushing people out of the way. After a few moments of craning and wishing she were as tall as the person she appeared to be, she became aware of someone running into her.
Once she remembered where she was, it was easy to figure out the identity of the man who had collided with her; the realization came as something of a shock. Honestly, the last person she wanted to meet was someone as familiar with George as a close friend; she was absolutely certain that she couldn't maintain the pretense of his identity for any time at all with the scrutiny of one of his acquaintances on her.
"Oh, uh... James. Hello. I..."
Clara trailed off, having no idea where to go. It was fortunate, in a sense, that at that moment the air was pierced by another loud yell followed by a crash; after a second of shocked silence, there was a brief pounding and the sound of nearby sobbing. A piercing voice trilled over the crowd "Come on now, you're not going to let one little witch ruin your whole day, are you? You are, aren't you, you little ants!" Clara turned from her companion and muttered, "Someone has to do something about this..." loud enough to be heard over the clamor and pounding of suddenly-fleeing people. Grateful to have an excuse not to let a simple social dalliance betray her nature, the nun began pushing through the press of people towards whoever was causing the mess.