Re: Mini-Grand 5112 [Round One: Artificer's Alley]
02-11-2013, 06:46 AM
(This post was last modified: 07-24-2013, 07:00 PM by Elize.)
Drake Aborith hailed from a land where the existence of gods was not a mystery but a provable fact. Good and evil weren't subjective terms, Drake had a divine mandate to judge which was which, and everyone knew it. In light of this, his response had been perfectly reasonable: he made it clear he was judging Lillian, and also that he would aid or punish her in accordance with that judgment.
Lillian, on the other hand, had a very different background. In her culture, hardship was either nonexistent or self-inflicted, basic needs were met, and effort was frowned upon if the results failed to exceed a comparable threshold of novelty. For example, philosophical conversation was taboo unless the participants were not sober. Thus, when Lillian found herself faced with Drake's judgment, she reacted how anyone from her generation would have.
Lillian shook her head and snorted derisively. "Trying too hard there, bud," she said, eying the point of the halberd but trying to pretend it didn't make her nervous. She lowered the whatever-it-was and nodded toward the opening door. "Oh, they're letting me out. Good! You don't want to hear from my lawyer!"
Lillian did not actually have a lawyer.
She rushed past the warrior towards the opening gates, giving him a wide berth but trying not to be too obvious about it. She stopped in her tracks, however, once she actually took note of who was entering.
Droves of creatures and machines poured in through the door. There were similarities here and there, but none seemed human. Tall and short, wide and skinny, variable numbers of limbs. Some had wings, some had tails. Those with organic heads all seemed to have a similar sort of facial structure, but that structure clearly wasn't human. Tall foreheads, bulging, side-mounted eyes, small mouths on snouts, and scaly skin seemed the norm, though there was much more variation among them than would be expected. Many had cybernetic attachments of varying make, and some were entirely robotic. Unlike the clean lines and simple shapes of the technology she was used to, however, this seemed entirely foreign. Exposed gears, wires, strange crystals, glowing ichor contained in glass tubes -- all were worked into elaborate trim in a seamless way. There was clearly an aesthetic to it, but it wasn't one that Lillian could identify.
Lillian froze in confusion. There were clearly a lot of biosynths here. With the similarities, she had to assume they were produced for the sake of this strange scenario, but that meant a massive amount of money. What the hell was going on here? Why was she involved? How could she stop being involved? She decided she would absolutely pose these questions to the creatures as soon as possible.
"Oh, that's a pretty one," one of the creatures said, pointing to Lillian. Several of them murmured their feelings on this assertion as they swarmed around her.
"Oh, uh, thanks," Lillian said. She didn't mean it, of course. Compliments from those uglier than her held very little weight--a hypocrisy she didn't have many chances to exercise. Still, it wasn't the usual reaction, and that threw her off-balance.
"Which one made you?" asked one.
"What? Rude!" she answered indignantly. She found herself surrounded by bustling creatures.
"Interesting structure," one remarked.
"Yes, very efficient," replied another. "Shame about the face, though." Lillian decided to take this as sarcasm. Her face was classic!
"Similar face to this one," remarked another in a metallic monotone. Several surrounding him in the crowd broke away and started towards Drake.
"If thou make the claim my countenance is womanly to earn my wrath, thou hast made poor use of thy last breath, monsters!" Drake spat back, taking a wide stance and holding his weapon at the ready. Lillian grimaced at his last word, having had it directed at her a few more times than she'd care to recall. Was she the same to him as these gross things? "If thou seek the end of my halberd, search closer hence, but thou shalt not draw it forth in errant haste with thy taunting!"
Lillian would have sighed if she didn't find herself suddenly preoccupied with her growing throng of admirers. She felt conflicted; she was on the receiving end of some not-entirely-negative attention for once, but it felt too manufactured to be gratifying. It wasn't until they started groping and prodding her with measuring instruments that she actually reacted. "Hey! Hands off!" she protested, swatting someone's measuring tape out of her face.
The crowd began to buzz with questions about Lillian's physiology and something about her "humors". She glanced over to Drake and saw that he seemed to be faring slightly better.
"Pointy thing on a stick," one of the creatures said. "It's been done before. You should see Riik's work! Fried meat on a stick! The experimental potential is much more remarkable."
"Art thou cursed as well? Tis no mere pointy stick! My weapon is the Right Arm of Efneroe! Be warned, the light of prophecy doth guide it unerringly!" Drake responded, standing his ground.
The small scaly creature waved its arm dismissively and started to walk away. "Psh. You should read up on Riik's forty-fourth dissertation! He replaced the stick with a Pandaemonium conduit. The meat gave a brief lesson on celestial alignment as a means of measuring leyline intersections and then ate itself! Very interesting results."
The rest of the crowd around Drake began to disperse, apparently bored. Some joined back with the growing circle around Lillian, where the unanswered questions were growing more insistent. They ignored her protestations about roaming fees as readily as she ignored their questions about the purpose of the higher hair density atop her head. However, when one of the clamoring creatures began to inquire about "these extraneous fatty lumps here" on her chest, she started to turn red. "Keep your hands OFF," she shouted. Without further consideration, she grabbed the one groping most intrusively and tossed him over the heads of the others and into the nearest market stall. He hit the cloth roof, as she intended. Unlike she intended, the support poles collapsed and he hit the counter at an awkward angle, making a loud thump and causing a clatter as the counter spilled its contents into the stall. "Ah, crap," Lillian said, brushing the throngs aside and rushing over to the mess she'd made. "Sorry! I didn't mean to-"
Lillian looked over the counter to find the creature she'd thrown scribbling in a notebook, still splayed out in a pile of cloth and unidentifiable machine bits. "Very capable musculature," he remarked.
"Volatile mental state," observed someone behind Lillian.
"Yes, that's new," said another, more mechanical voice. "When can we expect a dissertation on it?"
Lillian groaned in exasperation. Realizing she'd gotten distracted from her goal again, she turned to the nearest standing creature and held out the strange machine she'd picked up. "Here, take this," she said. "I'm leaving. And I'm billing you for my roaming fees!"
"Fees?" asked a panicked voice. "I don't have any more inventions to sell!"
"Leaving?" asked another. "We haven't learned everything about you yet!"
The crowd grew suddenly silent. Even those nearby who weren't part of it stopped what they were doing and turned to stare at Lillian. As best as she could parse them, the facial expressions seemed to be various mixes of confusion, shock, and anger. Drake seemed to be quietly eying the situation, muscles tensed. She cleared her throat. "Yes, I'm leaving. I don't want to be part of this. So if you could just-"
"INTELLECTUAL PARASITE!" yelled one of the creatures. All at once, waves of shouting and motion rushed from the surrounding horde. Lillian screamed and scrambled furiously wherever her arms would take her. She quickly found herself precariously teetering atop a shelf of tools, back arched like a frightened cat, all eight hands gripping her perch hard enough to crush less well-engineered bone.
Lillian, on the other hand, had a very different background. In her culture, hardship was either nonexistent or self-inflicted, basic needs were met, and effort was frowned upon if the results failed to exceed a comparable threshold of novelty. For example, philosophical conversation was taboo unless the participants were not sober. Thus, when Lillian found herself faced with Drake's judgment, she reacted how anyone from her generation would have.
Lillian shook her head and snorted derisively. "Trying too hard there, bud," she said, eying the point of the halberd but trying to pretend it didn't make her nervous. She lowered the whatever-it-was and nodded toward the opening door. "Oh, they're letting me out. Good! You don't want to hear from my lawyer!"
Lillian did not actually have a lawyer.
She rushed past the warrior towards the opening gates, giving him a wide berth but trying not to be too obvious about it. She stopped in her tracks, however, once she actually took note of who was entering.
Droves of creatures and machines poured in through the door. There were similarities here and there, but none seemed human. Tall and short, wide and skinny, variable numbers of limbs. Some had wings, some had tails. Those with organic heads all seemed to have a similar sort of facial structure, but that structure clearly wasn't human. Tall foreheads, bulging, side-mounted eyes, small mouths on snouts, and scaly skin seemed the norm, though there was much more variation among them than would be expected. Many had cybernetic attachments of varying make, and some were entirely robotic. Unlike the clean lines and simple shapes of the technology she was used to, however, this seemed entirely foreign. Exposed gears, wires, strange crystals, glowing ichor contained in glass tubes -- all were worked into elaborate trim in a seamless way. There was clearly an aesthetic to it, but it wasn't one that Lillian could identify.
Lillian froze in confusion. There were clearly a lot of biosynths here. With the similarities, she had to assume they were produced for the sake of this strange scenario, but that meant a massive amount of money. What the hell was going on here? Why was she involved? How could she stop being involved? She decided she would absolutely pose these questions to the creatures as soon as possible.
"Oh, that's a pretty one," one of the creatures said, pointing to Lillian. Several of them murmured their feelings on this assertion as they swarmed around her.
"Oh, uh, thanks," Lillian said. She didn't mean it, of course. Compliments from those uglier than her held very little weight--a hypocrisy she didn't have many chances to exercise. Still, it wasn't the usual reaction, and that threw her off-balance.
"Which one made you?" asked one.
"What? Rude!" she answered indignantly. She found herself surrounded by bustling creatures.
"Interesting structure," one remarked.
"Yes, very efficient," replied another. "Shame about the face, though." Lillian decided to take this as sarcasm. Her face was classic!
"Similar face to this one," remarked another in a metallic monotone. Several surrounding him in the crowd broke away and started towards Drake.
"If thou make the claim my countenance is womanly to earn my wrath, thou hast made poor use of thy last breath, monsters!" Drake spat back, taking a wide stance and holding his weapon at the ready. Lillian grimaced at his last word, having had it directed at her a few more times than she'd care to recall. Was she the same to him as these gross things? "If thou seek the end of my halberd, search closer hence, but thou shalt not draw it forth in errant haste with thy taunting!"
Lillian would have sighed if she didn't find herself suddenly preoccupied with her growing throng of admirers. She felt conflicted; she was on the receiving end of some not-entirely-negative attention for once, but it felt too manufactured to be gratifying. It wasn't until they started groping and prodding her with measuring instruments that she actually reacted. "Hey! Hands off!" she protested, swatting someone's measuring tape out of her face.
The crowd began to buzz with questions about Lillian's physiology and something about her "humors". She glanced over to Drake and saw that he seemed to be faring slightly better.
"Pointy thing on a stick," one of the creatures said. "It's been done before. You should see Riik's work! Fried meat on a stick! The experimental potential is much more remarkable."
"Art thou cursed as well? Tis no mere pointy stick! My weapon is the Right Arm of Efneroe! Be warned, the light of prophecy doth guide it unerringly!" Drake responded, standing his ground.
The small scaly creature waved its arm dismissively and started to walk away. "Psh. You should read up on Riik's forty-fourth dissertation! He replaced the stick with a Pandaemonium conduit. The meat gave a brief lesson on celestial alignment as a means of measuring leyline intersections and then ate itself! Very interesting results."
The rest of the crowd around Drake began to disperse, apparently bored. Some joined back with the growing circle around Lillian, where the unanswered questions were growing more insistent. They ignored her protestations about roaming fees as readily as she ignored their questions about the purpose of the higher hair density atop her head. However, when one of the clamoring creatures began to inquire about "these extraneous fatty lumps here" on her chest, she started to turn red. "Keep your hands OFF," she shouted. Without further consideration, she grabbed the one groping most intrusively and tossed him over the heads of the others and into the nearest market stall. He hit the cloth roof, as she intended. Unlike she intended, the support poles collapsed and he hit the counter at an awkward angle, making a loud thump and causing a clatter as the counter spilled its contents into the stall. "Ah, crap," Lillian said, brushing the throngs aside and rushing over to the mess she'd made. "Sorry! I didn't mean to-"
Lillian looked over the counter to find the creature she'd thrown scribbling in a notebook, still splayed out in a pile of cloth and unidentifiable machine bits. "Very capable musculature," he remarked.
"Volatile mental state," observed someone behind Lillian.
"Yes, that's new," said another, more mechanical voice. "When can we expect a dissertation on it?"
Lillian groaned in exasperation. Realizing she'd gotten distracted from her goal again, she turned to the nearest standing creature and held out the strange machine she'd picked up. "Here, take this," she said. "I'm leaving. And I'm billing you for my roaming fees!"
"Fees?" asked a panicked voice. "I don't have any more inventions to sell!"
"Leaving?" asked another. "We haven't learned everything about you yet!"
The crowd grew suddenly silent. Even those nearby who weren't part of it stopped what they were doing and turned to stare at Lillian. As best as she could parse them, the facial expressions seemed to be various mixes of confusion, shock, and anger. Drake seemed to be quietly eying the situation, muscles tensed. She cleared her throat. "Yes, I'm leaving. I don't want to be part of this. So if you could just-"
"INTELLECTUAL PARASITE!" yelled one of the creatures. All at once, waves of shouting and motion rushed from the surrounding horde. Lillian screamed and scrambled furiously wherever her arms would take her. She quickly found herself precariously teetering atop a shelf of tools, back arched like a frightened cat, all eight hands gripping her perch hard enough to crush less well-engineered bone.