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As you all walk away from the rusty vendor and the disquieting stench, you all start to feel a slight headache. It is not debilitating for most of you, but it is... insistent.
To Midnight Frost, however, it is all a bit worse. As she trots along, she feels her belly start to roil and tastes bile at the back of her throat.
Despite Midnight Frost's discomfort, you move along and find another signpost. But where will you move to?
The shooting gallery?
Back to the caroussel?
The dining area?
The exit?
The complaints department?
Rides & thrills?
Little games for little folk?
The gleeful carts?
The happy pony- & donkey-ride?
Staff only: litter-processing area?
"I suggest we go to the exit. I have a bad feeling about everything else," Tigwith says. Though he doubts the exit will be what it seems to be.
She groans a bit. Her whole body seems to be rebelling. She starts to slow down. But she nods "The rodent is right....uhg.. this place... is wrong. We need to.... hhggg.... need to leave." if this was the work of someone, she will make them grovel... once she can walk properly again
-Posted with Wayfinder
Kethys shrugged. It was all the same with him, though he was certain that nothing in this place would be as it seemed. "Which way is the exit?"
You walk down the silent pathways of the funfair, following the arrows marked 'EXIT' on the signposts you encounter. The very oppressively silent pathways. The dull headache pulsing at the back of your heads does not grow any weaker or stronger as you proceed, but neither does it go away. Nor does Midnight Frost's intestinal discomfort.
You pass tents and booths, many of the latter full of little toys and gewgaws -- the kind of things you might imagine buying at a funfair and nowhere else. Gaudy, flashy, almost certainly shoddily-made and worth less than a fraction of the price charged, yet somehow also charged with joyous memories. But here and now, in the cold light of day, it all looks fairly useless.
And then you come to a place where the tents end. A large, grassy square lies before you, and at its far end you can see the canvas wall that must surround the fair -- and the two narrow doorways in that wall. Both have a metal turnstile in their middle; above the left doorway is the word 'EXIT', printed in large font. The paint is pale and slightly faded. Next to the doorway on the right, there is a small, wooden booth. Inside the booth sits a still, metallic figure with a featureless face, dressed in the tattered remains of a cloth jacket.
Standing about halfway between the glorious EXIT and yourselves, a single building stands at the right side of the grassy square. It looks like a permanent structure, for all that there is a trailer wagon parked to the left of its invitingly open door. The sun comes out from behind a cloud, turning the windows of both permanent structure and trailer into squares of brilliant, sparkling light. Over the building's door, you see the odd words . Written over the trailer wagon's doorway, there are the words .
An errant breeze blows across the square, ruffling the overly long weeds. You have to wonder how long it's been since someone cut the grass... and why this fair has been parked here for so long.
Tigwith walks along until he reaches the booth.
Seeing the thing in the trailer wagon, Tigwith wants to get a closer look. But he backs off to ask the others what they think it is.
"Do you see that thing in the tractor?"
"I...uuuh.... i think we should... uhg... blast it.... stay away from.... ghr.... Zonko... anything" she pants as she struggles with the pains
-Posted with Wayfinder
"Whatever it is, it looks big. If was are leaving, then we'd better move on, and quickly."
-Posted with Wayfinder
"I see nothing in the trailer. Perhaps you imagined it. If we are to leave, let us leave. If you want to rummage through more of this nightmarish place, we can certainly do that."
And so you leave the funfair.
For a moment, the turnstile resists as you push against it... the head of the featureless figure in the booth turns to regard you... but then the turnstile turns and you are out!
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And you find yourself at the side of an impressive road. Eight lanes of a smooth, dark material lie gently baking under the sun. You assume the material is smooth, anyway. What you can see of it is. But there are a lot of... vehicles standing on it.
They look like the cab section of coaches, sort of, but made of metal apart from their odd-looking wheels and the windows in their doors and at the front of each vehicle. Fine, clear glass, whole slabs of it. A master glassblower must have earned a fortune making those windows.
Some of those vehicles stand in front of the fair's entrance, too. Like all the vehicles standing derelict on the eight lanes, they lack both horses and coachmen. Not to mention passengers. Weeds have sprung up underneath the coaches closer to the fair and entangled themselves in their wheels.
Looking around, you see the road cuts through a gently rolling landscape of grass and overgrown acres, copses of trees dotted in between appearing to be slowly reclaiming the land around them.
On the horizon down the road, you see the silhouette of a city. The heat haze rising from the road makes that skyline waver and blur, as though it were a mirage about to wink out of existence.
A few words in an unknown language stand in the upper right corner, but have been crossed out. Written underneath them in Androffan, you read 'Favour Brothers Ltd.'
A crude image of the city skyline and an arrow pointing at it are drawn in the middle of the page.
"We still have that piece of paper from inside the fair, I wonder if the unknown languages are the same."
"Perhaps we should look into some of these carriages. There may be something useful in them. But, now that we've left the fair, we should probably head to the city."
Szerith will make some attempts to look into a few of the carriages as he makes his way down the road.
"I suppose you are right, Szerith, but I still wonder what we are doing here, and why. I cannot remember anything from before I awoke in the funfair with the rest of you, though I still seem to retain some knowledge of skills and languages from my time before."
As Kethys talked with Szerith, he too looked into the vehicles. Spotting the paper as Tigwith snatched it up, he wondered at its contents.
"Best outside that place than in... that was a place full of... i do not know how to describe it" she shakes her head
-Posted with Wayfinder
The paper looks virtually identical to the one you found before. Apart from the 'message' scrawled on each, of course. The bits of unknown language look identical.
You set off for the city, looking in the carriages as you go. It's easy; none of the doors are locked and some are even slightly ajar.
You find several items... Whether they are interesting or not is something you need to decide for yourself. You find a few shoes of odd design, sleek and apparently stitched instead of cobbled, the thin laces snapped. There are children's toys, some with only one arm wrenched off. There are shoulder-bags that look to be lady's purses, and which are full of... oddities.
You find smaller purses with small ovals of solid gold and little squares of something hard and reflective, some with pictures of humans on them.
You also find little boxes with women's mascara in those shoulder-bags. You find keys. You find strange little boxes that snap or slide partially open to reveal rows of little, coloured squares.
It is all very strange.
You come to a road-sign after about half an hour of travelling. There are some pictures on it: an image of the city skyline with an arrow going straight; a red cross with an arrow veering off to the right.
There have been more of those horseless carriages the closer you came to the city. Right now, the roads are choked with them... and are showing signs of violence.
Some have broken windows. The wheels have been torn off of others. Right underneath the sign is one with the bonnet torn open, revealing a mess of twisted, shredded machinery.
"It seems that we can either go to a skyline or to some other place, maybe a hospital. Whoever wrote the first piece of paper we found seems to have wanted us to go to the skyline, and whoever wrote the second note up there on the sign seems to have preferred the cross."
"If this is truly a hospital, then maybe that would be the best choice of action."
-Posted with Wayfinder
"I agree. Since we have no better plan, then we should follow the directions of our benefactor. Perhaps this is some sort of game, and we are the pawns."
"Let's be moving then. This is just eerie." Kethys headed off with the others in the direction the arrow pointed.
On you trudge.
At first the mass of horseless carriages grows even denser and then... it gradually clears out. As you approach a tall building with two wings curving gently forward, there are only a few of the vehicles left. Large ones, bright white with red crosses on the side, their back doors gaping wide open.
There is a red cross on the building's towering façade, over wide doors made of steel and glass.
Underneath the cross, there are words in gold-looking metal, which you manage to translate as .
As you approach the doors, you hear the whirr of machinery - and the doors slide open as if by magic!
Beyond the doors, there is what you assume to be a waiting room. Everything is sleek and pale, antiseptic-looking and chilly.
The greeter's desk is unmanned.
Bundles of glossy-looking paper connected by little metal staples lie scattered across the floor.
A skeletal plant long dead stands in a large pot in the corner. You can just barely detect a whiff of rot coming off of this single memento of life... and death.
If you cross the waiting room, you may enter a long corridor which branches off to both left and right... but you might want to wait to do so.
From the left somewhere, you hear a clear, musical "DING"! Following which, you hear footsteps.
Slow, heavy, ponderous footsteps, drawing closer.
"Not good... uhg... i don't have the energy to fight... what do we do... i can't think with this pain still... she groans a bit more, as she looks in the direction of the footsteps
"There's nothing to indicate that we will be fighting. But, this place is odd. I have never seen such materials before. I mean, look at this glass. The best glassblower in Trunau couldn't make glass this clear, and with so few distortions. And the paper...never in my life would I have thought to see such. Not in the wilderness of Belkzen, and not in any book I have ever read or story I have heard about the big cities either!"
Kethys heard the ping from the hallway, and craned his neck to see what might be coming.
Seeing Midnight's pain, Tigwith says, "Maybe they would be able to deal with the stomach pain." He waits to see who is along the corner before speaking to whomever it is.
Szerith steps up to the front, and in his most commanding voice (surprising because of his frail body) calls out, "Who is there? Show yourself or be forever damned!"
The corridor is dimly lit, its far end murky and dark. But as soon as Szerith steps forward, a panel of light flickers to life above him in the ceiling. An adjoining panel starts to shine. And another. And another.
The footsteps keep coming closer, and you see a silhouette. A BIG one. The light reflects in what looks like armour at first... and then the creature fully steps into the light.
Whatever it is, it is easily the size of an Ogre, its head nearly touching the ceiling. Its whole body appears to be either wrapped in or made of smooth, silvery metal. Eight crimson eyes stare out of an otherwise featureless head - and four arms unfold from the creature's bulk.
The arms are incongruously slender, the hands strong but delicate -- and the fingers end in long, slender knives: medical scalpels.
"Greetings, patients," the creature says in an emotionless, inflectionless voice while it plods closer...
She steps back, as she was in no condition to fight, she did not want to aggrivate what ever that things is.
-Posted with Wayfinder
Kethys reached a hand up and held it, motioning for the thing to keep its distance. "Not sure any of us are patients, or want to be at any rate. Who, or what, are you?"
The plodding, knife-handed... thing... stops moving.
"I am the Doctor. If you are not patients, are you visitors? The only resident patient is Mr. Thompson, the security guard. The other people left."
"Mr. Thompson... yes. We want to go see him" she says from the back. Maybe they can by if they act like actual visitors, if this Thompson person is an actual resident of this place, maybe he can answer some questions
-Posted with Wayfinder
Tigwith nods his head fervently, trying not to give the impression that he too has no idea who Mr. Thompson is.
"Very good," the hulking creature says. "Please follow me."
The thing turns, slowly, and plods away from you down the corridor.
If you decide to follow along, you are guided to a roughly oblong room, its walls panneled with pale wood. There are doors, partially sunken into the wall on the far side of the room, with triangular ... things made of glass set in the wall above them. One of these doors is noticeably larger than the others.
"Please enter the elevator of your choice and press for the third floor," the Doctor says while moving towards the larger door. "I shall be along shortly."
There is a musical 'Ding!' from inside the wall, and both the larger door and one of the smaller ones open simultaneously. The Doctor plods through the larger and the doors close behind him... leaving you facing a small room that looks just barely large enough to hold the lot of you comfortably. There is a panel in its wall, with buttons marked with a series of numbers, there is a door on the far side of the little room... but no visible handle.
"Lets do as the giant thing said... press 3?" her eyes glow green as a glowing appendage appears and it presses the button marked "3"
-Posted with Wayfinder
Tigwith squeezes into the elevator.
"Maybe we could stop just for a moment at floor 2? Just to glance at what's there? It might help us understand what this hospital is."
"I'm not keen on getting into a small metal room with no obvious way to open the doors. Are you sure you guys want to do this?"
Kethys waited for the others to enter, then shrugged and squeezed in next to the pony and the pale guy.
"Let's just go to three and get out of here."
You get in, Midnight Frost presses the button... and the door you came in by closes behind you. The panels just slide out of the wall, and you are all shut up inside this tiny little room, which jerks and wobbles, then starts to rise! You can not see out of this chamber, but you can feel the whole thing move!
An insipid bit of music sounds from the ceiling and you hear a little bell chime once... twice... then the room stops moving and the other wall slides open. In front of you, there is a corridor much like the one on ground floor. The floor and walls are pale and antiseptic-looking, the space dimly-lit. Just from here, you can see that there are many rooms, their pale-wooden doors standing wide open as if to invite you inside. Only at the far end of the corridor, there is one door that is closed.
As you pile out of the moving room, there is another tinny, chiming noise behind you. Turning to look back, you see the Doctor unfold itself from a large door -- a door identical to the one it went into at ground level.
"Mr. Thompson is in the luxury suite at the end of the corridor," it says, folding its arms across its chest. "He has made it clear that he does not want me to intrude. The door may be locked, but since you are friends visiting, I am sure he willen open up to you."
Midnight nods, eager to get away from the large creature and goes directly to where she was instructed
"Hello. Mr. Thompson. May we please come in..." she tries her best to not fumble her words, due to the aches she is still experiencing
-Posted with Wayfinder
Tigwith stands behind Midnight, not daring to speak, lest the facade be revealed.
You walk down the corridor, passing empty rooms.
Each room looks vertically identical; clean, antiseptic, every surface gleaming and unnatural-looking. The woodwork does not look like proper wood. Instead of metal, some strange, dull material has been used.
The beds look to have been made out of tubes of that dull material. All are empty. All are neatly made. Clean. Perfect. Not a thing out of place.
The air smells of some kind of disinfectant. Impersonal. Fresh. Lifeless.
And then there is the door at the end of the corridor. Midnight knocks, calls out in her sweetest voice... and there is no reply.
Midnight knocks again, there is no answer.
Slightly annoyed, the equine creature knocks a little harder -- and the door swings open. It was not locked. It was not even properly closed.
But closed well enough to keep in the smells.
A stink of old vomit assaults your nostrils as the door slowly swings open, and you see a dried-up puddle on the floor, right in front of you.
This room is larger than the others, more luxurious, less impersonal. Thick, golden curtains block out the daylight, but a circle of light flickers to life on the ceiling as the door opens, showing you all the details.
Mr. Thompson lies in a glorious four-poster bed, the pink curtains' obvious quality outshining their silly colour scheme. Thick, creamy sheats cover Mr. Thompson up to the waist, and you can see he put on silk pajamas before Climbing into the bed. A blue uniform lies, neatly folded, on an oaken chair beside the bed.
Mr. Thompson's smell is less dominant than the stench of dried-up vomit, but it is omnipresent. It clings to every surface, tainting the luxury of the room with a veneer of foulness. Decay has withered Mr. Thompson into a skeleton, covered with a thin layer of clay-coloured flesh. His gelled eyes stare at you out of sockets that look wide with fear or shock. One fleshless hand, lying on the creamy sheats and golden duvet, is still gripping some sort of weapon . A tiny, blue light on the weapon is blinking on and off, as though it were desperately winking at you. Behind Mr. Thompson's head, the wall and the bed's headboard are stained rust-red and putrid grey.
A single piece of paper has been tacked to the bed's footboard.
She freezes. This was... not what she expected. Death. Yes. Mostly death. This did not bode well for their current situation. Using mage hand she retrives the piece of paper.
"We can not linger here long..." she warns the rest
-Posted with Wayfinder
"Wait... what's that weapon he has? I've never seen anything like it before. Does anyone have a clue what it is? Perhaps one of the spellcasters among us knows if it's magical?"
She sighs and uses detect magic on the so called 'weapon', after she has read the piece of paper
"Let me check..."
-Posted with Wayfinder
Szerith moves to the body, places his hand upon its neck , and says, A satisfactory death -- wasting away.
"Well, if that doesn't beat all. Couldn't stand it in there a moment longer and blew his brains out. Still, that is a nice-looking weapon there. Be a shame to leave it to rot alongside him."