[QUEST] PITCH SOL

[victorianflorist]

> A plot of soil lays bare, dull, and sandy below you. Small river stones sit where they have fallen, worn smooth from time. A phantom wind blows the dirt in small flurries.

> What memory do you plant in the soil?

> A: A small seed, blackened by dehydration

> B: A tangle of clear thread, knotted beyond repair

> C: A swatch of faded fabric, worn from constant use

> D: A nub of a pencil, the eraser chewed to the metal

[skinstealer]

B

[AceOfNothing]

D I have to add to this yeeet

[King-Clod]

B, the clear thread

[knux400]

C

[MarxzVulpez]

voting C!

[victorianflorist]

> Your eyes flick from the thread to the swatch, both terribly tempting in their import. The thread is a dense tangle, forming patterns and fractals. But your eyes are pulled away from the twisted form, and instead drawn to the swatch.

> The once brightly colored fabric is worn, the edges frayed and the threads coming loose. It drips with attachment and meaning, and you can't help but feel it drawn towards the waiting patch of soil.

> You gently shift the soil, cupping the swatch of faded fabric, and slide it into the soil, covering it the best you can.

The soil beckons with thirst, with what rhyme do you water the soil with?

> A: A bottle as dark as sin, that you know to be one filled with gin.

> B: A carton of smooth milk, that you know will flow like silk.

> C: A can of oil, that is heavy with the lives it has caused to spoil.

Describe the fertilizer you use.

> In your own words.

[skinstealer]

C, use your own regretful tears as fertilizer

[King-Clod]

B.
The fertilizer will come from the bones of the last living creature we held dear. It will be imbued with our memories of them. With our love.

[Ignispark]

C: a monument to give respects to what has been lost. It's not enough, but it's what you can do.

[victorianflorist]

> You pour the can out onto the soil, the blue-black fluid shimmering in an unseen light as it glugs out of the can and flows down onto the soil patch. The oil seeps down lethargically, slowly working its way down towards where you know the swatch of fabric to be.

> A strange, wet sensation drips down your back, a small rivulet of some unknown fluid. You ignore it, intent on the scene before you.

> You give the soil your regrets, a dull ache in your heart subsiding with acceptance. A sprinkling of heavy purple powder appears mixed into the soil.

> You give the soil your love and affection, a warmth alongside the regret, for there was a fondness for whatever it is you held dear. Bleached white shards appear mixed into the soil.

> You give the soil your respects, an acknowledgment that loss is never in vain and that regret and fondness come from one place. Pellets of a small yellow stone appear mixed into the soil.

> You look upon the garden you've planted and wait.

> A small, shriveled shoot bursts from the ground, unexpectedly. Your amorphous body jumps back in surprise. You reach out and gently touch the small grey-purple plant.

> The ground suddenly heaves below you, sand and dust blasting into the air. You're thrown back into the dirt, pain blossoming in your chest as the breath is violently thrust from your lungs by the impact. You fight through the daze looking towards the small plant and watching as the soil around it begins to swirl, and sink.

> A large pit opens up underneath and around the plant, it sprouting resolutely in place, its roots dangling in thin air. You, however, are not so lucky, and the swirling sand claims you, drawing you deeper into the pit. You fight the sand, but your lack of substance prevents you from getting a grip, and you descend deeper and deeper towards the now inky black center of the sand trap.

> The center swallows you, and all you see is darkness.
 

---

> You suddenly feel very, present, a light blossoming in the darkness you've become accustomed to. You feel a rough texture underneath you, occasionally bumping as if whatever you now lie in is rolling over rocks or holes. You distinctly hear a grinding sound coming from beneath you. 

What do you do?

[knux400]

Stay calm and observe our surroundings, by touch if it's too dark to see.

[King-Clod]

Look for a way out. If there are none, make one. Break through the floor or walls if we must.

[victorianflorist]

> You open your eyes and see a bright white sky above you, cloudless and smooth. You realize that you're lying in the back of a roughly hewn wooden cart. Towering, twisted pine trees stretch into the air around you, passing as the cart totters along.

> You sit up, the cart creaking underneath you, and take a good look at yourself and the cart around you.

> The wood of the cart is old; it's dry-rotted, pitted with insect bores, and hasn't seen a sander in years. Splinters poke haphazardly from every board. It's hard to tell if the pale color of the cart is from time or if the wood is naturally that color. Large burlap sacks containing unknown materials are strewn about around you, each labeled in unreadable symbology.

> You look as yourself and feel no recognition. You're clad in tattered, damaged clothes, and your hair is cropped short on the sides and back. Your wings are large and your shoulders broad. Coming into this newfound awareness, you realize that there are portions of your body which feel unreasonably cold, almost chilly. Investigating these places, you notice large patches of dark gray skin; you feel only a dull static sensation when touching them, and decide to leave best enough alone.



> You suddenly hear a voice right behind you.

"Good! Yer awakening! I wasing been getting worried about ya.

> You whip your head around, looking directly at the driver of the cart. The creature is smiling back at you, squinting with distinctly wooden eyes. The whole creature appears to be made of woven hemp fabric approximated in the shape of a person. It has 10 long, spindly limbs, one of which is occupied by a long riding crop. The creature absentmindedly whips the air in front of the cart, despite the apparent lack of a draft animal pulling the cart forward.

"Can ya speak? Some of the ones who've coming through wasing not speak anymore. Might counting you among them? Wasing you have a name?

[knux400]

"I think I can speak. Are you hearing me alright?"

"Uhhh, my name... You'll have to give me a moment, sorry. Can you tell me where I am and what I'm doing in a cart?"

[Ignispark]

I mean...you don't really NEED a name but, there is a classic tactic that would be interesting.

Ask if you can have their name.

[King-Clod]

Look in the burlap sacks around us if we can. Look around our surroundings too, if we can.
"Coming through...where? Sorry, I...what is this?"

[victorianflorist]

> You give the creature an incredulous look as you try to figure out how to speak, croaking out a few high-pitched squeaks with no meaning. You cough sharply and feel a deep rattle in your chest, and as if something fell into place, speaking comes easily to you after that.

"I think I can speak? Are you hearing me alright?"

> Your voice is a bit scratchy, but the creature straightens up, a delighted grin appearing woven into its face. 

"Ising the hearing of you quite well! Ising wonderful the seeing of you having speaking. Wasing quite rare, even in crossings that wasing not tumultuous." 

> The creature's arms, ending in tapered points, click together excitedly as it titters, its voice like fabric sliding against itself. 

"I'm not really sure on my name, you'll have to give me a moment. Might I have yours in the meantime?"

"Ising of you having not my name, ising mine. Ising the one who ising driving, wasing named Priority. Ising must being giving a name for a name." 

> The creature, that you now know as Priority, gives you a sideways glance. Priority is now [SUSPICOUS].

> You parse that though you asked Priority's name, you cannot take it and must figure out another. 

> You laugh off the moderately awkward exchange and try to ignore the pit forming in your stomach. 

"I'm sorry, 'coming through'? What is this, where am I, and what am I doing in your cart?" 

> Priority thinks for a moment, tapping a limb gently on what you suppose is its chin, but it keeps one eye trained on you, never closing. 

"Ising being hard to being explaining. Ising not here nor there. Wasing built long ago, with hands much greater. Ising not being an expert. 

Wasing you in the forest, wasing lying in a ditch near road. Ising bringing grain to Wormwood, and ising finding you and loading you up to be kind. Ising thinking that may being mistake." 

> You process that, Priority's odd way of speaking becoming more familiar to you. It seems that where ever you are in a general sense is different from where you were previously, you recall blackness and sandy soil, but that felt more like a dream than a place. But whatever and wherever this is, which seems to be beyond Priority's knowledge, was built by something. 
In more concrete information, Priority has claimed that it found you lying in a ditch near the road, a road which apparently leads to somewhere called Wormwood, though it appears Priority is reassessing its kindness.

> You take a moment to really look at your surroundings. The pines around you twist menacingly, giving the impression of warped humanoid forms passing through them. Their bark is pitted with insect bores, much like the cart you ride in, and they seem ancient; towering as they are and thick around as your waist squared. Looking to the ground you see barren, sandy soil with smooth stones scattered about, sections positively caked with a thick mat of pine needles. The scrub and brush you see is sparse, clustered together in the spaces where the pine needles haven't formed thick peat. They reach with the same twisting, insect-eaten appearance as their towering company. You hear no sounds except the gentle swishing of pine branches far above you. 
 

---

RELATIONSHIPS

Priority - Species Unknown - It/Its
[SUSPICIOUS] 

[King-Clod]

Well, it's certainly nice to meet you Priority. Unfortunately I can't quite remember my name, I' hoping that's a memory I'll regain with time.
Could you tell me more about the town we're heading for? What sorta culture there is there?

[victorianflorist]

> You turn back to Priority, and it has refocused itself on the road ahead, occasionally whipping the crop at the empty space in front of the cart. You clap your wings together and rub, trying to diffuse the nervous energy taking form in your stomach. 

"Well, I must say it's certainly nice to meet you Priority. I really appreciate the help, but I truly can't remember my name. I think it'll take time before I get that back. I'm really not trying to evade your question."

> Priority's shoulders seem to loosen up at that.

"Ising being a relief, wasing worrying you were being dangerous. Being powerful, names are."

> Priority is now [AT EASE]

"I'm glad I can soothe your worries." 

> You say, a twinge of sarcasm in your voice, as Priority could have simply explained so.

"So is there anything you can tell me of Wormwood? What sort of culture do they have there?"

> Priority thinks a moment, tapping an arm on its knee, or at least that's how you've come to interpret those particular limbs.

"Wormwood ising an old settlement. Ising one of the first places said to being building. Many Waywards ising saying to being coming through here and very few Amalgam."

> Priority shivers a bit at the last word.

"Wormwood ising a trading post of sorts, a crossroads. Many travelers and merchants ising meeting there, so Wormwood ising tending to being very friendly to strangers. You'll being able to be learning more there. Priority ising aware how hard it can being to understand."

> Priority rubs its head a bit, clearly embarrassed.

"We'll being arriving in town shortly." 

> You and Priority sit in silence for a little while, you'd approximate maybe about half an hour or forty-five minutes before you start to come into the town. 

> The first thing you notice is how open the air is around the town, the trees have clearly been long cleared away, fields of grasses and flowers in their place. This makes the bright, cloudless sky apparent above you, as well as the glaring, pitch-black sun hanging in the sky. The dark celestial object is surrounded by a bright white corona in contrast to its all-consuming blackness. The entire sight gives you a deep chill, paired with a sense of wrongness that shakes you to your core. You quickly turn away from the foreboding star and look towards the town you're heading into. 

> You're riding down what appears to be the main road of Wormwood, and at the end of it, you can see a bright market. The buildings around the road are clearly rural and constructed of the same wood of the woods around you, as well as Priority's cart. However, they are brightly painted with all sorts of colors, the town is a verifiable explosion of color against the dull, grey woods and the unnaturally bright sky, as if in rebellion against the drab outside of the town. As you ride into the town proper, you begin noticing elaborate murals painted on some of the walls, some merely artistic depictions of unfamiliar cities, landscapes, and people, and others functional, identifying bakeries, clothiers, and craft stores to name a few. Though you don't recognize many of the places and people in these murals, you can see a lot of love behind them, and you can definitely see what Priority means in saying this is a crossroads, it's evident that many people have been through here. That even extends to the well-worn paved road you've now begun to roll over. 

> While the buildings are astonishing, you feel the people are even more so, as you begin noticing all the people milling about the town. So many varied shapes and forms, all utterly unique in species. Their dress varies greatly, with all varieties of style and cut in every color imaginable. The din of people grows ever louder as you and Priority make your way towards the market.

> Priority stops the cart short, seemingly of its own accord, right before the market. Looking towards the building you've stopped in front of, it appears to be a tavern or inn of sorts, judging by the murals. A number of strong-looking individuals emerge from a side door and begin conversing with Priority, they speak quietly and shoot a wary glance to you sitting next to Priority's product.

> When they finish talking, Priority chuckles and waves a limb, dismissing whatever the main brute had said last. 

> Priority turns back to you.

"Ising time for you to being disembarking, they being going to unloading my product. Being going inside, Madame Hallow ising wishing to being speaking with you. Ising offering a room for the night, so you may being getting settling. You having being good company on the ride, when you being awake of course!"

> Priority chuckles.

"Ising glad to having being a friendly face."

> You hop down the cart and look up at the building, finally noticing the name of the tavern ahead of you. It reads "The Flawed Pony", with a comical depiction of some sort of taur-creature on the sign. You move up to the front door and it looms above you.

Do you go in or do you explore the market?
 

---

 

---

RELATIONSHIPS

Priority - Species Unknown - It/Its
[AT EASE] 

[King-Clod]

Let's go inside. We don't want to get lost, and might wanna figure out how people of this town carry themselves, so we can replicate it somewhat.

[AceOfNothing]

Let's go inside, Priority brought us here so we she respect it's wishes and go meet Madame Hallow. Plus we can explore the market later, maybe with a bit more insight on the culture from Madame.

[knux400]

It would probably not be a great idea to start exploring without much idea as to what's going on. We can glance around a bit if we're curious, but we should probably head inside and see Madame Hollow before we go and interact with anything else.

Thank Priority for hauling us all the way out here, say a quick goodbye, and then head on in!