Post by K Man on Dec 20, 2014 12:13:01 GMT -5
[Sorry for the slow pace this week folks, been busy getting ready for Christmas. Hopefully I'll pick up time here shortly.]
Quickly scanning to the pile of scattered parchments on the table; it becomes clear they are the idle drawings and musings of a busy mind. Among bits of broken charcoal pencils, loose leaf parchment is scattered like autumn leaves and random trinkets. There would be no way to make complete sense of the madness - not in this lifetime anyways - as you have no idea if the complete vivisection of a spider legged creature belongs with intricate detail of a metal riveted furnace...but it's entertaining none the less. The random trinkets appear to be three dimensional musings of the same chaos, part of a miniature bird made from metal tubing; a set of rings that interlink in impossible ways...you fear deducing their purpose would take even longer than the parchment.
The books are no less exotic and enticing. Most appear to be leather bound journals of the same as on the table. They are simply and plainly numbered, a gold gilt number on their spine from one to several hundred the only indexing you see. Examining one book shows at least a little more coherently organized thoughts, but barely. More equations, trails of numbers and measurements, angles and arcs. The numbering and readability disintegrate as you count up, each book less organized and less put together than the last. It appears somewhere around the high two hundreds is where the journaling was abandoned in lieu of the loose parchments you see scattered about. Some of the other books that are actually titled are very old and some you've never seen or heard of in all your travels;
The Four Gated City by Gerold of Namesh
A Treatise on Chitinous Armors of the Insect and Animal World by the Sages of Inconta
Time; Does it Really Move Forward? by Anon the Ageless Monk of the Timeless Abby
Understanding the Mechaniks of Motion by Hammertok the Dwarf
Zashuk, the City of Endless Darkness by Unknown
...and so it continues with each successive book you discover not written by the originator of the parchments.
More than once the rambling automaton harmlessly bumps into one or more of your party. It stops, turns course and continues...all while hammering out that incessant monotone melody and that painted face seemingly mocking you constantly. When Terric has had enough, he picks up the thing and places it on it's side. The wheels squeak and churn, unable to find purchase. They stop and the music ceases a moment later. The room is eerily silent for a moment. That silence is pierced by a soft voice calling out from the room up the next flight of stairs.
"Hello....?" It is soft, feminine, frightened.
Quickly scanning to the pile of scattered parchments on the table; it becomes clear they are the idle drawings and musings of a busy mind. Among bits of broken charcoal pencils, loose leaf parchment is scattered like autumn leaves and random trinkets. There would be no way to make complete sense of the madness - not in this lifetime anyways - as you have no idea if the complete vivisection of a spider legged creature belongs with intricate detail of a metal riveted furnace...but it's entertaining none the less. The random trinkets appear to be three dimensional musings of the same chaos, part of a miniature bird made from metal tubing; a set of rings that interlink in impossible ways...you fear deducing their purpose would take even longer than the parchment.
The books are no less exotic and enticing. Most appear to be leather bound journals of the same as on the table. They are simply and plainly numbered, a gold gilt number on their spine from one to several hundred the only indexing you see. Examining one book shows at least a little more coherently organized thoughts, but barely. More equations, trails of numbers and measurements, angles and arcs. The numbering and readability disintegrate as you count up, each book less organized and less put together than the last. It appears somewhere around the high two hundreds is where the journaling was abandoned in lieu of the loose parchments you see scattered about. Some of the other books that are actually titled are very old and some you've never seen or heard of in all your travels;
The Four Gated City by Gerold of Namesh
A Treatise on Chitinous Armors of the Insect and Animal World by the Sages of Inconta
Time; Does it Really Move Forward? by Anon the Ageless Monk of the Timeless Abby
Understanding the Mechaniks of Motion by Hammertok the Dwarf
Zashuk, the City of Endless Darkness by Unknown
...and so it continues with each successive book you discover not written by the originator of the parchments.
More than once the rambling automaton harmlessly bumps into one or more of your party. It stops, turns course and continues...all while hammering out that incessant monotone melody and that painted face seemingly mocking you constantly. When Terric has had enough, he picks up the thing and places it on it's side. The wheels squeak and churn, unable to find purchase. They stop and the music ceases a moment later. The room is eerily silent for a moment. That silence is pierced by a soft voice calling out from the room up the next flight of stairs.
"Hello....?" It is soft, feminine, frightened.