|
|
Post by Ashi on Apr 18, 2020 14:47:41 GMT -6
| ACTIVE TRANSFORMATIONS: None |
"I swear, I saw him!" Ashi couldn't help but overhear the obnoxiously loud man behind her at the bar. She glanced over her shoulder as he regaled the tale to those at his table, only half of which looked even remotely interested in what he had to say. The storyteller's fist slammed against the table as his slightly rosy cheeks and vaguely glazed eyes bobbed up and down with each syllable that left his alcohol stained lips. "A damn ghost! A real apparition! I'm not making this up, I swear!" Somehow, his mates didn't seem so convinced. "Look, Anwir," a girl next to him started to say, "We know you don't like the night shift, but when you drink on the job, you're inevitably going to start seeing thi-" "I was sober this time, honest!" Anwir protested. "It was around the stroke of midnight, and I had just left my post by the Northern gate of the Palace when I saw the... Thing float on by! I didn't imagine it, really!"
Though his pals seemed to have remained unconvinced, Ashi had her own curiosity piqued. She'd met actual ghosts before, so someone seeing one wasn't totally out of the question for her. It sounded like this Anwir fellow was a guard at the Palace? Well, maybe Ashi would just have to take a look around for herself, she surmised as she finished off her drink and stood up from her seat. It was certainly worth investigating - after all, what other recently deceased man would have a reason to become a ghost and visit the Konatsian Royal Palace than Typha? He could've at least come and said hello to her before going home, though. She still had a few hours to kill before the sun went down, though as soon as the moon shone in the night sky of the desert planet, Ashi made her way into the Palace - bypassing guards was pretty easy when you could fly.
That drunk guard had said the Northern Gate, right? She'd start looking around there, then. The green haired swordswoman touched down atop one of the walls around the Northern section of the Palace, with her scouter equipped to search for high energy signatures. ...Ghosts still gave off energy signatures, right? It didn't take terribly long before her glasses picked something up that was certainly higher than Riis or his girlfriend, and Ashi smirked as she zeroed in on its source. That had to have been the ghost that guard was talking about, lest some other powerful intruder had made their way into the castle on the same night. Either way, it was a point of interest, and Ashi took care to approach it hastily. And as she neared, she was quite certain she could make out a faint, otherworldly distortion, and a certainly strange aura. Could that be...? "Typha?" she asked, lowering her scouter as she directly approached the being.
TAGS: Kalaboo
|
|
|
|
Post by Kalaboo on Apr 19, 2020 9:40:13 GMT -6
In the deepest recesses of the palace, where the sun had never shone and cobwebs were at their thickest, crept a wind that blew in still air, a coldness more powerful than any torch and lantern. The preternatural flurry flew too fast to be readily perceived but signs of its passage lingered, leaving rabble and nobles alike quite confounded. Take the dungeon, for instance, that dreary pit that refused to be kept clean and sweet-smelling no matter however long it had been since it was put through good use - a week ago its reek and darkness were the stuff of legends, but then one night it got very cold and, lo and behold, when dawn broke the floor and walls had no speck of rust or blood, the oil pitches were full but not brimming, the door hinges made no creak or whinge, the rats paced in orderly lines - if it weren't for the thin layer of frost clinging to every surface one might even feel tempted to spend some time there, taking in the sheer cleanliness of it all. But with each passing night the cold grew stronger, the oil froze and the doors wouldn't open, icicles spiked from the ceiling and - most damning of all - a rat passed away. Kalabas made sure to leave right there and then, but not without first doing his best to fan a torch lit and leaving ample provisions for the rodents: reagents he had bought in the night before, when that guard had spotted him and did not wave back. But now was not the time to dwell on past grievances. The coal black rat, mottled by the specks of ice in its back and belly, needed a proper burial. Kalabas had her wrapped in a rag, lest she turn into a popsicle, and his thumb coursed down her head, neck and spine in very gentle strokes. They grew more frenzied along with his steps, his attention taken away as he rummaged through the hallways, trying to find an empty box of any kind. He would have even taken plastic - plastic - but the best he came across were two discarded matchboxes from the trashcan... And so he wondered, would it be too sacrilegious to cut the rat in half? Sideways or longways? Before he could commit to an answer a vooice came not from behind him but from in front of him. It was not everyday that a ghost was spooked, but besides the wide open eyes and slight fidget in his step, Kalabas did not have many means to express his surprise and following relief. It wasn't the matron demoness, but a konatsian dressed too stylishly to be a servant and too sensibly to be a noble. Her scouter and power gave it away, Kalabas was in the presence of a warrior, and a powerful one at that. He jostled the ragged rat unto his shoulder, raising one finger for the stranger to wait. From behind his shoulder blades he pulled a scroll and quill set, hexed so as to never run out of ink. Ikra's doing, of course. He scrivened with enthusiasm, then shortly presenting the warrior with the following message: Good night. Would you happen to know where I can find an empty box?He propped the stiff, cold rat on a matchbox, pointing at how the overgrown beast would require a bigger receptacle. |
|
|
|
Post by Ashi on Apr 28, 2020 5:17:26 GMT -6
| ACTIVE TRANSFORMATIONS: None |
To Ashi's surprise, whatever this... Thing was, it sure as hell wasn't Typha's ghost. Once she got a good look at it, her eyes widened and she took a step back in surprise, and probably would've let out some kind of yelp if she wasn't pretty sure nobody on Konats could actually kick her ass any more than she could theirs. Still, the power level she'd scanned earlier was... Oddly high. It was at least worth figuring out exactly what this thing was doing here. It seemed like it was somebody's ghost, or something strange like that, as it gestured for her to wait a moment. Ashi's eyebrows furrowed as she frowned and waited, though instead of speaking, the apparition pulled forth a... Quill and parchment? What year was this, the 2800s? And why couldn't he just talk? ...And was that a dead rat slung over his shoulder? Ashi had a lot of questions.
The Konatsian waited awkwardly as the ghost scribbled something down onto the paper, crossing her arms and tapping her foot impatiently against the cobblestone floor while occasionally glancing around to see if anyone else was going to come around to spot the ghost and confirm she wasn't just hallucinating. No such luck occurred before she was presented with the now inked parchment, though. Ashi squinted her eyes as she struggled to make out the words in the dim moonlight that shone through the window. "Good night..." she mumbled as her dark eyes squinted at the fancily etched text. "Happen to know where... A box?" Her brow wrinkled in confusion at the prompt, though when she looked up at the ghost, he gestured again towards the dead rat - and compared its size to a matchbox that it certainly wouldn't fit into. What, was he looking for a casket for his friend?
...Actually, that probably was the case. He was already a freaky mute ghost thing, so having a rat friend didn't seem like quite so much of a stretch. "Oh, is this one of those things where I have to help you so you can, like, 'move on'?" Ashi asked as she handed him back the parchment. She felt like she'd heard stories about this kind of thing, though, as far as she'd always known, those stories were works of fiction. Well, no harm in helping some haunted spirit reach the great beyond, right? Even if it wasn't really so great. ...On second thought, maybe she shouldn't help him. "Look, buddy, piece of advice - Hell isn't so great. Trust me, I've been there. It's really big, and really boring. You're much better off sticking around here and haunting around. Maybe you can find yourself a cute girl ghost?"
TAGS: Kalaboo
|
|
|
|
Post by Kalaboo on Apr 30, 2020 0:26:23 GMT -6
As Ashi read Kalabas faded away. The ghost wasn't left to meander for too long — he came from the side of a hanging bookstand he had spotted, airy as fog as his twirling hand took the parchment and began to wrap it into a scroll. When the konatsian let out questions that went beyond what Kalabas hoped to be able to gesticulate the temperature sunk into a nipping cold for he had no mouth to huff with at this delay. Nevertheless, he saw no harm in enlightening this star-crested wayward. And she knew of Hell's boundless breadth and even more boundless boredom? Very interesting. He assumed this was part of some chance spiritual tradition among the knife-eared people, that he was in the presence of a damnation-evader such as himself — albeit a much more successful one — was inconceivable. The thought that one could 'pass on' from taking pity on a rat is quite precious,
but I am afraid that the closure I am to get once I bury this damn vermin will
come more from a place of selfish stubbornness than... whatever emotion 'rapture' is. I
just happen to be ultimately and undeniably responsible for the death of this disease-ridden
pest. In my magnanimous benevolence I was taken to bury it, you see? And to
overthink the act ultimately takes the beauty, the good of it. Let this nameless, sharp-toothed
and worm-tailed rodent go remembered in an ivory casket and an etched slab.
Lacking that, a shoebox, some cardboard and black marker
will do. On a less contrived post-postmetaphysical note, you did mention that Hell
was really big and really boring. I can attest to that, having wasted there for long
to earn the 'good-liking' of the locals. If rumor is to be believed, and
with my sources being hellish it most certainly isn't, Heaven is no better.
Heed the dead man's word, afterlife is life without any of the sport.
There were two alternatives according to the 'Kalabasian Gamble': linger in the Otherworld so your soul can be gradually dissolved into its most basic components, or become a ghost and be locked in stasis for all eternity. Kalabas could have expanded on his theory of the power of ego over entropy, but he was just making some idle smalltalk, partly to prove wrong that gnawing doubt that war and death had taken away his ballroom charmer disposition. What's more, the cuteness of ghost girls is nothing more than a myth, we the dead are a drearie, whingy, rotten sort.
He handed the parchment, like a student would hand a test. Helpful as he as of very recently tried to always be, the ghost let his hand shimmer and flicker, attracting some moths. |
|
