[OOM] Labyrinth / Krampus Plot with Eric

[fluffiest_archadian]

Mrlgh, there's - fuzz on Sherral's face. A kind of cloying, drying fuzz that clings even to dry skin.

As Sherral opens his eyes, he sees that it's woollen yarn, in bright pink and orange, from the suspiciously snug floor where he's sprawled beneath a cheerful woollen lamp with a knitted lightbulb inside.

This is not what he was expecting. A room full of yarn - a quick glance around confirms that everything seems to be either covered in or made of wool, checkered in various coloured patterns. A knitted puppet the size of a man stares at him from one of corner - is never really expected.

"Faram's balls," he growls.

Comments

[fluffiest_archadian]

Sherral gives the ceiling a dubious glance, then starts climbing a wall.

Yarn doesn't make the most assured of climbing surfaces, but it is at least thick and - for yarn - strong, and Sherral is able rapidly scale the wall to the top, prodding at the ceiling.

He winds enough yarn around one arm that he can hang off the wall and draws his sword - and it's clear immediately that it's no normal sword, if only for that the blade looks like rough diamond and glows like starlight.

He starts hacking at a patch of ceiling. There seem to be several differently coloured layers, but after slicing his way through about five there's a hint of something that isn't wool.

[onceaviking]

"There," Eric says, sounding pleased.

He's got keen hearing it seems. And no discernible heartbeat.

[fluffiest_archadian]

Sherral's hearing is, alas, not so keen as to detect that.

He taps his sword against - whatever it is beyond the yarn. It sounds like brass, maybe a foot thick.

"I'd warrant I could cut a hole for us through this, but it would take time. Search around and see if you can find some kind of hatch instead."

[onceaviking]

Eric moves his hands around and finds, hurrah, a hatch.

It's locked.

Luckily, brutal force is a versatile key.

Eric pulls his hand back and says, "After you?"

[fluffiest_archadian]

Sherral gestures at the hatch. "Oh, no, I insist."

[onceaviking]

Eric tears off a handful of the knitted fabric, balls it up, and throws it through the hatch.

Nothing happens.

He shrugs and follows without looking back.
He trusts his hearing to tell him if the magic user gets up to no good.

[fluffiest_archadian]

Sherral rather precariously makes his way along the ceiling like a man clawing his way across woolly monkey bars, and pulls himself through the hatch, looking around.

The room they're in is much larger than the last, made of the kind of brass, steel and bronze that seems best suited for some manner of steampunk setting, with the walls lined with clunky automata.

"... How charming," Sherral remarks, mildly.

[onceaviking]

Eric got to punch something, so now he feels marginally better. It shows in the set of his shoulders.

"What is this place? "

[fluffiest_archadian]

"This room? Were I to guess, I'd say some manner of storehouse. This place?" Sherral glanced back down at the wool room. "I'm honestly not sure."

[onceaviking]

"And again, there is no door."

Back to surly.

"Does your sword unfasten screws as well, magic user? "

[fluffiest_archadian]

"For one who was levitating but five minutes past, you seem terribly scornful that I can use magic," Sherral remarks wryly.

He does not dignify Eric's own question with a response.

[onceaviking]

"What I did has nothing to do with magic," Eric replies blithely, before striking one of the walls with his fist.

[fluffiest_archadian]

"I find that doubtful," Sherral says dryly. "I didn't see any wings."

[onceaviking]

Eric smiles at him.
It's a very white smile.

"I need no wings. As you could tell. Neither do I need spells or incantations."

[fluffiest_archadian]

"An immaterial distinction. That which must be achieved by supernatural means is magic whether or not it involves incantations," Sherral says.

[onceaviking]

"Ah," Eric replies. "So to you, I do not do magic. I am magic."

Or supernatural, as it were.

[fluffiest_archadian]

"Like more of the Bar's patrons than not, aye, and no few species of my world," Sherral says levelly. "You will forgive me, in the confusion, I misplaced the award I usually present in such circumstances."

Beat.

Utterly deadpan: "It was gold and shiny, and shaped like a moogle holding the fruit of a marlboro. You would have loved it, I'm sure."

[onceaviking]

Eric glares at him. Then he snorts.
And then he smashes his fist against the wall again, breaking the skin of his knuckles.

He shakes his hand, as the skin reknits itself.

[fluffiest_archadian]

"The moogle's eyes were tiny chips of red magicite. We had hoped for a more regal purple shade, but alas, nobody was selling," Sherral says.

He wanders up to one of the automata lined up against the walls. Very slowly, he prods one. It doesn't move.

He walks down the line, glancing at each. About half of them look made for battle - tall, slender things with bladed arms and what appear to be steam canons in their chest.

The rest ... well, one of them is definitely built to play some manner of board game; another to write; one looks to be older than the others, a kind of extremely old mechanical calendar.

"The good news is, only half of them look combat-ready. The rest are made for all manner of startlingly dull tasks."

[onceaviking]

"Aren't they going to do anything then?" Eric asks, ignoring the other comments.

He could do with a fight.

He walks over and taps another one. It sounds hollow.

[fluffiest_archadian]

"If we're lucky," Sherral says. "Keep searching. There was a hatch in the last room, we have to assume there'll be one here."

[onceaviking]

Eric just looks at him. And then he starts tapping on the walls. And the ceiling.

Listening.

[fluffiest_archadian]

Sherral wishes he had his armour. His helmet's Libra display could have detected a doorway or a hidden switch, if there was one.

As it is, he keeps a weather eye on the automata. He doesn't trust them.

[onceaviking]

Eric wishes one of those things would turn out to be alive. So he could kill it.

He pauses and looks down at the floor. Squinting.

"Could it be there? " He points. In and out right next to each other. Clever.

[fluffiest_archadian]

"Would that not take us back to the wool of yarn?" Sherral asks.

He's not dismissing it, but his tone suggests he'd like some form of confirmation from Eric.