[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

[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.

[onceaviking]

"Does this place seem like a place where the normal rules apply?" Eric asks in return.

"For all we know we have to pass through the walls or climb through one of the orifices of one of those things, " he points to one of the automatons." I would just prefer a hatch. "

[fluffiest_archadian]

"I would welcome seeing you climb through an automaton's orifice," Sherral says. "Maybe you should try that first."

[onceaviking]

Eric just gives him a withering look.

"Please, feel free to not share your demented desires with me," he says.

[fluffiest_archadian]

"Sometimes I doubt your commitment to escape," Sherral says breezily.

"If there is a hatch there, clearly it is hidden to our eyes."

[onceaviking]

Eric sighs and bends down to tap the floor. In one of the corners, the sound changes ever so slightly.

Bingo.

In the opposite corner, something whirrs.

[fluffiest_archadian]

- Oh, that's not good.

Sherral settles one hand on the hilt of his sword, turning towards the whirring noise.

[onceaviking]

"Will they stop if they loose their heads?"

Eric sounds almost expectant.

[fluffiest_archadian]

Sherral snorts, watching as one by one, the battle-ready automata start to clank forward.

(Those that aren't for fighting activate as well, cheerfully playing chess with themselves or writing out sonnets in beautiful cursive handwriting.)

"I'm still not convinced you can actually fight," he says. "Maybe just levitate near the ceiling until I'm done."

[onceaviking]

Eric smiles.

And then he drops fang.

Seconds later, one automaton is a head shorter. It still moves though.

Dissembling it completely seems to do the trick though. Eric stands, surrounded by parts, peering into the mangled neck, still hanging on to the head.

"No blood," he says, sounding almost disappointed.