Kether wrote:He quickly looks over the gun to get a baring on what sort it is. Followed by checking the log, obviously the murder was of little concern*
He finds the
pistol has a nearly full magazine! Its of a strange design... and what would happen if he pulled the trigger isn't exactly apparent. But its a safe bet that flowers don't come out the end of the barrel. One side of the barrel is stamped with a maker's mark.
The log describes trips between locations he has never heard of... one location in particular seems to be the most visited. 'Vendigroth' wherever that was, also listed are the names of passengers and cargo. On the last page, instead of departure and arrival times, a more haggard and hurried scrawl.
"Barely escaped those things... Fueled up, but the docking clamps are released in the control tower. No one there now. Going to wait a few days before drawing straws to see who goes for the run."
"Simmons got the short straw. The dock looked empty... but by his screams... he didn't make it."
"Still trapped... food is all but out..."
"I'd rather die than try my luck out there. Starving isn't much of a better option... Of course... there is the third option."
Thats all there is. Besides the blood stain.
Blaze wrote:Jean examines the sign and takes a helmet, goggles and gloves from seemingly nowhere! She puts them all on, tucking her hair under the helmet before picking up the lantern and venturing further down, towards the noises!
She ventures down through the putting machine. Down a downwards spiraling tunnel through the pipes, valves, and gauges. Up ahead she hears a repeating buzzer... and sees a pair of flashing lights. Something was wrong, apparently!
Feng wrote:Inwards ventures the hobo-without-a-name, leaning upon an ancient-looking (but quite sturdy) pointy walking stick, the top adorned with the remnants of a garbage collecting stick.
His eye lights up as he espies the bar. "By the All Father" he roars with glee, spirits lifted. He immediately sprints over to raid the booze supply!
He heads over! And discovers... past the rich, wooden bar... a desiccated corpse lies on the ground between the bar and the shelves. An empty bottle in its arms. But hey! The shelves seem to still have some bottles with liquid sloshing underneath their dusty glass.
O Muse!
Sing in me, and through me tell the story
Of that man skilled in all the ways of contending,
A wanderer, harried for years on end...
Click the eggs... feed the dragons.