Final Fantasy [D6]: Echoes From Infinity (Play-Test)

[Story Time]

( THIS SPACE IS BLANK )


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[Story Time]

The door opened. Quiet foot steps crossed the simple wood room. Curtains were thrown open and a noble hand switched on the very used radio device.

"Good morning, Survivors," a jolly voice on the radio cheered. "I'm your host, D.J. Santa! It's going to be a beautiful day on the southern coast. Boomerang Island, just south of us, is also going to see some incredible weather. While we enjoy it I'll be bringing you some gifts from the ancient past. Tunes and music discovered in some of the most unlikely places and repaired for your listening enjoyment. So enjoy your presents, every body! It's going to be a great day!

"Here's the first song for the top of the hour. It's called Morning Sunlight by Chrono Trigger."

Beneath the sound of the radio was the persistent and faint purring of ocean waves. As the personality through the radio pitched into the room a gentle and feminine hand fell on Emat Arhen's head. His hair was tussled and a sweet voice said, "Time to get up, little one." As Emat's eyes opened and peeked out beneath the blankets he caught a flash of mint green hair leaving the room. That hair caught up into a pony-tail belonged to the girl who ran the orphanage where he was staying. Everyone called her Mama.

For short-term memory, Emat felt confident. The bed he woke up in was familiar. He had been sleeping in it for months now. Emat's earliest memory was being roused on the shores of Boomerang Island by a fellow named Gwinter. Gwinter did not speak. Before that moment with the feeling sand, water, and sunlight Emat's memory turned into a blank and dark mist. The uncertainty was obvious and came with obvious questions. Who was he? How did he come to be here? Did he have a past?

"Look what I can do!"

A face smaller than Emat's appeared over the edge of the bed. Arms stretched forward and held a small fluff of a feather in front of Emat's face. The hands closed over the fluff then opened. When they did the fluff was gone. "I did Inventory," the proud face pronounced. This was one of the other children that took refuge in the orphanage. Emat had solid memories of this boy along with the other orphans. "I'm a magician!"

'Every child thinks they're a magician.' The memory rammed into Emat's mind with a force. He could hear the voice! It was a firm and solemnly affectionate voice. It was masculine. Beyond that, Emat struggled. The certainty of the moment faded into the dark mist again. Who-ever it was, Emat clearly remembered the words that were said to him, but nothing more beyond the voice itself.

"Are you okay," the nameless boy asked. He was nameless just like Emat. No one on Boomerang Island knew Emat's name, including Emat. So far as Emat's knowledge went, he had never been given a name. More than once, he had thought about what it would be like to have a name.

[meschlum]

Emat considered the question for a moment, then nodded solemnly. The odd burst of memory might be a sign that his older memories were coming back, which could only be good news. But for now, he had more important matters to attend to - namely demonstrating his own skills with Inventory. Oh, and whatever else happened later today, too.

Squirming out of the covers, the young boy set his feet on the ground and began to poke underneath the bed. Shoes, not yet. Half-eaten, week old ham sandwich, keep it for later. Third best shirt, what was it doing there? Five mismatched socks of various sizes... Aha! From the protective covering of yellow and green wool, Emat withdrew a piece of chalk.

Smiling angelically and ignoring any nervous stares that might be directed his way, Emat scribbled madly and began to sketch what, to an overly indulgent and inventive parent, might conceivably be a jacket. Or maybe an elephant with an affectation for cabbages.

With a flourish, the floor's new decoration was completed, and Emat stared at it proudly. And stared. And stared some more. With a disaffected slump of his shoulders, he bent down to make a preliminary effort at cleaning the mess when it suddenly began to move.

The lines fell in together, gaining texture and thickness, scrawlings expanding into full physicality beneath his fingers. When the deed was done, there were no chalk marks left, replaced by something like a sweater that had been the sole source of provender for a dozen generations of moths.

Emat's delighted grin slowly gave way to dismay, as his best jacket, which Mama had carefully Inventoried to preserve it from harm, dribbled between his fingers. He'd been so sure he'd figured out the trick for larger objects... And now he knew there'd be chores to do today.

[Story Time]

"Ooo," Emat's visitor verbalized tauntingly. "You're gonna be in trouble." Two seconds later his mood changed like the living shimmer of his star dust colored hair. He chirped like a helpful family member, "I'll get the mop." And fetch the mop the boy did, handing it to Emat. Literally mopping up liquid jacket had probably not been Emat's first choice of chore for the day. Strangely, the mop squeaked while the messy substance was absorbed by the strips of cloth, though the wood of the floor was rustic in both texture and appearance.

The jacket vanished entirely from existence once soaked into the cleaning tool.

"Breakfast," Mama's precise voice called from the main room of the orphanage. The sweet sound was not musical, but carried a certain quality which none of the orphans could yet identify as noble. Any scolding, real or imaginary, over the jacket would be likely postponed until after the morning meal. Thoughts of Inventory were also pushed away as the smell of broccoli and seafish soup penetrated the nasal cavities of all the orphans in the simple home. Strangely, one chair remained vacant at the big round table.

"Chalky broke his jacket," said the want-to-be-magician boy after Mama had addressed the High Powers. Chalky was one of a million possible nicknames that a person could inherit while not having a real name. Like water, they could appear and fade, and had no permanency on the Blue Planet. Emat's monicker as Chalky only existed because of his use of chalk as a drawing material. It was the only drawing material freely available at the orphanage and came in clumps more often than smooth sticks.

For all appearances it seemed that Mama was about to speak, but whatever she might have said was lost to the sound of running feet and the front door banging open.

"Where have you been," one of the girls asked, sounding more demanding than she had any real right to be. Her hair was purple.

The intruder fell over in the doorway, panting for breath. He tried to speak and suffered obvious difficulty from his well-known speech impediment. "G-G-G-G-Gwinter's fighting on the beach," the deviant boy exclaimed. "A-a-a-a-a-a-and he's hurt!" The black haired boy's late nights and sneaking out were suddenly ignored by Mama who stood and gripped the very large pot with both of her elegant hands. With a twirl, the pot passed out of the orphans' line of sight and Emat sensed two objects added to his Inventory. The first was the family-sized pot of Seafish Soup and the second was a Wooden Spoon.

Both objects entered into the set of twenty empty Inventory spaces invisibly shared by Emat and Mama. It happened just like she had stored his jacket. Then, Emat felt his Party change. Like Inventory, Party was an invisible thing that persons could join into. Those in the same Party could share Inventory even while in battle. But this time, when Mama left the Party, Emat retained control of the soup and the spoon.

And it was no ordinary wooden spoon. It was the Wooden Spoon. It was a thick and heavy item used to stir large masses. The same spoon that Mama had cooked very many meals with. The very same spoon that she used to intentionally discipline the orphans when they needed it by bopping them on the head. This Wooden Spoon was a weapon which demanded respect.

"Hurry and take it to him," Mama said directly to Emat.

[meschlum]

Again, Emat nodded, trying to get the angle and speed just right so as to produce Nod #17 ("Of course! At once! Thank you for trusting me!") rather than Nod #423 ("I stayed up late fishing and am going to hit the soup face first in a few seconds") or, worse, Nod #79 (Emat didn't know what is meant, and he'd stay that way if he knew what was good for him). Pushing himself up onto his chair - after making sure his shoes were clean! - Emat hopped over the back and made for the door at a trot.

If Gwinter might need a weapon, then evidently Emat did as well, so he looked about as he hurried on, seeking signs of the legendary armament concealed nearby. The Sword of Mastery, with which an army of grunts had been singlehandedly vanquished, a dozen bandits knocked down and forced to beg for their lives, and nothing less than a Wild Choco Dragon been put to flight (or at least, to wander off eventually) was lying broken next to the tree it had come from, after actually hitting something by mistake.

The Holy Mop of Cleansing was still inside, and would have needed to be wrung out before it could be wielded. Emat had heard tales of the Ever Victorious Pebble, but didn't have the lore to recognize it among the false and deceptive Tattling Stones that surrounded it and spelled a fate worse than death and cold baths to anyone foolish enough to try to use them.

Rushing on past familiar territory, Emat made his way towards the beach, neglecting weaponry for the sights and sounds of beach and ocean. Still, just in case, he picked up a lucky four leaf clover (with one leaf already used up) and a Wonderous Wand (or, at least, a stick that could have been one if approached in the dark and not actually examined in any detail). He thought was out of chalk, but maybe sketches in the sand would work.

[Story Time]

A funny post, as usual. :smallsmile: Please roll 2d6s twice.


They are for:

Lore (INT)
Emat realizing that the Wooden Spoon is the best tool available for drawing in sand.
Difficulty: 5
Survival (INT)
Emat finding a better weapon or item ( by luck ) on the way there.
Difficulty: 9


So roll the dice, then add the numerical value of the skill to the dice result. If the solution is greater than the difficulty, the character succeeds. :smallbiggrin:

This portion of the game is still cinematic so Emat will not run into monsters. Therefor, no Stealth roll.


And Meschlum's Rolls! (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showthread.php?p=12880993#post12880993)


Some of the sub-tropical beauty of Boomerang Island became more apparent to Emat in his haste to the beach. The expanse of jungle-like forest gave way to a natural growth of a stiff root which tripped Emat while at his full speed. It caused the child to comically fly / glide for a number of moments. Unexpectedly, no dirt rushed to greet him. Instead the sweeping hills of sand spread out beneath him and increased his flight time as Emat possibly yelped, yelled, or hollered in surprise like healthy a ten-year-old should. At the least, his arms waved in frantic and wild fashion before his face and torso plowed a trough into the sand on the wind-ward side of the descent.

Spitting sand from his mouth, Emat's eyes fell upon a littered beach. He had lost no Health, but the scene before him was a battle ground. The beach was littered with metal bodies of bronze, gold, and silver colors. Most were fallen and only two remained standing. The first was Gwinter in his long and natural silver hair. The soft brown leather trench coat which he wore disguised most of the rest of his body. The other standing body was completely inhuman. It stood twice as tall as the other scraps of metal in the sand. It appeared to be some kind of automated metal puppet, but no strings tethered to it.

It moved on its own!

An unnatural sound emanated from the head of the automaton as Emat watched and a column of pure energy sliced forth from its single eye to attack Gwinter. The hume rolled to dodge and came up unscathed, but neither did he come to his feet. Gwinter remained on one knee, obviously wounded. He had not widely missed the swath of molten glass made by the metal monstrosity in the sand. More than one line of cooling glass decorated the sand of the beach in strange arcs. It could have been a beautiful impressionist work if it were not for the lethal force which tickled at Emat's mind with fear.

No memories were sparked in Emat Arhen, beyond those of the recent past. In town he had heard talk of mechanical robots. He had also seen for himself one of the miscreations being towed down Main Street to keep it from trashing up the properly rugged beauty of Boomerang Island. Gwinter and others were the primary force which kept the automatons at bay, but their appearances were slowly increasing in frequency.

Most frightening of all, and threatening to Emat's Mysla Village home, was that this beam-shooting robot was new. It had not appeared previously.

[meschlum]

Not much time! The thought filled Emat and he scurried forth, dodging and ducking among the debris. With his conscious mind, he reached for that feeling he'd felt before, of joining a Party, and tried to extend his Inventory in Gwinter's direction.

Deeper portions of Emat took in the scenery, the colors and patterns, the melding of chaotic bursts of metal with the underlying landscape. There was something there, they felt, something that could be - should be? - tapped and explored. The only sign any of this made its way into Emat's thoughts, if it did, was his grasping for a stray twisted metallic bar, to have something at hand when he came near.

As he closed the distance, Emat's fingers tapped out a mad rythm against the metal plates, accompanied by the intermittent pings and clangs wrought by the shard he'd picked up.

The efficiency of the bit of metal is up to you, of course. Useless is fine.

Action-wise, [roll0] is an attempt at Machine language. Might as well see if my bangs and clicks actually mean anything...

And in the interest of moving things along, a pair of raw 2d6 rolls, in case there is something I should be doing.

[roll1]

[roll2]

[Story Time]

Pressing past an invisible and intangible barrier, Emat succeeded in his earnest desire to share his Inventory. Unfortunately doing so brought him into the direct area of Battle and the noise which he made from his communicated gibberish attracted the attention of the animated automaton.

"Greetings biological inhabitant!" The unnatural speech did not appear to come from a mouth of any kind. It might have come from the thing's chest, but it also sounded droning cheerful. "Prepare for annihilation!"

Whatever other feelings or impressions Emat might have experienced in the following moment, he also realized his critical mistake. Gwinter was a seasoned adventurer. He had many amorphous Levels of life-time Experience more than Emat did. If this mechanical monster could wound Gwinter, it could likely knock him down to zero Health in one blow.

Gwinter did not even bother to open his mouth.

A bow, tall and menacing, appeared from out of Gwinter's Inventory. It glittered in the sunlight with scales and an arrow was notched into it. The wire of the infamous Dragon Snap was drawn back, then loosed, shattering the solid transparent eye of the non-living thing.

Two loud squeaks pitched out onto the beach as the hunk of bronze and steel became truly lifeless and fell to its knees, then onto its face. It neither twitched nor hummed under the sound of the surf. The Battle itself concluded, and Emat felt the wealth of his Inventory increase to six hundred twenty-five Gil. Even more, he felt a shining sphere of Experience appear within his being. Despite not having participated, Emat had survived the combat and easily sensed the shining ball of light near his spirit.

This was the reward of courage.

Still kneeling and panting on the beach, Gwinter pushed himself up to his feet. In turning, Emat was once again treated to the handsome and strong face of the silent hero. It could have easily been the face of a king on the best of days, but in that moment it was decorated with pain. A large and deep burn had left a blackened hole in the front of Gwinter's green cloth shirt and in his abdomen. His Health had suffered, as Emat could instinctively sense while joined in Party. The energy beams had been much more dangerous than Emat had first estimated.

By sub-conscious recognition Gwinter sensed that the Broccoli and Seafish Soup was not only available in the shared Inventory, but for him specifically. And so, without speaking, he accepted. From behind his back, and through the soft leather of his trench coat, Gwinter drew forth the family sized pot of soup which Mama had stored. The vessel still gave fresh steam into the salty air while it was held with fingerless gloves. In one breath, Gwinter up-ended the pot and chugged the entire contents before tossing the pot aside and burping, refreshed.

The pot clanked once against a fallen robot. Then it vanished.

The emerald green eyes of Gwinter centered on Emat. The holes in the bowman's clothing and skin closed as he was returned to full Health. Gwinter said nothing over this, but in his walking in the wind he stopped and settled his right hand on Emat's shoulder. It was the clearest gratitude and communication from the hero that Emat had ever received.


Victory!
Emat earned 100 Gil!
Emat completed a Quest!
Emat earned 3 Experience!
Gwinter joined the Party!

Here is a fanfare (http://www.blueblue.fr/mirrors/ff4/files/MP3/Act%201%20-%20Betrayal/1-11%20Interlude%20~%20Yay!%20(Fanfare)%20%5BDragonA venger%5D.mp3) that a Player might hear.

[meschlum]

Emat took a moment to realize that he'd been involved in a real Fight, one with risks greater than embarrassment or Mama's displeasure. Although, come to think of it, it might be easier, and faster, to be defeated by the machine than to face her righteous anger. And her Spoon.

He shook briefly against Gwinter's solid frame, at the thought of Mama's displeasure or the fate the machine intended for him he was not sure. Then, reaching into his Inventory with a bit more confidence, he tugged the Spoon free. Grasping it by the tip - not the actualy spoon part, his hands weren't clean! - he extended the grip towards his now twice savior. He had a duty to perform, after all.

Staring at the beach and the debris within it, Emat nodded decisively (it was a nod he'd been hoping to get right, #12: "I have made a momentous choice". The distinction from #67: "I really need to use the bathroom, preferably a few minutes ago" and #54: "Someone has put a caterpillar in my collar" was not obvious, but he was sure he'd get the hang of it eventually. (In fact, it was #944: "I played with nested parentheses too often", but we won't tell him if you (dear reader) refrain as well)). He would be ready the next time one of those devices came. And if they didn't come soon enough, he'd find where they came from and then...

Emat wasn't quite sure, but it would be very decisive.

[Story Time]

Light brown wood slipped against the reddish brown leather of Gwinter's red gloves. The medium Caucasian skin of the hero gazed curiously at the Wooden Spoon and seemed to appraise it. Emat's withdrawal of the Wooden Spoon had appeared very smooth, if amateur. Gwinter did not comment about this. The Dragon Snap and the spoon soon vanished into Gwinter's Inventory next to an immense pile of exactly fourteen Smoke Bombs.

Emat was slowly learning that each Inventory slot could hold more than one item so long as all of the items in each slot were of the same type. Ninety-nine was, of course, the theoretical maximum which each Inventory slot could hold. Emat had not yet been able to test that theory.

Emat's non-verbal communication did elicit one nod from Gwinter. It was not the most expressive of motions. Perhaps Gwinter was not as fluent in Noddish as Emat was. Perhaps he was more of an anti-social sort, even for silent type of hero. Whatever the case might have been, Gwinter did raise his now empty left hand and pointed into the jungle and the direction of Mysla Village. A very handsome, yet patiently curious, expression adorned his face. It seemed that as a Party Member, Gwinter held no present desire to lead.

[meschlum]

Emat was the Party Leader.

Emat was... the Party Leader?

Emat was the Party Leader!

However the Fates might view the fact, the boy was quite enthused with the possibilities opening up before him. He could rule the Hill and make it taller than ever. Get into trees without low branches. Get his chores done... His train of thought met Mama's eyes, ground to a halt, and reversed with a guilty expression.

Maybe he should be responsible instead, Emat concluded with a brief shiver. Surely the Wooden Spoon couldn't have begun to wave at him while in Inventory? As a responsible Party Leader, all the stories said that it was his solemn duty to accomplish his mission, while exploring every single open bit of land - one never knew where useful twigs, pebbles, and other treasures might hide, after all.

Conscientiously, Emat poked at the debris around him, a half formed notion driving him to collect any powdered bis of machine that might present themselves. After satisfying himself on that account, he set forth along the beach, more or less towards the jungle, in order to see if there were any sign of the source of this swarm of machines.

But quickly. Breakfast might not yet be over, and Emat didn't really want to find anything - so after a bit of study, he expected to head home.

Actions:

- Try to collect pulverized machine bits to make pigments. [roll0] for that, not sure what the suitable skill would be.

- Look for tracks, to see where the machines came from. If they look like they came from the sea, then all's as usual. If not... [roll1] using Survival, I suppose.

- If all is well, head home with a mixture of being in a hurry and looking for alternate routes, hidden troves of dandelions, and the like. Not sure whether Survival or Awareness would be suitable, so [roll2] is the basic roll.

[Story Time]

Picking through the the remains of the anthropoid hunks of metal, Emat discovered that many of them were in pieces. Apparently, Gwinter's arrows had removed hands and arms from the center stems of the bodies. Those were interesting in and of themselves, worth fondling perhaps, but without more skill in Synthesis, holding on to them would just be more weight.

But along with the detached limbs, Emat also found leaking fluids from these mechanical things. They were different colors, but most of the flows were too scant to collect. The colors made a some-what nice looking rainbow as they sank into the sand and toward the cleansing waters of the rolling surf.

But neither did any of the liquids smell pleasant. None of the substances smelt like flowers or plants and the one liquid which appeared clear did not smell anything like fresh water should. That was a bothering curiosity. What would happen to the Blue Planet if more of these things came and leaked their unnatural liquids?

'Our world is a confined space. We shouldn't thoughtlessly pollute it.' Another memory appeared in Emat's mind. This time the sensation was very soft and almost undetectable. The voice had been masculine, and strong; different from the one this morning. The nameless boy could almost half-remember a tall hume body standing near him when he heard the words, but then the remembered vision descended beneath the dark mist.

Waking form the reverie, Emat found that he was staring through a hole in the core section of one of the machines. Inside it was a dark solid substance and he reached for it. With firm rubbing the rock secreted solid powder. It might not be a professional pen, but it would suit for artistic purposes. The bituminous rock soon vanished into his Inventory.

Gwinter, during this time, appeared to have remained stationary before the boy's inquisitive mind had led him across the sand. The distance was not far and when Emat looked up he could see Gwinter observing the scene with what resembled patience. The tracks of the robots led over the sand and directly into the water. Even now the waves were erasing the evidence of their passing. That was a mildly disturbing realization.

To either side of the landscape was beach. To the best of Emat's estimation he was on the very southern tip of Boomerang Island. There was nothing but ocean as far as the eye could see to the south. On the horizon far away sat a small shape. It was...

...it was a mountain of metal! Where could that have possibly come from? Even presently Emat could see many rows of metal things like the ones laying around him were being pushed out of a massive door far away. It all looked so...unnatural. Emat could see no living creatures there of any kind. No earth, trees, or monsters were visible. The robots themselves appeared to be mostly lifeless. They simply stood in their long, inanimate, perfectly spaced rows and remained stationary. They were frighteningly statuesque erections of gold, silver, and bronze colored metals. If they came, would more of their bad-smelling liquids tarnish the beautiful white and yellow beach?

Emat had to do something!


Emat found a Charcoal Briquette!
Charcoal Briquette properties: Concealed.



Emat's search for pigment-like materials falls under Awareness ( since it is not food/water ). Six plus four is ten. The Charcoal Briquette will allow Emat to draw on most surfaces except perhaps very rough tree bark. It's also marketable.

Judging the machines' origin is also Awareness, since it does not involve Navigation. ( The difference between Awareness and Survival is that location involves observation. Navigation involves movement ) Seven plus four is eleven...

:smalleek:

That's insane! I had to edit this post like...five times!

I'll leave the choice to role-play or roll dice to you. The immediate authority figure for Emat to inform would be Mama, or one of the Mysla Village guards. Omako, whom Emat has certainly met ( but may not have spent much time with ), would be the chief authority figure of Mysla Village.

Also, just to poke in a little humor here, was this post decisive (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showthread.php?p=12970406#post12970406) enough for you? :smallbiggrin:

[meschlum]

Emat had found the foe! A foe unlike any other. Worse than the Sinister Stickman! More numerous than the Awesome Anthill! Far more alien than the Bubbling Bathtub! The tried and true techniques of the orphanage - running towards the enemy, yelling, waving whatever was at hand, then arguing about who was hit, who wasn't, and whether the winners or the noble fallen heroes would get to make speeches - might not work, so noxious were these Menacing Machines!

The boy took a few careful steps forward, until he reached the edge of the beach. It was wet, and cold - therefore, as it lacked the virtue of portability (and subsequent application to other people's necks (not that Emat had ever done anything like that, of course (and even if he had, there was no evidence (really! (no point looking deep in the nested parentheses for evidence))))), it was not an honorable snake or lizard, but water! The bane of boys everywhere, true, but far worse for an aspiring artist armed only with readily washable chalk.

Hopping back from the menacing waves and, incidentally, the mechanical horde, Emat decided that circumstances were dire enough to call upon Grown Ups, and made a beeline for the woods, seeking Mama first. With her Spoon, she was sure to show the intruders what for.

Actions: hurry home!

[roll0] in case it's called for - Athletics, maybe?

[Story Time]

In his hasty dash to Mysla Village, Emat not only remained up-right, he completely cleared a stationary basket of bananas. Gwinter gave no appearance of trouble keeping Emat's pace. As the two passed under the wooden gate in the palisade wall a town guard in simple leather armor and cap called cheerily, "Welcome to Mysla Village!"

Mama's orphanage was not far inside the wall. Bodies milled in the dirt path of a street and appeared to be about their morning business. Most wore some variation in leather. Those who wore entirely cloth were the type to entertain an interested in Intuitive Magick. Unfortunately, there was little time to ruminate on the well-known details of the village itself.

The nameless boy, now a Party Leader, reached the orphanage and nearly burst open the door. Mama looked up from a mound of cut broccoli on the large central table. Her face indicated abrupt surprise with her mint green eye-brows, but those lines softened into relief.

"Chalky! You are alive. I am so glad." Mama's sincere smile and her genteel hand resting closely against her collar did nothing to stall half of one dozen heads in peaking out from behind multiple doors. Mama's pronouncement was rejoined by smaller voices, "Chalky's back!" And with little pause to give Emat breathing room, he was swarmed at the front door as the center of attention.

"Are you okay?"

"Is Gwinter okay?"

"Did you see any monsters?"

"Where's Gwinter?"

"Was it scary?"

"Did you fight?"

Behind the cacophony, Mama smiled and chuckled. It was a subtle, girlish, aristocratic laugh, if one which Emat might have seen, but not heard.

[meschlum]

Emat is about to speak to Mama when the deluge of questions sends him reeling, inadvertently preserving his status as a main character. Expressive as they may be, nods are not up to the task of replying, at least for the less fluent. Certainly a properly composed mixture of conviction, reassurance, and a quick twist in Gwinter's direction could serve. Sadly, it would also be interpreted as a fit of some sort by anyone not fully fluent - meaning, as far as Emat could tell from prior attempts, everyone on the island. At least.

Instead, since matters were urgent and he was still the Party Leader, however long that fortunate state was to last, Emat went for the simplest option. Reaching into his inventory and nodding briefly at Gwinter, he began to sketch. The presence of his fellow Party Member (and incidental masher of malicious metallic machines) would serve two purposes - to answer some questions by simply being there, and to provide (or serve as) a canvas on which Emat might make matters clear.

Leaving black streaks instead of the customary white, the Charcoal Briquette soon sketched a scene in which the hero overcame countless crude clanking creatures. Emat was rather proud of his efforts at transcribing clanking, and Gwinter was in the background too.

But lo! Emat was a Party Leader, and Responsible, and the Bearer Of The Spoon. Plus, Mama was watching, so he quickly moved on to sketching Gwinter standing reassuringly over foul fallen ferrous foes. This drawing took less time than he'd have liked, as he was Bearing News - so the strange invading mountain was depicted in more detail, and he set to the important business of detailing each and every thing that came out of it.

Blessed with a vivid imagination and many partly glimpsed models, Emat's efforts might never have ceased were it not for a sudden rumbling sound that broke his focus. Peering about, he realized that he was the source of the terrible noise.

He had missed breakfast in all the excitment, after all.

[Story Time]

When Emat's stomach rumbled and he managed to catch his wits, he was standing in the kitchen. The entire orphanage was covered in charcoal illustrations of his experiences that day. Every wall depicted scenes of his waking up, of Mama's teen-age beauty, the radio music, the jungle, Gwinter's struggle against the mechanical monster, the soup pot being used, Mama's Wooden Spoon changing hands, and extremely detailed schematics of the portions of the metal monsters which Emat could remember.

Aside from the schematics, Emat's illustrations were beautifully shaded with no physical proportion ambiguities. This included the ominous metal mountain which Emat Arhen had only seen from a distance.

The other nameless orphans simply gawked, amazed. Some cheered. Mama, however, looked on soberly. She seemed proud of Emat's accomplishment. He had explained himself exceptionally well, even if he had dirtied every wall in the orphanage to do so.

"My little children," Mama rose to her feet and said. "Today will be a Play Date." At these words she smiled, mostly warm. "Go play in Mysla Village, or visit Togger's Shop. Have fun, but do not leave the walls or gates."

Amazing as Emat's achievement was, Mama's decision released a united cheer from the other children. They raced out the front door, spinning, cheering, and greeting a surprised, if still cool, Gwinter. With the house evacuated in premium fashion, Mama's fit and contemplative physical form moved through the kitchen. From the cupboards she drew out a meal of salad greens, nuts, fruit, and grilled fish. She set the table for Emat as Gwinter's tall and imposing frame settled just inside the front door. "Come and eat, little one," she smiled genuinely for Emat. "We have some matters to discuss."

[meschlum]

Emat nodded. Mama was right, of course. And, judging from her smile, there was probably a better than even chance that the matters to be discussed would only include a minor lecture on making a mess of the walls, rather than a very small brush, a large pail of water, and a lot of time.

If he were still the Party Leader, Emat mused, would he be able to have Gwinter take care of the cleaning? Not that such tasks were suitable for a heroic Party of Machine Mashers, of course.

In order to get properly lost in contemplation of future battles, suitable Party names, and other exotica, Emat needed sustenance. He smiled in thanks, slid into his seat, and remembered his manners. Standing up once more, he waved to Gwinter, inviting his Party Member to share in the feast - after a quick glimpse in Mama's direction, just in case.

Propriety satisfied, he settled down to eat, and listen.

[Story Time]

At the table, a small an informal ceremony felt as if it were being held. The nameless boy could not quite put his mental finger on the sensation, but it seemed as if something important were happening.

Emat did notice Gwinter pick up a mango from a tray that Mama offered him, but Emat was also so absorbed in his own meal that he did not witness Gwinter eating it. The fruit might have vanished into his Inventory. The hero archer, Gwinter, sat across from Emat at the round wooden table. It was one of the only pieces of furniture which was completely smooth on all sides. More than once Emat had wondered in the past if Mama had made the decision to have it smoothed so that the sensitive hands and arms which ate at it would be protected from splinters.

When Emat and Gwinter appeared to be pacified to her satisfaction Mama took her traditional seat at what was considered The Head of the circular table. For the moment, the sliced broccoli stalks on Emat's left and between himself and Mama, were completely ignored.

Even for a teenage girl, Mama's noble air seemed pensive. Her dainty elbows did not rest on the table and her pretty fingers laced together. She wore no finger nail polish and the formation of her hands clasped in front of her abdomen. With perfect posture in that simple, armless, but sturdy wooden chair, it appeared to Emat and Gwinter that the aristocratic girl was taking time to decide what she would say.

"There are only a few of us that know the whole truth," Mama began. For the first time that Emat could ever remember, Mama hesitated when addressing him.

"Chalky...you may have noticed that there are no unhappy families in Mysla Village. The truth is that you were not alone when Gwinter found you on the beach. All of the other orphans here that are your age were found at the same time. On the same day.

"I happen to think that all of you are special." Mama smiled with a genuine...something. It felt good to see and hear it.

"But you were not alone. More orphans have been found washed ashore and brought here. It seems to be a cycle and if it continues this house will not have room to fit everyone." A natural pause came to Mama and her gentle, alto range, voice. "And there are more important matters than that.

"The metal automatons that Gwinter fights, we call them Motorobos; robos in brief. The robos grow in number every time they come. Eventually, there will be too many of them for our village to resist. We have hope," at this exact word, Mama's voice changed into a soft pallor, a wistful sound. "that the children who appear on the beach will help us.

"But, I could never force you to do that.

"I suppose, before we talk about your scribbles on the walls, that I want to know. Will you help us? Do you want to protect our village?"

[meschlum]

Emat's indulgence in charcoal, food, and adrenaline kept him distracted at first, but Mama's tension quickly brought him back to earth. Listening intently, he reviewed her words.


"There are only a few of us that know the whole truth,"

Mama didn't lie. She despised liars, even if she was wise enough to tell the difference between a lie and a perfectly innocent misunderstanding as to what misadventures may have struck the cookie jar overnight. So what was wrong? Emat could imagine any number of things, but they just that - stories, tales, fables. Fun for a bright summer day without chores.

This wouldn't be anything like that, something real and dangerous - like the beach creatures, if he let himself think of them. It would be nothing he was familiar with, nothing that belonged to his life.

A thread of doubt wound through his thoughts. Nothing? How could he tell when he didn't know anything about who he was before?

His eyes snapped back to Mama. This was not the time to be distracted.


"Chalky...you may have noticed that there are no unhappy families in Mysla Village. The truth is that you were not alone when Gwinter found you on the beach. All of the other orphans here that are your age were found at the same time. On the same day.

"I happen to think that all of you are special."

So his siblings in Mama's care were his siblings in more than that. Emat grinned briefly - he knew a few who'd be outraged to have any more in common with each other than they did already. And some who'd be the happier for it, too. For himself? He'd need to think it over, but that couldn't be the truth that Mama was going to reveal - too many others would know this, or be able to tell, with whatever arcane senses grown ups posessed.


"But you were not alone. More orphans have been found washed ashore and brought here. It seems to be a cycle and if it continues this house will not have room to fit everyone."

Did that mean he'd have to share his bed, or move into the garden? However he might decide he felt about being sort of related to the others, Emat was fairly sure he didn't want that. Though camping outside could be... No, important matters first. Mama was still speaking, so even these revelations were not what she wanted to tell him.

What, then?


"And there are more important matters than that.

"The metal automatons that Gwinter fights, we call them Motorobos; robos in brief. The robos grow in number every time they come. Eventually, there will be too many of them for our village to resist. We have hope,"

But Gwinter was invincible! Wasn't he? Hadn't he beaten the last wave of... Motorobos? And been terribly wounded in the process. Emat flinched away from the memory of the archer's state when he'd first seen him on the beach. He didn't want to think of what might happen if the things came to the village - he remembered what the one he'd seen had been saying, and...

No.

There was no way the images flickering in his mind could be anything like what might happen. He didn't know enough to be able to imagine them anyway. But they must not happen.

Desperately, Emat's thoughts grasped Mama's words like a lifeline, holding onto them as a lifeline towards the home and comfort he knew rther than whatever was coiling in the recesses of his mind.


"that the children who appear on the beach will help us.

"But, I could never force you to do that.

"I suppose, before we talk about your scribbles on the walls, that I want to know. Will you help us? Do you want to protect our village?"

Scribbles? Oh, yes. Emat had been a bit enthusiastic, hadn't he? He'd likely have to clean up now, but that wasn't an imposition. It was home. It was comfort. It was his life for the last year, a life in which he didn't know, or think, or worry about what... Enough.

Protect the village? Of course he would - he would have anyway, because it was the right thing to do, because Mama asked, because... But now, he had to. Because he was scared that if he didn't, he might know all too well what it would look like.

Emat nodded.

[Story Time]

"That is my helper," Mama smiled with confidence. She seemed about to say more, but a knocking sound came from the wall opposite where Emat sat. Gwinter stood there near a detailed schematic that had been drawn. He also held...Emat's Charcoal Briquette?! When had Gwinter left the table?

Apparently one of the benefits of being in a Party was seizing someone else's Inventory. Whatever Emat might have felt it probably was not the most polite thing for a fellow party member to displace another member's primary weapon. But then again, Gwinter seemed to have an aversion to verbal speech. How else would he have communicated?

From Gwinter's tall shoulders came small black X marks at various points on the Motorobo that Emat had drawn. There was one mark for each knee, one for a shoulder joint, and one at the center of the transparent eye which Gwinter had smote. The crossing marks were followed by a single Common word off to the right side of the robo's head. Weaknesses. The word was underlined.

"That is a good point, Gwinter," Mama stated. "You and Chalky can find a way to instruct the defenders about where the robo weaknesses are. But..." For a moment Mama's sternly emphasized, "But," word was punctuated by a singularly brief flicker of pink fire which appeared to burn up around her body.

In the next moment, however, it was gone, and Emat might have wondered if his eyes had played tricks on him. Yet, the firmness of Mama's aristocratic voice did not fade, "our walls are not the place for it."

A more genial and less aggressive tone swept into Mama's voice. "I will let you choose, Chalky. You can scrub the walls, or..."

Was that a playful smile? While Mama had been speaking, Gwinter had returned to the table's edge. Just as easily as it had left, the Charcoal Briquette returned to Emat's immediate Inventory by a silent and invisible exchange.

"...you can paint the orphanage. How does that sound? If you want, you can make murals in every room. As long as the scenes are pretty and beautiful I will let you paint every wall, inside and out.

"There is not enough Gil in the Fund for me to buy the paint, but I have no doubt that a creative boy like you can find a way. So, then? Which would you like to do?"

[meschlum]

Emat studied Gwinter's additions to his sketches, rating them rather low in aesthetics for all their utility. Still, they were obviously important or the hero wouldn't have made them. Mama's serious tone and switch back to the voice he was more familiar with broke him out of his reverie, and her offer caught his full attention.

Heroes, and party leader, didn't clean up walls, did they? Well, maybe not - if they were irresponsible. Emat was not that sort by nature, and what was more he had no intention of letting down Mama, the orphanage, or the village. So he was wondering where the brushes, buckets, and mops were, and reminding himself of the way to the well, when Mama suggested the alternative.

Paint?

Decorate every wall?

Paint?

Inside and out?

Paint.

Oh, and Gil. Reaching into his inventory, Emat contemplated the meagre supplies therein. Some of the contents belonged to him, but a fair portion should go to Gwinter - the archer needed to be ready to face off against the Robos, after all. Still, he'd have to find out how much everything cost, get the others to help him work out the amounts he needed, prepare sketches and run them past the others...

Setting a small pile of Gil before Mama, Emat pushed them towards Mama and began to pace about the dining room, nodding to himself from time to time as he worked out which parts of his work could stay and which would need to go.

[roll0] for ideas on how to make money - and how much suitalbe supplies would cost.

[roll1] for monster or ingredient hunting notions, assuming Emat has some help from Gwinter and can therefore go to formerly forbidden places.

[Story Time]

Emat's Gil Donation Dice Roll Results: 6, 3, 3.
:smalleek:

Um...those were pretty good Lore rolls?

...as a GameMaster I should recommend making an Awareness roll following this post for a search. Possibly an Inquiry if Emat asks a person for information.


In the amazingly rare quiet of Mama's orphanage, Emat deposited an exuberant amount of solid gold coins onto the table. Artistically, they made a small mountain to back-drop the forest of Mama's chopped broccoli stalks. Both Mama and Gwinter wore surprise on their faces at Emat's childish, but also beautifully whole-some decision.

Mama's regal face then blended into a smile and provided Emat with an expression that could only be described as affectionate love.

The moment did not last as Gwinter moved to drop eight gold pieces onto the pile. The distraction transported Mama's teenage nobility to Gwinter who held it accidentally long enough to provoke embarrassment over Mama's face. But neither did Gwinter force her to endure. Quietly, he stalked to the front door of the orphanage and beckoned Emat to follow with his right, gloved, hand.

Perhaps being a Party Leader held more responsibilities than Emat had realized?

What-ever Emat's thoughts and feelings, his childishness left the speechless Mama where she sat in her kitchen and followed out the front door on the heels of the silver haired hero. Emat continued to think of where resources might come from in order to accomplish his immediate objectives.

From the mists of Emat's memories arose snippets of past conversations that he had heard through-out Mysla Village. The purchase cost of enough liquid to turn Mama's Orphanage into a painted palace would be near three hundred Gil. The quality of this fictitious palace would also depend upon the quality of the hand that painted it, but Emat felt little automatic worry about that.

The largest problem with the concept of painting Mama's Orphanage was two-fold. First, Emat had just learned that Mama expected more orphans to appear. If this were true then physical additions to the orphanage might be necessary at some point. The second was more of...an aesthetic nature.

And it raked across Emat's stomach as he thought of it. Mama's Orphanage was...not the smoothest of places to live. The walls were rough and less than tidy. Emat re-called that he had thought of it once as being built out of drift-wood. Much to his surprise, he had later learned that it had been made from exactly that material. The building had remained roughly square and neat through the construction thanks to the foreman, Togger, who had participated in the operation.

Apparently, Mama's Orphanage was near the town wall and the edge of the village for more than one reason. It was home, of course, much as Emat loved it. But still, if one lived in what looked like a beach-wrecked ship...would painting alone really improve the abode to the satisfaction of Emat's desires?

If there was one place at all where paint supplies could be purchased Emat remembered that Togger's Shop was the most likely place. Fortunately, it appeared that Gwinter was heading in that exact direction. His and Emat's feet passed over the straight, if not entirely smooth, stones of the street. The houses on both sides were made of smoothed palm wood. Wooden barrels and window-box gardens produced colorful flowers of tropical varieties and those very flowers reminded Emat of more.

The Sky Festival was approaching. Emat had never seen it, but perhaps the idea excited him. Next week would be a celebration of nature and many things aerial and atmospheric. Emat remembered that the local villagers had been collecting flowers from outside the village for the purpose of this festival. It seemed very reasonable to Emat that these flowers would be a good source of pigments, and possibly Gil, if his Party were to volunteer their services.

It did not escape Emat's notice either that pulling flowers from already prepared gardens inside the village limits would likely be frowned upon by the locals. And also Gwinter, probably. And so Emat resigned his thoughts to remembering that much of the wilds outside of the village were populated with various monsters who might not take kindly to trespassers in their perceived territory. Flower Hunting, apparently, was more dangerous than Emat had first realized.

The exact locations of where good flowers, and pigmented monsters, might grow were dwarfed by where Gwinter stopped. Just shy of the main intersection of Mysla village stood Togger's Shop. It was the tallest building in all of the town at three stories. At first glance, it was a tinkerer's abode, and obviously as the walls themselves were made of conglomerations of wood, stone, and metal. The front door, made of palm wood and metal braces, had been left invitingly open. Much of this metal, Emat recalled, had been collected from Motorobos which had been defeated in the past.

Emat's Party proceeded into the door. Inside the shop were wood floors which were smooth and did not creak. The walls were lined with bolted metal frames which held up items for potential sale. There were also free-standing shelves in the midst of the store, making aisles, and each item appeared to be adorned with a white paper tag indicating a Gil price in black ink. Each tag was affixed to its object by white twine.

The dimmer light of the store was suspended above darkness by spheres of glass near the ceiling. These transparent globes were equidistantly spaced and contained the raw powers of mystic crystal. Fire crystal, to be specific. The mysterious crystals cast red and pink glows through the transparent glass to illuminate the store. Some of the globes had been painted to change the colors and yet others of the spheres appeared to have been synthesized in specific colors which normal glass could not be.

All of the Blue Planet, Emat knew very well, was held in suspension by the power of these types of mystical crystal. Not any simple geodes, real Crystal gave energy to the Blue Planet along with the powers of life. There were four types of crystal: Earth, Water, Fire, and Air. And the energy of these crystals could be harnessed to power common technology. Emat's radio in his room was powered by such a mystic crystal. This form of technology was elegant and beautiful -- far superior to the disgusting smoke which might billow from a camp-fire.

And just as might be expected from a youthful mind, Emat recalled another item while glancing at the solid elements of fire attached to the ceiling. If there were any substance which Togger would pay top Gil for, it would be crystal. Of course, to retrieve such crystal might require delving into a certain cave east of Mysla Village's limits. By rumor, Emat remembered that this cave was occupied by monsters of ambiguous levels of danger. One in particular was named Aquamall. At the same time, Emat felt certain that Gwinter was a trusty hero. They might survive a brush with the cave. Probably. Tools might be required for the expedition.

Behind the medium sized columns of metal standing shelves laid a long wood counter. It was skirted with more of the ubiquitous palm wood and featured a number of items for sale along with other parts. At the right side of the counter reclined a lean looking fellow. He wore a soft yellow shirt and bright red suspenders. His hands were in the process of holding up a six foot long hoagie filled with meats, lettuces, cheeses, olives, onions, and other delectables in front of his his wrinkled face, open mouth, and long nose.

Togger appeared to be taking an early lunch, but then the corner of his left eye caught sight of potential customers. "Ah," Togger sighed, exasperated, and exclaimed all in the same breath. "Gwinter! Come in." The very long hoagie was returned to its unfolded butcher paper on the counter with surprising dexterity. "Don't tell me that you used all ninety-nine of those arrows already!"

To the left of Togger's torso a small and unintrusive radio played soft music (http://ocremix.dreamhosters.com/files/music/remixes/Mario_Kart_64_Party_in_the_Snowland_OC_ReMix.mp3) at the end of the counter.

[meschlum]

'When you face impossible odds, break down the opposition into smaller, possible steps.' Emat wasn't sure whether the words are something he heard a villager say, a fleeting notion, or another of the odd memories he seems to be having. Still, it was a good idea, he decided, nodding to himself.

He needed Gil from crystals to afford doing a proper job at the orphanage, and he needed proper tools to explore the caves. Tools required lesser amounts of Gil, which could be acquired by selling flowers. Emat's thoughts were in no wise so well organized, as staring at Mysla was far more important, but a Plan had congealed by the time he'd reached the shop. It was the fourth or thereabouts, but it felt right and did not involve cabbage grenades, so he was fairly sure Mama would approve.

Stepping into Togger's realm banished all his notions as a sudden flash of insight came. The Robo remnants from Gwinter's battle! The metal would be valuable, and the vicinity of the beach was far safer than the woods or caves. So metal to flowers to crystals to paint, with a few bits on the side. Emat had a Better Plan. He would have cackled, but that was undignified behavior for a Party Leader.

At Togger's question, Emat peered into his Inventory, seeking the parts that Gwinter shared. Arrows were important, but how many were left? Well, he'd get all he could - it was his responsibility to see to it that the village was safe, and that meant that Gwinter had to be ready. Studying his Charcoal Briquette, he considered selling it... then remembered the sketches he'd made, and held on to it all the tighter. He needed his art supplies to do anything of consequence!

First, his (his!) Party would buy what it could, then he'd see what Togger would pay for the Robo parts, and what he'd charge for paint, building materials, and the like. Maybe other grown ups would help add a new wing to the orphanage, or polish its walls? The notion was far too complex for Emat to focus on at the moment. Brandishing his Briquette, he quickly sketched the amount of arrows Gwinter needed, a few stylized healing potions, and a pile of dead Robos.

Surely that was clear enough?

The inventory / sales actions Emat plans are basically to use whatever Gil he has left to refill on arrows. Any remaining cash goes into healing / MP recovery items, because those things are important.

[roll0] Negotiate (via Perform)

The Plan is as outlined: see if the Robo remnants are worth money (they are metal, after all), then look for flowers, then explore the caves. Take the time to upgrade equipment / get necessay materials in between (light would be good in the caves, for instance).

Edits: made. Link to preliminary rolls is here (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showpost.php?p=13805503&postcount=29).

[Story Time]

Of Gwinter's ten available Inventory slots two accommodated arrows. Both were the same type, Emat sensed. One slot held ninety-nine while the other held fifty-four. And ninety-nine plus fifty-four was...


For a small span of time Togger appeared rather concerned that Emat's charcoal markings would float up right onto his lunch. They did not, however, and Togger relaxed. His eyes did become entranced with Emat's detailed illustrations, though, and appeared about to speak. Then, his eyes abruptly closed and one of his hands came up to gently pinch the bridge of his nose.

"Just a-one tick-tock, please."

Both Emat and Gwinter heard a very dis-connected tinkling sound. The falling of many coins. The Party members shared a glance reflecting their mutual impression of the event. 'Strange.'

When Togger opened his eyes he wore a smile of recognition. "Ah! You boys must be on an errand for Mama!" The shop keep wore an expression of cheerful approval before looking back at Emat's attempt at visual communication.

"Hm. The art supplies are on that far wall," Togger pointed off from Emat's left shoulder and behind him. "Paint too. Just pick up how-ever much you need and bring it to the counter. I'll tell you if you go over." More to himself he added, "Painting that whole orphanage aught to be thirty cans. ...wanted to fix it up for years. ...never banged out the time."

While Togger continued to muse, or perhaps puzzle out, the rest of Emat's illustration Gwinter left the counter and moved down one of the other aisles to Emat's right. In his periphery Emat was able to determine that the visible shelves held vials of multi-colored liquids. They were very likely potions. Apparently picking which paints to use was the sole responsibility of the Party Leader.

The paints in question were rather simple. The four primary colors of red, blue, green, and gold were present as well as white and black. The cans were stacked in rectangular groups of eighteen for each color. Each one bore a wire-looking handle on its side. If it entered his mind, Emat would have felt relatively confident in making any other color that he might need from the six available. Perhaps Mama's suggestion of murals would decide to tickle his fancy? Mama had tickled Emat playfully on at least one occasion.

To the left of the paint cans on the low palm wood shelf, near the floor, was a stack of six particular shapes. They made a small pyramid like logs would. Their lengths were exactly the same, about the distance from Emat's elbow to his wrist. Each one was individually wrapped in butcher paper and the price tag was one hundred Gil.

Crayon shapes.

[meschlum]

Counting up to ninety nine was second nature for Emat, as it should be for all well brought up kids. Higher numbers were still a bit mysterious, lacking the convenience of a suitable supply of pebbles to shuffle in his Inventory, but they certainly existed - Emat had heard of things costing over a hundred Gil, after all!

Eighteen cans of red, eighteen cans of blue, eighteen cans of green, eighteen can of yellow, eighteen cans of white... and what came after nine cans of black? Briefly, patterns whirled in Emat's mind as the child contemplated infinity, and finally converged on two hundred and fifty six different colors - all the colors in the universe.

Enough daydreaming, there was an orphanage to paint! As a first pass, five cans of each color seemed like a sensible choice, but of course all colors were not equal. Home deserved to have more than the ordinary amount of bright and exciting colors, so he'd use less black and more gold.

Emat carefully put a can of black back, and replaced it with a can of gold. His path led him beside the crayons, despite black and gold being more to the right of the assembled cans.

Flowers! Emat would need colors for blooms rather than leaves, so he didn't need as much green and more red was better. Or maybe some blue, for violets? In any case, one can of green was returned, and he hesitated a while on the left of the pile, then picked red. That it was the leftmost color was purely serendipitous, of course.

Thirty cans was certainly a lot, and Emat's route went by the stack of crayons every time. Still, all things come to an end, and he finally had them stacked, and counted, and... who else was going to be painting? Would they be as careful with the paint as he was? Wasn't the orphanage going to grow?

Obviously, Emat would need more paint. Especially colors, though some white for backgrounds probably wouldn't hurt. One can of each for wastage. Crayons. One can of each for expansion. Crayons. Maybe one can of each for retouching the work? Crayons. No, no. Those could wait. He'd have to bring them back, going by the crayoooonnnnnssssss.

Very well. Emat would buy...

Forty five arrows, filling the second inventory slot. Some potions.

Nine Red. Seven green. Eight Blue. Nine Gold. Eight White. Seven Black.

And a crayon


Then the price hit.


So Emat and his Party would buy some basics (and a crayon), then gather flowers (he needed to see which colors worked best, anyway) and crystals (maybe he could make shiny paints?) to afford the paint. at least he knew how much he needed!

The real plan is to fill up on arrows, get a crayon, get a few potions (does Gwinter use mana? I dno't think Emat does - so two potions for emergency healing should do), and hope to make enough money for paint via flowers and crystals.

[Story Time]

As the items accumulated on Togger's counter he took out a graphite pencil and made notes on a small and neat ledger with green lines. As the number of cans accumulated so did the number of instances where Togger would use the cream colored eraser at the opposite end of the brown wooden pencil.

A smooth yet non-painted pencil. Perhaps Togger was not a very artistic person.

The cans, of course, disappeared behind the counter while Emat was not looking. At the last one, where Emat returned to the counter and noticed the lack of can-mountain, Togger said, "Oh, this load is too big to carry. They'll be on the wagon and we'll unload them where-ever you need." Even more peculiar, Togger appeared to take the last can of paint and simply move it below the rear side of the counter. Then his right hand appeared again. Emat might not have been tall enough to see over the counter, but neither did it seem like Togger had taken the paint any-where.

But the nameless orphan boy could also hear a tack-tack-tack sound.
( What a mysterious and secretive counter. )
"Is that all," Togger asked with plain function.

One thin vial with a light brown cork stopper was laid on the counter by the quiet fingers of Gwinter. The vial was clear and glowed with a luminescent blue liquid. It was pretty in its own way; natural. Yet silent, the silver haired archer counted out one hundred Gil coins into the counter with what might have been a bored expression. It was difficult to tell given how handsome he was.

Following the solid gold coins appeared fourty-five arrows on the far side of the fragile glass vial and a sienna colored book with black binding at the top. A sketch-book, Emat realized.

Togger's pinched mouth muttered quietly as he made notes onto his ledger. It came across as some-thing about spending habits. Though Emat could not directly see what Togger's pen-man-ship looked like it appeared rather efficient from the wiggling of his hand.

"All accounts settled," Togger finally pronounced. He put down his graphite pencil and brought some-thing up and over the concealing front counter wall. The arm leaned down to drop a short stack of exactly five coins into Emat's surprised hands. "Your change, Sir," the shop keeper added with pleasant amusement. Gil was minted on the fronts of the coins. The backs denoted that they were worth exactly one Gil each.

In the mean-while Gwinter had palmed Togger's palm wood pencil and used it to scribble profoundly on the front of the sketch-book:


MOTOROBO SCHEMA
AND WEAK POINTS

by: __________

The book and the pencil, were silently presented in Emat's direction. Despite what-ever he may have thought, Togger's manner was full of busy.

"Give me just sixty tick-tocks and I'll be out front with your load." The shop owner's body did slip away out of the room, though not very stealthily. An assorted number of bangs, crashes, and one startling gong sound later a mechanical sounding putt-putt began in the back of the shop. This rhythmic and mechanized purr seemed to travel around where Emat was standing and to a spot out-side the open front entrance.

A very round, globular, and red-painted body puttered into and out of view, followed by Togger and his eminent nose. Both were facing in the direction of Mama's orphanage, though Togger rode upon the metal wagon with wood wheels which was pulled by the motorobo. The puller had all the beauty and sophistication of a squat sphere with two very round feet; no arms, no obvious legs, and two eye sockets in the front.

"Sorry about the wait! So then! Do you want to ride with your purchases, or walk?

"Close the door too!"

Emat purchased a Crayon!
Crayon properties: Arcane.

[meschlum]

A sketch-book! The sages of the orphanage spoke in reverent tones of this most puissant of artefacts, a device of infinite potential, promising the greatest heights of revelation and the deepest pits of despair.

(Only once were the children allowed to make mushroom soup without supervision.)

To speak too loudly about it would draw the sure and inevitable ire of the chore-bearers, beings petrified by work and duty who woke from their tedious, unchanging lives only to capture the innocent and convert them into copies of themselves...

(And anyway, Emat enjoyed harvesting cabbages)

Feverishly, Emat accepted the mighty tome. In a matter of seconds, his will shattered and his hands flipped it open, seeking the infinite secrets and wonders within. Blank page after blank page fluttered enticingly, luring him ever further... Until he reached the end, where no more pages remained!

The sketch-book was finite. The world was a dark and lonesome place.

...

Paint sloshed gently inside its can, and all was well again. There would be flowers! And trees! And crystals and animals and houses and people and carrots and hats and and and!

Holding onto the book, Emat scurried outside to see what Togger was up to. Coming to a stop, he surveyed the scene and stared intently at the red thing. Another Motorobo - was it dangerous? The back of Gwinter's legs suddenly seemed extremely appealing.

But a Party Leader should be brave, so Emat stayed up front and stared at the artificial thing. A page fluttered in the breeze as the door slammed shut behind him, and he shifted his attention to the empty space. Of course! Parties always met weak foes to practice on before facing the more dangerous ones. Obviously, this one would be the first, when it treacherously turned on Emat (and Gwinter), trying to catch them by surprise with its paint can powers.

(Emat also really liked mushroom soup.)

Until the infiltrator showed its true colors (slightly carmine, currently), Emat would keep an eye on it. Pre-emptive retaliation was smomething Mama didn't approve of, after all. Pencil at the ready, he began to walk back towards the orphanage, ready to set down every weakness the Motorobo revealed. If it didn't attack right away, he'd know it was a sub-boss, and have to prepare flowers and crystals to force it to reveal its true self. Besides, more Gil would be useful - he'd need help to paint the whole place quickly!

[Story Time]

The journey to Mama's Orphanage was nothing if not direct. Straight down one road with no turns was the path the three humes took. No map was required though the bricked center road area of the village did give way to the dirt about half-way between the village center and the South Gate. It was a gate which loomed closer and closer as The Party approached the orphanage. The leather clad guard could still be seen standing dutiful watch under the square frame of the gate. He seemed alert, but not alarmed. Both heavy log doors on each side of the gate were wide open and pegged against the wall itself by wooden stakes driven into the ground. Here, at the edge of town, the poor part of Mysla Village, was Emat's home.

A small side path which turned east led to the front door of the orphanage. This side of the building was further from the palisade wall than the others. The construction itself was roughly rectangular with a triangle roof which turned out to look like a long pyramid. Most of the surrounding area was dirt or rough grass. Some Elephant Grass grew in places, along with one or two tall palm trees, which made hide-and-seek much more interesting. Behind the orphanage, of course, was the garden. It was populated entirely with three crops: asparagus, broccoli, and cabbage. The garden was defined into three sections below the non-palm drift-hard-wood planked roof. If Emat were wise, he would avoid allowing paint onto the orphanage's primary food supply.

The charcoal decorated walls on the out-side appeared to be attracting a little attention from the local residents. Two in particular had paused in their robes to look over the illustration which faced the street. These two mature-looking individuals stepped politely aside for Togger's puttering motorobo.

For all of Emat's scrutiny, or not, the motorobo had not initiated violence of any type. Even squat, it was several inches taller than Emat. The hauler seemed tame, even roboticly obedient, to Togger's entirely verbal directions. He used no reigns to control the mechanical burden bearer. And were Emat polite, he would have tried not to stare at Togger's prominent nose as it swiveled about to look at the pretty window boxes which were dressed with flowers for the coming Sky Festival.

One nameless boy and his precious empty sketch-book arrived home. The atmosphere above remained beautifully clear. Now and again trees could be heard beyond the village walls rustling in one breeze or another. The palm leaves above Emat's head did like-wise. Some of those upper trunks yet bore coconuts, but none of the orphans were allowed to climb that high with-out super-vision.

A poor house it was. No paint, obviously, but neither had it any polish. Yet it was home, and safe, and important all the same. Emat noticed no other fellow nameless children nearby. He caught a glimpse of one or two near the center inter-section before leaving Togger's Shop. They were probably off making some fun or mischief at the various interesting spots in Mysla Village. The magick shop, or the music shop, or the inn, or maybe at Mister Stan's place; these were all possibilities.

And here Emat was being responsible.

"Trudger, stop," Togger commanded. Just like a machine, it stopped in mid-step. The shop keeper wasted little time in hopping off of the wagon's only bench. "If you'll excuse me just a-one tick-tock, I think I'll go in and pay my respects to the lady of the house," he said with some gallantry. "I'll be back out to help you unload." Togger then set his legs to do the work of his words.

When Emat did look at Gwinter the last remains of a certain expression was disappearing from his face. What-ever it was, Gwinter pointed simply with his left arm at the wagon's bench where the small blue potion and Emat's yet-wrapped crayon rested. Gwinter himself moved to the east side of the wagon and began hauling paint cans in groups of four. What a strong hero he was. The paint containers were rested in the dirt just out of the way of the street and at the narrow west side of Mama's Orphanage.

[meschlum]

The orphanage was mostly empty, it seemed. Emat's eyes lit up with what, in someone older or ruder, might have been caled unholy glee. True, the lack of help would slow down the effort of painting it, but it also meant far fewer critics while he set things in place! Nodding approvingly at Gwinter, Emat flourished his crayon, tried to inconspicuously cover up the orange streak he'd just traced on the ground, and set to work.

First, the rooms. Nothing fixed, set, tedious. No, lively action and scenes were called for!

Unicorns and cannonballs

Sketches of trees and animals hurried along one wall, as Emat scurried by, the opposite wall acquiring a castle and very approximate town, complete with walls and guards.

Palaces and piers

Coming to a stop in the main room, Emat began to detail the town, letting it grow and spread into a beach. At some point, the other orphans appeared, dinner was served, and he was set to bed. The sketches didn't care, and continued to propagate through his dreams.

Trumpets towers and tenements

The outlines of people and creatures appeared among the lines, blossoms of trumpet flowers, lonely towers in the woods, cheerful faces in the town. Emat chivvied a few of his fellow nameless children into trying their hands at filling in the spaces, nodding encouragingly at the three legged lions, shapeless tigers, and tiny bears (oh my!) that arose.

Wide oceans full of tears

Had the sun set? Emat wasn't sure until he checked his notebook, the lack of Motorobo weaknesses distracting him from a procession of dancing bakers. The notebook opposed the Motorobos, and was paper. Fire destoyed paper, so it worked for the 'Robos. Water put out fire, and the sea rejected the metal things, or they'd not be trying to invade the Island!

Inspired, Emat put particular care into the waves and depths he depicted, drawing and coloring them over and over with varying presures on his crayon and hints of paint. When he was satisfied and went on to outline a school of fish, he didn't notice the wave he'd devoted so much time to crash against the painted shore, didn't smell the salt or pay attention to the puddle of spray that gathered on the floor.

Flags rags ferryboats

Victorious hunters, flower pickers and crystal cutters skipped into town, trading away old rags for fine clothes tossed from ships as the sun set. Emat peered blearily at his drawing, nibbled on a stick, found a celery stick in its place while Mama set him in bed, and decided that he prefered the sun rising on that scene, like it was... right... then...

Scimitars and scarves

The orphans too slow to escape Emat's directions hurried about, balancing pots of paint, brushes, and stools as they spread through the house, filling in battle scenes and whirling dances with explosions of color. The older children, and possibly Gwinter himself, were fated to planks, nails, and whitewash instead while Emat drew and drew.

Every precious dream and vision

Color splattered everywhere as another noon went by, fixing one stain while a dozen more appeared, rubbing in detail in a tiny spot as a whole wall was washed clean by mistake. The crayon bled color, lines of drawn lizards and owl silhouetes joining together to assault the imperfections Emat hadn't looked at yet, and correcting them, adding to them and shoving the images into proper position.

Underneath the stars

At last, Emat set down his crayon and glared at his implacable foe. The ceilings were far too high to be reached by anything other than a most precarious assemblage of chairs, crates, and the dining table (or possibly a bunk or two), leaving vacant spaces where there should be color! Or at least fresh paint. Pointing imperiously, he leaped onto Gwinter's shoulders, siezed a mop, dipped it into one of the remaining pots, and charged!

Splatters went everywhere, but the enemy was undone, and children could look up under treetops, clouds, and night skies as they moved about. Which remininded him, what time was it?

Emat had enough time to notice the sun was somewhere west of noon before the nap caught him, and did not let him go until it was noon once more.

[roll0] for a Performance roll, if relevant. If it's low and Destiny can help, use it.

With apologies to "The Whole of the Moon", which I first heard sung by Jennifer Warnes

[Story Time]

The results of Emat's miscellaneous adventures as a muralist gave interesting results. First, the brushes helpfully loaned by Togger's wagon tended to dance in the hands of those who tried to hold them. It was an interesting, funny, and laughable sensation as the other orphans tried to paint while Emat's sub-conscious powers helped direct the quality of the murals.

The quality of the art itself was quite high. The first and third days brought visual scenes fit for a palace. The already regal and noble Mama seemed quite pleased with this. The second day's results were not quite as profound, but still held a high standard compared to the other areas of Mysla Village.

On the first day Emat became conscious of voices and a small milling crowd outside of the orphanage. During that day, and the others, Emat pushed it from his mind as a distraction. But neither was Emat ignorant of the attention that Mama's orphanage received due to the brush-stroke activity on, in, and through the residence. This was not to mention, of course, the other children who pitched in. Emat might have carefully reached in to correct a line of paint that he saw being made in error.

On the whole, the murals were not quite realistic. They were imaginative and not the least imaginary. Not a stitch or stroke of motorobo remained visible.

Perhaps the most prominent display of affection came from the orphanage in general. One of the nameless said, "I want to paint Mama!"

...other voices took up that call and before Emat knew what was happening a large green glob threatened to ruin his master-piece. How-ever, he was able to save that section of wall. Instead of cabbage with tentacles Emat succeeded in transforming that space of surface into a saintly depiction of Mama. A number of orphans tried to put themselves in around her, but by the time Emat was through the perceived distance between Mama and her wards in the mural was great enough that only Mama's beautiful face remained plausibly visible.


Mystically, and out-side of Emat's attention, the walls of the orphanage began to slowly smooth. The furniture, largely untouched by paint, remained as it had. How-ever, the ocean-drift quality wood from which the orphanage was made began to cinch together and tighten into a single surface rather than a cracked and riddled one. A surface much more easy to paint on.

Beyond all reason there also appeared a space in Emat's room. It appeared to be a swath of black paint splashed against one of the walls. It was...artistic on its own. But all attempts to paint over it failed.

Emat could not recall splashing black paint either.


As for Emat's attempt to ride Gwinter, he slipped off and fell the first time. The fall was hard, due to his paint-slick clothes, but none of his Health was removed. Gwinter assisted the second time and so became temporarily immortalized in the minds of the nameless children the image of Gwinter The Hero's shoulders being ridden by a nameless mop-wielding maniac. And yet the ceilings were so beautiful!


On the fourth day, Mama put her foot down. After breakfast she entered Emat's room quietly. His orange crayon was in his hands and the music of DJ Santa wafted between his ears. Mama's hands squeezed the boy's arms gently and she kissed the top of his head. She said, "No painting today, Chalky. You should not miss the Sky Festival and there are only three days left.

"Go to the center of town, or the Place of Wishes, or the north beach. Remember to be grateful to the High Powers that gave us the sky."

Emat completed a Quest!
Emat earned 1 Destiny!
Gwinter has left the Party!

[meschlum]

Rubbing his eyes, Emat sat up, dismissing whatever bits of dreams he might have had. Mama's suggestion was met with a bright smile, and an energetic nod (definitely not Nod #37: I am contemplating unspeakable mischief, possibly even involving beets) as he contemplated the Festival.

The beach? Well, as a former Party Leader, he had vast stores of experience (and Experience) as well as the innate certainty that the Robo he (well, his party to be) had defeated would not return. On the other hand, he didn't have a party at the moment, and maybe other places were better? Yes, certainly so - he absolutely wasn't worried about going to the beach. Nodding to himself (any nod but #83: I don't believe myself either), Emat contemplated other places.

The town? Why, it seemed he'd just been there, and while it was full of interesting places and people, it did have a few flaws. First, extremely few of the inhabitants were proficient in noddese, so instead of useful communication, they just said the same thing over and over. Second, there would be candy and cakes. And (Emat's attention shifted away from the material realm) his Inventory amounted to a measly five Gil, which would never be enough for a supersugarextrasweetbonusflavornaturalsyntheticult ratastyhypercakecookiepophybrid.

The Place of Wishes? Emat brightened. If he got a few, he could go to town with all candy he could eat (or even get rid of the Robos, thus removing any nonexistent reason for not going to the beach). And get something responsible too, of course. Besides, he'd get a better view of the sky from there. If any grown ups turned up and got in the way, he'd just need to show off the skills he mastered with Gwinter!

Dressing, poking at the black spot to see what images it evoked, and hurrying to breakfast took little attention, as Emat (against Mama's orders) was already wondering what the Sky would look like, and if he'd be able to sketch it properly. A quick check of his Inventory showed it contained his Crayon and notebook, so he was ready to set forth.

Going to the Place of Wishes. Taking the crayon and notebook.

I'm not sure if any rolls are required or appropriate, but...

Survival (in case Emat goes off the trails) [roll0] + 3 skill = 10
Awareness (for things sneaking up) [roll1] + 4 skill = 11

[Story Time]

Upon touching the black swath of paint Emat's fingers received a shock. It was neither hot nor cold, but decidedly suspicious! For just a moment it seemed to Emat as if the blackness came from another world...

But neither did it seem malicious in the slightest. So Emat's attentions, other-wise occupied by visions of sugars, dismissed the peculiar blackness and went about his adventures.

Upon exiting the orphanage, Emat could tell that some-thing was different. Numbers of local villagers had gathered on the dirt portion of the street near the building. They appeared to be admiring some-thing about the building. Focused as Emat was he did not pause long to discern the natures of the viewing, critiquing, and gawking. Instead he took a small route between other buildings in the village and made his way north. By doing so he avoided much of the hustle of the street while also passing by barrels with open, possibly inviting, tops. Emat was in no position to even guess at what potential treasures could be held by the open containers.

Emat Arhen arrived on the street inside Mysla Village that led east. To his right a rather prettily decorated town square rested. There were ribbons, colored ropes, tassels, painted posts, flowers, and balloons in the area between Togger's Shop, Minty's Bar & Inn, and Rusty's Magick Shop. The second being a place reputed for good rest while the latter was known for the eccentricity of its owner.

But the rope caught Emat's eye. It appeared anchored to Minty's Inn and stretched up into the sky. The further it stretched the further Emat's head turned. Far away appeared to be a large green balloon with a basket hanging under it. A person in the basket might be able to see the edge of the world...

"Excuse me," exasperated a very polite and surprised female voice. The teen-age girl dressed in tight performance clothing of bright colors nimbly avoided crashing into Emat while trotting quickly down the street. There were ribbons in her hair the color of bluish green, but neither did she stop. She seemed to be in some kind of hurry and moving toward Minty's Inn.

In hind-sight, as Emat resumed his journey toward the sacred Place of Wishes, it occurred to the nameless boy that the hurrying girl could have been an entertainer. It was about the time that the guard of the east gate, who looked remarkably like the guard of the south gate, called, "Good-bye from Mysla Village!"

Into and through the sub-tropical forests Emat traveled. There was a faint and foot-beaten path to follow and so Emat had no trouble finding the Place of Wishes.

A rather enormous square of white stone rested into the rich soil. At each corner of the one-hundred-foot-wide sides stood an obelisk composed of pure white minerals. Belatedly, Emat realized that it would be difficult for hume hands to form such a place. The air itself changed around Emat as he stepped up onto the single-step plat-form. The borders of it were lined with pots of vibrant tropical flowers and some of Emat's fellow villagers knelt and sat in various places. They were attired mostly with robes, but some in leathers, and appeared to be meditating, whispering, or speaking silently with fixed intent. The atmosphere of the Place of Wishes felt decidedly solemn to Emat, but also very good. There was a sense of purity here... Some-thing benevolent... (ocremix.dreamhosters.com/files/music/remixes/Secret_of_Mana_Return_to_Elysian_Lands_OC_ReMix.mp 3)

At the exact center of the Place of Wishes sat a thick white candle in a short and gold colored resting dish. The bottom of the dish was shaped like a round bowl and its lip supported four finger rings at perpendicular angles. On the east side of the candle, facing Emat, sat the eldest member of Mysla Village. His species was not hume and his skin was leathery being bare of all hair except eye-brows and a beard. That interesting beard was thin, trimmed, and pure white. It reached about to his abdomen from a face that was very amphibian. The eyes of the elder were open, but did not appear focused. Those kindly eyes seemed not to possess pupils or irises and displayed the color of raven feathers. The frog-like face of Omako appeared wise and patient.

Just as Emat had expected, the sky was wide open and blue above his own head. The trees and their leafy limbs did not encroach past the borders set by the square shaped obelisks. Beautiful clouds of white, in many shapes and compositions, floated above his head. A few appeared to be making patterns...

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