Service at Avid Horizon
|Service at Avid Horizon|
|Linked to||In the Service of Mr Sacks|
Linked to[edit | edit source]
It is linked to storylet in Avid Horizon
Trigger conditions[edit | edit source]
Story description[edit | edit source]
As soon as you dock, Mr Sacks lumbers ashore. It has been preparing for this. Plunging a hand into its cloak, it removes a handful of ammonia-scented snow. It places it on the ground and adds another on the top. Into this one it presses the teeth and the hair from the small box.
Potential. Substance. Only one thing needs to be added, as in the tales of the Nomen. The Crimson Beast of Winter waits impatiently for you to provide it.
Interactions[edit | edit source]
|Give your blood
A few drops should suffice.
||The essence of life
You nick your hand with a blade and hold it above the frozen mound. A drop wells up and falls. More follow. They fizz in the lacre, which softens and melts into a puddle of snow; a puddle from which a hand emerges. Then a head. Then another hand; stretching as it clambers up from nowhere. The shape of a child; its skin glistening - white snow rippled with red.
You reach out a hand; the child grips it with the chill of frostbite. Its legs finally form from the last of the lacre and it falls to its new knees, shivering and looking around in confusion. One of your zailors hurries over with a warm blanket. Another smacks his idiot head.
Mr Sacks stares down at the creature, which shivers and hugs itself. "Inadequate," Sacks says. "Again." Striding to the sealed gate, it rests a gloved hand against it, basking in the chill.
"The whisper of a place too cold for gods. Refreshing. Dispose of the mongrel as you see fit. Your Service is done. Be gone, before I change my mind."
|Also enables a very generous reward at Your Lodgings the next time you visit it.|
|Substitute the blood
If you are careful, Mr Sacks will never notice the switch.
|The corrupted essence of life
You move to cut your hand with your pocketknife, but the vial clutched in your palm keeps the blade safely from your flesh. You tip it carefully, dripping a few drops of the thick blood into the pile. They fizz in the lacre, which softens and melts into a puddle of snow. A hand emerges from it. Then a head. Then another hand; stretching, as it clambers up from nowhere. The twisted face of a gargoyle, rippled with red blood.
It screams. The monster throws its head back; blood wells in its hollow eyes, and drips down its half-formed face. The nascent arms explode into wings of shining ice, as sharp as any razor. It bends backwards, new hands clawing at its eyes. Just as abruptly as the scream began, it stops. The shape collapses, melts.
Mr Sacks looks away. "Another failure," it intones, stepping through the pile on its way to the Avid Horizon's sealed gates. It rests a gloved hand against it, basking in the chill. "The whisper of a place too cold for gods. Refreshing. Your Service is done. Be gone, before I change my mind."