The Salt Lions, after
|The Salt Lions, after|
|Linked to||Salt Lions|
Trigger conditions[edit | edit source]
The Salt Lions, after is triggered when you dock in Salt Lions and have the following:
Port description[edit | edit source]
There is a vast sorrow in their empty eyes.
Story description[edit | edit source]
Two basalt beasts, cathedral-sized. They frown eternally at each other across the black waves. The north one carries the remnants of an encampment, fraying and tattering in the wind.
A supply dock stands empty below.
Interactions[edit | edit source]
|Pick over the encampment
From time to time, some entrepreneur attempts to continue the disassembly of the Salt Lions. It never ends well. But perhaps they've left something.
A steady breeze blows from the North: ozone and ice. The false-stars prickle above. The Salt Lions wait for their end.
|Rare event (50%)|
A barrel of Murgatroyd's Fungal Crackers. A sack of coke. A tear-stained Bible. An odd slick of blood. Take what you can, and leave.
The face of the northern sphinx is all but gone. Lost faces are sacred to Salt, they say. You are drawn there. To what end? Salt's voice is distant, but clear...
|Into the zee
Dive from the sphinx's face, down, a clean arc into the zee's chilly darkness. Float there in the quiet, until your lungs are bursting, until light blooms behind your eyes. Rise gasping to the prickle of false-stars, the shocked faces of your crew. You've brought something with you.
|"Shalt-Flions"||Moist wide eyes
"Shaltsh Ftentshion," it insists. "Godshly!" It gestures at the face of the northern sphinx. It brandishes the cruet.
|Game note: You'll need Salt's Attention to continue. You can gain it in Whither, among other places.|
The face of the northern sphinx is all but gone, but the Nacreous Outcast scrambles doggedly up. It pauses at the top, and then flips into the air - an arc as precise as a compass-line, down into the darkness of the zee. It's gone with barely a splash.
You wait. There is no reason for alarm. It can probably breathe water. You wait longer. There is a certain degree of decorous alarm. Longer still, and the alarm manifests in the form of zailors clustering casually by the rail - only casually, because no one would admit any concern for the fate of a Rubbery Man.
The Rubbery Man surfaces! It mounts the steps to the quay, with the ceremonious delight of a vicar mounting the steps to a pulpit. It holds a sphinxstone chess-piece aloft in its hand... "Principles," it wheezes.
|Put a blemmigan ashore
The island isn't entirely sheer rock. Just mostly. Blemmigans have populated harsher environments.
|Scenting something familiar?
The blemmigan scales the face of the north lion, squeezing fine tendrils into the narrowest of cracks, pressing on to the Unmakers' abandoned encampment. You leave it groping blindly at the laces of a tent, twittering softly.
|Compile a Port Report
Nothing remains. Witness.
Even time has halted, here. Who comes to survey the ruins?
|Salt Lions story events|
|The Salt Lions, after|