The Brimstone Brewery, Ale & Bed for the Thirsty and Restless

[Jontar]

And then... everything froze.

The Brewery, in all its gory pandemonium, slowed to a halt. The half-seen images of the Mortal Plane stopped as well. Outside, the Turtle, one flipper still on the front stoop, halted; its malevolent eyes ceasing, for the moment, to burn.

Nothing moved. All of Darktown, starting with the Brewery and expanding, slowed to immobility. Casually strolling citizens halted midstride, unseeing eyes stuck to the horizon. Muggers behind them also froze in place, blackjacks poised in the moment of triumph.

In the citadel of the Obsidian Flight, Queen Vaex's eyes flashed once as she, too was subsumed by naked Time. Of all the creatures (save, perhaps, two) currently inhabiting Darktown, she alone perceived the change as it came upon her.

In the very center of Darktown, the demesne of the King of Doors, a chasm halted mid-break, yawning open in the stanchion of the world. The King looked up from his entirely ordinary desk.
"What's that?"
He stood, or would have. The floor, however, deigned him unworthy of its presence, and vanished. He tumbled, unconcerned, into empty space, and was gone from Darktown.

There was no panic, not even any awareness of the phenomenon.



Everything, just for a moment, was at peace.

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Tick...
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Back in the Brewery, a terrible seething in the ether erupted around the Lightning Psych. Xephan's left lens cracked clean through, spalling toughened plastic into his eye; he jerked reflexively, free of the compulsion of Time. The pain in his eye was excruciating, and he fell to his knees. No one reacted-- save Xephan, every other being in the room was bound by the rules of Time. Even the Fallen and the Horror stood mute and motionless. (Though the Horror could have been faking) A cry ripped out from his heart-- his eye, his beautiful eye, one of a set like no other-- sacrificed, to pull him from this web.

He had foreseen this. He had known. And still, when it happened, it had caught him unawares. To a non-chronomancer, the mere idea of the Outside of Time would have been absurd, but Xephan had dealt with many facets of Time. This was not too terribly difficult. He tensed, awaiting the counterstroke.

It was not long in coming. Searing agony ripped through him, dwarfing the torture of his lost eye; he screamed, writhing in pain. Then it was past. Panting, he slowly wobbled to his feet. Nothing else moved. He looked around, and saw the Turtle's rear fin descending, pushing itself off outside.
"Really." was his only comment. He took several more moments to watch the Turtle move through the sea of stillness, then turned to his erstwhile companions. And gasped.

Each was glowing, shining with varying colors. Anton burned white-- the others spanned the spectrum. The light grew.

\---------------------------\-----------------------------\--------------------------\

All over Darktown, the lights were shining, pooling, mixing together, binding separate threads of reality together into a brilliant tapestry. A feast of light shone against the darkness. Without it, the terrible eyes would have been imperceptible. As it was, the light reflected from them, gleaming with malicious intent.

Somehow, through a window of the Brewery, Xephan caught sight of those immense orbs.


OOC: Alright, Idy. You're up. Everyone else, you've got to wait. *grin*

[Idyllwyld]

OOC: If you are developing an alternate personality, Lith, tell 'em to start an account and post on the forums! Just remember not to use the paraffin wax!"

Edit Note: Jontar posted up his post JUST as I posted up mine. After discussing things, I'm making alterations to mine to fit. Hold your horses!

Edit Note 2: The forum is being very slow right now, making changes difficult. But.... done.

Just then, a corpimancer (named Ignatius, so audacious!) popped onto the scene, and before anyone knew what was happening (literally, before,) the scene was again as it was. Those who thought they were dead still sat with their mugs pouring into the mouths, and those who thought they had just been born were again Not.

An instant had Not Passed. And now we know what Eliza kept behind the bar, just for such any occasion.

Everything was as it was, or at least it appeared very similar to what was (corpimancers do have their own reality, after all!). Unfortunately for everyone else the Turtle was still present, however it now sported the oddest globe upon its back. One could almost imagine hearing the faintest screams every time the globe craned this way or that as the Turtle moved. Almost imagine.

Everything, that is, save for the fact that the King of Door's Citadel no longer resided in the center of town. And the King of Doors, well....

When one controls the conduits toward, into, throughout, across, inbetween, inside, to, and from all Realities, not even a corpimancial shift of them can save you.



...Oh yes. And North was now Northwest, for starters. But don't blame that one solely on Ignatius.

[DianaDreamer]

Every time a new shift in thoughts appears in the Brewery, I consider it a puzzle, a lock on a door. With this mindset, I need only use all tools, and I will be victorious in any battle, even through defeat.

It is the orb on the Turtle's back that peaks interest. Any hero must learn the ways of a villain in order to come out a true hero. It means pain on all parties, and the deadliest of battles means the loudest, shrillest, most horrifying screams. To win against anything, you must learn to die, and in death find your fighting spirit.

I grasp the orb with my bare hands and feel the screams full force in my head, allowing the shock, the rage and despair, the death to take me in my mind. To anyone else I simply hold it, because I can control it. Inside I'm dying, screaming, writhing in my tortures and personal hell, but I live by the belief in hope. I believe in strength of spirit, swift reflection, and action that portrays both. It often means slowing down, but speed is relative, as is strength.

We are equal in opportunity, we are equal in strength and speed. Our emphasis lies individually, but when we're focused on our goals, we are the best at that goal, even if we're the worst at all else.

"When you are ready," I say to the members of the Brewery, "You will transcend."

[Jontar]

Inside the globe (a world of its own) a civilization is thrown into utter chaos at the appearance of The Hands. Buildings crumbled at the merest brush of the gigantic digits-- vast streamers of atmosphere, blown by the huge disturbance, decompressed from the careful balance. In a matter of seconds, the protective envelope around the rock of the world had vanished, and the faint screams ceased not long thereafter.

------

"Oy. A'djhst!" The Turtle's head cranked around at its name, and its gruesome eyes flared. Eliza was holding a gun that had been patterned after a cross. The tip flared momentarily.

There was a terrible ghastly noise.

Bits of turtle rained outwards.

There was a terrible ghastly silence.

Eliza replaced the contraption under the bar, then smiled impishly through the turtle blood on her face. "I did say no killin'. Rules are Rules. One drink on the house."

A cheer went up, and the barmaids busied themselves.

The strange figure holding the rock-that-had-been-a-globe was staring in shock-- not quite shock, actually. Deep down, her very cells were trembling from the nearness of the disrupter shot; anyone within ten feet was feeling queasy and unnaturally energized, but she'd been right next to it. She was totally paralyzed until her atoms quit vibrating.

Slowly, the rock between her hands crumbled, then dissolved into dust.

Loony rushed forward and caught her as she fell backwards, stone-stiff.

At the bar, Anton asked Eliza, "Do you have apple juice? Unfermented, please." She pondered a moment, then pulled out a plastic container and poured a goblet full of golden liquid. He sipped, and smiled. "Thank you," he said, and rummaged in a pocket for a coin, which he set on the bar. She pushed it back, smiling. "I did say a round on the house."

Anton walked to stand between Siderael and Shak'Ri again. "You guys thirsty?"


Loony was poking at the rock-hard skin on the woman's hands. "How utterly bizarre. I believe she's been turned to stone." He turned a bit, to Eliza. "Is she dead?"

She shook her head. "Can't be violatin' my own rules now. She's just paralyzed for a minute or so."

[DianaDreamer]

Sure enough, after a minute or two I awoke, but death meant change. I crossed my legs as I sat there, my hands curled together as if they still held an orb of some sort, my brows lowered. I gazed down at my palms with my lips closed. My expression felt indeterminable, though it was obvious that I was thinking about something.

After a moment I looked up at Loony, nodded with a slight smile, and slowly I got to my feet and sat at one of the side tables. It seemed like ages that I sat thinking. I'd talk to them if they came my way, but otherwise I'd sit here thinking.

Finally, I motioned to Sidereal and the Black Horror to sit at the table I had found myself at.

"You have one more trick up your sleeve, sirs," I told him. "This one had better satisfy. Hold nothing back, and give it everything you've got."

The two didn't flinch. I stared at them for a while, waiting. Nothing happened. I expected a "No" of some sort, but this one was his best trick. He held everything back, and gave me nothing. In this "No", he was saying more than he ever could in words, but only in this moment was I ready for it.

"Suit yourself," I shrugged as I got up. "Maybe next time."

I smirked as I walked out the door. It was dark outside, but it felt bad. In this place, day was night and night was day, dark was light and light was dark, bad was good and good was bad.

I'll keep going, I thought to myself, Even when I'm not moving...

[Idyllwyld]

What Siderael had anticipated...did not quite go as planned. Regardless, things seemed to have worked out, and ultimately that was all that mattered. At least he believed so.

The boy offered him and the Horror a drink. And then the woman had left in seemingly a huff. Perhaps she mistook him for another; Siderael did not know or truly care.

But the boy was here, and the Fallen was reminded again of what the other man had said earlier. Slay the boy... but this did not quite seem the time. Or the place.

The massive armored angel responded to Anton and Eliza with a shake of his hood, and with the momentary chaos now settled stepped away from Shak'Ri. He gazed 'round the tavern, noting how the one of the barmaids was already sweeping up the dusty mess that was manifested Demon. With everyone drinking to their heart's content over the apparent "victory" everything seemed quite back to pace.

But something, though, just wasn't.

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Xephan felt itchy beneath his serape. He patted himself over, double-checking that everything was there and intact. It was rare that he was ever caught guessing, caught by surprise. But it did happen at times, it wasn't unthinkable. He just didn't expect one of those instances to happen here and now.

Everything checked out. All his limbs were accounted for. Nothing was missing or added into his pockets. His clothing was as it was instants ago. His glasses were fine. Everything was as it was. There was nothing to indicate that anything was amiss.

...Except for that voice. Well, less of a voice, more a subtle tether, a line tracing back to his "employer." Or fellow "associate." Or Source. Names were a tricky thing for that one, it was easier just to use the one name he went by. But that voice was feeling, reacting to as if something had changed.

Well, according to the chaotically organized streams of Time, even local time, everything checked out. Spatially everything was accounted for, at least insofar as such a thing could on this side of the woods. That meant something higher had to be causing this feeling, a feeling that wasn't technically his.

He glanced over to the one he knew to be called Tycho Densmore. And while the machine-man had put away his mask, something about even its rigid body posture betrayed that it too found something to be amiss.

Some thing was not the same as it was moments ago. But the question was what? All changes and instantial shifts were accounted for, but there was something else nagging at the back of his unconscious that was making his time-cursed plane-soaked serape itch like a muthafucker.



And then, It happened. His eyes had been wandering; only his keenness to time allowed him to even actively catch it. The clock on the far wall. It ticked back. And for once, it wasn't because of anything he did.

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Tycho rose from his seat, insides whirring and pulling and yielding as all things are wont to do. As he stepped past Alicia, brushing up the last of that utterly destroyed once-world, he gave a slight tap of a salute to his hat's brim. He'd have to deal with those lost ones soon, but there was one more important piece of business to deal with.

The suit approached the Black Horror, now floating serenely unto itself. Despite its quiet, those with a sharp enough eye (or lackofa) could tell it still writhed inside with the pain of insult.

Tycho spread his hands off to the side in sympathetic welcome, appallingly taking the Horror by one shoulder and stepping away from the center floor to a corner. They had much to discuss. For starters, how these demons broke into Darktown. And as far as the Horror was concerned, how these demons dared to attack the likes of one such as he.

For it was that time, as all things do, for one member of the party to go off on their own way. For Shak'Ri, the Black Horror, it was to hunt down, torture and consume, and utterly eradicate these erstwhile demons and fiends, thereby regaining its superiority and removing such obstacles to Siderael's and the others' path.

They would need it, now that Darktown was slowly unraveling itself.


OOC: Just a note to clarify. What my guys and mech are detecting wasn't the coprimancial shift, but the fact that the King of Door's Citadel is now no longer where it should be. If the reality and plane of Darktown are like an all-encompassing circus tent, then the citadel was the central pole holding it all up.

[Raikou Neo]

[OOC: My apologies. Not only am I finding myself more yanked away from replies, but I'm also having trouble keeping up with all the details. You'll have to forgive me. It's been too long since I've seen RPers this competent.]

[DianaDreamer]

The Traveler entered the Brewery in this moment.

A figure clad in a black hooded robe stood in the doorway. The face's eyes were hidden in shadow, and the lips were expressionless. The robed person stood perfectly still, so that neither chest nor shoulders rose or fell with breaths, nor a single strand of hair flickered in the breeze.

After a moment, The Traveler took a seat in the center of the establishment. The spine was stretched to full height with intent of vertical alignment. The femurs were perfectly horizontal whilst tibia and fibula remained in perfect vertical. The shoulders were poised to be at even height with one another. The arms were perfectly symmetrical as they met in the figures lap. The face appeared to look straight ahead, though the eyes remained in shadow. The Traveler did not move save for adjustments in symmetry so minute the subtle movements generally remained unnoticed.

Otherwise, The Traveler remained motionless.