“I’m not saying you’re wrong,” says Cole nervously, “I’m just saying you have to remember what we’re doing here. The revolution’s about more than one girl.”
“The revolution is nothing without her.” Figaro’s eyes are burning, but his voice is steady. “Leave if you think it’s the right thing to do, but I’m going after her.”
Cole glances back at Machinetown, steaming like the breath of the mountain. “Life to the daring, fate to the coin,” he mumbles, and tightens his pistol belt.
At the mouth of the cave, the little white bear waits, the antenna on its head beeping patiently.
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
The Littlest Tarrasque wakes from its eons-long slumber and scratches its nose. It’s sooo hungry! It decides to maraud for food.
“Hello there,” says a friendly adventurer while the Littlest Tarrasque is busy marauding at some minnows. “Are you lost?”
The Littlest Tarrasque nods.
“Why not take a nap in this rune-laden adamant chest?”
But it turns out that’s a trap! Those sneaky adventurers! The Littlest Tarrasque giggles, and rends them joint from joint.
Eventually the Littlest Tarrasque rememembers that it eats rocks and burrows deep into the side of Mount Worldspine (there are lots of rocks in there).
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
“Fiction of the last century often posited that mannequins were in some way trapped,” says Volure, “that they longed for freedom of movement, or left their pedestals to creep about at night. Of course the Book of Stillness teaches otherwise.”
Pearl looks carefully at the bare-chested jeans-wearer gazing flatly out the window. “But they use subjective time dilators, right?”
“Only when they’re starting out. The professionals are in deep trance.”
“How much do you have to pay them?”
He laughs. “They pay us.”
Pearl thinks she catches the mannequin breathing, but it might just be the sun going down.