05-10-2017, 05:52 PM
The slow malignant growth that was reality penetrated Hogard's slumber. His dreams of odds and ends came to an abrupt halt when his groggy mind conjured the image of black slime. As quick as a whip, with a matching snap of his back - for which he thanked the hard stone floor - his gaze fell to the clay pot. He breathed a sigh of relief when it was still home to the enigmatic creature. He did notice that the top of the slime was littered with ejected shrapnel, and quite a bit of it. If he was helping nurse the poor... thing... back to health, he might as well go the extra distance.
With a grunt, Hogard rolled to his feet. He set off to the kitchen for his set of tongs and breakfast. The latter was a simple, cold hunk of fowl left over from yesterday's dinner. Just as he cut through the last inch of meat, he heard an unsettling sound. Metal against stone. The light tinkling of shrapnel, he deduced. A chill ran up his spine. Breath, Hogard. Be calm... no cause for alarm... The self-coaxing did little to help.
As calm as he could manage, Hogard returned to the pot. Sure enough, the mass had seemingly awoken, and was - from what Hogard could tell - peeking over the side of the pot. It just sat there. Hogard got the sense that it was watching him. For a moment it felt menacing, but when he forced back fear and approached, it ducked. It's afraid of ... me?
Fear slowly melted away to pity. Hogard, as well as many others, saw himself as a jolly fellow. His long beard was braided with many colorful beads and his cheeks always had a ruddy red tint as if he had laughed for a few hours too many. He was very rarely called an intimidating man.
"Easy... I won't hurt you..." As an offering of peace, he inched closer and sat the torn turkey breast on the floor, just outside of the clay pot. After a few seconds, the creature showed no interest. So it isn't carnivorous... He was expecting it to devour the cooked flesh after it had tried to swallow him.
Zenith's instinct was to flee. This world has been nothing but cruel and hateful. However, something held it here. The warm clay pot was a great contrast to the icy tundra that had frozen its form. The fire was a safe distance away that it did not boil. And this man... he was using such a gentle tone. He even offered food, though... the human form of sustenance did not interest the symbiote. For the moment, Zenith simply began pulling the shrapnel up along its surface, then dumping them out of the clay pot it currently claimed as a safe zone.
When the creature remains in the pot, Hogard sighed. Maybe it doesn't understand? But if that were true, how did it speak earlier? The questions piled up, but no answers came. When it started moving the metal scraps out and dumping them on the floor, it seemed intelligent enough. Maybe it was little more than an animal? Could animals be considered Primes? That would be both interesting and terrifying. No telling what a wild animal prime would do. But if it was an animal, how could it speak? Its level of intelligence was so confusing, especially to a dwarf who hardly questioned such things before.
With a grunt, Hogard rolled to his feet. He set off to the kitchen for his set of tongs and breakfast. The latter was a simple, cold hunk of fowl left over from yesterday's dinner. Just as he cut through the last inch of meat, he heard an unsettling sound. Metal against stone. The light tinkling of shrapnel, he deduced. A chill ran up his spine. Breath, Hogard. Be calm... no cause for alarm... The self-coaxing did little to help.
As calm as he could manage, Hogard returned to the pot. Sure enough, the mass had seemingly awoken, and was - from what Hogard could tell - peeking over the side of the pot. It just sat there. Hogard got the sense that it was watching him. For a moment it felt menacing, but when he forced back fear and approached, it ducked. It's afraid of ... me?
Fear slowly melted away to pity. Hogard, as well as many others, saw himself as a jolly fellow. His long beard was braided with many colorful beads and his cheeks always had a ruddy red tint as if he had laughed for a few hours too many. He was very rarely called an intimidating man.
"Easy... I won't hurt you..." As an offering of peace, he inched closer and sat the torn turkey breast on the floor, just outside of the clay pot. After a few seconds, the creature showed no interest. So it isn't carnivorous... He was expecting it to devour the cooked flesh after it had tried to swallow him.
Zenith's instinct was to flee. This world has been nothing but cruel and hateful. However, something held it here. The warm clay pot was a great contrast to the icy tundra that had frozen its form. The fire was a safe distance away that it did not boil. And this man... he was using such a gentle tone. He even offered food, though... the human form of sustenance did not interest the symbiote. For the moment, Zenith simply began pulling the shrapnel up along its surface, then dumping them out of the clay pot it currently claimed as a safe zone.
When the creature remains in the pot, Hogard sighed. Maybe it doesn't understand? But if that were true, how did it speak earlier? The questions piled up, but no answers came. When it started moving the metal scraps out and dumping them on the floor, it seemed intelligent enough. Maybe it was little more than an animal? Could animals be considered Primes? That would be both interesting and terrifying. No telling what a wild animal prime would do. But if it was an animal, how could it speak? Its level of intelligence was so confusing, especially to a dwarf who hardly questioned such things before.