Immersive Ink

waysoftheearth wrote:
Gustave awakes. With difficulty.

He has a grotesque headache, which he surely could not deserve, and he is lying sprawled amid a tumble of ancient, broken furniture in a squalid little barn of some description.

He struggles painfully to right himself, as he fishes through bleary memories of a night of wine, revelry and good companionship... wasn't that old coot Copernicus here? Wasn't there a cosy hut with a roaring fire and an ample keg of wine?

There is no sign of any of that. Just a cold, dingy little barn, scarcely big enough to stand in, with a leaky roof and a muddy floor.

Gustave absently searches about his person as he stands painfully, and suddenly realises that he is bereft of his coin purse! And of his cigar case!

By the Foul Hole! He must have been drugged, robbed and dumped in an outhouse! He hopes that no ill has befallen old Copernicus...

tonneau wrote:
"...aaaahh merde", murmurs Gustave weakly, as he pads his depleated pack, speaking quietly as much through fear of further aggrevating his already throbbing skull as through caution at his predicament.

Foggy memories drift though his mind amid shocks of pain that surely eclipse any normal hangover. Comfortable armchairs, fine drink, warm fires; nothing about cold barns and mud.

He lifts his sleeve and observes the foul much now caking his formerly resplendent vestments with no little ire.

"No...", he mutters to himself, "The Gustave is not happy this morning...".

He wipes some of the muck off on the protruding leg of a broken table, and searches around for an exit as one thought rings true: Copernicus may still be in trouble...it is time to move.

waysoftheearth wrote:
Merde indeed... Gustave has only to take a single pace and reach out his muddy arm to push open the wretched door. Its timbers are seriously weather-worn, with half inch gaps between the mottled wooden slats that allow the grey light and the night's rain easy access...

The hinge gives an audible groan as Gustave pushes the door slightly ajar to observe the painfully bright (but overcast) and cold morning sky without...

tonneau wrote:
Gustave checks over the rest of his kit, minus his purse and cigar case, then steps into the cold dawn.

He shakes his head in an attempt to clear the lingering fog inside, or is it really that misty outside? it is hard to tell.

He listens intently while trying to get his bearings, the keep must be somewhere around here, he figures...

waysoftheearth wrote:
Gustave steps out of the squalid, muddy outhouse into a bright, cold morning. A veiling of mist conceals much of the surroundings, but it is clear that he is in a muddy, rocky, defile of some sort.

There is a nasty stink in the air, and the large, vague bulk of some enormous prominence fills most of his view. It must a wall of some sort. A very, very large one.

tonneau wrote:
Not entirely in the mood for a morning climb, Gustave wanders away from the wall. He wanders around the shack looking for options. How did he get in this hole anyway? What happened to good old Copernicus? Where were his cigars [img]images/smiley/huh.png[/img]

waysoftheearth wrote:
Gustave takes a few paces into the mist. It is not so thick as to completely obscure his surrounds, merely the detail of them.

The ground is rocky, wet and uneven. It slopes slightly downward as he moves farther from the outhouse, and the wall behind it. Overhead the sky appears to an impenetrable, bright haze. Behind him the wall looms as a great thick shadow, and ahead, he seems to approaching another, similar shadow -- still some few dozen yards off.

And what is that awful pong? Gustave feels a squelch beneath his boot, and slowly looks down. What is that filth? He almost gags as he pulls his boot free... from what appears to be a latrine trench. The horrid stuff appears to trickle downslope from the outhouse, between the filthy rocks...

tonneau wrote:
In his mind Gustave alters his order at his tailor from repairs to a complete new outfit, including boots.
He follows the wall around to seach for a way out of this giant latrine in which he finds himself mired (or rather, merde).

waysoftheearth wrote:
Gustave moves through the misty gully for a few dozen paces before encountering a rocky incline. He continues to exert himself, and within another few minutes breaks free of the mist as he attains something of a plateau. There, not a dozen yards away, is the bulky stone wall of the gatehouse.

It is early morning. Nobody else appears to be about...

tonneau wrote:
Gustave listens carefully before moving on, then attempts to get some idea of which part of the gatehouse he is viewing, leaving his cover if necessary to do so.