A Smell of Petroleum Pervades Throughout
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April 29th, 2013, 01:35 AM
Gone. May or may not return.
Join Date: Mar 2010
Location: The Misspelled Cyrpt
> With my knowledge of the works of Lovecraft, which have shown up quite often in this narrative, I would hazard the guess that, based on the fog, this could be Nyarlahotep, one of the Outer Ones, who has the ability to manifest as fog. On the other hand, this could be DaaAagoon (it wouldn't allow me to spell it correctly), a fish-god-beast-creature that appeared to have significant control over the seas. If you're really unlucky, however, you could be meeting the one and only Cthulu, in which case you're just dead. However, none of the people I mentioned above could you fight off. If you're lucky, it'll be an Eldritch Tentacool/Tentacruel that developed the ability to create green (possibly poisonous) fog. So, be prepared to fight.
> Try your best to get away putting some things you don't need that floats in water ahead of you to look for deviations in the current that leads into another current that could help you get away. If there is none try rowing again if that doesn't work ready your Flash Beam Weapon and pray it's just an Eldritch Pokemon.
Rowing doesn't work, and the only things you have on hand that float are the pieces of wood you need to feed Vesta. You snap a little bit off one of them and toss it overboard, and it's immediately swallowed up by the waves; the surface of the sea seems almost to be
, as if tremendous energy were vibrating up from below.
You get out your Highly Persuasive Handgun and whimper a little. It makes you feel very, very slightly better.
> Someone mentioned that the fog might be poisonous, so I reckon it might be worth a shot if
you use the wrecked dress to make some sort of mask to filter what you're breathing.
As for what to do in the grand scheme of things...I have no clue, but try not to die. Good luck.
> Basically that. Try not to die and fight hard I guess.
You've been breathing it in for about half an hour now, so you're pretty sure it isn't poisonous – if it were, you think you'd be dead. The world is an opaque greenish wall; the only thing you can see is the bulk of the coracle beneath you, a vague dark lump in the mist. You can hear the waves growing in violence and intensity, and feel it too: the skin of the coracle vibrates with every wave it crests, and the little craft is rocking back and forth so hard that you have to lie down and hold tightly onto its ribs, putting the Handgun back into the Bag. Water splashes down onto your face, and then with a horrid lurch you realise that the waves sound distant, that abruptly your boat has left the water—
—and then with a colossal
it smacks down back onto the waves, sending spray skyrocketing all around you; one of the wooden struts splinters with the impact, and as the thunder rumbles overhead you hear a high, keening voice calling your name:
“It's OK!” you yell above the roar of the storm. “We're going to be OK!”
As if to dispute this, the coracle suddenly tips up on one side, and for a moment you see the black and white ocean roaring and gnawing in mindless rage beneath you – and then you throw your weight against the other side of the boat, and feel it crash back down onto the water.
There's a bright flash of light, followed immediately by a peal of thunder, and the lightning tears the fog asunder for a brief moment; you look up and see the sky is black, just black, the clouds so dense and dark they resemble the infinity of space – and then the fog closes in again, and in the distance you hear a cry, half dinosaur's roar and half eagle's shriek, obviously distant but impossibly loud, as if it came from just behind your ear...
The next wave swamps the boat.
You're kicking, spluttering, trying to shovel water out of the little coracle with your hands, but it doesn't do anything; the boat is spinning, flying, soaring through equal parts water and air and sound and light, and in the dark you see the scaled flank of some gigantic beast pass you, stinking of fish and petrol and baying helplessly in panic, and you realise that even that huge creature is trapped in this storm, that everything in the ocean is caught up in it, and your tiny boat has no—
The next wave carries you overboard.
All other thoughts leave your head; you have to get back in the boat, have to get back onto the closest approximation to dry land there is around here; you tug on its side, trying to haul yourself up, but all you do is flip it over, pulling it over your head like a child hiding under a blanket. The storm booms hollowly outside your silken shell, and you hear again that impossible noise, the call of some titanic saurian beast, distant but loud enough that it seems to be right beside you – but now is not the time for that, and with a huge effort you overturn the boat, righting it with yourself hooked over one edge, and flop back inside it just as another wave breaks on its side, flinging a panicked pair of fish high into the air and over the boat.
You hang on grimly and close your eyes as water patters down onto your face. There's nothing more you can do.
As the next wave falls and the lightning shrieks out once more, you feel rather than see the great scaled creature pass by again; you open your eyes and see a colossal finned tail flailing above you, and watch it fall with a kind of relief.
At least, you think just before it hits the boat, you're not going to have to see the rest of the storm.
You expect to dream of the sunken city and the Deep Ones, but instead you dream of pain, and broken wings, and the sea that betrayed you. Nothing is very coherent, but by the end of it all you are in a dark place, a cool place, and your fevered thoughts are soothed by a calming wind.
The sighing of the waves is what wakes, you, in the end. Well – that, and the persistent nibbling on your foot.
You sit up groggily and kick limply; something squeals in surprise and lollops away from you towards the surf. A few blinks, and the world swims into focus: OK, you're on a beach, staring out at the ocean. There's something small unspeakable that might be a very young Eldritch Seel wriggling back into the sea. The sky is clear and blue, and, against all odds, you aren't dead.
You smile incredulously to yourself. Nice. Living sure beats dying – you assume, anyway. You've never actually experienced death, but you're pretty sure it isn't much good.
You get up slowly and look around. The beach you're on is small and bordered on three sides by a sheer cliff; a couple of holes punctuate the rock face, but they don't look big enough to be anything other than Pokémon or animal burrows (though what would live in them you have no idea). There are mounds of debris scattered across the sand; mostly fish and seaweed, but some of it looks more artificial – car tyres, bits of furniture, that sort of thing. You don't see your coracle anywhere.
To the north is the sea.
To the south is a cliff with an Unassuming Hole in it.
To the east is a cliff with a Menacing Hole in it.
To the west is a cliff with a Frightful Hole in it.
There is a small monster of some sort here.
The Thinking Man's Guide to Destroying the World
The Rocket Case
The Rocket Revival
Neither Here Nor There
Coriolanus Rowland's Guide to Pokémon Husbandry
Robin Goodfellow's Christmas Carol
Stranger Than Fiction
My Trip to the End of Time, by Pearl Gideon
A Smell of Petroleum Pervades Throughout
For information about A Grand Day Out, a bizarre short story in video game form, click
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