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[tongueamok]

Hello, this is Carlisle. I mean, it's not Carlisle as in I'm actually answering you right now, so if you're trying to reply to me at the second, you should probably save your breath because I'm not really here. This is some kind of a recording of my voice, but this is my communicator. I'm going to assume these devices are as common here as they are in other places — not my world, but others, ones more technologically advanced than where I come from— so if you'd like to leave me a message, then you may do so here, or er... Right. Here is fine. So just leave yo— [beep]

Comments

[tongueamok]

Oh. Oh, I suppose this happened due to, ah. Gods and whatnot.

[If the embarrassment creeping into his tone is an indicator, he probably assumed they were not friends or anything. At least whomever wounded her is a woman and not a shirtless heathen.]

[mismanagement]

[Maketh nods, suddenly tired.] As far as we can tell, it was Rage. The damage was significant.

[tongueamok]

[Out the door of his apartment he goes -- the number 802 is visible on the door as he closes it, marking his position high in one of the towers. The fact he lives on the top floor is about to become immediately apparent the moment he starts the long, long trek down the stairs.]

I see. I've already had to heal two others due to this incident. I expect there may be more in the coming days, should people need me.

[mismanagement]

[Maketh settles back.] There may be. Does it...drain you?

[tongueamok]

[Stairs time.]

A bit. Nothing but minor fatigue and whatnot, but all perfectly normal for healers from my world.

[Yep. P e r f e c t l y   n o r m a l.]

[mismanagement]

I see. Please don't injure yourself on my account. We may need your -- abilities, soon.

[tongueamok]

[Still stairsing.]

Are you expecting more injuries, miss?

[mismanagement]

In a general sense. But I have a feeling we will be due for more new arrivals soon, and after that -- something. Perhaps it won't be violent.

[It usually is.]

[tongueamok]

[Goodness, stairs.]

Do more people arrive on a schedule?

[mismanagement]

[There are certainly stairs.]

Roughly at the beginning of every month.

[tongueamok]

[Regretting his life choices of stairs.]

Every month? Cisth, do the false gods not think they have enough people for their machinations?

[mismanagement]

[He's also now comitted to the stairs. Sorry, dude. On the bright side, Maketh lives on the first floor.]

Apparently not. And it seems their need will only increase as they resurrect more of their brethren.

[tongueamok]

[He passes another landing, thanking his goddess that he's not winded yet.]

Why are they resurrecting more of their kind, exactly?

[mismanagement]

That's unclear. Presumably they're stronger as a group.

[tongueamok]

[Stairs III: Return of the Stairs.]

Is there a finite number of them? Or are they endless?

[mismanagement]

I'm uncertain. They're named after the emotions they take power from. I suppose it depends on how specific that emotion is, and what the feeding process entails.

[tongueamok]

And what do they intend to do once however many of them they desire have been resurrected?

[mismanagement]

They have declined to share that detail.

[tongueamok]

[Sigh. That might be from her answer or from the stairs.]

Fantastic.

Do you believe them to be gods? True gods?

[mismanagement]

[There are a lot of stairs. Maketh is beginning to feel bad.]

No. I believe they're powerful and like to give themselves titles. There were men in my home who did such things. That didn't make them gods.

[tongueamok]

[Desth, stairs. Why.]

Right.

[Huff. Okay, stairs hurting now.]

Almost to the bottom, so I suppose I'll, er. Let you go here.

[If that is the terminology.]

[mismanagement]

All right. I will see you soon.