The Let's Play Archive

Planescape: Torment

by Shadow Catboy

Part 59: The Whisper-Mad Tome of The Nameless One: Part 1

The Whisper-Mad Tome of The Nameless One: Part 1

"Sally forth we and shall we be fourth to sally," I growled, "Find the Painted Egg we must for Morte hides truth to be cracked open, yolk spilling a thousand thoughts that shall become the nectars of the Lethe."

Barbed with the sigils of two moons Dak'kon takes the art most peculiar, smiling a whispered grin greenly. "Thus spaketh Monnizerth and his four truths."

I slip into the warm waters and slide the razor cross my wrist.

Torment. Pain. Torment. Pain. Torment. Pain.

Whip the shade-streets with four tails and over the fifth star we go. The path is cobbled with a thousand of the third fever-nights where delirium springs hot and moist from the skulls of the Lost Ones.

She is green.

Rhadamanthus spoke to me in a bubbling voice, grey and silent as the ashen fields from which all life springs. His words spin out in a thousand needles, each piercing the eye of a sinner. It hurts much to do so, but I melt as ice in the sun. A scream wells from my lips burst in butterflies. So colorful they are. One becomes a fish. Another a thimble. Three curve into bulbous bubbles and tell me what to write.

She is green.

Nimbus of the weak we ride, high across the planes and for each we pass we catch two others hidden in a seashell. "Ride the winds!" I cry, "Writhe with the zephyr like lovers in copulation, and we shall see him knighted at last!"

And so we did, stepping through the gates of fruition.

Dak'kon is a bowl of milk, lapped up by the cats as the Lady consumes the cats in turn, shitting out the elements, Earth, Fire, Twelve, and Air. They swirl in the motes and rides, hardening into four forms that becomes the ground we float upon.

She is green.

Dak'kon is lost to us but run we must. Run or else the gates shall open. The gates pass to the Elemental Plane of Bees, and the swarm shall descend upon the world. And thus shall the Bees snag the children in their webs and carry them off into the Nine Hells, to be tortured forever.

Run. Run. Run.

I am tired but we must run. For the children.

Dak'kon is a bright red candy fresh from the lips of a corpse. He melts in the sun, laughing a laugh most odd.

For all the Profane Arches of Sanctity. SHE IS GREEN.

"Ach, have ye seen me looky charms yeh Blarney-faced laddie?"

"Who is John Galt?"

The light was ebbing, and the man could not distinguish my face. I had said it simply, without expression. But from the sunset far at the end of the street, yellow glints caught my eyes, and my eyes looked straight at the man, mocking and still- as if the question had been addressed to the causeless uneasiness within h