---
title: 00057
created: Mon, 16 Jan 2023 20:30:44 -0700
updated: Fri, 20 Jan 2023 14:58:46 -0700
public: yes
syndicated: yes
---
### 00057 {#00057}

> Alex lifts his teacup and sips the fragrantly tea, "perfumed of
> rosehips, and cardamum? An interesting choice. I appreciate it
> Inky, these past few days have been terribly rough, and I'm rather
> tired of field rations." Alex takes a sip, and then continues
> hurridly. "I've been monitoring the Bazar, we are in grave danger.
> It started with just me, but I fear it's bled over to everyone here
> at the Milk Market. I can't be entirely certain."
> 
> Alex looks worriedly at Inky. "There's a lot going on here. As soon
> as we got back from Kelsun I was sent on an assignment, normally
> not an issue, but they wanted me to level 3 of the busiest coffee
> shops in the bazar. I planted those bombs, alongside listening
> devices, and then I bugged out. My team appears to have been
> assigned equally bizarre assignments, all rather violent messy
> things. A lot of innocent lives are on the line here."
> 
> "We dropped off the grid, I've got an isolated listening post in
> the sewers here, it's heavily reinforced and that's where I've been
> hiding out, but I'm not certain it's safe. Agent 5 found a melon
> vendor dead in the market, and this vendor was specifically seeking
> out the Milk Market, looking for us. I believe it may be an
> assassin, could be from HQ, could be from Blavin. It's entirely
> opaque to me."
> 
> "As far as I can tell, my agents are all loyal to me, there's 5 of
> them in total, 6 if you count me. We could man the ship and get the
> hell out of here in a few hours, and it may be our best chance. But
> there's the iris letter we need to attend to, and I cannot for the
> life of me find anything, not a damn trace, of Blavin. And I think
> all of this bodes very poorly for us."
> 
> Alex looks worriedly at Inky, and you're telling me we have a
> ritual we have to perform, to find the iris group's meeting place..
> I'm leery Ink, I have to be you see. But my uncle trusted you, and
> I do as well. If you think this is our best shot, we can hole up in
> the sewers and try to perform this dream walk of your witch
> friend's. But if this iris business turns out to be a trap, well,
> how well can you handle a gun? 

~

> "Your courage and concern are admirable, Master Alex. Caution is
> likewise advisable." Inky nods seriously.
> 
> The next moment, they gave the sysorcerer a slightly deranged grin.
> "I'm sure you have already seen many grave dangers. What's another
> one for the bucket list? What's life if not violent and messy? So
> many melons dismembered and laid waste daily—"
> 
> As if suddenly recalling a detail, Inky pauses and blinks. "Melon
> vendor? Oh, poor Pepo. He has been complaining about his
> neighbour's boa constrictors for years. The serpents were drawn to
> the rodents his fruits typically attracted, which might not have
> been a problem were it not for them hanging out at his stall and
> scaring off his customers. Maybe he finally took matters into his
> own hands, with tragic results." They look at an empty mixing bowl
> across the table glumly. "He had offered to bring over a few of the
> new variety as soon as they arrived, as he was already delivering
> to a household the next district over."
> 
> They send Master Alex a sidelong glance. "Someone is after you? You
> didn't do something horrid like help an old grandmother cross the
> street on sockless skates, for instance?" Refilling the
> sysorcerer's cup, Inky continues, "As for Blavin, only 3 of the
> crystals have been recovered. Blavin knows Team 43 is his best
> chance of obtaining the others. Until he has all the crystals, he
> will stay his hand. If he doesn't know that, then he is hardly a
> threat."
> 
> Setting down the teapot, Inky shrugs. "They seem eager to get our
> attention. I suppose I could spare them their twelve minutes of
> fame, for the right price. Enlightenment would probably be too much
> to ask of a nightmare. If you'd rather take your team and make a
> run for it instead, that's fine too. If they come knocking I'll
> just tell them you missed the hotel fondue at Kelsun Peak."
> 
> Their gaze skips to one of the cups before they shake their head.
> "No gun." They turn around and take down a bamboo walking stick
> hanging from a hook on a wall next to a worn coat. Inky grasps the
> handle and pulls. It slides out quietly to reveal a long, thin,
> tapered surgical steel tube which, if someone were to lean in for a
> closer inspection, is sparsely covered in tiny, needle-like
> protrusions along the surface. On the underside, a transparent
> sliver ran the length of the tube to end about a forefinger's
> length from the handle. Visible through the narrow window is a
> colourless liquid, most likely a sedative or toxin, fills the
> reinforced steel interior.
> 
> They smile mirthlessly at Master Alex. "I don't know that Master
> Corraidhín trusted me, because if he did, it would have been the
> most foolhardy thing the wise man has ever done. You would do well
> to not make that mistake."

~

> "It doesn't sound like we have all too much of an option", Alex
> says, as a little Scarab beetle in his pocket chimes, "that'll be
> the dead man's trigger going off in my hideout."
> 
> Alex frowns, shame to lose all of that data, those systems, that
> hideout.. but I hope whoever broke in enjoys thermite, assuming
> they don't asphyxiate quickly enough to miss the fun..
> 
> Inky, you're right, life is a bit violent and messy, so lets bring
> the violent mess to these bastards. If you've got a lead on this
> with this dream ritual, then fuck it, lets take the risk. I won't
> run from this fight, my uncle sure as hell wouldn't. And at worst,
> he'd go out with a magnificient bang. Lets give it back tenfold,
> for poor Pepo.
> 
> Nodding his own approval Alex continues, I have another hideout in
> the eastern quandrant, near the sysorcerer's guild. It's a little
> risky to head out that way, but none of my Zabbix alerts indicate
> it was compromised. It has automated IDS and IPS systems, so we
> should be safe enough in there once we whole up. At very least
> we'll know if someone comes for us, and we'll have a little bit of
> time to react on it. We should bring the Toques with us, and little
> blod clot, and the duck.
> 
> Looking sorrowfully at Enrique, "I think it might be best if you
> got the hell out of dodge too friend, it isn't safe, and I don't
> want to see you become collateral here. Head down to the wharf,
> I'll have agent 5 meet you there, he'll help you and your family
> lay low until all of this blows over."

~

> At Enrique's deep frown, Inky sighs and adds, "Might as well do as
> Master Alex says. He can spot danger twelve blocks away, and turtle
> soup is really out of fashion these days."
> 
> Then they excuse themselves to pack a few items, returning about
> fifteen minutes later with a knapsack and a cross-strap carrier
> draped in a black cloth cover. Inky says, "I hope you don't mind if
> I bring along a guest as well."
> 
> The cover is pulled back to expose a dome-shaped birdhouse, with
> transparent circular rings at the top partially obscured by sliding
> shutters of the same shape. A wooden hoop with a woven, web-like
> pattern and adorned with a string of feathers hangs from one side.
> On the opposite side is a double door with a miniature knob over
> each door. Inky lightly taps on one of the doors, and at a low
> click coming from within in response, swings the doors wide enough
> for the kitchen lamps to illuminate the great horned owl resting on
> a pillow inside. The bird opens one amber eye for a moment, gaze
> sweeping idly across the occupants in the room before dozing off
> again.
> 
> "This is Fuko. She and her twin brother Futa have certain shared
> connections. What one sees, the other will also know. I asked their
> caretaker if I could borrow them for a while. Fuko will accompany
> me for the ritual. Her brother is at another location and can send
> a message if a need arises." Inky explains with a wry expression.
> "Think of it as a minor indulgence of sorts. I was told their kind,
> along with eagle owls, are very good at negotiating with those of
> the ravens."
> 
> They give the owl a small smile. "She may be a little
> temperamental, but she is well-trained." Closing the birdhouse
> doors, Inky turns back to Master Alex. "I suppose you'd rather not
> reveal the location of your hideout to any more people than
> necessary. Her carrier will remain covered on the way in and out."

Gliftwirp stands under the branches of a tree, pooled in shadow, far
from the small gathering. He has been to plenty of funerals. Often
under these very circumstances, in fact. And he always keeps his
distance out of respect.

For one, he owns no clothes but his vest, sash, and trousers. And his
bright red colors would be a sign of disrespect among the mourners.
Secondly and most importantly, he himself is the one who put the man
in the ground.

Sadly, he had little choice. He had underestimated the sysorcer.
Didn't realize he had his own agents working for him. When he
realized that one of the agents had been in contact with the melon
vendor, he knew that Popplewick could and would identify the
warpwefter if pressured.

Gliftwirp had grown to enjoy his daily chats with the melon vendor.
Popplewick was a kind, determined man. A refugee from the
Cinderlands, his family came to Vay'Nullar following the Artifice
Wars when he was just a boy. He grew up poor, and often relied on the
generosity of others. But eventually he was able to support himself
and his small family. He was proud of the life he had built.

So Gliftwirp took no pleasure in what came next. Late one night when
Popplewick was on his way home from the market, the assassin slipped
a bag over his head and dragged him into a dark alley. He cinched the
bag tight, cutting off his air. There was a brief struggle before
Popplewick passed out and Gliftwirp lowered him down to the ground.
He held him there, unconscious and not breathing, until he was gone.
In only took but a moment. And then Gliftwirp stood up and left.

Now at the funeral, the mourners leave one by one. Until only the
widow is left, cradling a small sleeping child to her chest. "Oh,
Pepo," she whispers to the headstone. "What can I do now?"

When she leaves, she does not return to the main path. She meanders
slowly as though in a daze toward the back of the graveyard and down
the hill. She steps into the wood. A flash of red follows her at a
distance.

She kneels on the banks of the forest river and sets the child down
on wide flat rock. It is awake now and looks up at her with solemn
eyes. "I am sorry, made-of-me," she says to the child. And that is
all the explanation it gets.

She stands and turns and walks away. The child watches her go.

When she has been gone for some minutes, Gliftwirp steps out of the
shadows and crouches down beside the child. It looks up and reaches
for him. "Look at you," he says to the child as he scoops it up. "Who
would throw you away? A perfectly good baby!" He stands and bounces
the child. "A sweet little melon rind is what you are. Ha! Very well.
Come, Rind, we have work to do."

The assassin, child in his arms, walks back toward the city.

~

In the aftermath, Agent 5 is found down by the docks. They clearly
struggled in death. The assassin blamed him for Popplewick's death
and the widow's weakness.

Down in the sewers, two tiny mittened hands reach up and awkwardly
turn the doorknob to Alex's hideout. The bolt clears the latch with a
faint click. Two tiny cloth hands struggle against the heavy iron
door, pushing it slowly open, inch by inch. A mechanism clicks inside
and there is a whoosh of air and then a boom as the bunker violently
ignites. The tiny figure is incinerated, and blown back into the
sewer tunnel.

Gliftwirp steps forward into the light of the blaze and crouches down
by the tiny figure. He picks it up, a tattered and burned bundle of
cloth. "Look, Rind," he says to the small child standing at his
elbow. "You must always acknowledge and be grateful for those who
sacrifice for you." He starts to untie and unfold the cloth puppet as
he speaks. It unfurls and smooths out and stitches itself back
together under his touch. Even the burn marks fade, and soon
Gliftwirp is once again holding his red sash.

"Now, Rind," he says standing up and taking the child's hand,
squinting into the fire. "Let's see what we can salvage here."

WHAT DO YOU DO

- The time of the ritual is at hand.
- What final preparations do you make before entering Dreamspace?
