quest/www/rss.xml

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    <title>BASEMENT QWEST</title>
    <link>https://tilde.town/~dozens/quest/rss.xml</link>
    <description>Friends having ADVENTURES! Huzzah!</description>
    <item>
      <title>77</title>
      <author>dozens@tilde.team (dozens)</author>
      <guid isPermaLink="false">77 - Tue, 18 Jul 2023 17:50:29
-0600</guid>
      <pubDate>Tue, 18 Jul 2023 17:50:29 -0600</pubDate>
      <description>
        <![CDATA[
          <h3 id="00077">00077</h3>
          <blockquote>
          <p>Alex stands in the airlock watching the woman retreat. He
          briefly gestures to the crew to hold their position while he
          grips his weapon. “I’ll be just a moment everyone. You know
          what to do”</p>
          <p>Alex steps into the ship and begins to follow the woman.
          “Ma’am, what happened here exactly. And how can we help your
          grand daughter once we’ve reached Lua? We’re happy to take her
          and assist, but we must know how we can do that. I’d also like
          to file a report about the attack you suffered, even if you
          think you’re a forgone conclusion we can help others. And
          admittedly, I’m no doctor, but are you certain there’s nothing
          that can be done about this splitting sickness?”</p>
          <p>A faint static on the radio “Boss, don’t forget the
          cookies.”</p>
          <p>Alex sighs heavily, “my second in command would like to
          know if you have any cookies as well. He’s convinced helping
          little old ladies in space somehow nets you home baked
          cookies.”</p>
          </blockquote>
          <p>~</p>
          <blockquote>
          <p>Inky gives the crew a quick sidelong glance, then shrugs
          internally and hops lightly onto the derelict ship after
          Master Alex. They follow behind at a short clip,
          half-registering the captain’s voice in conversation with the
          old lady and hiding a smile at the mention of cookies over the
          radio. Angry agents or not, at least someone has got their
          priorities straight.</p>
          <p>From their position behind and to one side of the captain,
          they surreptitiously run a scan on the woman for further
          injuries with a portable infrared sensor, with particular
          attention to the crack at her scalp. They listen to the old
          lady’s breathing, as well as for any sounds aboard the ship
          while the instrument takes measurements of vital signs under
          the woman’s skin, including temperature, oxygen levels and
          presence of scar tissue.</p>
          <!-- GM: what, if anything, do the measurements reveal about the
          nature and progression of the old lady's Splitting Sickness? -->
          </blockquote>
          <p>The old woman slowly shuffles away, back out to the
          battle-torn main deck, clicking and muttering to herself.
          “There is a grain that grows in the dusty red soil of Lua,”
          she explains. “Its fruit can be processed and ground into a
          paste that hopefully will halt and even reverse my
          granddaughter’s mysterious ailment.”</p>
          <p>As she talks, Inky surreptitiously runs a scan on the woman
          for further injuries. She is wasting away, suffering from
          advanced stages of Splitting Sickness. Her organs have begun
          to turn to pulp and are rapidly failing. Her swollen heart
          beats irregularly. A thick puckered seam runs along its
          length, threatening to burst at any moment. It will be the end
          of her if the crack in her skull doesn’t split open first.</p>
          <p>“It’s genetic. Her sickness, I mean. At least, it’s
          hereditary. That is, her mother died of it. Poor thing.” She
          babbles away as she pokes at the rubble on the deck with shaky
          hands. “I keep her asleep in the suspension unit so it doesn’t
          advance any further.”</p>
          <p>“Ha! Here we are,” she rasps, a lopsided grin scattered
          across her broken face. She jerkily hauls a metallic cube from
          behind a pile of rubble out onto the deck. She opens a panel
          on its side and pulls out a tray of slightly undercooked
          cookies. A solar oven. “Here you go, dearie.” The tray
          trembles in her grasp as she holds it out to you.</p>
          <p>You hear gunfire coming from your own ship. You spin around
          to look. Marvelo has fired two signal flares up and away from
          the ship. The arc of the flares draw your eyes to the Tears of
          Selene in the distance.</p>
          <p>The carcass of an enormous space whale drifts forward from
          the asteroid field. It’s a gruesome ship. A starsail cobbled
          together from the bones of dead space whales, sloppily painted
          with faded, patchy red and white stripes. Scrap and salvage
          and odd rusted pieces of metal adorn its sides along with
          humanoid and bestial remains.</p>
          <p>“Oh no,” croaks the old woman. “Oh no, they’re back. No no
          no no no.”</p>
          <p>WHAT DO YOU DO</p>
        ]]>
      </description>
    </item>
    <item>
      <title>76</title>
      <author>dozens@tilde.team (dozens)</author>
      <guid isPermaLink="false">76 - Sun, 16 Jul 2023 14:49:38
-0600</guid>
      <pubDate>Sun, 16 Jul 2023 14:49:38 -0600</pubDate>
      <description>
        <![CDATA[
          <h3 id="00076">00076</h3>
          <blockquote>
          <p>As the ship grew closer and the derelict became more clear
          Alex gripped the side of the ship. He could see the woman in
          the window through his telescope, but wasn’t sure what to make
          of the situation. He assembled the members of the team to the
          deck to discuss further.</p>
          <p>“It’s clear that the ship is adrift. We should probably
          attempt to help.” Alex stated matter of factly. “However
          Marvelo has confided in me his strongest suggestions that we
          not take the risk. We have a clear goal. And the life of this
          one woman isn’t work much in the scheme of things. The world
          is at risk.” Alex sighs, “He may unfortunately have a point,
          but I believe we that if we choose to stare into the abyss and
          make such a choice we become the monsters we struggle against.
          And we always have a short.” Alex’s eyes dart to Inky, the
          seem sad, ashamed. A fleeting statement of understanding is
          exchanged between the two.</p>
          <p>“I say we go, but with caution. If anyone wishes to join
          me, they may do so. We need someone to remain with the ship to
          guard it. Marvelo is still not up to excursions, but he’s a
          crack shot with a blaster and has agreed to watch from atop
          deck. Lee I need you on the deck gun and look out. Should
          anything come towards us while we explore the derelict, you
          have explicit permission to send them to hell. Use your
          judgement.”</p>
          <p>“I’ve done some reconnaisance on the ship already, we can
          at least go in knowing something about what we face. However
          anyone who comes needs to come armed, with medical assets, and
          spare oxygen. We need enough equipment to get in, face the
          unknown, and save this poor woman’s life.”</p>
          <p>(DM: Do I notice anything about the derelict upon
          inspecting it with a telescope? Signs of attacks? Further what
          do scans reveal about the derelict and the area around
          it?)</p>
          </blockquote>
          <p>~</p>
          <blockquote>
          <p>Inky offers the ship’s captain a small encouraging smile
          when he looks over in their direction but otherwise remains
          silent during the briefing. The unspoken agreement was that no
          one was going to let their captain go in on his own despite
          any individual misgivings on the matter, Fair One’s chosen or
          not. The only question is who would accompany him. This
          presents three problems.</p>
          <p>Problem #1: Inky’s packs and pod were already prepared
          before the rumbles overhead about a starsail sighting sounded
          while they were checking on the salt batteries and compost
          tea. It would be a pity to not test the equipment before the
          mission landing. Get more distance out of that deep
          discount.</p>
          <p>Problem #2: his uncle would have Inky’s fireball-roasted
          head on a platter if he found out Inky was enjoying a freshly
          harvested watercress salad back on the ship while his nephew
          faced great peril at the hands of an evil old lady.</p>
          <p>Problem #3: the sysorcerer is the only obstacle between
          Inky and four very angry, heavily armed agents. He is trying
          hard to be a good captain and leader to them, that anyone
          could see. Better to be a mobile tea lackey than an immovable
          target practice lackey.</p>
          <p>To the sea dragon it is.</p>
          </blockquote>
          <p>You run a quick scan of the derelict starsail.</p>
          <p>It looks as though is has been heavily pierced and battered
          by artillery, boarded and looted, and left to drift. No doubt
          the work of some enterprising, opportunistic space
          pirates.</p>
          <p>The ship is broadcasting a weak SOS signal running a loop,
          but you pick up no other energy readings.</p>
          <p>There is a single lifeform reading on board. But you know
          from experience that such readings are notoriously unreliable
          in deep space where creatures of the vacuum often tread the
          thin line between life and death.</p>
          <p>You launch a jollyboat and cautiously approach the sea
          dragon. As your small craft enters its atmosphere, a putrid
          wind blows across you and its rank air fills your nostrils and
          lungs. The ship has been adrift for quite some time for its
          air to be this stale. Another short couple of weeks from now
          its air will become toxic to breathe.</p>
          <p>As you dock, the small woman rushes forward to greet you,
          hands flitting up and down like moths. Thin wisps of white
          hair peek around the edges of the shawl she has pulled up like
          a hood and wrapped around her shoulders. Her weathered taut
          skin gives her a gaunt, almost skeletal appearance. There is a
          painful looking crack running across her scalp, down her
          forehead, and over her face, splitting her features into two
          hemispheres. Her left eye is large and watery, and droops down
          her cheek like a runny egg yolk.</p>
          <p>“Oh thank you, thank you for stopping!” she wheezes in a
          raspy croak. “We were attacked by reavers and left to drift.
          We’ve been out here for weeks, and nobody would stop for us!
          Oh, we would have surely perished if you hadn’t come by!”</p>
          <p>“Oh, yes.” She notices you looking at her, and briefly
          attempts to hide her face behind a fluttering hand. “I have
          the Splitting Sickness, you see. It will be the end of me
          soon, I’m afraid. Nothing that can be done about it now.”</p>
          <p>“My granddaughter and I were on our way to Lua,” she
          continues, disappearing into the ship and beckoning you to
          follow. “Are you going that way by chance? I must deliver my
          granddaughter there. She is very sick, you see. And I believe
          the cure is to be found on the red moon.”</p>
          <p>The bridge is dark, save for the dim red glow of the floor
          lights and the strobing emergency lights. The old woman stops
          before a long glass box on a raised platform, inside which
          lies a young woman, eyes closed and still as death, as though
          deeply asleep.</p>
          <p>The old woman looks up at you, her cursed eye gleaming
          wetly and unblinking in the low light. “Will you help us?”</p>
          <p>WHAT DO YOU DO</p>
        ]]>
      </description>
    </item>
    <item>
      <title>74</title>
      <author>dozens@tilde.team (dozens)</author>
      <guid isPermaLink="false">74 - Tue, 21 Mar 2023 21:11:46
-0600</guid>
      <pubDate>Tue, 21 Mar 2023 21:11:46 -0600</pubDate>
      <description>
        <![CDATA[
          <h3 id="00074">00074</h3>
          <p>Blavin’s vouchers enable you to far exceed your modest
          budget for retrofitting the cyberplasm balloonship for space
          travel.</p>
          <p>Not only were you able to get a portable atmosphere and a
          starhelm from the ever resourceful Wandering Bazaar. But you
          were also able to mount a ballista on a turret in the center
          of the main deck so you can fire large bolts in nearly any
          direction. And even a mangonel on the top deck: a long range
          trebuchet that takes more time to load, aim, and fire; but
          which does considerably more damage than the shorter-range
          ballista.</p>
          <p>Above the Milk Market, a crew of Alex’s agents get the ship
          ready for departure. They have stoked the burners, and the
          resident sunspoke has happily filled the balloons with enough
          lift for the ship to start to pull and strain at its
          tethers.</p>
          <p>You cut the rope loose, and Vay’Nullar falls away beneath
          you as the ship rises into the sky.</p>
          <p>When the air becomes thinner and the sunspoke begins to
          sputter somewhat, you switch off the burner move the sunspoke
          into a cold locker in the galley to induce hibernation so that
          it doesn’t accidentally burn through your limited reserve of
          oxygen.</p>
          <p>You activate the portable atmosphere, a small block of
          newtonian covered with arcane runes and affixed to the cargo
          hold. Newtonian is an alchemical substance made of pure
          density. There are entire volumes in Nullar’s cosmic library
          devoted to the timelines that met an abrupt, violent end upon
          the discovery of the substance. Luckily, the alchemists of
          Basmentaria in your timeline were able to stabilize the
          element before all of creation collapsed into a singularity.
          And now it is commonplace for runewardens to attune small
          pieces of the stuff to spacefaring ships so that each ship is
          able to sustain its own unique gravity plane. In this way,
          each ship retains an amount of breathable atmosphere relative
          to its size; and starsailors are able to confidently walk
          along the top (and bottom!) of their craft.</p>
          <p>Next you head to the starhelm.</p>
          <p>Even when it comes to magic, there are certain principles
          that tend to hold true. One such princple—when it comes to
          starsailing, at least—is the conservation of energy. There are
          lots of different kinds of starhelms. But they all consume
          <em>something</em> in order to propel your ship across the
          stars.</p>
          <p>However endless the treasures of the Wandering Bazaar may
          seem, starhelms remain quite rare. You consider yourself lucky
          to find the one that you did. It could have been a costly
          Forgehelm, requiring constant fuel in the form of precious
          stones and powerful artifacts. Or an even more costly
          Bloodhelm, slowly siphoning away your life essence.</p>
          <p>Yes, all things considered you could have done much worse
          than the Emotionhelm that you purchased. All that it requires
          of you to keep the ship on course is that you scream, rant and
          rave, and bawl and cry at it periodically.</p>
          <p>You imagine it ought to be quite therapeutic, actually.</p>
          <p>Portable atmosphere activated, and having fed the starhelm
          a bit of melancholia, the ship finally exits the planet’s
          atmosphere. Your crew takes down the balloons once they start
          to deflate and stores them in the cargo hold. And you set sail
          for Lua, the Red Lady.</p>
          <p>In the distance, you see a pod of gargantuan aetherwaels
          drifting through the void. Nearby, you see a small school of
          space guppies swim by and then quickly scatter as a space gull
          dives at them and tries to scoop up a quick meal.</p>
          <p>You have a couple day’s of travel ahead of you, and the
          very non-empty void of space on all sides of you.</p>
          <p>WHAT DO YOU DO?</p>
        ]]>
      </description>
    </item>
    <item>
      <title>75</title>
      <author>dozens@tilde.team (dozens)</author>
      <guid isPermaLink="false">75 - Mon, 27 Mar 2023 09:24:13
-0600</guid>
      <pubDate>Mon, 27 Mar 2023 09:24:14 -0600</pubDate>
      <description>
        <![CDATA[
          <h3 id="00075">00075</h3>
          <blockquote>
          <p>White blooms look on as Inky turns another page in the book
          they are reading, a purported bestseller luridly titled
          <em>The Secret Lives of Plants</em>. The olericulture guide
          before it had been more appealing, but it was something to do
          between meals and napping with an eye mask while holed up in
          the green room.</p>
          <p>While Confidence had been taking stock of provisions one
          night days before the ship’s departure, Inky had dropped in
          and not so covertly taken over a room with a higher ceiling
          near the cargo hold, beside an escape hatch. They brought in
          some grow lights the following evening and asked Confidence to
          help install them overhead after explaining their plan. Next,
          they loaded in some dwarf conifers and star magnolias in
          wheeled containers with weight compression. A nutrient
          solution pump connected to a timer and long hoses periodically
          watered and fed the trees. Near the door was an air filter,
          another useful item from the Wandering Bazaar. It monitored
          air quality and composition, and could extract various common
          gases from multiple inputs and pipe them to attached storage
          tanks. There were two tanks outside the room that were hooked
          up to the filter: a smaller one for excess carbon dioxide
          drawn from the atmosphere that can be released slowly in tiny
          concentrations back into the green room for the trees to
          absorb (or injected into water with a carbonator for fizzy
          drinks), and a larger one for extra oxygen produced by the
          trees and held in reserve. There was also another tank and an
          unused combinator on board to recombine hydrogen and
          oxygen.</p>
          <p>When the rest of the crew take turns to sleep or patrol the
          rest of the ship, Inky steps within hearing distance of the
          starhelm and activates the energy barrier around it. The
          barrier also blocks off sounds to maximise the energy directed
          at the helm.</p>
          <p>Standing back against a low wall enclosure, Inky begins to
          play on their violetti, channelling emotions through the
          lilting notes. The instrument itself was a bespoke affair, an
          early Yule indulgence years ago, and Inky had conferred at
          length with the luthier on their requirements and core design.
          In appearance it closely resembles a smaller, lighter violin
          while being an octave higher than most violins, making it a
          great accompaniment to a flute or piccolo in birdsong.
          However, instead of a mechanical nightingale solo, they feed
          the helm a selection of nursery ditties — falling bridges,
          black sheep, blind mice and the like. Sliding a few bars of
          Bubbytabbies at intervals for best measure. Nya nya.</p>
          </blockquote>
          <p>~</p>
          <blockquote>
          <p>Alex didn’t mind the travel, in fact, he enjoyed the
          cramped confines of his quarters. The limited world of their
          space ship a bubble, something he could control, and protect
          from the chaos that surrounded him. It was no different than
          the sailing he did planet side, something he had been fond of
          and his uncle had chided him for being so passionate about.
          Corraidhin would always titter on about Alex’s studies, and
          then he’d sneak off and sail out under the stars with Marvelo,
          and his uncle wouldn’t see hide or hair of him for a handful
          of nights.</p>
          <p>“If only you could see me now Uncle” Alex muttered as he
          sat behind a large leather bound chair in front of a large
          ornate desk strewn with star charts, and books on everything
          ranging from divination, to history, navigation, to munition
          manufacturing. Some of the titles were unsurprising “Starhelms
          &amp; You: A Guide to Starhelm maintenance”, “The Big Bang:
          Everything Delightful About Explosives”, but others were
          peculiar for Alex “Palmistry for Dummies”, “Superstitions DO
          Exist, and you’re NOT Paranoid!”, “Ancient Gods and Goddess of
          Basementaria”.</p>
          <p>Alex pushed the books, and loose notes, and maps away from
          him and placed his cup of coffee in their place. Cold, again.
          He stared into the dark depths of his favored drink, forlorn.
          He sighed, and made a gesture, and a small stag drone
          dislodged itself from amongst the papers and books and latched
          itself onto the coffee mug, warming it. “Thanks again” Alex
          muttered “What is this? Sixth time this cup?” he shook his
          head. He couldn’t focus.</p>
          <p>Since they started this trip he’d spent more and more time
          brooding over these books he’d collected before their
          departure, barely saying a word to Marv or the others even.
          The only one he seemed to communicate with on any sort of
          cadence was Inky. They never forgot to bring a cup of warming
          tea, floral and fruit notes, to stave off scurvy they’d
          said.</p>
          <p>“That does it!” Alex said to the room at large as he
          stands, and strides to the door of the cabin. He strides out
          into the star light, noting the crew has taken note of his
          sudden appearance. “At Ease!” he barks, and marches up to the
          starhelm and sits before it.</p>
          <p>The explitives come swift and fast. If it weren’t for the
          emotion reflector the crew and everyone in the galaxy would
          think rather poorly of Alex, but it felt good. “Neddas you son
          of a bitch, you and your cursed crystals, and all these snakes
          slithering around waiting to strike! Light burn each and every
          one of them!” and once Alex had let his anger burn, the tears
          came, strong and unrelenting. “I don’t know what to do uncle,
          you’re within grasp, but I don’t know how to help, or where to
          go.” and so it went, Alex wept until there were no more tears
          to weep, and the letter Inky had relayed from his uncle bore
          an unmistakable tear sodden rumpled look.</p>
          <p>When it was over, Alex rose, solemn and calm and meandered
          across the deck to the bowsprite to take in the empty uncaring
          void before him.</p>
          </blockquote>
          <p>The atmosphere of most starsails only last a couple weeks
          before the recycled air starts to get stale, and then noxious,
          and finally unbreathable. Consequently they often have to
          ‘refuel’ at planets and moons with breathable air whenever
          they pass by.</p>
          <p>Inky’s ship garden however has been keeping your air fresh
          and self-replenishing over the last couple of days. The crew
          are consequently well oxygenated, have been sleeping well, and
          lack the fatigue that most starsailors experience at this
          point in their journey.</p>
          <p>A pair of space gulls have apparently decided to hitch a
          ride on your ship, and can be found roosting on the mizzen
          mast when not hunting for space guppies. They have tried on
          occasion to steal food from some of the crew, with little
          consequence but an exasperated shooing away: space gulls are
          considered good luck, and they are never in any real danger
          from the crew.</p>
          <p>Keeping the starhelm well fed with various sundry emotions,
          you make good time, and are soon approaching the orbit of the
          green moon Selene. The moon itself is well out of the way, but
          your current path will take you through the Tears of Selene, a
          large asteroid cluster that trails along and fans out behind
          Selene as the moon orbits the planet. From the surface of the
          planet, it looks like a wide comet’s tail made of stars of
          various sizes. From here, it looks like a sea of asteroids of
          different shapes and sizes.</p>
          <p>There are a couple of asteroids in the Tears large enough
          to support permanent life. Pirate outposts, mostly. Or other
          parties looking to escape the law—or someone or something
          else—for one reason or another.</p>
          <p>You slow the ship down well below cruising speed to
          carefully navigate the Tears. You spot the fabled and
          notorious Rock of Brawl in the distance, a sprawling
          cosmopolitan city ruled by Scarlet Darling the Pirate King. It
          covers every inch of both the top and bottom of a large, flat
          asteroid at the center of the cluster.</p>
          <p>Cautiously you eventually emerge on the other side of the
          Tears. You see a derelict starsail adrift on the other side of
          the asteroids. It is in the shape of a seahorse with a tucked
          head, a crest fanning from the top of its head down its back,
          and a long tail tightly curled toward its front. It lists to
          the side and drifts seemingly without power, except for some
          strobing emergency lights behind the seahorse’s eyes,
          signaling distress.</p>
          <p>As you sail closer, you see what looks like a little old
          woman in a cloak and shawl on the helm waving and trying to
          hail you.</p>
          <p>WHAT DO YOU DO?</p>
        ]]>
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