2227 lines
107 KiB
Markdown
2227 lines
107 KiB
Markdown
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---
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title: Chapter 3
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created: Tue, 03 Jan 2023 15:47:21 -0700
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updated: Tue, 03 Jan 2023 15:47:22 -0700
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public: yes
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---
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## Chapter 3
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Chapter 3 of BASEMENT QUEST.
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Jump to:
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[38](#00038)
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[39](#00039)
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[40](#00040)
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[41](#00041)
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[42](#00042)
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[43](#00043)
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[44](#00044)
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[45](#00045)
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[46](#00046)
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[47](#00047)
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[48](#00048)
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[49](#00049)
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[50](#00050)
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[51](#00051)
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[52](#00052)
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[53](#00053)
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<!--
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do this:
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ls -1 src/epistolary/000{38..53}.md | xargs pandoc -f markdown -t markdown >> src/chapter3.md
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//-->
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#### 00038 {#00038}
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> The mission, party-wise, had been an abject failure.
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>
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> They had found the crystal, and Master Corraidhín had vanished. Inky
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> wasn't sure which was worse --- the appalling lack of water-resistant
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> fireworks surrounding the disappearance, or the bears' ceaseless
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> waterworks in grief over their ghostly counterparts. Said bears plus a
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> giant manta ray were eventually left with the remains of Inky's two
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> snack stashes. (The third was back on the *Diamond Howler*.) The
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> crystal was currently securely hidden away inside the Milk Market,
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> which was for the best. Inky was not about to drag around an inedible
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> melon that could potentially level entire cities, if the wizard's
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> hints about its power were true. The crystal-retrieval missions were a
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> cover anyway --- Inky had gotten what they were looking for. The
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> equipment and provisions sponsored by the Benefactor were a handy
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> bonus though.
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>
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> Inside the tent, Inky adds the finishing flourishes to a package and
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> places it to one side, next to two others of a similar size and a thin
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> envelope already piled inside a padded sack on the ground. The client
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> should be pleased. It had taken longer, but the result had been worth
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> the additional hassle. The envelope, on the other hand ... who knew
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> what had become of the previous one, sent in an impulsive fit of
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> post-dive haze once the ship had docked at the port town. Donning a
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> grey fedora, a worn light brown jacket, a flask kettle and a wooden
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> box with carrying straps, Inky the "Tiny" tea seller leisurely sets
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> off for the post office, sack in hand.
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>
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> It was still a bit strange --- if less shocking than the first time it
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> happened --- to speak in rabbiton with the postmistress at the
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> counter, although Inky couldn't actually detect any significant
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> differences from the common tongue besides occasionally being reminded
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> they shouldn't be able to understand the sounds at all. Rabbiton or
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> rabbitoff, hare mail couriers are among the fastest across Basmentaria
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> and will ensure any parcels and letters arrive at their recipients in
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> a timely manner. Due to their broad network and high delivery
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> confidence, letters without return addresses were no issue; they can
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> deliver with a valid recipient address, which they are able to verify
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> from an extensive series of registries and course codes before taking
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> the item. So it was that one such envelope containing yet another
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> somewhat unusual recipe was promptly delivered to the Milk Market's
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> ground floor on a blustery Boltday afternoon.
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>
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> Postage done, Inky wanders through one of the city's seedier
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> districts, peddling cups of hot tea along the way. This had become a
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> daily routine for a little over a month since the Sugrin Sea mission
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> (longer and more sporadically before that whenever the imp was in the
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> city), including a spontaneous fifteen-minute "Tiny Teatime" held in
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> open areas such as small parks, or occasionally in a back alley
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> between several crowded residences. The tea happening had initially
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> been a whimsical response to *Teatime with Tanokuma* and still
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> regularly attracted children when iced drinks were served during the
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> summertime.
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>
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> Rows of slightly crooked houses sandwiched among acacia trees line a
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> narrow, winding lane. Inky passes the elderly playing tabula
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> surrounded by a small group of onlookers, people chewing on sweet
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> lemongrass or peeling vegetables, hanging up laundry on colourful
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> lines made of scrap rags, children laughing and chasing soapy bubbles
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> with wands dripping from laundry water, and all sorts of activity that
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> made houses into homes. Many of them were frank about not having any
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> spare coins for extras like speciality teas brewed "just like them
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> shops", but gladly accepted a steaming bamboo cup upon realising they
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> needn't pay, if sometimes a little suspiciously at first. Instead of
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> coin, they held a rich font of stories, local legends, folk remedies,
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> cooking methods, insider tip-offs and rumours, which they were often
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> eager to impart to an attentive audience.
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>
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> Some of the passer-by were always in a hurry, downing the tea as
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> though it were a shot of hard liquor before retrieving a handful of
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> loose coins from a pocket or sock. When Inky smiled and told them
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> there was no charge, most would return a puzzled look or uncertain
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> smile, or roll their eyes, and drop a copper coin into a slot on the
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> lid of the box anyway. A few had promptly walked off wordlessly with
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> snickering faces, as though they had gotten away with something
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> clever. Regardless, it was one of the best ways to see and observe a
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> bustling metropolis. No one took any particular notice of young
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> urchins and vendors selling refreshments, flowers and various trinkets
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> on the streets.
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>
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> Likewise no one witnessed a tea seller pause near one of the windows
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> at the back of Enrique's Empanada Emporium late in the day. For a
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> while they watch the chef within in action, clearly in his element,
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> before reluctantly pulling away and retreating quietly up the stairs
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> to the second floor. They should wash up and see if their marketing
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> manager is in the mood for some takeout and Terrapin Ale this evening.
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\~
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> Background: Alex isn't young, but in comparison to his whizzened uncle
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> Corraidhin he's the depiction of youth. He has jet black hair and
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> alert blue eyes, and a quiet serenity about him that gives one pause,
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> as though he's constantly calculating. He gives into his passions
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> quickly however, and becomes rather animated when his emotions break
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> loose. He'll be the first to curse his uncle for his foolish
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> endeavors, never quite understanding the sysorcerer's way. Early in
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> life, after the death of his parents, Corraidhin took him under his
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> wing and tried in vain to teach him the ways of magical systems
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> administration. Much to Corraidhin, it only resulted in damaged
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> systems, and a rift with his nephew.
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>
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> It took years to recover from that, but eventually the two grew close
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> again, though distant nonetheless. That closeness reflects itself in
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> the situation Alex finds himself in now, a mysterious alert from some
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> overly contrived magical system, ruining his perfectly good winning
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> streak. It's not that he was necessary bad at all of that stuff, it
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> just, wasn't as much fun as gambling. And it certainly wasn't as
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> exhillerating as writing malware.
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>
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> Breaking into a system, smashing it to bites and pieces, watching the
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> carefully wrought design burn in amber and green, now THAT was magic.
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>
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> META: Alex is like Corraidhin in some aspects, he's younger, more
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> brash, more given to whim and fancy. He's somewhat greedy and craven,
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> attracted to riches far too easily. He's a passionate gambler, not due
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> to his skill, but by virtue of his ability to distract and confuse,
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> which gives him a delightful edge. Some would call it lucky, but he
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> calls it subterfuge. He has some sysorcerer skills, nothing quite as
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> flexible as Corraidhin, but he delightfully wreaks havoc with worms,
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> scrapers, ransom & spyware. If he can't bypass something, he'll
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> delightfully destroy it. If he can't break in, he'll distract someone
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> or something so he can slip by.
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>
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> (Think rogue + illusion magic, where Corraidhin is straight Wizard)
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>
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> Introduction: Kev, just give it to me straight, the hell does this
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> Deadman's trigger mean. You can't have a service like that flap, it's
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> a boolean, you're either dead or your not. And don't try to lie to me,
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> I'm not some project managing schmuck, you know full and well Uncle
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> Corraidhin taught me. I know enough to tell when you're lying.
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>
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> (Kevin) Ah, well, umm. Yes I suppose that's true. You can't be dead
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> and not. It's just not an option. But Zabbix doesn't lie! It's what
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> monitors your Uncle's life force, the state of his infrastructure so
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> to speak. Look check your own, there's nothing to indicate any issue
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> with you, but your uncle's fluxuates consistently. None of his other
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> state checks are failing though! So it could just be a problem with
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> his Deadman's trigger code.
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>
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> Absolutely not. Corraidhin might be a flighty fool, but he's not
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> someone who would deploy faulty code to production. There's no way in
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> hell it would get past his linter, let alone all of the QA he does
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> before it even gets that far. Look, what the hell did you drag him
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> into, you know exactly what he gets up to, just point me in his
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> direction so I can get this shit over with.
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>
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> (Kevin) Hmm, he didn't really want me to talk about it, but last I saw
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> him, he was babbling on and on about some magical Json sword or
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> something. I couldn't quite keep up with it.
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>
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> You were trying to get him to buy into KDL again weren't you?
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>
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> (Kevin) It's a good language I swear, and if your uncle had just..
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> (Alex cuts him off)
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>
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> Hush it. What did the sword look like, where was he headed?
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>
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> (Kevin) *sigh* it was large, with a ruby hilt, and a magical eye of
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> some sort. I'm certain if you just ask around you'll find it. Just ask
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> about the sysorcerer who mutters to his sword, that's how the poor
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> bastard is remembered around here these days.
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>
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> With this information Alex departed the Sysorcerer's guild in search
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> of his Uncle. As he asked around town, people shied away. Nasty
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> business talking about that one, they'd tell him. A few mentioned
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> something about an attack, and a dagger and bloodlust the likes of
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> which they'd only heard from the bard at their local tavern. None of
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> this sounded like the Uncle he remembered, but he followed the trail
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> until it lead him to the Milk Maid.
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>
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> As Alex checked around for someone, anyone who seemed to be in the
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> know, he spotted Inky, serving tea as she watched the ongoings at the
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> Empanada shop near the Milk Maid.
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>
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> Excuse me, miss? You wouldn't have happened to seen my Uncle, he's an
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> old whizened fellow. Constantly harrumphs and goes on and on endlessly
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> about some magical script, or how much he hates the School of
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> Powershell. I haven't been able to find him, and I've been looking all
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> over the city for the better part of 3 days. Note even his best friend
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> Kevin at the Sysorcer's guild knew where he was, and I'm just, I'm at
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> a bit of a loss..
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>
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> *sigh* I'm sorry to just unload on your like that. If you don't know
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> him that's okay, I'd be happy to pay for a cup of tea for your time.
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\~
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> *(Two days prior)*
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>
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> An office, barely illuminated by the glow of a moonstone lamp.
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>
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> An elf attired in red silk dress robes with a shimmering pattern of
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> butterflies, a red floral picture hat and matching high heel boots
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> lounged in the visitor's chair in front of a heavy wooden desk. The
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> charms dangling from her wrist circlets tinkled as she reached for a
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> teacup. A silver tray was placed to one side of the desk with a pot of
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> maghrebi francus, two porcelain cups and a bowl of sugar cubes. The
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> remaining surface was mostly covered by a map of Basmentaria, the
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> moonstone lamp and a short stack of books. Behind the desk sat an imp
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> in a midnight blue suit, a dart pen balanced on the edge of two
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> fingers of one hand, while the other tapped a silent rhythm on the
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> pineapple leather armrest.
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>
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> The lady in dress robes spoke first. "I made some inquiries. That
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> sysorcerer acquaintance of yours seems to be stuck in some sort of
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> spatial-temporal loop. The anomalies are usually salvageable given
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> time and expert attention. His nephew is out looking for him now." She
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> hands the imp a sheet with a drawing of a pensive but bright-eyed
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> young man with dark hair, and several lines of notes below. "How are
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> things at your end?"
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>
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> "The situation is tenable for the moment. One checked, another
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> disengaged. Between the wizard and bard, Blackfoot will think twice
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> before making any more untoward moves. One of the waiters at the club
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> said the bard gave him a little dressing-down after the stabbing. He
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> was practically shaking in his boots by the end of it."
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>
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> The elf laughed. "I read your earlier missive. Slipping a catalyst
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> into a milk pudding to stir up a bloodthirsty sword? I guess you were
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> pretty sure the thirst wouldn't get out of hand and kill the hobbit
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> outright."
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>
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> "Not entirely, but the good wizard would fight it with considerable
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> strength of will. That guild of his may be full of white hats too busy
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> with their petty squabbling over semantics to see trouble looming
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> until it smacked them in their faces, but they have their principles
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> and will not give in easily when challenged." The imp grimaced. "An
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> unpleasant matter but arguably a necessity. It was only a matter of
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> time before the cursed sword would find itself a target. May as well
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> put evil to good use."
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>
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> "You did what you had to do, Ink. And that sailor with the gold eye?"
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>
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> "Met with an unfortunate ... accident. Securing the crystal would have
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> been sufficient, but the horkosgrampus weren't terribly impressed with
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> him. The Benefactor should be relieved. Men of their ilk would sooner
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> sell to the highest bidder." The pen twirled in their hand once,
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> twice, before pausing with the nib pointing downward at a spot on the
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> map. The imp continued, "All the more reason to move as soon as the
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> young man finds his uncle. Kelsun Peak, most likely."
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>
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> "Right. I'll let the others know if anything happens." She rose to her
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> heels in a whisper of brocade silks. "Do you want an antidote for ...
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> ?" She gestured with a slim, graceful hand framed in delicate strands
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> of the gold bracelets towards her companion.
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>
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> The imp inclined their head slightly in grateful acknowledgement. "No
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> need. The condition is relatively harmless and reversing the effects
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> now might raise suspicion. The postmistress at the Hutcheon Lane
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> branch of Leplus Post was very tickled by it."
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>
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> "I see. So that's how it is." she replied with undisguised mirth. The
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> imp ignored her smirk. "Please see to it the preparations are carried
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> out. The fate of your beloved operetta house may well depend upon it."
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>
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> "You would never!" The elven lady exclaimed in mock affront. "No, I
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> wouldn't, even though it is the bane of all fine glassware. However,
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> if the crystals came to less discerning hands ..." They shared a
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> solemn look before the elf nodded and swept out of the room, leaving
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> the cloying scent of violets in her path.
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>
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> \~
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>
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> Inky gestures wordlessly for the young wizard to follow them upstairs
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> to the second floor of the Milk Market, heading straight for the room
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> at one end of a long hallway.
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>
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> As Inky enters, their small and fluffy marketing manager pops its head
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> out of the wooden tub of water standing to one side of the room. "We
|
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> have a visitor!" Inky cheerfully tells the duck. Their marketing
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> manager looks back at them both and says, "QUACK!"
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>
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> Inky turns back to the young man with a smile. "Please have a seat.
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> How may we address you? Tea? No charge for Master Corraidhín's nephew,
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> of course."
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>
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> Once seated on some cushions thrown over a slightly ratty tartan rug
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> and having poured out a steaming cup of mandarin pekoe for each of
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> them, Inky begins, "So, about your uncle. The good news is, we know
|
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> him. The bad news is, we knew him." They then proceed to recount the
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> events of their latest mission at the site of a shipwreck out in the
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> Sugrin Sea, and the elder sysorcerer's disappearance.
|
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|
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Prelude:
|
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|
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A fringe movement of lunatic paleornithologists and crackpots of various
|
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other professions has slowly been gaining traction over the last few
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decades. The movement was born when the enterprising Modern Fuchsia, at
|
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the time a budding young scientist on a dig yearning to make a name for
|
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himself, found the fossil of a modern feathered bird---probably some
|
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kind of swallow---alongside a theropod, that variety of dinosaur widely
|
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|
accepted to be the ancestor of modern birds. Faced with what he believed
|
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to be irrefutable evidence of a modern descendant coexisting alongside
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|
its own ancient ancestor, Fuchsia arrived at the only conclusion he was
|
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|
capable of making: Birds Are Not Dinosaurs. And thus BAND came into
|
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being.
|
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Ever since, Fuschia and his BANDits have spent considerable amounts of
|
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|
time and energy attending conferences and publishing papers, pouting and
|
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|
demanding to be taken seriously by the wider scientific community. A
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community which, if it pays them any attention at all, merely mocks and
|
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|
ridicules their crackpot theories.
|
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|
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Modern Fuschia is of course wrong. But neither he nor his BANDits know
|
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|
how dangerously close he came to the actual truth.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
For much, much deeper in the shadowy fringes of paleornithology, there
|
|||
|
is a clandestine operation called BATT. And only BATT knows the actual
|
|||
|
explanation for how a modern descendant might coexist alongside its own
|
|||
|
ancestor. Birds Are Time Travelers.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
In the far future when birds are the dominant intelligent life on
|
|||
|
Basmentaria, they do indeed invent time travel. The end result was
|
|||
|
catastrophic and is the real reason that the dinosaurs went extinct.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
It is a common misconception that barn swallows are the most common and
|
|||
|
widespread species of swallow. That distinction in fact belongs to the
|
|||
|
*time swallow*. Although---if you're lucky---you'll never actually see
|
|||
|
one. Since the Incident, the secret agents of BATT have vowed never
|
|||
|
again to interfere with or try to alter the time stream. Nor to allow
|
|||
|
anyone else to. The time swallows are special bred, special trained,
|
|||
|
appearing wherever and whenever an anomaly appears to remove it and
|
|||
|
restore the proper timeline. The tiny birds quite literally swallow,
|
|||
|
consume, and destroy anything that meddles with time.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
At their headquarters, in the present day, BATT Director Purple Martin
|
|||
|
is delivering a report to his superior. Martin has a throaty and rich
|
|||
|
voice of which he is self-conscious in the presence of his superior's
|
|||
|
persistent silence.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"We have successfully extracted the sysorcerer and have repaired the
|
|||
|
anomaly. The subject is currently under the care of Felixe and is
|
|||
|
expected to make a full recovery. In his possession were a couple of
|
|||
|
interesting artifacts. One Class C sentient object, a sword. And a piece
|
|||
|
of exotica of unknown origin. Our researchers so far suspect that it is
|
|||
|
a sort of reliquary containing both elemental and divine arcana. The
|
|||
|
xot's physical manifestation---a crystalline ore---thus far prevents us
|
|||
|
from determining the precise identity of the arcana."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Director Purple Martin is delivering this report to a lanky, thin man
|
|||
|
folded into an armchair. He wears thin, wire spectacles with round
|
|||
|
lenses, and dangles a walking stick over the arm of the chair as he
|
|||
|
sits. He interrupts Martin with a rare utterance. "The reliquary. I
|
|||
|
shall like to see it."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Now then:
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Retrieval Team 43 welcomes Alex into their ranks even as they mourn the
|
|||
|
loss of Corraidhín the Wizened.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
It starts off as a somber affair at Lucy's as you all sit around your
|
|||
|
regular table, ensconced and wedged into a corner surrounded on two
|
|||
|
sides by the red velvet curtains that line the walls.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
But then the hobbit joins you.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Blavin Blandfoot orders a round of drinks in tribute to Corraidhín. And
|
|||
|
then another round of drinks to welcome his nephew Alex. "A family
|
|||
|
affair, is it not!" And then another round of drinks because he is
|
|||
|
thirsty.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
The hobbit is in high spirits, brimming with flair and good cheer. His
|
|||
|
arm is fully healed from the attack over a month ago at this very table.
|
|||
|
His fond memories and frequent toasts to the sysorcerer make no
|
|||
|
reference to the incident.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"The Benefactor is immensely pleased with your performance so far!" He
|
|||
|
punches a new hole in your Frequent Retrieval cards. "You are one step
|
|||
|
closer to winning a FABULOUS PRIZE! I don't mind telling you I'm a
|
|||
|
little jealous. Assuming you go the distance, of course. I mean who
|
|||
|
doesn't love hot dogs and hot tubs!" He winks conspiratorially at you.
|
|||
|
"To say nothing of actually getting to meet the Benefactor! Just
|
|||
|
imagine!"
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
After a few more drinks he eventually clears a space on the table and
|
|||
|
rolls out a map of Basmentaria. "We once again have two reports of a
|
|||
|
crystal spotting!" He jabs a finger at the mountain range in northern
|
|||
|
Primora. "The first, as you know, has been reported by the zephynos high
|
|||
|
atop Kelsun Peak."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"The second," his voice quivers with excitement. He looks up at you
|
|||
|
wide-eyed and gestures away from the map into open space. "Is on the
|
|||
|
moon!"
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Seated a couple tables away from you is the same trio who were present
|
|||
|
the last time you all met here: a dusty groll, a matted gnu, and a
|
|||
|
curious Ornithologer. The observant among you, if you happened to look,
|
|||
|
would notice that the Ornithologer wears a pinkish purplish red armband
|
|||
|
with the word BAND on it. They listen to your proceedings with great
|
|||
|
interest while trying really hard to look like they're not listening.
|
|||
|
After Blavin's final proclamation, the trio finishes their drinks,
|
|||
|
stands, and starts to leave the dining room.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
WHAT DO YOU DO
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
- Do you give the second crystal to Blavin?
|
|||
|
- Do you choose to go to Kelsun Peak, or to the moon?
|
|||
|
- Who is the Lady in Red and what does she want?
|
|||
|
- Will Corraidhín recover in the care of Felixe?
|
|||
|
- Who does the Director of BATT report to and what do they want with
|
|||
|
the 1st Crystal?
|
|||
|
- What's the deal with the Ornithologer's Trio?
|
|||
|
- Who left you the note signed with an iris and apple?
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Find out next time on BASEMENT QUEST
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
[www](https://framalistes.org/sympa/arc/tildepals/2022-11/msg00097.html)
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
#### 00039 {#00039}
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
> Alex silently observes the party and this foolish hobbit, before him
|
|||
|
> three untouched drinks have accumulated. He's a little less
|
|||
|
> enthusiatic about taking drink from strangers, too much risk in that.
|
|||
|
> As Blavin describes this crystal, whatever it may be, he catches a
|
|||
|
> glimpse of the pinkish purplish armband on the party across from them.
|
|||
|
> They don't look out of place given the patrons at the tavern, but he's
|
|||
|
> certain they were listening in on the animated conversation of the
|
|||
|
> hobbit. It could be nothing, or it coule be connected to Corraidhin,
|
|||
|
> best to put a bug on them Alex thinks.
|
|||
|
>
|
|||
|
> Silently beneath the table and out of site Alex prepares a bug and
|
|||
|
> sets it off to follow the person with the armband. Once the bug
|
|||
|
> catches up to the part it's programmed to perform a tcpdump and
|
|||
|
> capture information streaming around it, and then report back to Alex
|
|||
|
> once full. By no means a perfect method of spying, but it's low energy
|
|||
|
> and can be maintained from great distances without taxing Alex's
|
|||
|
> energy.
|
|||
|
>
|
|||
|
> As Blavin comes back to the group from his grandoise space commentary
|
|||
|
> Alex begins to question him.
|
|||
|
>
|
|||
|
> Enough of your theatrics hobbit. Tell me about the mark, you've
|
|||
|
> obviously tipped off the entire tavern as to the whereabouts of
|
|||
|
> whatever it is you're looking for, so give us an edge, something those
|
|||
|
> evesdroppers a table over don't have. And cut this tripe about your
|
|||
|
> benefactor, who is he, and what does he want with this magical
|
|||
|
> baubbles.
|
|||
|
>
|
|||
|
> As Alex finishes his questions he sits quietly for a moment staring
|
|||
|
> down Blavin.
|
|||
|
>
|
|||
|
> During this outburts, as all eyes turn to Blavin for his response,
|
|||
|
> Alex casts yet another bug. This one sneaks onto the personage of
|
|||
|
> Blavin himself. Programmed the same way.
|
|||
|
>
|
|||
|
> We'll get information from someone, subtle, or not if needed.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
\~
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
> Inky watches with faint amusement as a magical device, likely a probe,
|
|||
|
> found its way onto their mission handler.
|
|||
|
>
|
|||
|
> Inky might have missed the slight movement under the table if they
|
|||
|
> weren't waiting for it, having received word of the younger wizard's
|
|||
|
> penchant for pre-emptive offence magic. As it were, the offices and
|
|||
|
> surrounding premises were routinely swept for similar devices, a more
|
|||
|
> recent example of which had been placed in plain sight by an
|
|||
|
> overzealous tabloid writer hoping to pick up an exclusive reveal. The
|
|||
|
> quality of the contraption, which had immediately fallen apart when
|
|||
|
> detached from its gum adhesive on the back of a glass vase, had been
|
|||
|
> almost insulting.
|
|||
|
>
|
|||
|
> It seems Blackfoot hadn't learned his lesson after all, and if Alex
|
|||
|
> was keen to give him a reminder, Inky had no objection. As Blavin
|
|||
|
> takes another swig from his sixth drink of the evening, the waitress
|
|||
|
> smiling at him with a wink as she set down their glasses before
|
|||
|
> skating away to take another order (Inky made sure tip her liberally
|
|||
|
> for the attentive service), Inky let their line of sight flicker to a
|
|||
|
> fuchsia-coloured band on a departing customer's arm.
|
|||
|
>
|
|||
|
> Inky smiles internally at the sight --- they can almost hear Beaker's
|
|||
|
> crow of dismay. The poor kingfisher had been under increased pressure
|
|||
|
> of late from other scientific associations and prominent speakers to
|
|||
|
> exclude BAND from presenting at one of the largest annual ornithology
|
|||
|
> conferences of the year on accusations of spreading misinformation and
|
|||
|
> junk science in addition to attempting to erase the history of native
|
|||
|
> bird tribes. There had been a huge row, which ended with the BANDits
|
|||
|
> storming off, yelling about "the proof being crystal clear" and that
|
|||
|
> they will bring "ancient arcane evidence". The Alcedinian researcher
|
|||
|
> had lamented the halcyon days when conferences were avenues for
|
|||
|
> scientific exchange, not twittering soapboxes. Not that anyone who had
|
|||
|
> ever tried to arrange any gathering of birds of a feather really
|
|||
|
> thought things simply glided along smoothly before. However, the
|
|||
|
> advent of dedicated carrier pigeon networks had made it easier to
|
|||
|
> relay research to and from smaller communities, opening the pathways
|
|||
|
> for their participation, including a few somewhat Controversial fringe
|
|||
|
> groups like BAND.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Alex attempts to shake down the hobbit, who titters merrily at his
|
|||
|
demands.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"You know nearly everything I do, dear! Your *mark* as you put it,"
|
|||
|
Blaven theatrically drops his voice as he looks around for
|
|||
|
eavesdroppers, "would be the zephynos of Kelsun Peak should you choose
|
|||
|
to go that route.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"If you choose to go to the moon, you'll have a harder go of it," he
|
|||
|
frowns. He flips the map over and draws four circles in a straight line.
|
|||
|
They have the proportions of a grapefruit, an orange, a tangerine, and
|
|||
|
an orange. He jabs a finger at the grapefruit. "This is us, here,
|
|||
|
earth." He points at the two oranges and the tangerine. "And these are
|
|||
|
our planet's moons." He points to them in order. "Selene, the Green
|
|||
|
Lady. Moonmoon. And Lua, the Red Lady. Recently, as you well know, we
|
|||
|
had a super eclipse in which these four bodies and the sun all lined up
|
|||
|
in perfect alignment. The combined magnetic pull of the spheres allowed
|
|||
|
a rare commingling of the ionic spheres, and our instruments were able
|
|||
|
to detect the crystal somewhere out there in space. If I were to bet on
|
|||
|
it, I would put my money on Lua." He points to the farthest moon, the
|
|||
|
Red Lady, with its own tiny satellite, Moonmoon. He looks up at you and
|
|||
|
explains, "She's far enough away that her ionosphere would never make
|
|||
|
contact with ours except for in this particular, rare circumstance.
|
|||
|
That's why the crystal has escaped our detection for so long."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"As for the Benefactor!" He brightens up. "He's a magnificent fellow as
|
|||
|
you well know! A renowned collector. His wishes are to preserve the
|
|||
|
crystals and protect them (and us!) from their misuse or mishandling! He
|
|||
|
has a hot tub!" he winks at you. "Speaking of crystals," he adds as an
|
|||
|
afterthought, taking another sip of his drink, "why don't you hand that
|
|||
|
crystal over to me and I'll deliver it to the Benefactor. That is what
|
|||
|
he's paying you for after all!"
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
```{=html}
|
|||
|
<!--
|
|||
|
Meta: Alex rolls Investigation 2 on the Ornithologer Trio
|
|||
|
4, 5 = Mixed Success
|
|||
|
//-->
|
|||
|
```
|
|||
|
The Ornithologer's Trio leaves Lucy's Basement quite oblivious to their
|
|||
|
bug. The Ornithologer turns out to be the orator of their little group,
|
|||
|
ranting about the conspiracy, the attempted cover up, about how Big
|
|||
|
Science wants to convince you that birds are dinosaurs but they're just
|
|||
|
pulling the wool over your eyes. The truth is right there in the fossil
|
|||
|
record for crying out loud! All you have to do is look for yourself.
|
|||
|
Nobody these days wants to *think* is the problem. They just get their
|
|||
|
information from the authorities and take it as gospel, but they don't
|
|||
|
see that the authorities have adopted a narrative that suits their own
|
|||
|
ends.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
At which point the groll interjects and asks what is the end goal of Big
|
|||
|
Science, and how exactly does convincing the proletariat that birds are
|
|||
|
dinosaurs help achieve it?
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
The BANDit scowls and answers, Look, you just don't get it, okay!
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
The three split up and go their separate ways and disappear into the
|
|||
|
night.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
You learn the following, one of which is true, one of which is false,
|
|||
|
and one of which is meaningless.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
1. BAND plans to intercept the CRYSTAL of VOID and use it to petition
|
|||
|
the Insatiable Wyrm for definitive proof that Birds Are Not
|
|||
|
Dinosaurs. In this way they shall shame their fellow
|
|||
|
paleornithologists and earn their rightful place at the table of Big
|
|||
|
Science, which they have spent decades undermining.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
2. The Gnu Zealots intend to reverse engineer the power of the
|
|||
|
crystals, create a newborn godling, and then release their findings,
|
|||
|
thus laying the foundation of the world's first truly open source
|
|||
|
religion
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
3. The trio seeks the crystals not at all, but in fact search for
|
|||
|
Sitopotnia, creator and progenitor of the entire amaizeon
|
|||
|
race---including corbits, aurs, centaurs, and others---and the only
|
|||
|
mortal in the history of Basmentaria to successfully take the mantle
|
|||
|
of creation from the overgods.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
```{=html}
|
|||
|
<!--
|
|||
|
Meta: Alex rolls Investigation 2 on Blaven
|
|||
|
1, 3 = Things go poorly, gain 1 xp
|
|||
|
//-->
|
|||
|
```
|
|||
|
Meanwhile, Blaven slips out into the early, early morning carrying his
|
|||
|
own bug. He whistles tunelessly to himself as he sails down the street
|
|||
|
with a wide and veering but surprisingly steady gait.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Once he gets a few blocks away, his gait narrows and his step becomes
|
|||
|
more lively, a bit jaunty. He stands upright and ceases whistling. All
|
|||
|
signs of drunkenness disappear as he tugs on his sleeves and straightens
|
|||
|
his vest, and runs a hand through his hair.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
He meets a goblin catcher in the street going the other way, wearily
|
|||
|
making his way home after a long night's work. He wears a tiny goblin in
|
|||
|
a glass jar around his neck, as is the signifier of his trade. And he
|
|||
|
carries over his shoulder a large cloth sack, the contents of which
|
|||
|
writhe and kick. Looks like it was a productive night for our goblin
|
|||
|
catcher! Blaven gives him a little bow and a salute, laughs, and pats
|
|||
|
him on the back in passing, deftly transferring the bug. "Good night for
|
|||
|
it then ey?" he calls cheerily. The goblin catcher smiles politely,
|
|||
|
mumbles a nicety, and carries on.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Later, hidden safely away from spying eyes and listening ears, Blaven
|
|||
|
sits at his desk, putting the final flourishes on a missive. He sits
|
|||
|
back and re-reads it to himself, lips moving silently. He nods and
|
|||
|
smiles, satisfied, and reaches for a stamp to sign the letter. He
|
|||
|
presses it into a dark red ink pad and then onto the parchment, leaving
|
|||
|
the image of an apple and iris. He sands the paper, carefully folds it,
|
|||
|
and places it in an envelope.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
WHAT DO YOU DO
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Note: Feel free to back up and play out some more conversation at Lucy's
|
|||
|
before Blavin leaves if you want to.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Options on the table:
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
- To the mountains!
|
|||
|
- To the moon!
|
|||
|
- Something else!
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
[www](https://framalistes.org/sympa/arc/tildepals/2022-11/msg00103.html)
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
#### 00040 {#00040}
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
> As Blavin finished his afterthought about handing over the crystal, a
|
|||
|
> yelp was the only warning they heard before a young waiter was
|
|||
|
> suddenly half-sprawled over the hobbit, a tray of ginger beers toppled
|
|||
|
> from his hand and the mugs' contents splashed onto the hobbit's front,
|
|||
|
> though fortunately some of it ended up in a large puddle on the ground
|
|||
|
> rather than on Blavin's person. The waiter had tripped over a bag on
|
|||
|
> the floor on his way to the table two over from theirs and was
|
|||
|
> scrambling to his feet.
|
|||
|
>
|
|||
|
> "By Nullar's nuts, I--- OH SH------!! S-s-sorry, sir! Hold on, l-lemme
|
|||
|
> get--- uh---" the waiter looked around frantically. The waitress who
|
|||
|
> had brought their drinks rushed over with some clean dry towels, a few
|
|||
|
> of which she handed to the other waiter, and they both proceeded to
|
|||
|
> wipe and dab at Blavin's damp clothes amid the hapless waiter's
|
|||
|
> babbled apologies. Under the cover of the towels, the waitress patted
|
|||
|
> down the hobbit's vest and replaced the sheaf of papers she had
|
|||
|
> covertly lifted from one of the vest pockets earlier with a beguiling
|
|||
|
> smile and wink. Once the beer on the floor had been cleaned up (the
|
|||
|
> despondent young waiter had offered to pay for Blavin's next two
|
|||
|
> rounds of drinks) and the waiters had moved on to serve other
|
|||
|
> customers, Inky spoke.
|
|||
|
>
|
|||
|
> "You don't mind that we prefer to deliver it to the Benefactor
|
|||
|
> personally, of course," Inky piped cheerily, referring to the crystal.
|
|||
|
> "The late wizard thought it was prudent to cover our bases since
|
|||
|
> you're a new, untested case manager after all. Besides, a little
|
|||
|
> delayed gratification never hurt anybody, did it?" Inky smiled and
|
|||
|
> raised their drink. "Another toast in tribute to Master Corraidhín!
|
|||
|
> May his courage and buoyant spirit guide us on our next mission!"
|
|||
|
>
|
|||
|
> \~
|
|||
|
>
|
|||
|
> When Inky stepped out of the tavern and was a few paces away, someone
|
|||
|
> clattered through the door and called out, "Hey! You forgot your
|
|||
|
> takeout!"
|
|||
|
>
|
|||
|
> Inky turned in the direction of the voice. It was the waitress who had
|
|||
|
> served their table earlier. She waved a brown paper bag in one hand.
|
|||
|
> Inky gave her an embarrassed smile and said, "Thanks." As the bag
|
|||
|
> changed hands, the waitress mouthed soundlessly, *We'll report any
|
|||
|
> more.* She went back inside, and Inky strolled off into the cool night
|
|||
|
> air with the bag securely tucked away next to a tea pouch and a more
|
|||
|
> pressing question: what blend would go best with fried tofurkey balls?
|
|||
|
>
|
|||
|
> \~
|
|||
|
>
|
|||
|
> *(Meanwhile)*
|
|||
|
>
|
|||
|
> "The BANDit and his associates had gone to the tavern." His assistant
|
|||
|
> looked up from the scrap of paper held under a claw.
|
|||
|
>
|
|||
|
> Beaker heaved a sigh and rubbed the tips of one wing against his
|
|||
|
> forehead. Surely he had better things to do than play Eye Spy over a
|
|||
|
> bunch of crackpots, such as peer reviewing the latest draft of a paper
|
|||
|
> on the development of Cerylidian hunting techniques for an upcoming
|
|||
|
> issue of *The Ichnition*. But Cio seemed to think something may come
|
|||
|
> of it and unfortunately, she was usually right about troublemakers.
|
|||
|
>
|
|||
|
> "Tell them to continue tailing from a distance," he replied with a
|
|||
|
> distracted wave, and his assistant left the room.
|
|||
|
>
|
|||
|
> Anyway, if he had the spare time, he could look at more interesting
|
|||
|
> things, like the data he had collected surrounding the disappearance
|
|||
|
> of the time anomaly that had popped up a few weeks ago. It had
|
|||
|
> happened gradually, and he still wasn't entirely sure what had caused
|
|||
|
> this particular incident, but the signals picked up by his instruments
|
|||
|
> had later faded, just like other ones before it. Still, it was
|
|||
|
> comparatively larger than previous ones, and seemed to have taken
|
|||
|
> slightly longer to dissipate, which meant more data points.
|
|||
|
>
|
|||
|
> He stole another glance at his Dat repositories before sighing again,
|
|||
|
> swivelling his chair and attention back to the manuscript before him.
|
|||
|
> Work first ... then more work.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
\~
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
> The party dispersed after the discussion with Blavin. Nobody had
|
|||
|
> wanted to relinquish the crystal to him, personally Alex felt that was
|
|||
|
> prudent, though he still wasn't sure what the point of it all was. The
|
|||
|
> foolish hobbit had blathered on and on about their "mark" tactfully
|
|||
|
> ignoring the real questions. And then the bug, damn it, the bug that
|
|||
|
> chittered on about absolutely nothing for hours. It didn't take Alex
|
|||
|
> too long to figure out why, but he clung to the transmission until it
|
|||
|
> died out hoping he'd be mistaken.
|
|||
|
>
|
|||
|
> So there he sat, in the attic of his once Uncle, staring bleakly into
|
|||
|
> a cup of dark black coffee. The desk strewn with hastily scratched
|
|||
|
> notes pulled from the bugs feeds. At least the one that had tracked
|
|||
|
> that nosey group had proved somewhat helpful. Turns out this little
|
|||
|
> group has less friends than a drunk who's run up their tab.
|
|||
|
>
|
|||
|
> Still, there's no point to share any of this information. It's too
|
|||
|
> loose, not definitive enough to action with the group.
|
|||
|
>
|
|||
|
> Alex begins to pen a message to an fellow operative, in hopes that HQ
|
|||
|
> will pick it up and assign someone to the task.
|
|||
|
>
|
|||
|
> <- OP 2817 * LOC MB-A
|
|||
|
> -> OP 25120 * LOC ESPER
|
|||
|
>
|
|||
|
> CLEARANCE: SECRET
|
|||
|
> PACKET ENCLOSED. YOUR EYES ONLY.
|
|||
|
>
|
|||
|
> REQUESTING DETAIL ON BLAVIN
|
|||
|
> EMPLOY OF "THE BENEFACTOR"
|
|||
|
> PERCEPTIVE, AWARE OF BUGS.
|
|||
|
> DO NOT CONTACT, DO NOT DISRUPT
|
|||
|
> EXTREME CAUTION IMPERATIVE.
|
|||
|
>
|
|||
|
> Once penned Alex encrypts it with GPG and sends it along. These
|
|||
|
> channels have worked well for him in the past. If Blavin wants to play
|
|||
|
> games, then games we shall have.
|
|||
|
>
|
|||
|
> "I hate to do this" Alex mumbles to himself. "Normally I'd trail him
|
|||
|
> myself, but I don't think I have much say in the matter." As it stands
|
|||
|
> the group is dead set on gathering more of these cyrstals, regardless
|
|||
|
> of what the danger may be, and if Alex wants to find his Uncle,
|
|||
|
> they're his best bet in doing so. Blavin doesn't even matter outside
|
|||
|
> of that. But if he can help the group reach their end faster, or force
|
|||
|
> the information out of Blavin, perhaps it can come sooner..
|
|||
|
>
|
|||
|
> Alex lets out another sigh and glances wistfully around the gloomy
|
|||
|
> attic room. It looked just like he remembered his Uncle's office
|
|||
|
> looking like at the College of Sysorcerery when he had taught there.
|
|||
|
> He always was so particular. Pushing his chair away and grabbing his
|
|||
|
> coffee he wanders to the bookshelf where a large steamer chest sits
|
|||
|
> beside it. The bookshelf is covered in manuscripts, "Practical Common
|
|||
|
> Lisp", "The C Programming Language Vol 2", "RHEL 5 Systems
|
|||
|
> Administration", each one arcane and well worn. And the amount of
|
|||
|
> volumes, sometimes it's a wonder Corraidhin had time to do anything
|
|||
|
> other than read.
|
|||
|
>
|
|||
|
> "Maybe if I had been a little more studious I'd know how to help
|
|||
|
> you.." as he pulls "A Guide to Backups and All Things Necessary" off
|
|||
|
> of the shelf a knife falls out of the book, and clatters onto the
|
|||
|
> floor glaring malevolently up at Alex.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Your gondola lift finally rises above the thick layer of clouds. The
|
|||
|
sudden flash of clear blue sky is a revelation after ascending for
|
|||
|
nearly 60 minutes through clouds so thick you couldn't see through the
|
|||
|
foggy windows more than three feet. Above you towers rocky, imposing
|
|||
|
Kelsun Peak. You can just see a tiny portion of the hotel roof through a
|
|||
|
cleft in the rocks. Below you, a frozen turbulent ocean of clouds dotted
|
|||
|
with twisting leaning spires and spiraling branching towers, all made
|
|||
|
out of solid cloudstuff. Handiwork of the whimsical and industrious
|
|||
|
zephynos.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
You spot two or three of them now, leaping and diving playfully through
|
|||
|
the clouds like dolphins, spinning the clouds like yarn, and packing
|
|||
|
them into solid constructs. Their current project resembles a garden of
|
|||
|
outlandish, distorted tubas, french horns, and trombones.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
The small cloud dragons are about 6 - 8 feet long including their thick
|
|||
|
tails. They have wide faces with round lidless eyes, and always seem to
|
|||
|
be smiling. Their heads are topped with multiple pairs of filamented
|
|||
|
stalks. They have six short, stubby arms with long thin fingers that
|
|||
|
they use to knead and pull clouds into solid shapes.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
They build ceaselessly and mostly for the sake of building: they have no
|
|||
|
apparent need for the structures themselves, living as they do floating
|
|||
|
among the clouds. On occasion they have been entreated to build on
|
|||
|
behalf of others. And the rare floating palace or city can still be
|
|||
|
found drifting around Basmentaria as a result. The great city of
|
|||
|
Vay'Neddas---tethered to the ground by great chains to Primora in the
|
|||
|
north and Agendell in the south---is one of their greatest enduring
|
|||
|
works.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
You approach the gondola station at the base of Kelsun Peak, and exit
|
|||
|
your cable car as it slowly rounds the bullwheel. There are two
|
|||
|
toques---presumably meant to be operating the lifts---standing off to
|
|||
|
the side, ignoring their responsibilities, complaining loudly to nobody
|
|||
|
and everybody about being forced to work long hours and being unfairly
|
|||
|
compensated. The tips of their soft, conical heads slump forward,
|
|||
|
calling to mind revolutionaries, or smurfs.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
It is wicked cold as you step out onto the platform and the wind nips
|
|||
|
and bites at you relentlessly.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
At the edge of the platform, foggy white steps made of firm cloudstuff
|
|||
|
climb up around the side of the mountain peak to the Palace
|
|||
|
Runesocesius. Once the conspicuously extravagant residence of one of
|
|||
|
Basmentaria's most powerful politicians, it has since---after its owner
|
|||
|
fell from public favor and was routed out---been gutted and transformed
|
|||
|
into a luxury hotel of equally conspicuous extravagance. It continues to
|
|||
|
be one of the highest inhabitable places on Basmentaria.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Two small toques at the base of the steps rush forward to meet you---the
|
|||
|
floppy tips of their coneheads waggling side to side in their
|
|||
|
exuberance---and introduce themselves as Confidence and Bread, your
|
|||
|
guides. They have been instructed to guide you up to Runesocesius where
|
|||
|
you will take posession of the Ginnarak Crystal.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
WHAT DO YOU DO
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
[www](https://framalistes.org/sympa/arc/tildepals/2022-12/msg00186.html)
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
#### 00041 {#00041}
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
> Alex grips the encoded message he received in reply to his last
|
|||
|
> request firmly in his coat pocket. It was simple, curt, impactful.
|
|||
|
> "Trust no one". Which begged the question, could even it be trusted?
|
|||
|
> Was HQ compromised? His informants in danger? His allies and leads
|
|||
|
> awash in the dark grey mist of uncertainity. Or had his message been
|
|||
|
> intercepted, cracked, and a farsical response been sent in its place.
|
|||
|
> Alex wasn't certain which, but the strange format and unusually speedy
|
|||
|
> response had him on edge.
|
|||
|
>
|
|||
|
> This anxiety didn't boil up to the surface, not a line of worry or
|
|||
|
> hint of the inner turbulence broke his cold blue eyes. Outwardly he
|
|||
|
> was just as composed as ever, but between these uncertainties, the
|
|||
|
> loss of his uncle, and now this utterly strange dagger he'd found
|
|||
|
> amongst his uncle's belongings, he wasn't certain how long that
|
|||
|
> composure would last. It didn't held that he felt this gnawing at the
|
|||
|
> back of his mind, as though something was probing, attempting to
|
|||
|
> communicate with him, somewhere between telepathy and utter magic, and
|
|||
|
> not in any sense that Alex understood.
|
|||
|
>
|
|||
|
> And here he stood, a stranger amongst amidst his uncle's allies, and
|
|||
|
> very little intention to change that situation at the moment.
|
|||
|
>
|
|||
|
> As the gondola touched down and the Toques rushed to greet them Alex
|
|||
|
> jumped blithely off the ship and onto firm, but fluffy, ground. He
|
|||
|
> cast a look around him at what appeared to be an ordinary port of
|
|||
|
> entry, noting the crowds of people passing by. As the Toques arrived
|
|||
|
> Alex spoke curtly to them, "Who sends you to greet us, and where do
|
|||
|
> you wish to take us, and by what means do we travel?". Short, cut,
|
|||
|
> information only. There's too much unnerving in an unknown situation
|
|||
|
> like this.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
\~
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
> Inky greets the toques in turn politely, then turns to the second
|
|||
|
> toque and says, "A little bit of bread and no cheese."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"Cheese?" Bread cocks their head looks at Inky with a touch of
|
|||
|
embarrassment. They start patting at their pockets, presumably looking
|
|||
|
for a morsel of cheese to share with the travelers, but finding none.
|
|||
|
They groan miserably. Confidence butts in apologetically, "There will be
|
|||
|
plenty of food at the hotel if you want some! Some delicious fondue
|
|||
|
perhaps? Kelsun Peak's famous liquid gold!"
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"Blavin Blandfoot arranged for us to meet you," Bread answers Alex.
|
|||
|
Confidence nods enthusiastically in agreement. "But I suppose
|
|||
|
technically the hotelier sent us." Bread points up at the sky, in the
|
|||
|
general direction of the summit of Kelsun Peak. "We are to escort you to
|
|||
|
Palace Runesocesius." They thumb over their shoulder in the general
|
|||
|
direction of the stairs. "By way of the cloud steps. On foot."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Confidence leans in close and lowers their voice. "A Ginnarak Crystal! I
|
|||
|
can't hardly believe it! Thought they had all been lost to the ages. I
|
|||
|
hear it's complete dumb random luck that this one turned up. Story is,
|
|||
|
an aetherwael beached itself on some wide zephynos boulevard. Happens
|
|||
|
sometimes. Poor things can't distinguish between clouds and cloudstuff.
|
|||
|
I don't blame 'em! At a distance, you and me can't either! Anyway, this
|
|||
|
aetherwael has got a harpoon stuck in its side. Dratted poachers. May
|
|||
|
they all fall out of the sky and be dashed to a thousand pieces on the
|
|||
|
rocks below. But it had a harpoon in its side and was trailing behind it
|
|||
|
a float bag tethered to the harpoon. And you probably already guessed
|
|||
|
what was inside of it!" By the time Confidence finishes their brief
|
|||
|
story, they are trembling and nearly breathless with excitement.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"Anyway," Bread interrupts their excited companion in an attempt to
|
|||
|
restore decorum. Both of the toques have been gently herding you toward
|
|||
|
the base of the stairs this whole time. "You know how the zephynos are.
|
|||
|
You could give them all the coin in Basmentaria, or something priceless
|
|||
|
like a Ginnarak Crystal, and they'd just as quickly misplace it out of
|
|||
|
carelessness. If it's not a cloud they can sculpt into the shape of
|
|||
|
seussomorph or the likeness of some fantasy creature, they just don't
|
|||
|
give a fig. Luckily the hotelier caught wind of the aetherwael and found
|
|||
|
out about the crystal before they managed to lose it, or bury it inside
|
|||
|
of a sculpture or something silly! He has it safe and sound in the
|
|||
|
library up at Runesocesius now." Bread climbs the first step, his foot
|
|||
|
sinking barely a centimeter into wispy cloud before striking the solid
|
|||
|
cloudstuff. "Come! The hotelier will be very excited to greet you!"
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
WHAT DO YOU DO
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
[www](https://framalistes.org/sympa/arc/tildepals/2022-12/msg00193.html)
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
#### 00042 {#00042}
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
> This seems a bit strange. Certainly Blavin has been pulling strings
|
|||
|
> from behind the scenes the whole time, but why coordinate a special
|
|||
|
> escort for us when there are other retrieval teams, and we've been
|
|||
|
> less than amicable with the bloke the entire time.. Alex thinks to
|
|||
|
> himself.
|
|||
|
>
|
|||
|
> *DM: I'd like to check for any signs of deceit in the toques demeanor
|
|||
|
> or communcations with us*
|
|||
|
>
|
|||
|
> Confidence you said right? What would you do if I simply chose not to
|
|||
|
> accompany you? I mean, there's a whole city around us, perhaps I'd
|
|||
|
> prefer a drink before climbing a mountains worth of stairs. Or better
|
|||
|
> yet, I could get back on the boat and ride to the top and same myself
|
|||
|
> the hassle.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Bread once again looks confused. Confidence looks surprised, caught off
|
|||
|
guard.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
```{=html}
|
|||
|
<!--
|
|||
|
Alex rolls Investigation 2 to check for signs of deceit
|
|||
|
3 5 = Partial Success / Success at Cost
|
|||
|
//-->
|
|||
|
```
|
|||
|
Confidence sputters, "Well, yes, of course. You've been traveling for
|
|||
|
some time now, haven't you? I can assure you that the food and drink at
|
|||
|
Runesocesius will be better than anything you can get here! But the
|
|||
|
choice is entirely yours. Feel free to avail yourself of the local
|
|||
|
offerings. We will wait here at the steps for you."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Bread nods slowly, and seems to trailing behind the conversation just a
|
|||
|
second or two.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Their reactions seem genuine to you despite the circumstances. They seem
|
|||
|
like a couple of low level employees of a luxury hotel earnestly trying
|
|||
|
to follow the instructions they've been given.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
There are a couple of stalls and vendors set up around the gondola
|
|||
|
station. Many of them serve mulled wine and hot chocolate. There is some
|
|||
|
edible fare. Hot sandwiches and pitas. Nothing that an empanada from
|
|||
|
Enrique's wouldn't put to shame. But they look hot and steamy, and of
|
|||
|
great comfort to anybody who might be hungry and cold. There are a few
|
|||
|
fire pits, next to which there are long benches with blankets, where you
|
|||
|
might sit and warm up for a bit.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
The gondola lift ends here, and does not continue up to the mountain any
|
|||
|
further. The cloud steps are the most common way to get up to the peak,
|
|||
|
and to the Runesocesius. But you're pretty sure one or two of the stalls
|
|||
|
here offers balloon rides up to the peak for thrill seekers and for
|
|||
|
those with accessibility needs.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
> "I think you already know I'm interested in neither bread nor cheese,
|
|||
|
> the second of which I certainly did not ask for yet you tried to offer
|
|||
|
> in your hasty pretence." Inky smiles thinly at the toques.
|
|||
|
>
|
|||
|
> Taking out a small bag of gold coins and weighing it slowly on one
|
|||
|
> hand to the sound of coins clinking inside the pouch, Inky continues,
|
|||
|
> "Speak, answer our questions frankly and you will be rewarded. The
|
|||
|
> hotelier up there need not know. Breathe a word of our little chat to
|
|||
|
> another soul, however ..." Inky's gaze cut briefly to four snow ravens
|
|||
|
> perched atop a spiral lamp post and back, "and you will learn the
|
|||
|
> meaning of disappearing without a trace."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Bread looks confused. You are starting to believe it is their default
|
|||
|
expression. "So, you *don't* want no chee---"
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"Our only desire is to help!" Confidence hastily interrupts. He smiles
|
|||
|
pleasingly. "We are your guides! Not just physically up the steps, but
|
|||
|
in all things here on Kelsun Peak. You have but to ask, and if it is
|
|||
|
within our power to give it, it will be yours! We are but humble ser---"
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
And just then Confidence is also suddenly interrupted. A thundering boom
|
|||
|
like a canon sounds from somewhere nearby, followed quickly by an
|
|||
|
explosion somewhere up above. Snow ravens fly off in all directions in a
|
|||
|
panic. The sound ripples through the mountaintop, rattling the ground on
|
|||
|
which you stand. A bunch of small rocks and two large boulders shake
|
|||
|
loose from the mountainside. Shoppers and travelers shout and duck for
|
|||
|
cover as they are pelted by the scree. One of the large boulder bounces
|
|||
|
clear over the station and plummets down the side of the mountain before
|
|||
|
disappearing into the cloud ocean below. The second one falls straight
|
|||
|
toward the platform. A vendor selling wreaths and candles dives out of
|
|||
|
the way as his stall is crushed by the boulder. A bench is toppled over,
|
|||
|
spilling its blankets into the fire pit, and catches fire, quickly
|
|||
|
spreading to another nearby stall.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Bread looks up at the sky, confused. You see a thin line of black smoke
|
|||
|
starting to rise up into the sky from over the ridge where the
|
|||
|
Runesocesius lies. Confidence shouts, and you see him pointing at the
|
|||
|
sea, where a balloonship is rising up out of the cloud bank, sailing
|
|||
|
quickly toward you and the summit of Kelsun Peak.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
It resembles a seafaring ship, but instead of masts and sails, it has
|
|||
|
two large, colorful, patchwork balloons that provide it lift. A large
|
|||
|
fan on a pivot at the rear of the ship provides thrust. As you watch, it
|
|||
|
fires a second canon---that *is* what the sound was!---nearly straight
|
|||
|
up, arcing up and over the peak at Palace Runesocesius.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
The crew of the ship bustle around on the deck of the ship, reloading
|
|||
|
the canons, firing the balloons, shouting, giving and following orders.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"Cyberplasms," groans Confidence, and Bread whimpers. Alex, that quiet,
|
|||
|
dull, static roar that has been constantly tickling the back of your
|
|||
|
head ever since you found that dagger seems to rise in pitch and in
|
|||
|
tone. It conveys a sense of urgency, of warning. You can *almost* hear a
|
|||
|
desperate voice behind the static fuzz cautioning you, "Evil..."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
The only corporeal element of the crew are their cybernetic
|
|||
|
enhancements. A mechanical leg. A synthetic eye. A claw, a hook, a hand.
|
|||
|
An arm canon. Almost all of them have more than one, some as many as 3
|
|||
|
or 5. The cybernetic pieces of each individual crew member are held
|
|||
|
together by plasmic energy arcs, crackling blue and green. And
|
|||
|
surrounding the bioware and the plasmic arcs of each crew member, like a
|
|||
|
blanket or a cocoon, is the translucent, wavering, ghostly form of some
|
|||
|
humanoid long-dead.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
The figure standing on the deck surveying the work of the rest of the
|
|||
|
crew---presumably the captain---has a synthetic eye rotating freely, 360
|
|||
|
degrees in all directions, inside its skull-like head; a bulky arm
|
|||
|
canon; and a thin robotic leg terminating in a thick boot. Plasmic
|
|||
|
blasts arc through its core, sometimes disrupting and glitching its
|
|||
|
ghostly body.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
The captain raises its arm canon and shouts to the crew. Its voice
|
|||
|
carried on the breeze sounds like something otherworldly rising slowly
|
|||
|
from the murky deep. "Fire the canon, boys! And fire up the balloons!
|
|||
|
Drop the ballast! That crystal is *ours!*"
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
It happens very quickly: the ship ascends to the summit and soon is
|
|||
|
firing grappling hooks at it to pull themselves in and breach the walls
|
|||
|
of the hotel.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Bread looks at you, wide-eyed and trembling. They let loose a pitiful
|
|||
|
wail and turn and start running up the steps. "Bread!" Confidence yells
|
|||
|
after them. They cast a backward glance at you. "I've got to help Bread!
|
|||
|
We've got to save the hotel!" And they give chase to their fellow toque,
|
|||
|
bounding up the cloudstuff steps.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
WHAT DO YOU DO
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
[www](https://framalistes.org/sympa/arc/tildepals/2022-12/msg00203.html)
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
#### 00043 {#00043}
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
> Pirates?! Again?! Alex groans, unfortunately he's run into this crew
|
|||
|
> of dastardly mostly cybernetic punks in the past. Nasty group back
|
|||
|
> home, always kept the precinct busy. Not necessarily with the
|
|||
|
> detective work, it was always a little obvious when they showed up.
|
|||
|
> They have a flair for the dramatic.
|
|||
|
>
|
|||
|
> Alex shouts to Inky & Jarrod "Come on, we need to get in one of those
|
|||
|
> balloons and fast!" he then darts off in the direction of the nearest
|
|||
|
> abandoned balloon in the market place, not looking to see if his
|
|||
|
> companions had followed him.
|
|||
|
>
|
|||
|
> *internally* I know these guys have pulled off smaller heists, they
|
|||
|
> could just be attacking the hotel to plunder riches from its guests.
|
|||
|
> They don't seem the likes of a retrieval team.. Then again, that
|
|||
|
> Blavin fellow has multiple teams working for him, and he doesn't seem
|
|||
|
> all too picky about how they get the job done, it wouldn't be
|
|||
|
> surprising if he'd hired some brigands hoping they'd get the gems
|
|||
|
> faster.
|
|||
|
>
|
|||
|
> Alex conjures up another bug, a stag beetle this time, and casts it
|
|||
|
> away at the pirate ship. It'll probably take some time to catch up,
|
|||
|
> but once it does we'll be able to keep an eye on the pirate's ship and
|
|||
|
> general actions, at least within line of sight of the bug.
|
|||
|
>
|
|||
|
> As Alex reaches the balloon he grabs the ruby hilted dagger and cuts
|
|||
|
> the mooring lines keeping it down, and jumps into the basket preparing
|
|||
|
> for take off.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
You spot a balloon that has already been knocked half loose of its
|
|||
|
mooring by the pirate attack. The basket is listing to the side and
|
|||
|
tugging at the one remaining rope tying it down Its owner scurries
|
|||
|
around in circles trying to secure it.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
The vertical panels of the balloon are all different colors, creating a
|
|||
|
brilliant rainbow pattern. The large woven basket is large enough for
|
|||
|
maybe three people.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
You leap inside, swinging the ruby hilted dagger at the remaining
|
|||
|
mooring line. The balloon owner cries out in dismay. The basket shifts
|
|||
|
beneath your feet as the balloon tugs it skyward.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
In the burner, a small sunspoke---a minor fire elemental---is merrily
|
|||
|
burning away, producing a modest flame that is hot enough to lift the
|
|||
|
balloon slowly above the market into the sky. There is a knob valve on
|
|||
|
the side of the burner to allow more oxygen to flow in, thereby feeding
|
|||
|
the sunspoke and encouraging it to burn more intensely and raise the
|
|||
|
balloon higher and faster. The valve is currently only about one third
|
|||
|
open.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
A pile of blankets in one corner of the basket---and that area of the
|
|||
|
basket itself---is covered in blood. Somebody injured in the pirate
|
|||
|
attack must have temporarily climbed into the basket looking for cover?
|
|||
|
As you're about to look away, something large-ish (small for a human,
|
|||
|
large for an animal) under the blankets shifts and moves.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
> Inky stares after Alex's sprinting figure before shrugging and
|
|||
|
> stepping towards one of the stalls selling sandwiches bowled over by
|
|||
|
> one of the large boulders. They place some loose change on the stall's
|
|||
|
> wooden sign that had tipped over on the ground and pocket one of the
|
|||
|
> sandwiches displayed inside an open chest oven. Next, they pick up
|
|||
|
> several of the scented candles scattered on the ground by the crash,
|
|||
|
> throwing some coins in the direction of the disoriented vendor before
|
|||
|
> continuing at a leisurely pace up the steps to the hotel, taking in
|
|||
|
> the balloonship and surrounding scenery. The members of their merry
|
|||
|
> party arriving first can hold their own as well as the fort of a
|
|||
|
> hotel.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
You do a little leisurely shopping as the vendors and other shoppers put
|
|||
|
out fires and tend to the injured. With a couple scented candles and a
|
|||
|
sandwich safely in your pocket, you start to climb the cloud steps,
|
|||
|
enjoying the scenery as you go. Bread and Confidence have quite a bit of
|
|||
|
a head start on you, and are nowhere to be seen. As the stairway winds
|
|||
|
around the mountainside, the market and its bustle recede from view, and
|
|||
|
soon you are quite isolated and alone.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
The majesty of creation is humbling here: the endless, roiling ocean of
|
|||
|
cloud; the towering mountain of rock. It's as though this was the
|
|||
|
creator's playground when they were still trying to figure out scale.
|
|||
|
Before they quite got it right for human-sized creatures.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
About halfway up your climb, it starts raining sheets of paper. You
|
|||
|
snatch one and read it. Some heroic fantasy about slaying demons and
|
|||
|
facing great peril. You grab another. A bodice-ripping romance. Another.
|
|||
|
A gourmand's food tour of Basmentaria, eating their way from coast to
|
|||
|
coast. A murder mystery whodunnit. An aetherwael handler's guide to
|
|||
|
interplanetary travel. How to grow your own fortified pumpkins. On the
|
|||
|
Care and Maintenance of Fortles. The Rise and Fall and Rise of Palace
|
|||
|
Runesocesius. Within a minute, you have fists full of an entire
|
|||
|
library's worth of snippets and passages.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
\~
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
It looks as though Alex will approach the hotel by balloon from the
|
|||
|
non-pirate side. And Inky's approach by stair will deposit them at the
|
|||
|
hotel entrance, roughly pirate-adjacent.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
WHAT DO YOU DO
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
[www](https://framalistes.org/sympa/arc/tildepals/2022-12/msg00217.html)
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
#### 00044 {#00044}
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
> As Alex spots the sunspoke valve he grabs it and cranks it up to the
|
|||
|
> 2/3 mark. "Sorry little friend, we're going to need a little bit more
|
|||
|
> juice". The baloon lurches upwards as air rushes in feeding the
|
|||
|
> sunspoke, causing it to burn more intensely. After setting the
|
|||
|
> sunspoke ablaze and shouting back to the balloon's owner Alex takes
|
|||
|
> account of his surroundings. It's during this time he spots the
|
|||
|
> bloodied, moving blankets. They seem to writhe, as though something
|
|||
|
> beneath them is injured.
|
|||
|
>
|
|||
|
> Gripping the dagger firmly in one hand Alex grabs the blankets from
|
|||
|
> the corner of the balloon basket revealing whatever lay beneath.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
The sunspoke stretches its little arms and wriggles its little fingers.
|
|||
|
It sighs happily, luxuriating in the extra fuel. It burns twice as
|
|||
|
bright, shooting a hot jet of bright yellow flame up into the parachute.
|
|||
|
The sunspoke starts to glow a molten red, and you start to rise faster.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
As you rise up over the peak, you can finally spot the Runesocesius. The
|
|||
|
grand hotel is draped over the top of the mountain, clinging to it like
|
|||
|
a dragon resting on its hoard.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
The "cyberplasms" as Confidence called them have docked to the side of a
|
|||
|
tower on the other side of the peak from you. They have shot a large
|
|||
|
hole in the side of the tower, and you can see them now starting to
|
|||
|
zipline into the building. A thick plume of black smoke billows out of
|
|||
|
the side of the tower, carrying pages and pages of loose paper into the
|
|||
|
air with it. They rain down like snow. The tower must house an extensive
|
|||
|
library.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
You cautiously pull back a corner of the bloody blankets, jeweled dagger
|
|||
|
raised and ready to strike. You reveal a small bloody furry blob. You
|
|||
|
see two big round eyes, a short-snouted face, and enormous pointed ears.
|
|||
|
It quickly looks away from you, chirps pathetically, and trembles as it
|
|||
|
cowers in place. You have found a frightened hemogoblin stowaway!
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
WHAT DO YOU DO
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
[www](https://framalistes.org/sympa/arc/tildepals/2022-12/msg00219.html)
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
#### 00045 {#00045}
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
> As the blankets draw back from the bloody mass, a cute little
|
|||
|
> hemogoblin appears. "Aww little fellas just scared." Alex lowers the
|
|||
|
> dagger, but otherwise ignores the hemogoblin. Best to leave it be for
|
|||
|
> now, there's more important things.
|
|||
|
>
|
|||
|
> As the balloon gets within range of the ship Alex begins to scan the
|
|||
|
> deck for Cyberplasms. At the same time he checks his bug to track the
|
|||
|
> location of the cyberplasms more acutely. It looks like there may be
|
|||
|
> an opporunity to jump from the balloon to the ship. After that cutting
|
|||
|
> the zip lines would give me the opporunity to steal the ship, leaving
|
|||
|
> the cyberplasms trapped at the top of the hotel.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Just a few Cyberplasms remain on the deck of the airship. The vast
|
|||
|
majority of them have zipped into the hotel tower.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
You check your bug's feed. It has gone almost entirely unnoticed in the
|
|||
|
fracas, and you are able to piece together a clear picture of the inside
|
|||
|
of the tower. It is indeed a grand library, its galleries spanning each
|
|||
|
floor of the tower. One of the largest collections in all of
|
|||
|
Basmentaria.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
The Cyberplasms have breached the tower near its base and are pouring
|
|||
|
into the Great Hall. You tune in just in time to see a rail-thin, bald
|
|||
|
and mustachioed man standing defensively in front of a display case.
|
|||
|
"No! You can't!" he exclaims as a disembodied sickle approaches him in a
|
|||
|
cloud of electricity and ectoplasm.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Behind the glass in the display case is a bluish hunk of rock the size
|
|||
|
of a melon, with gently pulsing gold veins.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
> Inky puts away the papers they caught in passing or picked up along
|
|||
|
> the path up to read later, including a number that from a cursory
|
|||
|
> glance appear to be from a culinary collection and a few from some
|
|||
|
> moth-eaten but finely illustrated botanical tome, among others.
|
|||
|
>
|
|||
|
> Eventually arriving at the hotel entrance, Inky enters and manages to
|
|||
|
> catch a frantic-looking attendant near the reception to ask the
|
|||
|
> whereabouts of the hotelier, indicating they had a business
|
|||
|
> appointment with said manager.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
You walk in through the hotel's main entrance. The grandeur would take
|
|||
|
your breath away were it not for the shouting and the smoke and the
|
|||
|
explosions coming from down the hall to your right.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
You wave down a passing hotel clerk and inquire after the hotelier. They
|
|||
|
are hauling a large bucket of hot water, and carrying an oversized
|
|||
|
bundle of clean towels under one arm. They pause for a moment to look at
|
|||
|
you incredulously before running off in the opposite direction.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
A cry rings out nearby and a Cyberplasm flies through an open door down
|
|||
|
the hallway. It lands in a heap of crackling energy, smears of ectoplasm
|
|||
|
streaking the floor as though it were bleeding heavily. It seems to be
|
|||
|
barely held together by the energy stored in its cybernetic leg and a
|
|||
|
metal skull plate.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
It scoots backwards on its hands and its butt, trying to stand up. Two
|
|||
|
toques leap out of the door after it. You recognize Bread and Confidence
|
|||
|
right away.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Bread has obviously been to the kitchens. They are wearing tin baking
|
|||
|
sheets and an oversized pot on their heard as makeshift armor, and have
|
|||
|
a couple of dangerous looking kitchen knives hanging from their belt. At
|
|||
|
the moment they are swinging a large meat tenderizer over their head as
|
|||
|
though it were a war hammer.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Confidence, meanwhile, has been to the gardener's shed. They are wearing
|
|||
|
a heavy leather apron and thick leather gloves, and have a trowel in
|
|||
|
each hand, and a large hoe or rake strapped to their back.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Bread lowers their hammer on Cyberplasms head, denting the skull plate.
|
|||
|
And Confidence darts in and stabs with both hands at the leg. As soon as
|
|||
|
the prosthetics go offline and the plasmic arcs cease firing, there is
|
|||
|
nothing left holding the ectoplasm together and the ghost kind of
|
|||
|
dissipates into the air with a soft wail.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
They look up and notice you at the same time, relaxing their offensive
|
|||
|
stances. "Oh!" cries Bread. "It's you!"
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"You don't happen," asks Confidence, "to need a guide, do you?"
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
WHAT DO YOU DO
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
[www](https://framalistes.org/sympa/arc/tildepals/2022-12/msg00227.html)
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
#### 00046 {#00046}
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
> Ah so I suppose those Toques were being honest then, there was a
|
|||
|
> Ginnarak crystal, and I guess they were going to give it to us.. oh
|
|||
|
> well, nothing good in life comes easy.
|
|||
|
>
|
|||
|
> Alex cranks the dial on the sunspoke, grabs the hemogoblin from the
|
|||
|
> basket, and jumps out of the balloon and onto the deck of the ship. He
|
|||
|
> rushes over to the nearest pile of bundled rope and barrels and stows
|
|||
|
> his new hemo friend. "Just stay hidden little guy, let me take care of
|
|||
|
> these pirates first."
|
|||
|
>
|
|||
|
> Alex grabs the dagger from his side as he makes his way towards the
|
|||
|
> side of the ship, first thing first, best to cut the mooring lines and
|
|||
|
> zip lines. The static clawing sensation appears at the back of Alex's
|
|||
|
> mind, but he attempts to ignore it. There's too much that needs to be
|
|||
|
> done too quickly, and he's all too aware of the danger he's put
|
|||
|
> himself in. "What would Corraidhin do.." Alex thinks to himself,
|
|||
|
> "perhaps a spell?".
|
|||
|
>
|
|||
|
> ``` lua
|
|||
|
> function target:new(obj, tbl)
|
|||
|
> obj = obj or {}
|
|||
|
> setmetatable(obj, self)
|
|||
|
> self.__index = self
|
|||
|
> self.x = 0
|
|||
|
> self.y = 0
|
|||
|
> self.speed = 0
|
|||
|
> reutrn obj
|
|||
|
> end
|
|||
|
>
|
|||
|
> function target:yeet()
|
|||
|
> self.x = 100
|
|||
|
> self.y = 100
|
|||
|
> self.speed = 50
|
|||
|
> return self
|
|||
|
> end
|
|||
|
> ```
|
|||
|
>
|
|||
|
> After preparing the spell Alex makes his way towards the guard rail
|
|||
|
> ready to cut the mooring and zip lines, spell at the ready should an
|
|||
|
> enemy appear.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
You crank the dial to 11. The sunspoke squeals in delight and burns like
|
|||
|
a tiny star. You grab the hemogoblin, who chirrups and clings tightly to
|
|||
|
you, and leap from the balloon onto the deck of the airship.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
You think you can hear---barely audible---the sunspoke singing a song of
|
|||
|
homecoming as the hot air balloon continues to rise unpiloted up toward
|
|||
|
the sun.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
You rush over to cover behind a barrel, and deposit your new hemogoblin
|
|||
|
friend safely inside the center of a large coil of rope. It looks up at
|
|||
|
you quizzically, but nods when you tell it to stay put.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
You invoke the powers of the moon and prepare a quick but (hopefully)
|
|||
|
sufficient Spell of Yeeting.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
```{=html}
|
|||
|
<!--
|
|||
|
Alex rolls Do Anything 1 to cut the lines and avoid detection
|
|||
|
6 = Great Success! Level Up!
|
|||
|
//-->
|
|||
|
```
|
|||
|
When you draw the dagger, the world develops a faint static background
|
|||
|
noise which is easy enough to ignore at the moment given the state of
|
|||
|
things. You dash forward and start sawing at the thick mooring lines.
|
|||
|
The dagger's ruby hilt flashes in the sunlight as you work, and in your
|
|||
|
mind's eye you see a bright red wine, and a drop of blood red ink
|
|||
|
flowing from the nib of a fountain pen.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
You shake the images from your head just as you finish sawing through
|
|||
|
the rope. A Cyberplasm who was shimmying back up the rope from the hotel
|
|||
|
to the ship yelps as the line goes slack and swings back into the side
|
|||
|
of the cliff. The pirate rebounds from the impact, bounces off the
|
|||
|
mountainside a few times, and falls from view as it disappears through
|
|||
|
the clouds below.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
The ship drifts lazily, rising slightly, and despite your best sneaking
|
|||
|
around, the remaining Cyberplasms on board cannot help but notice that
|
|||
|
the ship is no longer tethered. You successfully hide behind a barrel as
|
|||
|
three cyber ghost pirates come rushing over to the ship railing and lean
|
|||
|
over, looking below at where there are no longer any ropes attaching the
|
|||
|
ship to the hotel.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Out of the corner of your eye, you can see the hemogoblin toddling
|
|||
|
across the deck toward the Cyberplasms, no doubt curious about what
|
|||
|
they're looking at over the side of the ship.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
> "Indeed, Bread, it's me. You have not yet escaped your fate of
|
|||
|
> untraceable disappearance just yet." Inky deadpans, then smiles. "We
|
|||
|
> have much to discuss, but later. I do need a guide ... to your
|
|||
|
> hotelier. Presumably I will find them by following the racket and
|
|||
|
> trail of ruined decor, but maybe you know of a quicker route?"
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Bread smiles at the threat of being untraceably disappeared, mostly
|
|||
|
confident that they are on the inside of a private little joke and that
|
|||
|
they are presently in no actual danger from Inky. They grip their hammer
|
|||
|
a little tighter nonetheless.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Confidence slips their trowels into their apron. "Yes, this way!"
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
They hurry down the hall. You know you're going the right way because
|
|||
|
tattered, torn, charred books litter the ground in increasing numbers.
|
|||
|
Bits of paper and ash fall like snow.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Confidence guides you away from the entrance to the library's Great
|
|||
|
Hall, and takes you instead to a smaller, more discreet staff entrance.
|
|||
|
They open the door a crack, and as you look through you are just in time
|
|||
|
to see the ship captain with their cybernetic leg, arm canon, and eye.
|
|||
|
Now that the crew have cleared the way for them, they stroll across the
|
|||
|
library over piles of fallen, damaged books.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
A thin bald man with a neatly trimmed mustache is on the other side of
|
|||
|
the hall, his back turned to the pirate. He wears a fine suit and has
|
|||
|
just finished unlocking a glass display case. He retrieves a
|
|||
|
multifaceted blue and gold stone and hugs it to his chest with both
|
|||
|
arms. He throws a panicked glance over his shoulder at the slowly
|
|||
|
approaching pirate, and turns to run away. His retreat is halted by a
|
|||
|
small explosion at his feet. He skids to a stop and looks back at the
|
|||
|
pirate, who is lowering their arm canon.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"The crystal," the captain demands in a voice part ghostly moan, part
|
|||
|
mechanical drone. "Hand it over, hotelier." It steps closer. "Mother has
|
|||
|
promised us new bodies if we deliver the quintessence. You won't be
|
|||
|
permitted to stand in our way."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
One pirate near the breach tucks a couple volumes of manhwa under its
|
|||
|
arm and climbs out onto the mooring line, returning to the ship with its
|
|||
|
plunder. It howls as the line suddenly goes slack, flinging the pirate
|
|||
|
and its comics into the mountainside, and then out into space.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Sunlight pours into the library from outside as the shadow of the
|
|||
|
airship shifts as it starts to drift, suddenly unmoored.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
WHAT DO YOU DO
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
[www](https://framalistes.org/sympa/arc/tildepals/2022-12/msg00231.html)
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
#### 00047 {#00047}
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
> Damn it! I should've left the little goblin in the balloon, this could
|
|||
|
> get tricky..
|
|||
|
>
|
|||
|
> Time slows for just the briefest of moments while Alex calculates his
|
|||
|
> next move. Looking at the position of the pirates he can probably yeet
|
|||
|
> the middlemost one away from the group into the left most pirate. Best
|
|||
|
> case this sends both of them sailing over the edge of the ship, worst
|
|||
|
> case it just slightly knocks them off balance. In either event this
|
|||
|
> gives me enough time to dart from cover and quickly dispatch the right
|
|||
|
> most pirate with Uncle's dagger. I've got to sever each connection
|
|||
|
> point between the ecotplasm and the cybernetics, nothing quite as
|
|||
|
> quick and easy as flesh and blood, but a quick slice to the left most
|
|||
|
> armpit, and another to the right most leg right above the carotid
|
|||
|
> artery should do it..
|
|||
|
>
|
|||
|
> Jumping immediately to action Alex casts `yeet.middle_cyberplasm()`
|
|||
|
> sending the middle pirate into the left most pirate away from the
|
|||
|
> hemogoblin while he dashes forward to take the third right most pirate
|
|||
|
> by surprise. As he reaches the right most pirate he makes two quick
|
|||
|
> slices, first at the leg, followed by a quick upper cut to the left
|
|||
|
> arm.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
```{=html}
|
|||
|
<!--
|
|||
|
Alex rolls Do Anything 1 to yeet the cyberplasm
|
|||
|
3 = Things go poorly. Gain 1 xp.
|
|||
|
Spend 1 xp to pass and gain Sysorcery 2
|
|||
|
//-->
|
|||
|
```
|
|||
|
You channel some of the ambient environmental charge into your prepared
|
|||
|
incantation. It's comforting sometimes to peer behind the veil and see
|
|||
|
the world through this lens. It's so simple. The separation of self and
|
|||
|
other is an illusion: everything is just a table. The concept of time
|
|||
|
itself is simplified: coroutines prevent everything from happening all
|
|||
|
at once and create the illusion of concurrency. It's all really quite
|
|||
|
elegant.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Anyway so the hemogoblin sidles up next to the pirates at the railing.
|
|||
|
It's not tall enough to see over the railing, and starts to kind of jump
|
|||
|
up and down, trying to catch a glimpse. The pirates look down at it in
|
|||
|
confusion just as the `yeet` happens, and they knock into each other.
|
|||
|
The leftmost one almost manages to regain its balance but then trips
|
|||
|
over the little blood gremlin and pitches over the railing. The middle
|
|||
|
pirate yelps as the startled hemogoblin darts between its legs to get
|
|||
|
out of the way. The pirate stumbles and then slips in a small puddle of
|
|||
|
blood. Its feet shoot from beneath it and it too tips over the railing.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
```{=html}
|
|||
|
<!--
|
|||
|
Alex rolls Do Anything 1 to sever connections
|
|||
|
1 = Things go poorly. Gain 1 xp.
|
|||
|
Spend 1 xp to pass and gain Stabbing 2
|
|||
|
//-->
|
|||
|
```
|
|||
|
The hemogoblin dashes right into the waiting arms of the rightmost
|
|||
|
Cyberplasm. "Gotcha, you little ... ugh! What ..." The pirate is
|
|||
|
starting to regret snatching up the little furball, which is defensively
|
|||
|
gushing blood all over it, when you make your first slice into its left
|
|||
|
armpit. Half its cybernetics go offline. One arm goes limp and it drops
|
|||
|
the hemogoblin, which scurries around and hides behind you. The pirate
|
|||
|
turns toward you, now full of regrets, and you stab into its right leg,
|
|||
|
knocking its tech completely offline and dispersing the ghostly
|
|||
|
energies.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
As far as you can tell, the ship is now free of Cyberplasms.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
The hemogoblin thrusts its tiny fists in the air and cheers.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
> Inky shakes out several large and very fine kerchiefs, handing two
|
|||
|
> each to the guides and gestures for them to cover their noses and
|
|||
|
> mouths with them while they perform the action themselves to
|
|||
|
> demonstrate.
|
|||
|
>
|
|||
|
> Donning a pair of skydiving goggles snatched from one of the souvenir
|
|||
|
> stalls at the gondola station while no one was looking (replacing it
|
|||
|
> with its approximate weight in silver coins), Inky retrieves a black
|
|||
|
> metal box that previously served as a portable camp stove from their
|
|||
|
> knapsack and removes the lid. The inside of the box is filled with dry
|
|||
|
> wood chips mixed with a pine green powder, and Inky throws in the
|
|||
|
> wicks pulled from some of the scented candles that were pushed into a
|
|||
|
> heater flask to melt fully during the walk up the hotel steps.
|
|||
|
> Finally, Inky pours another vial of foul-smelling liquid over the
|
|||
|
> contents, opens the door just wide enough to slide the metal box
|
|||
|
> through to one side of the door a few paces away.
|
|||
|
>
|
|||
|
> A mildly sweet, cloying smoke emanates from the flameless heat inside
|
|||
|
> the box, which begin to fill the library hall with a rapidly
|
|||
|
> thickening cloud. It is also taking on an acrid and slightly sooty
|
|||
|
> edge. Near the door, Inky fans more of the smoke in the direction of
|
|||
|
> the cyberplasmic apparition with a thin bound manuscript laying on the
|
|||
|
> floor.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Bread, Confidence, and you all don protective gear. You push the camp
|
|||
|
stove through the door like an Olympic curler. It glides across the
|
|||
|
library floor a respectable distance considering the book debris and the
|
|||
|
lack of sweepers. Much more quickly than one would think possible, the
|
|||
|
hall is filled with a thick, sooty smoke. The Cyberplasm captain groans
|
|||
|
with frustration as even the short distance between it and the hotelier
|
|||
|
(and the crystal) becomes occluded in the smoke screen. The hotelier
|
|||
|
wisely doesn't make a sound as he disappears from view.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Bread nudges you, grins, and gives you a thumbs up.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
WHAT DO YOU DO
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
[www](https://framalistes.org/sympa/arc/tildepals/2022-12/msg00234.html)
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
#### 00048 {#00048}
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
> Alex snatches up his new hemo friend cheering huzzah as he does. We've
|
|||
|
> got a pirate ship little guy!
|
|||
|
>
|
|||
|
> Rushing about the deck Alex quickly takes stock of what's left, plenty
|
|||
|
> of ammo, general supplies, fuel, perfectly provisioned for a quick
|
|||
|
> crystal kidnapping. Smart move pirates, but not smart enough.
|
|||
|
>
|
|||
|
> Alex heads to the helm and steadies the ship guiding it out and away
|
|||
|
> from the library, can't have any of the remaining cyberplasms easily
|
|||
|
> reboarding it now can we? Once the ship is out of range Alex checks
|
|||
|
> his S.T.A.G drone's twtxt feed for updates.
|
|||
|
>
|
|||
|
> @<drone/fhsoa7483/video> Cyberplasm approaching crystal
|
|||
|
> @<drone/fhsoa7483/gps> approx library, top level
|
|||
|
> @<drone/fhsoa7483/audio> Cyberplasm threatens violence
|
|||
|
> @<drone/fhsoa7483/video> Inky, bread, confidence enter subvertly
|
|||
|
> @<drone/fhsoa7483/video> Visual feed impaired due to unknown smog
|
|||
|
> @<drone/fhsoa7483/audio> Angry tones, uncertain who
|
|||
|
>
|
|||
|
> Not particularly helpful, and it rules out my first thought. I could
|
|||
|
> blindly fire the broadside canons into the library hoping to hit the
|
|||
|
> cyberplasm, but I'd be just as likely to hit Inky, Bread, Confidence
|
|||
|
> or any other innocent bystander. I've got to get a message to her.
|
|||
|
>
|
|||
|
> Alex quickly dispatches a command to the S.T.A.G
|
|||
|
>
|
|||
|
> @<drone/fhsoa7483/cmd> Seek Inky
|
|||
|
> @<drone/fhsoa7483/relay> Secured ship, inform A.I of intentions, will coordinate rescue via the stolen ship
|
|||
|
>
|
|||
|
> If all we've got is this, then we'd best be ready for a quick rescue.
|
|||
|
> Alex busies himself preparing a new zipline and mooring lines. He then
|
|||
|
> loads the boradside canons and the top deck swivel canons. It'll need
|
|||
|
> to be quick, but if I'm ready I can swing the ship in close, deploy a
|
|||
|
> zipline for Inky to zip down to the ship with, and defend the retreat
|
|||
|
> with the swivels. If everyone retreats to the ship we can take a note
|
|||
|
> from the pirates playbook and blast them to hell with the broadsides
|
|||
|
> while we make our retreat. Or simply run I suppose, but I dislike the
|
|||
|
> idea of leaving innocent people to deal with angry pirates
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
The hemogoblin cheers you on as you take possession of the airship,
|
|||
|
accidentally squirting a few jets of rust colored blood in its
|
|||
|
excitement. Must still be quite young. They don't gain full control of
|
|||
|
their blood sacs until well into adulthood.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
You check your S.T.A.G. drone's twtxt feeds. This A.I. seems especially
|
|||
|
reliable, you note with satisfaction. Its updates are regular and
|
|||
|
detailed. Even when there's not much to report.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
You load up the canons and take control of the helm. The hemogoblin
|
|||
|
stands at attention at the broadside canons with a cracklesparkler,
|
|||
|
ready to light the fuse at your command. You steer the ship a short
|
|||
|
distance away from the hotel, hopefully out of reach of the cyberplasms.
|
|||
|
But within range of your own canons and ziplines.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
> While Inky has the attention of both guides, they close the door again
|
|||
|
> until it is slightly ajar, and make a series of hand gestures. First
|
|||
|
> pointing at themselves, at their own forearm and fist held stiffly to
|
|||
|
> mimic the shape of the captain's arm cannon, to indicate that Inky
|
|||
|
> will handle the Cyberplasm. Then Inky points the two fingers of a hand
|
|||
|
> at Bread and Confidence, turns the two fingers downward and swings
|
|||
|
> them back and forth in opposite directions to convey walking. This was
|
|||
|
> followed by a single finger pointing in the general direction they had
|
|||
|
> last seen the hotelier; then the finger hooks inward, the arm
|
|||
|
> repeating a yanking motion once or twice before ending the gesture
|
|||
|
> with a thumb tossed over their shoulder towards the hallway away from
|
|||
|
> the staff entrance, to ask them to get their boss out of the library
|
|||
|
> to a safe spot.
|
|||
|
>
|
|||
|
> Without waiting for confirmation from the toques, Inky opens the door,
|
|||
|
> abruptly stops, turns and shoves a compostable bag of mango-flavoured
|
|||
|
> croutons at Bread, gives them a thumbs up in return and a mildly
|
|||
|
> disturbing, eye-crinkling smile behind their kerchief, before slipping
|
|||
|
> inside the smoky room. One hand is already pulling out a thin,
|
|||
|
> extendable metal walking pole with a carrying strap visually
|
|||
|
> resembling the type used by hikers from their courier bag to check for
|
|||
|
> obstacles amid the lowered visibility.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Confidence watches all of your hand gestures closely, and then nods
|
|||
|
resolutely. They draw their large hoe, and turn and start to crouch run
|
|||
|
toward the main entrance to to the main hall of the library.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Bread looks confused, but ready to follow Confidence. They grab their
|
|||
|
heavy meat tenderizer and crouch down in imitation of their fellow
|
|||
|
toque. Before they can run off, you shove a bag of croutons into their
|
|||
|
arms. "Small. Toasted. Bread," they intonate slowly in wonder. The
|
|||
|
confusion falls from their face as they break into a wide grin. "Now
|
|||
|
I'll never disappear without a trace," they laugh. They thank you and
|
|||
|
run like a duck after Confidence.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
> Inside, Inky lobs the empty glass vial that had held the unpleasantly
|
|||
|
> pungent organic catalyst at a spot the floor several paces roughly
|
|||
|
> from where the Cyberplasm --- presumably the leader of the group ---
|
|||
|
> had been standing earlier, in the opposite direction of the staff
|
|||
|
> entrance in an attempt to divert attention from the hotelier's last
|
|||
|
> location. As they edge along the wall towards the tower stairs,
|
|||
|
> walking pole looped over one hand, Inky grabs a few small hardcover
|
|||
|
> novellas from a wall shelf. Straightening from their crouch, Inky
|
|||
|
> tosses them one at a time horizontally in quick succession like a
|
|||
|
> discus, but without the full-body turning motion, across the hall
|
|||
|
> towards the sounds of frustrated groans and angry muttering. The first
|
|||
|
> starting higher around where a human head might have once been, one at
|
|||
|
> waist height and another at the juncture below where ectoplasmic knees
|
|||
|
> might meet prosthetic legs.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
You pick up three hardback novellas. If it wasn't so smoky, and if you
|
|||
|
weren't so much in the middle of a potentially life and death struggle
|
|||
|
with the Cyberplasm captain of a pirate airship, you might notice their
|
|||
|
titles: *Stop and Smell the Crystals*, *Living the Corn*, and *A Big
|
|||
|
Moon*.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
```{=html}
|
|||
|
<!--
|
|||
|
NOTE: book titles generated by https://booktitlegenerator.com/
|
|||
|
//-->
|
|||
|
```
|
|||
|
Anyway, you start flinging.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
```{=html}
|
|||
|
<!--
|
|||
|
Inky rolls Do Anything 1 to sever cyber eye
|
|||
|
1: Things go poorly; gain 1 xp
|
|||
|
Spend xp to level up, Throwing 2
|
|||
|
//-->
|
|||
|
```
|
|||
|
After you toss the catalyst, you can see a plasmic form heavily blurred
|
|||
|
and obscured by the smoke turn in that direction. You fling *Stop and
|
|||
|
Smell the Crystals* at it, and it spins like a discus and smashes into
|
|||
|
the pirate right in the face, above the chin. It howls and brings its
|
|||
|
hand to its face, and turns and charges up its arm cannon.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
```{=html}
|
|||
|
<!--
|
|||
|
Inky rolls Do Anything 1 to sever arm canon
|
|||
|
5 (2): Success at cost
|
|||
|
//-->
|
|||
|
```
|
|||
|
Mostly going on sound now, you fling *Living the Corn* at the pirate's
|
|||
|
moan and at the electric whine of the canon charging. You hear the canon
|
|||
|
discharge but the half-blind pirate fires wide. You see the flash of the
|
|||
|
energy blast hitting something, someone, else obscured by smoke in the
|
|||
|
middle distance between the two of you. A man screams out in pain. Right
|
|||
|
after the muffled thump of his body hitting the ground, you hear the
|
|||
|
clinking and ringing of something heavy and metallic striking and
|
|||
|
rolling across the floor.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
*Living on Corn* strikes the pirate in the elbow, and with a fizzle and
|
|||
|
a spark, the arm cannon sputters offline.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
```{=html}
|
|||
|
<!--
|
|||
|
Inky rolls Do Anything 1 to sever cyber leg
|
|||
|
6 4: Great Success!
|
|||
|
//-->
|
|||
|
```
|
|||
|
The pirate stumbles forward, half-lame and half-blind. It stoops and
|
|||
|
scoops up a heavy melon-sized object. It stomps its cybernetic boot, and
|
|||
|
small rockets spring out from small compartments on either side of its
|
|||
|
ankle. They start to fire up and the pirate is about to make its escape
|
|||
|
when *A Big Moon* hits it right above knee and severs the ghost's final
|
|||
|
connection to its final enhancement.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
It groans as it starts to dissipate, dropping the heavy object once
|
|||
|
more.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
"My crew, it is too late for me! I shall never have a new body now! But
|
|||
|
it's not too late for you! You must bring the quintessence to Mother!"
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
And then the pirate's essence is diluted in the smoke filling the
|
|||
|
library.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
> At that moment Inky hears a very low whirring accompanied by clicking
|
|||
|
> sounds behind them and without glancing backwards, swings the walking
|
|||
|
> pole at the source of the buzzing. The stick collides with something,
|
|||
|
> sending it careening backwards with a light clatter through what is
|
|||
|
> likely a row of bookshelves around the area already partially emptied
|
|||
|
> of their contents. From the static noise that ensues, Inky realises
|
|||
|
> whatever it was may or may not have been one of the wizard's bugs
|
|||
|
> hovering in the shadows earlier or a disembodied, ectoplasm-spewing
|
|||
|
> prosthetic limb after all. Inky calls out sheepishly, "Sorry, Young
|
|||
|
> Master Alex! Was that yours? Oops? Haha?" before smashing two more
|
|||
|
> empty glass bottles as a distraction for any remaining Cyberplasms
|
|||
|
> lurking on the same floor, and sprints up the tower stairs, using the
|
|||
|
> banisters as a guide.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
The Amber Imp is feverishly reporting all the goings on from inside the
|
|||
|
S.T.A.G. drone when Inky strikes its conveyance with their walking pole.
|
|||
|
The bug is destroyed on contact. The imp barely manages to fire off one
|
|||
|
final End Of Transmission post before ejecting from the craft, which
|
|||
|
sinks below like an exploded firework. It drifts on the currents of
|
|||
|
smoke and flows out through the hole in the wall into the open air
|
|||
|
outside. The imp falls through open space and starts to think back on
|
|||
|
its life. So much time and energy spent chasing its hopes and dreams,
|
|||
|
its goals and aspirations. So much of its life wasted in pursuit. Always
|
|||
|
reaching, never grasping. Is that all it gets? Is this the end? Did it
|
|||
|
ever really even get a chance to really live?
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
These thoughts race through its head as it falls, but are cut short when
|
|||
|
it abruptly lands on a hard bed of cloudstuff. It tumbles and rolls and
|
|||
|
comes to a stop. And when it looks up, amazed to be alive and vowing to
|
|||
|
make the most of this second chance at life, it looks up into the
|
|||
|
benevolent smiling face of a pink zephynos.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
\~
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Inky, you cross the floor to where the pirate had its last stand. You
|
|||
|
find what appears to be approximately one-fifth of the hotelier, and
|
|||
|
wonder idly where the rest of him might be. And you notice a conspicuous
|
|||
|
lack of Ginnarak Crystal.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
You do however notice a soft crunch underfoot. And when you bend down to
|
|||
|
inspect it---disorganized cyberplasms running amok in the smoke behind
|
|||
|
you---you discover a trail of mango flavored croutons leading across the
|
|||
|
hall to the tower stairs.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
You sprint up the stairs using the banisters as a guide. The breadcrumb
|
|||
|
trail ends on the seventh level, where Confidence sits slumped against
|
|||
|
the wall between two bookshelves. They have one arm around four-fifths
|
|||
|
of the hotelier, his shocked gaze telling you everything you need to
|
|||
|
know, that he is entirely dead but just doesn't know it yet. Their other
|
|||
|
arm is around Bread, who has suffered a massive wound to the chest and
|
|||
|
is only slightly more alive than the hotelier. On the ground between
|
|||
|
Confidence's legs is the Ginnarak Crystal. Several loose pages are stuck
|
|||
|
to its sides, held in place by drying blood and ectoplasm.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Confidence looks at you and smiles wearily. "We left a trail for you. It
|
|||
|
was Bread's idea. They were a good guide."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
WHAT DO YOU DO
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
[www](https://framalistes.org/sympa/arc/tildepals/2022-12/msg00250.html)
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
#### 00049 {#00049}
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
> "They *are* a good guide," Inky corrects adamantly. "Do you hear that,
|
|||
|
> Bread? You're not allowed to disappear until you've had an entire bag
|
|||
|
> of these croutons, and even then you're still not allowed. If I'd
|
|||
|
> known you'd never had croutons before I wouldn't have let you walk a
|
|||
|
> step further into that hall. That was simultaneously the worst and
|
|||
|
> best idea ever. Mango! Croutons! What a travesty. Did you even taste
|
|||
|
> any of it? No? You have to! How can you offer guests delicious fondue
|
|||
|
> without croutons? Speaking of which, we haven't gotten that fondue you
|
|||
|
> promised yet, that's reason #144 you can't disappear. What's reason
|
|||
|
> #143? Crostinis. Small toasted bread. Slice of life. You can put
|
|||
|
> cheese on it too, if you really must ..."
|
|||
|
>
|
|||
|
> And so on. While Inky talks at Bread in a bid to keep them conscious,
|
|||
|
> they whisk out a first-aid kit from their courier bag and kneeling on
|
|||
|
> the floor, proceeds to stem the bleeding from the chest wound with
|
|||
|
> coagulant-coated bandages. Slowly, they tip a flask of tea infused
|
|||
|
> with some restorative herbs down Bread's open mouth, careful not to
|
|||
|
> pour too quickly. Inky pauses mid-diatribe and mid-pour to thrust
|
|||
|
> another flask of tea into Confidence's hand, the one wrapped
|
|||
|
> four-fifths of the hotelier and ask, "Are you injured? Please keep an
|
|||
|
> eye on your companion, I will summon for assistance."
|
|||
|
>
|
|||
|
> Standing up, Inky walks to a window, opens it and peers out. They look
|
|||
|
> around for a hot air balloon and notice the unmoored airship. After
|
|||
|
> squinting at it with a mini-spyglass, they see Alex standing at the
|
|||
|
> helm of the ship with a young hemogoblin on board. Inky waves, and
|
|||
|
> makes a vertical cross sign with a fist and thumb on the opposite
|
|||
|
> upper arm a few times. Next, they pull out a small tin whistle, and
|
|||
|
> toot a few sharp notes in the same cadence as the one-liner directed
|
|||
|
> at Bread earlier by the gondola station. After a moment, a scops owl
|
|||
|
> swoops in to land on the windowsill. Inky inserts a rolled piece of
|
|||
|
> paper into a small pouch hanging at the bird's back, and the bird
|
|||
|
> flies off again.
|
|||
|
>
|
|||
|
> Returning to the figures slumped against the wall, Inky places the
|
|||
|
> Ginnarak crystal in a lightly padded cloth bag, stowing it away in
|
|||
|
> their knapsack-style backpack. They resume checking and tending to the
|
|||
|
> toques' injuries, while expounding upon various permutations of
|
|||
|
> toasted bread to a captive audience.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Bread closes their eyes and smiles dreamily at the descriptions of
|
|||
|
various breads. They weakly sip the tea as you tip it into their mouth
|
|||
|
and swallow with effort.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
```{=html}
|
|||
|
<!--
|
|||
|
Inky rolls Do Anything 1 to stabilize Bread
|
|||
|
2 = Things go poorly
|
|||
|
Spend 1 remaining xp to advance = Success + gain Medicine 2
|
|||
|
//-->
|
|||
|
```
|
|||
|
They sigh and open their eyes. They focus on you and maintain eye
|
|||
|
contact as you draw from a seemingly bottomless well of knowledge on the
|
|||
|
topic of toasted breads. Bread and life are clinging fast to each other,
|
|||
|
neither ready or willing to let go of the other. They are going to be
|
|||
|
okay.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Confidence's wounds are superficial. They are winded from dragging Bread
|
|||
|
and the hotelier up seven flights of stairs. But they are fine.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
The hotelier's wounds are sadly quite fatal. Honestly it was all over
|
|||
|
for him the moment he took the full force of the captain's plasma canon
|
|||
|
to his chest. He babbles, "It's not ... I wasn't ..." And then with
|
|||
|
sudden realization and quiet resignation, a clear-eyed, "Oh." And then
|
|||
|
he is gone.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
His courage in the face of danger is the reason you now have the third
|
|||
|
of the five Ginnarak Crystals in your pack. Whether or not his death was
|
|||
|
in vain is now largely up to you and what you decide to do with the
|
|||
|
crystal.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
\~
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Downstairs in the Great Hall of the library, one of the remaining
|
|||
|
Cyberplasms crouches down next to the inert cybernetic eye that until
|
|||
|
very recently belonged to their captain. They pick it up and turn it
|
|||
|
over in their hand. "Worry not, my captain," the ghost mourns. "We will
|
|||
|
find the quintessence. And once we do, we will be made anew in the forge
|
|||
|
of our Mother."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
He rolls the orb in palm of his hand. A faint arc of energy crackles
|
|||
|
across its surface. And the eye rolls over of its own volition and looks
|
|||
|
up at the pirate.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Suddenly reverent, the pirate gently places the eye on the ground as a
|
|||
|
ghostly face begins to form around it. The pirate waits patiently,
|
|||
|
attentively. It's not every day one gets to bare witness to a new birth.
|
|||
|
The ectoplasm that gathers around the eye forms a rail-thin body. Its
|
|||
|
head is bald and its face sports a neatly trimmed mustache. It is
|
|||
|
missing an arm and a leg.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Dutifully, the witness fetches a recently discarded arm canon and leg
|
|||
|
booster. The exotica tap into the energy provided by a new crossing
|
|||
|
over, and come online, and create a new mesh.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
The hotelier stands and looks down at its new body. As it were. It looks
|
|||
|
around at its surroundings. It picks up a few books and starts shelving
|
|||
|
them.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
The pirate, mostly wishing to provide companionship and comfort to the
|
|||
|
new ghost, assists with tidying up.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
\~
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Alex, you are at the helm of the balloon-ship. As you start to drift
|
|||
|
slightly up and away, the blue dome of the hotel comes into view. On its
|
|||
|
peak you can see a life-sized statue of a stern-faced Runesocesius
|
|||
|
wielding a spear, drawn back as though ready to hurl an angry
|
|||
|
thunderbolt down at the world below.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
The hemogoblin is still down on the deck by the canons. You see it
|
|||
|
waving cheerily at the library tower. You squint in that direction, but
|
|||
|
can't see what has caught its attention.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
A small tufted-ear owl silently lands next to you breaking you from your
|
|||
|
reverie. The owl is wearing a small harness with a pouch at the back.
|
|||
|
Inside the pouch is a rolled piece of paper signed by Inky, up on the
|
|||
|
seventh floor of the tower.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
You count seven windows up the side of the tower from its base. There
|
|||
|
seems to be some movement inside, but you can't make much out from here.
|
|||
|
With a lucky shot, you think you might be able to hook the window frame
|
|||
|
with a zipline.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
\~
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Outside, a pink zephynos is spinning raw cloud into a minuscule opera
|
|||
|
house and performing arts center under the direction of an amber imp
|
|||
|
with a new hunger for life. It is an organic looking structure: a
|
|||
|
primary concert hall, surrounded by a number of smaller stages and
|
|||
|
performance areas spiraling out from the center like a nautilus shell.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
The imp smiles happily, proudly. What tales will be told here! What
|
|||
|
songs will be sung! "Lorehold," it whispers to itself. "You will tell
|
|||
|
the world's stories."
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
It is already trying out lines in its head, imagining the play it will
|
|||
|
write of this day. About the hotel and the library and the pirates and
|
|||
|
the cloud dragons. About a pair of adventurers. And a very brave and
|
|||
|
lucky drone pilot that dared to chase its dreams.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
WHAT DO YOU DO
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
[www](https://framalistes.org/sympa/arc/tildepals/2022-12/msg00252.html)
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
#### 00050 {#00050}
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
> Meta: I look forward to reading the A.I.'s play once it's written, we
|
|||
|
> should go back and write the sequence of events for this segment from
|
|||
|
> their perspective in play form at some point.
|
|||
|
>
|
|||
|
> Alex gingerly takes the note from the owl and reads it quickly. "I
|
|||
|
> guess my S.T.A.G. got to Inky after all." Eyeing the tower and cutting
|
|||
|
> up the windows, it looks like maybe I'd get a shot in from the zip
|
|||
|
> line. But it's iffy.
|
|||
|
>
|
|||
|
> Alex grabs the wheel and guides the balloonship slowly up a few
|
|||
|
> levels. From that vantage point it should only be 3-4 levels between
|
|||
|
> the ship and I.
|
|||
|
>
|
|||
|
> After getting the ship in place he grabs a zip line canon and launches
|
|||
|
> it at one of the windows on the 7th floor, sinking the anchor firmly
|
|||
|
> beneath the window.
|
|||
|
>
|
|||
|
> Now to signal Inky... Alex rummages around the ship, finding both a
|
|||
|
> signal flare gun and flares in the cargo hold, at least the pirates
|
|||
|
> were prepared for the worst. Taking aim away from the Balloon Sails,
|
|||
|
> Alex fires the flare up into the air creating a dazingly and bright
|
|||
|
> signal in the sky.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
You fire the zipline and the hemogoblin cheers adorably. The spear
|
|||
|
pierces the stone right beneath the 7th floor window, and the hooks
|
|||
|
extend and foam, cementing the line in place.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
In a locker on the side of the ship you find a few signal flares. You
|
|||
|
point them away from the balloons and fire into the sky. The flares
|
|||
|
explode brilliantly and hang dazzling in the sky before slowly drifting
|
|||
|
downward.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
A pair of zephynos swim over, attracted by the brilliant sparkling
|
|||
|
lights. They excitedly bat at the air with their hands and turn
|
|||
|
somersaults. They pull at some clouds and squeeze them into dozens of
|
|||
|
abstract forms inspired by the bursts. They toss them back and forth
|
|||
|
playfully and soon the boulders are drifting around listlessly overhead.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Below, almost all of the Cyberplasms have noticed by now that their ship
|
|||
|
has been stolen. Several crowd into the hole in the wall and shout and
|
|||
|
shake their fists at you.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
You hear a low chirrup behind you and turn to see the hemogoblin
|
|||
|
standing in the middle of the deck. Somehow in all the commotion it has
|
|||
|
managed to get its tiny little hands on the ruby-hilted dagger. It grips
|
|||
|
the hilt tightly in both hands and gazes in wide-eyed wonder at the gem,
|
|||
|
utterly captivated, back turned to the fireworks. The hemogoblin and the
|
|||
|
blade are absolutely dripping with rivers of blood. A decent sized pool
|
|||
|
has already formed at its feet.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
WHAT DO YOU DO
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
[www](https://framalistes.org/sympa/arc/tildepals/2022-12/msg00257.html)
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
#### 00051 {#00051}
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
> As they wait for the balloonship to approach, Inky glances to the
|
|||
|
> prone remains of the hotelier on the floor and frowns. There wasn't
|
|||
|
> much they could do about that now. It was really inconvenient timing
|
|||
|
> --- he hadn't received the papers yet. Inky can already picture Cio's
|
|||
|
> unspoken but palpable disappointment even as she offered reassurances
|
|||
|
> that it was perfectly fine. The gnawing guilt she could inflict with a
|
|||
|
> look was worse than a tenacious terrorier with a bone biscuit. Then
|
|||
|
> Inky recalls an urban legend from the elderly aunts they sometimes
|
|||
|
> pass by during teatimes, which claim that it was possible to send
|
|||
|
> messages and items to the deceased by burning the articles.
|
|||
|
>
|
|||
|
> Ducking momentarily behind another bookshelf, Inky removes an envelope
|
|||
|
> bearing the seal of a butterfly in red wax, drops it into a
|
|||
|
> recently-emptied shortbread tin and holds a lit match to a corner of
|
|||
|
> the paper. Before long the entire envelope is consumed by the flames
|
|||
|
> and the lid replaced tightly over the tin. If the paperwork found its
|
|||
|
> way to the hotelier on the spiritual plane, that would be the
|
|||
|
> formalities completed. Or if it was reduced to ashes without ever
|
|||
|
> reaching the recipient, no one had to know.
|
|||
|
>
|
|||
|
> Inky walks back to the window to see a flare light and a zip line
|
|||
|
> ending below the windowsill. They look to the other end of the line,
|
|||
|
> back to the toques, and around the room. Their gaze lands on a few
|
|||
|
> cloth covers draped over several bookshelves near an alcove from top
|
|||
|
> to bottom, possibly to protect the manuscripts on the shelves from
|
|||
|
> extended exposure to dust and light. They tie a large red kerchief to
|
|||
|
> the zip line to indicate they had seen flare signal, before turning to
|
|||
|
> Confidence. "There's an airship waiting outside with a zip line. We
|
|||
|
> should get Bread patched up by a healer in town. It wouldn't do to
|
|||
|
> have them walk around like that, unless you want to turn the hotel
|
|||
|
> into a haunted house attraction."
|
|||
|
>
|
|||
|
> As they finish speaking, Inky pulls off three of the covers, two iron
|
|||
|
> spears and one of the two decorative flag poles with flags featuring
|
|||
|
> the crest of Runesocesius, and a symbol (of the old town, Inky
|
|||
|
> surmises) that stood in a nook between the wall and a bookshelf.
|
|||
|
> Crossing over to a wall display of ceremonial chains and maces, they
|
|||
|
> remove two of the metal chains that hung on from hooks on the wall.
|
|||
|
> Having gathered the items, they retrieve two zip line harnesses, some
|
|||
|
> parachute cord and two additional pulley hooks from their bag.
|
|||
|
>
|
|||
|
> They lay the chains on the floor about two feet apart, followed by the
|
|||
|
> cloth sheets with their outer surfaces facing down over them, and tie
|
|||
|
> the corners at both ends to the flag pole to form the base of a
|
|||
|
> makeshift hammock. With Confidence's help, they slide Bread onto the
|
|||
|
> sheets, being cautious to avoid further jostling the toque's injuries.
|
|||
|
> Inky wraps the ends of the chains around the flagpole, tying them and
|
|||
|
> the cloth bundle with loops of parachute cord, and sets the pulley
|
|||
|
> hooks to links on the top surface of the flag pole.
|
|||
|
>
|
|||
|
> Inky puts on a zip line harness and throws the spare one to
|
|||
|
> Confidence, directing them to do the same. With some difficulty, they
|
|||
|
> hoist the bundle of Bread to the window. Inky descends first, hooking
|
|||
|
> their harness pulley to the zip line as they brace against the tower
|
|||
|
> wall. As the bundle is slowly lowered through the window, Inky
|
|||
|
> connects the pulley hooks on the metal chains to the zip line,
|
|||
|
> Confidence bringing up the rear while Inky holds the hammock steady.
|
|||
|
>
|
|||
|
> While the zephynos play overhead, the three of them prepare to slide
|
|||
|
> down to the deck of the balloonship along the zip line.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Confidence and Inky, framing the Bread basket between them, slide down
|
|||
|
the zipline to the balloonship. The zephynos frolic up overhead, and the
|
|||
|
hole in the library wall gapes below. And beyond that, the endless sea
|
|||
|
of clouds.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Inky, having descended the line first, makes it to the ship ahead of
|
|||
|
Bread and Confidence. They clambor up over the side, unhook themself,
|
|||
|
and reach for the corner of the hammock.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
The 3rd Ginnarak Crystal is now on the deck of the ship.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Looking up, Inky sees that two determined cyberplasms have started
|
|||
|
following them out the library tower window. Neither has a harness. One
|
|||
|
is hanging upside down on the cable, arms and legs wrapped around it,
|
|||
|
and has managed to shimmy a couple feet away from Runesocesius. The
|
|||
|
other has just swung out of the window and is holding onto the line with
|
|||
|
their hands. They are kicking their legs up over and over, trying to
|
|||
|
swing high enough to lock their ankles around the cable.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
In the time that it will take you to unhook the hammock and get both
|
|||
|
Bread and Confidence onto the ship, the two pirates will have closed
|
|||
|
most of the distance between you and might be within striking distance.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
Meanwhile on the deck of the ship, the hemogoblin is deeply entranced by
|
|||
|
a private conversation it seems to be having with the ruby-hilt dagger.
|
|||
|
It nods and chirps and coos as it continues to strangle the grip in its
|
|||
|
tiny bloody hands, singing softly and soothingly. The ruby flashes and
|
|||
|
glints, almost strobe-like in the sunlight, as though in the midst of
|
|||
|
some kind of struggle. But as the hemogoblin continues its strange
|
|||
|
lullaby, the gem eventually fades and grows dull, until finally it
|
|||
|
resembles nothing more than a lifeless lump of stone.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
The hemogoblin releases its death grip on the dagger and lowers its arms
|
|||
|
to its sides, allowing the dagger to slip to the ground. It looks up at
|
|||
|
you happily with ruby-red eyes that seem to flash in the sunlight, and
|
|||
|
it chirps merrily.
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
WHAT DO YOU DO
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
[www](https://framalistes.org/sympa/arc/tildepals/2023-01/msg00014.html)
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
#### 00052 {#00052}
|
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> Hmm well, that umm, heya little fella. What umm, what did you find
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> there? Alex moves to pick up Uncle Corraidhin's dagger, noting that
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> it's not nearly as brilliant as it was before. The ruby gem in the
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> hilt appearing far closer to black obsidian now, rather unnerving all
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> things considered..
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>
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> "There's definitely something wrong with this Hemogoblin, this isn't
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> normal" Alex thinks to himself, "What in the ever loving run level 0
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> did Uncle have this dagger for, and why the hell would he stuff it
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> inside some old book." He deftly pockets the dagger, for further
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> inspection once they're back at base. Likely someone at HQ can do a
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> deeper analysis of it then. Thinking ahead, Alex also grabs a
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> handkerchief from his breast pocket and soaks it in the pool of blood
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> around the hemogoblin, better than nothing he supposes.
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>
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> Pulling a multi pronged instrument labelled "GBD" from his bag Alex
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> begins to inspect the hemogoblin for magical, metaphysical, and
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> technological aburations. "Just sit still a bit little fella, lets see
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> what's going on"
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The hemogoblin hums merrily as you retrieve the dagger and fruitlessly
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attempt to mop up the pool of blood. It wriggles around---suddenly
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seemingly boneless---and giggles and blows raspberries as you try to
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take measurements with the GBD. It is kind of annoying but also totally
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cute.
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Your instrument picks up on an anomaly. You have a clear vital signal
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for the hemogoblin. That's normal. And there is an extremely high amount
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of ferrous material inside of it. But you think that's also probably
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normal for a hemogoblin. Finally, there is a faint signal of some other
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kind of entity. And that is not normal.
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Under normal circumstances you would say, given the measurements, that
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this second non-goblin entity is in some kind of stable but near-death
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or catatonic state. As though it is a deep sleep. Is there some weird
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magic at work here? Or is this some strange, undocumented part of the
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normal hemogoblin physiology? Did this little fella just absorb a knife
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spirit?
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The hemogoblin reaches up and holds your hand as you pass the instrument
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over its body. It smiles at you happily.
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WHAT DO YOU DO
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[www](https://framalistes.org/sympa/arc/tildepals/2023-01/msg00016.html)
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#### 00053 {#00053}
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> The GDB flashes, vibrates, and murmurs electronic static as it
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> collects information from the Hemogoblin. "Peculiar readings indeed"
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> Alex mutters, stashing the blood sample and readings from the device.
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> Best to scp a copy of these for safe keeping.
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>
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> scp gdb-readout.dat blood-soaked-handky hq:~
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>
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> Alright little guy, dunno what's wrong with ya, but you seem just as
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> sweet and chipper as you were before, best not let anything foul
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> befall you. Alex scoops the little hemogoblin up and puts him into his
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> pack. The little goblin chirps happily, soaking the back in blood.
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> "Hmm I guess I'll need a new cloak when we get to town.. good thing
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> the STAGS are water proof." Taking accord of the situation Alex
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> notices that Ink has dropped onto the deck, and is hurridly beckoning
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> what looks like a stretcher and confidence down the zip line. "I guess
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> things went not so smoothly back in the hotel then.."
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>
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> Looking up past confidence along the zip line Alex also notes a set of
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> cyberplasms making their way clumsily along the zipline. "Shit! Inky,
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> Confidence! Get the hell on the ship NOW!"
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>
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> Alex dashes back up to the helm of the ship and grabs the wheel. As
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> soon as Inky has Confidence and the stretcher safely on the deck Alex
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> grabs the wheel and casts the wheel hard to starboard side, ripping
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> the zipline and moarings from the wall of the hotel. "Inky cut the
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> zipline, quick a you can, and check the side of the hull for any stow
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> aways!!"
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\~
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> As the toques slide down the last few feet to the deck of the
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> balloonship. Inky takes out a sharp knife and saws through the
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> zipline. As they patrol along the edge to check the side of the hull
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> for additional company, Inky pulls out a tea strainer from their kit
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> and opens a bag of limequats, small round fruits they keep around for
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> their zest and juice to flavour some infusions. They drop a limequat
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> into the strainer, preparing to fling a ball of citrus at the
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> potential presence of any stowaways.
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Inky and Confidence carefully dump Bread onto the deck of the ship. They
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grunt at the impact and mutter a weak thank you.
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Inky starts to saw through the zipline with their knife. The closest
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cyberplasm can almost reach out for the railing and haul itself up. The
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second pirate is not far behind it. Alex yanks the ship hard to
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starboard and---thanks to Inky sawing on it---the line snaps cleanly in
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two.
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Inky looks over the railing in time to see the second pirate fall into
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the sea of clouds with a surprised look on its face. There is no trace
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of the first one. As Inky patrols alongside the edge to check for
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additional company, they see one ghostly hand and then the other reach
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up and grab hold of the rail.
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When the cyberplasm pops its head up and peers over the railing, the
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first thing it sees is a tea strainer flying at its face. It tries to
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turn away, but ends up with a face full of limequat juice nonetheless.
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As the citrus starts to burn, it squeezes its eyes shut tight, even
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tighter than its grip on the railing. All of its focus and effort is
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concentrated on the burning sensation in its eyes. On autopilot, one of
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its hands lets go of the railing to quickly wipe the juice away.
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When it grips the railing again, its hand is now slick with juice, and
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it slips. Knocked off balance and unable to get a grip, the pirate cries
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out as it too falls into the ocean of clouds, eyes squeezed shut the
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whole time.
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Poking its head and arms out of the pack on Alex's back, the hemogoblin
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claps and cheers.
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The balloonship sails away from Runesocesius and from Kelsun Peak. The
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sun is starting to set, and the clouds are turning brilliant pinks and
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reds. This delights the zephynos, who leap and cavort in the clouds, and
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run playfully alongside the ship for a while.
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You have in your possession a stolen pirate airship, a recovered
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Ginnarak Crystal, a couple novellas and manhwa, two warrior toque tour
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guides, and a childlike hemogoblin who may or may not be possessed by
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some kind of spirit.
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END OF CHAPTER 3
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- What do you do once you get back to the Milk Market?
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- Do you keep the airship?
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- What becomes of Confidence and Bread?
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- What do you do with the goblin child?
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[www](https://framalistes.org/sympa/arc/tildepals/2023-01/msg00019.html)
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