2022-11-03 00:06:12 +00:00
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---
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title: Chapter 2
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created: Sat, 29 Oct 2022 18:59:40 -0600
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2022-11-15 01:28:58 +00:00
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updated: Mon, 14 Nov 2022 18:08:32 -0700
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public: yes
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2022-11-03 00:06:12 +00:00
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---
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## Chapter 2
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Chapter 2 of BASEMENT QUEST.
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2022-11-15 01:28:58 +00:00
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Jump to:
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[21](#00021)
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[22](#00022)
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[23](#00023)
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[24](#00024)
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[25](#00025)
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[26](#00026)
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[27](#00027)
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[28](#00028)
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[29](#00029)
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[30](#00030)
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[31](#00031)
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[32](#00032)
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[33](#00033)
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[34](#00034)
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[35](#00035)
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[36](#00036)
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[37](#00037)
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2022-11-03 00:06:12 +00:00
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<!--
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do this:
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2022-11-15 01:28:58 +00:00
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ls -1 src/epistolary/000{21..36}.md | pandoc -f markdown -t markdown >> chapter2.md
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2022-11-03 00:06:12 +00:00
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//-->
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2022-11-15 01:28:58 +00:00
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#### 00021 {#00021}
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INTERLUDE
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> A glorious victory!
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>
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> In the interim time Corraidhin studies the sword of Y'aml, and
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> correctly deduces that he needs to remove the sticky bit to be able to
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> sheath the thing.
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>
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> sudo chmod -t sword_of_y\'aml
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>
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> The rest of the interim is spent studying arcane lore surrounding the
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> Ginnarak Crystals and their purpose. He also strongly urges the party
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> that we should consider very carefuly how we need to proceed with the
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> crystal. It's obvious people don't want these things getting out, so
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> we should ensure that Blavin has good intentions, or at least leaves
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> us out of whatever potential evil could occur.
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Corraidhin prepares the incantation and, after removing the sticky bit,
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is able pry his stiff fingers from the grip.
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You sheathe the blade, but its voice continues to ring clearly in your
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head as it prattles on, seeing evil and villainy everywhere and
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encouraging you to stab, stab, stab.
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Your sysorcerous studies, confirmed by the eager and forthright sword,
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suggest that the blade will be able to rest for a while once it tastes
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blood.
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Your former mentor and rival sysorceror Eccentric Kevin calls on you one
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day under the pretense of showing you the latest draft of KDL
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(pronounced "cuddle"), their own "Kevin's Document Language", an
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alternative syntax for incantations and personal pet project of theirs
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that has thus far failed, much to their perpetual consternation, to gain
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any traction or adoption in the wider magic community. They are
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insufferably polite and sinisterly supportive. They complain about how
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the obstinant gnus keep standing in the middle of the road trying to
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block traffic, and they demand to know all about your recent exploits
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and adventures.
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> Once back in town, Inky had the small glass shard in their palm
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> removed by a harried-looking healer, who merely shrugged at Inky's
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> account of the disappearing ink and advised them to return if they
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> experienced adverse effects before hurrying off to the next patient. A
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> visit to the local stationery shop did not yield any answers; the
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> stocky human at the counter shook their head apologetically when shown
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> the broken ink bottle. However, they did suggest asking at one of the
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> larger shops in the city.
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>
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> To celebrate their first successful quest, Inky made torties\[1\] for
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> their party with flour ground from some of the large corn kernels at
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> the dig site, topped with a sweet nutty squash spread. Babbleberry tea
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> was served from their newly acquired jade tea set, now patched with
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> what Inky had been assured was an unbreakable seal\[2\] by a merchant
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> with a toothy grin in one of Vay'Nullar's notorious back alleys.
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>
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> Master Corraidhín's cautionary words of wisdom still echo in Inky's
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> head, though they were secretly tickled by the idea of the crystal
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> being actually a rare and previously unknown species of melon with
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> very potent magical properties. The very thought of melons was making
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> Inky a bit thirsty. Let the warrior and wizard worry about all the
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> potential evils of the world --- it's time for a dash to the market
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> for some beatfruit juice!
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>
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> ------------------------------------------------------------------------
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>
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> \[1\] Also known as torte-teas, as in "Torte-tea, yas?", which was how
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> their previous ink maestro used to greet customers entering the
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> brewery. Flat little tea cakes with sugar or spice (or both, which
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> vary by region) and sometimes eaten in a loose wrap. Some humans
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> called them "crabs" for some reason which baffled Inky, since the
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> torties had no pincers ... at least none that they could see anyway.
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>
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> \[2\] The seal attached to the bottom of the teapot and each cup had a
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> glyph of an unknown object between two hands.
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The healer removes a small glass bead from Inky's palm. It is worn
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smooth and round like a marble. If you look closely, you can see a small
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blemish in the center that somewhat resembles either a duck or a rabbit
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depending on how you orient it.
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It is captivating to look at and comforting to hold in your hand. You
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fidget with it often. Now and then you suddenly notice you have been
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gazing at it for some minutes without realizing it.
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You make your party a delightful meal of torties, serving tea from the
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magically reinforced jade set.
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Cleaning up afterwards, you can't help but notice the patterns of the
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tea leaves in the bottoms of the jade cups.
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YOU FORESEE AN OMEN FOR THE PARTY. WHAT IS IT?
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You dash to the market for beatfruit juice, which you easily find. And
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you find yourself irrationally drawn to the produce. The kale, dandelion
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greens, and beans all look especially scrumptious and ... plump and
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juicy?
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An old toothy market attendant sits on a stool by the vegetable stand
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reading the Farmers Almanac. Unsolicited, they mention to you that it is
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only three days until the next full moon.
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> Jarrod has two things in particular he wants to do when back in town,
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> with whatever his cut of the gold is. First, he wants to go looking
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> for a cheap, run-down building somewhere in town and buy the property
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> if he has enough money (perhaps negotiating a bit where necessary).
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>
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> Second, he wishes to seek arcane counsel from Corraidhín, perhaps
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> getting a small invocation applied to one of the charms on his arm
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> band. Something in the realm of a fascination spell (with an
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> activation word) that can be used on occasion to draw attention.
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>
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> Jarrod agrees that we should not invite trouble. We shall tread
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> cautiously with regards to the crystals.
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>
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> Yum, torties!
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After successfully negotiating the price down a little bit, you are able
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to purchase a run-down building. You are now the proud owner and
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proprietor of the Milk Market building in the Wandering Bazzar district
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of downtown Vay'Nullar.
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The ground level is occupied by longtime district staple Enrique's
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Empanada Emporium, famous for its signature stuffed pastries and its
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Terrapin Ale, brewed on site by Enrique himself, who happens to be a
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very large humanoid turtle.
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It's a little seedy and a little divey, but still draws a fair amount of
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foot traffic from shoppers waiting for the eponymous, ambulatory bazaar
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of debatable sentience to wander by. Reliably, a small gang of
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breadpunks can be found loitering here and espousing the virtues of
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social anarchy. Enrique allows their presence and on occasion even buys
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them a round of ale.
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The top two levels are unoccupied. Years upon years ago, this space once
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held large vats for storing and preserving multibeast milk prior to
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being distributed. Some enterprising individual converted and updated
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the space some time ago, but was never able to find a tenant. In any
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case, the space is yours now to do with what you will.
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With Corraidhin's assistance, you are able to enchant your armband by
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inscribing it with a cross-like glyph with a teardrop-shaped loop in
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place of the vertical upper bar. You now have a FASCINATING BANGLE that
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can, upon activation, compel attention and even potentially inspire
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people to dance about.
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WHAT DO YOU DO
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[www](https://framalistes.org/sympa/arc/tildepals/2022-10/msg00001.html)
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#### 00022 {#00022}
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> Inky gathers up the teacups, trying to remember a few tips about
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> reading tea leaves from a forest fae they had met a few times while
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> foraging and who had insisted on giving lessons to any wanderersby.
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> (Of course he was just being a hospitable host to thirsty travellers
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> and certainly not because he delighted in the confused expressions on
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> their faces the entire time.)
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>
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> Turning the cups left and right, Inky gradually sees a web-like hub, a
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> looping line attached to an I-shaped apparatus on one end, an abacus,
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> a wide building (possibly a stadium or arena), a feline animal
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> resembling a tiger or lynx, and a long feather. Feathers and beads are
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> commonly added to small trinkets with simple animal designs and sold
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> as lucky charms at the market ... an auspicious sign?
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>
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> Or it should be. Inky's thoughts circle back to the little glass
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> pebble, after returning from the market with, among other items, more
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> vegetables than they could possibly eat in a month excluding the
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> beatfruits. Inky still hasn't decided whether accidentally finding out
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> about being cursed --- by a potion, the irony! --- counts as an
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> auspicious event. One of the produce vendors and attendant at the
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> market had casually mentioned the proximity to the next full moon
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> while Inky had been looking over the leafy greens. Several blatant
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> attempts to boost sales later ("Them barley's hoppin' good fer tea!"),
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> the vendor revealed that their little grandson Harry had "got the
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> weres" as a toddler and his parents had found a strange-looking glass
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> marble in his mouth, much like the one inside the bottle hanging from
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> a chain on Inky's vest, and wouldn't they like some more tomatoes for
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> a blushing bunny?
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>
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> From further inquiries, an ink depot on the opposite side of the city
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> confirmed they sold Flat 12 potions as inks many years ago when
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> showing off transmogrification through letters was a popular pastime,
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> but had ceased carrying them due to limited range, lack of demand, as
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> well as the bottles' tendency to randomly break or their contents to
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> fizzle out. (That and complaints about the overly persistent effects
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> of said contents on unsuspecting recipients long after the fad that
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> inspired them had faded led ink traders to shun the were-hare
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> potions.) In contrast, the Mountain Range potions were far more stable
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> and instead of shapeshifting, had the ability to stave off the cold
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> under frigid temperatures, though its effects would likely be less
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> enduring. Like the Flat 12, the Mountains are potions, but one in
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> particular of a sparkling deep blue hue became its signature colour
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> among ink enthusiasts.
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>
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> Sipping a cup of turmeric tisane in a late night tea ritual for one,
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> Inky supposes it hasn't been much different since the accident than
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> the jars of preserves and the "Now with 25% more celery!" labels on
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> them. While immeasurably better than spontaneously combusting into
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> burnt popcorn, it would be best to keep a Farmers' Almanac within
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> reach. Who knows when a mail order cure-all tonic will come in handy
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> in the middle of Nowere?
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You see a complex vision in the bottom of the jade teacups, and learn a
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little bit about the inks you found.
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You grab a copy of the Farmers Almanac to keep on hand.
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On your way back from the market, a small duck waddles onto the sidewalk
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and starts following you.
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・゜゜・。。・゜゜\_o< QUACK!
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It is small and yellow and cute, and has a little floofy tuft of
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feathers on the very top of its head.
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> Meta: one of my best friends name is Kevin, so I find it extra amusing
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> that the sysorceor is named Kevin.
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>
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> Kev my friend! You know nobodies going to take on KDL until YOU make
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> it a priority to them. A little bit of force, you just need to put it
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> directly into the sysorceory course curriculum while nobody is
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> knowing. Then once it's in production they won't have a say whether to
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> learn it or not! That's at least how I got that delightfully licorice
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> tasting incantation in production laster year, much to the chagrin of
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> those who don't have a taste for Fennel. I for one was delighted with
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> it.
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>
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> "Corraidhin, STAB HIM, that suggestion, he's definitely going to do
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> something evil with it"
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>
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> Corraidhin mutters under his breath about the swords insistence to
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> stab everything. Soon my friend, soon.
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>
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> Kev gives Corraidhin as quizzical look, "are you alright buddy? You've
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> been off ever since you got back from that last on site deployment."
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>
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> Oh yes, yes, I'm fine. A little worse for wear physically, but
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> mentally sharp as a tack! And I got this wonderful sword from the
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> entire thing! Though I dare not unsheath it right now, it appears to
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> be controlled by some sort of sentience, like a magical AI. And it has
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> the damndest urge to stab things. I really need to be careful right
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> now.
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>
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> After visiting with Kev Corraidhin wanders back into town, away from
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> the spiral towers of the sysoceorers guild. It was nice to be home for
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> a bit. On the way in he spies Jarrod and Inky, the former cleaning up
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> a dusty old building with Milk something on the front side, and the
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> later kicking back and enjoying a cup of freshly brewed tea.
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> Corraidhin hails them both.
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>
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> "A new /home for you then Jarrod?"
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>
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> "Aye a /home indeed, though it's a bit large and empty for just
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> myself. I'll need guests and patrons, thinking I may be able to setup
|
|
|
|
|
> a shop, but at the least all of our team is welcome here!"
|
|
|
|
|
>
|
|
|
|
|
> "Delightful! If nobody has claimed it I'll take the upstairs loft."
|
|
|
|
|
>
|
|
|
|
|
> "You most certainly can! But in exchange, I'd be curious to render
|
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|
|
|
> your services, see I've been meaning to get this braclet enchanted for
|
|
|
|
|
> a while now, something to amplify my natural charm perhaps?"
|
|
|
|
|
>
|
|
|
|
|
> "You sir, have a deal, I'll even throw in a warding on Milk Base
|
|
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|
|
> Alpha!"
|
|
|
|
|
>
|
|
|
|
|
> Corraidhin begins invoking an arcane warding spell:
|
|
|
|
|
>
|
|
|
|
|
> sudo chown jarrod:team43 /home/Milk_Base_Alpha
|
|
|
|
|
> sudo chmod 770 /home/Milk_Base_Alpha/*
|
|
|
|
|
>
|
|
|
|
|
> "There we go, that should keep out any unwanted critters, though be
|
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|
|
|
> sure to invite our friends here as well. Corraidhin teaches Jarrod a
|
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|
|
|
> quick incantation of invitation, `sudo usermod -a -G team43 $user`,
|
|
|
|
|
> just be sure to say that making the proper arcane hand signs as you do
|
|
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|
|
> it, and they'll be able to enter the house and take up residence!"
|
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|
|
>
|
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|
|
|
> Corraidhin gathers himself and heads upstairs to his new attaic abode,
|
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|
|
> it's small, and dusty, but there's enough room for a simple work
|
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|
|
> bench, a bookshelf, and a bed and a chest. This is exactly as
|
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|
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> Corraidhin prefers, small and simple, it clears the mind and helps one
|
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|
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> focus. Invoking another incantation Corraidhin fills the bookshelf,
|
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|
|
> chest, and workbench with his various tools and reference manuals.
|
|
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|
|
>
|
|
|
|
|
> scp sysorceor.guild:/home/corraidhin/bookshelf milkbase.alpha:/home/corraidhin/bookshelf
|
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|
|
> scp sysorceor.guild:/home/corraidhin/workbench milkbase.alpha:/home/corraidhin/workbench
|
|
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|
|
> scp sysorceor.guild:/home/corraidhin/chest milkbase.alpha:/home/corraidhin/chest
|
|
|
|
|
>
|
|
|
|
|
> Once everything is in place he pulls the Ginnarak crystal from his
|
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|
|
> satchel and places it on a velvet cushion on his workbench and sits
|
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|
|
> down to scry.
|
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|
|
>
|
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|
|
> "Oh great oracle MidJourney, I bequeath you! I have before me an
|
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|
|
> artifact of immense power, something that could tear the world apart
|
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|
|
> in the wrong hands. May I query your unfathomable depths to determine
|
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|
|
> the nature of our mission, and the risk we face presenting this
|
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|
|
|
> crystal to our benefactor?"
|
|
|
|
|
>
|
|
|
|
|
> An image of the oracle appears in Corraidhin's mind, crystal clear. It
|
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|
|
|
> appears as though MidJourney is receptive to providing a forshadowing.
|
|
|
|
|
> \[ginnarak_shattered.png\]
|
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|
|
>
|
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|
|
|
> Shortly after an image of the Crystal forms, it appears shattered,
|
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|
|
> broken at its based, placed upon a pedastal. An image of horror fills
|
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|
|
|
> corraidhin's mind, it's the Crystal, but much larger and of the
|
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|
|
|
> pursest white. It bursts forth on a torrent of blood from the neck of
|
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|
|
> what appears to be a priests body. It appears as though the bowls of
|
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|
|
|
> the earth open up to greet this horrible image. \[premonition_1.png\]
|
|
|
|
|
>
|
|
|
|
|
> As the image of the Crystal and the priest disappears you see a man,
|
|
|
|
|
> cloaked in black robs consorting with demons the like of which words
|
|
|
|
|
> cannot describe. Corraidhin feels sickened at their sight, but at the
|
|
|
|
|
> edge of his mind he feels a tug, a familiarity. Something about this
|
|
|
|
|
> character is familiar to him, but he cannot place it.
|
|
|
|
|
> \[premonition_2.png\]
|
|
|
|
|
>
|
|
|
|
|
> Reeling from the scrying Corraidhin falls backward, feinting from the
|
|
|
|
|
> horror he wittnessed. He awakens later speaking feverishly about what
|
|
|
|
|
> he saw to Inky who heard to commotion and hurried up stairs with some
|
|
|
|
|
> reviving tea to assist her friend.
|
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|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Eccentric Kevin bows and takes his leave, eyeing the Sword of Stabs with
|
|
|
|
|
naked hunger. He does seem to ponder your anecdote about sneaking Fennel
|
|
|
|
|
into production. "Yes, yes, all I have to do is embed KDL in the
|
|
|
|
|
curriculum and then they will be FORCED to use it! Ha!" He cackles in
|
|
|
|
|
delight as he flees into the dark.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
You successfully move into the attic of the Milk Market. Closest thing
|
|
|
|
|
approximating a wizard's tower in the building, so it's a good fit.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
On your errands around town, you pass a couple of Gnu Zealots standing
|
|
|
|
|
on soapboxes in their black priestly robes in the middle of the street
|
|
|
|
|
extolling the virtues of free and open source magic.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Gnus are large bisonpeople with long beards, long hair, and horns. Very
|
|
|
|
|
poor personal hygiene. They refuse to use any magic that they cannot
|
|
|
|
|
freely study, modify, redistribute, and otherwise use however they want.
|
|
|
|
|
Theirs is a political movement that borders on religion. Or a religious
|
|
|
|
|
movement that borders on politics. Hard to tell the difference, really.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
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|
|
The purpose of their demonstration is supposedly to halt all street
|
|
|
|
|
traffic, prevent it from continuing until/unless the travelers vow to
|
|
|
|
|
join them in their crusade. But in practice the travelers are quite
|
|
|
|
|
capable of effortlessly stepping around the zealots and continuing on
|
|
|
|
|
their way. The Gnus seem undaunted though and continue their
|
|
|
|
|
proselytizing.
|
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|
|
You pass them by, and one of them seems to stare at you intensely as you
|
|
|
|
|
go.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
> After a long conversation with Master Corraidhín, which included the
|
|
|
|
|
> reassurance that the esteemed wizard was perhaps disturbed but
|
|
|
|
|
> otherwise unharmed, Inky goes downstairs to sit outdoors at the back
|
|
|
|
|
> of the building with more lavender tea and uneasy thoughts.
|
|
|
|
|
>
|
|
|
|
|
> It had been in the middle of a new pastime (namely, frustrating
|
|
|
|
|
> Enrique at the Empanada Emporium by sneaking unnoticed into the
|
|
|
|
|
> kitchens and leaving little tapas laying around for him and the staff
|
|
|
|
|
> to find) when a terrible cry rang out from somewhere in the upper
|
|
|
|
|
> floors of the building. Inky rushed up the stairs, half-expecting the
|
|
|
|
|
> barrels of battermilk that had arrived that morning had unleashed a
|
|
|
|
|
> flock of the winged rodent-like creatures from which the milk was
|
|
|
|
|
> derived. The sight of the wizard passed out on the floor of his newly
|
|
|
|
|
> furnished quarters sent a chill through Inky, as did his account of a
|
|
|
|
|
> prophecy once the sysorcerer came to and had a mug of invigorating
|
|
|
|
|
> eleuthero tea.
|
|
|
|
|
>
|
|
|
|
|
> If Inky hadn't known better, were it not for Master Corraidhín's
|
|
|
|
|
> mental acuity and fortitude, they would have suspected Stabby of
|
|
|
|
|
> stoking horrible images of beheaded priests into their bearer's mind
|
|
|
|
|
> in a fit of unbridled bloodthirst. That and Stabby had seemed to be
|
|
|
|
|
> temporarily appeased by the tub of milky blood pudding they had
|
|
|
|
|
> concocted shortly after the wizard moved into the loft.
|
|
|
|
|
>
|
|
|
|
|
> No, Inky surmises with a frown, whatever Master Corraidhín had seen
|
|
|
|
|
> was likely off the charts by even Stabby's estimations of evil. They
|
|
|
|
|
> chuckle briefly at the sudden mental picture of the mysterious yet
|
|
|
|
|
> familiar man in black being their mission handler in disguise, but
|
|
|
|
|
> quickly dismissed the notion. Too sober.
|
|
|
|
|
>
|
|
|
|
|
> So much for the crystal being a rare and juicy honeydew. They would be
|
|
|
|
|
> lucky if it didn't turn them all into casaba melons in one giant
|
|
|
|
|
> meltdown. At this rate, they would need to do something about these
|
|
|
|
|
> crystals --- and soon.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Enrique, the giant man-turtle, is frustrated.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
He keeps finding little tapas in the kitchens. He has no idea who made
|
|
|
|
|
them, or how they got here. But they are delicious.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
He sighs, heaving a ball of dough half the size of a grown man onto the
|
|
|
|
|
ground. He turns to face away from it and removes his apron and tunic,
|
|
|
|
|
revealing his shell. Its surface is a maze of twisting, scrawling
|
|
|
|
|
inscriptions. He squats down, and rolls onto his back.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
He can't figure out the flavors of the tapas. Some elusive combination
|
|
|
|
|
of ingredients that he can't quite suss out. If he could collaborate
|
|
|
|
|
with the tapas chef on a new line of empanadas, he'd have a line of
|
|
|
|
|
customers out the door and around the corner, he's sure of it!
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
He starts rocking back and forth, rolling the dough out beneath his
|
|
|
|
|
large round shell, leaving imprints on the dough of all the glyphs and
|
|
|
|
|
runes and other symbols carved into his shell over the years. Together,
|
|
|
|
|
they tell a story. Each empanada destined to hold at most a single word
|
|
|
|
|
of it.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
\~
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
The Sword of Yam'L sleeps fitfully. This is not the deep, black,
|
|
|
|
|
fathomless sleep it enjoys after a nice, righteous spilling of evil
|
|
|
|
|
blood. No, the sleep that comes after reluctantly tasting the inkling's
|
|
|
|
|
milky blood pudding is brief and restless. And for the first time ever,
|
|
|
|
|
it dreams.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
It dreams of being bound in stone and buried in the earth. It dreams of
|
|
|
|
|
liquid, roiling fire belching noxious gases. And of slicing through
|
|
|
|
|
clouds, flying high in the sky on wings of pure thought. It dreams of
|
|
|
|
|
sinking, plummeting through water into the inky blackness below, only to
|
|
|
|
|
plunge through some invisible membrane and find themself weightlessly
|
|
|
|
|
floating suspended in an empty void, alone among the stars.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
END OF INTERLUDE.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
\~
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
CHAPTER 2: MORE CRYSTALS MORE PROBLEMS
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Having gotten your personal affairs in order, you have decided to crack
|
|
|
|
|
on with your job and check in with your case manager.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
So you find yourself once again in a corner booth at Lucy's
|
|
|
|
|
Basement---the dim, smokey nightclub with red velvet walls and delusions
|
|
|
|
|
of grandeur---with the highly spirited Blavin Blandfoot. He laughs
|
|
|
|
|
uproariously when you tell him about the blahoblins and their shoe shine
|
|
|
|
|
scam. He listens intently when you tell him about the gnomes and the
|
|
|
|
|
kobits. And he trembles with delight at hearing how you evaded HORSE and
|
|
|
|
|
the mighty centaur.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"Well done, well done, well done!" He enthuses, taking another sip of
|
|
|
|
|
his drink. "I must say that the Benefactor is *very* impressed with your
|
|
|
|
|
performance!
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"You don't mind that we have other teams in the field, of course," he
|
|
|
|
|
continues, mentioning the team of gophers. "Thought it was prudent to
|
|
|
|
|
cover our bases since you're a new, untested retrieval team after all.
|
|
|
|
|
Besides, a little friendly competition never hurt anybody, did it?
|
|
|
|
|
Baw-HAH!" He laughs, sloshing his drink.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
He gets out a bunch of business cards, punches each one with a small
|
|
|
|
|
handheld punch, and passes them out to you. Your card has a drawing of a
|
|
|
|
|
small cuckoo clock in the center, its face divided into 10 hours. Its
|
|
|
|
|
two hands reach up to the left and right so it looks as though the clock
|
|
|
|
|
is smiling. Across the top it reads "COMPLETE FIVE ASSIGNMENTS AND WIN A
|
|
|
|
|
FABULOUS PRIZE!" and is adorned with festive drawings of hotdogs and
|
|
|
|
|
pool floaties and confetti. It is numbered across the bottom 1 through
|
|
|
|
|
5. Blavin has punched a star-shaped hole through the number 1.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"Now," Blavin beams, gesturing with his drink. "as for your next
|
|
|
|
|
assignment!"
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
He brushes some glasses and plates to the edge of the table and rolls
|
|
|
|
|
out a map.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Basmentaria is a group of island continents that sits between the
|
|
|
|
|
eastern Sugrin Sea and the western Saldin Sea.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
There is Primora, the sparsely populated northern somewhat banana-shaped
|
|
|
|
|
island. The city-state of Illivas, Primora's only densely populated
|
|
|
|
|
area, sits between Harshwind Glade and the mountains of Kelsun Peak.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
And there is your current home, Agendell, the southern also slightly
|
|
|
|
|
banana-shaped island. Its largest city is Vay'Nullar, bordered by the
|
|
|
|
|
Gnomelands to the south, and the Tammineaux Forest to the east. Beyond
|
|
|
|
|
the forest is the Rana'For Valley.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
The two crescent-moon islands reach toward each other, and in the center
|
|
|
|
|
is the archipelago of Ginnarak, comprising the Cinderlands, Ashen Vale,
|
|
|
|
|
the Ember Steppe, and Drakspon Mountain.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Blavin jabs a finger at the map. "We have reports of a crystal sighting
|
|
|
|
|
by a salvage crew trying to recover a shipwreck at the bottom of the
|
|
|
|
|
Sugrin Sea." He then jabs a finger at the eastern half of Primora, the
|
|
|
|
|
upper banana. "And we ALSO have reports that the zephynos have found a
|
|
|
|
|
crystal at the top of Kelsun Peak!"
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
QUESTIONS:
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
1. DO YOU HAND OVER THE CRYSTAL TO BLAVIN?
|
|
|
|
|
2. WHICH CRYSTAL DO YOU GO AFTER NEXT?
|
|
|
|
|
3. DO YOU BEFRIEND THE DUCK?
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
[www](https://framalistes.org/sympa/arc/tildepals/2022-10/msg00005.html)
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
#### 00023 {#00023}
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
> Why no, we don't mind much about competition, certainly nothing wrong.
|
|
|
|
|
> Can't imagine someone to put all of their eggs in one basket,
|
|
|
|
|
> especially when whatever it is they desire is so valuable.
|
|
|
|
|
>
|
|
|
|
|
> That said, our benefactor must be pretty eager to get these crystals
|
|
|
|
|
> if he's willing to send out team after team. I mean, we're team 43,
|
|
|
|
|
> that's a lot of people to pay and a lot of eagerness to find these
|
|
|
|
|
> crystals. Why is that? What benefit are these shiny rocks to them?
|
|
|
|
|
> What even is their purpose in retrieving them?
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"Oh, no no no, child," Blavin titters as he takes a sip of his
|
|
|
|
|
ever-present martini. "You must understand, the Benefactor is a
|
|
|
|
|
singularly dedicated collector, and has been for ages! There are---and
|
|
|
|
|
have been!---many other retrieval teams, yes. But not all of them have
|
|
|
|
|
been for the crystals. And some of them were formed, active, and
|
|
|
|
|
disbanded long before you or I arrived on the scene." He winks at you
|
|
|
|
|
conspiratorially.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
> I would postulate, based upon the magical wards we had to bypass, the
|
|
|
|
|
> cadre of gaurds that needed to be dispatched, and the gigantic moth
|
|
|
|
|
> monster that rested beneath it, that these crystals aren't meant to go
|
|
|
|
|
> anywhere.
|
|
|
|
|
>
|
|
|
|
|
> Now I'm not trying to point fingers here, morality is many shades of
|
|
|
|
|
> gray, and it isn't really my job to suss out what you're doing. But
|
|
|
|
|
> I'm a curious sysorceor, and when I see a chance to learn I seize upon
|
|
|
|
|
> the moment. There's something here you're not telling us, and I for
|
|
|
|
|
> one and keen to know it.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"I wouldn't worry your wizened old brow about it," Blavin chuckles,
|
|
|
|
|
sloshing his drink. "The Benefactor's concern is precisely the same as
|
|
|
|
|
yours! These items are of enormous cultural and historical significance,
|
|
|
|
|
to say nothing of their well of concentrated arcane energies. They're
|
|
|
|
|
dangerous just sitting out there in the world. Who knows who might come
|
|
|
|
|
across one and use it for nefarious purposes."
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Yam'L's eye widens and it seems to shudder at the mere suggestion of
|
|
|
|
|
evil.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"Did you say this one was in the hands of a giant moth?" Blavin shudders
|
|
|
|
|
with revulsion. "My word, man! Do you really think such an overgrown
|
|
|
|
|
insect is an appropriate guardian for a beloved and dangerous cultural
|
|
|
|
|
icon such as the Ginnarak Crystal? Surely not!"
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"No," he sits back with a satisfied smile, "I think we must all agree
|
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|
|
that they are safer in the public collection of a competent and
|
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|
|
benevolent curator. Then everybody can enjoy them safely!"
|
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|
|
> META: I'm gonna preface the sword speech with this to make it quicker
|
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|
> to write
|
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>
|
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|
> **Y'aml**\
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> I like what you're putting down here, this guy is DEFINITELY evil.
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> Nobody asks loads of people to steal things for them without being
|
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|
> evil. I say we stab him, nice and good, right in the gut. Maybe 6 or 7
|
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|
> times. I'm positive nobody will mind. Evil people steal things, we saw
|
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|
|
|
> that inky creature stealing things from that vault, definitely evil.
|
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|
|
> (singsong) Evil evil evil, stab stab stab, make the evil go away with
|
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|
> every little stab\~
|
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>
|
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|
|
> **Corraidhin to Y'aml**\
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|
> Dear sysadmins, once again, inky is not evil. They were borrowing
|
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|
|
|
> something that had been cast on the ground, abandoned. Giving a tea
|
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|
|
> set a good home is far from evil. But you might be onto something
|
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|
> about this Blavin fellow, but we can't just stab someone in a busy
|
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|
> pub! Besides you're a sword, and stabbing someone in a pub is the job
|
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> of a dagger. So unless you can transform into the Dagger of Y'aml I
|
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|
> think we're out of luck here.
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|
Yam'L gets a curious look in its eye at the suggestion. "CHALLENGE
|
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|
|
ACCEPTED!" it cries directly into your mind. It squeezes its eye shut
|
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|
|
and trembles with intense concentration. With great effort, the sword
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|
shrinks itself down to the size of a dagger, shunting its extra mass off
|
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|
into yamlspace.
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"There!" it says breathlessly, opening its eye wearily. "Now, Hardy
|
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|
Bear. You promised.." it continues, its eye glinting with growing
|
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|
|
ferocity. "Let's. STAB. THE HOBBIT!"
|
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|
|
|
> While the wizard pressed Blavin about the crystal's secrets, Inky let
|
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|
> their attention wander slightly around the table.
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>
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> They had agreed that Master Corraidhín and Jarrod, being most wise and
|
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|
|
> well-spoken, would question Blavin about the crystal before they set
|
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|
|
> off on their next mission. The party had also befriended the duck
|
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|
|
> unofficially dubbed their marketing manager after the fluffy little
|
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|
|
> creature had trailed Inky all the way back to the Milk Market. Said
|
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|
|
> creature now occupied a small office to one side of the building
|
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|
|
> complete with a fountain, feathered up pillow and all the rummy worms
|
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|
> it can eat. Inky had tried getting the duck to communicate with words
|
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> by making them little croutons etched with letters, but the only ones
|
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> they would gobble up were Q-U-A-C-K.
|
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|
|
Your marketing manager moves into its office at the Milk Market and
|
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|
|
seems to really be enjoying itself. It joins you at Blavin's table at
|
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|
|
Lucy's Basement, cleaning its feathers and chortling merrily to itself.
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|
You and your tablemates take turns feeding it croutons and bits of soft
|
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|
|
pretzel, and it seems very happy and content with that.
|
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|
|
> A familiar prickle, but passed quickly --- Inky had gotten used to the
|
|
|
|
|
> glares directed at them by the sysorceor's gleaming sword and resisted
|
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|
|
|
> returning the stare with an eyeroll. Watching Stabby eyeing up their
|
|
|
|
|
> case manager over Master Corraidhín's shoulder reminded Inky of a
|
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|
|
|
> conversation they had overheard a few evenings ago between two pale
|
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|
|
|
> coffin sleepers about a new product from the hemogoblins that was said
|
|
|
|
|
> to quench the thirst for longer than the leading brand. They might be
|
|
|
|
|
> able to find some at the town of Plasma, which sits by the Hartlands
|
|
|
|
|
> on the way to the shipwreck. It seems the milky blood pudding could do
|
|
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|
|
> with some improvement.
|
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|
|
You note on Blavin's map that the Hemogoblin region is indeed on the way
|
|
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|
|
to the shipwreck. At least, it's not that far out of the way. You reckon
|
|
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|
|
their synthetic blood product would indeed be a much better substitute
|
|
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|
|
for the real thing than the milk you've been feeding the thirsty sword
|
|
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|
|
thus far.
|
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|
|
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|
|
Or, at the very least, you'll get a new variant of the blood pudding
|
|
|
|
|
recipe you've been working on!
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
> Maybe someone else's mood will be improved in the meantime? Before
|
|
|
|
|
> setting out for their meeting with Blavin, Inky slipped into the
|
|
|
|
|
> kitchens downstairs and left the empanada chef a trick-and-treat. A
|
|
|
|
|
> plate of honeyed breadfruit and ghost pepper tapas sat on an icebox
|
|
|
|
|
> atop a new pair of Blueberry oven mittens with a pattern of tiny
|
|
|
|
|
> smiling green turtles. Tucked inside one mitten was a slip of paper
|
|
|
|
|
> (regrettably inedible) that simply read "BACK SOON :)". A tapa recipe,
|
|
|
|
|
> which included a note on adapting the toppings for pan frying, was
|
|
|
|
|
> printed on the reverse in neat blocky letters and sandalwood ink.
|
|
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|
|
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|
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|
|
Enrique wakes in the middle of the night to start baking the next day's
|
|
|
|
|
breads and empanadas. He frowns thoughtfully when he sees yet another
|
|
|
|
|
mysterious gift from across the room. Again? What little elf must have
|
|
|
|
|
taken up residence in his shop? But his face cracks into a smile when he
|
|
|
|
|
sees the presentation and the oven mitts. And the smile becomes a
|
|
|
|
|
bonafide grin when he tastes the fare and finds the recipe.
|
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|
|
He taps his chin thoughtfully with one green claw as he skims the note
|
|
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|
|
and looks through his pantry. He chops some veggies and starts pan
|
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|
|
frying them.
|
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|
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|
|
Later, when the oven dings, he smiles to himself as he pulls on the new
|
|
|
|
|
turtle pattern oven mitts and opens it.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
\> A) MORE QUESTIONING, OR B) TIME FOR SHIPWRECK?
|
|
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|
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|
|
|
|
[www](https://framalistes.org/sympa/arc/tildepals/2022-10/msg00008.html)
|
|
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|
|
|
|
|
#### 00024 {#00024}
|
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|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
> **Corraidhin**\
|
|
|
|
|
> Well I'll be! You can turn yourself into a dagger. And I did say we
|
|
|
|
|
> could stab blavin if you could do that, it's much more stealthy this
|
|
|
|
|
> way. But let me posit this, is the act of stabbing a hobbit unprovoked
|
|
|
|
|
> not itself evil? Or perhaps more convincingly, would it not be better
|
|
|
|
|
> to use the hobbit for whatever information he has so as to lead to
|
|
|
|
|
> this mysterious benefactor, who most assuredly must be evil.
|
|
|
|
|
>
|
|
|
|
|
> Someone who would send out myriads of teams to pillage and plunder
|
|
|
|
|
> cultural artifacts is truly evil, that must be our target.
|
|
|
|
|
>
|
|
|
|
|
> Now this isn't to say that we won't stab him. I'm convinced that's
|
|
|
|
|
> probably a good idea in the long run, but we know nothing of the true
|
|
|
|
|
> evil that motivates him! We would kill him just to lose track of the
|
|
|
|
|
> true evil we must smite!
|
|
|
|
|
>
|
|
|
|
|
> **Y'aml**\
|
|
|
|
|
> But YOU said if I could turn into a dagger we could STAB him. HE'S
|
|
|
|
|
> EVIL. YOU said so! Not keeping your promises IS one step away from
|
|
|
|
|
> PURE evil! Make a choice Hardy Bear! Stab the evil hobbit, or stab the
|
|
|
|
|
> inkling, or stab SOMETHING evil this minute!
|
|
|
|
|
>
|
|
|
|
|
> **Corraidhin**\
|
|
|
|
|
> I most certainly cannot abide with stabbing Inky, it's entirely off
|
|
|
|
|
> the table. And in a city like this there aren't any evil things that
|
|
|
|
|
> just jump out for the stabbing.
|
|
|
|
|
>
|
|
|
|
|
> (Corraidhin tries to silently control Y'aml during the discussion.
|
|
|
|
|
> However in so doing the party has fallen silent, aghast even)
|
|
|
|
|
>
|
|
|
|
|
> Corraidhin stands, Y'aml held in hand, red gem eye gleaming a wicked
|
|
|
|
|
> joyful grin as it's raised high, poised to strike. The party around
|
|
|
|
|
> him is silent, and Blavin stares up in shock. The tavern around them
|
|
|
|
|
> has died down and you can hear the bustle of the proprietor calling
|
|
|
|
|
> for his strong men to deal with this ruckus.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
The table---and all of Lucy's Basement within earshot---sits in tense,
|
|
|
|
|
uneasy quiet at Corraidhin's one-sided conversation with the Sword of
|
|
|
|
|
Yam'L. Blavin giggles nervously and sips his martini, willfully forcing
|
|
|
|
|
himself right up to the very last moment to believe that it is all some
|
|
|
|
|
sort of jest.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
But then the sysorcerer stands and raises the blood crazed dagger over
|
|
|
|
|
his shoulder, and Blavin squeals and writhes in his chair. Lucy's
|
|
|
|
|
bouncers scramble forward from the corners of the room to intercept.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
> **Y'aml**\
|
|
|
|
|
> We STAB Hardy Bear! We STAB NOW!!
|
|
|
|
|
>
|
|
|
|
|
> Against Corraidhin's control, as though he's in a trance, the dagger
|
|
|
|
|
> comes down. A swift stabbing motion strqight to the neck, as he lunges
|
|
|
|
|
> across the table at Blavin knocking the map and his martini to the
|
|
|
|
|
> side.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
```{=html}
|
|
|
|
|
<!--
|
|
|
|
|
Bloodlust 3 to Stabble Stabble
|
|
|
|
|
1 2 4: Partial Success
|
|
|
|
|
//-->
|
|
|
|
|
```
|
|
|
|
|
Corraidhin once again feels the same peculiar quality of the blade, that
|
|
|
|
|
sensation of a hollow core with a heavy liquid sloshing inside. Held
|
|
|
|
|
aloft, the weight of it feels concentrated at the grip, the blade light
|
|
|
|
|
as a feather.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
He stabs down---Yam'L cries out in wordless glee---and the weight flows
|
|
|
|
|
into the tip of the blade, the blade itself now drawing Corraidhin's
|
|
|
|
|
hand downward in a rising crescendo of stabbitude.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
```{=html}
|
|
|
|
|
<!--
|
|
|
|
|
Do Anything 1 to Resist Bloodlust
|
|
|
|
|
3: Partial Success
|
|
|
|
|
//-->
|
|
|
|
|
```
|
|
|
|
|
Blavin flinches at the last second, and instead of burying itself in his
|
|
|
|
|
throat, the blade plunges into his shoulder and pins him to the back of
|
|
|
|
|
the chair. A red mist fills the eye and threatens to cloud it over
|
|
|
|
|
entirely. It rolls back in ecstasy as it drinks deeply. It sings out,
|
|
|
|
|
"MORE! MORE! MORE!" and Corraidhin feels the tides of madness rising
|
|
|
|
|
inside of him, threatening to wash over him wholly, to pull him under
|
|
|
|
|
and carry him away on thundering waves of bloodlust.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Corraidhin struggles to pull the blade from the chair back. Blavin
|
|
|
|
|
whimpers and mewls as he yanks on it, and clutches his wound and,
|
|
|
|
|
incredibly, takes a large gulp of his drink.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
The sysorcerer still has the wherewithal and the presence of mind to be
|
|
|
|
|
aware of his surroundings. He is not yet so overcome by the bloodlust.
|
|
|
|
|
He sees his companions, his fellow residents of the Milk Market, seated
|
|
|
|
|
around the table. And he sees the musclebound bouncers now nearly within
|
|
|
|
|
reach.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Finally he draws the dagger. Blavin sinks in his seat and slides to the
|
|
|
|
|
floor with his drink, blabbering incoherently, and starts to slither
|
|
|
|
|
away.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
WHAT DO YOU DO
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
[www](https://framalistes.org/sympa/arc/tildepals/2022-10/msg00010.html)
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
#### 00025 {#00025}
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
> **Corraidhin** Shit, shit shit shit shit shit. This is NOT good. Damn
|
|
|
|
|
> it Y'aml what was that? It wasn't even slightly stealthy
|
|
|
|
|
>
|
|
|
|
|
> **Y'aml** STAB, delightful blood. Stab the flesh, tear the skin,
|
|
|
|
|
> pierce the fruit that gives us strength. Drink the blood, consume
|
|
|
|
|
> their soul. More more more more more more more more more
|
|
|
|
|
>
|
|
|
|
|
> **Corraidhin (internal thought)** Ugh my head, it's heavy, hurts.
|
|
|
|
|
> Misty and red? I can't see straight, it's hard to think straight. That
|
|
|
|
|
> blasted sword, I thought for a moment it, no, not think, it definitely
|
|
|
|
|
> did move on its own. It became lighter and heavier. Pulling against it
|
|
|
|
|
> and it just weighs itself down. This little magical bauble is
|
|
|
|
|
> definitely cursed..
|
|
|
|
|
>
|
|
|
|
|
> **Y'aml** CURSED?! Rude Hardy Bear. All we did was stab that evil
|
|
|
|
|
> hobbit. And it's getting away! Stab him again, taste his blood! The
|
|
|
|
|
> tavern gaurds are closing in, they look like they're trying to get rid
|
|
|
|
|
> of us, EVIL. Them trying to stop us from getting that evil hobbit is
|
|
|
|
|
> EVIL, STAB THEM.
|
|
|
|
|
>
|
|
|
|
|
> Corraidhin raises his free hand to his head as though holding a wound
|
|
|
|
|
> and he groans in dismay as the dagger rises again. It travels swiftly
|
|
|
|
|
> down towards Blavin, missing as he slithers of the booth. And again,
|
|
|
|
|
> digging deep into the wooden seat.
|
|
|
|
|
>
|
|
|
|
|
> **Y'aml** Disgusting wood, stab the flesh! Stab the Hobbit Hardy Bear!
|
|
|
|
|
>
|
|
|
|
|
> But Blavin was inching further out of reach towards the gaurds. In
|
|
|
|
|
> desperation the dagger begins swinging side to side, making furtive
|
|
|
|
|
> slashing moves in the direction of the guards. The party is safely
|
|
|
|
|
> behind Corraidhin, but innocent patrons and the guards are directly in
|
|
|
|
|
> their sights.
|
|
|
|
|
>
|
|
|
|
|
> Corraidhin grabs his other hand and pulls hard, steadying the
|
|
|
|
|
> swinging. STOP! I command you you blasted toothpick, STOP. You've had
|
|
|
|
|
> your fun, now STOP. These people are innocent, this man has done us no
|
|
|
|
|
> harm despite his potential "evils", this is entirely uncalled for!
|
|
|
|
|
>
|
|
|
|
|
> **Y'aml** NO!!! EVIL. STAB. EVIL. STAB. EVIL. STAB.
|
|
|
|
|
>
|
|
|
|
|
> The dull voice of the magical dagger rises, angry, insistent. It
|
|
|
|
|
> consumes the last of Corraidhin's mental strength. All he hears is
|
|
|
|
|
> EVIL. STAB. EVIL. STAB. Yet he clings to his spare arm trying
|
|
|
|
|
> desparately to resist. At this point the party and the tavern has
|
|
|
|
|
> cleared a wide path around the sysorceor as he struggles with himself,
|
|
|
|
|
> mumbling, sometimes yelling. EVIL. STAB. EVIL. STAB. NO WE WILL NOT.
|
|
|
|
|
> EVIL. INNOCENT. STAB BLOOD DRINK. EVIL. EVIL EVIL EVIL STAB IT. MAKE
|
|
|
|
|
> IT BLEED. I WILL NO.. STAB IT. STAB HIM.
|
|
|
|
|
>
|
|
|
|
|
> The voice seems to change, it dies down. Not yelling, but commanding.
|
|
|
|
|
> Firm, calm, sane.
|
|
|
|
|
>
|
|
|
|
|
> Stab them, stab them, make them bleed. Drink the blood, consume the
|
|
|
|
|
> soul, free them from their evil being. Stab them, stab them... over
|
|
|
|
|
> and over and over, as the sysorceor approaches Blavin and the guards
|
|
|
|
|
> with a malevolent look in his ruby red eyes.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
\~
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
> Inky moves to stand next to Blavin and the nightclub bouncers. Tossing
|
|
|
|
|
> a tiny "see-eye" container they had borrowed from Master Corraidhín at
|
|
|
|
|
> him, Inky looks the sysorceor in the eye and says, "You are not your
|
|
|
|
|
> sword."
|
|
|
|
|
>
|
|
|
|
|
> Watching the wizard's expression, Inky continues, more quietly, "If
|
|
|
|
|
> Master Corraidhín truly wishes to end the hobbit, a mere imp would not
|
|
|
|
|
> stop him, but likewise, whatever he sets his mind to do, a dagger
|
|
|
|
|
> cannot stop him either."
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
\~
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
> Jarrod steps gently into the fray and activates his FASCINATING CHARM,
|
|
|
|
|
> attempting to draw all eyes to him. He carefully avoids the wild
|
|
|
|
|
> swinging of the once-sword-now-dagger.
|
|
|
|
|
>
|
|
|
|
|
> "I think," he rumbles gently, "we could all use a drink over the other
|
|
|
|
|
> end of the room. I'm buying, and I'll spin you all a tale of wonder! A
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> tale of a wanderer, and of a war hammer, and the first of their wild
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> battles together!"
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>
|
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> Leaning over to whisper urgently in Corraidhín's ear: "Friend, I do
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> not know what occurs here, but pull yourself together. We can later
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> sate our blood lust in more appropriate places!" Jarrod lends a sly
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> wink in the sysorcerer's direction, one that promises adventure later.
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The tavern guards tense, but pause their advance, as the crazed mage's
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friends position themselves protectively around him and try to placate
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him. They wouldn't want to engage a master sysorcerer on the best of
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days, much less one with some kind of malevolent blood dagger in the
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middle of a psychotic break. If his compatriots can handle him without
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them having to interfere, all the better.
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The duck waddles up next to Inky and quacks softly, pleadingly at
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Corraidhin. Only the Ornithologer in the corner can understand its words
|
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when it says, "As your marketing manager I must strongly advise against
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this course of action!"
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Seated in the corner next to the Ornithologer is a shaggy groll dressed
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in a dusty, faded poncho and a wide brimmed hat; and a greasy, matted
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gnu, dressed in black ceremonial robes.
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The groll discreetly draws its poncho back revealing a bandoleer of
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wands and draws a cracklestick and points it at the sysorcer. The wand
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starts to hum and glow as it charges up for a blast.
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The gnu slaps the groll's wrist, and immediately launches into a tirade
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against the cracklestick's manufacturer's proprietary spell slotting
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algorithm, and honestly how can you possibly justify your choices when
|
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there are open source alternatives available?
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The groll rolls its eyes, obviously having been on the receiving end of
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this particular lecture before, and tries to slap away the gnu's
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grasping hands. The ensuing scuffle threatens to turn this powder keg of
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a situation into a full blown conflagration until Jarrod actives his
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FASCINATING CHARM, commanding the attention of the entire room.
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The gnu freezes with its hands around the groll's throat. The groll
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halts with fists full of the gnu's beard. A grub smoking a hookah pauses
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with the mouthpiece raised to its pursed lips. A distracted waitress on
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roller skates crashes right into the bar.
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|
|
> As though in a trance Corraidhin continues to yell STAB. THEM. STAB.
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> IT. cutting wildly at the air before him. As Inky whispers to him his
|
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> expression changes, first a grimace, then a whimper. As Jarrod leads
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> the patrons away from the sysorceor he begins to tremble and cower
|
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> away from himself, away from everyone. His ruby red eyes dart back and
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> forth between his friends and the patrons, like a frightened animal
|
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> searching for an escape. He pulls the dagger into himself, as though
|
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> sheilding it from his surroundings.
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>
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> What.. what's going on, he mutters feebly to himself. Everything is a
|
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> blurr. Uncertain of where he is or what's going on, Corraidhin thumbs
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> the dagger, caressing the large ruby embedded in the hilt. Y'aml,
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|
> you're still here, good good, the syscoreor croons.
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>
|
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|
|
> Standing up straight his eyes lock with Jarrod as the Bard glances
|
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> over his shoulder, momentarily distracted from his oration, worried
|
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> about his companion.
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>
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> I.. ugh, Corraidhin grabs his head as though in pain, and collapses to
|
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> the floor.
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Corraidhin hits the floor and the dagger, now bereft of the well of
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emotion it had been drawing from, grows still. The eye closes and it
|
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|
seems to sigh happily. "Good job, Hardy Bear. You have spilled the blood
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|
|
of evil." And it sleeps, inert, lifeless.
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|
Corraidhin is on the ground cradling the dagger.
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|
Most of the patrons are still fascinated by Jarrod.
|
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Blavin is squirming around on the floor gibbering about reassigning your
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case.
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The duck has found a toppled plate of corn chips and is happily snacking
|
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|
away.
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|
You feel like your welcome at Lucy's Basement has been, for the moment,
|
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|
|
overstayed.
|
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|
|
WHAT DO YOU DO
|
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|
|
[www](https://framalistes.org/sympa/arc/tildepals/2022-10/msg00015.html)
|
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|
#### 00026 {#00026}
|
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> Inky slowly approaches Master Corraidhín and taps lightly on the
|
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|
> sleeve of his robes to get his attention. Between Inky's tugging and
|
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|
> Jarrod's strong, steady hand, they manage to hoist the wizard to his
|
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> feet.
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|
>
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|
|
> With a brief glance at the hobbit on the floor then a nod to Jarrod,
|
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|
|
> Inky leaves the nightclub with the wizard. The duck, having emptied
|
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|
> the plate of corn chips in record time, follows them shortly after.
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>
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|
> The trek back to the Milk Market is mostly silent aside from the
|
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|
> occasional mutter and stumbling curse, the mage seemingly having
|
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|
> fallen asleep as soon as he landed on the cot in the loft. Inky
|
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|
|
> retreats downstairs after leaving a jug of water, a mug and a small
|
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|
> packet of kuding leaves beside the bed.
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|
>
|
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|
|
> Exiting through the back door into the night, Inky finds a dark corner
|
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|
|
> in a dusty abandoned house, and cries.
|
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\~
|
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|
|
> " ... and then the Orc Maiden said: 'That's not my club!'"
|
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>
|
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|
|
> The room roars with laughter, and Jarrod moves to the bar and puts a
|
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|
|
> bag of coin down. "Serve drinks until this runs out!" Leaning over the
|
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|
|
> bar to the bartender, Jarrod adds in a whisper: "I owe a favour to
|
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|
|
> Lucy's Basement for the trouble. Call it in when needed."
|
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|
|
>
|
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|
|
> Jarrod saunters over to Blavin, on the floor in pain. From his pack,
|
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|
|
> Jarrod retrieves a med kit and begins to bandage the wound.
|
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|
>
|
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|
|
> As Blavin opens his mouth, likely intending to raise all kinds of
|
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|
|
> hell, Jarrod pulls tight on the bandage he is currently applying,
|
|
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|
|
> drawing a curse from the hobbit. "Shut it! Let's be clear. You've
|
|
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|
|
> hired us for a dangerous set of jobs, with the understanding that
|
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|
|
> we're dangerous people. There may be 'accidents' on occasion. You've
|
|
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|
|
> learned something today, and what's more, you lived to absorb your new
|
|
|
|
|
> wisdom."
|
|
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|
|
>
|
|
|
|
|
> Jarrod grins as he finishes with the bandage. "We will finish what we
|
|
|
|
|
> have started. We're probably the team with the best chances, I'm sure
|
|
|
|
|
> you'll agree. Are you going to back the winning play here? Either way,
|
|
|
|
|
> your decision won't change our plans. I'm sure you know how to take
|
|
|
|
|
> the win."
|
|
|
|
|
>
|
|
|
|
|
> Jarrod pats the hobbit's good shoulder in a friendly, but dismissive,
|
|
|
|
|
> way, then turns and saunters out the door, trading small quips with
|
|
|
|
|
> his new (and now very drunk) tavern friends.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
You are at a small port town on the northern tip of Agendell, just past
|
|
|
|
|
the Rana'For Valley. The sun is bright and the wind blowing in from the
|
|
|
|
|
Sugrin Sea to the east is cool and salty. The floating island-city of
|
|
|
|
|
Vay'Neddas, bridging Agendell and Primora, can be seen very faintly in
|
|
|
|
|
the distance hanging in the northern sky.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Your faithful multibeast is carrying all of your supplies and gear,
|
|
|
|
|
which were generously provided to you by the indefatigable Blavin
|
|
|
|
|
Blandfoot. His arm in a sling, he kept up a constant nervous chatter as
|
|
|
|
|
he saw you off on your journey to recover the second Ginnarak Crystal.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
From here, you can easily provision a boat to take you out to the site
|
|
|
|
|
of the shipwreck just off the coast.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Or, optionally, you are very close to the Hartlands. It would be quite
|
|
|
|
|
easy to make a quick visit to hemogoblins and pick up some synthetic
|
|
|
|
|
blood for your experiments with the Sword of Yam'L.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
The sword, incidentally, after finally tasting the blood of "evil", has
|
|
|
|
|
remained sated and entirely inert and unresponsive this whole time.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
WHAT DO YOU DO:
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
1) TO THE SHIPWRECK
|
|
|
|
|
2) BLOODQUEST
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
[www](https://framalistes.org/sympa/arc/tildepals/2022-10/msg00018.html)
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
#### 00027 {#00027}
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
> Inky stares down at the package, weighing it on one hand.
|
|
|
|
|
>
|
|
|
|
|
> It was lighter than it should be given the density of the contents
|
|
|
|
|
> within, wrapped in straw and thick brown weight-absorbent parcel paper
|
|
|
|
|
> for dry goods. Most of the clientele were merchants and cultists from
|
|
|
|
|
> other parts of the continent who ordered pallets to be shipped back
|
|
|
|
|
> from the port town and sold to select boutique grocers or spilled on
|
|
|
|
|
> altars. Inside was a block of congealed synthetic blood shaped like a
|
|
|
|
|
> mud brick, the dark crimson almost black under the shop's dim light.
|
|
|
|
|
>
|
|
|
|
|
> It was sheer happenstance that Inky had found this particular
|
|
|
|
|
> supplier. Having been informed heir boat to the shipwreck would not
|
|
|
|
|
> arrive for several hours, the members of their merry tea party had
|
|
|
|
|
> wandered off to enjoy the local sights while they waited. Inky had
|
|
|
|
|
> inquired about the hemogoblins and learned in passing that there was a
|
|
|
|
|
> district at the western edge of the town where a smaller group had set
|
|
|
|
|
> up warehouses, which would save them a two-day trip deep into the
|
|
|
|
|
> Hartlands. The hemogoblins in the district were primarily wholesalers,
|
|
|
|
|
> and it had taken some convincing before one of the proprietors agreed
|
|
|
|
|
> to sell a block of it, along with assurances Inky would purchase
|
|
|
|
|
> exclusively from him next time and in larger quantities.
|
|
|
|
|
>
|
|
|
|
|
> Thin fingers fiddle with the string before the package was set to one
|
|
|
|
|
> side.
|
|
|
|
|
>
|
|
|
|
|
> What were they doing?
|
|
|
|
|
>
|
|
|
|
|
> If quenching the thirst were so simple, wouldn't any student of magic
|
|
|
|
|
> have already thought of it, let alone an experienced sysorceror? In
|
|
|
|
|
> all likelihood he had already known the inevitable, but was too polite
|
|
|
|
|
> to refuse Inky's funny concoctions. Maybe deep down, Inky already knew
|
|
|
|
|
> too, but didn't want to say it out loud. That the long feather they
|
|
|
|
|
> thought they had seen among the tea leaves was actually a dagger. That
|
|
|
|
|
> they hadn't wanted to admit some problems could not be whisked away
|
|
|
|
|
> with some tincture or another. That they had failed, again.
|
|
|
|
|
>
|
|
|
|
|
> They hadn't searched enough for better ingredients to go into the
|
|
|
|
|
> pudding, hadn't reacted fast enough after noticing the sword had
|
|
|
|
|
> abruptly disappeared, hadn't thrown the large platter of mouldy meat
|
|
|
|
|
> the terrified waitress next to them had been holding at Blavin's head,
|
|
|
|
|
> or something. The sword had gotten what it demanded, and Inky couldn't
|
|
|
|
|
> be angry with it --- it had never been subtle about what it wanted.
|
|
|
|
|
> Had the blood pudding worsened the effects? Potions had never been on
|
|
|
|
|
> Inky's menu. Brewing inks and teas with certain mild effects was
|
|
|
|
|
> straightforward enough, but curing chronic ailments was firmly in
|
|
|
|
|
> healers' territory and just as bewildering. While it may be true
|
|
|
|
|
> nobody could be held to account for the actions of another not in full
|
|
|
|
|
> control of themselves, and hardly those of a rogue weapon with a mind
|
|
|
|
|
> of its own, sticking their nose in other people's affairs was the
|
|
|
|
|
> surest way to get into trouble, a fact Inky still has difficulty
|
|
|
|
|
> learning after decades of wandering the continent.
|
|
|
|
|
>
|
|
|
|
|
> Would this substrate even work? Maybe it acted differently for cursed
|
|
|
|
|
> objects than coffin sleepers. Having brought it back and now aboard
|
|
|
|
|
> the ship, how would they even give it to the wizard? Should they wait
|
|
|
|
|
> and made sure Master Corraidhín was truly rested and recovered,
|
|
|
|
|
> despite his insistence he was more than fine? Would it be an insulting
|
|
|
|
|
> reminder of weakness, despite the wizard having proven unusual mental
|
|
|
|
|
> fortitude in staving off the screams for blood as long as he had? Was
|
|
|
|
|
> this more of the same, adding to what they had (not) done?
|
|
|
|
|
>
|
|
|
|
|
> After a long moment, Inky rolls the package with the producers'
|
|
|
|
|
> leaflet haphazardly in an old sailor's rags still reeking of cheap
|
|
|
|
|
> alcohol, and passing by the wizard's empty cabin on the way to the
|
|
|
|
|
> deck, places the messy bundle on the floorboards two steps from the
|
|
|
|
|
> door. Let the fates decide this one, because Inky's magic 0 ball sure
|
|
|
|
|
> doesn't make the best life choices.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Blavin has arranged transportation to the shipwreck ahead of time. All
|
|
|
|
|
you have to do is head down to the docks and meet your contact,
|
|
|
|
|
Three-Fingered Gerald, at a seedy dive bar named Inquire Within Upon
|
|
|
|
|
Everything.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Inquire Within is as eclectic and gaudy as the name would imply. The bar
|
|
|
|
|
serves as an extensive and impressive piece of living documentation,
|
|
|
|
|
drawing heavily on the port town's cosmopolitan mixture of culture.
|
|
|
|
|
Every kind of style, cuisine, decor, and beverage can be found here
|
|
|
|
|
mishmashed together irregardless of good taste. Its contents are
|
|
|
|
|
encyclopedic and claustrophobic. And yet it is not without its own
|
|
|
|
|
peculiar brand of overwhelming, garish charm.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
You find Mister Three-Fingered at the bar entertaining his fellow
|
|
|
|
|
patrons with a grotesque sleight of hand routine that involves passing
|
|
|
|
|
his gold-plated false eye from its socket, to either hand, inside his
|
|
|
|
|
mouth, and back with lots of flourish, fanfare, and misdirection along
|
|
|
|
|
the way.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
He is a merry, boisterous sailor short one eye, half an ear, several
|
|
|
|
|
fingers, and---he confesses to you---the heel of his left foot. "It's
|
|
|
|
|
why I walk so slow, you see." The other barflies call him "Lucky"
|
|
|
|
|
Three-Fingered Gerald. Because a certain kind of man---and Gerald is one
|
|
|
|
|
of them---can never have enough nicknames. After you buy him a drink or
|
|
|
|
|
three, he escorts you out of Inquire Within and to the slip where the
|
|
|
|
|
sloop *Diamond Howler* is docked. Its captain, Enid Barlow, welcomes you
|
|
|
|
|
aboard.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Before long, *Diamond Howler* pulls out under the command of Captain
|
|
|
|
|
Barlow and First Mate "Lucky" Three-Fingered Gerald. The site isn't too
|
|
|
|
|
far off the coast, and you arrive fairly quickly.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"Aye, here she is. The SS RSS." says Captain Barlow mournfully. "You
|
|
|
|
|
can't see her from up here. But you rest assured, she's down there,
|
|
|
|
|
resting on the seabed. She was the best cargo runner on the Sugrin back
|
|
|
|
|
in her day! Distributing goods up and down the coast. Until the day she
|
|
|
|
|
disappeared. Nobody knew what happened to her, not for sure. Still
|
|
|
|
|
don't. But at least we know where she wound up!"
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
While the captain reminisces, Three-Fingered Gerald drags a large water
|
|
|
|
|
tank across the deck, sloshing water over the edge with each step.
|
|
|
|
|
Translucent orb-like jellyfish wobble around and bump into each other
|
|
|
|
|
inside the tank, releasing little effervescent bubbles that fizzle and
|
|
|
|
|
pop when they collide. "Here we go!" announces Mister Three-Fingered,
|
|
|
|
|
depositing the tank of jellies in front of you. "Sailed through a big
|
|
|
|
|
bloom of breathing bells just last week, didn't we! Managed to scoop up
|
|
|
|
|
a whole bunch of the little suckers. You ever use a breathing bell
|
|
|
|
|
before? No? Aw, it's easy! Ya just pull one on over your head like a
|
|
|
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hood, and it'll breathe for ya while you're below the waves!"
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WHAT DO YOU DO
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NOTE: We just covered a lot of narrative ground. Feel free to react to
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anything that happened between arriving at the docks, meeting Gerald and
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drinking at Inquire Within, boarding the Diamond Howler, and sailing to
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the site of the wreck.
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[www](https://framalistes.org/sympa/arc/tildepals/2022-10/msg00020.html)
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|
#### 00028 {#00028}
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> ~*a\ new\ player\ enters\ the\ chat*~
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>
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> Gabs had a good life. Her little devil children were all grown adults
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> now, and she no longer wanted to toil away running a business. When
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> she initially shuttered her little tavern, she thought she might just
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> retire. She made it two whole years of working in a garden,
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> occasionally seeing grandkids, and reading romance novels. She
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> eventually decided she needed a vacation from her retirement and
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> traveled to a nearby port town. She was sure to find something fun to
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> do there.
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>
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> Gabs eventually sees Inquire Within, and the smell of debauchery
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> wafting from within made her miss her days gossiping at her tavern.
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> She enters and orders a terrible drink and listens and watches.
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>
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> Hearing the tales being spun by Mister Three-Fingered, she decides,
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> "I've never been on a ship, that's something that sounds exciting!"
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>
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> Half-drunk and eager for something exciting, she will join on the
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> journey!
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>
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> Gabs is a lanky older half-devil lady who is here to schmooze and have
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> fun!
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\~
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> Meta: a warm welcome to the latest member of our tea party! This is a
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> short post to help smooth the temporal jumps between the recent
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> narratives so far. As Inky reaches the deck, they see Gabs approaching
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> from the other side of the ship as well, and flashes them a grin in
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> greeting. After listening to the captain petering on about the
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> glorious days of the now sunken ship below, while tinkering with the
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> bell's tentacles --- being rewarded with a mild zap and marginally
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> better fit for the effort --- Inky turns to the party. "When you're
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> ready."
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You reach into the tank and discover that grabbing a breathing bell
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takes some finesse. They are very slippery! But you get the hang of it
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and make a ladle out of your hands and scoop one up.
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"Okay now!" laughs Three-Fingered Gerald. He gives you a wink, but it's
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easy to miss because of the eyepatch. "Don't put it on until right
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before you jump. It won't be able to breathe for you until you're in the
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water. And this!" he continues, fitting a heavy, padded vest around your
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shoulders, "will carry you down." It is a vest of many pockets, each one
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holding a small dense sandbag the size of your hand. "When you're ready
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to come back up, just start dropping ballast, right?"
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You hop up on the ship railing and pull the breathing bell on over your
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head. It immediately contracts and squeezes and hugs your head like a
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second skin, and its stubby little tentacles grab hold around your
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jawline, and it feels like you have a wet plastic bag clinging to your
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face, and you think you might have made a grave mistake. Resisting the
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urge to panic, you push off the railing and jump overboard. You are
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briefly air born and then profoundly waterbound, crashing through the
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surface of the sea into the briny soup below.
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The oxygen starts to flow as the breathing bell begins to do its job. As
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you sink, you feel as though you are floating through space, entering
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another world.
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After a while you start to hear voices arguing in the distance. As you
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get closer, two large shapes start to come into focus. The first is a
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hulking, hairless merbear. Top half (hairless) bear, bottom half fish.
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The second figure is a tardigrade the size of a large merbear. It has
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eight jointless legs, each tipped with four sharp claws. It wriggles and
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wobbles like jelly as it gesticulates.
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"No, I am the true Bear of the Sea! I am called a Water Bear, after
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all!"
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"Hornswoggle and poppycock! It is I who am the Bear of the Sea! I am
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half bear after all! You're just some kind of segmented nematode or
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something."
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The tardigrade quivers with indignation. "I'll have you know I'm a
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panarthropod, thank you very much. And this is the ideal physical body!
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You may not like it, but this is what peak performance looks like. I've
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lived under the polar ice cap, and in a sulfurous mountaintop hot
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spring. I've traveled through the vacuum of space to the moon! Have you
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ever been to the moon?"
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"Why don't you go be the Bear of the Moon then if you like it so much!"
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"You're just as much fish as you are bear, are you sure you're not the
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Fish of the Sea?"
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"Are you sure you're not the Blob of the Sea, you too many armed bowl of
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jelly?"
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"Hey! Hey, you there!" The arguing quasi-bears have spotted your slow
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descent. "Come, yes, float slowly this way! You must settle an argument
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for us! Tell this slightly mammalian fish that I am the true Bear of the
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Sea!"
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"The Bear of the Sea must be at least 'slightly mammalian' you
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egg-laying scientific curiosity! You, tell this cousin of a barnacle
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that I---the mighty merbear---am the true Bear of the Sea! Say this and
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I will guide and protect you on your journey."
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"No! Would you like to visit the moon? Say that I, tardigrade, am Bear
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of the Sea and I will introduce you to my moon friends!"
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"He had to make friends on the moon because nobody on Urth can stand
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him!"
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"You're just mean, you know that?"
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You are still quite some way from the sea bed, and there is no sight of
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the SS RSS.
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WHAT DO YOU DO
|
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|
[www](https://framalistes.org/sympa/arc/tildepals/2022-10/msg00023.html)
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|
#### 00029 {#00029}
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> Gentle bears, there is no need to argue! Why can't there be two true
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> bears of the ocean? For what its worth, I personally think the ocean
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> doesn't have enough bears and could do with two strapping examples of
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> true peak bearitude! The two of you should be working together to show
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> the world how important bears are and how wonderful the sea is to have
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> two. And the moon! Who's to say the moon doesn't also need two bears?
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>
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> The only time I can ever think that a bear isn't needed is when it's
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|
> calling itself Monokuma, once it's doing that you know you're in for a
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|
> hell of a bad time. And since neither of you are it, I say we let this
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> matter rest and declare this ocean two bears richer!
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>
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> Corraidhin grips the innert dagger of Y'aml beneath his cloak, just in
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|
> case. No need for a blood rush like last time, can't let daggers go
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|
> mouthing off an all that. Or perhaps the ocean needs less bears, it's
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|
> tempting, I wonder if Y'aml would react to bear blood..
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|
The bears shudder at the mention of Monokuma. "Oh, such a dreadful
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|
|
bear," laments the tardigrade. "You mustn't mention him!"
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|
"Indeed," agrees the merbear, "a discredit and an embarrassment to bears
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|
everywhere, at sea and on land!"
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"Yes, this sea may be big enough for two bears, but not if one of them
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|
is HE!"
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|
The merbear considers the tardigrade's words. "Hmm, *two* bears you
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|
|
say?" he ponders, giving the tardigrade a scrupulous side-eye. "Do you
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|
|
truly think so?"
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|
"Now that you mention it, I don't see why not!" admits the tardigrade,
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|
gesturing broadly at the fathomless leagues of ocean all around you.
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"You know what? What is the sky anyway if not a sea made of stars! The
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|
moon could indeed use two bears too, could it not?"
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"It could indeed, Brother Bear!"
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"Brother!"
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|
The tardigrade and the merbear embrace. If you've never experienced the
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|
|
eight-armed hug of a water bear, well, then you don't know how soft and
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|
|
enveloping it is.
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|
"Come, Brother!" cries the tardigrade suddenly. "We must begin our
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|
search at once! For what if there is a third Bear of the Sea yet to be
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|
|
discovered?"
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"Another Brother of ours who doesn't know about us? Oh, I can't stand
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|
|
the thought!" sobs the merbear.
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|
They swim away hand in hand, paragons of brotherly bear love. "Good luck
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|
|
and safe travels, interlopers!" calls the merbear to you over its
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|
|
shoulder. "If you ever end up on the moon," adds the tardigrade,
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|
|
laughing merrily, "say hello to Hap'n'stance for me!"
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|
Suddenly, a disturbance! A perturbance of bubbles and a rush of current
|
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|
|
as massive amounts of water are displaced by inky black tentacles that
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|
|
shoot up from below! They reach! They grasp! One grabs the tardigrade
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|
|
around the middle. Another grabs the merbear by the tail. Both bears cry
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|
|
and reach for each other as they are ripped apart and pulled down below.
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The tentacles grope around in the water, batting at you and threatening
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|
|
to pull you down too! They grab at your wrists and at your ankles!
|
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|
|
WHAT DO YOU DO
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
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|
|
[www](https://framalistes.org/sympa/arc/tildepals/2022-11/msg00030.html)
|
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|
|
#### 00030 {#00030}
|
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> Inky flips backwards and up, narrowly avoiding the tentacles' grasp.
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|
|
> From their courier bag they shake out an inflatable bubblebee\[1\] of
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|
> the sort made for aquatic camping. It is one of the fancier models
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|
|
> provided to each member of their party courtesy of the well-endowed
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|
> Benefactor. They yank on one of the cords and scramble inside, hastily
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|
> closing the flap as the bubblebee rapidly draws in water and fills out
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|
> to its full size.
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>
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> The bubblebee rises as Inky pulls on the flippers and allows the
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|
> drifter to buoy the bubble upwards, a bat from the end of one tentacle
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|
> sending the bubblebee forward a short distance before it slows above
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|
> the flailing tentacles. Inky switches on the lights to try to get a
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|
|
> clearer view of the source of the tentacles.
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|
>
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|
> \[1\] Specific features of bubblebees vary among makers, but they
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> generally have a transparent or translucent spherical body, a pair of
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|
> small translucent wings that act as flippers, an opening flap at the
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|
> back with a short rudder attached, and two cords inside at the front
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|
> near the top which when pulled inflate the bubble with the surrounding
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|
> air or water. Premium versions might also include headlights, a
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|
|
> buzzer, built-in filtration, improved insulation, a drifter and
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|
|
> thruster. Like tents they come in various sizes, from small ones that
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|
> can fit one or two people at average elven height, to larger ones for
|
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|
|
> group outings. Their portability and rugged durability make them very
|
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|
|
> popular among tourists and campers who can enjoy a range of water
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|
> sports, such as water walking on the surface, riding the bubble down
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|
> river rapids, or bobbing along underwater to watch the sea life wander
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> by.
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Inky climbs into the inflatable bubblebee just in the nick of time. A
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tentacle bats them a short distance away, and then the apparatus's
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|
lights cut on and illuminate the murky water.
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You see the tentacles recede into the depths into, from this distance,
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what looks like the outline of a shipwreck.
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|
At the moment, you are out of reach of the tentacles. And the bubblebee
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|
affords you some extra maneuverability.
|
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> Corraidhin eyes inky as they drift away in their bubblebee. "hmm a
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|
> wonderful idea, that seems safe, but I need to get in closer."
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|
>
|
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|
|
> While Inky drifts away Corraidhin swims down and towards the tentacles
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|
> to get a better view of whatever creature stole his new found bear
|
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|
|
> friends. "I simply cannot bear any harm to come to my bears!" As he
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|
|
> approaches the creature he prepares a spell should he need to vanquish
|
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|
|
> the monster.
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|
>
|
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|
|
> (fn vanquish [target]
|
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|
|
> (match target.state
|
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|
|
> [:living] (searing-bolt {target target
|
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|
|
> radius "narrow"
|
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|
|
> intensity "high"})
|
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|
|
> [:undead] (smite {target target
|
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|
|
> deity "Larani"})))
|
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|
|
Corraidhin charges up a spell!
|
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|
The tentacles pull your dear bear friends downward, and you struggle to
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|
|
get a view of whatever creature is abducting them.
|
|
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|
|
The long, slender tentacles appear to originate from within or behind a
|
|
|
|
|
large sunken ship!
|
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|
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|
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|
|
Could it be the SS RSS?
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
> Gabs was stunned by the majesty of the two bears, and upon seeing
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|
|
> these two beautiful creatures be pulled down, got unreasonably angry.
|
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|
|
> She made sure that the breathing bell was properly attached to her
|
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|
|
> head (a marvelous thing, she thought. She had always wondered what it
|
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|
|
> would be like to have a jellyfish on her head).
|
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|
>
|
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|
> Gabs bundled and tied up her skirt, as she started to bolt toward the
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|
|
> edge of the ship. She reached into her purse and moved away all the
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|
|
> loose candy and pulled out two long stiletto daggers. She begins
|
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|
|
> stabbing with unusual precision at the tentacles reaching up on the
|
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|
> ship.
|
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|
|
>
|
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|
> She yells, "Come'on y'all! We gotta save those babies!"
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>
|
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|
> She dives in.
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|
Prior to the incident, Gabs would have noticed that there was a very
|
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|
|
slight, wobbly weight to the jellyfish. Kind of like getting a gentle
|
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|
|
hug from a helmet of warm spaghetti.
|
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|
Some loose candy floats up and away as you rummage through your purse,
|
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|
|
the brightly colored wrappers attracting the attention of a curious
|
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|
|
passing manta ray. It glides over and has a nibble.
|
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|
You fetch your stiletto daggers and start stabbing at the long, slender
|
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|
tentacles. Your unusual precision causes the tentacles to coil and
|
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|
|
retreat, releasing the merbear in the process. It shouts through its
|
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|
|
tears, "My brother!" and dives back into the fray, fighting to free the
|
|
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|
|
tardigrade.
|
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|
|
From here, you can see that the tentacles seem to come from the wreckage
|
|
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|
|
of a large ship lying on its side on ocean floor.
|
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**META**: Gabs rolls a 6 on "Do Anything 1" and gains a new skill:
|
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Stabbing 2
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> Seeing his new comrade enter the fray heroically Corraidhin gathers
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> himself. "I suppose this is no time for errant curiosity, can't have
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> anyone getting hurt after all."
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>
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> Ensuring that he doesn't hit either Inky nor Gabs as they near the
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> creature, Corraidhin throws the spell he prepared in the direction of
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> the center of the tentacles. (vanquish "tentacles") And releases a
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> pinpoint thread of searing energy from his palm, guiding it through
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> the mass of tentacles in a random and chaotic pattern, attempting to
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> sever as many tentacles as possible.
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>
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> As that goes on the sysercoerr calculates his retreat plan, he won't
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> be able to prepare another spell like that on the fly, far too
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> meticulous work to do mid combat. As soon as the spell runs out, best
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> case will be to retreat somewhere out of reach, or as far away as is
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> possible there.
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Corraidhín takes careful aim fires off a searing bolt into the center of
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the mass of squirming, reaching tentacles. The bolt of energy bounces
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from tentacle to tentacle creating a chaotic web of energy.
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One of the final bolts of energy pierces the tentacle that happens to be
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gripping the tardigrade. It releases the water bear, but not before the
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tardigrade takes the full brunt of the final blast of the dying searing
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bolt. It cries out and curls up into a ball. Motionless, it starts
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sinking downward. "BROTHER!" the merbear swims after it heedless of any
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nearby danger.
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A wayward crackle of energy blasts outward toward a giant manta ray
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happily crunching on a piece of hard candy. It flaps out of the way at
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the last minute and continues to angrily enjoy its candy, glaring at you
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quite indignantly.
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**META**: Corraidhín rolls a 2 for "Do Anything 1", which means things
|
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go bad, and gains 1 xp for a total of 1 xp. You can spend xp to turn any
|
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die into a six for the purpose of advancement.
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> While Master Corraidhín and Gabs confront the tentacles to rescue the
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> bears, Inky looks around the sea floor. Maybe if they found suitable
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> replacements for the bears, the tentacles might be distracted long
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> enough to release the bears, or provide an opening advantage for one
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> of their party?
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>
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> A small distance from the fray, Inky finds a load of discarded bottles
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> among a large pile of other trash carried there by the push and pull
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> between the water currents and a hot spring. Gathering up some
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> bottles, Inky ties them together with twine in singles and small
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> clusters until they resemble two large, crudely-made multi-coloured
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> tanokuma\[1\].
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>
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> With some difficulty due to the additional weight, Inky attaches the
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> tanokuma to the back of their bubblebee and drags them back above the
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> tentacles, roughly near the spot where the previous bears were taken.
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> When the valiant members of their party dive to one side for another
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> strike, Inky loosens the rope around the "bears" and lets them sink
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> down within reach of the tentacles.
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>
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> \[1\] First featured in the garden play *Teatime with Tanokuma*, the
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> fluffy purple, jam-grabbing, tea-guzzling bear became an overnight hit
|
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> among children as well as the fashion-conscious youth who frequent the
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> trendy "Shin-ku" district of Vay'Nullar.
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The decoy tanokuma float above the tentacles as they retreat from Gabs's
|
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stabbses and Corraidhin's bolts. They grope about weakly, wrap
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|
themselves around the tanokuma, and finally withdraw.
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You can now clearly see the wreckage of the SS RSS. The tentacles---and
|
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whatever beast they belong to---is either within, behind, or below the
|
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ship. It is definitely *ship adjacent* wherever and whatever it is. The
|
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|
large double-masted ship is lying on its side, teetering precariously on
|
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|
|
the edge of a large, deep ocean trench. There is a large hole in its
|
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|
hull providing unfettered access to its insides.
|
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The tardigrade is sinking inertly toward the ship deck, and the merbear
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|
is swimming blindly after it.
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|
WHAT DO YOU DO
|
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|
[www](https://framalistes.org/sympa/arc/tildepals/2022-11/msg00043.html)
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|
|
#### 00031 {#00031}
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> Inky follows behind the merbear at a healthy 2 meters' distance away
|
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> in the bubblebee, the headlights illuminating a moderate distance
|
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|
> ahead of the distraught bear as it darts after its brother.
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>
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|
> As the merbear homes in on the tardigrade near the ship deck, Inky
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|
> keeps a lookout for any signs of movement or tentacles from behind or
|
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|
|
> below the shipwreck. The bubblebee's headlights cast an eerie shadow
|
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|
|
> from the ship's double masts even as it partly lights up the rim of a
|
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|
|
> gaping hole in the hull.
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|
The tardigrade, still tucked into a ball, lands on the ship deck with a
|
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|
|
gentle thud. It rolls a couple of times and finally comes to rest
|
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|
|
against the rigging. The merbear reaches it a moment later and cradles
|
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|
|
its jelly-like body gently in its bear arms. "My brother!" it cries. "My
|
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|
|
dear bear brother!"
|
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|
The tardigrade slowly uncurls and stretches out and looks around,
|
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|
|
disoriented and bleary-eyed. It waggles its eight arms around
|
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|
|
experimentally, closes and opens its claws as though kneading the water.
|
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|
|
"Brother?" says the merbear in astonishment.
|
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|
|
"I am okay brother!" says the tardigrade. "We water bears are very hardy
|
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|
|
and resilient! It will take more than a mere other worldly tentacle
|
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|
|
attack and an arcane electric blast to do me in!"
|
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|
|
While the bears are having their teary-eyed reunion, you sense movement
|
|
|
|
|
in the shadows deep in the ocean trench, over which protrude the ship's
|
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|
|
masts. Your lights don't penetrate the darkness enough to see what it
|
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|
|
was. But it was large. The very stuff that thalassophobia is made of.
|
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|
|
You also think you see a flash of gold as the light of the bubblebee
|
|
|
|
|
reflects off of something inside the ship through the hole in the hull.
|
|
|
|
|
Could it be the second Ginnarak Crystal?
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
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|
|
The breach in the hull is easily large enough to admit a medium sized
|
|
|
|
|
creature such as an inkling in a bubblebee apparatus. Or a sysorcer or a
|
|
|
|
|
lanky old half-devil tavern owner.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
WHAT DO YOU DO
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
[www](https://framalistes.org/sympa/arc/tildepals/2022-11/msg00056.html)
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
#### 00032 {#00032}
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
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|
|
> Oh thank goodness, I thought I killed that innocent bear! I should
|
|
|
|
|
> probably be a little more careful with my spells..
|
|
|
|
|
>
|
|
|
|
|
> Nonetheless, we need to shed some light on what's going on here, no
|
|
|
|
|
> sense in diving into the clutches of some evil sea creature blind.
|
|
|
|
|
>
|
|
|
|
|
> Gather himself, Corraidhin casts a fzf on the ship, searching for the
|
|
|
|
|
> creature inside
|
|
|
|
|
>
|
|
|
|
|
> `sudo fzf $(pwd)`
|
|
|
|
|
>
|
|
|
|
|
> > t e n t a c l e
|
|
|
|
|
>
|
|
|
|
|
> Hmmm, no nothing too interesting there.. Maybe crystal?
|
|
|
|
|
>
|
|
|
|
|
> `sudo fzf $(pwd)`
|
|
|
|
|
>
|
|
|
|
|
> > c r y s t a l
|
|
|
|
|
>
|
|
|
|
|
> Blast! Why can't I find anything.. The syscerroer muses for a moment.
|
|
|
|
|
>
|
|
|
|
|
> OH!
|
|
|
|
|
>
|
|
|
|
|
> `sudo fzf /sea/ship_wreck/interior`
|
|
|
|
|
>
|
|
|
|
|
> > t e n t a c l e
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
You probe the ship. You do not detect the presence of any tentacles
|
|
|
|
|
inside the ship. But you do detect the presence of the crystal you seek.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
If you scan the trench, you will detect the presence of a *harrowkrake*.
|
|
|
|
|
A colossal, many-tentacled sea monster with a plow shaped shell that it
|
|
|
|
|
drags across the ocean floor, digging deep furrows. Kind of like if a
|
|
|
|
|
giant squid could grow a nautilus shell. They are usually content to
|
|
|
|
|
stay in their trenches, grabbing prey as it swims by with their long
|
|
|
|
|
tentacles like some kind of nightmarish barnacle.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
The giant manta is still gliding around crunching on candies. A few blue
|
|
|
|
|
spherical globules of harrowkrake blood float lazily upward from where
|
|
|
|
|
Gabs got her stabs on, attracting the attention of a couple
|
|
|
|
|
horkosgrampus. The manta gives them a wide berth but doesn't otherwise
|
|
|
|
|
seem too concerned about them.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Horkosgrampus are toothy whales with a single long tusk. They are mostly
|
|
|
|
|
scavengers, and are only provoked to violence in the presence of a lie
|
|
|
|
|
or the breaking of an oath, in which case they go into a frenzy preying
|
|
|
|
|
on the liar or liars. They can smell blood from a great distance, but
|
|
|
|
|
can hear a lie from much further.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
You hear a thud from inside the ship, and a slow rustling like smooth
|
|
|
|
|
stones rolling over each other. The ship settles a little further onto
|
|
|
|
|
its side, and dangles just a little further over the harrowkrake trench.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
WHAT DO YOU DO
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
[www](https://framalistes.org/sympa/arc/tildepals/2022-11/msg00060.html)
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
#### 00033 {#00033}
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
> At Master Corraidhín's confirmation of the crystal's presence within
|
|
|
|
|
> the shipwreck, Inky moves the bubblebee closer above the opening in
|
|
|
|
|
> the hull, adjusting the angle of the headlights so that a little more
|
|
|
|
|
> light falls over the gaping hole should the rest of the party wish to
|
|
|
|
|
> enter the ship through it.
|
|
|
|
|
>
|
|
|
|
|
> Next, Inky pulls out some wasabi pears from their bag, biting into one
|
|
|
|
|
> before dropping the others one at a time several paces apart, starting
|
|
|
|
|
> near the bow of the ship in a trail until a few roll down into the
|
|
|
|
|
> hole and land in a hollow thonks somewhere inside the ship.
|
|
|
|
|
>
|
|
|
|
|
> Inky then settles near the opening, partly-eaten pear in hand and
|
|
|
|
|
> waits for the source of the rustling sounds to emerge, if it decides
|
|
|
|
|
> to emerge at all.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
From their vantage point, Inky sees a figure crawl up onto the deck of
|
|
|
|
|
the ship through a hatch from somewhere below. It appears to be wearing
|
|
|
|
|
a breathing bell and a vest of weighted sandbags similar to yours. It is
|
|
|
|
|
carrying a bulky bundle tied to its waist by a cord.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
It freezes when it sees the merbear and the tardigrade on ship deck. But
|
|
|
|
|
then the bears are teleported to safety a few meters from the inkling.
|
|
|
|
|
The figure looks around curiously and shrugs. It casts off some sandbags
|
|
|
|
|
and starts rising up through the water toward the happy manta ray and
|
|
|
|
|
the restless horkusgrampus. It looks down in your direction as it goes.
|
|
|
|
|
Its face is somewhat blurred and obscured by the breathing bell, but you
|
|
|
|
|
see a glint of gold as the light of your bubblebee reflects off one of
|
|
|
|
|
its eyes.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
> Ah ha! Our prize is near then. And it looks like that bolt forced that
|
|
|
|
|
> squid monster thing back into its hole. Likely we'll be alright to
|
|
|
|
|
> plum the depths here.
|
|
|
|
|
>
|
|
|
|
|
> Thank goodness our bears are safe, I should probably move them
|
|
|
|
|
> somewhere out of harms way, just in case.
|
|
|
|
|
>
|
|
|
|
|
> #!/bin/sh
|
|
|
|
|
> safety=$(find /ocean/* -perm 644 | head -n 1)
|
|
|
|
|
> for bear in merbear tardigrade; do
|
|
|
|
|
> sudo usermod -a -G party $bear
|
|
|
|
|
> sudo scp /ocean/shipwreck/$bear /ocean/$safety
|
|
|
|
|
> sudo chown corraidhin:party /ocean/$safety
|
|
|
|
|
> done
|
|
|
|
|
> sudo chown -R 770 /ocean/$safety
|
|
|
|
|
>
|
|
|
|
|
> That should ward them sufficiently, now only the party members can
|
|
|
|
|
> come and go freely, and they're part of the party. I'm positive nobody
|
|
|
|
|
> will complain, they might, but there won't be anymore bolt mishaps
|
|
|
|
|
> this way at least..
|
|
|
|
|
>
|
|
|
|
|
> As Corraidhin finishes his relocation spell he creeps closer to the
|
|
|
|
|
> hull of the ship. "Lets see what we're dealing with here.." he sticks
|
|
|
|
|
> his head into the opening looking about inside the wreckage, a small
|
|
|
|
|
> orb of light illuminates the tip of his right hand pointer finger, and
|
|
|
|
|
> he uses it to carefully probe around the opening as though it were a
|
|
|
|
|
> flash light.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Corraidhín cautiously explores the breach in the hull of the SS RSS. You
|
|
|
|
|
poke your head in and see the cargo hold of the ship. The remains of
|
|
|
|
|
some of the ship crew are here, long since picked clean by ocean
|
|
|
|
|
critters. Their bones are bleached white and they grin mirthlessly at
|
|
|
|
|
you. They are nestled in and amongst the spilled contents of several
|
|
|
|
|
large chests: jewelry, gold coins, precious stones litter the floor of
|
|
|
|
|
the ship.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
You do not see any lumpy, multi-faceted, blue and gold crystal melon
|
|
|
|
|
here.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
The ship is resting mostly on its side, so its sloping "floor" is
|
|
|
|
|
actually the ship wall. The hatch up to the upper deck is to your right,
|
|
|
|
|
and as you enter the hold, someone or something shuts the hatch closed.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
A skeleton by the hull entrance crawls forward, trying to block your
|
|
|
|
|
exit. And two more start to claw themselves up and free of the ship's
|
|
|
|
|
treasure, and they start to advance toward you.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
WHAT DO YOU DO
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
[www](https://framalistes.org/sympa/arc/tildepals/2022-11/msg00064.html)
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
#### 00034 {#00034}
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
> Fuck, skeletons? This is ridiculous, I did not sign up for underwater
|
|
|
|
|
> pirate skeletons.
|
|
|
|
|
>
|
|
|
|
|
> Reacting quickly Corraidhin prepares a fork bomb, if the skeletons are
|
|
|
|
|
> going to take him out, he's going to take out those skeletons too.
|
|
|
|
|
>
|
|
|
|
|
> #!/bin/sh
|
|
|
|
|
> :(){
|
|
|
|
|
> :|:&
|
|
|
|
|
> };:
|
|
|
|
|
>
|
|
|
|
|
> Hopefully I won't have to use that. Corraidhin hoists himself up into
|
|
|
|
|
> the opening and begins targetting the skeletons one by one. No time
|
|
|
|
|
> for much fancy preparation here, just good old fashioned magic
|
|
|
|
|
> missiles strewn about the interior of the hull. While so doing
|
|
|
|
|
> Corraidhin glances around the treasure strewn hull, searching for the
|
|
|
|
|
> crystal, can't blow the whole ship up if the prize is here.
|
|
|
|
|
>
|
|
|
|
|
> Then again, a magical item that powerful, could probably withstand a
|
|
|
|
|
> fork bomb pretty easily. It's worth the risk if things get worse.
|
|
|
|
|
>
|
|
|
|
|
> Corraidhin ensures his back is to the opening, able to make a
|
|
|
|
|
> haphazard escape should the skeletons get the better of him.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
```{=html}
|
|
|
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<!--
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Roll Do Anything 1 for magic missiles = 5
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success at cost
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//-->
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```
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You prep your fork bomb to keep in your back pocket as a last resort.
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In the meantime you start blasting skeletons. They maintain a slow
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advance but you able to pick them off slowly one by one. Bones splinter
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and fly apart.
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During your maneuvering, you get turned around and are backed into the
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corner with the hatch leading up to the upper deck. You reach behind
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yourself and fumble with the latch. One skeleton manages to get its bony
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claws around your ankle just as you open the hatch. You look behind you
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and see a human shaped figure floating away, illuminated in the beams of
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Inky's bubblebee. It is toting a small bundle. Up above you can see the
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shadow of the manta ray gliding around eating candy, and the
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horkosgrampus idling in the absence of carrion or lies.
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"I thank ye, gents!" cries the figure down to you as it ascends. "You
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distracted the harrowkrake just long enough for me to get in that ship
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and grab what I needs!" It tugs on the cord attached to its bundle and
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laughs. "I shan't forget ye!" It waves and gives a little salute.
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You have a magic missile loaded and ready to go. In a moment the figure
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will be out of range. You can blast it now and risk being pulled down by
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the skeleton. Or you can blast the skeleton and risk the figure getting
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away.
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WHAT DO YOU DO
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[www](https://framalistes.org/sympa/arc/tildepals/2022-11/msg00070.html)
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#### 00035 {#00035}
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> Shouting in the direction of the grampus "Yo! That dude is definitely
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> going to forget us. We're almost the definition of forgettable, I mean
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> it's not like we're some kind of murderous hobos or something!"
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>
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> While shouting Corraidhin takes aim, and slings his magic missing at
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> the figure, aiming for a kill. (Meta: I'd like to spend that xp now,
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> lets take this sucker down).
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>
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> After the missile flies loose the skeleton begins to pull Corraidhin
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> back into the hull of the ship, he kicks desperately at the boney
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> clutches desperately trying to break free.
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>
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> "I always knew I'd go out fighting some undead spooky thing. If you
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> don't become a necromancer, you end up some necromancers thrall." at
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> least, that's what Kevin used to tell me. I always thought he was
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> being melodramatic.
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>
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> As the skeleton drags Corraidhin back through the hatch he grabs the
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> dagger, in a vein attempt to ready himself.
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>
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> "I guess this is it my Stabby friend, time to show these Skeletons
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> what happens when you back a Sysorceor into a corner"
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>
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> And with that Corraidhin activates his fork bomb.
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\~
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> While feeding their jellyfish bites of wasabi pear and watching the
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> sysorcerer investigate the hull, Inky eventually notices movement in
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> the direction of the ship's deck in the form of a figure crawling out
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> of the hatch with a bundle. Inky squints at the retreating form. Could
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> it be another retrieval team, or a rogue agent? Master Corraidhín
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> would probably not be pleased if the crystal melon were to fall into
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> unknown hands, never mind of those whose names don't start with the
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> letter "B" and end in the letter "r".
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>
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> Sparing a brief second to lament the waste of a perfectly good snack,
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> Inky reaches into their bag and lobs a spiky chestnut cluster at the
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> figure's breathing bell from the opening of their bubblebee, followed
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> by a glass bottle of blahoblin shoe polish. The glass shatters on
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> impact, sending the dark, sticky and somewhat pungent substance all
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> over the figure's (punctured) breathing bell and face.
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>
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> As Inky's bubblebee floats up a little closer to the figure, Inky
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> tosses a smaller bottle at the figure, this time of some synthetic
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> blood from another brick that Inky had set aside for experiments of a
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> different sort. At the last moment the thruster accelerates, Inky
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> throws their paring knife at the bundle where the cord hugged the
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> figure's waist, before veering away just as quickly as the
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> horkosgrampus nearby catch a whiff of the blood.
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**RETCON**: It has been brought to our attention that the `scp` spell
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does not *move* an entity, but merely copies it from one location to
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another. As such, the original merbear and tardigrade are still on the
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deck of the SS RSS. Their facsimiles are present near where Inky used to
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be.
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Okay so two extremely interesting and complicated things happen all at
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once and in quick succession. It's very chaotic and explosive and
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cinematic.
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THING THE FIRST
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Corraidhín aims his shootin' finger---the one that resolutely,
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emphatically mashes the Enter key when deploying to production---at the
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floaty thief. The very same second he fires off the magic missile, he
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sees the figure jerk as a small projectile first punctures its jellyfish
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helmet and then coats its entire cranial area in black ink.
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It screams, "Aw, fuck!"
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The breathing bell is having none of this shit, thank you very much, and
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detaches itself from the figure's head and starts to propel itself away.
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As such, the figure no longer has access to breathable air.
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It screams, "No, wait!"
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And then a fine blade juts out from the bubblebee severing the cord
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connecting the floating bundle to the would-be thief. The blade scoops
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out a hunk of flesh from the thief's hip in the process.
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It screams, "Ouch! Stop, I wasn't going to..."
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The horkosgrampus---kind of lazily drifting about thus far---stir from
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complacency at the first scent of blood. But they snap to ravenous
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attention at the first utterance of a possible lie.
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Finally (an instant later) the magic missile strikes its target and the
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thief splatters like a wet paper bag full of soup hitting the ground.
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It sputters and coughs and screams, "I wasn't going to! Please, you can
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have it! I wasn't going to take it! I don't even want it! It's yours!"
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And the horkosgrampus fucking lose their minds. They stop being mere
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toothy scavenger whales, and instead become the ravenous, wrathful
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instruments of the god of oaths and promises. They descend upon the liar
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in a fury of teeth and tusks. First Mate "Lucky" Three-Fingered Gerald
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cackles with depraved, unhinged mirth as he is torn to shreds. In the
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end a single golden orb---his false eye---is all that is left of the
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would-be thief of the second Ginnarak Crystal.
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The eye and the crystal slowly emerge from the horkosgrampus frenzy,
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hovering suspended above the harrowkrake trench.
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THING THE SECOND
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Remember there are two extremely interesting and complicated things
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happening all at once?
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The second thing is this.
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First, Corraidhín lets loose his magic missile at Three-Fingered Gerald.
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Then, as he is being pulled down by the undead pirate skeleton, he lets
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loose a fork bomb.
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The fork bomb is also known as a 'rabbit attack' because the rapidity
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with which it spawns new processes resembles the fecundity of breeding
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rabbits.
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So here's what it looks like. The skeleton pulls Corraidhín downward.
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Corraidhín points and clicks. Pew, pew. A single small sea bunny slug
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wriggles its way between the skeleton's fingers where it has a hold of
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the sysorcerer's ankle. Another two wriggle out. Then four, eight,
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sixteen. In an instant there are dozens, hundreds, thousands, millions
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of the tiny slugs in the hold of the ship.
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Everything, every living entity, every process, light and sound and
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thought itself, it all grinds to a halt as the sea bunnies continue to
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multiply until billions and trillions of them squeeze and burrow their
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way amongst molecules, betwixt atoms, and into the quantum foam between
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subatomic particles.
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The ship and everything on it and inside it---including the original
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merbear and tardigrade---collapse into a singularity. It continues to
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exist in this moment in space and time but only as a static snapshot of
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the moment that its operating system crashed. It is a mirage, a core
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memory dump, a segmentation fault, a flickering feedback loop, the same
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two to three seconds endlessly repeating: Corraidhín backed into a
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corner, and pointing a finger at a skeleton, and then BANG! over and
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over and over again.
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Corraidhín, you can continue to act and move, but your have become
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unhinged and unattached from this moment in space and time. You can
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interact with entities inside the ship, but will struggle mightily to
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comprehend and interact with entities outside the fork bomb.
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Outside observers see the SS RSS become paper thin and translucent as it
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starts to lose its footing in this plane of reality.
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|
|
|
WHAT DO YOU DO
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
[www](https://framalistes.org/sympa/arc/tildepals/2022-11/msg00080.html)
|
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|
|
#### 00036 {#00036}
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Prelude:
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The gods are missing now. But before they went into hiding, the Trine
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walked the earth and actively participated in the affairs of mortals.
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Sweet, tenderhearted Neddas---god of sages and starlight---fell in love
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with the worldkin and often gave away trivial little bits of their
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divinity as gifts to the people. Chief among these gifts were the divine
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aspects of coin, mirth, lore, craft, and tact. With these gifts,
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civilizations grew and flourished and accomplished great things.
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Then the Artifice Wars rocked all of Basmentaria and the gods vanished.
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And even with Neddas's gifts, civilization still struggles to reach its
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former heights.
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> I watch as the magical bolt sails away overhead meeting its target,
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> receding back into the depths of the hull of the ship as the skeleton
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> drags me down. The fork bomb goes off flawlessly, and the world comes
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> to a screching halt around me, only to slowly rewind itself.
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>
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> I contemplate the absolutely absurd position I've put myself into as
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> the skeleton pulls me back down into the depths and I watch the would
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> be theif take a direct hit again.
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>
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> "Okay, THAT was a good shot." I say to myself as the scene repeats
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> again. I could probably watch that a few times. But after about the
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> hundredth time the feat seems a little less epic. And the skeleton a
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> lot less frightful and a lot more dull.
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>
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> *Sigh*
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>
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> Kevin always said this would happen. "Corraidhin, you can't play with
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> dangerous scripts like that, you'll crash your systems". Right you
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> were Kevin, right you were. Corraidhin casts his eyes around
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> wistfully. I guess I got that boat I always wanted? And it's filled
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> with treasure. That's a positive. Oh and um I'm not alone, yeah,
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> that's right. You're stuck here too Mr. Skelly. (The skeleton does not
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> reply). Oh come on now, don't be rude. (still no reply). *sigh* right,
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> sorta dead, I shouldn't expext more than a loving embrace from you as
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> you try and invite me to look at your treasure right?
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>
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> After about the thousandth time the Sysorcerer was still in a rut.
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>
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> I'm stuck insid the crash, not from without. It seems this moment is
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> just going to idle on perpetually. (he rummages in his pockets), okay
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> I guess I still have the Ginnarak crystal, and stabby. Those seem safe
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> enough here with me.
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>
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> So long as I don't go crazy I guess there's hope. If not, what a damn
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> foolish way to die.
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>
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> MEANWHILE
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>
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> An automated alert system triggers as the Sysorceror blips out of
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> existence. And then on, and then off, and then on, and then off.
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>
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|
> (Problem: Corraidhin: Entity not found)
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> Problem started at 19:37 on 2281.67.43
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> Porblem Name: Deadman's Trigger: Entity not found
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> Host: Corraidhin
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> Severity: Critical
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> Operation Data: (corrupted)
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> Problem ID: 92746027498
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>
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|
> (Problem: Corraidhin: Entity not found)
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> Resolved in 1d 0h 0m 0s: Entity not found
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> Problem Name: Deadman's Trigger: Entity not found
|
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> Problem Duration: 1d 0h 0m 0s
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> Severity: Critical
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> Original Problem ID: 92746027498
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>
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> Bloody Zabbix alerts flapping again, what the hell does it mean that
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> Uncle Corraidhin is gone. You can't Die then Live over and over and
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> over. Stupid broken monitoring system. Guess I had been check in on
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> him, bloody fool constantly gets himself in trouble.
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>
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> Alex grabs his shortsword and backpack and shoulders them. If anyone
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> will know what's foolhearty issue his uncle has gotten into, it'll be
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> Kevin as the Sysorcerors Guild.
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Corraidhín settles in for what may or may not be a lifetime of stasis
|
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|
aboard the glitch formerly known as the SS RSS. At least Stabby will be
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|
good company if it ever wakes up from its blood coma. Hmm, actually
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|
that's debatable. Now that you think of it, you're not sure you're up
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for a lifetime of ranting about blood and evil.
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|
The merbear and the tardigrade are on the ship deck, also trapped in the
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fork bomb. You're not sure whether you can reach them or not.
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|
You see a flickering of motion and a flash of light outside the ship as
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what looks like a small school of fish moves darts in and out of view.
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It rushes past, doubles back, and swims past again, passing close enough
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|
that one or two get sucked into the fork bomb with you.
|
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|
Impossibly, what you thought were fish were apparently small birds? Or,
|
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|
perhaps they were fish after all and some quality of passing through the
|
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|
boundary of the fork bomb simply turns them into birds? Either way, two
|
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|
|
small blue songbirds with red heads and forked tails hop around inside
|
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|
the ship chirping incessantly. You watch as one of them hops toward one
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|
of the sea bunny slugs and pecks at it, and then scoops it up in its
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|
beak and swallows it whole. The second does the same. They hop from side
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to side a bit, and then set to feasting on the slugs. A couple more
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birds pop through the membrane separating you from the outside world and
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join in.
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\~
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Alex grabs his perfectly normal, blissfully non-sentient shortsword and
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heads off to the Cabinet, where the Sysorcerers Guild is. He has to
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detour around the Wandering Bazaar, which decided to plop down in the
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middle of the street, but nonetheless arrives in short order.
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He finds Kevin working in the library on Kevin's Document Language.
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Alex describes the errors and Kevin groans, "Ugh, I told him! I told him
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you can't play with dangerous scripts like that, you'll crash your
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systems! We'll have to try a manual reboot. Well don't just stand there,
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young person. Come on, come on, try to keep up. We have work to do!"
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> Inky follows the bundle's path as it sinks downwards and maneuvers the
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> bubblebee to retrieve it along with the eye.
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>
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> Floating to a stop above the ledge of the trench, Inky looks at the
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> small golden orb, then removes an empty lunch pail from their knapsack
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> and drops the eye and several small glass marbles into it. The
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> contents jostle around inside the pail in a cacophony of whirs, clicks
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> and clatters. With the lid firmly closed, Inky tosses the makeshift
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> percussive instrument into the trench for the harrowkrake so it could
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> jam with its new tanokuma buddies.
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>
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> Staring at the bundle, Inky suddenly recalls the projectile that had
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> come from the general direction of the SS RSS shortly before the
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> horkosgrampus got to Mr. Not-So-Lucky. Master Corraidhín! They turn
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> back to the shipwreck, only to find the entire ship had turned eerily
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> translucent, like a ghost ship from some tipsy sailor's tale. Inky
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> halts a short distance from the wreckage for a closer look, though
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> something about the apparition told them it would be a terrible idea
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> to enter the ship's hull now. Something had happened to the ship's
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> remains, with the sysorcerer trapped inside. Maybe it was all part of
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> the sysorcerer's plan, that he had teleported himself back to a safe
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> location and this was a mirage, just a remnant from the moment of
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> teleportation.
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>
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> Or at least Inky hopes so.
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Inky drops the improvised goldeneye noisemaker down into the trench. The
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rattling as it falls is reminiscent of Gerald's laughter. One slender
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tendril reaches up out of the abyss and grabs the rattle, and then
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disappears once more into the murky dark.
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You are now in possession of the second Ginnarak Crystal. A blue stone
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with lightly pulsing gold veins. As you gaze at it, it's almost as
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though you can hear peals of tinkling laughter in the back of your head.
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The horkosgrampus, temporarily sated having removed the liar from this
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timeline, drift lazily away.
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The giant, candy-seeking manta ray passes closely by and fondly caresses
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the bubblebee with one wing in passing. Its little manta face pulled up
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into a chubby smile.
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The bear facsimiles join you and begin crying when they see their
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"brothers" trapped on the deck of the ship.
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You see a small school of fish making multiple passes by the SS RSS like
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birds skimming insects from the sky.
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WHAT DO YOU DO
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[www](https://framalistes.org/sympa/arc/tildepals/2022-11/msg00083.html)
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#### 00037 {#00037}
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Prelude:
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Different cultures of Basmentaria have different traditional stories
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about Nullar, the lord of time and tides.
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The cobits say he is an insatiable Wyrm who lies coiled tightly
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around the present moment. He devours the past the moment it stops
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being the present. And when he has finished digesting it, he
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regurgitates it as the future, the processed remains of the past. And
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he remains ever out of sight, just around the corner. Always having
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just happened. Or about to happen. But never here, never now.
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The gnu describe Nullar as a fastidious Librarian. They believe that
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every time you make a choice, you create a create two separate
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timelines, two stories. One in which you chose Option A and one in
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which you chose Option B. The Librarian collects these alternate
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stories, binds them between the covers of a new book, and adds them
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to his collection. In this way he maintains the single sanctioned
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timeline and keeps the tree of the multiverse pruned.
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The torque say he is a solitary old man, a weary prisoner of his
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office, fatigued by the neverending repeating cycles of time and
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tide, with only his ravens for companionship.
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> Inky looks in the direction of the bears' anguish and blinks at the
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> forms on the ship's deck. How strange. Why are the bears in the
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> mirage? Didn't Master Corraidhín send them to a safe spot earlier
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> *before* he entered the hull?
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>
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> Between the two bears' tearful retelling of events, Inky gathers
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> the sysorcerer had conjured an identical (at least in appearance)
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> pair of bears farther from the shipwreck, while the other pair were
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> still on the deck. If the sysorcerer had teleported himself out,
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> Inky was fairly sure he wouldn't leave the bears behind to whatever
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> had taken hold of the ship after he and Gabs had gone to the
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> trouble of rescuing them from the harrowkrake's clutches. Either
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> the wizard will return to free the bears, or he was still inside.
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> From an angle close to the deck, Inky can see a shadow inside the
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> hatch that vaguely resembled the sysorcerer, but it was difficult
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> to tell from the blurry edges.
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>
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> Resigned to a long wait, Inky sighs and pulls out bottles of
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> instant brew acorn tea and offers one to each bear, as well as a
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> jar of candied carrots. The tea was a few pinches saltier than
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> usual, but it would do for now. They float out some carrots to the
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> giant manta ray hovering nearby, holding up the jar briefly for the
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> jellyfish atop their head to snag a few with a free tentacle,
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> before picking out two themselves and passing the jar to the bears.
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> To distract the bears a bit from the sight of their doppelgangers
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> in painfully slow motion, or the urge to dive in after them, Inky
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> inquires about their deep sea and lunar adventures.
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>
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> After some time, Inky notices the same group of fish swimming back
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> and forth by the shipwreck, a few appearing as though they were
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> passing through the ship? "Hey. Do you know what the fish there are
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> doing? Do they regularly hang out near the shipwreck?" they ask the
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> bears.
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"What fish?" says the bear, squinting at the ship. "Those aren't fish."
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The alleged not-fish skirt around the edges of the wavering,
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translucent ship. They dart in and out as they go as though trying to
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clip a newspaper article.
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END OF CHAPTER 2
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INTERLUDE:
|
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You return to Vay'Nullar with the second Ginnarak Crystal, but
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|
without your comrade the sysorcerer.
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When you get back to the Milk Market, there is an unsigned note
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|
|
waiting for you:
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|
|
> You have done exceptionally well so far Retrieval Team 43. We are
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|
> quite impressed, and will be in touch with you shortly. Until then,
|
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|
|
> trust nobody and watch your back. Not all is as it seems, and not
|
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|
> everybody is being truthful with you.
|
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There is an emblem at the bottom of the note in lieu of a signature:
|
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|
|
an abstract white iris resting on top of a golden apple.
|
|
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|
|
- Do you consider the mission a success?
|
|
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|
|
- What are you doing to recoup, recover, and unwind from the mission?
|
|
|
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|
|
|
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|
|
[www](https://framalistes.org/sympa/arc/tildepals/2022-11/msg00093.html)
|