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    <atom:link href="https://tilde.town/~dozens/quest/rss.xml" rel="self" type="application/rss+xml" />
    <title>BASEMENT QWEST</title>
    <link>https://tilde.town/~dozens/quest/rss.xml</link>
    <description>Friends having ADVENTURES! Huzzah!</description>
    <item>
      <title>56</title>
      <author>dozens@tilde.team (dozens)</author>
      <guid isPermaLink="false">56 - Mon, 16 Jan 2023 14:10:25
-0700</guid>
      <pubDate>Mon, 16 Jan 2023 14:10:25 -0700</pubDate>
      <description>
        <![CDATA[
          <h3 id="00056">00056</h3>
          <blockquote>
          <p>The agitation Alex feels bubbles just beneath the surface.
          Patterns where patterns shouldn’t be, strange orders from HQ,
          indifference where once was ample aide as well. It was
          maddening. Combine it all with the haunting suspicion that
          there was constantly someone just around the next corner, and
          it was enough to truly drive Alex mad.</p>
          <p>That uneasiness takes its toll on a long enough time line,
          but Alex wasn’t about to let it get to him. Or so he thought
          to himself as he cast a furtive look at his monitoring
          equipment. This paranoia had served him well in the past, very
          well in fact. It’s a sort of sixth sense in a way, always kept
          Alex off the edge of the cliff, especially when someone
          stepped close enough to push him off. Those were the types of
          skills HQ sought after in the first place.</p>
          <p>Alex closes the iron door on his bunker, leaving his
          monitoring equipment running, dead man’s trigger set to blow
          the place shoul anyone enter it. Can’t be too careful these
          days..</p>
          <p>Emerging from the sewer grate, sticking to the shadows,
          Alex makes his way down an alley, then another, and yet
          another, finally emerging a few blocks from the Milk Market.
          Across the street, as he had expected, was Marvelo’s Marvelous
          MurderSticks, a quaint place should one needed something, well
          you get the picture, they don’t really sell anything but
          weaponry here.</p>
          <p>Alex ducked into the entrance of the shop and strode
          towards the back rack, where a collection of knives was on
          display. A rough looking fellow, ruddy red beard, thinning
          hair, moved from the counter as he saw Alex approach. “Fine
          sampling of knives we have, could I interest you in one?”
          Marvelo says. Alex reaches for a thin stilleto style dagger,
          and hands it to Marvelo “This one seems about right, but I’d
          like an extra sharp edge put on it, if you don’t mind”.
          Marvelo takes the stilleto from Alex say “Not a problem at all
          sir”, and he heads into the back.</p>
          <p>He sets to work honing the edge, and once complete he
          places it on his work bench. Grabbing a velvet lined case from
          a stack, he deftly removes the bottom and places a rolled
          piece of paper into the bottom, alongside an m1911 style
          pistol, and a couple of clips of ammo. He then places the
          velvet bottom back over the equipment, and places the stilleto
          on top, bringing the entire package back to the front. “An
          extra fine edge on this one sir, that’ll be 15 gold, plus
          another 5 to cover the service.</p>
          <p>Alex pays, and nips out the shop and heads back to the back
          alley. Paranoia begets what it requets, Alex mutters to
          himself as he disassembles the box holstering the pistol and
          ammo, and sheathing the dagger. Can’t keep going unarmed like
          I’m some kind of beat cop, not anymore.. Alex discards the
          case and unfurls the message, quickly deciphering the
          encryption set on it by Marvelo.</p>
          <pre><code>The hunt is still on, no word on Blavin nor the Iris group, yet.
Agent 7 heard rumor of a couple of persons inquiring about the &quot;Milk Market&quot; these past few days.
Agent 3 heard similar rumors, was able to bribe a melon vendor to acertain the figure wore a red sash, and was looking for friends.
Agent 6 has kept watch on the Market, nothing strange yet, coming and goings as usual, no strange visitors
Agent 4 monitoring feeds still present glitches, something abnormal
Agent 5 found the melon vendor dead in a back alley, strangled to death, not immediate signs of blunt force trauma, caution advised</code></pre>
          <p>Alex burned the note, striding rapidly away from the alley,
          taking a meandering route away from the Milk Market, looping
          back around, and heading back towards it by yet another.
          Nobody appeared to be following him, yet he paused at each
          corner and turn, waiting for the footsteps of a pursuant.</p>
          <p>Noting nothing, he made his way through the back entrance
          of Enrique’s Empanadas greeting the cook quietly, but jovial.
          “Enrique, where’s Inky? We’ve got a problem.”</p>
          </blockquote>
          <p>~</p>
          <blockquote>
          <p>Inky skims the page. They thank the witch, pay for the
          items and exit the shop, promptly discarding all notions of
          meeting Bother at the place stipulated on the note.</p>
          <p><em>(Half and one hour later)</em></p>
          <p>One-sixths into a caramel cantaloupe cream cornet, Inky
          runs into Confidence outside the Wandering Bazaar and obtains
          some of their new pamphlets, minted with luminescent ink for
          the convenience of late-night tourists. These are subsequently
          hare-mailed to every editor at the <em>Niuewstijl</em> office,
          which is almost certain to earn another chiding remark from
          Tess about etiquette and the handling of unsolicited bulk mail
          to parent editorial teams.</p>
          <p><em>(Half and two hours later)</em></p>
          <p>The installation on display at the Milk Market was
          grotesque — that is to say, a work of beauty. Inky steps
          carefully through the rooms to not disturb the piece.
          Afterwards, they sign the guestbook set up on an upturned milk
          crate by the door, delightedly pasting rows of horse head and
          thumbs-up emo Gs on a page thoughtfully titled “you can’t ed
          the unedible”.</p>
          <p><em>(Half and three hours earlier)</em></p>
          <p>Thanking Agate for her time, Inky passes her a sheet of
          paper on which were written a few questions about the
          prescribed ritual, with some space after each question should
          the witch prefer to scribble a response:</p>
          <ul>
          <li><p>What do guides in the Sea of Dreams and the Ravenfolk
          typically seek in return for directing travellers to the
          correct pocket dimension?</p></li>
          <li><p>An establishment inside the Bazaar is only open in the
          evenings whenever it appears in the city. How long does travel
          to a pocket dimension typically take, allowing for time to
          seek out a guide? Is there a way travellers can estimate the
          time to set out on their journey, in order to arrive at the
          establishment while it is open?</p></li>
          <li><p>Who are the Red Spider and “Dude 215R” mentioned in the
          ritual? How can travellers avoid summoning them?</p></li>
          <li><p>Would anything happen to the travellers if any of the
          sigils were removed during the ritual before they wake
          up?</p></li>
          </ul>
          <p><em>(Half and four hours later)</em></p>
          <p>Two sets of eyes peer down at the contents of an open tin.
          One accompanied by a focused look and a little trepidation,
          following the pinkish, flesh-like chunks speckled with white
          pockets of fat as they tumble into a hot pan and almost
          immediately begin to move of their own accord. The moving
          mounds resemble small round mouths opening, each with a rim of
          sharp teeth. The other pair of eyes belongs to a grinning face
          that beams when the mounds bloom into bright red flat caps,
          the edges beneath about to soften in the olive oil.</p>
          <p>Minutes after, The slices are ready. Inky accepts the plate
          of tostada with spicy pickled artichoke mushrooms and tomatoes
          with a murmur of thanks. Reassembling the recipe for the
          tinned spicy artichoke mushrooms had been a tedious process —
          someone had ripped out the pages from an old pickling book
          that had long ceased publication. Eventually Inky found a
          former nomad who had eaten them for two years in their youth
          and could recall or somewhat describe the taste. Flowery and
          savoury, they said. Many taste tests later, it turned out to
          be closer to partially decomposed cheese in ponderosa lemon
          juice. Canning was fortuitously easier with the increasing
          portability of sealers. Rather than telling the empanada chef
          any of this, Inky watches satisfaction slowly spread across
          his face. The tale that follows is far more entertaining.</p>
          <p><em>(Half and five hours later)</em></p>
          <p>While measuring out ingredients for the forty-second tea
          infusion since the start of the missions, not that Inky was
          keeping a close count, they hear a familiar voice a short
          distance outside the door asking for their whereabouts.
          Without pausing in their whisking, Inky simply informs the
          owner of the voice they’re not here, obviously, before
          emerging from the storage pantry with a fresh pot and bowls on
          a wooden tray, and greets the returning sysorcerer.</p>
          </blockquote>
          <p>Agate writes back quickly:</p>
          <blockquote>
          <p>What do guides in the Sea of Dreams and the Ravenfolk
          typically seek in return for directing travellers to the
          correct pocket dimension?</p>
          </blockquote>
          <p>Intangibles. Usually memories, hopes, or dreams.</p>
          <blockquote>
          <p>An establishment inside the Bazaar is only open in the
          evenings whenever it appears in the city. How long does travel
          to a pocket dimension typically take, allowing for time to
          seek out a guide? Is there a way travellers can estimate the
          time to set out on their journey, in order to arrive at the
          establishment while it is open?</p>
          </blockquote>
          <p>You’ll find that time is rather malleable on the Otherside.
          You’ll likely arrive exactly when you’re meant to. No need to
          worry too much about it.</p>
          <blockquote>
          <p>Who are the Red Spider and “Dude 215R” mentioned in the
          ritual? How can travellers avoid summoning them?</p>
          </blockquote>
          <p>Godforms manifested by the Linking Sigil and the Dream
          Sigil, respectively. It’s not <em>terrible</em> if they show
          up. But it’s definitely not ideal. You shouldn’t register on
          their radar as long as you don’t pump too much energy into, or
          siphon to much energy out of, the sigils. If they do show up,
          just know that you’re in the presence of a godlike power, and
          behave accordingly.</p>
          <blockquote>
          <p>Would anything happen to the travellers if any of the
          sigils were removed during the ritual before they wake up?</p>
          </blockquote>
          <p>If the sigils are removed or if the circle is broken,
          you’ll likely just wake up before you wanted to. Same goes for
          if your dreamform is destroyed while in the Dreaming. The only
          real danger you may encounter is the Scissormen and their ilk.
          They will attempt to permanently sever your dreamform from
          your waking body. Which would leave your body a soulless husk,
          and leave your consciousness adrift in the Sea of Dreams. But
          that probably won’t happen! Okay good luck, have fun!</p>
          <p>WHAT DO YOU DO</p>
        ]]>
      </description>
    </item>
    <item>
      <title>54</title>
      <author>dozens@tilde.team (dozens)</author>
      <guid isPermaLink="false">54 - Tue, 03 Jan 2023 16:12:08
-0700</guid>
      <pubDate>Wed, 04 Jan 2023 08:18:44 -0700</pubDate>
      <description>
        <![CDATA[
          <h3 id="00054">00054</h3>
          <blockquote>
          <p>Once back in the Milk Bar, with the airship safely anchored
          to the roof of the building, Alex finds himself amongst the
          old belongings of his former uncle.</p>
          <p><em>sigh</em> “Best get a request to HQ for this airship,
          maybe they’ll let us operate it for a bit, if not I suppose we
          have to impound it..”</p>
          <pre><code>&lt;- OP 2817 * LOC MB-A
-&gt; OP 25120 * LOC ESPER

CLEARANCE: INFORMATIONAL
REQUEST ENCLOSED.

REQUESTING PERMISSION TO IMPOUND OR OPERATE.
ONE CYBERPLASM AIRSHIP &quot;The Rusty Maiden&quot;</code></pre>
          <p>“There’s also the matter of this little hemogoblin..” Alex
          mutters to himself while said hemogoblin happily dances around
          the room, dripping little pools of blood hither and
          tither.</p>
          <pre><code>&lt;- OP 2817 * LOC MB-A
-&gt; OP 41154 * LOC ESPER

CLEARANCE: TOP SECRET
REQUEST ENCLOSED
PACKET ENCLOSED

REQUESTING ANALYSIS
ONE GDB @gdb-readout.dat
TWO BLOOD @blood-soaked-handkerchief
NOTE GDB INDICATES SOME ANOMALY</code></pre>
          <p>“Hey little guy, lets go get an empanade. Inky says they’re
          divine.” Alex says as he scoops up the little goblin and
          gently carries him downstairs.”</p>
          <p>Striding into Enriques kitchen, and availing himself to the
          empanadas, ignoring an indignant Enrique’s protests that these
          were for paying customers until a small bag of coins is tossed
          careless over one shoulder. Alex stride through the kitchen
          and then out and away into the garden to enjoy their pilfered
          treats.</p>
          <p>“I suppose this is more interesting than being on the force
          at times”</p>
          </blockquote>
          <p>~</p>
          <blockquote>
          <p>Inky stepped into the toques’ cabin below deck with a tray
          of turmeric ginger tea and lavender biscuits. After checking
          on Bread’s bandages and offering the toque reclined on the
          berth the last bag of mango croutons — or at least the last
          one for the next two hours — Inky perched on a wooden barrel
          across from where Confidence sat on a creaking old chair next
          to the bunk and spoke. “We’ll be landing in about an hour and
          getting Bread to a medical facility. You can stay with him
          while he heals and rest up.”</p>
          <p>They paused to take a long sip from their cup, as if the
          liquid was being used to summon their next words. “On behalf
          of myself and the party, I apologise for the … disruption, and
          for what had befallen the hotelier. As you may have already
          noticed, we’re a fair distance away from the Peak and will be
          arriving in Vay’Nullar soon. This airship was taken over from
          the cyberplasms in the course of getting the crystal out and
          the injured to a safe location, and her new captain could
          hardly fly it back straight into the pirates’ hands now.</p>
          <p>What we propose is this: you and Bread may take as long as
          you need to recover. We can arrange for lodgings and new posts
          in the city. One of our party runs a Milk Market that could
          certainly use some hired help, and a garden in the back that
          would benefit from more attention. Pay will be double your
          current salary at the hotel. Master Alex may also recruit you
          for other tasks. You don’t need to have an answer just yet —
          think on it for a bit while you rest and let us know.
          Afterwards, if you find that you still wish to return to
          Kelsun Peak, we will pay for travel.”</p>
          <p>Inky winked at Bread conspiratorially. “You may be
          interested to know there is a bakery on the Milk Market’s
          first floor. If you like the look of the place, perhaps we can
          convince the chef to take on an assistant.”</p>
          <p>~</p>
          <p>Tess watched her adviser from her position on one end of
          the plush chaise lounge in her office, who returned her stare
          impassively as they sat in the adjoining armchair to her
          right. The ornate coffee table before them had been laid out
          for tea, but the other cup remained untouched, which was in
          itself unusual. Ink rarely turned down tea when it was
          offered, which likely meant they were preoccupied with
          something they were unwilling to discuss. This had been
          happening more frequently since their plans to intercept the
          Ginnarak Crystals, which was a little concerning, but she knew
          it would be no use to question them directly. The missive she
          had received this time through Piskin’s people was brief,
          almost annoyingly so, but they had returned earlier than
          expected with the articles that production had requested,
          which had fortunately made up for lost time from the previous
          delays.</p>
          <p>With this in mind, she settled on a lighter note as she
          picked up her own teacup. “Salvia passed on the items to the
          production team. Thank you for picking them up from the
          Runesocesius. I would send my regular couriers but they are
          tied up with another event. One of them had to care for their
          sick child and couldn’t leave the city. As usual, time and
          discretion are of the essence.”</p>
          <p>When her adviser only nodded, she continued. “How is he? He
          probably insisted on bringing the manuscripts out for you
          himself. The man is cautious with valuables.”</p>
          <p>“Quite dead but managing, or so I heard.” Ink intoned
          drily.</p>
          <p>Tess caught on immediately. “Didn’t you meet with him? The
          message only mentioned the items had been obtained. Did
          something happen?”</p>
          <p>The imp shrugged. “We met, I delivered the letter and
          collected the items. We didn’t get a chance to talk.”</p>
          <p>The hotel was slowly but steadily attracting visitors
          again, especially after their last play had prominently
          featured the Runesocesius Library as a research partner in the
          programme credits, but Tess didn’t think the hotelier was so
          busy as to entrust this task to one of his underlings. The man
          was proud of the first editions the library had amassed, and
          the notebooks of Lucidieau that the playwright sought as a
          reference were no doubt counted among the treasures, even if
          only an expensive commissioned facsimile was permitted out of
          the library. Something had happened, she was sure, but decided
          not to press further for the moment.</p>
          <p>“And the other matter?” she asked.</p>
          <p>“Someone already knew the crystal was at the hotel and
          retained a crew of cyberplasmic pirates to storm the place.”
          Ink replied flatly. “And yes, your acquaintance is very much
          dead, shot by the crew leader in the scuffle. As the rumour
          rags have it, his ghost is now overseeing the building
          repairs.”</p>
          <p>Tess was about to admonish the imp gently for the tasteless
          jest when there was a knock at the door. At her response, the
          door opened and her secretary entered with a box of pastries
          and two sets of tableware, which she placed on the coffee
          table before leaving and closing the door behind her.</p>
          <p>Noticing Ink’s look of recognition, Tess smiled and
          ventured, “This is the second time is as many months you
          awarded that empanada place a glowing review in <em>The Tiny
          Toaster</em>. I can count the ratings higher than a 10 you’ve
          ever given on one hand — of course I had to try it. Why don’t
          you have some as well?”</p>
          <p>Ink blinked. “I didn’t write the latest review.”</p>
          <p>Tess shot them an accusing mock-glare as she lifted a puffy
          golden brown pastry onto a plate. “It has your inkprints all
          over it.”</p>
          <p>“I don’t know what you mean. Surely I’m allowed to treat a
          colleague to lunch, and they are free to express their
          satisfaction with a meal openly if they wish,” Ink replied
          smoothly.</p>
          <p>Tess rolled her eyes. “There’s a name for that. It’s called
          bribery.”</p>
          <p>Ink smiled faintly. “Just so. However, the selection speaks
          for itself.”</p>
          <p>“Oh, absolutely! These mini ambrose apple empanadas are
          wonderful. In fact,” Tess prodded the open end of the pastry
          with her fork, where a light yellow filling was visible, “they
          remind me a little of the very crispy tortelli
          <em>someone</em> made several years ago just for the opening
          reception of <em>The Two Genteelkin of Virdantha</em>.”</p>
          <p>“Any resemblance is coincidental. The chef is very
          capable.” Ink said evenly.</p>
          <p>Tess sighed and returned her plate to the table. “We’ve
          talked about this before, Ink. You don’t have to hole up in
          some poor scrub’s excuse for a kitchen in a closet. If you
          need more room downstairs then expand it. Just tell Salvia and
          she’ll take care of it.”</p>
          <p>Ink lowered their gaze to the teacups. “I appreciate the
          offer, but the answer is the same. There will be no rest until
          the crystals are secured.”</p>
          </blockquote>
          <p>Some time passes.</p>
          <p>The hemogoblin turns out to be a fine housemate and less of
          a problem than you thought it would be. Be it because its not
          in the excitement of battle onboard a pirate ship, or be it
          because it is maturing slightly, it seems in better control of
          its blood sacs. Barring a few small accidents, it doesn’t make
          much of a mess. It has found and claimed as its own a few
          unused blankets, and has made a little burrow nest in an out
          of the way corner behind the furniture.</p>
          <p>Bread makes a full recovery and in fact is doing better
          than ever before. The blood goblin stays by their side during
          the first hours and days and keeps them pumped full of clean,
          synthetic blood. Afterwards the toque is flushed a healthy
          pink and has new vigor. Enrique takes them under his tutelage.
          And Bread ends up making a fine baker’s apprentice. Dough
          seems to rise more and quicker after he kneads it. “The lad
          has solar hands,” Enrique boasts of his new protegee.</p>
          <p>Confidence becomes enthralled with the semi-sentient
          Wandering Bazaar. The thirteen story building moves with
          glacial speed up and down the streets, vendors and stalls and
          shoppers following in its wake. But then also it will
          disappear in the blink of an eye only to reappear in a totally
          different part of the area known as the Wandering Bazaar
          District. Each floor of the tall, narrow tower is occupied
          entirely by a single shop. But which shop it is seems to vary
          from day to day. One day the seventh level will be occupied by
          Fedik’s Butcher shop. And the next, Lario’s Bakery. It might
          be days or weeks before one can once again buy hotlinks from
          Fedik’s. Where the shops go when they’re not here is one of
          Basmentaria’s great mysteries.</p>
          <p>The toque studies the Bazaar’s movements and are able to
          predict its route with more and more accuracy. They become a
          highly sought out guide. Tourists and visitors trust them to
          take them to the very spot the Bazaar will appear that day.
          Residents appreciate the heads up and not getting trapped in
          their houses when the Bazaar wedges its way into their narrow
          residential streets, blocking their front doors. And owners of
          traditional, less ambulatory shops are able to plan ahead for
          the crowds that will appear on “Bazaar Day”.</p>
          <p>~</p>
          <p>Members of the Retrieval Team who sleep in Milk Market HQ
          start having dreams of the same mysterious figure. Of course
          at first nobody knows their dreams are shared by the others.
          Not until they become more frequent, more regular. By the time
          the figure has visited you every night for nearly a week,
          somebody speaks up and you realize the coincidence.</p>
          <p>The figure is clad in voluminous robes of deep purple.
          Long, straight, blonde hair falls around their shoulders.
          Their soft features are boyish and womanly. They wear a golden
          circlet on their head and a golden eye in the middle of their
          forehead. Their passive, neutral face betrays no emotion the
          entire time.</p>
          <p>The dream is always the same. They reach out to you with
          one hand and turn their palm up. And because of dream logic,
          in the palm of their hand you can hear the jingling of coins,
          mirthful laughter, and hushed stories told around a campfire.
          They curl their fingers into a loose first and the sounds
          stop. They spread their arms wide and in the folds of their
          robes you can see three siblings fighting, squabbling over a
          broken loom.</p>
          <p>Then you’re standing next to them, and the two of you watch
          three friends, Snake, Owl, and Dolphin. Owl tells Snake that
          he is tired of flying and hooting, and doesn’t want to be an
          owl any more, he wants to be flowers. And Snake laughs and
          tells him that he is Owl, and an owl he must remain. And she
          leaves him to go eat rodents and bake in the sun. So Owl tells
          Dolphin that he is tired of flying and hooting, and doesn’t
          want to be an owl any more, he wants to be flowers. Dolphin
          doesn’t want to help Owl, because if he is flowers, they won’t
          be able to be together any longer. But Dolphin finally agrees
          to help even though they don’t want to, because Dolphin loves
          Owl. With all their strength, they create a great waterspout
          that will turn Owl into flowers. But the waterspout is too
          strong, and Dolphin is too weak to control it. It sprays Owl
          but does not turn him into flowers. Owl’s wing is broken and
          he falls to the ground in a heap of feathers. The waterspout
          shakes a great boulder from the earth and traps Snake under
          it. And Dolphin sinks to the bottom of the sea.</p>
          <p>And then you wake up.</p>
          <p>~</p>
          <p>Later you find a letter in the common area of Milk Market
          HQ. It is not addressed to anybody. When you open it up, it
          reads:</p>
          <blockquote>
          <p>Time is running out, Retrieval Team 43. Things are starting
          to draw to a close. We cannot delay our meeting any longer if
          we both are to achieve our goals. We have information that you
          are looking for. Meet us at the Harpoon Club next Selday. We
          will wear the sign.</p>
          </blockquote>
          <p>The letter is signed with a white iris and golden
          apple.</p>
          <p>Anyone in Vay’Nullar would be able to tell you that the
          Harpoon Club is a game room and fine dining club, and one of
          the rotating tenants of the Wandering Bazaar. But Confidence
          would tell you, were you to ask them, that the club won’t be
          there next Selday. (When the Bazaar will appear at East and
          Lowland.) It is in fact not scheduled to appear until a week
          and a half after next Selday, on Third Tensday. (When the
          Bazaar will appear at Cathedral and Pine.)</p>
          <p>WHAT DO YOU DO</p>
        ]]>
      </description>
    </item>
    <item>
      <title>55</title>
      <author>dozens@tilde.team (dozens)</author>
      <guid isPermaLink="false">55 - Thu, 05 Jan 2023 08:21:34
-0700</guid>
      <pubDate>Thu, 05 Jan 2023 08:21:34 -0700</pubDate>
      <description>
        <![CDATA[
          <h3 id="00055">00055</h3>
          <blockquote>
          <p>The nibs had disappeared.</p>
          <p>Inky had spotted the small ceramic and wicker teapot among
          a long row of boxes and bowls at the antique shop on the
          thirteenth floor of the Wandering Bazaar while looking for a
          Near-weightless Verifying Matter enclosure (NVMe) to their
          Handy Duffer Discette as a primary storage. The witch
          shopkeeper, Agate, had helpfully mentioned the teapot could be
          used to steep very acidic or alkaline solutions, as well as
          distil solubles. The box it was subsequently packed in did not
          include instructions on activating the precipitation feature.
          With the shop not returning for another week by Confidence’s
          reckoning, Inky had used the teapot in the meantime to rinse
          off any impurities from an old set of nibs — the very first
          functional set they had made as an apprentice inkling — except
          the nibs were nowhere to be found when they poured out the
          citronella solution and removed the lid. Inky supposed it was
          to be expected — some witches liked to go on about equal
          payment for wishes, as if it were as easy as reading off a
          price tag, and it was difficult to stay irritated at a cute
          teapot for long. Inky wrote it off as a gift for what would
          hopefully thereafter be a cutely functional teapot. The shop
          had a no-refunds policy.</p>
          <p>Then came the dream. At first Inky had attributed them to
          reading the book on the mythology of The Trine that they had
          slipped out of the Runesocesius Library, along with an obscure
          cactus leather-bound manuscript containing first-hand accounts
          of the Artifice Wars. When the dream repeated itself on the
          third night, Inky suspected it had something to do with the
          crystals under the Milk Market’s roof. While not horrifically
          bloody in the way Master Corraidhín’s description of the
          vision he had from the first crystal had been, it was
          haplessly boring when lucid intervention didn’t seem to have
          any effect. It ran on like a low-budget B-Grade play that had
          only three scenes with a few props each. By the fourth night,
          the dream had become worse than a nib-nibbling teapot that
          they stayed up entire nights for the rest of that week while
          they were camping at the Milk Market.</p>
          <p>It was mostly an excuse to drop into the kitchens
          downstairs — which they could now enter on the pretext of
          visiting Bread to observe the apprentice’s progress — in the
          early morning hours and push new tea blends onto its
          unfortunate occupants. Most of the three dozen or so infusions
          had been full of fruits and spices, six of which would go well
          with items on the empanada shop’s current menu. A handful were
          medicinal after procuring a herb illustrated on one
          moth-bitten page snatched on the hotel steps back on the Peak.
          A few others were teas in the loosest sense of the word. These
          were as tasteless and colourless as tap water, only the scent
          offering a faint clue as to their ingredients. They had other
          applications, least of which was in a prank on one empanada
          chef. (Inky left him a box of zephyl tea — another Kelsun Peak
          speciality besides mulled wine — before he could too riled up,
          though.)</p>
          <p>The note left at the Milk Market was the black cherry atop
          the hassle cake. Confidence was fairly sure that the fine
          establishment mentioned in the note wouldn’t appear on the day
          indicated. Couldn’t “Mother” have chosen to meet somewhere a
          little more convenient? So it was that despite the shop having
          a no-refunds policy, or because of it, Inky found themselves
          returning to the antique shop inside the Wandering Bazaar a
          week later looking for another item. “Do you sell flight
          vessels that could transport people to and from specific
          places … such as the Harpoon Club?” they asked the witch.</p>
          </blockquote>
          <p>You and the witch go back and forth a few times before she
          realizes that you want to visit a place where it is when it
          isn’t there.</p>
          <p>“Transdimensional extratemporal colocation?” Agate claps
          her hands in delight. “This is going to be fun! A witchy
          problem wants a witchy solution. That’s what my Auntie
          Tenfingers always said!”</p>
          <p>“Why bother with flying contraptions when you yourself are
          a perfectly adequate vessel? I’m going to prescribe you a
          dream ritual,” she says, scribbling in a notebook. “It’s
          complex. But only because it’s a lot of steps. And the timing
          is kind of particular in a couple places. But if you follow
          the directions, you shouldn’t have any trouble.” She rips the
          page out of the notebook and hands it you.</p>
          <p>“Basically, you’ll enter a host’s dreams, and then delve
          into the Collective Unconsciousness. From there you should be
          able to find the Wandering Bazaar’s pocket dimension. Of
          course you’ll need to find a guide to take you there. You’ll
          have to find one in the Sea of Dreams.”</p>
          <p>“And you’ll need this!” She ducks behind the counter and
          reappears with a smoke-gray box bound with thick black ribbon.
          It’s about as long as her forearm. She unwraps the box and
          opens it and pulls out a thick, round candle. It is an
          unhealthy, sickening translucent yellow. In the base of the
          candle is a large, blackened, withered, and shriveled hand. It
          is within and without the candle. As though it is grasping the
          base of the candle, but also like it has been molded into the
          candle on purpose. As though the hand is imprisoned in the
          wax. You can just make out a hazy small round object in the
          center of the candle through the wax. A large nut or marble.
          The hand looks like it is reaching for it. The candle has been
          burned down a fair bit. The wick is low and trimmed, and the
          edges are black and warped where the fatty wax has melted and
          hardened. You guess there’s only about two-thirds left of the
          candle.</p>
          <p>The witch measures down from the top of the candle with a
          length of string and bores a small hole in its side. She
          wedges a large nail into the hole, leaving half of it jutting
          out. “A crude clock,” she winks at you. “Place the candle on a
          hard metal plate. When it burns down enough for the wax here
          to soften, the nail will fall out and strike the plate and
          wake you up.”</p>
          <p>She pushes it across the counter toward you and frowns.
          “Eh, should be okay,” she shrugs. “But if at any point it
          looks like the base gets soft enough that the hand might be
          able to grasp the eye,” she cautions pointing toward the round
          object in the center of the candle, “smash the thing. As hard
          as you can. Destroy the hand, and run.”</p>
          <p>“The rest of the instructions should be pretty self
          explanatory!” she exclaims, perking up. “Let me know if you
          have any questions!”</p>
          <details>
          <summary>
          Ritual Details
          </summary>
          <figure>
          <img src="https://tilde.town/~dozens/quest/ritual.png"
          alt="ritual outline" />
          <figcaption aria-hidden="true">ritual outline</figcaption>
          </figure>
          <p>Ritual Steps In Brief:</p>
          <ol type="1">
          <li><p>Find a volunteer to be the Dream Host.</p></li>
          <li><p>Link your sanctum to the place where the Bazaar will be
          on the appointed date. (You can’t just do your ceremony out in
          the open in the middle of the street! Find somewhere you can
          safely leave your bodies for a few hours.)</p></li>
          <li><p>Draw a circle of salt.</p></li>
          <li><p>At the appointed time, put the Dream Host in the
          circle. Also the Travelers (you), the Dream Sigil, and the
          Nyxmaer Candle.</p></li>
          <li><p>Once the Host is asleep (Sleep spell not included),
          light the candle and enter the Host’s dream.</p></li>
          <li><p>Turn “away” from the dream, cross the Sea of Dreams to
          the Collective Unconsciousness.</p></li>
          <li><p>Find the Bazaar’s pocket dimension.</p></li>
          </ol>
          </details>
          <blockquote>
          <p>The day the letter arrived Alex was nowhere to be found. It
          was a bit strange, somewhat chilling even, that he’d disappear
          like that. Ever since they had arrived back at the Milk Maid
          he’d been seen skulking about his uncle’s study, or pacing the
          garden out back somewhat agitatedly. Unbeknownst to the party,
          Alex had anticipated the arrival of the letter, HQ had been
          following every lead they could pull in since he began with
          the Ginnarak recovery team. Not that they really had much to
          go off of, but the courier who left the letter wasn’t hard to
          track. That was, until he slipped inside one of the ever
          changing shops right as it was moving along.</p>
          <p>The trail went cold after that. Which meant Alex had to get
          it moving again, or at least the crumpled communique he’d
          received said as much. Things were moving too quickly to think
          too hard on the how, all that was needed was action, something
          drastic to flush things out.</p>
          <p>That’s why Alex finds himself on the east side of the
          market, skulk about the back alley behind The Temporal
          Cup.</p>
          <p>“Gotta get this shit ready, there’s no other options here”
          Alex thought to himself. He loathed this type of work, it was
          messy, abhorrently vile in his mind, but what choice did he
          have? His hands worked deftly at the wires in the small
          package hidden inside the recess of a loose brick. Once
          finished, the little packet came to life, muted lights
          blicking away happily as the brick slid back over it.</p>
          <p>This was the 3rd and final eavesdropping device, all placed
          at the busiest cafes in market, all rigged with self destruct
          mechanisms large enough to level the building if they’re
          found.. The eavesdropping Alex could abide by, but the wanton
          destruction for the sake of security was painful to
          swallow.</p>
          <p>But once again, it wasn’t much like Alex had a say in the
          matter. The first sign of objection, an inclination that he’d
          refuse orders, and they’d have an assassin on him before he
          could leave the alley. And if he took it out, they’d send
          double, there’d be no rest.</p>
          <p>— Later that day</p>
          <p>Alex watched twtxt feeds scroll through from his monitoring
          devices. Most of it unimportant gossip. So and so haves an
          affair, what’s for lunch, where to find good empanadas in the
          market, so on and so forth. An endless stream on the pulse of
          the market.</p>
          <p>It was errant curiosity to watch these, the Magic Lichen in
          the monitoring system was trained to hunt for any hint of what
          the courier was up to, any twinge from Blavin and his ilk.
          It’d send alerts straight to him as soon as something came up,
          but it was interesting to see the pulse of the city trail by.
          And what else could he do? It was too dangerous to go back to
          the Milk Maid, any hint he was there could blow his cover.
          Best to lay low for the time being, let the scrapers scrape
          and the agents comb the streets until they get a bead on their
          target.</p>
          </blockquote>
          <p>Milk Market HQ ought to be quiet. Alex has been
          conspicuously absent. Missing in action. Inky seems to be out
          making rounds delivering tea, or spending more time than usual
          at the empenadaria. So Milk Market HQ ought to be quiet.</p>
          <p>Instead, a certain young hemogoblin and a certain yellow
          duck (both of whom have yet to be named, by the way) are
          squealing as they rampage through the rooms on the top floor
          of the building, upsetting the furniture in their wake and in
          general making a huge mess.</p>
          <p>It took some coaxing on the hemogoblin’s part. The duck was
          determinedly uninterested in anything besides a soak in its
          tub and a nap on its cushion. And it did a good job of
          ignoring the persistent, pestering goblin for most of the
          afternoon. But jumping into a wooden tub full of blood cracked
          the foul’s disinterested facade. It gave furious chase to the
          goblin until the heat of the moment cooled down. At which
          point the two of them simply enjoyed the thrill of chasing
          each other through the apartments.</p>
          <p>Confidence is actually the first one to stumble across the
          carnage. They were just popping by to drop off some new
          pamphlets, but froze in the doorway when they saw the suite in
          disarray and the walls plastered with blood and feathers.
          “What the toque…” And then they quietly closed the door and
          left without going in after all.</p>
          <p>~</p>
          <p>Gliftwirp browses the stalls trailing behind the Wandering
          Bazaar. He is bare chested save for a sleeveless vest. He
          wears long, baggy, striped trousers bunched at the ankle, and
          a bright red sash tied loosely around his waist. He grins a
          wide, gap-toothed grin as he thumps a melon.</p>
          <p>“Look at the size of this melon! And perfectly ripe!” he
          beams at the stall vendor. “You’ll be here next week? With
          more like this?”</p>
          <p>Very few people would be able to tell Gliftwirp’s
          profession from his attire. For those who can, one look at his
          red sash would immediately cause them to give him a wide
          berth. Because Gliftwirp is a warpwefter. A master assassin
          trained in the ancient art of sarong-fu. That is, the deadly
          application of soft and flexible weapons. Whips, chains,
          garrotes, nunchucks. And most famously—and most
          effectively—sashes, sarongs, scarves, and the like. The saying
          goes that a clothed warpwefter is never unarmed. Nor even is a
          nude one if they can get their hands on <em>your</em> clothes.
          And a warpwefter can sneak their weapons into the most secure
          of locations.</p>
          <p>“I am a visitor here, and don’t know my way around,” he
          keeps up the small-talk with the vendor, having paid for the
          melon. “Do you know if there is a building around here called
          ‘Milk Market?’ I’m supposed to meet someone there. No, they’re
          not expecting me. It’s going to be a surprise!”</p>
          <p>He grins his wide toothy grin.</p>
          <p>~</p>
          <p>The twtxt feed from the listening devices is dull and
          quiet. The monitoring software is designed to only deliver
          messages containing certain buzzwords. And those messages are
          few and far between.</p>
          <p>You decide to tap into the unfiltered stream and let the
          endless waves of blather wash over you. It’s inane. Idle
          gossip and mindless chitter-chatter.</p>
          <p>After a day or two of this, you notice yourself getting
          uncharacteristically agitated. You squint at the lines of
          messages coming in and notice a few transposed characters in
          some of them, forming new nonsensical words. A couple messages
          are missing some whitespace, squishing words together in
          maddening run-ons. Glitchy. There’s no reason the listening
          devices should be returning errors like this.</p>
          <p>Later still, the feeds have gotten worse. Some words seem
          to be written backwards. Entire messages are garbled word
          soup, devoid of any meaning or sense whatsoever. Some of the
          timestamps are invalid datetimes. But you prefer them to the
          ones that are valid, but which are stamped years ago. And you
          far prefer them to the ones that are stamped far in the
          future.</p>
          <p>The anomalies are overall infrequent. On their own, they
          don’t amount to much. And when you show them, nobody at HQ
          gives you with much more than a slightly patronizing,
          indulgent shrug. But the glitches shouldn’t be happening at
          all, is the thing. And when you compile them all together, you
          start to notice things. Patterns insinuating themselves,
          maddeningly just short of reason or meaning. Like a song stuck
          in your head when you can’t remember the lyrics or the melody.
          But there’s something there nonetheless. The promise of
          something, at least. Something bigger. A wide tapestry of
          links and connections, wanting to be known.</p>
          <p>There are names. Ellis, the lady in red who sits at the
          center of a tangled web. Ousia, a sea of endless knowledge. A
          sea of magic. The 215R Dude, a denizen of the other side who
          can deliver you to its shores. Other strange beings who lurk
          just out of sight, just beyond the veil of perception. The
          veil that you are now beginning to pierce with the snippets
          and snatches of information you pluck from your feeds.</p>
          <p>You start to see signs of the veil elsewhere. Of the
          conspiracy. Whatever. You can’t decide what to call it. Street
          graffiti outside of a red spider spinning a red web. Phrases
          like “215R” show up in random articles in the paper. As though
          the secret world is trying to cross over. Or to draw you into
          it.</p>
          <p>WHAT DO YOU DO</p>
        ]]>
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