198 lines
8.7 KiB
Markdown
198 lines
8.7 KiB
Markdown
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---
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title: 00066
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created: Sun, 26 Feb 2023 12:08:16 -0700
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updated: Sun, 26 Feb 2023 12:08:16 -0700
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public: yes
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syndicated: yes
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---
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### 00066 {#00066}
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> "Thank you. May your search brings you good tidings." Inky replies
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> with a smile and nod towards the sea.
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>
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> "As to what brings me here, another traveller and myself have been
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> summoned to the Harpoon Club at a Wandering Bazaar. However, despite
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> uncovering the occasional biscuit tin or cotton candy wheel, my knack
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> for thing-finding doesn't really extend to sentient bazaars in pocket
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> dimensions." Inky chuckles wryly. "Might you happen to know the way?"
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>
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> As they end their question, Inky slips their hands into the pockets
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> of their hooded vest and is met with an envelope nestled within one
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> of them. A message from Master Alex. The packet is a bit lumpy to the
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> touch, as though there is a small round object inside. The sysorcerer
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> may have decided to spend some quality time with his stalker after
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> all. Must be lovely to have a dedicated fan. The two wouldn't mind if
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> Inky went on a spot of sightseeing.
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>
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> "Also, did you say the Throne of Konsu?" They glance in the direction
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> of the large tower and back to the figure before them.
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"Ah, you don't know the story of Lord Konsu?" The ravenfolk beckons
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you to walk with him as you talk. "In the beginning, nobody knew how
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to dream. There were no real *people* then. Just beasts and creatures
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and horrors.
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"So at that point, every creature visited Ousia only twice: at the
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moment of birth, and at the moment of death. And all the time in
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between was spent longing to return to the sea."
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At the ravenfolk's side, the world spins under your feet. In mere
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steps, you have made it to the base of the mountain jutting from the
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center of the island.
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"And one day, Konsu did. He dreamed. He was the first. Each night he
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returned to the sea, and it swallowed his madness and his wildness.
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It evolved his mind. It is dreaming, you see, that makes you human.
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"The sea claims everything though eventually. But you know this
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already. You crossed the sea. Surely you saw how it can work on
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dreamers who have tarried here too long."
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Still the ravenfolk guides you onward until you arrive at the base of
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the fractal tower, all purple and yellow stones.
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You step inside and find voluminous halls, walls lined with statues
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of all subjects. Fawns in revelry, elegant women in repose, terrible
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giants in agony, warriors standing at attention, leaping fish, and
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roaring lions.
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He leads you through a labyrinth of empty halls, up grand stairs,
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across yawning vestibules and dizzying bridges suspended between
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towers as he continues to talk.
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"Ousia works even on Konsu the Lord of All Dreams. Ephermeris is his
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throne, it's true. But it is also his prison. The island *is* Konsu,
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you see. He is no longer at liberty to roam his domain himself, in
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his own flesh. But perhaps you have already met one of his avatars?
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Morpheus? The Dude 215R? Kilroy? Hmm, yes, I see that you have.
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"Well," he says pulling up short of an archway. You can hear voices
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and laughter and the clinking of dinnerware on the other side. "I
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believe we have arrived at your destination. I thank you for the
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company, and will leave you here."
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The ravenfolk withdraws, disappearing once more into the maze of the tower.
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You look through the archway and see a plush dinner club absolutely
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packed with patrons of all possible shapes and sizes. The Harpoon
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Club.
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You catch somebody waving at you from a table in the far corner.
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Blavin Blandfoot. He grins and beckons you forward.
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Joining him is a tall, slender cat person. Its facial features mostly
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obscured by its jet-black fur. And with their back to you, a wizened
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old man. The three of them are in the middle of a round of tumbrot, a
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complicated game of wagers---overly complicated, some would
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say---involving a special deck of cards, a set of dice, and a
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tumbling tower of blocks.
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You watch as the cat reaches out and carefully removes a block from
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the middle of the tower. It places it on top, and the tower sways.
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The group at the table excitedly holds its breath, and when the tower
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falls, the cat holds its head in its hands in exaggerated dismay. The
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old man whoops and gathers up his winnings and then turns and looks
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over his shoulder in the direction that Blavin is waving.
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Corraidhín the Sysorcerer grins and waves at you.
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> Alex pulls at the trigger of the ak and he plummets towards the waves
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> sending a wave of cold lead towards the bigger Katsuva. "Son of a
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> bitch, never trust someone who has to hide their face, agent 7,
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> marvelo, always was right on that one." Hell, dunno if magical dream
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> guns work on mushrooms, but to hell with it, Alex thought.
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>
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> He plunges into the water gripping tightly to his weapon, the little
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> katsuva clinging to him. As the water wraps around him he kicks at
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> the little mushroom breaking its grasp on his leg, and begins to swim
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> back up to the surface. "Like hell we're doing this your way
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> cavatappi dude."
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>
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> Back in the real world..
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>
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> Marvelo stares bleakly at the child and his assailant. "Who the fuck
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> do you think you are? And what the hell are you doing with the kid,
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> Rind, ain't nothin good to come from some shady bloke like you. The
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> hell do you think you're teaching him?"
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>
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> As Marvelo hurls insults as demands at his assailant he slyly presses
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> his thumb and forefinger into the palm of his left hand, breaking a
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> small resistor embedded in his palm which activates as feint
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> electrical pulse inside his body. Just enough to trigger a Zabbix
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> alarm, which kicks off a series out automated correction scripts. A
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> dose of adrenaline here, a quick alaert to the remaining agents with
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> a broadcast LAT/LONG details via encrypted twtxt feed, but most
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> importantly something special Alex had each agent prepare, just in
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> case their luck ran out, an alarm only the damned could sleep
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> through.
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>
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> The screech of heavy metal music blares throughout the audio system
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> of the warehouse, every alarm and speaker comes alive blaring heavy
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> riffs of guitar and wicked drums fill the air while screaming echos
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> around the building. Marvelo laughs maniacly as his uninvited guest
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> reels at the unexpected turn of events.
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>
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> "Alex! We caught him!" Marvelo yells through his laughing fit.
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Gliftwirp frowns as the sirens wail in the fish market. He tightens
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the rope around Marvelo's neck. Deprived of oxygen, Marvelo struggles
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and then goes limp.
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The hemogoblin in the corner trembles as an overpowering sense of
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JUSTICE sings in its veins. It gnashes its teeth and its bloodshoot
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eyes become pupil-less pools of red. A single word dances on the tip
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of its tongue.
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It watches as Gliftwirp stands at the edge of the ritual circle,
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looking in. Pillows and blankets creep slowly toward the dreamers
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like slugs intent on smothering them.
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The hemogoblin launches itself into the air with a cry of "EEEEE!
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VULL!" and lands on the assassin's back, sinking its teeth into the
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nape of his neck and reaching its claws around for his face.
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Gliftwirp cries out in pain and surprise. His hands shoot back to pry
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the thing from his back even as he is propelled forward by the force
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of the attack.
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Gliftwirp and the hemogoblin cross the circle of salt and ash and
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spill into the pillows in a heap and instantly both of them fall fast
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asleep.
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An observer would almost think they were cuddling each other in their
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sleep. If it weren't, that is, for the goblin's claws, still sunk
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into the side of the warpwefter's face.
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Rind, sired by the melon seller, abandoned by his own mother, and
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adopted by the assassin, watches all of this unfold. And sits down
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and strokes the duck's feathers.
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~
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Alex's ascent into the waking world is interrupted by a surge that
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tugs him sideways and off track. The presence of new arrivals in the
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stream, the tenuous connection between the waking and dreaming worlds
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held open by the Dream Sigil. Somebody beckoning him, summoning him.
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He emerges from the void into an endless, featureless expanse. Plain,
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loose, dark soil as far as the eye can see, with only a small rock or
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two here and there to break up the monotony. The black empty sky
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looms ominously overhead.
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Before you is a tall, slender person in voluminous robes of deep
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purple. Their soft, smooth face framed by curtains of long, straight,
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blonde hair. They wear a golden circlet on their head and a golden
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eye in the middle of their forehead. And in their hands they wield a
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resplendent longsword.
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Shreds of a tattered red cloth lie strewn about their feet.
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They lift their head at your appearance. "Alex," they say. "It is
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good that we finally meet. You have done me a great service in
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gathering pieces of my essence---including this, the Sword of
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Y'aml!---so that I may finally start to return to Basmentaria. You
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have done so much already, but I am afraid I must ask more of you
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still."
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WHAT DO YOU DO
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