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@ -27,6 +27,7 @@ src/epistolary/00056.md
src/epistolary/00057.md
src/epistolary/00058.md
src/epistolary/00059.md
src/epistolary/00060.md
src/bestiary/index.md
src/bestiary/aetherwael.md
src/bestiary/aur.md

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---
title: 00060
created: Tue, 31 Jan 2023 19:11:47 -0700
updated: Tue, 31 Jan 2023 19:11:48 -0700
public: yes
syndicated: yes
---
### 00060 {#00060}
> Alex takes inventory of himself, this dream world is definitely
> strange, but fortunately its decided to provide him with his
> impecable fashion, trench coat and all. Unfortunately the same can't
> be said for his roguish good looks, as he's found himself 6 arms
> heavier, and a bit more octopus-y than he remembers.
>
> Nontheless this doesn't appear to be much of an impediment, and he
> promptly moves on with assessing the situation.
>
> "Acorns? No, I don't think so. I'm afraid octopus' are terrible at
> fetching acrons, and at any rate, I have a dreadfully important
> meeting across town." turning to address Inky, "We need to make a
> break for it, what'd the witch tell you? Envision our goal or
> something? This is really a little outside of my realm of mechanical
> magic expertise.. unless.."
>
> Alex makes a gesture with his tentacles in the area and a terminal
> prompt appears before him. His tentacles work at blinding speed at
> the digital window, a quick bypass there, a root access escalation
> there.
>
> "Looks like this whole place runs on Linux, it's an older kernel,
> about 2.6 or so, but it checks out. Easy to exploit as needed. Here
> I'm giving us sudo access, should we need it."
>
> "Oh and squirrel, here's your acorns"
>
> ```
> find /* -name '*acron*' -exec mv /home/squirrel { } \
> ```
It takes Alectopus a couple tries, but he gets it. First he corrects
'acron' to 'acorn'. Then he moves all the acorns to the *chipmunk*
instead of to the squirrel.
Hundreds of acorns appear at the chipmunk's feet. It squeals in
delight.
In the distance, far below you, you hear the anguished yell of what
can only be a Red Squirrel whose giant stash of acorns has just
vanished.
The chipmunk rubs its hands together gleefully and starts scooping up
acorns by the armful and shoving them into its mouth by the dozen.
"Oh, thank you! Thank you! Thank you!" it says around a mouthful of
nuts. "Here..." It tosses you a large square silver coin with a round
hole drilled in the center. On one side is the number twenty-one next
to a picture of a curved, short-handled sickle. On the other side is
the number five and a picture of a flail.
"A Twenty-One Fiver! Sorry, you deserve more, but it's all I have,"
it apologizes as it scampers off, no doubt to hide its nuts.
Hopefully somewhere more secure this time.
If you hold the coin up to your eye and peer through the hole, you
see the dreamscape before you as though looking through a cloudy
film. All the same stuff is there, but it's hazy and shadowy.
Standing a fair distance from you on the branch, just out of hailing
distance, is a tall figure cloaked in black robes. Dark shadows pool
restlessly around its feet. Occasionally the shadows leap up and take
the form of demons the like of which words cannot describe, before
falling and returning to shadow once more. The figure wears a large
spherical helmet of obsidian-like glass. You can see constant flashes
of a rainbow of colors crackle and splinter along the inside of the
helmet like lightning, but illuminating nothing within. You feel
sickened at the sight, but at the edge of your mind you feels a tug,
a familiarity. Something about this character is familiar to you, but
you cannot place it.
When you lower the coin, the figure and the dark landscape both
disappear. When you raise it again, the distorted landscape reappears
but the figure is gone.
You notice a pair of large ravens watching you rather intently from
the branches below.
WHAT DO YOU DO

70
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@ -320,6 +320,7 @@ Master</a></li>
<li><a href="#00057" id="toc-00057">00057</a></li>
<li><a href="#00058" id="toc-00058">00058</a></li>
<li><a href="#00059" id="toc-00059">00059</a></li>
<li><a href="#00060" id="toc-00060">00060</a></li>
</ul></li>
<li><a href="#bestiary" id="toc-bestiary">Bestiary</a></li>
<li><a href="#geography" id="toc-geography">Geography</a></li>
@ -356,11 +357,11 @@ Teale</a></li>
</ul>
</nav>
<h2 id="stats">Stats</h2>
<p>Total length: 78449 words / 335 minute read. (Mind you, that’s the
<p>Total length: 79062 words / 337 minute read. (Mind you, that’s the
length of this entire page, including all the extra bits and bobs. Not
just the story.)</p>
<p>There have been 210 messages posted over 202 days since the first
post on July 13, 2022 for a daily post rate of 1.03.</p>
<p>There have been 213 messages posted over 208 days since the first
post on July 13, 2022 for a daily post rate of 1.02.</p>
<h2 id="about">About</h2>
<p>This is a game that me and the kids in the basement are playing over
email.</p>
@ -7111,6 +7112,69 @@ direction.</p>
<p>“My acorns!” insists the chipmunk, wringing its hands. “The Red
Squirrel has taken them all! Are you going to help me?”</p>
<p>WHAT DO YOU DO</p>
<h3 id="00060">00060</h3>
<blockquote>
<p>Alex takes inventory of himself, this dream world is definitely
strange, but fortunately its decided to provide him with his impecable
fashion, trench coat and all. Unfortunately the same can’t be said for
his roguish good looks, as he’s found himself 6 arms heavier, and a bit
more octopus-y than he remembers.</p>
<p>Nontheless this doesn’t appear to be much of an impediment, and he
promptly moves on with assessing the situation.</p>
<p>“Acorns? No, I don’t think so. I’m afraid octopus’ are terrible at
fetching acrons, and at any rate, I have a dreadfully important meeting
across town.” turning to address Inky, “We need to make a break for it,
what’d the witch tell you? Envision our goal or something? This is
really a little outside of my realm of mechanical magic expertise..
unless..”</p>
<p>Alex makes a gesture with his tentacles in the area and a terminal
prompt appears before him. His tentacles work at blinding speed at the
digital window, a quick bypass there, a root access escalation
there.</p>
<p>“Looks like this whole place runs on Linux, it’s an older kernel,
about 2.6 or so, but it checks out. Easy to exploit as needed. Here I’m
giving us sudo access, should we need it.”</p>
<p>“Oh and squirrel, here’s your acorns”</p>
<pre><code>find /* -name &#39;*acron*&#39; -exec mv /home/squirrel { } \</code></pre>
</blockquote>
<p>It takes Alectopus a couple tries, but he gets it. First he corrects
‘acron’ to ‘acorn’. Then he moves all the acorns to the
<em>chipmunk</em> instead of to the squirrel.</p>
<p>Hundreds of acorns appear at the chipmunk’s feet. It squeals in
delight.</p>
<p>In the distance, far below you, you hear the anguished yell of what
can only be a Red Squirrel whose giant stash of acorns has just
vanished.</p>
<p>The chipmunk rubs its hands together gleefully and starts scooping up
acorns by the armful and shoving them into its mouth by the dozen. “Oh,
thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” it says around a mouthful of nuts.
“Here…” It tosses you a large square silver coin with a round hole
drilled in the center. On one side is the number twenty-one next to a
picture of a curved, short-handled sickle. On the other side is the
number five and a picture of a flail.</p>
<p>“A Twenty-One Fiver! Sorry, you deserve more, but it’s all I have,”
it apologizes as it scampers off, no doubt to hide its nuts. Hopefully
somewhere more secure this time.</p>
<p>If you hold the coin up to your eye and peer through the hole, you
see the dreamscape before you as though looking through a cloudy film.
All the same stuff is there, but it’s hazy and shadowy.</p>
<p>Standing a fair distance from you on the branch, just out of hailing
distance, is a tall figure cloaked in black robes. Dark shadows pool
restlessly around its feet. Occasionally the shadows leap up and take
the form of demons the like of which words cannot describe, before
falling and returning to shadow once more. The figure wears a large
spherical helmet of obsidian-like glass. You can see constant flashes of
a rainbow of colors crackle and splinter along the inside of the helmet
like lightning, but illuminating nothing within. You feel sickened at
the sight, but at the edge of your mind you feels a tug, a familiarity.
Something about this character is familiar to you, but you cannot place
it.</p>
<p>When you lower the coin, the figure and the dark landscape both
disappear. When you raise it again, the distorted landscape reappears
but the figure is gone.</p>
<p>You notice a pair of large ravens watching you rather intently from
the branches below.</p>
<p>WHAT DO YOU DO</p>
<h2 id="bestiary">Bestiary</h2>
<p>Some of the creatures who inhabit the world of Basmentaria</p>
<dt>

540
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@ -301,6 +301,316 @@ trap sleep INT EXIT</code></pre>
]]>
</description>
</item>
<item>
<title>58</title>
<author>dozens@tilde.team (dozens)</author>
<guid isPermaLink="false">58 - Sat, 21 Jan 2023 16:24:45
-0700</guid>
<pubDate>Sun, 29 Jan 2023 11:02:32 -0700</pubDate>
<description>
<![CDATA[
<h3 id="00058">00058</h3>
<blockquote>
<p><em>(A week prior)</em></p>
<p>The secretary collected the stack of papers that had
accumulated at one corner of the desk. “This might help,” she
said, setting down a bundle of herbs with white and pink
flowers in place of the papers.</p>
<p>Inky stared at the blooms, hands stilled over the owl’s
plumage. “Oh! Thanks. Good thinking, really. It’ll help make
the stench more bearable when they find the remains.”</p>
<p>The grey elf was confused for a moment, then mortified as
the words sank in. “That’s not what I meant! It’s for the
circle,” she clarified.</p>
<p>Seeing the imp’s preoccupied nod, she coughed lightly to
regain their attention, then spoke in a hushed voice.
“Beaker’s associates have picked up the empanada shop
proprietor and transported him to an undisclosed location.
There will be a retinue with him at all times.”</p>
<p>Inky seemed to visibly pull themselves back to the room
before responding, “Thank you, Salvia. One more thing — if I
do not return by the indicated time, please activate the
hitsuzen protocol. As precaution.”</p>
<p>The secretary looked at Inky in concern. “Is everything all
right? If you’re still troubled by the hotelier, accidents
happen. A single incident—”</p>
<p>“Third. An unidentified man was attacked at the docks. He
was probably sent to investigate the melon vendor. One of the
other stall owners heard him asking questions shortly after
the melon vendor disappeared.”</p>
<p>Salvia’s violet eyes narrowed. “What, the fruit vendor?
Didn’t the tabloids say it was an accident? He tried to get
rid of a neighbor’s nest of snakes.”</p>
<p>Inky only raised an eyebrow at her.</p>
<p>The secretary let out a low curse. “You didn’t tell her.
You didn’t want her to worry,” she said aloud in realization.
She sighed. “She’s going to be pretty angry with you when she
finds out, you know.”</p>
<p>Inky offered her a sardonic smile. “Making people angry is
my job. You of all people know this well. In the event of my
timely demise I’m sure the others would find it cause for a
grand celebration.” They replied matter-of-factly before
returning to smoothing the feathers of one bird wing.</p>
<p>Salvia shook her head vehemently. “That’s not true. You’ll
make it back, Ink. What then—”</p>
<p>“Then our fair Lady’s ire would be the least of the
problems.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>~</p>
<blockquote>
<p>Alex stared morosely into his cup of coffee. He’d received
word of agent 5’s demise that morning, and had been the only
thing on his mind since. 5, no Be’tram knew the risks, we all
knew the risks defying HQ brought, but to happen so suddenly?
He’d snuck down to the wharf once he’d heard, making sure to
cover his tracks and dodge any potential witnesses. He even
managed to slip past the police cordon they’d setup around the
body. What he’d found wasn’t pretty, it looked like Be’Tram
had suffered in his final moments. The bruising around his
neck pointed to strangulation, with some sort of cloth,
perhaps a rope. The bruising was deep, and there wasn’t a cut,
burn, shot or something of the likes on his otherwise.</p>
<p>The kill had been intimate.</p>
<p>Alex had worked quickly that night, popping Be’Tram’s eye
had been hard, but he’d of wanted Alex to have it. Behind his
right eye was a recording device, it could only catch the last
15m or so of what he had seen, but it would give him a clear
look at what had happened. And potentially lead Alex to the
killer. Miserable business, but Be’Tram knew it could make a
difference.</p>
<p>Alex had planted a bomb on the body after he had extracted
the eye, and made his way well away from the area before it
went off obliterating the remains. A regrettable end for an
old friend, but it was too dangerous to leave.</p>
<p>And then there was the matter of the zabbix alert, a little
purple red critical for the sewer hideout. He’d had time to
send out a drone beetle. The smoldering slag that was left was
reassuring. Most of the equipment was utterly destroyed, racks
upon racks of servers reduced to twisted melted metal. The
effectively of the destruction was delightful, in a sick sort
of desperate way. Alex felt assured that most if not all of
the equipment was useless, but this spelled the end of a
valuable listening outpost. And whoever had done it wasn’t
part of the slag pile.</p>
<p>Alex stood up, his coffee untouched. The cafe around his
burbled in quiet excitement. The city had lit up since the
Melon vendor’s death. A thousand rumors abounded about it, but
none of them held true; some said the city had become
dangerous, a crime syndicate had arisen in the neighboring
city block another thought, and did you hear about the
explosion at the wharf the other night, the city was electric,
yet somehow ever so slightly off the pulse of the issue.</p>
<p>As Alex stepped away a woman with horn rimmed glasses
strode past the table he had just abandoned, deftly pulling
the note from beneath the coffee cup, left for her.</p>
<pre><code>4 -&gt; 3
Daylight breaks on the morrow
The suns rays make chase
casting soft cloth
across the nap of nature&#39;s neck
So, night relents and gives way
biding time until
it can rule
in its own domain</code></pre>
<p>For the passerby, it was but a bit of poetry, scribbled
carelessly on the back of a napkin in a coffee near the wharf.
But for Agent 3 it was a warning, one part notes on Agent 5s
demise recovered from his eyecam, one part orders; stay low
and we’ll strike these bastards from the shadows, on our
terms, on our ground. Similar missives were delivered to
Agents 6 &amp; 7. The numbers were dwindling rapidly, even
just one agent lost was hard to stomach.</p>
<p>Alex hand gripped the pistol in his coat pocket with a
white knuckled grip as he stepped from the coffee shop into
the city. Whatever was after him, whatever had gotten to
Be’Tram, it had better know he was coming, and he’d happily
send it straight to hell. HQ be damned, the rules be damned,
this little game of cat and mouse had just gotten
personal.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>~</p>
<blockquote>
<p>Alex, Inky, Confidence, Bread, and Agent 7 find themselves
in a dark backroom in a secluded corner of an old fish
processing plant on the wharf. The accommodations are rough,
and the stench is abhorrent, but it’s the best that could be
procured in a pinch. And it should provide enough
seclusion.</p>
<p>The backroom is like that of many factories, high up near
the ceiling, a single rusty rickety staircase winds its way
along the side of the building for what seems to be 3 flights,
before it reaches a metal room with dusty grimy windows, and a
single steel door. The windows on the interior overlook the
fish processing plant, where rows of belts and machinery stand
still, covered in dust and long forgotten blood. You’re glad
to know that the factory stopped operating years ago, hygiene
is lacking in every sense.</p>
<p>Alex stares forlornly out the exterior windows, the sky is
a grey overcast, it matches his mood perfectly. He didn’t like
what him and Inky were about to do, but they didn’t have much
they could do about it. They would be vulnerable for the
duration of the ritual. But Agent 7 and Confidence were there
to help mitigate that risk. Alex and Agent 7 had taken every
precaution they could think of.</p>
<p>The plant floor was scattered with booby traps, trip wires,
and alarms. The other agents were laying low, but kept drones
around the wharf feeding in a network of twtxt data back to
Agent 7 for recon. And that was on top of the double barred
steel doors, and reinforced glass box they’d chosen as their
hide out. Meticulously planned, Alex expected no less from
Agent 7.</p>
<p>See Marvelo had been at this as long as Alex had, and then
some. He was sharp as a tack, with an animal-like third sense
that came from years of close calls. He was, simply put, the
right man for the job, when that job was keeping your
unconscious ass alive.</p>
<p>Alex turns away from the window and addresses Inky.
“Apologies for the smell, it turns out there’s a strong
correlation between disgust and seclusion, but I believe we
should at least be safe here. Safer than we would have been
back home. I’m ready if you are, as ready as I’ll ever be that
is.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>The Golden Iris have summoned you to appear at the Harpoon
Club this evening. But the Harpoon Club is nowhere to be found
on this plane of existence. It won’t appear until a week and a
half from now, on the last day of the month.</p>
<p>Confidence the Guide has predicted exactly where the
Wandering Bazaar will be on that day. With a small bucket of
red paint and a large brush, he has drawn a Linking Sigil on
the ground at the location. He sits nearby, making sure
careless passersby and mischievous kids don’t disturb it, but
otherwise letting the sigil absorb the energies of the bustle
of shopping and commerce.</p>
<p>At the fish market, Marvelo is posted outside. He keeps
vigilant watch, alert to every movement and disturbance.</p>
<p>And inside, Bread, Inky, Fuko, and Alex are huddled up in
the office in the back near the ceiling. They all sit inside a
dark circle that has been smudged on the floor with a paste
made of ash and salt. Painted on the ground is a second
Linking Sigil, connecting this spot to Confidence’s, allowing
the energies of the two locations to co-mingle. There is also
the Dream Sigil, which will connect this place to the
Dreaming.</p>
<p>Bread the Host is propped up on some pillows and cushions
in the center of the circle, next to the Nyxmaer. The candle
is alleged to be made of the flesh and fat of a certain
nightmare. Its hand and eye bound in the wax. The Dream Sigil
is the door, but the Nyxmaer is the key. The catalyst that
will cause all of the otherwise inert metaphysical particles
to become volatile and reactive. It is what will allow you to
actually pass over and arrive on the shores of the Sea of
Dreams.</p>
<p>Per the shop witch’s instructions, the Nyxmaer has been
placed on a thin, hard tin plate. As the candle burns, the wax
will soften and eventually allow the large metal nail in its
side to fall. When it strikes the plate, you will awaken,
exiting the Dreaming. You expect hours may pass in the realm
of sleep. But only about thirty minutes will pass here.</p>
<p>Inky and Alex sit inside the circle, near the perimeter,
facing Bread in the center. Fuko the owl sits at Inky’s
side.</p>
<p>It is dim. You are illuminated by mundane, non-magical
candles set around the edges of the circle. Outside, a steady
rain beats on the roof and the windows of the building. The
smell of fish is faint but ever-present. A constant reminder
of the small creatures that have left their bodies in a
fashion far more permanent and irreversible than the
separation of spirit and body you are about to experience. You
hope.</p>
<p>WHAT DO YOU DO</p>
<ul>
<li><p>How do you induce a deep and powerful slumber in
Bread?</p></li>
<li><p>What shape or form will you take when you arrive in the
Dreaming?</p></li>
<li><p>What are you secretly worried or hopeful about being
exposed in the dreamland, the realm of metaphor?</p></li>
</ul>
]]>
</description>
</item>
<item>
<title>60</title>
<author>dozens@tilde.team (dozens)</author>
<guid isPermaLink="false">60 - Tue, 31 Jan 2023 19:11:47
-0700</guid>
<pubDate>Tue, 31 Jan 2023 19:11:48 -0700</pubDate>
<description>
<![CDATA[
<h3 id="00060">00060</h3>
<blockquote>
<p>Alex takes inventory of himself, this dream world is
definitely strange, but fortunately its decided to provide him
with his impecable fashion, trench coat and all. Unfortunately
the same can’t be said for his roguish good looks, as he’s
found himself 6 arms heavier, and a bit more octopus-y than he
remembers.</p>
<p>Nontheless this doesn’t appear to be much of an impediment,
and he promptly moves on with assessing the situation.</p>
<p>“Acorns? No, I don’t think so. I’m afraid octopus’ are
terrible at fetching acrons, and at any rate, I have a
dreadfully important meeting across town.” turning to address
Inky, “We need to make a break for it, what’d the witch tell
you? Envision our goal or something? This is really a little
outside of my realm of mechanical magic expertise..
unless..”</p>
<p>Alex makes a gesture with his tentacles in the area and a
terminal prompt appears before him. His tentacles work at
blinding speed at the digital window, a quick bypass there, a
root access escalation there.</p>
<p>“Looks like this whole place runs on Linux, it’s an older
kernel, about 2.6 or so, but it checks out. Easy to exploit as
needed. Here I’m giving us sudo access, should we need
it.”</p>
<p>“Oh and squirrel, here’s your acorns”</p>
<pre><code>find /* -name &#39;*acron*&#39; -exec mv /home/squirrel { } \</code></pre>
</blockquote>
<p>It takes Alectopus a couple tries, but he gets it. First he
corrects ‘acron’ to ‘acorn’. Then he moves all the acorns to
the <em>chipmunk</em> instead of to the squirrel.</p>
<p>Hundreds of acorns appear at the chipmunk’s feet. It
squeals in delight.</p>
<p>In the distance, far below you, you hear the anguished yell
of what can only be a Red Squirrel whose giant stash of acorns
has just vanished.</p>
<p>The chipmunk rubs its hands together gleefully and starts
scooping up acorns by the armful and shoving them into its
mouth by the dozen. “Oh, thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” it
says around a mouthful of nuts. “Here…” It tosses you a large
square silver coin with a round hole drilled in the center. On
one side is the number twenty-one next to a picture of a
curved, short-handled sickle. On the other side is the number
five and a picture of a flail.</p>
<p>“A Twenty-One Fiver! Sorry, you deserve more, but it’s all
I have,” it apologizes as it scampers off, no doubt to hide
its nuts. Hopefully somewhere more secure this time.</p>
<p>If you hold the coin up to your eye and peer through the
hole, you see the dreamscape before you as though looking
through a cloudy film. All the same stuff is there, but it’s
hazy and shadowy.</p>
<p>Standing a fair distance from you on the branch, just out
of hailing distance, is a tall figure cloaked in black robes.
Dark shadows pool restlessly around its feet. Occasionally the
shadows leap up and take the form of demons the like of which
words cannot describe, before falling and returning to shadow
once more. The figure wears a large spherical helmet of
obsidian-like glass. You can see constant flashes of a rainbow
of colors crackle and splinter along the inside of the helmet
like lightning, but illuminating nothing within. You feel
sickened at the sight, but at the edge of your mind you feels
a tug, a familiarity. Something about this character is
familiar to you, but you cannot place it.</p>
<p>When you lower the coin, the figure and the dark landscape
both disappear. When you raise it again, the distorted
landscape reappears but the figure is gone.</p>
<p>You notice a pair of large ravens watching you rather
intently from the branches below.</p>
<p>WHAT DO YOU DO</p>
]]>
</description>
</item>
<item>
<title>57</title>
<author>dozens@tilde.team (dozens)</author>
@ -553,236 +863,6 @@ trap sleep INT EXIT</code></pre>
]]>
</description>
</item>
<item>
<title>58</title>
<author>dozens@tilde.team (dozens)</author>
<guid isPermaLink="false">58 - Sat, 21 Jan 2023 16:24:45
-0700</guid>
<pubDate>Sun, 29 Jan 2023 11:02:32 -0700</pubDate>
<description>
<![CDATA[
<h3 id="00058">00058</h3>
<blockquote>
<p><em>(A week prior)</em></p>
<p>The secretary collected the stack of papers that had
accumulated at one corner of the desk. “This might help,” she
said, setting down a bundle of herbs with white and pink
flowers in place of the papers.</p>
<p>Inky stared at the blooms, hands stilled over the owl’s
plumage. “Oh! Thanks. Good thinking, really. It’ll help make
the stench more bearable when they find the remains.”</p>
<p>The grey elf was confused for a moment, then mortified as
the words sank in. “That’s not what I meant! It’s for the
circle,” she clarified.</p>
<p>Seeing the imp’s preoccupied nod, she coughed lightly to
regain their attention, then spoke in a hushed voice.
“Beaker’s associates have picked up the empanada shop
proprietor and transported him to an undisclosed location.
There will be a retinue with him at all times.”</p>
<p>Inky seemed to visibly pull themselves back to the room
before responding, “Thank you, Salvia. One more thing — if I
do not return by the indicated time, please activate the
hitsuzen protocol. As precaution.”</p>
<p>The secretary looked at Inky in concern. “Is everything all
right? If you’re still troubled by the hotelier, accidents
happen. A single incident—”</p>
<p>“Third. An unidentified man was attacked at the docks. He
was probably sent to investigate the melon vendor. One of the
other stall owners heard him asking questions shortly after
the melon vendor disappeared.”</p>
<p>Salvia’s violet eyes narrowed. “What, the fruit vendor?
Didn’t the tabloids say it was an accident? He tried to get
rid of a neighbor’s nest of snakes.”</p>
<p>Inky only raised an eyebrow at her.</p>
<p>The secretary let out a low curse. “You didn’t tell her.
You didn’t want her to worry,” she said aloud in realization.
She sighed. “She’s going to be pretty angry with you when she
finds out, you know.”</p>
<p>Inky offered her a sardonic smile. “Making people angry is
my job. You of all people know this well. In the event of my
timely demise I’m sure the others would find it cause for a
grand celebration.” They replied matter-of-factly before
returning to smoothing the feathers of one bird wing.</p>
<p>Salvia shook her head vehemently. “That’s not true. You’ll
make it back, Ink. What then—”</p>
<p>“Then our fair Lady’s ire would be the least of the
problems.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>~</p>
<blockquote>
<p>Alex stared morosely into his cup of coffee. He’d received
word of agent 5’s demise that morning, and had been the only
thing on his mind since. 5, no Be’tram knew the risks, we all
knew the risks defying HQ brought, but to happen so suddenly?
He’d snuck down to the wharf once he’d heard, making sure to
cover his tracks and dodge any potential witnesses. He even
managed to slip past the police cordon they’d setup around the
body. What he’d found wasn’t pretty, it looked like Be’Tram
had suffered in his final moments. The bruising around his
neck pointed to strangulation, with some sort of cloth,
perhaps a rope. The bruising was deep, and there wasn’t a cut,
burn, shot or something of the likes on his otherwise.</p>
<p>The kill had been intimate.</p>
<p>Alex had worked quickly that night, popping Be’Tram’s eye
had been hard, but he’d of wanted Alex to have it. Behind his
right eye was a recording device, it could only catch the last
15m or so of what he had seen, but it would give him a clear
look at what had happened. And potentially lead Alex to the
killer. Miserable business, but Be’Tram knew it could make a
difference.</p>
<p>Alex had planted a bomb on the body after he had extracted
the eye, and made his way well away from the area before it
went off obliterating the remains. A regrettable end for an
old friend, but it was too dangerous to leave.</p>
<p>And then there was the matter of the zabbix alert, a little
purple red critical for the sewer hideout. He’d had time to
send out a drone beetle. The smoldering slag that was left was
reassuring. Most of the equipment was utterly destroyed, racks
upon racks of servers reduced to twisted melted metal. The
effectively of the destruction was delightful, in a sick sort
of desperate way. Alex felt assured that most if not all of
the equipment was useless, but this spelled the end of a
valuable listening outpost. And whoever had done it wasn’t
part of the slag pile.</p>
<p>Alex stood up, his coffee untouched. The cafe around his
burbled in quiet excitement. The city had lit up since the
Melon vendor’s death. A thousand rumors abounded about it, but
none of them held true; some said the city had become
dangerous, a crime syndicate had arisen in the neighboring
city block another thought, and did you hear about the
explosion at the wharf the other night, the city was electric,
yet somehow ever so slightly off the pulse of the issue.</p>
<p>As Alex stepped away a woman with horn rimmed glasses
strode past the table he had just abandoned, deftly pulling
the note from beneath the coffee cup, left for her.</p>
<pre><code>4 -&gt; 3
Daylight breaks on the morrow
The suns rays make chase
casting soft cloth
across the nap of nature&#39;s neck
So, night relents and gives way
biding time until
it can rule
in its own domain</code></pre>
<p>For the passerby, it was but a bit of poetry, scribbled
carelessly on the back of a napkin in a coffee near the wharf.
But for Agent 3 it was a warning, one part notes on Agent 5s
demise recovered from his eyecam, one part orders; stay low
and we’ll strike these bastards from the shadows, on our
terms, on our ground. Similar missives were delivered to
Agents 6 &amp; 7. The numbers were dwindling rapidly, even
just one agent lost was hard to stomach.</p>
<p>Alex hand gripped the pistol in his coat pocket with a
white knuckled grip as he stepped from the coffee shop into
the city. Whatever was after him, whatever had gotten to
Be’Tram, it had better know he was coming, and he’d happily
send it straight to hell. HQ be damned, the rules be damned,
this little game of cat and mouse had just gotten
personal.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>~</p>
<blockquote>
<p>Alex, Inky, Confidence, Bread, and Agent 7 find themselves
in a dark backroom in a secluded corner of an old fish
processing plant on the wharf. The accommodations are rough,
and the stench is abhorrent, but it’s the best that could be
procured in a pinch. And it should provide enough
seclusion.</p>
<p>The backroom is like that of many factories, high up near
the ceiling, a single rusty rickety staircase winds its way
along the side of the building for what seems to be 3 flights,
before it reaches a metal room with dusty grimy windows, and a
single steel door. The windows on the interior overlook the
fish processing plant, where rows of belts and machinery stand
still, covered in dust and long forgotten blood. You’re glad
to know that the factory stopped operating years ago, hygiene
is lacking in every sense.</p>
<p>Alex stares forlornly out the exterior windows, the sky is
a grey overcast, it matches his mood perfectly. He didn’t like
what him and Inky were about to do, but they didn’t have much
they could do about it. They would be vulnerable for the
duration of the ritual. But Agent 7 and Confidence were there
to help mitigate that risk. Alex and Agent 7 had taken every
precaution they could think of.</p>
<p>The plant floor was scattered with booby traps, trip wires,
and alarms. The other agents were laying low, but kept drones
around the wharf feeding in a network of twtxt data back to
Agent 7 for recon. And that was on top of the double barred
steel doors, and reinforced glass box they’d chosen as their
hide out. Meticulously planned, Alex expected no less from
Agent 7.</p>
<p>See Marvelo had been at this as long as Alex had, and then
some. He was sharp as a tack, with an animal-like third sense
that came from years of close calls. He was, simply put, the
right man for the job, when that job was keeping your
unconscious ass alive.</p>
<p>Alex turns away from the window and addresses Inky.
“Apologies for the smell, it turns out there’s a strong
correlation between disgust and seclusion, but I believe we
should at least be safe here. Safer than we would have been
back home. I’m ready if you are, as ready as I’ll ever be that
is.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>The Golden Iris have summoned you to appear at the Harpoon
Club this evening. But the Harpoon Club is nowhere to be found
on this plane of existence. It won’t appear until a week and a
half from now, on the last day of the month.</p>
<p>Confidence the Guide has predicted exactly where the
Wandering Bazaar will be on that day. With a small bucket of
red paint and a large brush, he has drawn a Linking Sigil on
the ground at the location. He sits nearby, making sure
careless passersby and mischievous kids don’t disturb it, but
otherwise letting the sigil absorb the energies of the bustle
of shopping and commerce.</p>
<p>At the fish market, Marvelo is posted outside. He keeps
vigilant watch, alert to every movement and disturbance.</p>
<p>And inside, Bread, Inky, Fuko, and Alex are huddled up in
the office in the back near the ceiling. They all sit inside a
dark circle that has been smudged on the floor with a paste
made of ash and salt. Painted on the ground is a second
Linking Sigil, connecting this spot to Confidence’s, allowing
the energies of the two locations to co-mingle. There is also
the Dream Sigil, which will connect this place to the
Dreaming.</p>
<p>Bread the Host is propped up on some pillows and cushions
in the center of the circle, next to the Nyxmaer. The candle
is alleged to be made of the flesh and fat of a certain
nightmare. Its hand and eye bound in the wax. The Dream Sigil
is the door, but the Nyxmaer is the key. The catalyst that
will cause all of the otherwise inert metaphysical particles
to become volatile and reactive. It is what will allow you to
actually pass over and arrive on the shores of the Sea of
Dreams.</p>
<p>Per the shop witch’s instructions, the Nyxmaer has been
placed on a thin, hard tin plate. As the candle burns, the wax
will soften and eventually allow the large metal nail in its
side to fall. When it strikes the plate, you will awaken,
exiting the Dreaming. You expect hours may pass in the realm
of sleep. But only about thirty minutes will pass here.</p>
<p>Inky and Alex sit inside the circle, near the perimeter,
facing Bread in the center. Fuko the owl sits at Inky’s
side.</p>
<p>It is dim. You are illuminated by mundane, non-magical
candles set around the edges of the circle. Outside, a steady
rain beats on the roof and the windows of the building. The
smell of fish is faint but ever-present. A constant reminder
of the small creatures that have left their bodies in a
fashion far more permanent and irreversible than the
separation of spirit and body you are about to experience. You
hope.</p>
<p>WHAT DO YOU DO</p>
<ul>
<li><p>How do you induce a deep and powerful slumber in
Bread?</p></li>
<li><p>What shape or form will you take when you arrive in the
Dreaming?</p></li>
<li><p>What are you secretly worried or hopeful about being
exposed in the dreamland, the realm of metaphor?</p></li>
</ul>
]]>
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</item>
<item>
<title>54</title>
<author>dozens@tilde.team (dozens)</author>

70
www/spoilers.html
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@ -320,6 +320,7 @@ Master</a></li>
<li><a href="#00057" id="toc-00057">00057</a></li>
<li><a href="#00058" id="toc-00058">00058</a></li>
<li><a href="#00059" id="toc-00059">00059</a></li>
<li><a href="#00060" id="toc-00060">00060</a></li>
</ul></li>
<li><a href="#bestiary" id="toc-bestiary">Bestiary</a></li>
<li><a href="#geography" id="toc-geography">Geography</a></li>
@ -359,11 +360,11 @@ Teale</a></li>
</ul>
</nav>
<h2 id="stats">Stats</h2>
<p>Total length: 78449 words / 335 minute read. (Mind you, that’s the
<p>Total length: 79062 words / 337 minute read. (Mind you, that’s the
length of this entire page, including all the extra bits and bobs. Not
just the story.)</p>
<p>There have been 210 messages posted over 202 days since the first
post on July 13, 2022 for a daily post rate of 1.03.</p>
<p>There have been 213 messages posted over 208 days since the first
post on July 13, 2022 for a daily post rate of 1.02.</p>
<h2 id="about">About</h2>
<p>This is a game that me and the kids in the basement are playing over
email.</p>
@ -7114,6 +7115,69 @@ direction.</p>
<p>“My acorns!” insists the chipmunk, wringing its hands. “The Red
Squirrel has taken them all! Are you going to help me?”</p>
<p>WHAT DO YOU DO</p>
<h3 id="00060">00060</h3>
<blockquote>
<p>Alex takes inventory of himself, this dream world is definitely
strange, but fortunately its decided to provide him with his impecable
fashion, trench coat and all. Unfortunately the same can’t be said for
his roguish good looks, as he’s found himself 6 arms heavier, and a bit
more octopus-y than he remembers.</p>
<p>Nontheless this doesn’t appear to be much of an impediment, and he
promptly moves on with assessing the situation.</p>
<p>“Acorns? No, I don’t think so. I’m afraid octopus’ are terrible at
fetching acrons, and at any rate, I have a dreadfully important meeting
across town.” turning to address Inky, “We need to make a break for it,
what’d the witch tell you? Envision our goal or something? This is
really a little outside of my realm of mechanical magic expertise..
unless..”</p>
<p>Alex makes a gesture with his tentacles in the area and a terminal
prompt appears before him. His tentacles work at blinding speed at the
digital window, a quick bypass there, a root access escalation
there.</p>
<p>“Looks like this whole place runs on Linux, it’s an older kernel,
about 2.6 or so, but it checks out. Easy to exploit as needed. Here I’m
giving us sudo access, should we need it.”</p>
<p>“Oh and squirrel, here’s your acorns”</p>
<pre><code>find /* -name &#39;*acron*&#39; -exec mv /home/squirrel { } \</code></pre>
</blockquote>
<p>It takes Alectopus a couple tries, but he gets it. First he corrects
‘acron’ to ‘acorn’. Then he moves all the acorns to the
<em>chipmunk</em> instead of to the squirrel.</p>
<p>Hundreds of acorns appear at the chipmunk’s feet. It squeals in
delight.</p>
<p>In the distance, far below you, you hear the anguished yell of what
can only be a Red Squirrel whose giant stash of acorns has just
vanished.</p>
<p>The chipmunk rubs its hands together gleefully and starts scooping up
acorns by the armful and shoving them into its mouth by the dozen. “Oh,
thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” it says around a mouthful of nuts.
“Here…” It tosses you a large square silver coin with a round hole
drilled in the center. On one side is the number twenty-one next to a
picture of a curved, short-handled sickle. On the other side is the
number five and a picture of a flail.</p>
<p>“A Twenty-One Fiver! Sorry, you deserve more, but it’s all I have,”
it apologizes as it scampers off, no doubt to hide its nuts. Hopefully
somewhere more secure this time.</p>
<p>If you hold the coin up to your eye and peer through the hole, you
see the dreamscape before you as though looking through a cloudy film.
All the same stuff is there, but it’s hazy and shadowy.</p>
<p>Standing a fair distance from you on the branch, just out of hailing
distance, is a tall figure cloaked in black robes. Dark shadows pool
restlessly around its feet. Occasionally the shadows leap up and take
the form of demons the like of which words cannot describe, before
falling and returning to shadow once more. The figure wears a large
spherical helmet of obsidian-like glass. You can see constant flashes of
a rainbow of colors crackle and splinter along the inside of the helmet
like lightning, but illuminating nothing within. You feel sickened at
the sight, but at the edge of your mind you feels a tug, a familiarity.
Something about this character is familiar to you, but you cannot place
it.</p>
<p>When you lower the coin, the figure and the dark landscape both
disappear. When you raise it again, the distorted landscape reappears
but the figure is gone.</p>
<p>You notice a pair of large ravens watching you rather intently from
the branches below.</p>
<p>WHAT DO YOU DO</p>
<h2 id="bestiary">Bestiary</h2>
<p>Some of the creatures who inhabit the world of Basmentaria</p>
<dt>