diff --git a/basement.order b/basement.order index 93a6250..d7a356a 100644 --- a/basement.order +++ b/basement.order @@ -54,3 +54,4 @@ src/history.md src/notes.md src/acknowledgements.md src/afterword.md +src/appendix/a/index.md diff --git a/src/appendix/a/index.md b/src/appendix/a/index.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8a3c5aa --- /dev/null +++ b/src/appendix/a/index.md @@ -0,0 +1,547 @@ +--- +title: Appendix A +created: Thu, 29 Dec 2022 15:46:36 -0700 +updated: Thu, 29 Dec 2022 15:46:37 -0700 +public: yes +--- +## Appendix A: Barefoot Quackery + +Being apocryphal and supplemental material posted to the *Barefoot Quackery* +thread on tildepals, including depictions of loose pages torn from books of the +Runesocesius Library, and original fictions and other diversions, and more. + +### Cease and Desist + +> To: durrendal +> From: LABATT +> Subject: Cease and Desist Order +> +> To whom it may concern: +> +> It has recently come to our attention that a personhood has withheld +> important document(s) which affect the structural nature of a sensitive +> publication, namely the [REDACTED] zine. +> +> Please cease and desist immediately. You may comply with this order by +> submitting the aforementioned document(s) to the designated drop-off point as +> instructed on the imprint accompanying your submission form by midnight +> Coordinated Basmentaric Time (BTC) of Day 22 of Member 12 in the year 2202. +> +> Continued infringement represents an escalation and will result in sanctions, +> including but not withstanding a remote cursery execution (RCE) on your +> monitoring and calendar infrastructure. +> +> We reserve the right to pursue other corrective actions through +> temporally-attuned means to protect the release timeline integrity of key +> cultural assets. +> +> Sincerely, +> +> Luminati Association of Bears as Time Travellers (LABATT) + +--- + +> Dear sir and/or madame and/or bear and/or time travel NSA agent, +> +> We've read your cease and desist, and while we understand its intent, we're +> unable at this time to comply, not through any inability of our own, but +> rather through our inability to stop writing run on sentence; you see we +> never truly learned how to grammar goodly and now we just go on and on, ad +> nauseum, so on and so forth; truly it is a depressing and persistent problem, +> if we were ever to find the correct punctuation to prevent these run ons from +> happening we might be able to cease, potentially even desist, but probably +> both at the same time, or neither all at once, we're really uncertain at this +> point; all that is know is that nothing is truly known once you've gone this +> far down the grammartical, and metaphorical, rabbit hole; to speak +> metaphorically that is on a subject that is somewhat subjectively objective +> while simultaneously being an objective objection to your subjective +> summation of our grevious misgivings, truly one must infer that the meaning +> of these metaphoric subjectively objective objections are subjective in their +> own right, potentially reaching the height of metaphysical incanatation; one +> could say this run on sentence is one giant invocation, a charm of warding +> against cease and desist notices, to protect the poor photographer from his +> abject abandonment of his own promises; though some may object to my absolute +> misuse of proper punctuation and grammar to the point where said people +> stopped reading long again and began readying pitchforks and torches, likely +> they're on their way to Maine now ready to burn my witchy incantating self +> for the hum dinger of a grammatical curse I sit here writing, but to these +> people I say NAY, nay sir I object to your cease and desist, and to their +> objection to this abject horror of a sentence, and I abject my throne as +> well, for you know I once was a king, not a very rich king, but a king in my +> own right; why yes, indeed I was, king of stream of concious ramblings +> without respect for grammar, punctuation, or any of that high falootin +> nonsense that the yonder rich kings hold dear, and which I hold to be a +> dreadful and dire curse upon us all, but with that I really must bid you Good +> Day madame, though let this not be an ending, but the begining of a wonderful +> and delightful sort of cease and desist based relationship, + +--- + +> To: durrendal +> From: LABATT +> Subject: Re: Cease and Desist Order [#20221221-1946] +> +> To whom it may concern: +> +> Please be advised that any evidence you provided in your response may be used +> against you in the event an injunction is filed against your personhood +> should you fail to comply with the order. This includes any admission of +> culpability or liability stemming from failure to submit the aforementioned +> document(s) in a timely manner. +> +> LABATT is a renowned non-profit organisation dedicated to the preservation of +> historical continuity of cultural works in the fabric of space-time. We +> deplore the designation of "NSA agent" and invite you to learn more about our +> mission and vision on our website and free seminars one of our offices across +> Basmentaria. +> +> Sincerely, +> +> Luminati Association of Bears as Time Travellers (LABATT) + + +### On the Origins of Santa Claws + +125 + + +On the Origins of Santa Claws + +Maximus N. Grinchescu + +It should heretofore be common knowledge that the Santa Claws of present day is +the stuff of fantasy and make-believe, a story fabricated on the spur of the +moment by some exasperated mother who could not for the life of her induce her +children to behave. The very notion of reward in the form of toys and presents, +or punishment in the lack thereof of aforementioned items, is no doubt +appealing to many parents who are themselves motivated similarly and thus can +only appeal to their offspring at the most superficial level. The lifelong goal +in the pursuit of consumption has been drummed into these unfortunate +children's heads from a young age, with thinly-veiled threats of a thorough +mauling for those who dare to deviate from the well— and truly down— trodden +path. It is the means by which the cycle of ignorance and conceit perpetuates +among the unwashed masses — young mops bragging about having the largest +present under the tree, to become adults boasting of receiving the most +expensive gifts from a spouse or ever-widening court of suitors. The myth of +Santa Claws is a gross distortion of facts disguised as a moralistic narrative +that promotes annually renewing contracts of obedience in exchange for +short-term material gains. Astonishingly, nary a word of doubt would be heard +from the parents on the merits of accepting gifts from an obsessive stranger +who prowls the streets at night watching their children sleep, in addition to +claiming knowledge of the children's every move rivalling their own. + +It is regrettable that the image of Santa Claws in the eyes of many has been +reduced to that of a jolly dangerous delivery worker. Little do they know that +the real Santa Claws came from a long line of frockin — wandering folk who don +a cassock and dedicate their lives to aiding the hungry, desperate and needy. +On occasions for gifts, they gave to all regardless of whether they were +perceived by friend or foe of the recipients to be good or evil, for such is +the willingness of the frockin to set aside their quarrels on the Day of +Bountiful Blessings. They travel across Basmentaria in fortles which house a +multitude of rooms and supplies required to sustain their livelihoods. Inside +the fortles were workshops in which carpenters, woodworkers, drafters, tailors, +various craftspeople as well as farmers and cooks plied their skills. + +One frockin in particular became known for rescuing ransomed young maidens and +poor indentured servants who faced torture by the oil vat at the hands of cruel +employers in the nick of time that they became known as Nick, Blessed of +Neddas, or Nick of Mairas as they gained grateful followers and admirers. +Despite this, the frockin was modest in manner and rarely took credit for their +acts of generosity. Because of this trait and the loss of the few, limited +first-hand accounts of those with close dealings with the frockin in a fire +shortly before they assumed the care and upkeep of a pair of fortles, little is +known of their childhood circumstances or early life. Enrolment records at an +vocational institution in Vay'Neddas confirmed that they studied for several +years in the city, and inherited their uncle's position of managing the +activities within the fortles sometime after their return. Other historical +biographers contend the frockin's name was in fact Nikolas Klaus, which later +became Claws in children's stories as to make them most palatable to +impressionable young readers. + +Questions as to the nature of their appearance are generally of little import +save for lining the pockets of picture book publishers and mass producers of +wax figure collectibles. Those who have had the fortune to glimpse their person +described a wizened countenance of long hair, fulsome beard and whiskers +gleaming white and silver, amid which nestled a pair of warm amber eyes, a nose +slightly rosy from the cold and an affable smile. A genial face rested atop a +large stocky frame, as was common among those with the blood and strength of +noble mountain lions. As in the period of their ancestors, they wore a dark + +--- + +126 + + +brown cloak with a hood over their cassock to ward against the cold weather, +though this changed after one occasion when they narrowly avoided being run +over by a semi-autonomous cart. The abominable thing had zipped by in front of +Santa at a beard's distance away as they emerged on the roof of a house through +its chimney. + +At this juncture it should be duly noted that the idea of Santa Claws typically +making their entrance into homes by clambering down chimneys, even preferring +it as a method of entry, is as preposterous as the worthless rags that +circulated such claims. No one of sound mind would shimmy through filthy, +narrow, often half-crumbling chutes — carrying a large sack, no less — if they +could safely enter through the front door. For the latter was exactly what +Santa and their predecessors did, and still do to this day in some villages, in +a time when people were less leery of their neighbours and either left their +doors unlocked, or placed a spare key under the doormat so the household next +door could tend to the plants or the children's pepper pigs while they visited +relatives farther away. + +According to a later account by one of the crew on Santa's fleet, translated +and transcribed for the frockins' annals by a chronicler, what had actually +transpired was this: on that night while nearing the end of their rounds, Santa +found signs of flooding at one of the houses pointing to a burst pipe, the +water having seeped out under the front door and turned to ice in the frigid +temperatures. Tender of heart, Santa retrieved their fleet repair kit that was +kept for emergencies and ventured into the house to repair the broken pipe, in +lieu of simply leaving the presents outside on a stump where a tree once stood +and riding on. It was then that an obstacle presented itself. The house owners, +having gone away for the holidays, had a magical apparatus set on the door that +would raise an alarm and curse if opened by an intruder. No house key was found +under the mat after defrosting the ice over it enough to pull off the cover. +The windows were likewise sealed shut and latched. This ultimately necessitated +Santa entering and leaving through the chimney. Doubtless some fool stumbled +upon the moment Santa exited the chimney opening, nearly flattened by the +aerial hazard of a self-navigating cart, and got it into their head that Santa +Claws was one for chimney-climbing as sport. + +When the good Mrs. Claws found out about the near mishap, they were so worried +about their partner venturing out on missions that as a precaution, they had +Santa promise to wear a bright red outfit for such occasions. The thick +overcoat had a white faux fur trim that reflected the moons' light, matching +hat and trousers and a shining gold belt buckle so that the carts' sensors can +sight him even on the darkest nights. Completing the outfit were gloves with +open seams at the base of each finger to reveal their claws without taking off +the gloves completely. The whole ensemble was made by Mrs. Claws themselves, +and it was said they had gotten the inspiration for the white trimmings from +their partner's flowing mane. Members of the fleet were also offered a similar +change in clothing and the flying multibeast was re-painted in accordance with +the new colours that are now festooned in the streets and shops all over +Basmentaria each year as the Day of Bountiful Blessings draws near. + +A brief word on the aforementioned fleet: much remains unconfirmed about the +origins or evolution of the transport employed by Santa Claws to cover long +distances, and the arcana that powers the current fleet remains a subject of +heated speculation. Based on surviving annals that were once on public display, +before the twin fortles vanished one night were never seen again, it is +generally thought that the earliest fleets were small fortles guided by a crew +of twelve members excluding Santa Claws. In time the fortles were retired and +replaced with aerial multibeasts for lighter weight and potential for greater +velocity. Contrary to popular jingles, the multibeast is not pulled by +reindeer, which are neither known for speed nor stamina, but are headed by rain +horses specially raised for both as as well their ability to withstand much of + +### Sunrise over Kelsun Peak + +``` +that night we ride up the mountain +deep within a Saldin Sea of mist +our way up becomes cloudy, uncertain +crying, heavy air turns to water +the cage starts to shudder and shake, +a venerable old man in a seizure + +you clung to my arm as a bear cub +to its mother in the darkness, +the lone candle snuffed out in a huff +of a petulant wind throwing a tantrum +I grip the handle hard enough, +vowing to be strong for both of us + +when we are called from fitful slumber +by twin rays of warming distant light +promising more, brother and sister +a cold breakfast or a hot chocolate +lastly and first, the sight of you +eyes open, hair tousled, immaculate + +the rusty gondola creaks a little +under our combined weight, groaning +at our youthfully excessive flair +but we did not care, with our hearts +facing the sun, far lighter as one +than the corporeal sum of its parts + +a new day breaks, yolk radiant orange +reveal the finest tempera brushed over +neat rows of tea plants at the grange +a gleaming dewdrop at the tip of a leaf, +we dangle on the cusp, an infinite moment +in the sky, we dare to hope, to believe +``` + + +40 + + +### How to Grow Fortified Pumpkins + +How to Grow Fortified Pumpkins + +by Oles Macdonald + +So you wanna grow fortified pumpkins, huh? Well, first things first, you're +gonna need a fort. You got yer self one, right? An' I don't mean those blow-up +bouncing bollocks for kids, those take up room and don't do jack. No sirree, +you need to get yer self a rock fort. The real hard structure, not mouldy +cheese. Snow's not gonna cut it, fun for the young 'uns maybe but kills yer +plants with frostbite fast. Sand just gets washed away in a storm. An' don't +get me started on pillow forts, them things should be banned. Blocks sunlight, +flaps like the village gossips with a bit o' wind letting in rain every which +way, feathers inside them pillows take too long to dry when wet, I can go on +an' on about it all day but we're talking about growing the best fortified +pumpkins so let's stick with it. + +Bottom line is if you ain't got one then build one from rocks, it's what it +says on the tin. Just make sure to choose large dry ones, flat-like, you +wouldn't wanna get sick from cave mold before you even get this sucker off the +ground, and flats will save you time cutting all them sides. Build your fort on +a sunny part of yer land away from trees. Pumpkins love to suntan, even shows +on their skins in some varieties. Stack up some rocks like yer building a brick +wall or grill. The fort wall should be about a hand's thickness fer insulation +an' at least twelve by four-an'-twenty by six feet on the inside. Spread +fisherfolk nets over the top to let in the sun, rain and bees to do their thing +for yer pumpkin plants but keep them birds out. You can throw cured tarp over +it an' anchor it to the fort wall if a big storm comes along. Don' forget to +leave an opening so you can fit a door later. Lets you get in an' out easy, but +not so easy that the rats an' other rodents get to yer pumpkins first. +Door-wise there's no need to be a fusspot about it, put in something sturdy +with a clever latch or a ward if you can get a hold of one so the raccoon cats +can't pick the lock with their claws. + +Yer gonna need three feet of the height right off the bat for a raised bed, +specially if you don't know fer sure if the land below yer feet is cursed or +not, or can't tell horse sh—t apart from dark clay to check yer soil is good. +Line the inside of the fort with sheet metal where you'll load up with good +soil in a bit, an' make sure you can get to all sides. No sense growing a bed +full of pumpkins if you can't reach over to grab 'em later. You can also use +wood but they will rot something nasty if you don't find the right wood that +takes to water well an' have a habit of overwatering loads, then the whole +thing falls apart under the weight. Sheet metal like the stuff used fer roofs +will do the job, just bang a few together like a box with no lid no bottom an' +yer in business. If you'd rather be safe than sorry, you can make it even +sturdier on the inside with a steel bar or two across the width of the bed. +Fill a third of the bed with straw, ol' wood, alfalfa or stuff like that you +got laying around, then the rest of the way up to about the third knuckle's +length away from the top edge with good quality compost. Every farmer worth +their weight in potatoes knows good quality compost is the real gold. As I +always tell new folks lookin' to set up right, go big on compost or go home. + +Once you've filled up the bed, dig a few rows of shallow trenches in the soil +about a half-an'-a-feet or two apart an' two knuckles deep at yer pinky finger. +Soak yer seeds overnight and plant 'em in a feet apart in the rows. Cover 'em +up and mulch that beauty of a bed. Give 'em a good thorough watering every +other day, or every day if it's like an oven hot out there, an' Bread's yer +butter. Halfway through the season if they're lookin' a little starved, fortify +'em by making some compost tea to freshen 'em up. You can use hemogoblin blood +too if you got that, it's just a pricier way to do the same thing with the same +results, an' who likes payin' more when you can throw a few fish bones +together, boil the whole lot, leave it to rot an' get free plant tea? Not me. +Now when they start flowering, nip off any extra flowers on the same vine so +the pumpkin gets more nourishment an' grows bigger. For a lot of newbs it's a +chore, but wait 'til you see the size of these pups. If you don't wanna mess +about staking up vines, let 'em run around a bit and that's hunky dory too. +Just be sure they aren't sittin' in a swimming pool, that's a one-way ride to +mushy pumpkins an' root rot. An' dangnabbit do I hate mushy pumpkins. + +### An Overview of S.T.A.G Drones + +This guide is meant to introduce the operate (you) to the functionality of +features of the S.T.A.G drone. For in depth usage and extensibility please +review the source code which can be found at your local GNU guild. + +S.T.A.G - (S)py (T)ransmat (A)utonomous (G)izmo + +As the name implies, the S.T.A.G drone is a capable and compact automous gizmo +capable of relaying video, audio, & gps information to its operator. Unlike +most convention drones it requires no input to operate, simply supplying it +with an object is sufficient. The on board (A)mber (I)mp handles the actual +control. It is important that you retrieve the A.I. from the drone in the event +you choose to discard, or risk the S.T.A.G. in any way, remember Imp's are +sentient beings. + +Once an operator has deployed a S.T.A.G drone they'll recieve information back +from it in the format of a twtxt feed, and open source plain text format which +is easily parsed. GPS coordinates are reported as JSON strings inside of this +feed, audio is transliterated to text, and video is relayed as a series of +ascii characters. All an operate needs to do to view these feeds is to cat the +return text to a terminal and it should render. If the operater does not have +access to a terminal, or is not a practice sysorcerer, the video feed can be +consumed by retrieving the S.T.A.G drone and holding it close to your ear. The +A.I have been trained in number Basementarian languages and are happy to +dutifully describe the scenes they've seen. + +Each of these feeds can be subscribed to separately + +The aggregate feed can be accessed via: + +``` +@ +``` + +Simiarly these feeds provide filtered results by name: + +``` +@ +@ +@ +``` + + +### Gremlin Sysorcer + + +The gremlin stretched in his padded ergonomic chair and stifled a yawn. He had +just finished beating the final Heroic Fantasy game for the twelfth time, when +a flood of identical alerts flashed across his second screen: `Outgoing +connection blocked on port 443 from 10.10.12.26` He reached into the machine, +looked up the process and found two unfamiliar entries bouncing in and out of +hottop's list for most computering units being consumed. The new intern had +probably downloaded some application with an auto-updater and left it installed +on the workstation. He zapped the processes. + +``` +killall -9 ysosirius +killall -9 yunoluvirus +``` + +That should do it. He watched hottop closely on the monitor. A beat passed. +Two, then the processes returned. Grr. These weren't regular rogue procs, but +forked demons. His stubby fingers sprinted over the mechanical keyboard, +clacking loudly in the dark office as he fired off a series of spells: + +``` +sudo systemctl stop ysosirius +sudo systemctl stop yunoluvirus +sudo systemctl disable ysosirius +Failed to execute operation: Access denied +``` + +G—ck. How is that possible? The gremlin scratched his head with his Mebekey for +a minute. Immutable flags? + +``` +sudo chattr -i /etc/systemd/system/ysosirius.service +/bin/bash chattr: not found +``` + +What. Did the intern somehow mistook it for a messaging client during the +initial audit phase and removed it from all the workstations? He really needed +to have a word with them when they turn up on Monday, but for now— + +``` +sudo apt -y install e2fsprogs +sudo chattr -i /etc/systemd/system/ysosirius.service +sudo rm -rf /etc/systemd/system/ysosirius* +sudo chattr -i /etc/systemd/system/yunoluvirus.service +sudo rm -rf /etc/systemd/system/yunoluvirus* +``` + +There, stupid demons terminated. Must have been one of his colleagues leaving +him a gaff holiday gift, but he started a malware scan anyway just in case. +Smiling to himself and pushing up his Googol glasses, the Tier Two support +wizard looked away from his screen to grab his mug, which was then he noticed +it was empty. Frowning, he pulled up the COFE dashboard on his terminal. His +expression fell at the "0%" next to a little icon of an empty fuel gauge in the +status field. That was the last pot — he was sure of it because he had brewed +it himself four hours ago after ransacking the kitchenette for more. He had +managed to scrape out a few stale tablespoons from what was left inside a large +can that had been shoved to the back of a cupboard. He had ran out of coffee. + +After checking his secret stash, which was also empty save for more discarded +wrappers, he sighed and got to his feet. He gave the screen another glance and +hoverboarded to the vending machine down the hall, before catching sight of the +empty black racks from a distance and swerved back towards the lift doors. +After some elevator-cruising, he found another vending machine a few floors +down that still had drinks, a few tiny bags of corn chips and trail mix bars. +Someone had already emptied its shelves of Cherry and regular Koke, and Diet +Koke was never a viable alternative. Then he saw a single can of Red Kobit +sitting tantalisingly on the rack. He paid with a tap of his meal card, +figuring his luck wasn't too bad after all, but at the last moment the vending +machine changed its mind and held onto both his credits and the can with a +round, wiry claw. He yelled at the machine, threatened to summon maintenance, +shoved it back a centimeter where it was already standing against the wall, +pummelled its bulletproof glass chest with his fists and kicked its legs, to no +avail. The vending machine had likely seen through his bluff and knew no repair +person was coming on a Friday night graveyard shift. Taking the machine apart +will land him in Big Trouble again, and it wasn't worth the three-hour +CowardPoint presentation he would get about robot respect or the warning letter +for damage to corporeal property. The gremlin resentfully tapped his card again +to secure the last two cans of Red Horse, which rolled down into the flapped +receptacle with a *ba dum tss* like a bad joke. + +When he returned to his desk and settled back in his rolling chair, open can of +raw energy in hand, he began to feel a prickly, crawling sensation on his skin. +A rising dread overcame him, as the apparition of his lifelong-sworn enemy rose +up from the deepest runlevels of init hell once again, and without a new season +of *White Mirror* dropping anytime soon, he knew he was in grave danger. He +gripped the edge of his keyboard, exhaled slowly and greeted his old nemesis, +Boredom. + + +### Pirate Gold Fondue + +420 + +Pirate Gold Fondue + +Ingredients + +- 3 Pirate Gold potatoes +- 1/2 cup chickpea paste +- 1 cup coconut oil +- 1/3 macadamia milk +- 2 tbsp. cornflour +- 1 1/2 cups mulled apple wine +- 1/4 cup hemogoblin blood +- 1 garlic clove, flattened +- 2 tbsp. ground cocoa +- 1/2 tsp. paprika +- 2 tbsp. lemon dill + + +Method + +1. Peel potatoes and boil until soft. Let cool, then add to a large mixing bowl + with chickpea paste. + +2. Dissolve cornflour into the macadamia milk, then pour the milk gradually + into the bowl, mashing the mixture until no lumps remain. Add coconut oil, + 1/4 cup at a time until folded completely into the mixture and set aside. + +3. Toast the paprika in a saucepan. Add mulled apple wine, bemogoblin blood + and garlic clove. When the liquid is heated, add ground cocoa. + +4. Pour the saucepan contents into a caquelon, or a double boiler with water + simmering below the bowl. Add the potato mixture slowly in small batches, + stirring continuously. Remove garlic after a 1/4 of the mixture has been + added, and resume stirring until all the potatoes have been added. + +5. Garnish with lemon dill and serve. + +### Lady Runesocesius + +``` +My Lady, I come to visit you +will you show your dainty face, gladly I +let you tease me as I ascend, step closer +so you can hide behind your cloudy veils? + +My Lady, I kneel at your feet +will you embrace me in your fulsome bosom +let me breathe in your perfume, a heady wine +taste drops of your creamy white nectar? + +My Lady, I bring you snow lilies +to tuck behind your ear as I whisper +sweet everythings into that tender shell +so you can extract a promise for my return? + +My Lady, I long to see you +to kiss your fair golden tresses and take +my vow with Nullar as witness, an Elixir to +savour once more your everlasting beauty? +``` diff --git a/www/index.html b/www/index.html index 474193e..9d68677 100644 --- a/www/index.html +++ b/www/index.html @@ -326,10 +326,33 @@ of the Were-Hare
  • Cosmology
  • History
  • Afterword
    • +
  • Appendix A: Barefoot Quackery +

    • Stats

    -

    Total length: 47248 words / 201 minute read. (Mind you, that’s the +

    Total length: 51977 words / 222 minute read. (Mind you, that’s the length of this entire page, including all the extra bits and bobs. Not just the story.)

    There have been 171 messages posted over 169 days since the first @@ -5824,5 +5847,491 @@ document to just abruptly end. So here you go: a kind farewell and a more gentle conclusion.

    Thanks for reading.

    dozens@tilde.team

    +

    Appendix A: Barefoot Quackery

    +

    Being apocryphal and supplemental material posted to the Barefoot +Quackery thread on tildepals, including depictions of loose pages +torn from books of the Runesocesius Library, and original fictions and +other diversions, and more.

    +

    Cease and Desist

    +
    +

    To: durrendal
    +From: LABATT
    +Subject: Cease and Desist Order

    +

    To whom it may concern:

    +

    It has recently come to our attention that a personhood has withheld +important document(s) which affect the structural nature of a sensitive +publication, namely the [REDACTED] zine.

    +

    Please cease and desist immediately. You may comply with this order +by submitting the aforementioned document(s) to the designated drop-off +point as instructed on the imprint accompanying your submission form by +midnight Coordinated Basmentaric Time (BTC) of Day 22 of Member 12 in +the year 2202.

    +

    Continued infringement represents an escalation and will result in +sanctions, including but not withstanding a remote cursery execution +(RCE) on your monitoring and calendar infrastructure.

    +

    We reserve the right to pursue other corrective actions through +temporally-attuned means to protect the release timeline integrity of +key cultural assets.

    +

    Sincerely,

    +

    Luminati Association of Bears as Time Travellers (LABATT)

    +
    +
    +
    +

    Dear sir and/or madame and/or bear and/or time travel NSA agent,

    +

    We’ve read your cease and desist, and while we understand its intent, +we’re unable at this time to comply, not through any inability of our +own, but rather through our inability to stop writing run on sentence; +you see we never truly learned how to grammar goodly and now we just go +on and on, ad nauseum, so on and so forth; truly it is a depressing and +persistent problem, if we were ever to find the correct punctuation to +prevent these run ons from happening we might be able to cease, +potentially even desist, but probably both at the same time, or neither +all at once, we’re really uncertain at this point; all that is know is +that nothing is truly known once you’ve gone this far down the +grammartical, and metaphorical, rabbit hole; to speak metaphorically +that is on a subject that is somewhat subjectively objective while +simultaneously being an objective objection to your subjective summation +of our grevious misgivings, truly one must infer that the meaning of +these metaphoric subjectively objective objections are subjective in +their own right, potentially reaching the height of metaphysical +incanatation; one could say this run on sentence is one giant +invocation, a charm of warding against cease and desist notices, to +protect the poor photographer from his abject abandonment of his own +promises; though some may object to my absolute misuse of proper +punctuation and grammar to the point where said people stopped reading +long again and began readying pitchforks and torches, likely they’re on +their way to Maine now ready to burn my witchy incantating self for the +hum dinger of a grammatical curse I sit here writing, but to these +people I say NAY, nay sir I object to your cease and desist, and to +their objection to this abject horror of a sentence, and I abject my +throne as well, for you know I once was a king, not a very rich king, +but a king in my own right; why yes, indeed I was, king of stream of +concious ramblings without respect for grammar, punctuation, or any of +that high falootin nonsense that the yonder rich kings hold dear, and +which I hold to be a dreadful and dire curse upon us all, but with that +I really must bid you Good Day madame, though let this not be an ending, +but the begining of a wonderful and delightful sort of cease and desist +based relationship,

    +
    +
    +
    +

    To: durrendal
    +From: LABATT
    +Subject: Re: Cease and Desist Order [#20221221-1946]

    +

    To whom it may concern:

    +

    Please be advised that any evidence you provided in your response may +be used against you in the event an injunction is filed against your +personhood should you fail to comply with the order. This includes any +admission of culpability or liability stemming from failure to submit +the aforementioned document(s) in a timely manner.

    +

    LABATT is a renowned non-profit organisation dedicated to the +preservation of historical continuity of cultural works in the fabric of +space-time. We deplore the designation of “NSA agent” and invite you to +learn more about our mission and vision on our website and free seminars +one of our offices across Basmentaria.

    +

    Sincerely,

    +

    Luminati Association of Bears as Time Travellers (LABATT)

    +
    +

    On the Origins of Santa +Claws

    +

    125

    +

    On the Origins of Santa Claws

    +

    Maximus N. Grinchescu

    +

    It should heretofore be common knowledge that the Santa Claws of +present day is the stuff of fantasy and make-believe, a story fabricated +on the spur of the moment by some exasperated mother who could not for +the life of her induce her children to behave. The very notion of reward +in the form of toys and presents, or punishment in the lack thereof of +aforementioned items, is no doubt appealing to many parents who are +themselves motivated similarly and thus can only appeal to their +offspring at the most superficial level. The lifelong goal in the +pursuit of consumption has been drummed into these unfortunate +children’s heads from a young age, with thinly-veiled threats of a +thorough mauling for those who dare to deviate from the well— and truly +down— trodden path. It is the means by which the cycle of ignorance and +conceit perpetuates among the unwashed masses — young mops bragging +about having the largest present under the tree, to become adults +boasting of receiving the most expensive gifts from a spouse or +ever-widening court of suitors. The myth of Santa Claws is a gross +distortion of facts disguised as a moralistic narrative that promotes +annually renewing contracts of obedience in exchange for short-term +material gains. Astonishingly, nary a word of doubt would be heard from +the parents on the merits of accepting gifts from an obsessive stranger +who prowls the streets at night watching their children sleep, in +addition to claiming knowledge of the children’s every move rivalling +their own.

    +

    It is regrettable that the image of Santa Claws in the eyes of many +has been reduced to that of a jolly dangerous delivery worker. Little do +they know that the real Santa Claws came from a long line of frockin — +wandering folk who don a cassock and dedicate their lives to aiding the +hungry, desperate and needy. On occasions for gifts, they gave to all +regardless of whether they were perceived by friend or foe of the +recipients to be good or evil, for such is the willingness of the +frockin to set aside their quarrels on the Day of Bountiful Blessings. +They travel across Basmentaria in fortles which house a multitude of +rooms and supplies required to sustain their livelihoods. Inside the +fortles were workshops in which carpenters, woodworkers, drafters, +tailors, various craftspeople as well as farmers and cooks plied their +skills.

    +

    One frockin in particular became known for rescuing ransomed young +maidens and poor indentured servants who faced torture by the oil vat at +the hands of cruel employers in the nick of time that they became known +as Nick, Blessed of Neddas, or Nick of Mairas as they gained grateful +followers and admirers. Despite this, the frockin was modest in manner +and rarely took credit for their acts of generosity. Because of this +trait and the loss of the few, limited first-hand accounts of those with +close dealings with the frockin in a fire shortly before they assumed +the care and upkeep of a pair of fortles, little is known of their +childhood circumstances or early life. Enrolment records at an +vocational institution in Vay’Neddas confirmed that they studied for +several years in the city, and inherited their uncle’s position of +managing the activities within the fortles sometime after their return. +Other historical biographers contend the frockin’s name was in fact +Nikolas Klaus, which later became Claws in children’s stories as to make +them most palatable to impressionable young readers.

    +

    Questions as to the nature of their appearance are generally of +little import save for lining the pockets of picture book publishers and +mass producers of wax figure collectibles. Those who have had the +fortune to glimpse their person described a wizened countenance of long +hair, fulsome beard and whiskers gleaming white and silver, amid which +nestled a pair of warm amber eyes, a nose slightly rosy from the cold +and an affable smile. A genial face rested atop a large stocky frame, as +was common among those with the blood and strength of noble mountain +lions. As in the period of their ancestors, they wore a dark

    +
    +

    126

    +

    brown cloak with a hood over their cassock to ward against the cold +weather, though this changed after one occasion when they narrowly +avoided being run over by a semi-autonomous cart. The abominable thing +had zipped by in front of Santa at a beard’s distance away as they +emerged on the roof of a house through its chimney.

    +

    At this juncture it should be duly noted that the idea of Santa Claws +typically making their entrance into homes by clambering down chimneys, +even preferring it as a method of entry, is as preposterous as the +worthless rags that circulated such claims. No one of sound mind would +shimmy through filthy, narrow, often half-crumbling chutes — carrying a +large sack, no less — if they could safely enter through the front door. +For the latter was exactly what Santa and their predecessors did, and +still do to this day in some villages, in a time when people were less +leery of their neighbours and either left their doors unlocked, or +placed a spare key under the doormat so the household next door could +tend to the plants or the children’s pepper pigs while they visited +relatives farther away.

    +

    According to a later account by one of the crew on Santa’s fleet, +translated and transcribed for the frockins’ annals by a chronicler, +what had actually transpired was this: on that night while nearing the +end of their rounds, Santa found signs of flooding at one of the houses +pointing to a burst pipe, the water having seeped out under the front +door and turned to ice in the frigid temperatures. Tender of heart, +Santa retrieved their fleet repair kit that was kept for emergencies and +ventured into the house to repair the broken pipe, in lieu of simply +leaving the presents outside on a stump where a tree once stood and +riding on. It was then that an obstacle presented itself. The house +owners, having gone away for the holidays, had a magical apparatus set +on the door that would raise an alarm and curse if opened by an +intruder. No house key was found under the mat after defrosting the ice +over it enough to pull off the cover. The windows were likewise sealed +shut and latched. This ultimately necessitated Santa entering and +leaving through the chimney. Doubtless some fool stumbled upon the +moment Santa exited the chimney opening, nearly flattened by the aerial +hazard of a self-navigating cart, and got it into their head that Santa +Claws was one for chimney-climbing as sport.

    +

    When the good Mrs. Claws found out about the near mishap, they were +so worried about their partner venturing out on missions that as a +precaution, they had Santa promise to wear a bright red outfit for such +occasions. The thick overcoat had a white faux fur trim that reflected +the moons’ light, matching hat and trousers and a shining gold belt +buckle so that the carts’ sensors can sight him even on the darkest +nights. Completing the outfit were gloves with open seams at the base of +each finger to reveal their claws without taking off the gloves +completely. The whole ensemble was made by Mrs. Claws themselves, and it +was said they had gotten the inspiration for the white trimmings from +their partner’s flowing mane. Members of the fleet were also offered a +similar change in clothing and the flying multibeast was re-painted in +accordance with the new colours that are now festooned in the streets +and shops all over Basmentaria each year as the Day of Bountiful +Blessings draws near.

    +

    A brief word on the aforementioned fleet: much remains unconfirmed +about the origins or evolution of the transport employed by Santa Claws +to cover long distances, and the arcana that powers the current fleet +remains a subject of heated speculation. Based on surviving annals that +were once on public display, before the twin fortles vanished one night +were never seen again, it is generally thought that the earliest fleets +were small fortles guided by a crew of twelve members excluding Santa +Claws. In time the fortles were retired and replaced with aerial +multibeasts for lighter weight and potential for greater velocity. +Contrary to popular jingles, the multibeast is not pulled by reindeer, +which are neither known for speed nor stamina, but are headed by rain +horses specially raised for both as as well their ability to withstand +much of

    +

    Sunrise over Kelsun Peak

    +
    that night we ride up the mountain
+deep within a Saldin Sea of mist
+our way up becomes cloudy, uncertain
+crying, heavy air turns to water
+the cage starts to shudder and shake,
+a venerable old man in a seizure
+
+you clung to my arm as a bear cub
+to its mother in the darkness,
+the lone candle snuffed out in a huff
+of a petulant wind throwing a tantrum
+I grip the handle hard enough,
+vowing to be strong for both of us
+
+when we are called from fitful slumber
+by twin rays of warming distant light
+promising more, brother and sister
+a cold breakfast or a hot chocolate
+lastly and first, the sight of you
+eyes open, hair tousled, immaculate
+
+the rusty gondola creaks a little
+under our combined weight, groaning
+at our youthfully excessive flair
+but we did not care, with our hearts
+facing the sun, far lighter as one
+than the corporeal sum of its parts
+
+a new day breaks, yolk radiant orange
+reveal the finest tempera brushed over
+neat rows of tea plants at the grange
+a gleaming dewdrop at the tip of a leaf,
+we dangle on the cusp, an infinite moment
+in the sky, we dare to hope, to believe
    +

    40

    +

    How to Grow Fortified +Pumpkins

    +

    How to Grow Fortified Pumpkins

    +

    by Oles Macdonald

    +

    So you wanna grow fortified pumpkins, huh? Well, first things first, +you’re gonna need a fort. You got yer self one, right? An’ I don’t mean +those blow-up bouncing bollocks for kids, those take up room and don’t +do jack. No sirree, you need to get yer self a rock fort. The real hard +structure, not mouldy cheese. Snow’s not gonna cut it, fun for the young +‘uns maybe but kills yer plants with frostbite fast. Sand just gets +washed away in a storm. An’ don’t get me started on pillow forts, them +things should be banned. Blocks sunlight, flaps like the village gossips +with a bit o’ wind letting in rain every which way, feathers inside them +pillows take too long to dry when wet, I can go on an’ on about it all +day but we’re talking about growing the best fortified pumpkins so let’s +stick with it.

    +

    Bottom line is if you ain’t got one then build one from rocks, it’s +what it says on the tin. Just make sure to choose large dry ones, +flat-like, you wouldn’t wanna get sick from cave mold before you even +get this sucker off the ground, and flats will save you time cutting all +them sides. Build your fort on a sunny part of yer land away from trees. +Pumpkins love to suntan, even shows on their skins in some varieties. +Stack up some rocks like yer building a brick wall or grill. The fort +wall should be about a hand’s thickness fer insulation an’ at least +twelve by four-an’-twenty by six feet on the inside. Spread fisherfolk +nets over the top to let in the sun, rain and bees to do their thing for +yer pumpkin plants but keep them birds out. You can throw cured tarp +over it an’ anchor it to the fort wall if a big storm comes along. Don’ +forget to leave an opening so you can fit a door later. Lets you get in +an’ out easy, but not so easy that the rats an’ other rodents get to yer +pumpkins first. Door-wise there’s no need to be a fusspot about it, put +in something sturdy with a clever latch or a ward if you can get a hold +of one so the raccoon cats can’t pick the lock with their claws.

    +

    Yer gonna need three feet of the height right off the bat for a +raised bed, specially if you don’t know fer sure if the land below yer +feet is cursed or not, or can’t tell horse sh—t apart from dark clay to +check yer soil is good. Line the inside of the fort with sheet metal +where you’ll load up with good soil in a bit, an’ make sure you can get +to all sides. No sense growing a bed full of pumpkins if you can’t reach +over to grab ‘em later. You can also use wood but they will rot +something nasty if you don’t find the right wood that takes to water +well an’ have a habit of overwatering loads, then the whole thing falls +apart under the weight. Sheet metal like the stuff used fer roofs will +do the job, just bang a few together like a box with no lid no bottom +an’ yer in business. If you’d rather be safe than sorry, you can make it +even sturdier on the inside with a steel bar or two across the width of +the bed. Fill a third of the bed with straw, ol’ wood, alfalfa or stuff +like that you got laying around, then the rest of the way up to about +the third knuckle’s length away from the top edge with good quality +compost. Every farmer worth their weight in potatoes knows good quality +compost is the real gold. As I always tell new folks lookin’ to set up +right, go big on compost or go home.

    +

    Once you’ve filled up the bed, dig a few rows of shallow trenches in +the soil about a half-an’-a-feet or two apart an’ two knuckles deep at +yer pinky finger. Soak yer seeds overnight and plant ‘em in a feet apart +in the rows. Cover ’em up and mulch that beauty of a bed. Give ’em a +good thorough watering every other day, or every day if it’s like an +oven hot out there, an’ Bread’s yer butter. Halfway through the season +if they’re lookin’ a little starved, fortify ‘em by making some compost +tea to freshen ’em up. You can use hemogoblin blood too if you got that, +it’s just a pricier way to do the same thing with the same results, an’ +who likes payin’ more when you can throw a few fish bones together, boil +the whole lot, leave it to rot an’ get free plant tea? Not me. Now when +they start flowering, nip off any extra flowers on the same vine so the +pumpkin gets more nourishment an’ grows bigger. For a lot of newbs it’s +a chore, but wait ‘til you see the size of these pups. If you don’t +wanna mess about staking up vines, let ’em run around a bit and that’s +hunky dory too. Just be sure they aren’t sittin’ in a swimming pool, +that’s a one-way ride to mushy pumpkins an’ root rot. An’ dangnabbit do +I hate mushy pumpkins.

    +

    An Overview of S.T.A.G +Drones

    +

    This guide is meant to introduce the operate (you) to the +functionality of features of the S.T.A.G drone. For in depth usage and +extensibility please review the source code which can be found at your +local GNU guild.

    +

    S.T.A.G - (S)py (T)ransmat (A)utonomous (G)izmo

    +

    As the name implies, the S.T.A.G drone is a capable and compact +automous gizmo capable of relaying video, audio, & gps information +to its operator. Unlike most convention drones it requires no input to +operate, simply supplying it with an object is sufficient. The on board +(A)mber (I)mp handles the actual control. It is important that you +retrieve the A.I. from the drone in the event you choose to discard, or +risk the S.T.A.G. in any way, remember Imp’s are sentient beings.

    +

    Once an operator has deployed a S.T.A.G drone they’ll recieve +information back from it in the format of a twtxt feed, and open source +plain text format which is easily parsed. GPS coordinates are reported +as JSON strings inside of this feed, audio is transliterated to text, +and video is relayed as a series of ascii characters. All an operate +needs to do to view these feeds is to cat the return text to a terminal +and it should render. If the operater does not have access to a +terminal, or is not a practice sysorcerer, the video feed can be +consumed by retrieving the S.T.A.G drone and holding it close to your +ear. The A.I have been trained in number Basementarian languages and are +happy to dutifully describe the scenes they’ve seen.

    +

    Each of these feeds can be subscribed to separately

    +

    The aggregate feed can be accessed via:

    +
    @<stag_arn uri://stag/arn>
    +

    Simiarly these feeds provide filtered results by name:

    +
    @<stag_arn uri://stag/arn/gps>
+@<stag_arn uri://stag/arn/audio>
+@<stag_arn uri://stag/arn/video>
    +

    Gremlin Sysorcer

    +

    The gremlin stretched in his padded ergonomic chair and stifled a +yawn. He had just finished beating the final Heroic Fantasy game for the +twelfth time, when a flood of identical alerts flashed across his second +screen: +Outgoing connection blocked on port 443 from 10.10.12.26 He +reached into the machine, looked up the process and found two unfamiliar +entries bouncing in and out of hottop’s list for most computering units +being consumed. The new intern had probably downloaded some application +with an auto-updater and left it installed on the workstation. He zapped +the processes.

    +
    killall -9 ysosirius
+killall -9 yunoluvirus
    +

    That should do it. He watched hottop closely on the monitor. A beat +passed. Two, then the processes returned. Grr. These weren’t regular +rogue procs, but forked demons. His stubby fingers sprinted over the +mechanical keyboard, clacking loudly in the dark office as he fired off +a series of spells:

    +
    sudo systemctl stop ysosirius
+sudo systemctl stop yunoluvirus
+sudo systemctl disable ysosirius
+Failed to execute operation: Access denied
    +

    G—ck. How is that possible? The gremlin scratched his head with his +Mebekey for a minute. Immutable flags?

    +
    sudo chattr -i /etc/systemd/system/ysosirius.service
+/bin/bash chattr: not found
    +

    What. Did the intern somehow mistook it for a messaging client during +the initial audit phase and removed it from all the workstations? He +really needed to have a word with them when they turn up on Monday, but +for now—

    +
    sudo apt -y install e2fsprogs
+sudo chattr -i /etc/systemd/system/ysosirius.service
+sudo rm -rf /etc/systemd/system/ysosirius*
+sudo chattr -i /etc/systemd/system/yunoluvirus.service
+sudo rm -rf /etc/systemd/system/yunoluvirus*
    +

    There, stupid demons terminated. Must have been one of his colleagues +leaving him a gaff holiday gift, but he started a malware scan anyway +just in case. Smiling to himself and pushing up his Googol glasses, the +Tier Two support wizard looked away from his screen to grab his mug, +which was then he noticed it was empty. Frowning, he pulled up the COFE +dashboard on his terminal. His expression fell at the “0%” next to a +little icon of an empty fuel gauge in the status field. That was the +last pot — he was sure of it because he had brewed it himself four hours +ago after ransacking the kitchenette for more. He had managed to scrape +out a few stale tablespoons from what was left inside a large can that +had been shoved to the back of a cupboard. He had ran out of coffee.

    +

    After checking his secret stash, which was also empty save for more +discarded wrappers, he sighed and got to his feet. He gave the screen +another glance and hoverboarded to the vending machine down the hall, +before catching sight of the empty black racks from a distance and +swerved back towards the lift doors. After some elevator-cruising, he +found another vending machine a few floors down that still had drinks, a +few tiny bags of corn chips and trail mix bars. Someone had already +emptied its shelves of Cherry and regular Koke, and Diet Koke was never +a viable alternative. Then he saw a single can of Red Kobit sitting +tantalisingly on the rack. He paid with a tap of his meal card, figuring +his luck wasn’t too bad after all, but at the last moment the vending +machine changed its mind and held onto both his credits and the can with +a round, wiry claw. He yelled at the machine, threatened to summon +maintenance, shoved it back a centimeter where it was already standing +against the wall, pummelled its bulletproof glass chest with his fists +and kicked its legs, to no avail. The vending machine had likely seen +through his bluff and knew no repair person was coming on a Friday night +graveyard shift. Taking the machine apart will land him in Big Trouble +again, and it wasn’t worth the three-hour CowardPoint presentation he +would get about robot respect or the warning letter for damage to +corporeal property. The gremlin resentfully tapped his card again to +secure the last two cans of Red Horse, which rolled down into the +flapped receptacle with a ba dum tss like a bad joke.

    +

    When he returned to his desk and settled back in his rolling chair, +open can of raw energy in hand, he began to feel a prickly, crawling +sensation on his skin. A rising dread overcame him, as the apparition of +his lifelong-sworn enemy rose up from the deepest runlevels of init hell +once again, and without a new season of White Mirror dropping +anytime soon, he knew he was in grave danger. He gripped the edge of his +keyboard, exhaled slowly and greeted his old nemesis, Boredom.

    +

    Pirate Gold Fondue

    +

    420

    +

    Pirate Gold Fondue

    +

    Ingredients

    +
      +
    • 3 Pirate Gold potatoes
      • +
    • 1/2 cup chickpea paste
      • +
    • 1 cup coconut oil
      • +
    • 1/3 macadamia milk
      • +
    • 2 tbsp. cornflour
      • +
    • 1 1/2 cups mulled apple wine
      • +
    • 1/4 cup hemogoblin blood
      • +
    • 1 garlic clove, flattened
      • +
    • 2 tbsp. ground cocoa
      • +
    • 1/2 tsp. paprika
      • +
    • 2 tbsp. lemon dill
      • +
    +

    Method

    +
      +

    1. Peel potatoes and boil until soft. Let cool, then add to a large +mixing bowl with chickpea paste.

      2. +

    2. Dissolve cornflour into the macadamia milk, then pour the milk +gradually into the bowl, mashing the mixture until no lumps remain. Add +coconut oil, 1/4 cup at a time until folded completely into the mixture +and set aside.

      3. +

    3. Toast the paprika in a saucepan. Add mulled apple wine, +bemogoblin blood and garlic clove. When the liquid is heated, add ground +cocoa.

      4. +

    4. Pour the saucepan contents into a caquelon, or a double boiler +with water simmering below the bowl. Add the potato mixture slowly in +small batches, stirring continuously. Remove garlic after a 1/4 of the +mixture has been added, and resume stirring until all the potatoes have +been added.

      5. +

    5. Garnish with lemon dill and serve.

      6. +
    +

    Lady Runesocesius

    +
    My Lady, I come to visit you
+will you show your dainty face, gladly I
+let you tease me as I ascend, step closer
+so you can hide behind your cloudy veils?
+
+My Lady, I kneel at your feet
+will you embrace me in your fulsome bosom
+let me breathe in your perfume, a heady wine
+taste drops of your creamy white nectar?
+
+My Lady, I bring you snow lilies
+to tuck behind your ear as I whisper
+sweet everythings into that tender shell
+so you can extract a promise for my return?
+
+My Lady, I long to see you
+to kiss your fair golden tresses and take
+my vow with Nullar as witness, an Elixir to
+savour once more your everlasting beauty?
    diff --git a/www/rss.xml b/www/rss.xml index 2273f3e..a1f48f3 100644 --- a/www/rss.xml +++ b/www/rss.xml @@ -5,199 +5,6 @@ BASEMENT QWEST https://tilde.town/~dozens/quest/rss.xml Friends having ADVENTURES! Huzzah! - - 45 - dozens@tilde.team (dozens) - 45 - Tue, 20 Dec 2022 10:15:23 --0700 - Thu, 22 Dec 2022 09:29:11 -0700 - - 00045 -
    -

    As the blankets draw back from the bloody mass, a cute - little hemogoblin appears. “Aww little fellas just scared.” - Alex lowers the dagger, but otherwise ignores the hemogoblin. - Best to leave it be for now, there’s more important - things.

    -

    As the balloon gets within range of the ship Alex begins to - scan the deck for Cyberplasms. At the same time he checks his - bug to track the location of the cyberplasms more acutely. It - looks like there may be an opporunity to jump from the balloon - to the ship. After that cutting the zip lines would give me - the opporunity to steal the ship, leaving the cyberplasms - trapped at the top of the hotel.

    -
    -

    Just a few Cyberplasms remain on the deck of the airship. - The vast majority of them have zipped into the hotel - tower.

    -

    You check your bug’s feed. It has gone almost entirely - unnoticed in the fracas, and you are able to piece together a - clear picture of the inside of the tower. It is indeed a grand - library, its galleries spanning each floor of the tower. One - of the largest collections in all of Basmentaria.

    -

    The Cyberplasms have breached the tower near its base and - are pouring into the Great Hall. You tune in just in time to - see a rail-thin, bald and mustachioed man standing defensively - in front of a display case. “No! You can’t!” he exclaims as a - disembodied sickle approaches him in a cloud of electricity - and ectoplasm.

    -

    Behind the glass in the display case is a bluish hunk of - rock the size of a melon, with gently pulsing gold veins.

    -
    -

    Inky puts away the papers they caught in passing or picked - up along the path up to read later, including a number that - from a cursory glance appear to be from a culinary collection - and a few from some moth-eaten but finely illustrated - botanical tome, among others.

    -

    Eventually arriving at the hotel entrance, Inky enters and - manages to catch a frantic-looking attendant near the - reception to ask the whereabouts of the hotelier, indicating - they had a business appointment with said manager.

    -
    -

    You walk in through the hotel’s main entrance. The grandeur - would take your breath away were it not for the shouting and - the smoke and the explosions coming from down the hall to your - right.

    -

    You wave down a passing hotel clerk and inquire after the - hotelier. They are hauling a large bucket of hot water, and - carrying an oversized bundle of clean towels under one arm. - They pause for a moment to look at you incredulously before - running off in the opposite direction.

    -

    A cry rings out nearby and a Cyberplasm flies through an - open door down the hallway. It lands in a heap of crackling - energy, smears of ectoplasm streaking the floor as though it - were bleeding heavily. It seems to be barely held together by - the energy stored in its cybernetic leg and a metal skull - plate.

    -

    It scoots backwards on its hands and its butt, trying to - stand up. Two toques leap out of the door after it. You - recognize Bread and Confidence right away.

    -

    Bread has obviously been to the kitchens. They are wearing - tin baking sheets and an oversized pot on their heard as - makeshift armor, and have a couple of dangerous looking - kitchen knives hanging from their belt. At the moment they are - swinging a large meat tenderizer over their head as though it - were a war hammer.

    -

    Confidence, meanwhile, has been to the gardener’s shed. - They are wearing a heavy leather apron and thick leather - gloves, and have a trowel in each hand, and a large hoe or - rake strapped to their back.

    -

    Bread lowers their hammer on Cyberplasms head, denting the - skull plate. And Confidence darts in and stabs with both hands - at the leg. As soon as the prosthetics go offline and the - plasmic arcs cease firing, there is nothing left holding the - ectoplasm together and the ghost kind of dissipates into the - air with a soft wail.

    -

    They look up and notice you at the same time, relaxing - their offensive stances. “Oh!” cries Bread. “It’s you!”

    -

    “You don’t happen,” asks Confidence, “to need a guide, do - you?”

    -

    WHAT DO YOU DO

    -

    www

    - ]]> -     -     - - 41 - dozens@tilde.team (dozens) - 41 - Wed, 14 Dec 2022 17:50:38 --0700 - Wed, 14 Dec 2022 17:50:44 -0700 - - 00041 -
    -

    Alex grips the encoded message he received in reply to his - last request firmly in his coat pocket. It was simple, curt, - impactful. “Trust no one”. Which begged the question, could - even it be trusted? Was HQ compromised? His informants in - danger? His allies and leads awash in the dark grey mist of - uncertainity. Or had his message been intercepted, cracked, - and a farsical response been sent in its place. Alex wasn’t - certain which, but the strange format and unusually speedy - response had him on edge.

    -

    This anxiety didn’t boil up to the surface, not a line of - worry or hint of the inner turbulence broke his cold blue - eyes. Outwardly he was just as composed as ever, but between - these uncertainties, the loss of his uncle, and now this - utterly strange dagger he’d found amongst his uncle’s - belongings, he wasn’t certain how long that composure would - last. It didn’t held that he felt this gnawing at the back of - his mind, as though something was probing, attempting to - communicate with him, somewhere between telepathy and utter - magic, and not in any sense that Alex understood.

    -

    And here he stood, a stranger amongst amidst his uncle’s - allies, and very little intention to change that situation at - the moment.

    -

    As the gondola touched down and the Toques rushed to greet - them Alex jumped blithely off the ship and onto firm, but - fluffy, ground. He cast a look around him at what appeared to - be an ordinary port of entry, noting the crowds of people - passing by. As the Toques arrived Alex spoke curtly to them, - “Who sends you to greet us, and where do you wish to take us, - and by what means do we travel?”. Short, cut, information - only. There’s too much unnerving in an unknown situation like - this.

    -
    -

    ~

    -
    -

    Inky greets the toques in turn politely, then turns to the - second toque and says, “A little bit of bread and no - cheese.”

    -
    -

    “Cheese?” Bread cocks their head looks at Inky with a touch - of embarrassment. They start patting at their pockets, - presumably looking for a morsel of cheese to share with the - travelers, but finding none. They groan miserably. Confidence - butts in apologetically, “There will be plenty of food at the - hotel if you want some! Some delicious fondue perhaps? Kelsun - Peak’s famous liquid gold!”

    -

    “Blavin Blandfoot arranged for us to meet you,” Bread - answers Alex. Confidence nods enthusiastically in agreement. - “But I suppose technically the hotelier sent us.” Bread points - up at the sky, in the general direction of the summit of - Kelsun Peak. “We are to escort you to Palace Runesocesius.” - They thumb over their shoulder in the general direction of the - stairs. “By way of the cloud steps. On foot.”

    -

    Confidence leans in close and lowers their voice. “A - Ginnarak Crystal! I can’t hardly believe it! Thought they had - all been lost to the ages. I hear it’s complete dumb random - luck that this one turned up. Story is, an aetherwael beached - itself on some wide zephynos boulevard. Happens sometimes. - Poor things can’t distinguish between clouds and cloudstuff. I - don’t blame ’em! At a distance, you and me can’t either! - Anyway, this aetherwael has got a harpoon stuck in its side. - Dratted poachers. May they all fall out of the sky and be - dashed to a thousand pieces on the rocks below. But it had a - harpoon in its side and was trailing behind it a float bag - tethered to the harpoon. And you probably already guessed what - was inside of it!” By the time Confidence finishes their brief - story, they are trembling and nearly breathless with - excitement.

    -

    “Anyway,” Bread interrupts their excited companion in an - attempt to restore decorum. Both of the toques have been - gently herding you toward the base of the stairs this whole - time. “You know how the zephynos are. You could give them all - the coin in Basmentaria, or something priceless like a - Ginnarak Crystal, and they’d just as quickly misplace it out - of carelessness. If it’s not a cloud they can sculpt into the - shape of seussomorph or the likeness of some fantasy creature, - they just don’t give a fig. Luckily the hotelier caught wind - of the aetherwael and found out about the crystal before they - managed to lose it, or bury it inside of a sculpture or - something silly! He has it safe and sound in the library up at - Runesocesius now.” Bread climbs the first step, his foot - sinking barely a centimeter into wispy cloud before striking - the solid cloudstuff. “Come! The hotelier will be very excited - to greet you!”

    -

    WHAT DO YOU DO

    -

    www

    - ]]> -     -     46 dozens@tilde.team (dozens) @@ -341,6 +148,155 @@ ]]> + + 42 + dozens@tilde.team (dozens) + 42 - Sat, 17 Dec 2022 08:01:41 +-0700 + Sat, 17 Dec 2022 08:01:48 -0700 + + 00042 +
    +

    This seems a bit strange. Certainly Blavin has been pulling + strings from behind the scenes the whole time, but why + coordinate a special escort for us when there are other + retrieval teams, and we’ve been less than amicable with the + bloke the entire time.. Alex thinks to himself.

    +

    DM: I’d like to check for any signs of deceit in the + toques demeanor or communcations with us

    +

    Confidence you said right? What would you do if I simply + chose not to accompany you? I mean, there’s a whole city + around us, perhaps I’d prefer a drink before climbing a + mountains worth of stairs. Or better yet, I could get back on + the boat and ride to the top and same myself the hassle.

    +
    +

    Bread once again looks confused. Confidence looks + surprised, caught off guard.

    + +

    Confidence sputters, “Well, yes, of course. You’ve been + traveling for some time now, haven’t you? I can assure you + that the food and drink at Runesocesius will be better than + anything you can get here! But the choice is entirely yours. + Feel free to avail yourself of the local offerings. We will + wait here at the steps for you.”

    +

    Bread nods slowly, and seems to trailing behind the + conversation just a second or two.

    +

    Their reactions seem genuine to you despite the + circumstances. They seem like a couple of low level employees + of a luxury hotel earnestly trying to follow the instructions + they’ve been given.

    +

    There are a couple of stalls and vendors set up around the + gondola station. Many of them serve mulled wine and hot + chocolate. There is some edible fare. Hot sandwiches and + pitas. Nothing that an empanada from Enrique’s wouldn’t put to + shame. But they look hot and steamy, and of great comfort to + anybody who might be hungry and cold. There are a few fire + pits, next to which there are long benches with blankets, + where you might sit and warm up for a bit.

    +

    The gondola lift ends here, and does not continue up to the + mountain any further. The cloud steps are the most common way + to get up to the peak, and to the Runesocesius. But you’re + pretty sure one or two of the stalls here offers balloon rides + up to the peak for thrill seekers and for those with + accessibility needs.

    +
    +

    “I think you already know I’m interested in neither bread + nor cheese, the second of which I certainly did not ask for + yet you tried to offer in your hasty pretence.” Inky smiles + thinly at the toques.

    +

    Taking out a small bag of gold coins and weighing it slowly + on one hand to the sound of coins clinking inside the pouch, + Inky continues, “Speak, answer our questions frankly and you + will be rewarded. The hotelier up there need not know. Breathe + a word of our little chat to another soul, however …” Inky’s + gaze cut briefly to four snow ravens perched atop a spiral + lamp post and back, “and you will learn the meaning of + disappearing without a trace.”

    +
    +

    Bread looks confused. You are starting to believe it is + their default expression. “So, you don’t want no + chee—”

    +

    “Our only desire is to help!” Confidence hastily + interrupts. He smiles pleasingly. “We are your guides! Not + just physically up the steps, but in all things here on Kelsun + Peak. You have but to ask, and if it is within our power to + give it, it will be yours! We are but humble ser—”

    +

    And just then Confidence is also suddenly interrupted. A + thundering boom like a canon sounds from somewhere nearby, + followed quickly by an explosion somewhere up above. Snow + ravens fly off in all directions in a panic. The sound ripples + through the mountaintop, rattling the ground on which you + stand. A bunch of small rocks and two large boulders shake + loose from the mountainside. Shoppers and travelers shout and + duck for cover as they are pelted by the scree. One of the + large boulder bounces clear over the station and plummets down + the side of the mountain before disappearing into the cloud + ocean below. The second one falls straight toward the + platform. A vendor selling wreaths and candles dives out of + the way as his stall is crushed by the boulder. A bench is + toppled over, spilling its blankets into the fire pit, and + catches fire, quickly spreading to another nearby stall.

    +

    Bread looks up at the sky, confused. You see a thin line of + black smoke starting to rise up into the sky from over the + ridge where the Runesocesius lies. Confidence shouts, and you + see him pointing at the sea, where a balloonship is rising up + out of the cloud bank, sailing quickly toward you and the + summit of Kelsun Peak.

    +

    It resembles a seafaring ship, but instead of masts and + sails, it has two large, colorful, patchwork balloons that + provide it lift. A large fan on a pivot at the rear of the + ship provides thrust. As you watch, it fires a second + canon—that is what the sound was!—nearly straight up, + arcing up and over the peak at Palace Runesocesius.

    +

    The crew of the ship bustle around on the deck of the ship, + reloading the canons, firing the balloons, shouting, giving + and following orders.

    +

    “Cyberplasms,” groans Confidence, and Bread whimpers. Alex, + that quiet, dull, static roar that has been constantly + tickling the back of your head ever since you found that + dagger seems to rise in pitch and in tone. It conveys a sense + of urgency, of warning. You can almost hear a + desperate voice behind the static fuzz cautioning you, + “Evil…”

    +

    The only corporeal element of the crew are their cybernetic + enhancements. A mechanical leg. A synthetic eye. A claw, a + hook, a hand. An arm canon. Almost all of them have more than + one, some as many as 3 or 5. The cybernetic pieces of each + individual crew member are held together by plasmic energy + arcs, crackling blue and green. And surrounding the bioware + and the plasmic arcs of each crew member, like a blanket or a + cocoon, is the translucent, wavering, ghostly form of some + humanoid long-dead.

    +

    The figure standing on the deck surveying the work of the + rest of the crew—presumably the captain—has a synthetic eye + rotating freely, 360 degrees in all directions, inside its + skull-like head; a bulky arm canon; and a thin robotic leg + terminating in a thick boot. Plasmic blasts arc through its + core, sometimes disrupting and glitching its ghostly body.

    +

    The captain raises its arm canon and shouts to the crew. + Its voice carried on the breeze sounds like something + otherworldly rising slowly from the murky deep. “Fire the + canon, boys! And fire up the balloons! Drop the ballast! That + crystal is ours!”

    +

    It happens very quickly: the ship ascends to the summit and + soon is firing grappling hooks at it to pull themselves in and + breach the walls of the hotel.

    +

    Bread looks at you, wide-eyed and trembling. They let loose + a pitiful wail and turn and start running up the steps. + “Bread!” Confidence yells after them. They cast a backward + glance at you. “I’ve got to help Bread! We’ve got to save the + hotel!” And they give chase to their fellow toque, bounding up + the cloudstuff steps.

    +

    WHAT DO YOU DO

    +

    www

    + ]]> +     +     47 dozens@tilde.team (dozens) @@ -458,208 +414,6 @@ ]]> - - 40 - dozens@tilde.team (dozens) - 40 - Sun, 27 Nov 2022 01:30:42 --0700 - Wed, 14 Dec 2022 05:41:15 -0700 - - 00040 -
    -

    As Blavin finished his afterthought about handing over the - crystal, a yelp was the only warning they heard before a young - waiter was suddenly half-sprawled over the hobbit, a tray of - ginger beers toppled from his hand and the mugs’ contents - splashed onto the hobbit’s front, though fortunately some of - it ended up in a large puddle on the ground rather than on - Blavin’s person. The waiter had tripped over a bag on the - floor on his way to the table two over from theirs and was - scrambling to his feet.

    -

    “By Nullar’s nuts, I— OH SH——!! S-s-sorry, sir! Hold on, - l-lemme get— uh—” the waiter looked around frantically. The - waitress who had brought their drinks rushed over with some - clean dry towels, a few of which she handed to the other - waiter, and they both proceeded to wipe and dab at Blavin’s - damp clothes amid the hapless waiter’s babbled apologies. - Under the cover of the towels, the waitress patted down the - hobbit’s vest and replaced the sheaf of papers she had - covertly lifted from one of the vest pockets earlier with a - beguiling smile and wink. Once the beer on the floor had been - cleaned up (the despondent young waiter had offered to pay for - Blavin’s next two rounds of drinks) and the waiters had moved - on to serve other customers, Inky spoke.

    -

    “You don’t mind that we prefer to deliver it to the - Benefactor personally, of course,” Inky piped cheerily, - referring to the crystal. “The late wizard thought it was - prudent to cover our bases since you’re a new, untested case - manager after all. Besides, a little delayed gratification - never hurt anybody, did it?” Inky smiled and raised their - drink. “Another toast in tribute to Master Corraidhín! May his - courage and buoyant spirit guide us on our next mission!”

    -

    ~

    -

    When Inky stepped out of the tavern and was a few paces - away, someone clattered through the door and called out, “Hey! - You forgot your takeout!”

    -

    Inky turned in the direction of the voice. It was the - waitress who had served their table earlier. She waved a brown - paper bag in one hand. Inky gave her an embarrassed smile and - said, “Thanks.” As the bag changed hands, the waitress mouthed - soundlessly, We’ll report any more. She went back - inside, and Inky strolled off into the cool night air with the - bag securely tucked away next to a tea pouch and a more - pressing question: what blend would go best with fried - tofurkey balls?

    -

    ~

    -

    (Meanwhile)

    -

    “The BANDit and his associates had gone to the tavern.” His - assistant looked up from the scrap of paper held under a - claw.

    -

    Beaker heaved a sigh and rubbed the tips of one wing - against his forehead. Surely he had better things to do than - play Eye Spy over a bunch of crackpots, such as peer reviewing - the latest draft of a paper on the development of Cerylidian - hunting techniques for an upcoming issue of The - Ichnition. But Cio seemed to think something may come of - it and unfortunately, she was usually right about - troublemakers.

    -

    “Tell them to continue tailing from a distance,” he replied - with a distracted wave, and his assistant left the room.

    -

    Anyway, if he had the spare time, he could look at more - interesting things, like the data he had collected surrounding - the disappearance of the time anomaly that had popped up a few - weeks ago. It had happened gradually, and he still wasn’t - entirely sure what had caused this particular incident, but - the signals picked up by his instruments had later faded, just - like other ones before it. Still, it was comparatively larger - than previous ones, and seemed to have taken slightly longer - to dissipate, which meant more data points.

    -

    He stole another glance at his Dat repositories before - sighing again, swivelling his chair and attention back to the - manuscript before him. Work first … then more work.

    -
    -

    ~

    -
    -

    The party dispersed after the discussion with Blavin. - Nobody had wanted to relinquish the crystal to him, personally - Alex felt that was prudent, though he still wasn’t sure what - the point of it all was. The foolish hobbit had blathered on - and on about their “mark” tactfully ignoring the real - questions. And then the bug, damn it, the bug that chittered - on about absolutely nothing for hours. It didn’t take Alex too - long to figure out why, but he clung to the transmission until - it died out hoping he’d be mistaken.

    -

    So there he sat, in the attic of his once Uncle, staring - bleakly into a cup of dark black coffee. The desk strewn with - hastily scratched notes pulled from the bugs feeds. At least - the one that had tracked that nosey group had proved somewhat - helpful. Turns out this little group has less friends than a - drunk who’s run up their tab.

    -

    Still, there’s no point to share any of this information. - It’s too loose, not definitive enough to action with the - group.

    -

    Alex begins to pen a message to an fellow operative, in - hopes that HQ will pick it up and assign someone to the - task.

    - 
    <- OP 2817 * LOC MB-A
--> OP 25120 * LOC ESPER
-
-CLEARANCE: SECRET
-PACKET ENCLOSED. YOUR EYES ONLY.
-
-REQUESTING DETAIL ON BLAVIN
-EMPLOY OF "THE BENEFACTOR"
-PERCEPTIVE, AWARE OF BUGS.
-DO NOT CONTACT, DO NOT DISRUPT
-EXTREME CAUTION IMPERATIVE.
    -

    Once penned Alex encrypts it with GPG and sends it along. - These channels have worked well for him in the past. If Blavin - wants to play games, then games we shall have.

    -

    “I hate to do this” Alex mumbles to himself. “Normally I’d - trail him myself, but I don’t think I have much say in the - matter.” As it stands the group is dead set on gathering more - of these cyrstals, regardless of what the danger may be, and - if Alex wants to find his Uncle, they’re his best bet in doing - so. Blavin doesn’t even matter outside of that. But if he can - help the group reach their end faster, or force the - information out of Blavin, perhaps it can come sooner..

    -

    Alex lets out another sigh and glances wistfully around the - gloomy attic room. It looked just like he remembered his - Uncle’s office looking like at the College of Sysorcerery when - he had taught there. He always was so particular. Pushing his - chair away and grabbing his coffee he wanders to the bookshelf - where a large steamer chest sits beside it. The bookshelf is - covered in manuscripts, “Practical Common Lisp”, “The C - Programming Language Vol 2”, “RHEL 5 Systems Administration”, - each one arcane and well worn. And the amount of volumes, - sometimes it’s a wonder Corraidhin had time to do anything - other than read.

    -

    “Maybe if I had been a little more studious I’d know how to - help you..” as he pulls “A Guide to Backups and All Things - Necessary” off of the shelf a knife falls out of the book, and - clatters onto the floor glaring malevolently up at Alex.

    -
    -

    Your gondola lift finally rises above the thick layer of - clouds. The sudden flash of clear blue sky is a revelation - after ascending for nearly 60 minutes through clouds so thick - you couldn’t see through the foggy windows more than three - feet. Above you towers rocky, imposing Kelsun Peak. You can - just see a tiny portion of the hotel roof through a cleft in - the rocks. Below you, a frozen turbulent ocean of clouds - dotted with twisting leaning spires and spiraling branching - towers, all made out of solid cloudstuff. Handiwork of the - whimsical and industrious zephynos.

    -

    You spot two or three of them now, leaping and diving - playfully through the clouds like dolphins, spinning the - clouds like yarn, and packing them into solid constructs. - Their current project resembles a garden of outlandish, - distorted tubas, french horns, and trombones.

    -

    The small cloud dragons are about 6 - 8 feet long including - their thick tails. They have wide faces with round lidless - eyes, and always seem to be smiling. Their heads are topped - with multiple pairs of filamented stalks. They have six short, - stubby arms with long thin fingers that they use to knead and - pull clouds into solid shapes.

    -

    They build ceaselessly and mostly for the sake of building: - they have no apparent need for the structures themselves, - living as they do floating among the clouds. On occasion they - have been entreated to build on behalf of others. And the rare - floating palace or city can still be found drifting around - Basmentaria as a result. The great city of Vay’Neddas—tethered - to the ground by great chains to Primora in the north and - Agendell in the south—is one of their greatest enduring - works.

    -

    You approach the gondola station at the base of Kelsun - Peak, and exit your cable car as it slowly rounds the - bullwheel. There are two toques—presumably meant to be - operating the lifts—standing off to the side, ignoring their - responsibilities, complaining loudly to nobody and everybody - about being forced to work long hours and being unfairly - compensated. The tips of their soft, conical heads slump - forward, calling to mind revolutionaries, or smurfs.

    -

    It is wicked cold as you step out onto the platform and the - wind nips and bites at you relentlessly.

    -

    At the edge of the platform, foggy white steps made of firm - cloudstuff climb up around the side of the mountain peak to - the Palace Runesocesius. Once the conspicuously extravagant - residence of one of Basmentaria’s most powerful politicians, - it has since—after its owner fell from public favor and was - routed out—been gutted and transformed into a luxury hotel of - equally conspicuous extravagance. It continues to be one of - the highest inhabitable places on Basmentaria.

    -

    Two small toques at the base of the steps rush forward to - meet you—the floppy tips of their coneheads waggling side to - side in their exuberance—and introduce themselves as - Confidence and Bread, your guides. They have been instructed - to guide you up to Runesocesius where you will take posession - of the Ginnarak Crystal.

    -

    WHAT DO YOU DO

    -

    www

    - ]]> -     -     43 dozens@tilde.team (dozens) @@ -771,6 +525,157 @@ EXTREME CAUTION IMPERATIVE. ]]> + + 41 + dozens@tilde.team (dozens) + 41 - Wed, 14 Dec 2022 17:50:38 +-0700 + Wed, 14 Dec 2022 17:50:44 -0700 + + 00041 +
    +

    Alex grips the encoded message he received in reply to his + last request firmly in his coat pocket. It was simple, curt, + impactful. “Trust no one”. Which begged the question, could + even it be trusted? Was HQ compromised? His informants in + danger? His allies and leads awash in the dark grey mist of + uncertainity. Or had his message been intercepted, cracked, + and a farsical response been sent in its place. Alex wasn’t + certain which, but the strange format and unusually speedy + response had him on edge.

    +

    This anxiety didn’t boil up to the surface, not a line of + worry or hint of the inner turbulence broke his cold blue + eyes. Outwardly he was just as composed as ever, but between + these uncertainties, the loss of his uncle, and now this + utterly strange dagger he’d found amongst his uncle’s + belongings, he wasn’t certain how long that composure would + last. It didn’t held that he felt this gnawing at the back of + his mind, as though something was probing, attempting to + communicate with him, somewhere between telepathy and utter + magic, and not in any sense that Alex understood.

    +

    And here he stood, a stranger amongst amidst his uncle’s + allies, and very little intention to change that situation at + the moment.

    +

    As the gondola touched down and the Toques rushed to greet + them Alex jumped blithely off the ship and onto firm, but + fluffy, ground. He cast a look around him at what appeared to + be an ordinary port of entry, noting the crowds of people + passing by. As the Toques arrived Alex spoke curtly to them, + “Who sends you to greet us, and where do you wish to take us, + and by what means do we travel?”. Short, cut, information + only. There’s too much unnerving in an unknown situation like + this.

    +
    +

    ~

    +
    +

    Inky greets the toques in turn politely, then turns to the + second toque and says, “A little bit of bread and no + cheese.”

    +
    +

    “Cheese?” Bread cocks their head looks at Inky with a touch + of embarrassment. They start patting at their pockets, + presumably looking for a morsel of cheese to share with the + travelers, but finding none. They groan miserably. Confidence + butts in apologetically, “There will be plenty of food at the + hotel if you want some! Some delicious fondue perhaps? Kelsun + Peak’s famous liquid gold!”

    +

    “Blavin Blandfoot arranged for us to meet you,” Bread + answers Alex. Confidence nods enthusiastically in agreement. + “But I suppose technically the hotelier sent us.” Bread points + up at the sky, in the general direction of the summit of + Kelsun Peak. “We are to escort you to Palace Runesocesius.” + They thumb over their shoulder in the general direction of the + stairs. “By way of the cloud steps. On foot.”

    +

    Confidence leans in close and lowers their voice. “A + Ginnarak Crystal! I can’t hardly believe it! Thought they had + all been lost to the ages. I hear it’s complete dumb random + luck that this one turned up. Story is, an aetherwael beached + itself on some wide zephynos boulevard. Happens sometimes. + Poor things can’t distinguish between clouds and cloudstuff. I + don’t blame ’em! At a distance, you and me can’t either! + Anyway, this aetherwael has got a harpoon stuck in its side. + Dratted poachers. May they all fall out of the sky and be + dashed to a thousand pieces on the rocks below. But it had a + harpoon in its side and was trailing behind it a float bag + tethered to the harpoon. And you probably already guessed what + was inside of it!” By the time Confidence finishes their brief + story, they are trembling and nearly breathless with + excitement.

    +

    “Anyway,” Bread interrupts their excited companion in an + attempt to restore decorum. Both of the toques have been + gently herding you toward the base of the stairs this whole + time. “You know how the zephynos are. You could give them all + the coin in Basmentaria, or something priceless like a + Ginnarak Crystal, and they’d just as quickly misplace it out + of carelessness. If it’s not a cloud they can sculpt into the + shape of seussomorph or the likeness of some fantasy creature, + they just don’t give a fig. Luckily the hotelier caught wind + of the aetherwael and found out about the crystal before they + managed to lose it, or bury it inside of a sculpture or + something silly! He has it safe and sound in the library up at + Runesocesius now.” Bread climbs the first step, his foot + sinking barely a centimeter into wispy cloud before striking + the solid cloudstuff. “Come! The hotelier will be very excited + to greet you!”

    +

    WHAT DO YOU DO

    +

    www

    + ]]> +     +     + + 44 + dozens@tilde.team (dozens) + 44 - Tue, 20 Dec 2022 08:47:08 +-0700 + Tue, 20 Dec 2022 08:47:11 -0700 + + 00044 +
    +

    As Alex spots the sunspoke valve he grabs it and cranks it + up to the 2/3 mark. “Sorry little friend, we’re going to need + a little bit more juice”. The baloon lurches upwards as air + rushes in feeding the sunspoke, causing it to burn more + intensely. After setting the sunspoke ablaze and shouting back + to the balloon’s owner Alex takes account of his surroundings. + It’s during this time he spots the bloodied, moving blankets. + They seem to writhe, as though something beneath them is + injured.

    +

    Gripping the dagger firmly in one hand Alex grabs the + blankets from the corner of the balloon basket revealing + whatever lay beneath.

    +
    +

    The sunspoke stretches its little arms and wriggles its + little fingers. It sighs happily, luxuriating in the extra + fuel. It burns twice as bright, shooting a hot jet of bright + yellow flame up into the parachute. The sunspoke starts to + glow a molten red, and you start to rise faster.

    +

    As you rise up over the peak, you can finally spot the + Runesocesius. The grand hotel is draped over the top of the + mountain, clinging to it like a dragon resting on its + hoard.

    +

    The “cyberplasms” as Confidence called them have docked to + the side of a tower on the other side of the peak from you. + They have shot a large hole in the side of the tower, and you + can see them now starting to zipline into the building. A + thick plume of black smoke billows out of the side of the + tower, carrying pages and pages of loose paper into the air + with it. They rain down like snow. The tower must house an + extensive library.

    +

    You cautiously pull back a corner of the bloody blankets, + jeweled dagger raised and ready to strike. You reveal a small + bloody furry blob. You see two big round eyes, a short-snouted + face, and enormous pointed ears. It quickly looks away from + you, chirps pathetically, and trembles as it cowers in place. + You have found a frightened hemogoblin stowaway!

    +

    WHAT DO YOU DO

    +

    www

    + ]]> +     +     48 dozens@tilde.team (dozens) @@ -1216,203 +1121,298 @@ EXTREME CAUTION IMPERATIVE. - 44 + 40 dozens@tilde.team (dozens) - 44 - Tue, 20 Dec 2022 08:47:08 + 40 - Sun, 27 Nov 2022 01:30:42 -0700 - Tue, 20 Dec 2022 08:47:11 -0700 + Wed, 14 Dec 2022 05:41:15 -0700 00044 +

    00040

    -

    As Alex spots the sunspoke valve he grabs it and cranks it - up to the 2/3 mark. “Sorry little friend, we’re going to need - a little bit more juice”. The baloon lurches upwards as air - rushes in feeding the sunspoke, causing it to burn more - intensely. After setting the sunspoke ablaze and shouting back - to the balloon’s owner Alex takes account of his surroundings. - It’s during this time he spots the bloodied, moving blankets. - They seem to writhe, as though something beneath them is - injured.

    -

    Gripping the dagger firmly in one hand Alex grabs the - blankets from the corner of the balloon basket revealing - whatever lay beneath.

    +

    As Blavin finished his afterthought about handing over the + crystal, a yelp was the only warning they heard before a young + waiter was suddenly half-sprawled over the hobbit, a tray of + ginger beers toppled from his hand and the mugs’ contents + splashed onto the hobbit’s front, though fortunately some of + it ended up in a large puddle on the ground rather than on + Blavin’s person. The waiter had tripped over a bag on the + floor on his way to the table two over from theirs and was + scrambling to his feet.

    +

    “By Nullar’s nuts, I— OH SH——!! S-s-sorry, sir! Hold on, + l-lemme get— uh—” the waiter looked around frantically. The + waitress who had brought their drinks rushed over with some + clean dry towels, a few of which she handed to the other + waiter, and they both proceeded to wipe and dab at Blavin’s + damp clothes amid the hapless waiter’s babbled apologies. + Under the cover of the towels, the waitress patted down the + hobbit’s vest and replaced the sheaf of papers she had + covertly lifted from one of the vest pockets earlier with a + beguiling smile and wink. Once the beer on the floor had been + cleaned up (the despondent young waiter had offered to pay for + Blavin’s next two rounds of drinks) and the waiters had moved + on to serve other customers, Inky spoke.

    +

    “You don’t mind that we prefer to deliver it to the + Benefactor personally, of course,” Inky piped cheerily, + referring to the crystal. “The late wizard thought it was + prudent to cover our bases since you’re a new, untested case + manager after all. Besides, a little delayed gratification + never hurt anybody, did it?” Inky smiled and raised their + drink. “Another toast in tribute to Master Corraidhín! May his + courage and buoyant spirit guide us on our next mission!”

    +

    ~

    +

    When Inky stepped out of the tavern and was a few paces + away, someone clattered through the door and called out, “Hey! + You forgot your takeout!”

    +

    Inky turned in the direction of the voice. It was the + waitress who had served their table earlier. She waved a brown + paper bag in one hand. Inky gave her an embarrassed smile and + said, “Thanks.” As the bag changed hands, the waitress mouthed + soundlessly, We’ll report any more. She went back + inside, and Inky strolled off into the cool night air with the + bag securely tucked away next to a tea pouch and a more + pressing question: what blend would go best with fried + tofurkey balls?

    +

    ~

    +

    (Meanwhile)

    +

    “The BANDit and his associates had gone to the tavern.” His + assistant looked up from the scrap of paper held under a + claw.

    +

    Beaker heaved a sigh and rubbed the tips of one wing + against his forehead. Surely he had better things to do than + play Eye Spy over a bunch of crackpots, such as peer reviewing + the latest draft of a paper on the development of Cerylidian + hunting techniques for an upcoming issue of The + Ichnition. But Cio seemed to think something may come of + it and unfortunately, she was usually right about + troublemakers.

    +

    “Tell them to continue tailing from a distance,” he replied + with a distracted wave, and his assistant left the room.

    +

    Anyway, if he had the spare time, he could look at more + interesting things, like the data he had collected surrounding + the disappearance of the time anomaly that had popped up a few + weeks ago. It had happened gradually, and he still wasn’t + entirely sure what had caused this particular incident, but + the signals picked up by his instruments had later faded, just + like other ones before it. Still, it was comparatively larger + than previous ones, and seemed to have taken slightly longer + to dissipate, which meant more data points.

    +

    He stole another glance at his Dat repositories before + sighing again, swivelling his chair and attention back to the + manuscript before him. Work first … then more work.

    -

    The sunspoke stretches its little arms and wriggles its - little fingers. It sighs happily, luxuriating in the extra - fuel. It burns twice as bright, shooting a hot jet of bright - yellow flame up into the parachute. The sunspoke starts to - glow a molten red, and you start to rise faster.

    -

    As you rise up over the peak, you can finally spot the - Runesocesius. The grand hotel is draped over the top of the - mountain, clinging to it like a dragon resting on its - hoard.

    -

    The “cyberplasms” as Confidence called them have docked to - the side of a tower on the other side of the peak from you. - They have shot a large hole in the side of the tower, and you - can see them now starting to zipline into the building. A - thick plume of black smoke billows out of the side of the - tower, carrying pages and pages of loose paper into the air - with it. They rain down like snow. The tower must house an - extensive library.

    -

    You cautiously pull back a corner of the bloody blankets, - jeweled dagger raised and ready to strike. You reveal a small - bloody furry blob. You see two big round eyes, a short-snouted - face, and enormous pointed ears. It quickly looks away from - you, chirps pathetically, and trembles as it cowers in place. - You have found a frightened hemogoblin stowaway!

    +

    ~

    +
    +

    The party dispersed after the discussion with Blavin. + Nobody had wanted to relinquish the crystal to him, personally + Alex felt that was prudent, though he still wasn’t sure what + the point of it all was. The foolish hobbit had blathered on + and on about their “mark” tactfully ignoring the real + questions. And then the bug, damn it, the bug that chittered + on about absolutely nothing for hours. It didn’t take Alex too + long to figure out why, but he clung to the transmission until + it died out hoping he’d be mistaken.

    +

    So there he sat, in the attic of his once Uncle, staring + bleakly into a cup of dark black coffee. The desk strewn with + hastily scratched notes pulled from the bugs feeds. At least + the one that had tracked that nosey group had proved somewhat + helpful. Turns out this little group has less friends than a + drunk who’s run up their tab.

    +

    Still, there’s no point to share any of this information. + It’s too loose, not definitive enough to action with the + group.

    +

    Alex begins to pen a message to an fellow operative, in + hopes that HQ will pick it up and assign someone to the + task.

    + 
    <- OP 2817 * LOC MB-A
+-> OP 25120 * LOC ESPER
+
+CLEARANCE: SECRET
+PACKET ENCLOSED. YOUR EYES ONLY.
+
+REQUESTING DETAIL ON BLAVIN
+EMPLOY OF "THE BENEFACTOR"
+PERCEPTIVE, AWARE OF BUGS.
+DO NOT CONTACT, DO NOT DISRUPT
+EXTREME CAUTION IMPERATIVE.
    +

    Once penned Alex encrypts it with GPG and sends it along. + These channels have worked well for him in the past. If Blavin + wants to play games, then games we shall have.

    +

    “I hate to do this” Alex mumbles to himself. “Normally I’d + trail him myself, but I don’t think I have much say in the + matter.” As it stands the group is dead set on gathering more + of these cyrstals, regardless of what the danger may be, and + if Alex wants to find his Uncle, they’re his best bet in doing + so. Blavin doesn’t even matter outside of that. But if he can + help the group reach their end faster, or force the + information out of Blavin, perhaps it can come sooner..

    +

    Alex lets out another sigh and glances wistfully around the + gloomy attic room. It looked just like he remembered his + Uncle’s office looking like at the College of Sysorcerery when + he had taught there. He always was so particular. Pushing his + chair away and grabbing his coffee he wanders to the bookshelf + where a large steamer chest sits beside it. The bookshelf is + covered in manuscripts, “Practical Common Lisp”, “The C + Programming Language Vol 2”, “RHEL 5 Systems Administration”, + each one arcane and well worn. And the amount of volumes, + sometimes it’s a wonder Corraidhin had time to do anything + other than read.

    +

    “Maybe if I had been a little more studious I’d know how to + help you..” as he pulls “A Guide to Backups and All Things + Necessary” off of the shelf a knife falls out of the book, and + clatters onto the floor glaring malevolently up at Alex.

    +
    +

    Your gondola lift finally rises above the thick layer of + clouds. The sudden flash of clear blue sky is a revelation + after ascending for nearly 60 minutes through clouds so thick + you couldn’t see through the foggy windows more than three + feet. Above you towers rocky, imposing Kelsun Peak. You can + just see a tiny portion of the hotel roof through a cleft in + the rocks. Below you, a frozen turbulent ocean of clouds + dotted with twisting leaning spires and spiraling branching + towers, all made out of solid cloudstuff. Handiwork of the + whimsical and industrious zephynos.

    +

    You spot two or three of them now, leaping and diving + playfully through the clouds like dolphins, spinning the + clouds like yarn, and packing them into solid constructs. + Their current project resembles a garden of outlandish, + distorted tubas, french horns, and trombones.

    +

    The small cloud dragons are about 6 - 8 feet long including + their thick tails. They have wide faces with round lidless + eyes, and always seem to be smiling. Their heads are topped + with multiple pairs of filamented stalks. They have six short, + stubby arms with long thin fingers that they use to knead and + pull clouds into solid shapes.

    +

    They build ceaselessly and mostly for the sake of building: + they have no apparent need for the structures themselves, + living as they do floating among the clouds. On occasion they + have been entreated to build on behalf of others. And the rare + floating palace or city can still be found drifting around + Basmentaria as a result. The great city of Vay’Neddas—tethered + to the ground by great chains to Primora in the north and + Agendell in the south—is one of their greatest enduring + works.

    +

    You approach the gondola station at the base of Kelsun + Peak, and exit your cable car as it slowly rounds the + bullwheel. There are two toques—presumably meant to be + operating the lifts—standing off to the side, ignoring their + responsibilities, complaining loudly to nobody and everybody + about being forced to work long hours and being unfairly + compensated. The tips of their soft, conical heads slump + forward, calling to mind revolutionaries, or smurfs.

    +

    It is wicked cold as you step out onto the platform and the + wind nips and bites at you relentlessly.

    +

    At the edge of the platform, foggy white steps made of firm + cloudstuff climb up around the side of the mountain peak to + the Palace Runesocesius. Once the conspicuously extravagant + residence of one of Basmentaria’s most powerful politicians, + it has since—after its owner fell from public favor and was + routed out—been gutted and transformed into a luxury hotel of + equally conspicuous extravagance. It continues to be one of + the highest inhabitable places on Basmentaria.

    +

    Two small toques at the base of the steps rush forward to + meet you—the floppy tips of their coneheads waggling side to + side in their exuberance—and introduce themselves as + Confidence and Bread, your guides. They have been instructed + to guide you up to Runesocesius where you will take posession + of the Ginnarak Crystal.

    WHAT DO YOU DO

    www

    + href="https://framalistes.org/sympa/arc/tildepals/2022-12/msg00186.html">www

    ]]>     - 42 + 45 dozens@tilde.team (dozens) - 42 - Sat, 17 Dec 2022 08:01:41 + 45 - Tue, 20 Dec 2022 10:15:23 -0700 - Sat, 17 Dec 2022 08:01:48 -0700 + Thu, 22 Dec 2022 09:29:11 -0700 00042 +

    00045

    -

    This seems a bit strange. Certainly Blavin has been pulling - strings from behind the scenes the whole time, but why - coordinate a special escort for us when there are other - retrieval teams, and we’ve been less than amicable with the - bloke the entire time.. Alex thinks to himself.

    -

    DM: I’d like to check for any signs of deceit in the - toques demeanor or communcations with us

    -

    Confidence you said right? What would you do if I simply - chose not to accompany you? I mean, there’s a whole city - around us, perhaps I’d prefer a drink before climbing a - mountains worth of stairs. Or better yet, I could get back on - the boat and ride to the top and same myself the hassle.

    +

    As the blankets draw back from the bloody mass, a cute + little hemogoblin appears. “Aww little fellas just scared.” + Alex lowers the dagger, but otherwise ignores the hemogoblin. + Best to leave it be for now, there’s more important + things.

    +

    As the balloon gets within range of the ship Alex begins to + scan the deck for Cyberplasms. At the same time he checks his + bug to track the location of the cyberplasms more acutely. It + looks like there may be an opporunity to jump from the balloon + to the ship. After that cutting the zip lines would give me + the opporunity to steal the ship, leaving the cyberplasms + trapped at the top of the hotel.

    -

    Bread once again looks confused. Confidence looks - surprised, caught off guard.

    - -

    Confidence sputters, “Well, yes, of course. You’ve been - traveling for some time now, haven’t you? I can assure you - that the food and drink at Runesocesius will be better than - anything you can get here! But the choice is entirely yours. - Feel free to avail yourself of the local offerings. We will - wait here at the steps for you.”

    -

    Bread nods slowly, and seems to trailing behind the - conversation just a second or two.

    -

    Their reactions seem genuine to you despite the - circumstances. They seem like a couple of low level employees - of a luxury hotel earnestly trying to follow the instructions - they’ve been given.

    -

    There are a couple of stalls and vendors set up around the - gondola station. Many of them serve mulled wine and hot - chocolate. There is some edible fare. Hot sandwiches and - pitas. Nothing that an empanada from Enrique’s wouldn’t put to - shame. But they look hot and steamy, and of great comfort to - anybody who might be hungry and cold. There are a few fire - pits, next to which there are long benches with blankets, - where you might sit and warm up for a bit.

    -

    The gondola lift ends here, and does not continue up to the - mountain any further. The cloud steps are the most common way - to get up to the peak, and to the Runesocesius. But you’re - pretty sure one or two of the stalls here offers balloon rides - up to the peak for thrill seekers and for those with - accessibility needs.

    +

    Just a few Cyberplasms remain on the deck of the airship. + The vast majority of them have zipped into the hotel + tower.

    +

    You check your bug’s feed. It has gone almost entirely + unnoticed in the fracas, and you are able to piece together a + clear picture of the inside of the tower. It is indeed a grand + library, its galleries spanning each floor of the tower. One + of the largest collections in all of Basmentaria.

    +

    The Cyberplasms have breached the tower near its base and + are pouring into the Great Hall. You tune in just in time to + see a rail-thin, bald and mustachioed man standing defensively + in front of a display case. “No! You can’t!” he exclaims as a + disembodied sickle approaches him in a cloud of electricity + and ectoplasm.

    +

    Behind the glass in the display case is a bluish hunk of + rock the size of a melon, with gently pulsing gold veins.

    -

    “I think you already know I’m interested in neither bread - nor cheese, the second of which I certainly did not ask for - yet you tried to offer in your hasty pretence.” Inky smiles - thinly at the toques.

    -

    Taking out a small bag of gold coins and weighing it slowly - on one hand to the sound of coins clinking inside the pouch, - Inky continues, “Speak, answer our questions frankly and you - will be rewarded. The hotelier up there need not know. Breathe - a word of our little chat to another soul, however …” Inky’s - gaze cut briefly to four snow ravens perched atop a spiral - lamp post and back, “and you will learn the meaning of - disappearing without a trace.”

    +

    Inky puts away the papers they caught in passing or picked + up along the path up to read later, including a number that + from a cursory glance appear to be from a culinary collection + and a few from some moth-eaten but finely illustrated + botanical tome, among others.

    +

    Eventually arriving at the hotel entrance, Inky enters and + manages to catch a frantic-looking attendant near the + reception to ask the whereabouts of the hotelier, indicating + they had a business appointment with said manager.

    -

    Bread looks confused. You are starting to believe it is - their default expression. “So, you don’t want no - chee—”

    -

    “Our only desire is to help!” Confidence hastily - interrupts. He smiles pleasingly. “We are your guides! Not - just physically up the steps, but in all things here on Kelsun - Peak. You have but to ask, and if it is within our power to - give it, it will be yours! We are but humble ser—”

    -

    And just then Confidence is also suddenly interrupted. A - thundering boom like a canon sounds from somewhere nearby, - followed quickly by an explosion somewhere up above. Snow - ravens fly off in all directions in a panic. The sound ripples - through the mountaintop, rattling the ground on which you - stand. A bunch of small rocks and two large boulders shake - loose from the mountainside. Shoppers and travelers shout and - duck for cover as they are pelted by the scree. One of the - large boulder bounces clear over the station and plummets down - the side of the mountain before disappearing into the cloud - ocean below. The second one falls straight toward the - platform. A vendor selling wreaths and candles dives out of - the way as his stall is crushed by the boulder. A bench is - toppled over, spilling its blankets into the fire pit, and - catches fire, quickly spreading to another nearby stall.

    -

    Bread looks up at the sky, confused. You see a thin line of - black smoke starting to rise up into the sky from over the - ridge where the Runesocesius lies. Confidence shouts, and you - see him pointing at the sea, where a balloonship is rising up - out of the cloud bank, sailing quickly toward you and the - summit of Kelsun Peak.

    -

    It resembles a seafaring ship, but instead of masts and - sails, it has two large, colorful, patchwork balloons that - provide it lift. A large fan on a pivot at the rear of the - ship provides thrust. As you watch, it fires a second - canon—that is what the sound was!—nearly straight up, - arcing up and over the peak at Palace Runesocesius.

    -

    The crew of the ship bustle around on the deck of the ship, - reloading the canons, firing the balloons, shouting, giving - and following orders.

    -

    “Cyberplasms,” groans Confidence, and Bread whimpers. Alex, - that quiet, dull, static roar that has been constantly - tickling the back of your head ever since you found that - dagger seems to rise in pitch and in tone. It conveys a sense - of urgency, of warning. You can almost hear a - desperate voice behind the static fuzz cautioning you, - “Evil…”

    -

    The only corporeal element of the crew are their cybernetic - enhancements. A mechanical leg. A synthetic eye. A claw, a - hook, a hand. An arm canon. Almost all of them have more than - one, some as many as 3 or 5. The cybernetic pieces of each - individual crew member are held together by plasmic energy - arcs, crackling blue and green. And surrounding the bioware - and the plasmic arcs of each crew member, like a blanket or a - cocoon, is the translucent, wavering, ghostly form of some - humanoid long-dead.

    -

    The figure standing on the deck surveying the work of the - rest of the crew—presumably the captain—has a synthetic eye - rotating freely, 360 degrees in all directions, inside its - skull-like head; a bulky arm canon; and a thin robotic leg - terminating in a thick boot. Plasmic blasts arc through its - core, sometimes disrupting and glitching its ghostly body.

    -

    The captain raises its arm canon and shouts to the crew. - Its voice carried on the breeze sounds like something - otherworldly rising slowly from the murky deep. “Fire the - canon, boys! And fire up the balloons! Drop the ballast! That - crystal is ours!”

    -

    It happens very quickly: the ship ascends to the summit and - soon is firing grappling hooks at it to pull themselves in and - breach the walls of the hotel.

    -

    Bread looks at you, wide-eyed and trembling. They let loose - a pitiful wail and turn and start running up the steps. - “Bread!” Confidence yells after them. They cast a backward - glance at you. “I’ve got to help Bread! We’ve got to save the - hotel!” And they give chase to their fellow toque, bounding up - the cloudstuff steps.

    +

    You walk in through the hotel’s main entrance. The grandeur + would take your breath away were it not for the shouting and + the smoke and the explosions coming from down the hall to your + right.

    +

    You wave down a passing hotel clerk and inquire after the + hotelier. They are hauling a large bucket of hot water, and + carrying an oversized bundle of clean towels under one arm. + They pause for a moment to look at you incredulously before + running off in the opposite direction.

    +

    A cry rings out nearby and a Cyberplasm flies through an + open door down the hallway. It lands in a heap of crackling + energy, smears of ectoplasm streaking the floor as though it + were bleeding heavily. It seems to be barely held together by + the energy stored in its cybernetic leg and a metal skull + plate.

    +

    It scoots backwards on its hands and its butt, trying to + stand up. Two toques leap out of the door after it. You + recognize Bread and Confidence right away.

    +

    Bread has obviously been to the kitchens. They are wearing + tin baking sheets and an oversized pot on their heard as + makeshift armor, and have a couple of dangerous looking + kitchen knives hanging from their belt. At the moment they are + swinging a large meat tenderizer over their head as though it + were a war hammer.

    +

    Confidence, meanwhile, has been to the gardener’s shed. + They are wearing a heavy leather apron and thick leather + gloves, and have a trowel in each hand, and a large hoe or + rake strapped to their back.

    +

    Bread lowers their hammer on Cyberplasms head, denting the + skull plate. And Confidence darts in and stabs with both hands + at the leg. As soon as the prosthetics go offline and the + plasmic arcs cease firing, there is nothing left holding the + ectoplasm together and the ghost kind of dissipates into the + air with a soft wail.

    +

    They look up and notice you at the same time, relaxing + their offensive stances. “Oh!” cries Bread. “It’s you!”

    +

    “You don’t happen,” asks Confidence, “to need a guide, do + you?”

    WHAT DO YOU DO

    www

    + href="https://framalistes.org/sympa/arc/tildepals/2022-12/msg00227.html">www

    ]]>     diff --git a/www/spoilers.html b/www/spoilers.html index 6b12451..6913587 100644 --- a/www/spoilers.html +++ b/www/spoilers.html @@ -329,10 +329,33 @@ of the Were-Hare
  • Acknowledgements
  • Afterword
    • +
  • Appendix A: Barefoot Quackery +

    • Stats

    -

    Total length: 47248 words / 201 minute read. (Mind you, that’s the +

    Total length: 51977 words / 222 minute read. (Mind you, that’s the length of this entire page, including all the extra bits and bobs. Not just the story.)

    There have been 171 messages posted over 169 days since the first @@ -5975,5 +5998,491 @@ document to just abruptly end. So here you go: a kind farewell and a more gentle conclusion.

    Thanks for reading.

    dozens@tilde.team

    +

    Appendix A: Barefoot Quackery

    +

    Being apocryphal and supplemental material posted to the Barefoot +Quackery thread on tildepals, including depictions of loose pages +torn from books of the Runesocesius Library, and original fictions and +other diversions, and more.

    +

    Cease and Desist

    +
    +

    To: durrendal
    +From: LABATT
    +Subject: Cease and Desist Order

    +

    To whom it may concern:

    +

    It has recently come to our attention that a personhood has withheld +important document(s) which affect the structural nature of a sensitive +publication, namely the [REDACTED] zine.

    +

    Please cease and desist immediately. You may comply with this order +by submitting the aforementioned document(s) to the designated drop-off +point as instructed on the imprint accompanying your submission form by +midnight Coordinated Basmentaric Time (BTC) of Day 22 of Member 12 in +the year 2202.

    +

    Continued infringement represents an escalation and will result in +sanctions, including but not withstanding a remote cursery execution +(RCE) on your monitoring and calendar infrastructure.

    +

    We reserve the right to pursue other corrective actions through +temporally-attuned means to protect the release timeline integrity of +key cultural assets.

    +

    Sincerely,

    +

    Luminati Association of Bears as Time Travellers (LABATT)

    +
    +
    +
    +

    Dear sir and/or madame and/or bear and/or time travel NSA agent,

    +

    We’ve read your cease and desist, and while we understand its intent, +we’re unable at this time to comply, not through any inability of our +own, but rather through our inability to stop writing run on sentence; +you see we never truly learned how to grammar goodly and now we just go +on and on, ad nauseum, so on and so forth; truly it is a depressing and +persistent problem, if we were ever to find the correct punctuation to +prevent these run ons from happening we might be able to cease, +potentially even desist, but probably both at the same time, or neither +all at once, we’re really uncertain at this point; all that is know is +that nothing is truly known once you’ve gone this far down the +grammartical, and metaphorical, rabbit hole; to speak metaphorically +that is on a subject that is somewhat subjectively objective while +simultaneously being an objective objection to your subjective summation +of our grevious misgivings, truly one must infer that the meaning of +these metaphoric subjectively objective objections are subjective in +their own right, potentially reaching the height of metaphysical +incanatation; one could say this run on sentence is one giant +invocation, a charm of warding against cease and desist notices, to +protect the poor photographer from his abject abandonment of his own +promises; though some may object to my absolute misuse of proper +punctuation and grammar to the point where said people stopped reading +long again and began readying pitchforks and torches, likely they’re on +their way to Maine now ready to burn my witchy incantating self for the +hum dinger of a grammatical curse I sit here writing, but to these +people I say NAY, nay sir I object to your cease and desist, and to +their objection to this abject horror of a sentence, and I abject my +throne as well, for you know I once was a king, not a very rich king, +but a king in my own right; why yes, indeed I was, king of stream of +concious ramblings without respect for grammar, punctuation, or any of +that high falootin nonsense that the yonder rich kings hold dear, and +which I hold to be a dreadful and dire curse upon us all, but with that +I really must bid you Good Day madame, though let this not be an ending, +but the begining of a wonderful and delightful sort of cease and desist +based relationship,

    +
    +
    +
    +

    To: durrendal
    +From: LABATT
    +Subject: Re: Cease and Desist Order [#20221221-1946]

    +

    To whom it may concern:

    +

    Please be advised that any evidence you provided in your response may +be used against you in the event an injunction is filed against your +personhood should you fail to comply with the order. This includes any +admission of culpability or liability stemming from failure to submit +the aforementioned document(s) in a timely manner.

    +

    LABATT is a renowned non-profit organisation dedicated to the +preservation of historical continuity of cultural works in the fabric of +space-time. We deplore the designation of “NSA agent” and invite you to +learn more about our mission and vision on our website and free seminars +one of our offices across Basmentaria.

    +

    Sincerely,

    +

    Luminati Association of Bears as Time Travellers (LABATT)

    +
    +

    On the Origins of Santa +Claws

    +

    125

    +

    On the Origins of Santa Claws

    +

    Maximus N. Grinchescu

    +

    It should heretofore be common knowledge that the Santa Claws of +present day is the stuff of fantasy and make-believe, a story fabricated +on the spur of the moment by some exasperated mother who could not for +the life of her induce her children to behave. The very notion of reward +in the form of toys and presents, or punishment in the lack thereof of +aforementioned items, is no doubt appealing to many parents who are +themselves motivated similarly and thus can only appeal to their +offspring at the most superficial level. The lifelong goal in the +pursuit of consumption has been drummed into these unfortunate +children’s heads from a young age, with thinly-veiled threats of a +thorough mauling for those who dare to deviate from the well— and truly +down— trodden path. It is the means by which the cycle of ignorance and +conceit perpetuates among the unwashed masses — young mops bragging +about having the largest present under the tree, to become adults +boasting of receiving the most expensive gifts from a spouse or +ever-widening court of suitors. The myth of Santa Claws is a gross +distortion of facts disguised as a moralistic narrative that promotes +annually renewing contracts of obedience in exchange for short-term +material gains. Astonishingly, nary a word of doubt would be heard from +the parents on the merits of accepting gifts from an obsessive stranger +who prowls the streets at night watching their children sleep, in +addition to claiming knowledge of the children’s every move rivalling +their own.

    +

    It is regrettable that the image of Santa Claws in the eyes of many +has been reduced to that of a jolly dangerous delivery worker. Little do +they know that the real Santa Claws came from a long line of frockin — +wandering folk who don a cassock and dedicate their lives to aiding the +hungry, desperate and needy. On occasions for gifts, they gave to all +regardless of whether they were perceived by friend or foe of the +recipients to be good or evil, for such is the willingness of the +frockin to set aside their quarrels on the Day of Bountiful Blessings. +They travel across Basmentaria in fortles which house a multitude of +rooms and supplies required to sustain their livelihoods. Inside the +fortles were workshops in which carpenters, woodworkers, drafters, +tailors, various craftspeople as well as farmers and cooks plied their +skills.

    +

    One frockin in particular became known for rescuing ransomed young +maidens and poor indentured servants who faced torture by the oil vat at +the hands of cruel employers in the nick of time that they became known +as Nick, Blessed of Neddas, or Nick of Mairas as they gained grateful +followers and admirers. Despite this, the frockin was modest in manner +and rarely took credit for their acts of generosity. Because of this +trait and the loss of the few, limited first-hand accounts of those with +close dealings with the frockin in a fire shortly before they assumed +the care and upkeep of a pair of fortles, little is known of their +childhood circumstances or early life. Enrolment records at an +vocational institution in Vay’Neddas confirmed that they studied for +several years in the city, and inherited their uncle’s position of +managing the activities within the fortles sometime after their return. +Other historical biographers contend the frockin’s name was in fact +Nikolas Klaus, which later became Claws in children’s stories as to make +them most palatable to impressionable young readers.

    +

    Questions as to the nature of their appearance are generally of +little import save for lining the pockets of picture book publishers and +mass producers of wax figure collectibles. Those who have had the +fortune to glimpse their person described a wizened countenance of long +hair, fulsome beard and whiskers gleaming white and silver, amid which +nestled a pair of warm amber eyes, a nose slightly rosy from the cold +and an affable smile. A genial face rested atop a large stocky frame, as +was common among those with the blood and strength of noble mountain +lions. As in the period of their ancestors, they wore a dark

    +
    +

    126

    +

    brown cloak with a hood over their cassock to ward against the cold +weather, though this changed after one occasion when they narrowly +avoided being run over by a semi-autonomous cart. The abominable thing +had zipped by in front of Santa at a beard’s distance away as they +emerged on the roof of a house through its chimney.

    +

    At this juncture it should be duly noted that the idea of Santa Claws +typically making their entrance into homes by clambering down chimneys, +even preferring it as a method of entry, is as preposterous as the +worthless rags that circulated such claims. No one of sound mind would +shimmy through filthy, narrow, often half-crumbling chutes — carrying a +large sack, no less — if they could safely enter through the front door. +For the latter was exactly what Santa and their predecessors did, and +still do to this day in some villages, in a time when people were less +leery of their neighbours and either left their doors unlocked, or +placed a spare key under the doormat so the household next door could +tend to the plants or the children’s pepper pigs while they visited +relatives farther away.

    +

    According to a later account by one of the crew on Santa’s fleet, +translated and transcribed for the frockins’ annals by a chronicler, +what had actually transpired was this: on that night while nearing the +end of their rounds, Santa found signs of flooding at one of the houses +pointing to a burst pipe, the water having seeped out under the front +door and turned to ice in the frigid temperatures. Tender of heart, +Santa retrieved their fleet repair kit that was kept for emergencies and +ventured into the house to repair the broken pipe, in lieu of simply +leaving the presents outside on a stump where a tree once stood and +riding on. It was then that an obstacle presented itself. The house +owners, having gone away for the holidays, had a magical apparatus set +on the door that would raise an alarm and curse if opened by an +intruder. No house key was found under the mat after defrosting the ice +over it enough to pull off the cover. The windows were likewise sealed +shut and latched. This ultimately necessitated Santa entering and +leaving through the chimney. Doubtless some fool stumbled upon the +moment Santa exited the chimney opening, nearly flattened by the aerial +hazard of a self-navigating cart, and got it into their head that Santa +Claws was one for chimney-climbing as sport.

    +

    When the good Mrs. Claws found out about the near mishap, they were +so worried about their partner venturing out on missions that as a +precaution, they had Santa promise to wear a bright red outfit for such +occasions. The thick overcoat had a white faux fur trim that reflected +the moons’ light, matching hat and trousers and a shining gold belt +buckle so that the carts’ sensors can sight him even on the darkest +nights. Completing the outfit were gloves with open seams at the base of +each finger to reveal their claws without taking off the gloves +completely. The whole ensemble was made by Mrs. Claws themselves, and it +was said they had gotten the inspiration for the white trimmings from +their partner’s flowing mane. Members of the fleet were also offered a +similar change in clothing and the flying multibeast was re-painted in +accordance with the new colours that are now festooned in the streets +and shops all over Basmentaria each year as the Day of Bountiful +Blessings draws near.

    +

    A brief word on the aforementioned fleet: much remains unconfirmed +about the origins or evolution of the transport employed by Santa Claws +to cover long distances, and the arcana that powers the current fleet +remains a subject of heated speculation. Based on surviving annals that +were once on public display, before the twin fortles vanished one night +were never seen again, it is generally thought that the earliest fleets +were small fortles guided by a crew of twelve members excluding Santa +Claws. In time the fortles were retired and replaced with aerial +multibeasts for lighter weight and potential for greater velocity. +Contrary to popular jingles, the multibeast is not pulled by reindeer, +which are neither known for speed nor stamina, but are headed by rain +horses specially raised for both as as well their ability to withstand +much of

    +

    Sunrise over Kelsun Peak

    +
    that night we ride up the mountain
+deep within a Saldin Sea of mist
+our way up becomes cloudy, uncertain
+crying, heavy air turns to water
+the cage starts to shudder and shake,
+a venerable old man in a seizure
+
+you clung to my arm as a bear cub
+to its mother in the darkness,
+the lone candle snuffed out in a huff
+of a petulant wind throwing a tantrum
+I grip the handle hard enough,
+vowing to be strong for both of us
+
+when we are called from fitful slumber
+by twin rays of warming distant light
+promising more, brother and sister
+a cold breakfast or a hot chocolate
+lastly and first, the sight of you
+eyes open, hair tousled, immaculate
+
+the rusty gondola creaks a little
+under our combined weight, groaning
+at our youthfully excessive flair
+but we did not care, with our hearts
+facing the sun, far lighter as one
+than the corporeal sum of its parts
+
+a new day breaks, yolk radiant orange
+reveal the finest tempera brushed over
+neat rows of tea plants at the grange
+a gleaming dewdrop at the tip of a leaf,
+we dangle on the cusp, an infinite moment
+in the sky, we dare to hope, to believe
    +

    40

    +

    How to Grow Fortified +Pumpkins

    +

    How to Grow Fortified Pumpkins

    +

    by Oles Macdonald

    +

    So you wanna grow fortified pumpkins, huh? Well, first things first, +you’re gonna need a fort. You got yer self one, right? An’ I don’t mean +those blow-up bouncing bollocks for kids, those take up room and don’t +do jack. No sirree, you need to get yer self a rock fort. The real hard +structure, not mouldy cheese. Snow’s not gonna cut it, fun for the young +‘uns maybe but kills yer plants with frostbite fast. Sand just gets +washed away in a storm. An’ don’t get me started on pillow forts, them +things should be banned. Blocks sunlight, flaps like the village gossips +with a bit o’ wind letting in rain every which way, feathers inside them +pillows take too long to dry when wet, I can go on an’ on about it all +day but we’re talking about growing the best fortified pumpkins so let’s +stick with it.

    +

    Bottom line is if you ain’t got one then build one from rocks, it’s +what it says on the tin. Just make sure to choose large dry ones, +flat-like, you wouldn’t wanna get sick from cave mold before you even +get this sucker off the ground, and flats will save you time cutting all +them sides. Build your fort on a sunny part of yer land away from trees. +Pumpkins love to suntan, even shows on their skins in some varieties. +Stack up some rocks like yer building a brick wall or grill. The fort +wall should be about a hand’s thickness fer insulation an’ at least +twelve by four-an’-twenty by six feet on the inside. Spread fisherfolk +nets over the top to let in the sun, rain and bees to do their thing for +yer pumpkin plants but keep them birds out. You can throw cured tarp +over it an’ anchor it to the fort wall if a big storm comes along. Don’ +forget to leave an opening so you can fit a door later. Lets you get in +an’ out easy, but not so easy that the rats an’ other rodents get to yer +pumpkins first. Door-wise there’s no need to be a fusspot about it, put +in something sturdy with a clever latch or a ward if you can get a hold +of one so the raccoon cats can’t pick the lock with their claws.

    +

    Yer gonna need three feet of the height right off the bat for a +raised bed, specially if you don’t know fer sure if the land below yer +feet is cursed or not, or can’t tell horse sh—t apart from dark clay to +check yer soil is good. Line the inside of the fort with sheet metal +where you’ll load up with good soil in a bit, an’ make sure you can get +to all sides. No sense growing a bed full of pumpkins if you can’t reach +over to grab ‘em later. You can also use wood but they will rot +something nasty if you don’t find the right wood that takes to water +well an’ have a habit of overwatering loads, then the whole thing falls +apart under the weight. Sheet metal like the stuff used fer roofs will +do the job, just bang a few together like a box with no lid no bottom +an’ yer in business. If you’d rather be safe than sorry, you can make it +even sturdier on the inside with a steel bar or two across the width of +the bed. Fill a third of the bed with straw, ol’ wood, alfalfa or stuff +like that you got laying around, then the rest of the way up to about +the third knuckle’s length away from the top edge with good quality +compost. Every farmer worth their weight in potatoes knows good quality +compost is the real gold. As I always tell new folks lookin’ to set up +right, go big on compost or go home.

    +

    Once you’ve filled up the bed, dig a few rows of shallow trenches in +the soil about a half-an’-a-feet or two apart an’ two knuckles deep at +yer pinky finger. Soak yer seeds overnight and plant ‘em in a feet apart +in the rows. Cover ’em up and mulch that beauty of a bed. Give ’em a +good thorough watering every other day, or every day if it’s like an +oven hot out there, an’ Bread’s yer butter. Halfway through the season +if they’re lookin’ a little starved, fortify ‘em by making some compost +tea to freshen ’em up. You can use hemogoblin blood too if you got that, +it’s just a pricier way to do the same thing with the same results, an’ +who likes payin’ more when you can throw a few fish bones together, boil +the whole lot, leave it to rot an’ get free plant tea? Not me. Now when +they start flowering, nip off any extra flowers on the same vine so the +pumpkin gets more nourishment an’ grows bigger. For a lot of newbs it’s +a chore, but wait ‘til you see the size of these pups. If you don’t +wanna mess about staking up vines, let ’em run around a bit and that’s +hunky dory too. Just be sure they aren’t sittin’ in a swimming pool, +that’s a one-way ride to mushy pumpkins an’ root rot. An’ dangnabbit do +I hate mushy pumpkins.

    +

    An Overview of S.T.A.G +Drones

    +

    This guide is meant to introduce the operate (you) to the +functionality of features of the S.T.A.G drone. For in depth usage and +extensibility please review the source code which can be found at your +local GNU guild.

    +

    S.T.A.G - (S)py (T)ransmat (A)utonomous (G)izmo

    +

    As the name implies, the S.T.A.G drone is a capable and compact +automous gizmo capable of relaying video, audio, & gps information +to its operator. Unlike most convention drones it requires no input to +operate, simply supplying it with an object is sufficient. The on board +(A)mber (I)mp handles the actual control. It is important that you +retrieve the A.I. from the drone in the event you choose to discard, or +risk the S.T.A.G. in any way, remember Imp’s are sentient beings.

    +

    Once an operator has deployed a S.T.A.G drone they’ll recieve +information back from it in the format of a twtxt feed, and open source +plain text format which is easily parsed. GPS coordinates are reported +as JSON strings inside of this feed, audio is transliterated to text, +and video is relayed as a series of ascii characters. All an operate +needs to do to view these feeds is to cat the return text to a terminal +and it should render. If the operater does not have access to a +terminal, or is not a practice sysorcerer, the video feed can be +consumed by retrieving the S.T.A.G drone and holding it close to your +ear. The A.I have been trained in number Basementarian languages and are +happy to dutifully describe the scenes they’ve seen.

    +

    Each of these feeds can be subscribed to separately

    +

    The aggregate feed can be accessed via:

    +
    @<stag_arn uri://stag/arn>
    +

    Simiarly these feeds provide filtered results by name:

    +
    @<stag_arn uri://stag/arn/gps>
+@<stag_arn uri://stag/arn/audio>
+@<stag_arn uri://stag/arn/video>
    +

    Gremlin Sysorcer

    +

    The gremlin stretched in his padded ergonomic chair and stifled a +yawn. He had just finished beating the final Heroic Fantasy game for the +twelfth time, when a flood of identical alerts flashed across his second +screen: +Outgoing connection blocked on port 443 from 10.10.12.26 He +reached into the machine, looked up the process and found two unfamiliar +entries bouncing in and out of hottop’s list for most computering units +being consumed. The new intern had probably downloaded some application +with an auto-updater and left it installed on the workstation. He zapped +the processes.

    +
    killall -9 ysosirius
+killall -9 yunoluvirus
    +

    That should do it. He watched hottop closely on the monitor. A beat +passed. Two, then the processes returned. Grr. These weren’t regular +rogue procs, but forked demons. His stubby fingers sprinted over the +mechanical keyboard, clacking loudly in the dark office as he fired off +a series of spells:

    +
    sudo systemctl stop ysosirius
+sudo systemctl stop yunoluvirus
+sudo systemctl disable ysosirius
+Failed to execute operation: Access denied
    +

    G—ck. How is that possible? The gremlin scratched his head with his +Mebekey for a minute. Immutable flags?

    +
    sudo chattr -i /etc/systemd/system/ysosirius.service
+/bin/bash chattr: not found
    +

    What. Did the intern somehow mistook it for a messaging client during +the initial audit phase and removed it from all the workstations? He +really needed to have a word with them when they turn up on Monday, but +for now—

    +
    sudo apt -y install e2fsprogs
+sudo chattr -i /etc/systemd/system/ysosirius.service
+sudo rm -rf /etc/systemd/system/ysosirius*
+sudo chattr -i /etc/systemd/system/yunoluvirus.service
+sudo rm -rf /etc/systemd/system/yunoluvirus*
    +

    There, stupid demons terminated. Must have been one of his colleagues +leaving him a gaff holiday gift, but he started a malware scan anyway +just in case. Smiling to himself and pushing up his Googol glasses, the +Tier Two support wizard looked away from his screen to grab his mug, +which was then he noticed it was empty. Frowning, he pulled up the COFE +dashboard on his terminal. His expression fell at the “0%” next to a +little icon of an empty fuel gauge in the status field. That was the +last pot — he was sure of it because he had brewed it himself four hours +ago after ransacking the kitchenette for more. He had managed to scrape +out a few stale tablespoons from what was left inside a large can that +had been shoved to the back of a cupboard. He had ran out of coffee.

    +

    After checking his secret stash, which was also empty save for more +discarded wrappers, he sighed and got to his feet. He gave the screen +another glance and hoverboarded to the vending machine down the hall, +before catching sight of the empty black racks from a distance and +swerved back towards the lift doors. After some elevator-cruising, he +found another vending machine a few floors down that still had drinks, a +few tiny bags of corn chips and trail mix bars. Someone had already +emptied its shelves of Cherry and regular Koke, and Diet Koke was never +a viable alternative. Then he saw a single can of Red Kobit sitting +tantalisingly on the rack. He paid with a tap of his meal card, figuring +his luck wasn’t too bad after all, but at the last moment the vending +machine changed its mind and held onto both his credits and the can with +a round, wiry claw. He yelled at the machine, threatened to summon +maintenance, shoved it back a centimeter where it was already standing +against the wall, pummelled its bulletproof glass chest with his fists +and kicked its legs, to no avail. The vending machine had likely seen +through his bluff and knew no repair person was coming on a Friday night +graveyard shift. Taking the machine apart will land him in Big Trouble +again, and it wasn’t worth the three-hour CowardPoint presentation he +would get about robot respect or the warning letter for damage to +corporeal property. The gremlin resentfully tapped his card again to +secure the last two cans of Red Horse, which rolled down into the +flapped receptacle with a ba dum tss like a bad joke.

    +

    When he returned to his desk and settled back in his rolling chair, +open can of raw energy in hand, he began to feel a prickly, crawling +sensation on his skin. A rising dread overcame him, as the apparition of +his lifelong-sworn enemy rose up from the deepest runlevels of init hell +once again, and without a new season of White Mirror dropping +anytime soon, he knew he was in grave danger. He gripped the edge of his +keyboard, exhaled slowly and greeted his old nemesis, Boredom.

    +

    Pirate Gold Fondue

    +

    420

    +

    Pirate Gold Fondue

    +

    Ingredients

    +
      +
    • 3 Pirate Gold potatoes
      • +
    • 1/2 cup chickpea paste
      • +
    • 1 cup coconut oil
      • +
    • 1/3 macadamia milk
      • +
    • 2 tbsp. cornflour
      • +
    • 1 1/2 cups mulled apple wine
      • +
    • 1/4 cup hemogoblin blood
      • +
    • 1 garlic clove, flattened
      • +
    • 2 tbsp. ground cocoa
      • +
    • 1/2 tsp. paprika
      • +
    • 2 tbsp. lemon dill
      • +
    +

    Method

    +
      +

    1. Peel potatoes and boil until soft. Let cool, then add to a large +mixing bowl with chickpea paste.

      2. +

    2. Dissolve cornflour into the macadamia milk, then pour the milk +gradually into the bowl, mashing the mixture until no lumps remain. Add +coconut oil, 1/4 cup at a time until folded completely into the mixture +and set aside.

      3. +

    3. Toast the paprika in a saucepan. Add mulled apple wine, +bemogoblin blood and garlic clove. When the liquid is heated, add ground +cocoa.

      4. +

    4. Pour the saucepan contents into a caquelon, or a double boiler +with water simmering below the bowl. Add the potato mixture slowly in +small batches, stirring continuously. Remove garlic after a 1/4 of the +mixture has been added, and resume stirring until all the potatoes have +been added.

      5. +

    5. Garnish with lemon dill and serve.

      6. +
    +

    Lady Runesocesius

    +
    My Lady, I come to visit you
+will you show your dainty face, gladly I
+let you tease me as I ascend, step closer
+so you can hide behind your cloudy veils?
+
+My Lady, I kneel at your feet
+will you embrace me in your fulsome bosom
+let me breathe in your perfume, a heady wine
+taste drops of your creamy white nectar?
+
+My Lady, I bring you snow lilies
+to tuck behind your ear as I whisper
+sweet everythings into that tender shell
+so you can extract a promise for my return?
+
+My Lady, I long to see you
+to kiss your fair golden tresses and take
+my vow with Nullar as witness, an Elixir to
+savour once more your everlasting beauty?