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basement.order
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@ -13,6 +13,7 @@ src/epistolary/00060.md
src/epistolary/00061.md
src/epistolary/00062.md
src/epistolary/00063.md
src/epistolary/00064.md
src/notes.md
src/acknowledgements.md
src/afterword.md

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@ -5,7 +5,7 @@ TARGETS=$(patsubst %.7,%.txt,$(DOCS))
# From .7 to .txt
.7.txt:
mandoc -T utf8 $< > $@
mandoc -T ascii $< > $@
.PHONY: all
all: $(TARGETS)

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---
title: 00064
created: Wed, 15 Feb 2023 17:58:35 -0700
updated: Wed, 15 Feb 2023 17:58:35 -0700
public: yes
syndicated: yes
---
### 00064 {#00064}
Back at the fish market, Marvelo squints into the pouring rain and
swears under his breath, frustrated at the limited visibility.
His colleague is lying on the floor behind him in some kind of state
of deeply altered consciousness, along with an inkling, a toque, and
an owl. In fact, the only waking beings left inside the market are
himself, a fluffy little duck, and a sticky hemogoblin.
"I've seen stranger things," he shrugs and admits to himself.
The duck and the goblin are both fluffed up and huddled up next to
each other softly quacking and chirping to themselves.
He pauses and holds his breath as something indistinct catches his
attention. Years of training have produced an instinct he has learned
not to question. It has saved his butt more times than he can count.
Sometimes it screams at him and the danger is apparent. Like that
time with the Permian Raiders off the southern tip of Harshwind
Glade. Other times, such as this, all he gets is the vague feeling
that something is off. He waits. He's been here before. His
subconscious has spotted something, noticed some pattern that doesn't
fit its surroundings. He knows if he's patient, his conscious mind
will catch up and realize what it was.
He squints out into the pouring rain. There! A flash of red close to
the ground.
"What in the world," he wonders as a small child wearing a bright red
dress toddles into view. It looks up at him blankly as the rain beats
down on its head and shoulders.
"What are you doing out here, little guy? You're getting soaked!"
Marvelo, concerned, rushes forward to comfort the child.
> Inky gingerly takes the coin with both hands, small digits clamping
> onto the straight edges. They look at the Twenty-one Fiver nestled
> against the fuzzy outlines of one palm before peering up again at the
> figure seated before them. "Thank you, Great Spirit." Inky says. "If
> truly allowed to choose, then, this one accepts the price."
>
> They toss the coin up into the air. A beat, and they are hovering a
> few feet above the tracks, between the fork and the oncoming train
> with no walls. Inky watches as the child's body begins to shrink as
> rapidly as the black uniform expands, the entire apparition thinning
> and becoming translucent. The shirt continues to grow until the hem
> brushes the train tracks and the collar peeks over the invisible tops
> of the train, the trousers and shoes having been pushed into the
> stones and earth below.
>
> A portal, the child's voice supplies distantly. At the back of their
> awareness, Inky homes in on the coin as it continues to spin. When
> the train thunders down upon the oversized shirt doorway-apparent,
> they brace for the force of the impact. Instead, all they could feel
> is a creeping weariness, like water draining through tea leaves in a
> sieve, while being suddenly surrounded by and staring into a deep
> reflectionless pool.
>
> Is it two to two, or two past eight, Inky wonders.
>
> The last thing within their consciousness is a gleam of silver as the
> coin lands on one of its corners mid-spin, bounces off the small half
> table and falls into the shadows.
You sink into the dark reflectionless pool, letting its waters close
over you and pull you under. You ponder its depths from within in its
embrace, mindless of the passage of time.
After a few minutes, or a few days, you notice faint light rising up
here and there from below. Fuzzy, cobwebby human shapes float
suspended in the waters. Some far away, distant as stars. Some drift
close enough that you would be able to discern their features, if
they had any.
You realize all at once that these are the dream forms of sleeping
Basmentarians everywhere, and that you are floating in Ousia, a
solitary awakened dreamer in a literal sea of the passive slumbering.
As though responding to your realization, the waters bear you up and
you pierce the weak membrane between water and air. You float
effortlessly and the gentle waves nudge you ever onward toward some
unknown shore. Or merely farther out to sea. You're not sure.
You continue to see the dreamers all around you. You watch curiously
as you float by two that seem to have bumped into one another and
fused together, their cobwebby bodies sprouting hard crystalline
growths and spreading like creeping vines, forming a lattice and
creating a small floating island.
After a few hours, or a few weeks, you wash up on the beach of a
large island. There is a steep rock, a pillar of a mountain, jutting
straight up from the center of the island some distance ahead. And
jutting from the pillar is a fractal structure of interconnected
towers, all sprouting and branching from one large central tower. The
top of the tower disappears far overhead, obscured by a rippling
aurora of green and pink lights in the sky.
Some distance down the beach, just out of hailing distance, a lone
figure stands gazing at the sea, their back to the tower.
The figure waits.
The tower's strange geometry beckons.
> Kasutva, how can I know that I can trust you? What do you gain in
> helping me, and was there really no way for you to communicate with
> me without beheading yourself? That seems a little bit distraughting.
> Like, do you need a bandage or some headache medicine or something? I
> feel like if I yanked my face off I'd need an ibuprofen. I have
> some if you want? (alex rummages in a coat pocket and finds a bottle
> of pain killers, and offers them to the being).
>
> Right anyways, answers questions. I'm looking for my Uncle first and
> foremost. He dropped off the map a few days ago, and I can't find
> hide nor hair of him. Then the murders started. Shit at HQ when wild,
> hit the wall literally, and now I'm in some sort of fever dream
> talking to what can only be a manifestation of my own subconscious, or
> perhaps someone else's. Look. I need to get back to Inky, we're trying
> to meet someone and we're running late, and in the scheme of things my
> problems aren't so big if the world's going to end because some mad
> hatter is after these blasted crystal's we've been collecting..
Even as you speak, you notice the edges of Big Kasutva's "wounds"
start to close until its flesh begins to once more envelop and
enclose its face.
The creature courteously accepts a few pills from you, but simply
deposits them in its satchel.
"No, it doesn't hurt us," say the two voices together. "And little
matter if it did. It is necessary for us to speak."
They listen to your story. Big Kasutva's voice starts to become
muffled as its skin now grows over its mouth. Only its eyes are
visible as the two of them continue. "If your Inky has come to this
place, then there is only one place they can have gone." They gesture
to the sea. "And that place is Ephemeris. The Heart of the Dreaming
at the center of Ousia."
Big Kasutva finally falls silent as it heals completely. It guides
you to the shoreline, where a long pier has suddenly appeared.
Mushroom Kasutva continues to speak for both of them.
"We only ask to accompany you as you go. We wish to see Ephemeris
ourselves. But we cannot abandon our post here on the dunes," it says
looking at Big Kasutva. "And we," it says gesturing to itself, "are
too small to brave the sea alone."
Big Kasutva stops short of the end of the pier. The little mushroom
hops right up to the edge and peers down at the water.
"All that is left is to jump, Alex. And let the waters of Ousia bear
you up and carry you to Ephemeris."
It hops up to you and extends itself in a clear request, despite its
lack of limbs, that it wants you to pick it up.
WHAT DO YOU DO

135
www/index.html
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@ -287,6 +287,7 @@
<li><a href="#00061" id="toc-00061">00061</a></li>
<li><a href="#00062" id="toc-00062">00062</a></li>
<li><a href="#00063" id="toc-00063">00063</a></li>
<li><a href="#00064" id="toc-00064">00064</a></li>
</ul></li>
<li><a href="#afterword" id="toc-afterword">Afterword</a></li>
<li><a href="#appendix-a-dramatis-personae"
@ -360,11 +361,11 @@ into the <a href="#current-story">current story arc</a>.</p>
you can <a href="https://tilde.town/~dozens/quest/rss.xml">subscribe to
the rss feed</a>.</p>
<h2 id="stats">Stats</h2>
<p>Total length: 81317 words / 347 minute read. (Mind you, that’s the
<p>Total length: 82674 words / 353 minute read. (Mind you, that’s the
length of this entire page, including all the extra bits and bobs. Not
just the story.)</p>
<p>There have been 221 messages posted over 217 days since the first
post on July 13, 2022 for a daily post rate of 1.01.</p>
<p>There have been 223 messages posted over 222 days since the first
post on July 13, 2022 for a daily post rate of 1.00.</p>
<h2 id="chapter-1">Chapter 1</h2>
<p>This is the first installment of BASEMENT QUEST.</p>
<p>Jump to: <a href="#00001">1</a> <a href="#00002">2</a> <a
@ -6727,6 +6728,134 @@ Small Kasutva lacks any limbs and cannot gesture, but smiles softly at
you.</p>
<p>“But tell us what it is you seek. Perhaps we can be of help.”</p>
<p>WHAT DO YOU DO</p>
<h3 id="00064">00064</h3>
<p>Back at the fish market, Marvelo squints into the pouring rain and
swears under his breath, frustrated at the limited visibility.</p>
<p>His colleague is lying on the floor behind him in some kind of state
of deeply altered consciousness, along with an inkling, a toque, and an
owl. In fact, the only waking beings left inside the market are himself,
a fluffy little duck, and a sticky hemogoblin.</p>
<p>“I’ve seen stranger things,” he shrugs and admits to himself.</p>
<p>The duck and the goblin are both fluffed up and huddled up next to
each other softly quacking and chirping to themselves.</p>
<p>He pauses and holds his breath as something indistinct catches his
attention. Years of training have produced an instinct he has learned
not to question. It has saved his butt more times than he can count.
Sometimes it screams at him and the danger is apparent. Like that time
with the Permian Raiders off the southern tip of Harshwind Glade. Other
times, such as this, all he gets is the vague feeling that something is
off. He waits. He’s been here before. His subconscious has spotted
something, noticed some pattern that doesn’t fit its surroundings. He
knows if he’s patient, his conscious mind will catch up and realize what
it was.</p>
<p>He squints out into the pouring rain. There! A flash of red close to
the ground.</p>
<p>“What in the world,” he wonders as a small child wearing a bright red
dress toddles into view. It looks up at him blankly as the rain beats
down on its head and shoulders.</p>
<p>“What are you doing out here, little guy? You’re getting soaked!”
Marvelo, concerned, rushes forward to comfort the child.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>Inky gingerly takes the coin with both hands, small digits clamping
onto the straight edges. They look at the Twenty-one Fiver nestled
against the fuzzy outlines of one palm before peering up again at the
figure seated before them. “Thank you, Great Spirit.” Inky says. “If
truly allowed to choose, then, this one accepts the price.”</p>
<p>They toss the coin up into the air. A beat, and they are hovering a
few feet above the tracks, between the fork and the oncoming train with
no walls. Inky watches as the child’s body begins to shrink as rapidly
as the black uniform expands, the entire apparition thinning and
becoming translucent. The shirt continues to grow until the hem brushes
the train tracks and the collar peeks over the invisible tops of the
train, the trousers and shoes having been pushed into the stones and
earth below.</p>
<p>A portal, the child’s voice supplies distantly. At the back of their
awareness, Inky homes in on the coin as it continues to spin. When the
train thunders down upon the oversized shirt doorway-apparent, they
brace for the force of the impact. Instead, all they could feel is a
creeping weariness, like water draining through tea leaves in a sieve,
while being suddenly surrounded by and staring into a deep
reflectionless pool.</p>
<p>Is it two to two, or two past eight, Inky wonders.</p>
<p>The last thing within their consciousness is a gleam of silver as the
coin lands on one of its corners mid-spin, bounces off the small half
table and falls into the shadows.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>You sink into the dark reflectionless pool, letting its waters close
over you and pull you under. You ponder its depths from within in its
embrace, mindless of the passage of time.</p>
<p>After a few minutes, or a few days, you notice faint light rising up
here and there from below. Fuzzy, cobwebby human shapes float suspended
in the waters. Some far away, distant as stars. Some drift close enough
that you would be able to discern their features, if they had any.</p>
<p>You realize all at once that these are the dream forms of sleeping
Basmentarians everywhere, and that you are floating in Ousia, a solitary
awakened dreamer in a literal sea of the passive slumbering.</p>
<p>As though responding to your realization, the waters bear you up and
you pierce the weak membrane between water and air. You float
effortlessly and the gentle waves nudge you ever onward toward some
unknown shore. Or merely farther out to sea. You’re not sure.</p>
<p>You continue to see the dreamers all around you. You watch curiously
as you float by two that seem to have bumped into one another and fused
together, their cobwebby bodies sprouting hard crystalline growths and
spreading like creeping vines, forming a lattice and creating a small
floating island.</p>
<p>After a few hours, or a few weeks, you wash up on the beach of a
large island. There is a steep rock, a pillar of a mountain, jutting
straight up from the center of the island some distance ahead. And
jutting from the pillar is a fractal structure of interconnected towers,
all sprouting and branching from one large central tower. The top of the
tower disappears far overhead, obscured by a rippling aurora of green
and pink lights in the sky.</p>
<p>Some distance down the beach, just out of hailing distance, a lone
figure stands gazing at the sea, their back to the tower.</p>
<p>The figure waits.</p>
<p>The tower’s strange geometry beckons.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>Kasutva, how can I know that I can trust you? What do you gain in
helping me, and was there really no way for you to communicate with me
without beheading yourself? That seems a little bit distraughting. Like,
do you need a bandage or some headache medicine or something? I feel
like if I yanked my face off I’d need an ibuprofen. I have some if you
want? (alex rummages in a coat pocket and finds a bottle of pain
killers, and offers them to the being).</p>
<p>Right anyways, answers questions. I’m looking for my Uncle first and
foremost. He dropped off the map a few days ago, and I can’t find hide
nor hair of him. Then the murders started. Shit at HQ when wild, hit the
wall literally, and now I’m in some sort of fever dream talking to what
can only be a manifestation of my own subconscious, or perhaps someone
else’s. Look. I need to get back to Inky, we’re trying to meet someone
and we’re running late, and in the scheme of things my problems aren’t
so big if the world’s going to end because some mad hatter is after
these blasted crystal’s we’ve been collecting..</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Even as you speak, you notice the edges of Big Kasutva’s “wounds”
start to close until its flesh begins to once more envelop and enclose
its face.</p>
<p>The creature courteously accepts a few pills from you, but simply
deposits them in its satchel.</p>
<p>“No, it doesn’t hurt us,” say the two voices together. “And little
matter if it did. It is necessary for us to speak.”</p>
<p>They listen to your story. Big Kasutva’s voice starts to become
muffled as its skin now grows over its mouth. Only its eyes are visible
as the two of them continue. “If your Inky has come to this place, then
there is only one place they can have gone.” They gesture to the sea.
“And that place is Ephemeris. The Heart of the Dreaming at the center of
Ousia.”</p>
<p>Big Kasutva finally falls silent as it heals completely. It guides
you to the shoreline, where a long pier has suddenly appeared. Mushroom
Kasutva continues to speak for both of them.</p>
<p>“We only ask to accompany you as you go. We wish to see Ephemeris
ourselves. But we cannot abandon our post here on the dunes,” it says
looking at Big Kasutva. “And we,” it says gesturing to itself, “are too
small to brave the sea alone.”</p>
<p>Big Kasutva stops short of the end of the pier. The little mushroom
hops right up to the edge and peers down at the water.</p>
<p>“All that is left is to jump, Alex. And let the waters of Ousia bear
you up and carry you to Ephemeris.”</p>
<p>It hops up to you and extends itself in a clear request, despite its
lack of limbs, that it wants you to pick it up.</p>
<p>WHAT DO YOU DO</p>
<h2 id="afterword">Afterword</h2>
<p>I don’t know what I’m going to put here, but I didn’t want this
document to just abruptly end. So here you go: a kind farewell and a

804
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@ -235,6 +235,59 @@ And Fortune said it shou&#39;d be you. Puu.&quot;</code></pre>
]]>
</description>
</item>
<item>
<title>61</title>
<author>dozens@tilde.team (dozens)</author>
<guid isPermaLink="false">61 - Mon, 06 Feb 2023 09:59:55
-0700</guid>
<pubDate>Mon, 06 Feb 2023 09:59:55 -0700</pubDate>
<description>
<![CDATA[
<h3 id="00061">00061</h3>
<p>Alex the Octopus and Inky the Noogle stand on a tree branch
as wide a street in the heart of the great white upside-down
forest.</p>
<p>A cry of anguish and anger echoes through the forest, and
the branches below you sway and rustle as something rises up
from the depths. You keep catching a glimpse of scarlet
between the silvery white leaves.</p>
<p>The large black ravens perched below you scream in
agitation and fly up past you to the thicker branches up
above, where they hop side to side and loudly scold and
protest the disturbance. A single black feather the length of
your hand settles to the ground at your feet, knocked loose
during their flight.</p>
<p>You finally see the fearsome beast crashing through the
branches below you. Its crazed, yellow eyes as large and round
as dinner plates, a great eight-legged rodent leaps from
branch to branch as it swiftly ascends. It is a bloody,
crimson red. Its long tufted ears lay flat against its
elongated, grinning skull. Its ribbon-like tail twitches as it
trails along behind it like a river of blood. It cries out
again in anger, showing its overgrown incisors, and grinds and
gnashes its back teeth.</p>
<p>Its eyes bore into you with wild fury and blind madness as
it climbs.</p>
<p>“She’s not herself,” sighs the chipmunk, suddenly at your
side once more. When you look down at the chipmunk, however,
it has suddenly turned into a small featureless black turtle
with a sticky sweet roll instead of a shell. Its smooth little
head pokes timidly out of the roll.</p>
<p>“The Red Squirrel,” laments the turtle. “She’s being ridden
by a ghost. An angry ghost who isn’t from here. Somebody left
the door open, and it blew in on the breeze.” The turtle’s
voice trails off until its final words are barely a
whisper.</p>
<p>You can still feel two currents tugging at you and trying
to pull you under. One inward toward your host’s deep, core
memories. And the second pulling you outward toward the Sea of
Dreams.</p>
<p>You have but a moment before the Red Squirrel is upon
you.</p>
<p>WHAT DO YOU DO</p>
]]>
</description>
</item>
<item>
<title>59</title>
<author>dozens@tilde.team (dozens)</author>
@ -333,204 +386,6 @@ trap sleep INT EXIT</code></pre>
]]>
</description>
</item>
<item>
<title>56</title>
<author>dozens@tilde.team (dozens)</author>
<guid isPermaLink="false">56 - Mon, 16 Jan 2023 14:10:25
-0700</guid>
<pubDate>Mon, 16 Jan 2023 14:10:25 -0700</pubDate>
<description>
<![CDATA[
<h3 id="00056">00056</h3>
<blockquote>
<p>The agitation Alex feels bubbles just beneath the surface.
Patterns where patterns shouldn’t be, strange orders from HQ,
indifference where once was ample aide as well. It was
maddening. Combine it all with the haunting suspicion that
there was constantly someone just around the next corner, and
it was enough to truly drive Alex mad.</p>
<p>That uneasiness takes its toll on a long enough time line,
but Alex wasn’t about to let it get to him. Or so he thought
to himself as he cast a furtive look at his monitoring
equipment. This paranoia had served him well in the past, very
well in fact. It’s a sort of sixth sense in a way, always kept
Alex off the edge of the cliff, especially when someone
stepped close enough to push him off. Those were the types of
skills HQ sought after in the first place.</p>
<p>Alex closes the iron door on his bunker, leaving his
monitoring equipment running, dead man’s trigger set to blow
the place shoul anyone enter it. Can’t be too careful these
days..</p>
<p>Emerging from the sewer grate, sticking to the shadows,
Alex makes his way down an alley, then another, and yet
another, finally emerging a few blocks from the Milk Market.
Across the street, as he had expected, was Marvelo’s Marvelous
MurderSticks, a quaint place should one needed something, well
you get the picture, they don’t really sell anything but
weaponry here.</p>
<p>Alex ducked into the entrance of the shop and strode
towards the back rack, where a collection of knives was on
display. A rough looking fellow, ruddy red beard, thinning
hair, moved from the counter as he saw Alex approach. “Fine
sampling of knives we have, could I interest you in one?”
Marvelo says. Alex reaches for a thin stilleto style dagger,
and hands it to Marvelo “This one seems about right, but I’d
like an extra sharp edge put on it, if you don’t mind”.
Marvelo takes the stilleto from Alex say “Not a problem at all
sir”, and he heads into the back.</p>
<p>He sets to work honing the edge, and once complete he
places it on his work bench. Grabbing a velvet lined case from
a stack, he deftly removes the bottom and places a rolled
piece of paper into the bottom, alongside an m1911 style
pistol, and a couple of clips of ammo. He then places the
velvet bottom back over the equipment, and places the stilleto
on top, bringing the entire package back to the front. “An
extra fine edge on this one sir, that’ll be 15 gold, plus
another 5 to cover the service.</p>
<p>Alex pays, and nips out the shop and heads back to the back
alley. Paranoia begets what it requets, Alex mutters to
himself as he disassembles the box holstering the pistol and
ammo, and sheathing the dagger. Can’t keep going unarmed like
I’m some kind of beat cop, not anymore.. Alex discards the
case and unfurls the message, quickly deciphering the
encryption set on it by Marvelo.</p>
<pre><code>The hunt is still on, no word on Blavin nor the Iris group, yet.
Agent 7 heard rumor of a couple of persons inquiring about the &quot;Milk Market&quot; these past few days.
Agent 3 heard similar rumors, was able to bribe a melon vendor to acertain the figure wore a red sash, and was looking for friends.
Agent 6 has kept watch on the Market, nothing strange yet, coming and goings as usual, no strange visitors
Agent 4 monitoring feeds still present glitches, something abnormal
Agent 5 found the melon vendor dead in a back alley, strangled to death, not immediate signs of blunt force trauma, caution advised</code></pre>
<p>Alex burned the note, striding rapidly away from the alley,
taking a meandering route away from the Milk Market, looping
back around, and heading back towards it by yet another.
Nobody appeared to be following him, yet he paused at each
corner and turn, waiting for the footsteps of a pursuant.</p>
<p>Noting nothing, he made his way through the back entrance
of Enrique’s Empanadas greeting the cook quietly, but jovial.
“Enrique, where’s Inky? We’ve got a problem.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>~</p>
<blockquote>
<p>Inky skims the page. They thank the witch, pay for the
items and exit the shop, promptly discarding all notions of
meeting Bother at the place stipulated on the note.</p>
<p><em>(Half and one hour later)</em></p>
<p>One-sixths into a caramel cantaloupe cream cornet, Inky
runs into Confidence outside the Wandering Bazaar and obtains
some of their new pamphlets, minted with luminescent ink for
the convenience of late-night tourists. These are subsequently
hare-mailed to every editor at the <em>Niuewstijl</em> office,
which is almost certain to earn another chiding remark from
Tess about etiquette and the handling of unsolicited bulk mail
to parent editorial teams.</p>
<p><em>(Half and two hours later)</em></p>
<p>The installation on display at the Milk Market was
grotesque — that is to say, a work of beauty. Inky steps
carefully through the rooms to not disturb the piece.
Afterwards, they sign the guestbook set up on an upturned milk
crate by the door, delightedly pasting rows of horse head and
thumbs-up emo Gs on a page thoughtfully titled “you can’t ed
the unedible”.</p>
<p><em>(Half and three hours earlier)</em></p>
<p>Thanking Agate for her time, Inky passes her a sheet of
paper on which were written a few questions about the
prescribed ritual, with some space after each question should
the witch prefer to scribble a response:</p>
<ul>
<li><p>What do guides in the Sea of Dreams and the Ravenfolk
typically seek in return for directing travellers to the
correct pocket dimension?</p></li>
<li><p>An establishment inside the Bazaar is only open in the
evenings whenever it appears in the city. How long does travel
to a pocket dimension typically take, allowing for time to
seek out a guide? Is there a way travellers can estimate the
time to set out on their journey, in order to arrive at the
establishment while it is open?</p></li>
<li><p>Who are the Red Spider and “Dude 215R” mentioned in the
ritual? How can travellers avoid summoning them?</p></li>
<li><p>Would anything happen to the travellers if any of the
sigils were removed during the ritual before they wake
up?</p></li>
</ul>
<p><em>(Half and four hours later)</em></p>
<p>Two sets of eyes peer down at the contents of an open tin.
One accompanied by a focused look and a little trepidation,
following the pinkish, flesh-like chunks speckled with white
pockets of fat as they tumble into a hot pan and almost
immediately begin to move of their own accord. The moving
mounds resemble small round mouths opening, each with a rim of
sharp teeth. The other pair of eyes belongs to a grinning face
that beams when the mounds bloom into bright red flat caps,
the edges beneath about to soften in the olive oil.</p>
<p>Minutes after, The slices are ready. Inky accepts the plate
of tostada with spicy pickled artichoke mushrooms and tomatoes
with a murmur of thanks. Reassembling the recipe for the
tinned spicy artichoke mushrooms had been a tedious process —
someone had ripped out the pages from an old pickling book
that had long ceased publication. Eventually Inky found a
former nomad who had eaten them for two years in their youth
and could recall or somewhat describe the taste. Flowery and
savoury, they said. Many taste tests later, it turned out to
be closer to partially decomposed cheese in ponderosa lemon
juice. Canning was fortuitously easier with the increasing
portability of sealers. Rather than telling the empanada chef
any of this, Inky watches satisfaction slowly spread across
his face. The tale that follows is far more entertaining.</p>
<p><em>(Half and five hours later)</em></p>
<p>While measuring out ingredients for the forty-second tea
infusion since the start of the missions, not that Inky was
keeping a close count, they hear a familiar voice a short
distance outside the door asking for their whereabouts.
Without pausing in their whisking, Inky simply informs the
owner of the voice they’re not here, obviously, before
emerging from the storage pantry with a fresh pot and bowls on
a wooden tray, and greets the returning sysorcerer.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Agate writes back quickly:</p>
<blockquote>
<p>What do guides in the Sea of Dreams and the Ravenfolk
typically seek in return for directing travellers to the
correct pocket dimension?</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Intangibles. Usually memories, hopes, or dreams.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>An establishment inside the Bazaar is only open in the
evenings whenever it appears in the city. How long does travel
to a pocket dimension typically take, allowing for time to
seek out a guide? Is there a way travellers can estimate the
time to set out on their journey, in order to arrive at the
establishment while it is open?</p>
</blockquote>
<p>You’ll find that time is rather malleable on the Otherside.
You’ll likely arrive exactly when you’re meant to. No need to
worry too much about it.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>Who are the Red Spider and “Dude 215R” mentioned in the
ritual? How can travellers avoid summoning them?</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Godforms manifested by the Linking Sigil and the Dream
Sigil, respectively. It’s not <em>terrible</em> if they show
up. But it’s definitely not ideal. You shouldn’t register on
their radar as long as you don’t pump too much energy into, or
siphon to much energy out of, the sigils. If they do show up,
just know that you’re in the presence of a godlike power, and
behave accordingly.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>Would anything happen to the travellers if any of the
sigils were removed during the ritual before they wake up?</p>
</blockquote>
<p>If the sigils are removed or if the circle is broken,
you’ll likely just wake up before you wanted to. Same goes for
if your dreamform is destroyed while in the Dreaming. The only
real danger you may encounter is the Scissormen and their ilk.
They will attempt to permanently sever your dreamform from
your waking body. Which would leave your body a soulless husk,
and leave your consciousness adrift in the Sea of Dreams. But
that probably won’t happen! Okay good luck, have fun!</p>
<p>WHAT DO YOU DO</p>
]]>
</description>
</item>
<item>
<title>58</title>
<author>dozens@tilde.team (dozens)</author>
@ -761,6 +616,86 @@ in its own domain</code></pre>
]]>
</description>
</item>
<item>
<title>60</title>
<author>dozens@tilde.team (dozens)</author>
<guid isPermaLink="false">60 - Tue, 31 Jan 2023 19:11:47
-0700</guid>
<pubDate>Tue, 31 Jan 2023 19:11:48 -0700</pubDate>
<description>
<![CDATA[
<h3 id="00060">00060</h3>
<blockquote>
<p>Alex takes inventory of himself, this dream world is
definitely strange, but fortunately its decided to provide him
with his impecable fashion, trench coat and all. Unfortunately
the same can’t be said for his roguish good looks, as he’s
found himself 6 arms heavier, and a bit more octopus-y than he
remembers.</p>
<p>Nontheless this doesn’t appear to be much of an impediment,
and he promptly moves on with assessing the situation.</p>
<p>“Acorns? No, I don’t think so. I’m afraid octopus’ are
terrible at fetching acrons, and at any rate, I have a
dreadfully important meeting across town.” turning to address
Inky, “We need to make a break for it, what’d the witch tell
you? Envision our goal or something? This is really a little
outside of my realm of mechanical magic expertise..
unless..”</p>
<p>Alex makes a gesture with his tentacles in the area and a
terminal prompt appears before him. His tentacles work at
blinding speed at the digital window, a quick bypass there, a
root access escalation there.</p>
<p>“Looks like this whole place runs on Linux, it’s an older
kernel, about 2.6 or so, but it checks out. Easy to exploit as
needed. Here I’m giving us sudo access, should we need
it.”</p>
<p>“Oh and squirrel, here’s your acorns”</p>
<pre><code>find /* -name &#39;*acron*&#39; -exec mv /home/squirrel { } \</code></pre>
</blockquote>
<p>It takes Alectopus a couple tries, but he gets it. First he
corrects ‘acron’ to ‘acorn’. Then he moves all the acorns to
the <em>chipmunk</em> instead of to the squirrel.</p>
<p>Hundreds of acorns appear at the chipmunk’s feet. It
squeals in delight.</p>
<p>In the distance, far below you, you hear the anguished yell
of what can only be a Red Squirrel whose giant stash of acorns
has just vanished.</p>
<p>The chipmunk rubs its hands together gleefully and starts
scooping up acorns by the armful and shoving them into its
mouth by the dozen. “Oh, thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” it
says around a mouthful of nuts. “Here…” It tosses you a large
square silver coin with a round hole drilled in the center. On
one side is the number twenty-one next to a picture of a
curved, short-handled sickle. On the other side is the number
five and a picture of a flail.</p>
<p>“A Twenty-One Fiver! Sorry, you deserve more, but it’s all
I have,” it apologizes as it scampers off, no doubt to hide
its nuts. Hopefully somewhere more secure this time.</p>
<p>If you hold the coin up to your eye and peer through the
hole, you see the dreamscape before you as though looking
through a cloudy film. All the same stuff is there, but it’s
hazy and shadowy.</p>
<p>Standing a fair distance from you on the branch, just out
of hailing distance, is a tall figure cloaked in black robes.
Dark shadows pool restlessly around its feet. Occasionally the
shadows leap up and take the form of demons the like of which
words cannot describe, before falling and returning to shadow
once more. The figure wears a large spherical helmet of
obsidian-like glass. You can see constant flashes of a rainbow
of colors crackle and splinter along the inside of the helmet
like lightning, but illuminating nothing within. You feel
sickened at the sight, but at the edge of your mind you feels
a tug, a familiarity. Something about this character is
familiar to you, but you cannot place it.</p>
<p>When you lower the coin, the figure and the dark landscape
both disappear. When you raise it again, the distorted
landscape reappears but the figure is gone.</p>
<p>You notice a pair of large ravens watching you rather
intently from the branches below.</p>
<p>WHAT DO YOU DO</p>
]]>
</description>
</item>
<item>
<title>57</title>
<author>dozens@tilde.team (dozens)</author>
@ -1014,134 +949,165 @@ in its own domain</code></pre>
</description>
</item>
<item>
<title>60</title>
<title>64</title>
<author>dozens@tilde.team (dozens)</author>
<guid isPermaLink="false">60 - Tue, 31 Jan 2023 19:11:47
<guid isPermaLink="false">64 - Wed, 15 Feb 2023 17:58:35
-0700</guid>
<pubDate>Tue, 31 Jan 2023 19:11:48 -0700</pubDate>
<pubDate>Wed, 15 Feb 2023 17:58:35 -0700</pubDate>
<description>
<![CDATA[
<h3 id="00060">00060</h3>
<h3 id="00064">00064</h3>
<p>Back at the fish market, Marvelo squints into the pouring
rain and swears under his breath, frustrated at the limited
visibility.</p>
<p>His colleague is lying on the floor behind him in some kind
of state of deeply altered consciousness, along with an
inkling, a toque, and an owl. In fact, the only waking beings
left inside the market are himself, a fluffy little duck, and
a sticky hemogoblin.</p>
<p>“I’ve seen stranger things,” he shrugs and admits to
himself.</p>
<p>The duck and the goblin are both fluffed up and huddled up
next to each other softly quacking and chirping to
themselves.</p>
<p>He pauses and holds his breath as something indistinct
catches his attention. Years of training have produced an
instinct he has learned not to question. It has saved his butt
more times than he can count. Sometimes it screams at him and
the danger is apparent. Like that time with the Permian
Raiders off the southern tip of Harshwind Glade. Other times,
such as this, all he gets is the vague feeling that something
is off. He waits. He’s been here before. His subconscious has
spotted something, noticed some pattern that doesn’t fit its
surroundings. He knows if he’s patient, his conscious mind
will catch up and realize what it was.</p>
<p>He squints out into the pouring rain. There! A flash of red
close to the ground.</p>
<p>“What in the world,” he wonders as a small child wearing a
bright red dress toddles into view. It looks up at him blankly
as the rain beats down on its head and shoulders.</p>
<p>“What are you doing out here, little guy? You’re getting
soaked!” Marvelo, concerned, rushes forward to comfort the
child.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>Alex takes inventory of himself, this dream world is
definitely strange, but fortunately its decided to provide him
with his impecable fashion, trench coat and all. Unfortunately
the same can’t be said for his roguish good looks, as he’s
found himself 6 arms heavier, and a bit more octopus-y than he
remembers.</p>
<p>Nontheless this doesn’t appear to be much of an impediment,
and he promptly moves on with assessing the situation.</p>
<p>“Acorns? No, I don’t think so. I’m afraid octopus’ are
terrible at fetching acrons, and at any rate, I have a
dreadfully important meeting across town.” turning to address
Inky, “We need to make a break for it, what’d the witch tell
you? Envision our goal or something? This is really a little
outside of my realm of mechanical magic expertise..
unless..”</p>
<p>Alex makes a gesture with his tentacles in the area and a
terminal prompt appears before him. His tentacles work at
blinding speed at the digital window, a quick bypass there, a
root access escalation there.</p>
<p>“Looks like this whole place runs on Linux, it’s an older
kernel, about 2.6 or so, but it checks out. Easy to exploit as
needed. Here I’m giving us sudo access, should we need
it.”</p>
<p>“Oh and squirrel, here’s your acorns”</p>
<pre><code>find /* -name &#39;*acron*&#39; -exec mv /home/squirrel { } \</code></pre>
<p>Inky gingerly takes the coin with both hands, small digits
clamping onto the straight edges. They look at the Twenty-one
Fiver nestled against the fuzzy outlines of one palm before
peering up again at the figure seated before them. “Thank you,
Great Spirit.” Inky says. “If truly allowed to choose, then,
this one accepts the price.”</p>
<p>They toss the coin up into the air. A beat, and they are
hovering a few feet above the tracks, between the fork and the
oncoming train with no walls. Inky watches as the child’s body
begins to shrink as rapidly as the black uniform expands, the
entire apparition thinning and becoming translucent. The shirt
continues to grow until the hem brushes the train tracks and
the collar peeks over the invisible tops of the train, the
trousers and shoes having been pushed into the stones and
earth below.</p>
<p>A portal, the child’s voice supplies distantly. At the back
of their awareness, Inky homes in on the coin as it continues
to spin. When the train thunders down upon the oversized shirt
doorway-apparent, they brace for the force of the impact.
Instead, all they could feel is a creeping weariness, like
water draining through tea leaves in a sieve, while being
suddenly surrounded by and staring into a deep reflectionless
pool.</p>
<p>Is it two to two, or two past eight, Inky wonders.</p>
<p>The last thing within their consciousness is a gleam of
silver as the coin lands on one of its corners mid-spin,
bounces off the small half table and falls into the
shadows.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>It takes Alectopus a couple tries, but he gets it. First he
corrects ‘acron’ to ‘acorn’. Then he moves all the acorns to
the <em>chipmunk</em> instead of to the squirrel.</p>
<p>Hundreds of acorns appear at the chipmunk’s feet. It
squeals in delight.</p>
<p>In the distance, far below you, you hear the anguished yell
of what can only be a Red Squirrel whose giant stash of acorns
has just vanished.</p>
<p>The chipmunk rubs its hands together gleefully and starts
scooping up acorns by the armful and shoving them into its
mouth by the dozen. “Oh, thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” it
says around a mouthful of nuts. “Here…” It tosses you a large
square silver coin with a round hole drilled in the center. On
one side is the number twenty-one next to a picture of a
curved, short-handled sickle. On the other side is the number
five and a picture of a flail.</p>
<p>“A Twenty-One Fiver! Sorry, you deserve more, but it’s all
I have,” it apologizes as it scampers off, no doubt to hide
its nuts. Hopefully somewhere more secure this time.</p>
<p>If you hold the coin up to your eye and peer through the
hole, you see the dreamscape before you as though looking
through a cloudy film. All the same stuff is there, but it’s
hazy and shadowy.</p>
<p>Standing a fair distance from you on the branch, just out
of hailing distance, is a tall figure cloaked in black robes.
Dark shadows pool restlessly around its feet. Occasionally the
shadows leap up and take the form of demons the like of which
words cannot describe, before falling and returning to shadow
once more. The figure wears a large spherical helmet of
obsidian-like glass. You can see constant flashes of a rainbow
of colors crackle and splinter along the inside of the helmet
like lightning, but illuminating nothing within. You feel
sickened at the sight, but at the edge of your mind you feels
a tug, a familiarity. Something about this character is
familiar to you, but you cannot place it.</p>
<p>When you lower the coin, the figure and the dark landscape
both disappear. When you raise it again, the distorted
landscape reappears but the figure is gone.</p>
<p>You notice a pair of large ravens watching you rather
intently from the branches below.</p>
<p>WHAT DO YOU DO</p>
]]>
</description>
</item>
<item>
<title>61</title>
<author>dozens@tilde.team (dozens)</author>
<guid isPermaLink="false">61 - Mon, 06 Feb 2023 09:59:55
-0700</guid>
<pubDate>Mon, 06 Feb 2023 09:59:55 -0700</pubDate>
<description>
<![CDATA[
<h3 id="00061">00061</h3>
<p>Alex the Octopus and Inky the Noogle stand on a tree branch
as wide a street in the heart of the great white upside-down
forest.</p>
<p>A cry of anguish and anger echoes through the forest, and
the branches below you sway and rustle as something rises up
from the depths. You keep catching a glimpse of scarlet
between the silvery white leaves.</p>
<p>The large black ravens perched below you scream in
agitation and fly up past you to the thicker branches up
above, where they hop side to side and loudly scold and
protest the disturbance. A single black feather the length of
your hand settles to the ground at your feet, knocked loose
during their flight.</p>
<p>You finally see the fearsome beast crashing through the
branches below you. Its crazed, yellow eyes as large and round
as dinner plates, a great eight-legged rodent leaps from
branch to branch as it swiftly ascends. It is a bloody,
crimson red. Its long tufted ears lay flat against its
elongated, grinning skull. Its ribbon-like tail twitches as it
trails along behind it like a river of blood. It cries out
again in anger, showing its overgrown incisors, and grinds and
gnashes its back teeth.</p>
<p>Its eyes bore into you with wild fury and blind madness as
it climbs.</p>
<p>“She’s not herself,” sighs the chipmunk, suddenly at your
side once more. When you look down at the chipmunk, however,
it has suddenly turned into a small featureless black turtle
with a sticky sweet roll instead of a shell. Its smooth little
head pokes timidly out of the roll.</p>
<p>“The Red Squirrel,” laments the turtle. “She’s being ridden
by a ghost. An angry ghost who isn’t from here. Somebody left
the door open, and it blew in on the breeze.” The turtle’s
voice trails off until its final words are barely a
whisper.</p>
<p>You can still feel two currents tugging at you and trying
to pull you under. One inward toward your host’s deep, core
memories. And the second pulling you outward toward the Sea of
Dreams.</p>
<p>You have but a moment before the Red Squirrel is upon
you.</p>
<p>You sink into the dark reflectionless pool, letting its
waters close over you and pull you under. You ponder its
depths from within in its embrace, mindless of the passage of
time.</p>
<p>After a few minutes, or a few days, you notice faint light
rising up here and there from below. Fuzzy, cobwebby human
shapes float suspended in the waters. Some far away, distant
as stars. Some drift close enough that you would be able to
discern their features, if they had any.</p>
<p>You realize all at once that these are the dream forms of
sleeping Basmentarians everywhere, and that you are floating
in Ousia, a solitary awakened dreamer in a literal sea of the
passive slumbering.</p>
<p>As though responding to your realization, the waters bear
you up and you pierce the weak membrane between water and air.
You float effortlessly and the gentle waves nudge you ever
onward toward some unknown shore. Or merely farther out to
sea. You’re not sure.</p>
<p>You continue to see the dreamers all around you. You watch
curiously as you float by two that seem to have bumped into
one another and fused together, their cobwebby bodies
sprouting hard crystalline growths and spreading like creeping
vines, forming a lattice and creating a small floating
island.</p>
<p>After a few hours, or a few weeks, you wash up on the beach
of a large island. There is a steep rock, a pillar of a
mountain, jutting straight up from the center of the island
some distance ahead. And jutting from the pillar is a fractal
structure of interconnected towers, all sprouting and
branching from one large central tower. The top of the tower
disappears far overhead, obscured by a rippling aurora of
green and pink lights in the sky.</p>
<p>Some distance down the beach, just out of hailing distance,
a lone figure stands gazing at the sea, their back to the
tower.</p>
<p>The figure waits.</p>
<p>The tower’s strange geometry beckons.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>Kasutva, how can I know that I can trust you? What do you
gain in helping me, and was there really no way for you to
communicate with me without beheading yourself? That seems a
little bit distraughting. Like, do you need a bandage or some
headache medicine or something? I feel like if I yanked my
face off I’d need an ibuprofen. I have some if you want? (alex
rummages in a coat pocket and finds a bottle of pain killers,
and offers them to the being).</p>
<p>Right anyways, answers questions. I’m looking for my Uncle
first and foremost. He dropped off the map a few days ago, and
I can’t find hide nor hair of him. Then the murders started.
Shit at HQ when wild, hit the wall literally, and now I’m in
some sort of fever dream talking to what can only be a
manifestation of my own subconscious, or perhaps someone
else’s. Look. I need to get back to Inky, we’re trying to meet
someone and we’re running late, and in the scheme of things my
problems aren’t so big if the world’s going to end because
some mad hatter is after these blasted crystal’s we’ve been
collecting..</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Even as you speak, you notice the edges of Big Kasutva’s
“wounds” start to close until its flesh begins to once more
envelop and enclose its face.</p>
<p>The creature courteously accepts a few pills from you, but
simply deposits them in its satchel.</p>
<p>“No, it doesn’t hurt us,” say the two voices together. “And
little matter if it did. It is necessary for us to speak.”</p>
<p>They listen to your story. Big Kasutva’s voice starts to
become muffled as its skin now grows over its mouth. Only its
eyes are visible as the two of them continue. “If your Inky
has come to this place, then there is only one place they can
have gone.” They gesture to the sea. “And that place is
Ephemeris. The Heart of the Dreaming at the center of
Ousia.”</p>
<p>Big Kasutva finally falls silent as it heals completely. It
guides you to the shoreline, where a long pier has suddenly
appeared. Mushroom Kasutva continues to speak for both of
them.</p>
<p>“We only ask to accompany you as you go. We wish to see
Ephemeris ourselves. But we cannot abandon our post here on
the dunes,” it says looking at Big Kasutva. “And we,” it says
gesturing to itself, “are too small to brave the sea
alone.”</p>
<p>Big Kasutva stops short of the end of the pier. The little
mushroom hops right up to the edge and peers down at the
water.</p>
<p>“All that is left is to jump, Alex. And let the waters of
Ousia bear you up and carry you to Ephemeris.”</p>
<p>It hops up to you and extends itself in a clear request,
despite its lack of limbs, that it wants you to pick it
up.</p>
<p>WHAT DO YOU DO</p>
]]>
</description>
@ -1735,5 +1701,203 @@ NOTE GDB INDICATES SOME ANOMALY</code></pre>
]]>
</description>
</item>
<item>
<title>56</title>
<author>dozens@tilde.team (dozens)</author>
<guid isPermaLink="false">56 - Mon, 16 Jan 2023 14:10:25
-0700</guid>
<pubDate>Mon, 16 Jan 2023 14:10:25 -0700</pubDate>
<description>
<![CDATA[
<h3 id="00056">00056</h3>
<blockquote>
<p>The agitation Alex feels bubbles just beneath the surface.
Patterns where patterns shouldn’t be, strange orders from HQ,
indifference where once was ample aide as well. It was
maddening. Combine it all with the haunting suspicion that
there was constantly someone just around the next corner, and
it was enough to truly drive Alex mad.</p>
<p>That uneasiness takes its toll on a long enough time line,
but Alex wasn’t about to let it get to him. Or so he thought
to himself as he cast a furtive look at his monitoring
equipment. This paranoia had served him well in the past, very
well in fact. It’s a sort of sixth sense in a way, always kept
Alex off the edge of the cliff, especially when someone
stepped close enough to push him off. Those were the types of
skills HQ sought after in the first place.</p>
<p>Alex closes the iron door on his bunker, leaving his
monitoring equipment running, dead man’s trigger set to blow
the place shoul anyone enter it. Can’t be too careful these
days..</p>
<p>Emerging from the sewer grate, sticking to the shadows,
Alex makes his way down an alley, then another, and yet
another, finally emerging a few blocks from the Milk Market.
Across the street, as he had expected, was Marvelo’s Marvelous
MurderSticks, a quaint place should one needed something, well
you get the picture, they don’t really sell anything but
weaponry here.</p>
<p>Alex ducked into the entrance of the shop and strode
towards the back rack, where a collection of knives was on
display. A rough looking fellow, ruddy red beard, thinning
hair, moved from the counter as he saw Alex approach. “Fine
sampling of knives we have, could I interest you in one?”
Marvelo says. Alex reaches for a thin stilleto style dagger,
and hands it to Marvelo “This one seems about right, but I’d
like an extra sharp edge put on it, if you don’t mind”.
Marvelo takes the stilleto from Alex say “Not a problem at all
sir”, and he heads into the back.</p>
<p>He sets to work honing the edge, and once complete he
places it on his work bench. Grabbing a velvet lined case from
a stack, he deftly removes the bottom and places a rolled
piece of paper into the bottom, alongside an m1911 style
pistol, and a couple of clips of ammo. He then places the
velvet bottom back over the equipment, and places the stilleto
on top, bringing the entire package back to the front. “An
extra fine edge on this one sir, that’ll be 15 gold, plus
another 5 to cover the service.</p>
<p>Alex pays, and nips out the shop and heads back to the back
alley. Paranoia begets what it requets, Alex mutters to
himself as he disassembles the box holstering the pistol and
ammo, and sheathing the dagger. Can’t keep going unarmed like
I’m some kind of beat cop, not anymore.. Alex discards the
case and unfurls the message, quickly deciphering the
encryption set on it by Marvelo.</p>
<pre><code>The hunt is still on, no word on Blavin nor the Iris group, yet.
Agent 7 heard rumor of a couple of persons inquiring about the &quot;Milk Market&quot; these past few days.
Agent 3 heard similar rumors, was able to bribe a melon vendor to acertain the figure wore a red sash, and was looking for friends.
Agent 6 has kept watch on the Market, nothing strange yet, coming and goings as usual, no strange visitors
Agent 4 monitoring feeds still present glitches, something abnormal
Agent 5 found the melon vendor dead in a back alley, strangled to death, not immediate signs of blunt force trauma, caution advised</code></pre>
<p>Alex burned the note, striding rapidly away from the alley,
taking a meandering route away from the Milk Market, looping
back around, and heading back towards it by yet another.
Nobody appeared to be following him, yet he paused at each
corner and turn, waiting for the footsteps of a pursuant.</p>
<p>Noting nothing, he made his way through the back entrance
of Enrique’s Empanadas greeting the cook quietly, but jovial.
“Enrique, where’s Inky? We’ve got a problem.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>~</p>
<blockquote>
<p>Inky skims the page. They thank the witch, pay for the
items and exit the shop, promptly discarding all notions of
meeting Bother at the place stipulated on the note.</p>
<p><em>(Half and one hour later)</em></p>
<p>One-sixths into a caramel cantaloupe cream cornet, Inky
runs into Confidence outside the Wandering Bazaar and obtains
some of their new pamphlets, minted with luminescent ink for
the convenience of late-night tourists. These are subsequently
hare-mailed to every editor at the <em>Niuewstijl</em> office,
which is almost certain to earn another chiding remark from
Tess about etiquette and the handling of unsolicited bulk mail
to parent editorial teams.</p>
<p><em>(Half and two hours later)</em></p>
<p>The installation on display at the Milk Market was
grotesque — that is to say, a work of beauty. Inky steps
carefully through the rooms to not disturb the piece.
Afterwards, they sign the guestbook set up on an upturned milk
crate by the door, delightedly pasting rows of horse head and
thumbs-up emo Gs on a page thoughtfully titled “you can’t ed
the unedible”.</p>
<p><em>(Half and three hours earlier)</em></p>
<p>Thanking Agate for her time, Inky passes her a sheet of
paper on which were written a few questions about the
prescribed ritual, with some space after each question should
the witch prefer to scribble a response:</p>
<ul>
<li><p>What do guides in the Sea of Dreams and the Ravenfolk
typically seek in return for directing travellers to the
correct pocket dimension?</p></li>
<li><p>An establishment inside the Bazaar is only open in the
evenings whenever it appears in the city. How long does travel
to a pocket dimension typically take, allowing for time to
seek out a guide? Is there a way travellers can estimate the
time to set out on their journey, in order to arrive at the
establishment while it is open?</p></li>
<li><p>Who are the Red Spider and “Dude 215R” mentioned in the
ritual? How can travellers avoid summoning them?</p></li>
<li><p>Would anything happen to the travellers if any of the
sigils were removed during the ritual before they wake
up?</p></li>
</ul>
<p><em>(Half and four hours later)</em></p>
<p>Two sets of eyes peer down at the contents of an open tin.
One accompanied by a focused look and a little trepidation,
following the pinkish, flesh-like chunks speckled with white
pockets of fat as they tumble into a hot pan and almost
immediately begin to move of their own accord. The moving
mounds resemble small round mouths opening, each with a rim of
sharp teeth. The other pair of eyes belongs to a grinning face
that beams when the mounds bloom into bright red flat caps,
the edges beneath about to soften in the olive oil.</p>
<p>Minutes after, The slices are ready. Inky accepts the plate
of tostada with spicy pickled artichoke mushrooms and tomatoes
with a murmur of thanks. Reassembling the recipe for the
tinned spicy artichoke mushrooms had been a tedious process —
someone had ripped out the pages from an old pickling book
that had long ceased publication. Eventually Inky found a
former nomad who had eaten them for two years in their youth
and could recall or somewhat describe the taste. Flowery and
savoury, they said. Many taste tests later, it turned out to
be closer to partially decomposed cheese in ponderosa lemon
juice. Canning was fortuitously easier with the increasing
portability of sealers. Rather than telling the empanada chef
any of this, Inky watches satisfaction slowly spread across
his face. The tale that follows is far more entertaining.</p>
<p><em>(Half and five hours later)</em></p>
<p>While measuring out ingredients for the forty-second tea
infusion since the start of the missions, not that Inky was
keeping a close count, they hear a familiar voice a short
distance outside the door asking for their whereabouts.
Without pausing in their whisking, Inky simply informs the
owner of the voice they’re not here, obviously, before
emerging from the storage pantry with a fresh pot and bowls on
a wooden tray, and greets the returning sysorcerer.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Agate writes back quickly:</p>
<blockquote>
<p>What do guides in the Sea of Dreams and the Ravenfolk
typically seek in return for directing travellers to the
correct pocket dimension?</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Intangibles. Usually memories, hopes, or dreams.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>An establishment inside the Bazaar is only open in the
evenings whenever it appears in the city. How long does travel
to a pocket dimension typically take, allowing for time to
seek out a guide? Is there a way travellers can estimate the
time to set out on their journey, in order to arrive at the
establishment while it is open?</p>
</blockquote>
<p>You’ll find that time is rather malleable on the Otherside.
You’ll likely arrive exactly when you’re meant to. No need to
worry too much about it.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>Who are the Red Spider and “Dude 215R” mentioned in the
ritual? How can travellers avoid summoning them?</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Godforms manifested by the Linking Sigil and the Dream
Sigil, respectively. It’s not <em>terrible</em> if they show
up. But it’s definitely not ideal. You shouldn’t register on
their radar as long as you don’t pump too much energy into, or
siphon to much energy out of, the sigils. If they do show up,
just know that you’re in the presence of a godlike power, and
behave accordingly.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>Would anything happen to the travellers if any of the
sigils were removed during the ritual before they wake up?</p>
</blockquote>
<p>If the sigils are removed or if the circle is broken,
you’ll likely just wake up before you wanted to. Same goes for
if your dreamform is destroyed while in the Dreaming. The only
real danger you may encounter is the Scissormen and their ilk.
They will attempt to permanently sever your dreamform from
your waking body. Which would leave your body a soulless husk,
and leave your consciousness adrift in the Sea of Dreams. But
that probably won’t happen! Okay good luck, have fun!</p>
<p>WHAT DO YOU DO</p>
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@ -287,6 +287,7 @@
<li><a href="#00061" id="toc-00061">00061</a></li>
<li><a href="#00062" id="toc-00062">00062</a></li>
<li><a href="#00063" id="toc-00063">00063</a></li>
<li><a href="#00064" id="toc-00064">00064</a></li>
</ul></li>
<li><a href="#spoilers" id="toc-spoilers">Spoilers</a></li>
<li><a href="#acknowledgements"
@ -363,11 +364,11 @@ into the <a href="#current-story">current story arc</a>.</p>
you can <a href="https://tilde.town/~dozens/quest/rss.xml">subscribe to
the rss feed</a>.</p>
<h2 id="stats">Stats</h2>
<p>Total length: 81317 words / 347 minute read. (Mind you, that’s the
<p>Total length: 82674 words / 353 minute read. (Mind you, that’s the
length of this entire page, including all the extra bits and bobs. Not
just the story.)</p>
<p>There have been 221 messages posted over 217 days since the first
post on July 13, 2022 for a daily post rate of 1.01.</p>
<p>There have been 223 messages posted over 222 days since the first
post on July 13, 2022 for a daily post rate of 1.00.</p>
<h2 id="chapter-1">Chapter 1</h2>
<p>This is the first installment of BASEMENT QUEST.</p>
<p>Jump to: <a href="#00001">1</a> <a href="#00002">2</a> <a
@ -6730,6 +6731,134 @@ Small Kasutva lacks any limbs and cannot gesture, but smiles softly at
you.</p>
<p>“But tell us what it is you seek. Perhaps we can be of help.”</p>
<p>WHAT DO YOU DO</p>
<h3 id="00064">00064</h3>
<p>Back at the fish market, Marvelo squints into the pouring rain and
swears under his breath, frustrated at the limited visibility.</p>
<p>His colleague is lying on the floor behind him in some kind of state
of deeply altered consciousness, along with an inkling, a toque, and an
owl. In fact, the only waking beings left inside the market are himself,
a fluffy little duck, and a sticky hemogoblin.</p>
<p>“I’ve seen stranger things,” he shrugs and admits to himself.</p>
<p>The duck and the goblin are both fluffed up and huddled up next to
each other softly quacking and chirping to themselves.</p>
<p>He pauses and holds his breath as something indistinct catches his
attention. Years of training have produced an instinct he has learned
not to question. It has saved his butt more times than he can count.
Sometimes it screams at him and the danger is apparent. Like that time
with the Permian Raiders off the southern tip of Harshwind Glade. Other
times, such as this, all he gets is the vague feeling that something is
off. He waits. He’s been here before. His subconscious has spotted
something, noticed some pattern that doesn’t fit its surroundings. He
knows if he’s patient, his conscious mind will catch up and realize what
it was.</p>
<p>He squints out into the pouring rain. There! A flash of red close to
the ground.</p>
<p>“What in the world,” he wonders as a small child wearing a bright red
dress toddles into view. It looks up at him blankly as the rain beats
down on its head and shoulders.</p>
<p>“What are you doing out here, little guy? You’re getting soaked!”
Marvelo, concerned, rushes forward to comfort the child.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>Inky gingerly takes the coin with both hands, small digits clamping
onto the straight edges. They look at the Twenty-one Fiver nestled
against the fuzzy outlines of one palm before peering up again at the
figure seated before them. “Thank you, Great Spirit.” Inky says. “If
truly allowed to choose, then, this one accepts the price.”</p>
<p>They toss the coin up into the air. A beat, and they are hovering a
few feet above the tracks, between the fork and the oncoming train with
no walls. Inky watches as the child’s body begins to shrink as rapidly
as the black uniform expands, the entire apparition thinning and
becoming translucent. The shirt continues to grow until the hem brushes
the train tracks and the collar peeks over the invisible tops of the
train, the trousers and shoes having been pushed into the stones and
earth below.</p>
<p>A portal, the child’s voice supplies distantly. At the back of their
awareness, Inky homes in on the coin as it continues to spin. When the
train thunders down upon the oversized shirt doorway-apparent, they
brace for the force of the impact. Instead, all they could feel is a
creeping weariness, like water draining through tea leaves in a sieve,
while being suddenly surrounded by and staring into a deep
reflectionless pool.</p>
<p>Is it two to two, or two past eight, Inky wonders.</p>
<p>The last thing within their consciousness is a gleam of silver as the
coin lands on one of its corners mid-spin, bounces off the small half
table and falls into the shadows.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>You sink into the dark reflectionless pool, letting its waters close
over you and pull you under. You ponder its depths from within in its
embrace, mindless of the passage of time.</p>
<p>After a few minutes, or a few days, you notice faint light rising up
here and there from below. Fuzzy, cobwebby human shapes float suspended
in the waters. Some far away, distant as stars. Some drift close enough
that you would be able to discern their features, if they had any.</p>
<p>You realize all at once that these are the dream forms of sleeping
Basmentarians everywhere, and that you are floating in Ousia, a solitary
awakened dreamer in a literal sea of the passive slumbering.</p>
<p>As though responding to your realization, the waters bear you up and
you pierce the weak membrane between water and air. You float
effortlessly and the gentle waves nudge you ever onward toward some
unknown shore. Or merely farther out to sea. You’re not sure.</p>
<p>You continue to see the dreamers all around you. You watch curiously
as you float by two that seem to have bumped into one another and fused
together, their cobwebby bodies sprouting hard crystalline growths and
spreading like creeping vines, forming a lattice and creating a small
floating island.</p>
<p>After a few hours, or a few weeks, you wash up on the beach of a
large island. There is a steep rock, a pillar of a mountain, jutting
straight up from the center of the island some distance ahead. And
jutting from the pillar is a fractal structure of interconnected towers,
all sprouting and branching from one large central tower. The top of the
tower disappears far overhead, obscured by a rippling aurora of green
and pink lights in the sky.</p>
<p>Some distance down the beach, just out of hailing distance, a lone
figure stands gazing at the sea, their back to the tower.</p>
<p>The figure waits.</p>
<p>The tower’s strange geometry beckons.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>Kasutva, how can I know that I can trust you? What do you gain in
helping me, and was there really no way for you to communicate with me
without beheading yourself? That seems a little bit distraughting. Like,
do you need a bandage or some headache medicine or something? I feel
like if I yanked my face off I’d need an ibuprofen. I have some if you
want? (alex rummages in a coat pocket and finds a bottle of pain
killers, and offers them to the being).</p>
<p>Right anyways, answers questions. I’m looking for my Uncle first and
foremost. He dropped off the map a few days ago, and I can’t find hide
nor hair of him. Then the murders started. Shit at HQ when wild, hit the
wall literally, and now I’m in some sort of fever dream talking to what
can only be a manifestation of my own subconscious, or perhaps someone
else’s. Look. I need to get back to Inky, we’re trying to meet someone
and we’re running late, and in the scheme of things my problems aren’t
so big if the world’s going to end because some mad hatter is after
these blasted crystal’s we’ve been collecting..</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Even as you speak, you notice the edges of Big Kasutva’s “wounds”
start to close until its flesh begins to once more envelop and enclose
its face.</p>
<p>The creature courteously accepts a few pills from you, but simply
deposits them in its satchel.</p>
<p>“No, it doesn’t hurt us,” say the two voices together. “And little
matter if it did. It is necessary for us to speak.”</p>
<p>They listen to your story. Big Kasutva’s voice starts to become
muffled as its skin now grows over its mouth. Only its eyes are visible
as the two of them continue. “If your Inky has come to this place, then
there is only one place they can have gone.” They gesture to the sea.
“And that place is Ephemeris. The Heart of the Dreaming at the center of
Ousia.”</p>
<p>Big Kasutva finally falls silent as it heals completely. It guides
you to the shoreline, where a long pier has suddenly appeared. Mushroom
Kasutva continues to speak for both of them.</p>
<p>“We only ask to accompany you as you go. We wish to see Ephemeris
ourselves. But we cannot abandon our post here on the dunes,” it says
looking at Big Kasutva. “And we,” it says gesturing to itself, “are too
small to brave the sea alone.”</p>
<p>Big Kasutva stops short of the end of the pier. The little mushroom
hops right up to the edge and peers down at the water.</p>
<p>“All that is left is to jump, Alex. And let the waters of Ousia bear
you up and carry you to Ephemeris.”</p>
<p>It hops up to you and extends itself in a clear request, despite its
lack of limbs, that it wants you to pick it up.</p>
<p>WHAT DO YOU DO</p>
<h2 id="spoilers">Spoilers</h2>
<details>
<summary>