Total length: 81317 words / 347 minute read. (Mind you, that’s the +
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.)
-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.
+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.
This is the first installment of BASEMENT QUEST.
Jump to: 1 2
“But tell us what it is you seek. Perhaps we can be of help.” WHAT DO YOU DO 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 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
diff --git a/www/rss.xml b/www/rss.xml
index cf823ff..7a69ac2 100644
--- a/www/rss.xml
+++ b/www/rss.xml
@@ -235,6 +235,59 @@ And Fortune said it shou'd be you. Puu."
]]>
+ 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. 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. 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. 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. Its eyes bore into you with wild fury and blind madness as
+ it climbs. “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. “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. 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. You have but a moment before the Red Squirrel is upon
+ you. WHAT DO YOU DO 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. 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. 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.. 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. 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. 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. 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. 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. 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.” ~ 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. (Half and one hour later) 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 Niuewstijl 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. (Half and two hours later) 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”. (Half and three hours earlier) 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: What do guides in the Sea of Dreams and the Ravenfolk
- typically seek in return for directing travellers to the
- correct pocket dimension? 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? Who are the Red Spider and “Dude 215R” mentioned in the
- ritual? How can travellers avoid summoning them? Would anything happen to the travellers if any of the
- sigils were removed during the ritual before they wake
- up? (Half and four hours later) 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. 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. (Half and five hours later) 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. Agate writes back quickly: What do guides in the Sea of Dreams and the Ravenfolk
- typically seek in return for directing travellers to the
- correct pocket dimension? Intangibles. Usually memories, hopes, or dreams. 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? 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. Who are the Red Spider and “Dude 215R” mentioned in the
- ritual? How can travellers avoid summoning them? Godforms manifested by the Linking Sigil and the Dream
- Sigil, respectively. It’s not terrible 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. Would anything happen to the travellers if any of the
- sigils were removed during the ritual before they wake up? 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! WHAT DO YOU DO Alex takes inventory of himself, this dream world is
+ definitely strange, but fortunately its decided to provide him
+ with his impecable fashion, trench coat and all. Unfortunately
+ the same can’t be said for his roguish good looks, as he’s
+ found himself 6 arms heavier, and a bit more octopus-y than he
+ remembers. Nontheless this doesn’t appear to be much of an impediment,
+ and he promptly moves on with assessing the situation. “Acorns? No, I don’t think so. I’m afraid octopus’ are
+ terrible at fetching acrons, and at any rate, I have a
+ dreadfully important meeting across town.” turning to address
+ Inky, “We need to make a break for it, what’d the witch tell
+ you? Envision our goal or something? This is really a little
+ outside of my realm of mechanical magic expertise..
+ unless..” Alex makes a gesture with his tentacles in the area and a
+ terminal prompt appears before him. His tentacles work at
+ blinding speed at the digital window, a quick bypass there, a
+ root access escalation there. “Looks like this whole place runs on Linux, it’s an older
+ kernel, about 2.6 or so, but it checks out. Easy to exploit as
+ needed. Here I’m giving us sudo access, should we need
+ it.” “Oh and squirrel, here’s your acorns” It takes Alectopus a couple tries, but he gets it. First he
+ corrects ‘acron’ to ‘acorn’. Then he moves all the acorns to
+ the chipmunk instead of to the squirrel. Hundreds of acorns appear at the chipmunk’s feet. It
+ squeals in delight. In the distance, far below you, you hear the anguished yell
+ of what can only be a Red Squirrel whose giant stash of acorns
+ has just vanished. The chipmunk rubs its hands together gleefully and starts
+ scooping up acorns by the armful and shoving them into its
+ mouth by the dozen. “Oh, thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” it
+ says around a mouthful of nuts. “Here…” It tosses you a large
+ square silver coin with a round hole drilled in the center. On
+ one side is the number twenty-one next to a picture of a
+ curved, short-handled sickle. On the other side is the number
+ five and a picture of a flail. “A Twenty-One Fiver! Sorry, you deserve more, but it’s all
+ I have,” it apologizes as it scampers off, no doubt to hide
+ its nuts. Hopefully somewhere more secure this time. If you hold the coin up to your eye and peer through the
+ hole, you see the dreamscape before you as though looking
+ through a cloudy film. All the same stuff is there, but it’s
+ hazy and shadowy. Standing a fair distance from you on the branch, just out
+ of hailing distance, is a tall figure cloaked in black robes.
+ Dark shadows pool restlessly around its feet. Occasionally the
+ shadows leap up and take the form of demons the like of which
+ words cannot describe, before falling and returning to shadow
+ once more. The figure wears a large spherical helmet of
+ obsidian-like glass. You can see constant flashes of a rainbow
+ of colors crackle and splinter along the inside of the helmet
+ like lightning, but illuminating nothing within. You feel
+ sickened at the sight, but at the edge of your mind you feels
+ a tug, a familiarity. Something about this character is
+ familiar to you, but you cannot place it. When you lower the coin, the figure and the dark landscape
+ both disappear. When you raise it again, the distorted
+ landscape reappears but the figure is gone. You notice a pair of large ravens watching you rather
+ intently from the branches below. WHAT DO YOU DO 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. Alex takes inventory of himself, this dream world is
- definitely strange, but fortunately its decided to provide him
- with his impecable fashion, trench coat and all. Unfortunately
- the same can’t be said for his roguish good looks, as he’s
- found himself 6 arms heavier, and a bit more octopus-y than he
- remembers. Nontheless this doesn’t appear to be much of an impediment,
- and he promptly moves on with assessing the situation. “Acorns? No, I don’t think so. I’m afraid octopus’ are
- terrible at fetching acrons, and at any rate, I have a
- dreadfully important meeting across town.” turning to address
- Inky, “We need to make a break for it, what’d the witch tell
- you? Envision our goal or something? This is really a little
- outside of my realm of mechanical magic expertise..
- unless..” Alex makes a gesture with his tentacles in the area and a
- terminal prompt appears before him. His tentacles work at
- blinding speed at the digital window, a quick bypass there, a
- root access escalation there. “Looks like this whole place runs on Linux, it’s an older
- kernel, about 2.6 or so, but it checks out. Easy to exploit as
- needed. Here I’m giving us sudo access, should we need
- it.” “Oh and squirrel, here’s your acorns” 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. It takes Alectopus a couple tries, but he gets it. First he
- corrects ‘acron’ to ‘acorn’. Then he moves all the acorns to
- the chipmunk instead of to the squirrel. Hundreds of acorns appear at the chipmunk’s feet. It
- squeals in delight. In the distance, far below you, you hear the anguished yell
- of what can only be a Red Squirrel whose giant stash of acorns
- has just vanished. The chipmunk rubs its hands together gleefully and starts
- scooping up acorns by the armful and shoving them into its
- mouth by the dozen. “Oh, thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” it
- says around a mouthful of nuts. “Here…” It tosses you a large
- square silver coin with a round hole drilled in the center. On
- one side is the number twenty-one next to a picture of a
- curved, short-handled sickle. On the other side is the number
- five and a picture of a flail. “A Twenty-One Fiver! Sorry, you deserve more, but it’s all
- I have,” it apologizes as it scampers off, no doubt to hide
- its nuts. Hopefully somewhere more secure this time. If you hold the coin up to your eye and peer through the
- hole, you see the dreamscape before you as though looking
- through a cloudy film. All the same stuff is there, but it’s
- hazy and shadowy. Standing a fair distance from you on the branch, just out
- of hailing distance, is a tall figure cloaked in black robes.
- Dark shadows pool restlessly around its feet. Occasionally the
- shadows leap up and take the form of demons the like of which
- words cannot describe, before falling and returning to shadow
- once more. The figure wears a large spherical helmet of
- obsidian-like glass. You can see constant flashes of a rainbow
- of colors crackle and splinter along the inside of the helmet
- like lightning, but illuminating nothing within. You feel
- sickened at the sight, but at the edge of your mind you feels
- a tug, a familiarity. Something about this character is
- familiar to you, but you cannot place it. When you lower the coin, the figure and the dark landscape
- both disappear. When you raise it again, the distorted
- landscape reappears but the figure is gone. You notice a pair of large ravens watching you rather
- intently from the branches below. WHAT DO YOU DO 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. 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. 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. 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. Its eyes bore into you with wild fury and blind madness as
- it climbs. “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. “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. 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. You have but a moment before the Red Squirrel is upon
- you. 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 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. 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. 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.. 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. 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. 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. 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. 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. 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.” ~ 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. (Half and one hour later) 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 Niuewstijl 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. (Half and two hours later) 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”. (Half and three hours earlier) 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: What do guides in the Sea of Dreams and the Ravenfolk
+ typically seek in return for directing travellers to the
+ correct pocket dimension? 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? Who are the Red Spider and “Dude 215R” mentioned in the
+ ritual? How can travellers avoid summoning them? Would anything happen to the travellers if any of the
+ sigils were removed during the ritual before they wake
+ up? (Half and four hours later) 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. 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. (Half and five hours later) 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. Agate writes back quickly: What do guides in the Sea of Dreams and the Ravenfolk
+ typically seek in return for directing travellers to the
+ correct pocket dimension? Intangibles. Usually memories, hopes, or dreams. 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? 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. Who are the Red Spider and “Dude 215R” mentioned in the
+ ritual? How can travellers avoid summoning them? Godforms manifested by the Linking Sigil and the Dream
+ Sigil, respectively. It’s not terrible 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. Would anything happen to the travellers if any of the
+ sigils were removed during the ritual before they wake up? 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! WHAT DO YOU DO00064
+
+
+
+
+Afterword
-
-
- 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 "Milk Market" 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
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
+
+
+ find /* -name '*acron*' -exec mv /home/squirrel { } \00064
+
-
-
+ find /* -name '*acron*' -exec mv /home/squirrel { } \
+
+
+
+
+ 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 "Milk Market" 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
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
Total length: 81317 words / 347 minute read. (Mind you, that’s the +
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.)
-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.
+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.
This is the first installment of BASEMENT QUEST.
Jump to: 1 2
“But tell us what it is you seek. Perhaps we can be of help.” WHAT DO YOU DO 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 DO00064
+
+
+
+
+Spoilers