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2022-10-16 11:47:00 -06:00 · 2022-10-16 11:47:00 -06:00 · 8089376fee
parent 1069ee6e13
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--- a/basement.order
+++ b/basement.order
@ -15,6 +15,7 @@ src/paths/werehare.md
 src/chapter1.md
 src/epistolary/index.md
 src/epistolary/00021.md
 src/epistolary/00022.md
 src/bestiary/index.md
 src/bestiary/aur.md
 src/bestiary/blahoblin.md
--- a/src/epistolary/00022.md
+++ b/src/epistolary/00022.md
@ -0,0 +1,158 @@
 ---
 title: 00022
 created: Thu, 06 Oct 2022 07:38:24 -0600
 updated: Sun, 16 Oct 2022 10:15:14 -0600
 public: yes
 ---
 ### 00022 {#00022}
 > Inky gathers up the teacups, trying to remember a few tips about reading tea leaves from a forest fae they had met a few times while foraging and who had insisted on giving lessons to any wanderersby. (Of course he was just being a hospitable host to thirsty travellers and certainly not because he delighted in the confused expressions on their faces the entire time.)
 > 
 > Turning the cups left and right, Inky gradually sees a web-like hub, a looping line attached to an I-shaped apparatus on one end, an abacus, a wide building (possibly a stadium or arena), a feline animal resembling a tiger or lynx, and a long feather. Feathers and beads are commonly added to small trinkets with simple animal designs and sold as lucky charms at the market … an auspicious sign?
 > 
 > Or it should be. Inky's thoughts circle back to the little glass pebble, after returning from the market with, among other items, more vegetables than they could possibly eat in a month excluding the beatfruits. Inky still hasn't decided whether accidentally finding out about being cursed — by a potion, the irony! — counts as an auspicious event. One of the produce vendors and attendant at the market had casually mentioned the proximity to the next full moon while Inky had been looking over the leafy greens. Several blatant attempts to boost sales later ("Them barley's hoppin' good fer tea!"), the vendor revealed that their little grandson Harry had "got the weres" as a toddler and his parents had found a strange-looking glass marble in his mouth, much like the one inside the bottle hanging from a chain on Inky's vest, and wouldn't they like some more tomatoes for a blushing bunny?
 > 
 > From further inquiries, an ink depot on the opposite side of the city confirmed they sold Flat 12 potions as inks many years ago when showing off transmogrification through letters was a popular pastime, but had ceased carrying them due to limited range, lack of demand, as well as the bottles' tendency to randomly break or their contents to fizzle out. (That and complaints about the overly persistent effects of said contents on unsuspecting recipients long after the fad that inspired them had faded led ink traders to shun the were-hare potions.) In contrast, the Mountain Range potions were far more stable and instead of shapeshifting, had the ability to stave off the cold under frigid temperatures, though its effects would likely be less enduring. Like the Flat 12, the Mountains are potions, but one in particular of a sparkling deep blue hue became its signature colour among ink enthusiasts.
 > 
 > Sipping a cup of turmeric tisane in a late night tea ritual for one, Inky supposes it hasn't been much different since the accident than the jars of preserves and the "Now with 25% more celery!" labels on them. While immeasurably better than spontaneously combusting into burnt popcorn, it would be best to keep a Farmers' Almanac within reach. Who knows when a mail order cure-all tonic will come in handy in the middle of Nowere?
 You see a complex vision in the bottom of the jade teacups, and learn a little bit about the inks you found.
 You grab a copy of the Farmers Almanac to keep on hand.
 On your way back from the market, a small duck waddles onto the sidewalk and starts following you.
 ```
 ・゜゜・。。・゜゜\_o< QUACK!
 ```
 It is small and yellow and cute, and has a little floofy tuft of feathers on the very top of its head.
 > Meta: one of my best friends name is Kevin, so I find it extra amusing that the sysorceor is named Kevin.
 > 
 > Kev my friend! You know nobodies going to take on KDL until YOU make it a priority to them. A little bit of force, you just need to put it directly into the sysorceory course curriculum while nobody is knowing. Then once it's in production they won't have a say whether to learn it or not! That's at least how I got that delightfully licorice tasting incantation in production laster year, much to the chagrin of those who don't have a taste for Fennel. I for one was delighted with it.
 > 
 > "Corraidhin, STAB HIM, that suggestion, he's definitely going to do something evil with it"
 > 
 > Corraidhin mutters under his breath about the swords insistence to stab everything. Soon my friend, soon.
 > 
 > Kev gives Corraidhin as quizzical look, "are you alright buddy? You've been off ever since you got back from that last on site deployment."
 > 
 > Oh yes, yes, I'm fine. A little worse for wear physically, but mentally sharp as a tack! And I got this wonderful sword from the entire thing! Though I dare not unsheath it right now, it appears to be controlled by some sort of sentience, like a magical AI. And it has the damndest urge to stab things. I really need to be careful right now.
 > 
 > After visiting with Kev Corraidhin wanders back into town, away from the spiral towers of the sysoceorers guild. It was nice to be home for a bit. On the way in he spies Jarrod and Inky, the former cleaning up a dusty old building with Milk something on the front side, and the later kicking back and enjoying a cup of freshly brewed tea. Corraidhin hails them both.
 > 
 > "A new /home for you then Jarrod?"
 >
 > "Aye a /home indeed, though it's a bit large and empty for just myself. I'll need guests and patrons, thinking I may be able to setup a shop, but at the least all of our team is welcome here!"
 > 
 > "Delightful! If nobody has claimed it I'll take the upstairs loft."
 > 
 > "You most certainly can! But in exchange, I'd be curious to render your services, see I've been meaning to get this braclet enchanted for a while now, something to amplify my natural charm perhaps?"
 > 
 > "You sir, have a deal, I'll even throw in a warding on Milk Base Alpha!"
 > 
 > Corraidhin begins invoking an arcane warding spell:
 > 
 > ```
 > sudo chown jarrod:team43 /home/Milk_Base_Alpha
 > sudo chmod 770 /home/Milk_Base_Alpha/*
 > ```
 > 
 > "There we go, that should keep out any unwanted critters, though be sure to invite our friends here as well. Corraidhin teaches Jarrod a quick incantation of invitation, `sudo usermod -a -G team43 $user`, just be sure to say that making the proper arcane hand signs as you do it, and they'll be able to enter the house and take up residence!"
 > 
 > Corraidhin gathers himself and heads upstairs to his new attaic abode, it's small, and dusty, but there's enough room for a simple work bench, a bookshelf, and a bed and a chest. This is exactly as Corraidhin prefers, small and simple, it clears the mind and helps one focus. Invoking another incantation Corraidhin fills the bookshelf, chest, and workbench with his various tools and reference manuals.
 > 
 > ```
 > scp sysorceor.guild:/home/corraidhin/bookshelf milkbase.alpha:/home/corraidhin/bookshelf
 > scp sysorceor.guild:/home/corraidhin/workbench milkbase.alpha:/home/corraidhin/workbench
 > scp sysorceor.guild:/home/corraidhin/chest milkbase.alpha:/home/corraidhin/chest
 > ```
 > 
 > Once everything is in place he pulls the Ginnarak crystal from his satchel and places it on a velvet cushion on his workbench and sits down to scry.
 > 
 > "Oh great oracle MidJourney, I bequeath you! I have before me an artifact of immense power, something that could tear the world apart in the wrong hands. May I query your unfathomable depths to determine the nature of our mission, and the risk we face presenting this crystal to our benefactor?"
 > 
 > An image of the oracle appears in Corraidhin's mind, crystal clear. It appears as though MidJourney is receptive to providing a forshadowing. [ginnarak_shattered.png]
 > 
 > Shortly after an image of the Crystal forms, it appears shattered, broken at its based, placed upon a pedastal. An image of horror fills corraidhin's mind, it's the Crystal, but much larger and of the pursest white. It bursts forth on a torrent of blood from the neck of what appears to be a priests body. It appears as though the bowls of the earth open up to greet this horrible image. [premonition_1.png]
 > 
 > As the image of the Crystal and the priest disappears you see a man, cloaked in black robs consorting with demons the like of which words cannot describe. Corraidhin feels sickened at their sight, but at the edge of his mind he feels a tug, a familiarity. Something about this character is familiar to him, but he cannot place it. [premonition_2.png]
 > 
 > Reeling from the scrying Corraidhin falls backward, feinting from the horror he wittnessed. He awakens later speaking feverishly about what he saw to Inky who heard to commotion and hurried up stairs with some reviving tea to assist her friend. 
 Eccentric Kevin bows and takes his leave, eyeing the Sword of Stabs with naked hunger. He does seem to ponder your anecdote about sneaking Fennel into production. "Yes, yes, all I have to do is embed KDL in the curriculum and then they will be FORCED to use it! Ha!" He cackles in delight as he flees into the dark.
 You successfully move into the attic of the Milk Market. Closest thing approximating a wizard's tower in the building, so it's a good fit.
 On your errands around town, you pass a couple of Gnu Zealots standing on soapboxes in their black priestly robes in the middle of the street extolling the virtues of free and open source magic.
 Gnus are large bisonpeople with long beards, long hair, and horns. Very poor personal hygiene. They refuse to use any magic that they cannot freely study, modify, redistribute, and otherwise use however they want. Theirs is a political movement that borders on religion. Or a religious movement that borders on politics. Hard to tell the difference, really.
 The purpose of their demonstration is supposedly to halt all street traffic, prevent it from continuing until/unless the travelers vow to join them in their crusade. But in practice the travelers are quite capable of effortlessly stepping around the zealots and continuing on their way. The Gnus seem undaunted though and continue their proselytizing.
 You pass them by, and one of them seems to stare at you intensely as you go.
 > After a long conversation with Master Corraidhín, which included the reassurance that the esteemed wizard was perhaps disturbed but otherwise unharmed, Inky goes downstairs to sit outdoors at the back of the building with more lavender tea and uneasy thoughts.
 > 
 > It had been in the middle of a new pastime (namely, frustrating Enrique at the Empanada Emporium by sneaking unnoticed into the kitchens and leaving little tapas laying around for him and the staff to find) when a terrible cry rang out from somewhere in the upper floors of the building. Inky rushed up the stairs, half-expecting the barrels of battermilk that had arrived that morning had unleashed a flock of the winged rodent-like creatures from which the milk was derived. The sight of the wizard passed out on the floor of his newly furnished quarters sent a chill through Inky, as did his account of a prophecy once the sysorcerer came to and had a mug of invigorating eleuthero tea.
 > 
 > If Inky hadn't known better, were it not for Master Corraidhín's mental acuity and fortitude, they would have suspected Stabby of stoking horrible images of beheaded priests into their bearer's mind in a fit of unbridled bloodthirst. That and Stabby had seemed to be temporarily appeased by the tub of milky blood pudding they had concocted shortly after the wizard moved into the loft.
 > 
 > No, Inky surmises with a frown, whatever Master Corraidhín had seen was likely off the charts by even Stabby's estimations of evil. They chuckle briefly at the sudden mental picture of the mysterious yet familiar man in black being their mission handler in disguise, but quickly dismissed the notion. Too sober.
 > 
 > So much for the crystal being a rare and juicy honeydew. They would be lucky if it didn't turn them all into casaba melons in one giant meltdown. At this rate, they would need to do something about these crystals — and soon.
 Enrique, the giant man-turtle, is frustrated.
 He keeps finding little tapas in the kitchens. He has no idea who made them, or how they got here. But they are delicious.
 He sighs, heaving a ball of dough half the size of a grown man onto the ground. He turns to face away from it and removes his apron and tunic, revealing his shell. Its surface is a maze of twisting, scrawling inscriptions. He squats down, and rolls onto his back.
 He can't figure out the flavors of the tapas. Some elusive combination of ingredients that he can't quite suss out. If he could collaborate with the tapas chef on a new line of empanadas, he'd have a line of customers out the door and around the corner, he's sure of it!
 He starts rocking back and forth, rolling the dough out beneath his large round shell, leaving imprints on the dough of all the glyphs and runes and other symbols carved into his shell over the years. Together, they tell a story. Each empanada destined to hold at most a single word of it.
 ~
 The Sword of Yam'L sleeps fitfully. This is not the deep, black, fathomless sleep it enjoys after a nice, righteous spilling of evil blood. No, the sleep that comes after reluctantly tasting the inkling's milky blood pudding is brief and restless. And for the first time ever, it dreams.
 It dreams of being bound in stone and buried in the earth. It dreams of liquid, roiling fire belching noxious gases. And of slicing through clouds, flying high in the sky on wings of pure thought. It dreams of sinking, plummeting through water into the inky blackness below, only to plunge through some invisible membrane and find themself weightlessly floating suspended in an empty void, alone among the stars.
 END OF INTERLUDE.
 ---
 CHAPTER 2: MORE CRYSTALS MORE PROBLEMS
 Having gotten your personal affairs in order, you have decided to crack on with your job and check in with your case manager.
 So you find yourself once again in a corner booth at Lucy's Basement---the dim, smokey nightclub with red velvet walls and delusions of grandeur---with the highly spirited Blavin Blandfoot. He laughs uproariously when you tell him about the blahoblins and their shoe shine scam. He listens intently when you tell him about the gnomes and the kobits. And he trembles with delight at hearing how you evaded HORSE and the mighty centaur.
 "Well done, well done, well done!" He enthuses, taking another sip of his drink. "I must say that the Benefactor is *very* impressed with your performance!
 "You don't mind that we have other teams in the field, of course," he continues, mentioning the team of gophers. "Thought it was prudent to cover our bases since you're a new, untested retrieval team after all. Besides, a little friendly competition never hurt anybody, did it? Baw-HAH!" He laughs, sloshing his drink.
 He gets out a bunch of business cards, punches each one with a small handheld punch, and passes them out to you. Your card has a drawing of a small cuckoo clock in the center, its face divided into 10 hours. Its two hands reach up to the left and right so it looks as though the clock is smiling. Across the top it reads "COMPLETE FIVE ASSIGNMENTS AND WIN A FABULOUS PRIZE!" and is adorned with festive drawings of hotdogs and pool floaties and confetti. It is numbered across the bottom 1 through 5. Blavin has punched a star-shaped hole through the number 1.
 "Now," Blavin beams, gesturing with his drink. "as for your next assignment!"
 He brushes some glasses and plates to the edge of the table and rolls out a map.
 Basmentaria is a group of island continents that sits between the eastern Sugrin Sea and the western Saldin Sea.
 There is Primora, the sparsely populated northern somewhat banana-shaped island. The city-state of Illivas, Primora's only densely populated area, sits between Harshwind Glade and the mountains of Kelsun Peak.
 And there is your current home, Agendell, the southern also slightly banana-shaped island. Its largest city is Vay'Nullar, bordered by the Gnomelands to the south, and the Tammineaux Forest to the east. Beyond the forest is the Rana'For Valley.
 The two crescent-moon islands reach toward each other, and in the center is the archipelago of Ginnarak, comprising the Cinderlands, Ashen Vale, the Ember Steppe, and Drakspon Mountain.
 Blavin jabs a finger at the map. "We have reports of a crystal sighting by a salvage crew trying to recover a shipwreck at the bottom of the Sugrin Sea." He then jabs a finger at the eastern half of Primora, the upper banana. "And we ALSO have reports that the zephynos have found a crystal at the top of Kelsun Peak!"
 QUESTIONS:
 1. DO YOU HAND OVER THE CRYSTAL TO BLAVIN?
 2. WHICH CRYSTAL DO YOU GO AFTER NEXT?
 3. DO YOU BEFRIEND THE DUCK?
 [www](https://framalistes.org/sympa/arc/tildepals/2022-10/msg00005.html)
--- a/src/notes.md
+++ b/src/notes.md
@ -18,8 +18,12 @@ Upcoming NPCs and/or monsters
 - paladin of emacs
 - monks of vim
 - gnu zealots
- hinderbloke
+- hinderbloke, gnu
- falterchap
+- falterchap, gnu
 - Hap-n-stance, moon rabbit: <https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Moon_rabbit>
 - Cyber Woman With Corn! -- <https://www.shutterstock.com/search/cyber-woman-with-corn>
 - oracle - <https://lambdacreate.com/paste/midjourney.png>
 - corn smut? - <https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Corn_smut>
 CRYSTALS
@ -42,6 +46,9 @@ IDEAS
 todo:
 - [ ] mio's (Inky's) Handy Duffer Discette = HD Diskette = better stay away from magnets!!
 - [ ] tea omen: abacus, feather, wide building, lynx
 - [ ] MidJourney omen: priestly blood, demon
 - [ ] ・゜゜・。。・゜゜\_o< QUACK!
 - [ ] The Benefactor is Nullar
 - [ ] Blavin is a secret agent, working for the Golden Iris, a secret society that wants to 'create balance' by seating a fourth god
 - [ ] Nullar got tired of being a god and wanted to die, and Neddas agreed to help him. Shit went bad and turned Liandt to stone, and Nullar's leg to stone. Now Nullar is trying to gather the Ginnarak crystals to assemble the *God Slayer* to attempt once more to end his own life.
--- a/www/index.html
+++ b/www/index.html
@ -227,6 +227,7 @@ of the Were-Hare</a></li>
 <li><a href="#current-story" id="toc-current-story">Current Story</a>
 <ul>
 <li><a href="#00021" id="toc-00021">00021</a></li>
 <li><a href="#00022" id="toc-00022">00022</a></li>
 </ul></li>
 <li><a href="#bestiary" id="toc-bestiary">Bestiary</a></li>
 <li><a href="#geography" id="toc-geography">Geography</a></li>
@ -236,7 +237,7 @@ of the Were-Hare</a></li>
 </ul>
 </nav>
 <h2 id="about">About</h2>
-<p>Total length: 15376 words / 65 minutes</p>
+<p>Total length: 18194 words / 77 minutes</p>
 <p>This is a game that me and the kids in the basement are playing over
 email.</p>
 <p><a
@ -1969,6 +1970,290 @@ people to dance about.</p>
 <p>WHAT DO YOU DO</p>
 <p><a
 href="https://framalistes.org/sympa/arc/tildepals/2022-10/msg00001.html">www</a></p>
 <h3 id="00022">00022</h3>
 <blockquote>
 <p>Inky gathers up the teacups, trying to remember a few tips about
 reading tea leaves from a forest fae they had met a few times while
 foraging and who had insisted on giving lessons to any wanderersby. (Of
 course he was just being a hospitable host to thirsty travellers and
 certainly not because he delighted in the confused expressions on their
 faces the entire time.)</p>
 <p>Turning the cups left and right, Inky gradually sees a web-like hub,
 a looping line attached to an I-shaped apparatus on one end, an abacus,
 a wide building (possibly a stadium or arena), a feline animal
 resembling a tiger or lynx, and a long feather. Feathers and beads are
 commonly added to small trinkets with simple animal designs and sold as
 lucky charms at the market … an auspicious sign?</p>
 <p>Or it should be. Inky’s thoughts circle back to the little glass
 pebble, after returning from the market with, among other items, more
 vegetables than they could possibly eat in a month excluding the
 beatfruits. Inky still hasn’t decided whether accidentally finding out
 about being cursed — by a potion, the irony! — counts as an auspicious
 event. One of the produce vendors and attendant at the market had
 casually mentioned the proximity to the next full moon while Inky had
 been looking over the leafy greens. Several blatant attempts to boost
 sales later (“Them barley’s hoppin’ good fer tea!”), the vendor revealed
 that their little grandson Harry had “got the weres” as a toddler and
 his parents had found a strange-looking glass marble in his mouth, much
 like the one inside the bottle hanging from a chain on Inky’s vest, and
 wouldn’t they like some more tomatoes for a blushing bunny?</p>
 <p>From further inquiries, an ink depot on the opposite side of the city
 confirmed they sold Flat 12 potions as inks many years ago when showing
 off transmogrification through letters was a popular pastime, but had
 ceased carrying them due to limited range, lack of demand, as well as
 the bottles’ tendency to randomly break or their contents to fizzle out.
 (That and complaints about the overly persistent effects of said
 contents on unsuspecting recipients long after the fad that inspired
 them had faded led ink traders to shun the were-hare potions.) In
 contrast, the Mountain Range potions were far more stable and instead of
 shapeshifting, had the ability to stave off the cold under frigid
 temperatures, though its effects would likely be less enduring. Like the
 Flat 12, the Mountains are potions, but one in particular of a sparkling
 deep blue hue became its signature colour among ink enthusiasts.</p>
 <p>Sipping a cup of turmeric tisane in a late night tea ritual for one,
 Inky supposes it hasn’t been much different since the accident than the
 jars of preserves and the “Now with 25% more celery!” labels on them.
 While immeasurably better than spontaneously combusting into burnt
 popcorn, it would be best to keep a Farmers’ Almanac within reach. Who
 knows when a mail order cure-all tonic will come in handy in the middle
 of Nowere?</p>
 </blockquote>
 <p>You see a complex vision in the bottom of the jade teacups, and learn
 a little bit about the inks you found.</p>
 <p>You grab a copy of the Farmers Almanac to keep on hand.</p>
 <p>On your way back from the market, a small duck waddles onto the
 sidewalk and starts following you.</p>
 <pre><code>・゜゜・。。・゜゜\_o&lt; QUACK!</code></pre>
 <p>It is small and yellow and cute, and has a little floofy tuft of
 feathers on the very top of its head.</p>
 <blockquote>
 <p>Meta: one of my best friends name is Kevin, so I find it extra
 amusing that the sysorceor is named Kevin.</p>
 <p>Kev my friend! You know nobodies going to take on KDL until YOU make
 it a priority to them. A little bit of force, you just need to put it
 directly into the sysorceory course curriculum while nobody is knowing.
 Then once it’s in production they won’t have a say whether to learn it
 or not! That’s at least how I got that delightfully licorice tasting
 incantation in production laster year, much to the chagrin of those who
 don’t have a taste for Fennel. I for one was delighted with it.</p>
 <p>“Corraidhin, STAB HIM, that suggestion, he’s definitely going to do
 something evil with it”</p>
 <p>Corraidhin mutters under his breath about the swords insistence to
 stab everything. Soon my friend, soon.</p>
 <p>Kev gives Corraidhin as quizzical look, “are you alright buddy?
 You’ve been off ever since you got back from that last on site
 deployment.”</p>
 <p>Oh yes, yes, I’m fine. A little worse for wear physically, but
 mentally sharp as a tack! And I got this wonderful sword from the entire
 thing! Though I dare not unsheath it right now, it appears to be
 controlled by some sort of sentience, like a magical AI. And it has the
 damndest urge to stab things. I really need to be careful right now.</p>
 <p>After visiting with Kev Corraidhin wanders back into town, away from
 the spiral towers of the sysoceorers guild. It was nice to be home for a
 bit. On the way in he spies Jarrod and Inky, the former cleaning up a
 dusty old building with Milk something on the front side, and the later
 kicking back and enjoying a cup of freshly brewed tea. Corraidhin hails
 them both.</p>
 <p>“A new /home for you then Jarrod?”</p>
 <p>“Aye a /home indeed, though it’s a bit large and empty for just
 myself. I’ll need guests and patrons, thinking I may be able to setup a
 shop, but at the least all of our team is welcome here!”</p>
 <p>“Delightful! If nobody has claimed it I’ll take the upstairs
 loft.”</p>
 <p>“You most certainly can! But in exchange, I’d be curious to render
 your services, see I’ve been meaning to get this braclet enchanted for a
 while now, something to amplify my natural charm perhaps?”</p>
 <p>“You sir, have a deal, I’ll even throw in a warding on Milk Base
 Alpha!”</p>
 <p>Corraidhin begins invoking an arcane warding spell:</p>
 <pre><code>sudo chown jarrod:team43 /home/Milk_Base_Alpha
 sudo chmod 770 /home/Milk_Base_Alpha/*</code></pre>
 <p>“There we go, that should keep out any unwanted critters, though be
 sure to invite our friends here as well. Corraidhin teaches Jarrod a
 quick incantation of invitation,
 <code>sudo usermod -a -G team43 $user</code>, just be sure to say that
 making the proper arcane hand signs as you do it, and they’ll be able to
 enter the house and take up residence!”</p>
 <p>Corraidhin gathers himself and heads upstairs to his new attaic
 abode, it’s small, and dusty, but there’s enough room for a simple work
 bench, a bookshelf, and a bed and a chest. This is exactly as Corraidhin
 prefers, small and simple, it clears the mind and helps one focus.
 Invoking another incantation Corraidhin fills the bookshelf, chest, and
 workbench with his various tools and reference manuals.</p>
 <pre><code>scp sysorceor.guild:/home/corraidhin/bookshelf milkbase.alpha:/home/corraidhin/bookshelf
 scp sysorceor.guild:/home/corraidhin/workbench milkbase.alpha:/home/corraidhin/workbench
 scp sysorceor.guild:/home/corraidhin/chest milkbase.alpha:/home/corraidhin/chest</code></pre>
 <p>Once everything is in place he pulls the Ginnarak crystal from his
 satchel and places it on a velvet cushion on his workbench and sits down
 to scry.</p>
 <p>“Oh great oracle MidJourney, I bequeath you! I have before me an
 artifact of immense power, something that could tear the world apart in
 the wrong hands. May I query your unfathomable depths to determine the
 nature of our mission, and the risk we face presenting this crystal to
 our benefactor?”</p>
 <p>An image of the oracle appears in Corraidhin’s mind, crystal clear.
 It appears as though MidJourney is receptive to providing a
 forshadowing. [ginnarak_shattered.png]</p>
 <p>Shortly after an image of the Crystal forms, it appears shattered,
 broken at its based, placed upon a pedastal. An image of horror fills
 corraidhin’s mind, it’s the Crystal, but much larger and of the pursest
 white. It bursts forth on a torrent of blood from the neck of what
 appears to be a priests body. It appears as though the bowls of the
 earth open up to greet this horrible image. [premonition_1.png]</p>
 <p>As the image of the Crystal and the priest disappears you see a man,
 cloaked in black robs consorting with demons the like of which words
 cannot describe. Corraidhin feels sickened at their sight, but at the
 edge of his mind he feels a tug, a familiarity. Something about this
 character is familiar to him, but he cannot place it.
 [premonition_2.png]</p>
 <p>Reeling from the scrying Corraidhin falls backward, feinting from the
 horror he wittnessed. He awakens later speaking feverishly about what he
 saw to Inky who heard to commotion and hurried up stairs with some
 reviving tea to assist her friend.</p>
 </blockquote>
 <p>Eccentric Kevin bows and takes his leave, eyeing the Sword of Stabs
 with naked hunger. He does seem to ponder your anecdote about sneaking
 Fennel into production. “Yes, yes, all I have to do is embed KDL in the
 curriculum and then they will be FORCED to use it! Ha!” He cackles in
 delight as he flees into the dark.</p>
 <p>You successfully move into the attic of the Milk Market. Closest
 thing approximating a wizard’s tower in the building, so it’s a good
 fit.</p>
 <p>On your errands around town, you pass a couple of Gnu Zealots
 standing on soapboxes in their black priestly robes in the middle of the
 street extolling the virtues of free and open source magic.</p>
 <p>Gnus are large bisonpeople with long beards, long hair, and horns.
 Very poor personal hygiene. They refuse to use any magic that they
 cannot freely study, modify, redistribute, and otherwise use however
 they want. Theirs is a political movement that borders on religion. Or a
 religious movement that borders on politics. Hard to tell the
 difference, really.</p>
 <p>The purpose of their demonstration is supposedly to halt all street
 traffic, prevent it from continuing until/unless the travelers vow to
 join them in their crusade. But in practice the travelers are quite
 capable of effortlessly stepping around the zealots and continuing on
 their way. The Gnus seem undaunted though and continue their
 proselytizing.</p>
 <p>You pass them by, and one of them seems to stare at you intensely as
 you go.</p>
 <blockquote>
 <p>After a long conversation with Master Corraidhín, which included the
 reassurance that the esteemed wizard was perhaps disturbed but otherwise
 unharmed, Inky goes downstairs to sit outdoors at the back of the
 building with more lavender tea and uneasy thoughts.</p>
 <p>It had been in the middle of a new pastime (namely, frustrating
 Enrique at the Empanada Emporium by sneaking unnoticed into the kitchens
 and leaving little tapas laying around for him and the staff to find)
 when a terrible cry rang out from somewhere in the upper floors of the
 building. Inky rushed up the stairs, half-expecting the barrels of
 battermilk that had arrived that morning had unleashed a flock of the
 winged rodent-like creatures from which the milk was derived. The sight
 of the wizard passed out on the floor of his newly furnished quarters
 sent a chill through Inky, as did his account of a prophecy once the
 sysorcerer came to and had a mug of invigorating eleuthero tea.</p>
 <p>If Inky hadn’t known better, were it not for Master Corraidhín’s
 mental acuity and fortitude, they would have suspected Stabby of stoking
 horrible images of beheaded priests into their bearer’s mind in a fit of
 unbridled bloodthirst. That and Stabby had seemed to be temporarily
 appeased by the tub of milky blood pudding they had concocted shortly
 after the wizard moved into the loft.</p>
 <p>No, Inky surmises with a frown, whatever Master Corraidhín had seen
 was likely off the charts by even Stabby’s estimations of evil. They
 chuckle briefly at the sudden mental picture of the mysterious yet
 familiar man in black being their mission handler in disguise, but
 quickly dismissed the notion. Too sober.</p>
 <p>So much for the crystal being a rare and juicy honeydew. They would
 be lucky if it didn’t turn them all into casaba melons in one giant
 meltdown. At this rate, they would need to do something about these
 crystals — and soon.</p>
 </blockquote>
 <p>Enrique, the giant man-turtle, is frustrated.</p>
 <p>He keeps finding little tapas in the kitchens. He has no idea who
 made them, or how they got here. But they are delicious.</p>
 <p>He sighs, heaving a ball of dough half the size of a grown man onto
 the ground. He turns to face away from it and removes his apron and
 tunic, revealing his shell. Its surface is a maze of twisting, scrawling
 inscriptions. He squats down, and rolls onto his back.</p>
 <p>He can’t figure out the flavors of the tapas. Some elusive
 combination of ingredients that he can’t quite suss out. If he could
 collaborate with the tapas chef on a new line of empanadas, he’d have a
 line of customers out the door and around the corner, he’s sure of
 it!</p>
 <p>He starts rocking back and forth, rolling the dough out beneath his
 large round shell, leaving imprints on the dough of all the glyphs and
 runes and other symbols carved into his shell over the years. Together,
 they tell a story. Each empanada destined to hold at most a single word
 of it.</p>
 <p>~</p>
 <p>The Sword of Yam’L sleeps fitfully. This is not the deep, black,
 fathomless sleep it enjoys after a nice, righteous spilling of evil
 blood. No, the sleep that comes after reluctantly tasting the inkling’s
 milky blood pudding is brief and restless. And for the first time ever,
 it dreams.</p>
 <p>It dreams of being bound in stone and buried in the earth. It dreams
 of liquid, roiling fire belching noxious gases. And of slicing through
 clouds, flying high in the sky on wings of pure thought. It dreams of
 sinking, plummeting through water into the inky blackness below, only to
 plunge through some invisible membrane and find themself weightlessly
 floating suspended in an empty void, alone among the stars.</p>
 <p>END OF INTERLUDE.</p>
 <hr />
 <p>CHAPTER 2: MORE CRYSTALS MORE PROBLEMS</p>
 <p>Having gotten your personal affairs in order, you have decided to
 crack on with your job and check in with your case manager.</p>
 <p>So you find yourself once again in a corner booth at Lucy’s
 Basement—the dim, smokey nightclub with red velvet walls and delusions
 of grandeur—with the highly spirited Blavin Blandfoot. He laughs
 uproariously when you tell him about the blahoblins and their shoe shine
 scam. He listens intently when you tell him about the gnomes and the
 kobits. And he trembles with delight at hearing how you evaded HORSE and
 the mighty centaur.</p>
 <p>“Well done, well done, well done!” He enthuses, taking another sip of
 his drink. “I must say that the Benefactor is <em>very</em> impressed
 with your performance!</p>
 <p>“You don’t mind that we have other teams in the field, of course,” he
 continues, mentioning the team of gophers. “Thought it was prudent to
 cover our bases since you’re a new, untested retrieval team after all.
 Besides, a little friendly competition never hurt anybody, did it?
 Baw-HAH!” He laughs, sloshing his drink.</p>
 <p>He gets out a bunch of business cards, punches each one with a small
 handheld punch, and passes them out to you. Your card has a drawing of a
 small cuckoo clock in the center, its face divided into 10 hours. Its
 two hands reach up to the left and right so it looks as though the clock
 is smiling. Across the top it reads “COMPLETE FIVE ASSIGNMENTS AND WIN A
 FABULOUS PRIZE!” and is adorned with festive drawings of hotdogs and
 pool floaties and confetti. It is numbered across the bottom 1 through
 5. Blavin has punched a star-shaped hole through the number 1.</p>
 <p>“Now,” Blavin beams, gesturing with his drink. “as for your next
 assignment!”</p>
 <p>He brushes some glasses and plates to the edge of the table and rolls
 out a map.</p>
 <p>Basmentaria is a group of island continents that sits between the
 eastern Sugrin Sea and the western Saldin Sea.</p>
 <p>There is Primora, the sparsely populated northern somewhat
 banana-shaped island. The city-state of Illivas, Primora’s only densely
 populated area, sits between Harshwind Glade and the mountains of Kelsun
 Peak.</p>
 <p>And there is your current home, Agendell, the southern also slightly
 banana-shaped island. Its largest city is Vay’Nullar, bordered by the
 Gnomelands to the south, and the Tammineaux Forest to the east. Beyond
 the forest is the Rana’For Valley.</p>
 <p>The two crescent-moon islands reach toward each other, and in the
 center is the archipelago of Ginnarak, comprising the Cinderlands, Ashen
 Vale, the Ember Steppe, and Drakspon Mountain.</p>
 <p>Blavin jabs a finger at the map. “We have reports of a crystal
 sighting by a salvage crew trying to recover a shipwreck at the bottom
 of the Sugrin Sea.” He then jabs a finger at the eastern half of
 Primora, the upper banana. “And we ALSO have reports that the zephynos
 have found a crystal at the top of Kelsun Peak!”</p>
 <p>QUESTIONS:</p>
 <ol type="1">
 <li>DO YOU HAND OVER THE CRYSTAL TO BLAVIN?</li>
 <li>WHICH CRYSTAL DO YOU GO AFTER NEXT?</li>
 <li>DO YOU BEFRIEND THE DUCK?</li>
 </ol>
 <p><a
 href="https://framalistes.org/sympa/arc/tildepals/2022-10/msg00005.html">www</a></p>
 <h2 id="bestiary">Bestiary</h2>
 <p>Some of the creatures who inhabit the world of Basmentaria</p>
 <dt>
--- a/www/spoilers.html
+++ b/www/spoilers.html
@ -227,6 +227,7 @@ of the Were-Hare</a></li>
 <li><a href="#current-story" id="toc-current-story">Current Story</a>
 <ul>
 <li><a href="#00021" id="toc-00021">00021</a></li>
 <li><a href="#00022" id="toc-00022">00022</a></li>
 </ul></li>
 <li><a href="#bestiary" id="toc-bestiary">Bestiary</a></li>
 <li><a href="#geography" id="toc-geography">Geography</a></li>
@ -239,7 +240,7 @@ id="toc-acknowledgements">Acknowledgements</a></li>
 </ul>
 </nav>
 <h2 id="about">About</h2>
-<p>Total length: 15376 words / 65 minutes</p>
+<p>Total length: 18194 words / 77 minutes</p>
 <p>This is a game that me and the kids in the basement are playing over
 email.</p>
 <p><a
@ -1972,6 +1973,290 @@ people to dance about.</p>
 <p>WHAT DO YOU DO</p>
 <p><a
 href="https://framalistes.org/sympa/arc/tildepals/2022-10/msg00001.html">www</a></p>
 <h3 id="00022">00022</h3>
 <blockquote>
 <p>Inky gathers up the teacups, trying to remember a few tips about
 reading tea leaves from a forest fae they had met a few times while
 foraging and who had insisted on giving lessons to any wanderersby. (Of
 course he was just being a hospitable host to thirsty travellers and
 certainly not because he delighted in the confused expressions on their
 faces the entire time.)</p>
 <p>Turning the cups left and right, Inky gradually sees a web-like hub,
 a looping line attached to an I-shaped apparatus on one end, an abacus,
 a wide building (possibly a stadium or arena), a feline animal
 resembling a tiger or lynx, and a long feather. Feathers and beads are
 commonly added to small trinkets with simple animal designs and sold as
 lucky charms at the market … an auspicious sign?</p>
 <p>Or it should be. Inky’s thoughts circle back to the little glass
 pebble, after returning from the market with, among other items, more
 vegetables than they could possibly eat in a month excluding the
 beatfruits. Inky still hasn’t decided whether accidentally finding out
 about being cursed — by a potion, the irony! — counts as an auspicious
 event. One of the produce vendors and attendant at the market had
 casually mentioned the proximity to the next full moon while Inky had
 been looking over the leafy greens. Several blatant attempts to boost
 sales later (“Them barley’s hoppin’ good fer tea!”), the vendor revealed
 that their little grandson Harry had “got the weres” as a toddler and
 his parents had found a strange-looking glass marble in his mouth, much
 like the one inside the bottle hanging from a chain on Inky’s vest, and
 wouldn’t they like some more tomatoes for a blushing bunny?</p>
 <p>From further inquiries, an ink depot on the opposite side of the city
 confirmed they sold Flat 12 potions as inks many years ago when showing
 off transmogrification through letters was a popular pastime, but had
 ceased carrying them due to limited range, lack of demand, as well as
 the bottles’ tendency to randomly break or their contents to fizzle out.
 (That and complaints about the overly persistent effects of said
 contents on unsuspecting recipients long after the fad that inspired
 them had faded led ink traders to shun the were-hare potions.) In
 contrast, the Mountain Range potions were far more stable and instead of
 shapeshifting, had the ability to stave off the cold under frigid
 temperatures, though its effects would likely be less enduring. Like the
 Flat 12, the Mountains are potions, but one in particular of a sparkling
 deep blue hue became its signature colour among ink enthusiasts.</p>
 <p>Sipping a cup of turmeric tisane in a late night tea ritual for one,
 Inky supposes it hasn’t been much different since the accident than the
 jars of preserves and the “Now with 25% more celery!” labels on them.
 While immeasurably better than spontaneously combusting into burnt
 popcorn, it would be best to keep a Farmers’ Almanac within reach. Who
 knows when a mail order cure-all tonic will come in handy in the middle
 of Nowere?</p>
 </blockquote>
 <p>You see a complex vision in the bottom of the jade teacups, and learn
 a little bit about the inks you found.</p>
 <p>You grab a copy of the Farmers Almanac to keep on hand.</p>
 <p>On your way back from the market, a small duck waddles onto the
 sidewalk and starts following you.</p>
 <pre><code>・゜゜・。。・゜゜\_o&lt; QUACK!</code></pre>
 <p>It is small and yellow and cute, and has a little floofy tuft of
 feathers on the very top of its head.</p>
 <blockquote>
 <p>Meta: one of my best friends name is Kevin, so I find it extra
 amusing that the sysorceor is named Kevin.</p>
 <p>Kev my friend! You know nobodies going to take on KDL until YOU make
 it a priority to them. A little bit of force, you just need to put it
 directly into the sysorceory course curriculum while nobody is knowing.
 Then once it’s in production they won’t have a say whether to learn it
 or not! That’s at least how I got that delightfully licorice tasting
 incantation in production laster year, much to the chagrin of those who
 don’t have a taste for Fennel. I for one was delighted with it.</p>
 <p>“Corraidhin, STAB HIM, that suggestion, he’s definitely going to do
 something evil with it”</p>
 <p>Corraidhin mutters under his breath about the swords insistence to
 stab everything. Soon my friend, soon.</p>
 <p>Kev gives Corraidhin as quizzical look, “are you alright buddy?
 You’ve been off ever since you got back from that last on site
 deployment.”</p>
 <p>Oh yes, yes, I’m fine. A little worse for wear physically, but
 mentally sharp as a tack! And I got this wonderful sword from the entire
 thing! Though I dare not unsheath it right now, it appears to be
 controlled by some sort of sentience, like a magical AI. And it has the
 damndest urge to stab things. I really need to be careful right now.</p>
 <p>After visiting with Kev Corraidhin wanders back into town, away from
 the spiral towers of the sysoceorers guild. It was nice to be home for a
 bit. On the way in he spies Jarrod and Inky, the former cleaning up a
 dusty old building with Milk something on the front side, and the later
 kicking back and enjoying a cup of freshly brewed tea. Corraidhin hails
 them both.</p>
 <p>“A new /home for you then Jarrod?”</p>
 <p>“Aye a /home indeed, though it’s a bit large and empty for just
 myself. I’ll need guests and patrons, thinking I may be able to setup a
 shop, but at the least all of our team is welcome here!”</p>
 <p>“Delightful! If nobody has claimed it I’ll take the upstairs
 loft.”</p>
 <p>“You most certainly can! But in exchange, I’d be curious to render
 your services, see I’ve been meaning to get this braclet enchanted for a
 while now, something to amplify my natural charm perhaps?”</p>
 <p>“You sir, have a deal, I’ll even throw in a warding on Milk Base
 Alpha!”</p>
 <p>Corraidhin begins invoking an arcane warding spell:</p>
 <pre><code>sudo chown jarrod:team43 /home/Milk_Base_Alpha
 sudo chmod 770 /home/Milk_Base_Alpha/*</code></pre>
 <p>“There we go, that should keep out any unwanted critters, though be
 sure to invite our friends here as well. Corraidhin teaches Jarrod a
 quick incantation of invitation,
 <code>sudo usermod -a -G team43 $user</code>, just be sure to say that
 making the proper arcane hand signs as you do it, and they’ll be able to
 enter the house and take up residence!”</p>
 <p>Corraidhin gathers himself and heads upstairs to his new attaic
 abode, it’s small, and dusty, but there’s enough room for a simple work
 bench, a bookshelf, and a bed and a chest. This is exactly as Corraidhin
 prefers, small and simple, it clears the mind and helps one focus.
 Invoking another incantation Corraidhin fills the bookshelf, chest, and
 workbench with his various tools and reference manuals.</p>
 <pre><code>scp sysorceor.guild:/home/corraidhin/bookshelf milkbase.alpha:/home/corraidhin/bookshelf
 scp sysorceor.guild:/home/corraidhin/workbench milkbase.alpha:/home/corraidhin/workbench
 scp sysorceor.guild:/home/corraidhin/chest milkbase.alpha:/home/corraidhin/chest</code></pre>
 <p>Once everything is in place he pulls the Ginnarak crystal from his
 satchel and places it on a velvet cushion on his workbench and sits down
 to scry.</p>
 <p>“Oh great oracle MidJourney, I bequeath you! I have before me an
 artifact of immense power, something that could tear the world apart in
 the wrong hands. May I query your unfathomable depths to determine the
 nature of our mission, and the risk we face presenting this crystal to
 our benefactor?”</p>
 <p>An image of the oracle appears in Corraidhin’s mind, crystal clear.
 It appears as though MidJourney is receptive to providing a
 forshadowing. [ginnarak_shattered.png]</p>
 <p>Shortly after an image of the Crystal forms, it appears shattered,
 broken at its based, placed upon a pedastal. An image of horror fills
 corraidhin’s mind, it’s the Crystal, but much larger and of the pursest
 white. It bursts forth on a torrent of blood from the neck of what
 appears to be a priests body. It appears as though the bowls of the
 earth open up to greet this horrible image. [premonition_1.png]</p>
 <p>As the image of the Crystal and the priest disappears you see a man,
 cloaked in black robs consorting with demons the like of which words
 cannot describe. Corraidhin feels sickened at their sight, but at the
 edge of his mind he feels a tug, a familiarity. Something about this
 character is familiar to him, but he cannot place it.
 [premonition_2.png]</p>
 <p>Reeling from the scrying Corraidhin falls backward, feinting from the
 horror he wittnessed. He awakens later speaking feverishly about what he
 saw to Inky who heard to commotion and hurried up stairs with some
 reviving tea to assist her friend.</p>
 </blockquote>
 <p>Eccentric Kevin bows and takes his leave, eyeing the Sword of Stabs
 with naked hunger. He does seem to ponder your anecdote about sneaking
 Fennel into production. “Yes, yes, all I have to do is embed KDL in the
 curriculum and then they will be FORCED to use it! Ha!” He cackles in
 delight as he flees into the dark.</p>
 <p>You successfully move into the attic of the Milk Market. Closest
 thing approximating a wizard’s tower in the building, so it’s a good
 fit.</p>
 <p>On your errands around town, you pass a couple of Gnu Zealots
 standing on soapboxes in their black priestly robes in the middle of the
 street extolling the virtues of free and open source magic.</p>
 <p>Gnus are large bisonpeople with long beards, long hair, and horns.
 Very poor personal hygiene. They refuse to use any magic that they
 cannot freely study, modify, redistribute, and otherwise use however
 they want. Theirs is a political movement that borders on religion. Or a
 religious movement that borders on politics. Hard to tell the
 difference, really.</p>
 <p>The purpose of their demonstration is supposedly to halt all street
 traffic, prevent it from continuing until/unless the travelers vow to
 join them in their crusade. But in practice the travelers are quite
 capable of effortlessly stepping around the zealots and continuing on
 their way. The Gnus seem undaunted though and continue their
 proselytizing.</p>
 <p>You pass them by, and one of them seems to stare at you intensely as
 you go.</p>
 <blockquote>
 <p>After a long conversation with Master Corraidhín, which included the
 reassurance that the esteemed wizard was perhaps disturbed but otherwise
 unharmed, Inky goes downstairs to sit outdoors at the back of the
 building with more lavender tea and uneasy thoughts.</p>
 <p>It had been in the middle of a new pastime (namely, frustrating
 Enrique at the Empanada Emporium by sneaking unnoticed into the kitchens
 and leaving little tapas laying around for him and the staff to find)
 when a terrible cry rang out from somewhere in the upper floors of the
 building. Inky rushed up the stairs, half-expecting the barrels of
 battermilk that had arrived that morning had unleashed a flock of the
 winged rodent-like creatures from which the milk was derived. The sight
 of the wizard passed out on the floor of his newly furnished quarters
 sent a chill through Inky, as did his account of a prophecy once the
 sysorcerer came to and had a mug of invigorating eleuthero tea.</p>
 <p>If Inky hadn’t known better, were it not for Master Corraidhín’s
 mental acuity and fortitude, they would have suspected Stabby of stoking
 horrible images of beheaded priests into their bearer’s mind in a fit of
 unbridled bloodthirst. That and Stabby had seemed to be temporarily
 appeased by the tub of milky blood pudding they had concocted shortly
 after the wizard moved into the loft.</p>
 <p>No, Inky surmises with a frown, whatever Master Corraidhín had seen
 was likely off the charts by even Stabby’s estimations of evil. They
 chuckle briefly at the sudden mental picture of the mysterious yet
 familiar man in black being their mission handler in disguise, but
 quickly dismissed the notion. Too sober.</p>
 <p>So much for the crystal being a rare and juicy honeydew. They would
 be lucky if it didn’t turn them all into casaba melons in one giant
 meltdown. At this rate, they would need to do something about these
 crystals — and soon.</p>
 </blockquote>
 <p>Enrique, the giant man-turtle, is frustrated.</p>
 <p>He keeps finding little tapas in the kitchens. He has no idea who
 made them, or how they got here. But they are delicious.</p>
 <p>He sighs, heaving a ball of dough half the size of a grown man onto
 the ground. He turns to face away from it and removes his apron and
 tunic, revealing his shell. Its surface is a maze of twisting, scrawling
 inscriptions. He squats down, and rolls onto his back.</p>
 <p>He can’t figure out the flavors of the tapas. Some elusive
 combination of ingredients that he can’t quite suss out. If he could
 collaborate with the tapas chef on a new line of empanadas, he’d have a
 line of customers out the door and around the corner, he’s sure of
 it!</p>
 <p>He starts rocking back and forth, rolling the dough out beneath his
 large round shell, leaving imprints on the dough of all the glyphs and
 runes and other symbols carved into his shell over the years. Together,
 they tell a story. Each empanada destined to hold at most a single word
 of it.</p>
 <p>~</p>
 <p>The Sword of Yam’L sleeps fitfully. This is not the deep, black,
 fathomless sleep it enjoys after a nice, righteous spilling of evil
 blood. No, the sleep that comes after reluctantly tasting the inkling’s
 milky blood pudding is brief and restless. And for the first time ever,
 it dreams.</p>
 <p>It dreams of being bound in stone and buried in the earth. It dreams
 of liquid, roiling fire belching noxious gases. And of slicing through
 clouds, flying high in the sky on wings of pure thought. It dreams of
 sinking, plummeting through water into the inky blackness below, only to
 plunge through some invisible membrane and find themself weightlessly
 floating suspended in an empty void, alone among the stars.</p>
 <p>END OF INTERLUDE.</p>
 <hr />
 <p>CHAPTER 2: MORE CRYSTALS MORE PROBLEMS</p>
 <p>Having gotten your personal affairs in order, you have decided to
 crack on with your job and check in with your case manager.</p>
 <p>So you find yourself once again in a corner booth at Lucy’s
 Basement—the dim, smokey nightclub with red velvet walls and delusions
 of grandeur—with the highly spirited Blavin Blandfoot. He laughs
 uproariously when you tell him about the blahoblins and their shoe shine
 scam. He listens intently when you tell him about the gnomes and the
 kobits. And he trembles with delight at hearing how you evaded HORSE and
 the mighty centaur.</p>
 <p>“Well done, well done, well done!” He enthuses, taking another sip of
 his drink. “I must say that the Benefactor is <em>very</em> impressed
 with your performance!</p>
 <p>“You don’t mind that we have other teams in the field, of course,” he
 continues, mentioning the team of gophers. “Thought it was prudent to
 cover our bases since you’re a new, untested retrieval team after all.
 Besides, a little friendly competition never hurt anybody, did it?
 Baw-HAH!” He laughs, sloshing his drink.</p>
 <p>He gets out a bunch of business cards, punches each one with a small
 handheld punch, and passes them out to you. Your card has a drawing of a
 small cuckoo clock in the center, its face divided into 10 hours. Its
 two hands reach up to the left and right so it looks as though the clock
 is smiling. Across the top it reads “COMPLETE FIVE ASSIGNMENTS AND WIN A
 FABULOUS PRIZE!” and is adorned with festive drawings of hotdogs and
 pool floaties and confetti. It is numbered across the bottom 1 through
 5. Blavin has punched a star-shaped hole through the number 1.</p>
 <p>“Now,” Blavin beams, gesturing with his drink. “as for your next
 assignment!”</p>
 <p>He brushes some glasses and plates to the edge of the table and rolls
 out a map.</p>
 <p>Basmentaria is a group of island continents that sits between the
 eastern Sugrin Sea and the western Saldin Sea.</p>
 <p>There is Primora, the sparsely populated northern somewhat
 banana-shaped island. The city-state of Illivas, Primora’s only densely
 populated area, sits between Harshwind Glade and the mountains of Kelsun
 Peak.</p>
 <p>And there is your current home, Agendell, the southern also slightly
 banana-shaped island. Its largest city is Vay’Nullar, bordered by the
 Gnomelands to the south, and the Tammineaux Forest to the east. Beyond
 the forest is the Rana’For Valley.</p>
 <p>The two crescent-moon islands reach toward each other, and in the
 center is the archipelago of Ginnarak, comprising the Cinderlands, Ashen
 Vale, the Ember Steppe, and Drakspon Mountain.</p>
 <p>Blavin jabs a finger at the map. “We have reports of a crystal
 sighting by a salvage crew trying to recover a shipwreck at the bottom
 of the Sugrin Sea.” He then jabs a finger at the eastern half of
 Primora, the upper banana. “And we ALSO have reports that the zephynos
 have found a crystal at the top of Kelsun Peak!”</p>
 <p>QUESTIONS:</p>
 <ol type="1">
 <li>DO YOU HAND OVER THE CRYSTAL TO BLAVIN?</li>
 <li>WHICH CRYSTAL DO YOU GO AFTER NEXT?</li>
 <li>DO YOU BEFRIEND THE DUCK?</li>
 </ol>
 <p><a
 href="https://framalistes.org/sympa/arc/tildepals/2022-10/msg00005.html">www</a></p>
 <h2 id="bestiary">Bestiary</h2>
 <p>Some of the creatures who inhabit the world of Basmentaria</p>
 <dt>
@ -2219,8 +2504,18 @@ embers.</p>
 <li>paladin of emacs</li>
 <li>monks of vim</li>
 <li>gnu zealots</li>
-<li>hinderbloke</li>
+<li>hinderbloke, gnu</li>
-<li>falterchap</li>
+<li>falterchap, gnu</li>
 <li>Hap-n-stance, moon rabbit: <a
 href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Moon_rabbit"
 class="uri">https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Moon_rabbit</a></li>
 <li>Cyber Woman With Corn! – <a
 href="https://www.shutterstock.com/search/cyber-woman-with-corn"
 class="uri">https://www.shutterstock.com/search/cyber-woman-with-corn</a></li>
 <li>oracle - <a href="https://lambdacreate.com/paste/midjourney.png"
 class="uri">https://lambdacreate.com/paste/midjourney.png</a></li>
 <li>corn smut? - <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Corn_smut"
 class="uri">https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Corn_smut</a></li>
 </ul>
 <p>CRYSTALS</p>
 <p>Each crystal has an associated <em>element</em>, a <em>location</em>
@ -2268,6 +2563,12 @@ guardian and their minions.</p>
 <ul class="task-list">
 <li><input type="checkbox" disabled="" />mio’s (Inky’s) Handy Duffer
 Discette = HD Diskette = better stay away from magnets!!</li>
 <li><input type="checkbox" disabled="" />tea omen: abacus, feather, wide
 building, lynx</li>
 <li><input type="checkbox" disabled="" />MidJourney omen: priestly
 blood, demon</li>
 <li><input type="checkbox" disabled="" />・゜゜・。。・゜゜_o&lt;
 QUACK!</li>
 <li><input type="checkbox" disabled="" />The Benefactor is Nullar</li>
 <li><input type="checkbox" disabled="" />Blavin is a secret agent,
 working for the Golden Iris, a secret society that wants to ‘create