Total length: 31904 words / 136 minute read. (Mind you, that’s the +
Total length: 35730 words / 152 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 128 messages posted over 124 days since the first -post on July 13, 2022 for a daily post rate of 1.03.
+There have been 134 messages posted over 128 days since the first +post on July 13, 2022 for a daily post rate of 1.04.
This is a game that me and the kids in the basement are playing over email.
@@ -268,6 +271,33 @@ into the current story arc. you can subscribe to the rss feed.Bio
+Alex is like Corraidhin in some aspects, he’s younger, more brash, +more given to whim and fancy. He’s somewhat greedy and craven, attracted +to riches far too easily. He’s a passionate gambler, not due to his +skill, but by virtue of his ability to distract and confuse, which gives +him a delightful edge. Some would call it lucky, but he calls it +subterfuge. He has some sysorcerer skills, nothing quite as flexible as +Corraidhin, but he delightfully wreaks havoc with worms, scrapers, +ransom & spyware. If he can’t bypass something, he’ll delightfully +destroy it. If he can’t break in, he’ll distract someone or something so +he can slip by.
+Paths:
+Status: timestuck in a fork bomb
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+++The mission, party-wise, had been an abject failure.
+They had found the crystal, and Master Corraidhín had vanished. Inky +wasn’t sure which was worse — the appalling lack of water-resistant +fireworks surrounding the disappearance, or the bears’ ceaseless +waterworks in grief over their ghostly counterparts. Said bears plus a +giant manta ray were eventually left with the remains of Inky’s two +snack stashes. (The third was back on the Diamond Howler.) The +crystal was currently securely hidden away inside the Milk Market, which +was for the best. Inky was not about to drag around an inedible melon +that could potentially level entire cities, if the wizard’s hints about +its power were true. The crystal-retrieval missions were a cover anyway +— Inky had gotten what they were looking for. The equipment and +provisions sponsored by the Benefactor were a handy bonus though.
+Inside the tent, Inky adds the finishing flourishes to a package and +places it to one side, next to two others of a similar size and a thin +envelope already piled inside a padded sack on the ground. The client +should be pleased. It had taken longer, but the result had been worth +the additional hassle. The envelope, on the other hand … who knew what +had become of the previous one, sent in an impulsive fit of post-dive +haze once the ship had docked at the port town. Donning a grey fedora, a +worn light brown jacket, a flask kettle and a wooden box with carrying +straps, Inky the “Tiny” tea seller leisurely sets off for the post +office, sack in hand.
+It was still a bit strange — if less shocking than the first time it +happened — to speak in rabbiton with the postmistress at the counter, +although Inky couldn’t actually detect any significant differences from +the common tongue besides occasionally being reminded they shouldn’t be +able to understand the sounds at all. Rabbiton or rabbitoff, hare mail +couriers are among the fastest across Basmentaria and will ensure any +parcels and letters arrive at their recipients in a timely manner. Due +to their broad network and high delivery confidence, letters without +return addresses were no issue; they can deliver with a valid recipient +address, which they are able to verify from an extensive series of +registries and course codes before taking the item. So it was that one +such envelope containing yet another somewhat unusual recipe was +promptly delivered to the Milk Market’s ground floor on a blustery +Boltday afternoon.
+Postage done, Inky wanders through one of the city’s seedier +districts, peddling cups of hot tea along the way. This had become a +daily routine for a little over a month since the Sugrin Sea mission +(longer and more sporadically before that whenever the imp was in the +city), including a spontaneous fifteen-minute “Tiny Teatime” held in +open areas such as small parks, or occasionally in a back alley between +several crowded residences. The tea happening had initially been a +whimsical response to Teatime with Tanokuma and still regularly +attracted children when iced drinks were served during the +summertime.
+Rows of slightly crooked houses sandwiched among acacia trees line a +narrow, winding lane. Inky passes the elderly playing tabula surrounded +by a small group of onlookers, people chewing on sweet lemongrass or +peeling vegetables, hanging up laundry on colourful lines made of scrap +rags, children laughing and chasing soapy bubbles with wands dripping +from laundry water, and all sorts of activity that made houses into +homes. Many of them were frank about not having any spare coins for +extras like speciality teas brewed “just like them shops”, but gladly +accepted a steaming bamboo cup upon realising they needn’t pay, if +sometimes a little suspiciously at first. Instead of coin, they held a +rich font of stories, local legends, folk remedies, cooking methods, +insider tip-offs and rumours, which they were often eager to impart to +an attentive audience.
+Some of the passer-by were always in a hurry, downing the tea as +though it were a shot of hard liquor before retrieving a handful of +loose coins from a pocket or sock. When Inky smiled and told them there +was no charge, most would return a puzzled look or uncertain smile, or +roll their eyes, and drop a copper coin into a slot on the lid of the +box anyway. A few had promptly walked off wordlessly with snickering +faces, as though they had gotten away with something clever. Regardless, +it was one of the best ways to see and observe a bustling metropolis. No +one took any particular notice of young urchins and vendors selling +refreshments, flowers and various trinkets on the streets.
+Likewise no one witnessed a tea seller pause near one of the windows +at the back of Enrique’s Empanada Emporium late in the day. For a while +they watch the chef within in action, clearly in his element, before +reluctantly pulling away and retreating quietly up the stairs to the +second floor. They should wash up and see if their marketing manager is +in the mood for some takeout and Terrapin Ale this evening.
+
~
+++Background: Alex isn’t young, but in comparison to his whizzened +uncle Corraidhin he’s the depiction of youth. He has jet black hair and +alert blue eyes, and a quiet serenity about him that gives one pause, as +though he’s constantly calculating. He gives into his passions quickly +however, and becomes rather animated when his emotions break loose. +He’ll be the first to curse his uncle for his foolish endeavors, never +quite understanding the sysorcerer’s way. Early in life, after the death +of his parents, Corraidhin took him under his wing and tried in vain to +teach him the ways of magical systems administration. Much to +Corraidhin, it only resulted in damaged systems, and a rift with his +nephew.
+It took years to recover from that, but eventually the two grew close +again, though distant nonetheless. That closeness reflects itself in the +situation Alex finds himself in now, a mysterious alert from some overly +contrived magical system, ruining his perfectly good winning streak. +It’s not that he was necessary bad at all of that stuff, it just, wasn’t +as much fun as gambling. And it certainly wasn’t as exhillerating as +writing malware.
+Breaking into a system, smashing it to bites and pieces, watching the +carefully wrought design burn in amber and green, now THAT was +magic.
+META: Alex is like Corraidhin in some aspects, he’s younger, more +brash, more given to whim and fancy. He’s somewhat greedy and craven, +attracted to riches far too easily. He’s a passionate gambler, not due +to his skill, but by virtue of his ability to distract and confuse, +which gives him a delightful edge. Some would call it lucky, but he +calls it subterfuge. He has some sysorcerer skills, nothing quite as +flexible as Corraidhin, but he delightfully wreaks havoc with worms, +scrapers, ransom & spyware. If he can’t bypass something, he’ll +delightfully destroy it. If he can’t break in, he’ll distract someone or +something so he can slip by.
+(Think rogue + illusion magic, where Corraidhin is straight +Wizard)
+Introduction: Kev, just give it to me straight, the hell does this +Deadman’s trigger mean. You can’t have a service like that flap, it’s a +boolean, you’re either dead or your not. And don’t try to lie to me, I’m +not some project managing schmuck, you know full and well Uncle +Corraidhin taught me. I know enough to tell when you’re lying.
+(Kevin) Ah, well, umm. Yes I suppose that’s true. You can’t be dead +and not. It’s just not an option. But Zabbix doesn’t lie! It’s what +monitors your Uncle’s life force, the state of his infrastructure so to +speak. Look check your own, there’s nothing to indicate any issue with +you, but your uncle’s fluxuates consistently. None of his other state +checks are failing though! So it could just be a problem with his +Deadman’s trigger code.
+Absolutely not. Corraidhin might be a flighty fool, but he’s not +someone who would deploy faulty code to production. There’s no way in +hell it would get past his linter, let alone all of the QA he does +before it even gets that far. Look, what the hell did you drag him into, +you know exactly what he gets up to, just point me in his direction so I +can get this shit over with.
+(Kevin) Hmm, he didn’t really want me to talk about it, but last I +saw him, he was babbling on and on about some magical Json sword or +something. I couldn’t quite keep up with it.
+You were trying to get him to buy into KDL again weren’t you?
+(Kevin) It’s a good language I swear, and if your uncle had just.. +(Alex cuts him off)
+Hush it. What did the sword look like, where was he headed?
+(Kevin) sigh it was large, with a ruby hilt, and a magical +eye of some sort. I’m certain if you just ask around you’ll find it. +Just ask about the sysorcerer who mutters to his sword, that’s how the +poor bastard is remembered around here these days.
+With this information Alex departed the Sysorcerer’s guild in search +of his Uncle. As he asked around town, people shied away. Nasty business +talking about that one, they’d tell him. A few mentioned something about +an attack, and a dagger and bloodlust the likes of which they’d only +heard from the bard at their local tavern. None of this sounded like the +Uncle he remembered, but he followed the trail until it lead him to the +Milk Maid.
+As Alex checked around for someone, anyone who seemed to be in the +know, he spotted Inky, serving tea as she watched the ongoings at the +Empanada shop near the Milk Maid.
+Excuse me, miss? You wouldn’t have happened to seen my Uncle, he’s an +old whizened fellow. Constantly harrumphs and goes on and on endlessly +about some magical script, or how much he hates the School of +Powershell. I haven’t been able to find him, and I’ve been looking all +over the city for the better part of 3 days. Note even his best friend +Kevin at the Sysorcer’s guild knew where he was, and I’m just, I’m at a +bit of a loss..
+sigh I’m sorry to just unload on your like that. If you +don’t know him that’s okay, I’d be happy to pay for a cup of tea for +your time.
+
~
+++(Two days prior)
+An office, barely illuminated by the glow of a moonstone lamp.
+An elf attired in red silk dress robes with a shimmering pattern of +butterflies, a red floral picture hat and matching high heel boots +lounged in the visitor’s chair in front of a heavy wooden desk. The +charms dangling from her wrist circlets tinkled as she reached for a +teacup. A silver tray was placed to one side of the desk with a pot of +maghrebi francus, two porcelain cups and a bowl of sugar cubes. The +remaining surface was mostly covered by a map of Basmentaria, the +moonstone lamp and a short stack of books. Behind the desk sat an imp in +a midnight blue suit, a dart pen balanced on the edge of two fingers of +one hand, while the other tapped a silent rhythm on the pineapple +leather armrest.
+The lady in dress robes spoke first. “I made some inquiries. That +sysorcerer acquaintance of yours seems to be stuck in some sort of +spatial-temporal loop. The anomalies are usually salvageable given time +and expert attention. His nephew is out looking for him now.” She hands +the imp a sheet with a drawing of a pensive but bright-eyed young man +with dark hair, and several lines of notes below. “How are things at +your end?”
+“The situation is tenable for the moment. One checked, another +disengaged. Between the wizard and bard, Blackfoot will think twice +before making any more untoward moves. One of the waiters at the club +said the bard gave him a little dressing-down after the stabbing. He was +practically shaking in his boots by the end of it.”
+The elf laughed. “I read your earlier missive. Slipping a catalyst +into a milk pudding to stir up a bloodthirsty sword? I guess you were +pretty sure the thirst wouldn’t get out of hand and kill the hobbit +outright.”
+“Not entirely, but the good wizard would fight it with considerable +strength of will. That guild of his may be full of white hats too busy +with their petty squabbling over semantics to see trouble looming until +it smacked them in their faces, but they have their principles and will +not give in easily when challenged.” The imp grimaced. “An unpleasant +matter but arguably a necessity. It was only a matter of time before the +cursed sword would find itself a target. May as well put evil to good +use.”
+“You did what you had to do, Ink. And that sailor with the gold +eye?”
+“Met with an unfortunate … accident. Securing the crystal would have +been sufficient, but the horkosgrampus weren’t terribly impressed with +him. The Benefactor should be relieved. Men of their ilk would sooner +sell to the highest bidder.” The pen twirled in their hand once, twice, +before pausing with the nib pointing downward at a spot on the map. The +imp continued, “All the more reason to move as soon as the young man +finds his uncle. Kelsun Peak, most likely.”
+“Right. I’ll let the others know if anything happens.” She rose to +her heels in a whisper of brocade silks. “Do you want an antidote for … +?” She gestured with a slim, graceful hand framed in delicate strands of +the gold bracelets towards her companion.
+The imp inclined their head slightly in grateful acknowledgement. “No +need. The condition is relatively harmless and reversing the effects now +might raise suspicion. The postmistress at the Hutcheon Lane branch of +Leplus Post was very tickled by it.”
+“I see. So that’s how it is.” she replied with undisguised mirth. The +imp ignored her smirk. “Please see to it the preparations are carried +out. The fate of your beloved operetta house may well depend upon +it.”
+“You would never!” The elven lady exclaimed in mock affront. “No, I +wouldn’t, even though it is the bane of all fine glassware. However, if +the crystals came to less discerning hands …” They shared a solemn look +before the elf nodded and swept out of the room, leaving the cloying +scent of violets in her path.
+~
+Inky gestures wordlessly for the young wizard to follow them upstairs +to the second floor of the Milk Market, heading straight for the room at +one end of a long hallway.
+As Inky enters, their small and fluffy marketing manager pops its +head out of the wooden tub of water standing to one side of the room. +“We have a visitor!” Inky cheerfully tells the duck. Their marketing +manager looks back at them both and says, “QUACK!”
+Inky turns back to the young man with a smile. “Please have a seat. +How may we address you? Tea? No charge for Master Corraidhín’s nephew, +of course.”
+Once seated on some cushions thrown over a slightly ratty tartan rug +and having poured out a steaming cup of mandarin pekoe for each of them, +Inky begins, “So, about your uncle. The good news is, we know him. The +bad news is, we knew him.” They then proceed to recount the events of +their latest mission at the site of a shipwreck out in the Sugrin Sea, +and the elder sysorcerer’s disappearance.
+
Prelude:
+A fringe movement of lunatic paleornithologists and crackpots of +various other professions has slowly been gaining traction over the last +few decades. The movement was born when the enterprising Modern Fuchsia, +at the time a budding young scientist on a dig yearning to make a name +for himself, found the fossil of a modern feathered bird—probably some +kind of swallow—alongside a theropod, that variety of dinosaur widely +accepted to be the ancestor of modern birds. Faced with what he believed +to be irrefutable evidence of a modern descendant coexisting alongside +its own ancient ancestor, Fuchsia arrived at the only conclusion he was +capable of making: Birds Are Not Dinosaurs. And thus BAND came into +being.
+Ever since, Fuschia and his BANDits have spent considerable amounts +of time and energy attending conferences and publishing papers, pouting +and demanding to be taken seriously by the wider scientific community. A +community which, if it pays them any attention at all, merely mocks and +ridicules their crackpot theories.
+Modern Fuschia is of course wrong. But neither he nor his BANDits +know how dangerously close he came to the actual truth.
+For much, much deeper in the shadowy fringes of paleornithology, +there is a clandestine operation called BATT. And only BATT knows the +actual explanation for how a modern descendant might coexist alongside +its own ancestor. Birds Are Time Travelers.
+In the far future when birds are the dominant intelligent life on +Basmentaria, they do indeed invent time travel. The end result was +catastrophic and is the real reason that the dinosaurs went extinct.
+It is a common misconception that barn swallows are the most common +and widespread species of swallow. That distinction in fact belongs to +the time swallow. Although—if you’re lucky—you’ll never +actually see one. Since the Incident, the secret agents of BATT have +vowed never again to interfere with or try to alter the time stream. Nor +to allow anyone else to. The time swallows are special bred, special +trained, appearing wherever and whenever an anomaly appears to remove it +and restore the proper timeline. The tiny birds quite literally swallow, +consume, and destroy anything that meddles with time.
+At their headquarters, in the present day, BATT Director Purple +Martin is delivering a report to his superior. Martin has a throaty and +rich voice of which he is self-conscious in the presence of his +superior’s persistent silence.
+“We have successfully extracted the sysorcerer and have repaired the +anomaly. The subject is currently under the care of Felixe and is +expected to make a full recovery. In his possession were a couple of +interesting artifacts. One Class C sentient object, a sword. And a piece +of exotica of unknown origin. Our researchers so far suspect that it is +a sort of reliquary containing both elemental and divine arcana. The +xot’s physical manifestation—a crystalline ore—thus far prevents us from +determining the precise identity of the arcana.”
+Director Purple Martin is delivering this report to a lanky, thin man +folded into an armchair. He wears thin, wire spectacles with round +lenses, and dangles a walking stick over the arm of the chair as he +sits. He interrupts Martin with a rare utterance. “The reliquary. I +shall like to see it.”
+Now then:
+Retrieval Team 43 welcomes Alex into their ranks even as they mourn +the loss of Corraidhín the Wizened.
+It starts off as a somber affair at Lucy’s as you all sit around your +regular table, ensconced and wedged into a corner surrounded on two +sides by the red velvet curtains that line the walls.
+But then the hobbit joins you.
+Blavin Blandfoot orders a round of drinks in tribute to Corraidhín. +And then another round of drinks to welcome his nephew Alex. “A family +affair, is it not!” And then another round of drinks because he is +thirsty.
+The hobbit is in high spirits, brimming with flair and good cheer. +His arm is fully healed from the attack over a month ago at this very +table. His fond memories and frequent toasts to the sysorcerer make no +reference to the incident.
+“The Benefactor is immensely pleased with your performance so far!” +He punches a new hole in your Frequent Retrieval cards. “You are one +step closer to winning a FABULOUS PRIZE! I don’t mind telling you I’m a +little jealous. Assuming you go the distance, of course. I mean who +doesn’t love hot dogs and hot tubs!” He winks conspiratorially at you. +“To say nothing of actually getting to meet the Benefactor! Just +imagine!”
+After a few more drinks he eventually clears a space on the table and +rolls out a map of Basmentaria. “We once again have two reports of a +crystal spotting!” He jabs a finger at the mountain range in northern +Primora. “The first, as you know, has been reported by the zephynos high +atop Kelsun Peak.”
+“The second,” his voice quivers with excitement. He looks up at you +wide-eyed and gestures away from the map into open space. “Is on the +moon!”
+Seated a couple tables away from you is the same trio who were +present the last time you all met here: a dusty groll, a matted gnu, and +a curious Ornithologer. The observant among you, if you happened to +look, would notice that the Ornithologer wears a pinkish purplish red +armband with the word BAND on it. They listen to your proceedings with +great interest while trying really hard to look like they’re not +listening. After Blavin’s final proclamation, the trio finishes their +drinks, stands, and starts to leave the dining room.
+WHAT DO YOU DO
+Find out next time on BASEMENT QUEST
+Some of the creatures who inhabit the world of Basmentaria
Prelude:
+Different cultures of Basmentaria have different + traditional stories about Nullar, the lord of time and + tides.
+The cobits say he is an insatiable Wyrm who lies coiled + tightly around the present moment. He devours the past the + moment it stops being the present. And when he has finished + digesting it, he regurgitates it as the future, the processed + remains of the past. And he remains ever out of sight, just + around the corner. Always having just happened. Or about to + happen. But never here, never now.
+The gnu describe Nullar as a fastidious Librarian. They + believe that every time you make a choice, you create a create + two separate timelines, two stories. One in which you chose + Option A and one in which you chose Option B. The Librarian + collects these alternate stories, binds them between the + covers of a new book, and adds them to his collection. In this + way he maintains the single sanctioned timeline and keeps the + tree of the multiverse pruned.
+The torque say he is a solitary old man, a weary prisoner + of his office, fatigued by the neverending repeating cycles of + time and tide, with only his ravens for companionship.
+++Inky looks in the direction of the bears’ anguish and + blinks at the forms on the ship’s deck. How strange. Why are + the bears in the mirage? Didn’t Master Corraidhín send them to + a safe spot earlier before he entered the hull?
+Between the two bears’ tearful retelling of events, Inky + gathers the sysorcerer had conjured an identical (at least in + appearance) pair of bears farther from the shipwreck, while + the other pair were still on the deck. If the sysorcerer had + teleported himself out, Inky was fairly sure he wouldn’t leave + the bears behind to whatever had taken hold of the ship after + he and Gabs had gone to the trouble of rescuing them from the + harrowkrake’s clutches. Either the wizard will return to free + the bears, or he was still inside. From an angle close to the + deck, Inky can see a shadow inside the hatch that vaguely + resembled the sysorcerer, but it was difficult to tell from + the blurry edges.
+Resigned to a long wait, Inky sighs and pulls out bottles + of instant brew acorn tea and offers one to each bear, as well + as a jar of candied carrots. The tea was a few pinches saltier + than usual, but it would do for now. They float out some + carrots to the giant manta ray hovering nearby, holding up the + jar briefly for the jellyfish atop their head to snag a few + with a free tentacle, before picking out two themselves and + passing the jar to the bears. To distract the bears a bit from + the sight of their doppelgangers in painfully slow motion, or + the urge to dive in after them, Inky inquires about their deep + sea and lunar adventures.
+After some time, Inky notices the same group of fish + swimming back and forth by the shipwreck, a few appearing as + though they were passing through the ship? “Hey. Do you know + what the fish there are doing? Do they regularly hang out near + the shipwreck?” they ask the bears.
+
“What fish?” says the bear, squinting at the ship. “Those + aren’t fish.”
+ + ]]> +++At Master Corraidhín’s confirmation of the crystal’s + presence within the shipwreck, Inky moves the bubblebee closer + above the opening in the hull, adjusting the angle of the + headlights so that a little more light falls over the gaping + hole should the rest of the party wish to enter the ship + through it.
+Next, Inky pulls out some wasabi pears from their bag, + biting into one before dropping the others one at a time + several paces apart, starting near the bow of the ship in a + trail until a few roll down into the hole and land in a hollow + thonks somewhere inside the ship.
+Inky then settles near the opening, partly-eaten pear in + hand and waits for the source of the rustling sounds to + emerge, if it decides to emerge at all.
+
From their vantage point, Inky sees a figure crawl up onto + the deck of the ship through a hatch from somewhere below. It + appears to be wearing a breathing bell and a vest of weighted + sandbags similar to yours. It is carrying a bulky bundle tied + to its waist by a cord.
+It freezes when it sees the merbear and the tardigrade on + ship deck. But then the bears are teleported to safety a few + meters from the inkling. The figure looks around curiously and + shrugs. It casts off some sandbags and starts rising up + through the water toward the happy manta ray and the restless + horkusgrampus. It looks down in your direction as it goes. Its + face is somewhat blurred and obscured by the breathing bell, + but you see a glint of gold as the light of your bubblebee + reflects off one of its eyes.
+++Ah ha! Our prize is near then. And it looks like that bolt + forced that squid monster thing back into its hole. Likely + we’ll be alright to plum the depths here.
+Thank goodness our bears are safe, I should probably move + them somewhere out of harms way, just in case.
++#!/bin/sh +safety=$(find /ocean/* -perm 644 | head -n 1) +for bear in merbear tardigrade; do + sudo usermod -a -G party $bear + sudo scp /ocean/shipwreck/$bear /ocean/$safety + sudo chown corraidhin:party /ocean/$safety +done +sudo chown -R 770 /ocean/$safetyThat should ward them sufficiently, now only the party + members can come and go freely, and they’re part of the party. + I’m positive nobody will complain, they might, but there won’t + be anymore bolt mishaps this way at least..
+As Corraidhin finishes his relocation spell he creeps + closer to the hull of the ship. “Lets see what we’re dealing + with here..” he sticks his head into the opening looking about + inside the wreckage, a small orb of light illuminates the tip + of his right hand pointer finger, and he uses it to carefully + probe around the opening as though it were a flash light.
+
Corraidhín cautiously explores the breach in the hull of + the SS RSS. You poke your head in and see the cargo hold of + the ship. The remains of some of the ship crew are here, long + since picked clean by ocean critters. Their bones are bleached + white and they grin mirthlessly at you. They are nestled in + and amongst the spilled contents of several large chests: + jewelry, gold coins, precious stones litter the floor of the + ship.
+You do not see any lumpy, multi-faceted, blue and gold + crystal melon here.
+The ship is resting mostly on its side, so its sloping + “floor” is actually the ship wall. The hatch up to the upper + deck is to your right, and as you enter the hold, someone or + something shuts the hatch closed.
+A skeleton by the hull entrance crawls forward, trying to + block your exit. And two more start to claw themselves up and + free of the ship’s treasure, and they start to advance toward + you.
+WHAT DO YOU DO
+ + ]]> +--At Master Corraidhín’s confirmation of the crystal’s - presence within the shipwreck, Inky moves the bubblebee closer - above the opening in the hull, adjusting the angle of the - headlights so that a little more light falls over the gaping - hole should the rest of the party wish to enter the ship - through it.
-Next, Inky pulls out some wasabi pears from their bag, - biting into one before dropping the others one at a time - several paces apart, starting near the bow of the ship in a - trail until a few roll down into the hole and land in a hollow - thonks somewhere inside the ship.
-Inky then settles near the opening, partly-eaten pear in - hand and waits for the source of the rustling sounds to - emerge, if it decides to emerge at all.
-
From their vantage point, Inky sees a figure crawl up onto - the deck of the ship through a hatch from somewhere below. It - appears to be wearing a breathing bell and a vest of weighted - sandbags similar to yours. It is carrying a bulky bundle tied - to its waist by a cord.
-It freezes when it sees the merbear and the tardigrade on - ship deck. But then the bears are teleported to safety a few - meters from the inkling. The figure looks around curiously and - shrugs. It casts off some sandbags and starts rising up - through the water toward the happy manta ray and the restless - horkusgrampus. It looks down in your direction as it goes. Its - face is somewhat blurred and obscured by the breathing bell, - but you see a glint of gold as the light of your bubblebee - reflects off one of its eyes.
---Ah ha! Our prize is near then. And it looks like that bolt - forced that squid monster thing back into its hole. Likely - we’ll be alright to plum the depths here.
-Thank goodness our bears are safe, I should probably move - them somewhere out of harms way, just in case.
--#!/bin/sh -safety=$(find /ocean/* -perm 644 | head -n 1) -for bear in merbear tardigrade; do - sudo usermod -a -G party $bear - sudo scp /ocean/shipwreck/$bear /ocean/$safety - sudo chown corraidhin:party /ocean/$safety -done -sudo chown -R 770 /ocean/$safetyThat should ward them sufficiently, now only the party - members can come and go freely, and they’re part of the party. - I’m positive nobody will complain, they might, but there won’t - be anymore bolt mishaps this way at least..
-As Corraidhin finishes his relocation spell he creeps - closer to the hull of the ship. “Lets see what we’re dealing - with here..” he sticks his head into the opening looking about - inside the wreckage, a small orb of light illuminates the tip - of his right hand pointer finger, and he uses it to carefully - probe around the opening as though it were a flash light.
-
Corraidhín cautiously explores the breach in the hull of - the SS RSS. You poke your head in and see the cargo hold of - the ship. The remains of some of the ship crew are here, long - since picked clean by ocean critters. Their bones are bleached - white and they grin mirthlessly at you. They are nestled in - and amongst the spilled contents of several large chests: - jewelry, gold coins, precious stones litter the floor of the - ship.
-You do not see any lumpy, multi-faceted, blue and gold - crystal melon here.
-The ship is resting mostly on its side, so its sloping - “floor” is actually the ship wall. The hatch up to the upper - deck is to your right, and as you enter the hold, someone or - something shuts the hatch closed.
-A skeleton by the hull entrance crawls forward, trying to - block your exit. And two more start to claw themselves up and - free of the ship’s treasure, and they start to advance toward - you.
-WHAT DO YOU DO
- - ]]> -Prelude:
-Different cultures of Basmentaria have different - traditional stories about Nullar, the lord of time and - tides.
-The cobits say he is an insatiable Wyrm who lies coiled - tightly around the present moment. He devours the past the - moment it stops being the present. And when he has finished - digesting it, he regurgitates it as the future, the processed - remains of the past. And he remains ever out of sight, just - around the corner. Always having just happened. Or about to - happen. But never here, never now.
-The gnu describe Nullar as a fastidious Librarian. They - believe that every time you make a choice, you create a create - two separate timelines, two stories. One in which you chose - Option A and one in which you chose Option B. The Librarian - collects these alternate stories, binds them between the - covers of a new book, and adds them to his collection. In this - way he maintains the single sanctioned timeline and keeps the - tree of the multiverse pruned.
-The torque say he is a solitary old man, a weary prisoner - of his office, fatigued by the neverending repeating cycles of - time and tide, with only his ravens for companionship.
---Inky looks in the direction of the bears’ anguish and - blinks at the forms on the ship’s deck. How strange. Why are - the bears in the mirage? Didn’t Master Corraidhín send them to - a safe spot earlier before he entered the hull?
-Between the two bears’ tearful retelling of events, Inky - gathers the sysorcerer had conjured an identical (at least in - appearance) pair of bears farther from the shipwreck, while - the other pair were still on the deck. If the sysorcerer had - teleported himself out, Inky was fairly sure he wouldn’t leave - the bears behind to whatever had taken hold of the ship after - he and Gabs had gone to the trouble of rescuing them from the - harrowkrake’s clutches. Either the wizard will return to free - the bears, or he was still inside. From an angle close to the - deck, Inky can see a shadow inside the hatch that vaguely - resembled the sysorcerer, but it was difficult to tell from - the blurry edges.
-Resigned to a long wait, Inky sighs and pulls out bottles - of instant brew acorn tea and offers one to each bear, as well - as a jar of candied carrots. The tea was a few pinches saltier - than usual, but it would do for now. They float out some - carrots to the giant manta ray hovering nearby, holding up the - jar briefly for the jellyfish atop their head to snag a few - with a free tentacle, before picking out two themselves and - passing the jar to the bears. To distract the bears a bit from - the sight of their doppelgangers in painfully slow motion, or - the urge to dive in after them, Inky inquires about their deep - sea and lunar adventures.
-After some time, Inky notices the same group of fish - swimming back and forth by the shipwreck, a few appearing as - though they were passing through the ship? “Hey. Do you know - what the fish there are doing? Do they regularly hang out near - the shipwreck?” they ask the bears.
-
“What fish?” says the bear, squinting at the ship. “Those - aren’t fish.”
- - ]]> ---Shouting in the direction of the grampus “Yo! That dude is - definitely going to forget us. We’re almost the definition of - forgettable, I mean it’s not like we’re some kind of murderous - hobos or something!”
-While shouting Corraidhin takes aim, and slings his magic - missing at the figure, aiming for a kill. (Meta: I’d like to - spend that xp now, lets take this sucker down).
-After the missile flies loose the skeleton begins to pull - Corraidhin back into the hull of the ship, he kicks - desperately at the boney clutches desperately trying to break - free.
-“I always knew I’d go out fighting some undead spooky - thing. If you don’t become a necromancer, you end up some - necromancers thrall.” at least, that’s what Kevin used to tell - me. I always thought he was being melodramatic.
-As the skeleton drags Corraidhin back through the hatch he - grabs the dagger, in a vein attempt to ready himself.
-“I guess this is it my Stabby friend, time to show these - Skeletons what happens when you back a Sysorceor into a - corner”
-And with that Corraidhin activates his fork bomb.
+Corraidhin
+
+ Well I’ll be! You can turn yourself into a dagger. And I did + say we could stab blavin if you could do that, it’s much more + stealthy this way. But let me posit this, is the act of + stabbing a hobbit unprovoked not itself evil? Or perhaps more + convincingly, would it not be better to use the hobbit for + whatever information he has so as to lead to this mysterious + benefactor, who most assuredly must be evil.Someone who would send out myriads of teams to pillage and + plunder cultural artifacts is truly evil, that must be our + target.
+Now this isn’t to say that we won’t stab him. I’m convinced + that’s probably a good idea in the long run, but we know + nothing of the true evil that motivates him! We would kill him + just to lose track of the true evil we must smite!
+Y’aml
+
+ But YOU said if I could turn into a dagger we could STAB him. + HE’S EVIL. YOU said so! Not keeping your promises IS one step + away from PURE evil! Make a choice Hardy Bear! Stab the evil + hobbit, or stab the inkling, or stab SOMETHING evil this + minute!Corraidhin
+
+ I most certainly cannot abide with stabbing Inky, it’s + entirely off the table. And in a city like this there aren’t + any evil things that just jump out for the stabbing.(Corraidhin tries to silently control Y’aml during the + discussion. However in so doing the party has fallen silent, + aghast even)
+Corraidhin stands, Y’aml held in hand, red gem eye gleaming + a wicked joyful grin as it’s raised high, poised to strike. + The party around him is silent, and Blavin stares up in shock. + The tavern around them has died down and you can hear the + bustle of the proprietor calling for his strong men to deal + with this ruckus.
~
+The table—and all of Lucy’s Basement within earshot—sits in + tense, uneasy quiet at Corraidhin’s one-sided conversation + with the Sword of Yam’L. Blavin giggles nervously and sips his + martini, willfully forcing himself right up to the very last + moment to believe that it is all some sort of jest.
+But then the sysorcerer stands and raises the blood crazed + dagger over his shoulder, and Blavin squeals and writhes in + his chair. Lucy’s bouncers scramble forward from the corners + of the room to intercept.
--While feeding their jellyfish bites of wasabi pear and - watching the sysorcerer investigate the hull, Inky eventually - notices movement in the direction of the ship’s deck in the - form of a figure crawling out of the hatch with a bundle. Inky - squints at the retreating form. Could it be another retrieval - team, or a rogue agent? Master Corraidhín would probably not - be pleased if the crystal melon were to fall into unknown - hands, never mind of those whose names don’t start with the - letter “B” and end in the letter “r”.
-Sparing a brief second to lament the waste of a perfectly - good snack, Inky reaches into their bag and lobs a spiky - chestnut cluster at the figure’s breathing bell from the - opening of their bubblebee, followed by a glass bottle of - blahoblin shoe polish. The glass shatters on impact, sending - the dark, sticky and somewhat pungent substance all over the - figure’s (punctured) breathing bell and face.
-As Inky’s bubblebee floats up a little closer to the - figure, Inky tosses a smaller bottle at the figure, this time - of some synthetic blood from another brick that Inky had set - aside for experiments of a different sort. At the last moment - the thruster accelerates, Inky throws their paring knife at - the bundle where the cord hugged the figure’s waist, before - veering away just as quickly as the horkosgrampus nearby catch - a whiff of the blood.
+Y’aml
+
+ We STAB Hardy Bear! We STAB NOW!!Against Corraidhin’s control, as though he’s in a trance, + the dagger comes down. A swift stabbing motion strqight to the + neck, as he lunges across the table at Blavin knocking the map + and his martini to the side.
RETCON: It has been brought to our
- attention that the scp spell does not
- move an entity, but merely copies it from one
- location to another. As such, the original merbear and
- tardigrade are still on the deck of the SS RSS. Their
- facsimiles are present near where Inky used to be.
Okay so two extremely interesting and complicated things - happen all at once and in quick succession. It’s very chaotic - and explosive and cinematic.
-THING THE FIRST
-Corraidhín aims his shootin’ finger—the one that - resolutely, emphatically mashes the Enter key when deploying - to production—at the floaty thief. The very same second he - fires off the magic missile, he sees the figure jerk as a - small projectile first punctures its jellyfish helmet and then - coats its entire cranial area in black ink.
-It screams, “Aw, fuck!”
-The breathing bell is having none of this shit, thank you - very much, and detaches itself from the figure’s head and - starts to propel itself away. As such, the figure no longer - has access to breathable air.
-It screams, “No, wait!”
-And then a fine blade juts out from the bubblebee severing - the cord connecting the floating bundle to the would-be thief. - The blade scoops out a hunk of flesh from the thief’s hip in - the process.
-It screams, “Ouch! Stop, I wasn’t going to…”
-The horkosgrampus—kind of lazily drifting about thus - far—stir from complacency at the first scent of blood. But - they snap to ravenous attention at the first utterance of a - possible lie.
-Finally (an instant later) the magic missile strikes its - target and the thief splatters like a wet paper bag full of - soup hitting the ground.
-It sputters and coughs and screams, “I wasn’t going to! - Please, you can have it! I wasn’t going to take it! I don’t - even want it! It’s yours!”
-And the horkosgrampus fucking lose their minds. They stop - being mere toothy scavenger whales, and instead become the - ravenous, wrathful instruments of the god of oaths and - promises. They descend upon the liar in a fury of teeth and - tusks. First Mate “Lucky” Three-Fingered Gerald cackles with - depraved, unhinged mirth as he is torn to shreds. In the end a - single golden orb—his false eye—is all that is left of the - would-be thief of the second Ginnarak Crystal.
-The eye and the crystal slowly emerge from the - horkosgrampus frenzy, hovering suspended above the harrowkrake - trench.
-THING THE SECOND
-Remember there are two extremely interesting and - complicated things happening all at once?
-The second thing is this.
-First, Corraidhín lets loose his magic missile at - Three-Fingered Gerald. Then, as he is being pulled down by the - undead pirate skeleton, he lets loose a fork bomb.
-The fork bomb is also known as a ‘rabbit attack’ because - the rapidity with which it spawns new processes resembles the - fecundity of breeding rabbits.
-So here’s what it looks like. The skeleton pulls Corraidhín - downward. Corraidhín points and clicks. Pew, pew. A single - small sea bunny slug wriggles its way between the skeleton’s - fingers where it has a hold of the sysorcerer’s ankle. Another - two wriggle out. Then four, eight, sixteen. In an instant - there are dozens, hundreds, thousands, millions of the tiny - slugs in the hold of the ship.
-Everything, every living entity, every process, light and - sound and thought itself, it all grinds to a halt as the sea - bunnies continue to multiply until billions and trillions of - them squeeze and burrow their way amongst molecules, betwixt - atoms, and into the quantum foam between subatomic - particles.
-The ship and everything on it and inside it—including the - original merbear and tardigrade—collapse into a singularity. - It continues to exist in this moment in space and time but - only as a static snapshot of the moment that its operating - system crashed. It is a mirage, a core memory dump, a - segmentation fault, a flickering feedback loop, the same two - to three seconds endlessly repeating: Corraidhín backed into a - corner, and pointing a finger at a skeleton, and then BANG! - over and over and over again.
-Corraidhín, you can continue to act and move, but your have - become unhinged and unattached from this moment in space and - time. You can interact with entities inside the ship, but will - struggle mightily to comprehend and interact with entities - outside the fork bomb.
-Outside observers see the SS RSS become paper thin and - translucent as it starts to lose its footing in this plane of - reality.
+ +Corraidhin once again feels the same peculiar quality of + the blade, that sensation of a hollow core with a heavy liquid + sloshing inside. Held aloft, the weight of it feels + concentrated at the grip, the blade light as a feather.
+He stabs down—Yam’L cries out in wordless glee—and the + weight flows into the tip of the blade, the blade itself now + drawing Corraidhin’s hand downward in a rising crescendo of + stabbitude.
+ +Blavin flinches at the last second, and instead of burying + itself in his throat, the blade plunges into his shoulder and + pins him to the back of the chair. A red mist fills the eye + and threatens to cloud it over entirely. It rolls back in + ecstasy as it drinks deeply. It sings out, “MORE! MORE! MORE!” + and Corraidhin feels the tides of madness rising inside of + him, threatening to wash over him wholly, to pull him under + and carry him away on thundering waves of bloodlust.
+Corraidhin struggles to pull the blade from the chair back. + Blavin whimpers and mewls as he yanks on it, and clutches his + wound and, incredibly, takes a large gulp of his drink.
+The sysorcerer still has the wherewithal and the presence + of mind to be aware of his surroundings. He is not yet so + overcome by the bloodlust. He sees his companions, his fellow + residents of the Milk Market, seated around the table. And he + sees the musclebound bouncers now nearly within reach.
+Finally he draws the dagger. Blavin sinks in his seat and + slides to the floor with his drink, blabbering incoherently, + and starts to slither away.
WHAT DO YOU DO
+ href="https://framalistes.org/sympa/arc/tildepals/2022-10/msg00010.html">www ]]>--Corraidhin
-
- Well I’ll be! You can turn yourself into a dagger. And I did - say we could stab blavin if you could do that, it’s much more - stealthy this way. But let me posit this, is the act of - stabbing a hobbit unprovoked not itself evil? Or perhaps more - convincingly, would it not be better to use the hobbit for - whatever information he has so as to lead to this mysterious - benefactor, who most assuredly must be evil.Someone who would send out myriads of teams to pillage and - plunder cultural artifacts is truly evil, that must be our - target.
-Now this isn’t to say that we won’t stab him. I’m convinced - that’s probably a good idea in the long run, but we know - nothing of the true evil that motivates him! We would kill him - just to lose track of the true evil we must smite!
-Y’aml
-
- But YOU said if I could turn into a dagger we could STAB him. - HE’S EVIL. YOU said so! Not keeping your promises IS one step - away from PURE evil! Make a choice Hardy Bear! Stab the evil - hobbit, or stab the inkling, or stab SOMETHING evil this - minute!Corraidhin
-
- I most certainly cannot abide with stabbing Inky, it’s - entirely off the table. And in a city like this there aren’t - any evil things that just jump out for the stabbing.(Corraidhin tries to silently control Y’aml during the - discussion. However in so doing the party has fallen silent, - aghast even)
-Corraidhin stands, Y’aml held in hand, red gem eye gleaming - a wicked joyful grin as it’s raised high, poised to strike. - The party around him is silent, and Blavin stares up in shock. - The tavern around them has died down and you can hear the - bustle of the proprietor calling for his strong men to deal - with this ruckus.
+Shouting in the direction of the grampus “Yo! That dude is + definitely going to forget us. We’re almost the definition of + forgettable, I mean it’s not like we’re some kind of murderous + hobos or something!”
+While shouting Corraidhin takes aim, and slings his magic + missing at the figure, aiming for a kill. (Meta: I’d like to + spend that xp now, lets take this sucker down).
+After the missile flies loose the skeleton begins to pull + Corraidhin back into the hull of the ship, he kicks + desperately at the boney clutches desperately trying to break + free.
+“I always knew I’d go out fighting some undead spooky + thing. If you don’t become a necromancer, you end up some + necromancers thrall.” at least, that’s what Kevin used to tell + me. I always thought he was being melodramatic.
+As the skeleton drags Corraidhin back through the hatch he + grabs the dagger, in a vein attempt to ready himself.
+“I guess this is it my Stabby friend, time to show these + Skeletons what happens when you back a Sysorceor into a + corner”
+And with that Corraidhin activates his fork bomb.
The table—and all of Lucy’s Basement within earshot—sits in - tense, uneasy quiet at Corraidhin’s one-sided conversation - with the Sword of Yam’L. Blavin giggles nervously and sips his - martini, willfully forcing himself right up to the very last - moment to believe that it is all some sort of jest.
-But then the sysorcerer stands and raises the blood crazed - dagger over his shoulder, and Blavin squeals and writhes in - his chair. Lucy’s bouncers scramble forward from the corners - of the room to intercept.
+~
-- -Y’aml
-
- We STAB Hardy Bear! We STAB NOW!!Against Corraidhin’s control, as though he’s in a trance, - the dagger comes down. A swift stabbing motion strqight to the - neck, as he lunges across the table at Blavin knocking the map - and his martini to the side.
+While feeding their jellyfish bites of wasabi pear and + watching the sysorcerer investigate the hull, Inky eventually + notices movement in the direction of the ship’s deck in the + form of a figure crawling out of the hatch with a bundle. Inky + squints at the retreating form. Could it be another retrieval + team, or a rogue agent? Master Corraidhín would probably not + be pleased if the crystal melon were to fall into unknown + hands, never mind of those whose names don’t start with the + letter “B” and end in the letter “r”.
+Sparing a brief second to lament the waste of a perfectly + good snack, Inky reaches into their bag and lobs a spiky + chestnut cluster at the figure’s breathing bell from the + opening of their bubblebee, followed by a glass bottle of + blahoblin shoe polish. The glass shatters on impact, sending + the dark, sticky and somewhat pungent substance all over the + figure’s (punctured) breathing bell and face.
+As Inky’s bubblebee floats up a little closer to the + figure, Inky tosses a smaller bottle at the figure, this time + of some synthetic blood from another brick that Inky had set + aside for experiments of a different sort. At the last moment + the thruster accelerates, Inky throws their paring knife at + the bundle where the cord hugged the figure’s waist, before + veering away just as quickly as the horkosgrampus nearby catch + a whiff of the blood.
Corraidhin once again feels the same peculiar quality of - the blade, that sensation of a hollow core with a heavy liquid - sloshing inside. Held aloft, the weight of it feels - concentrated at the grip, the blade light as a feather.
-He stabs down—Yam’L cries out in wordless glee—and the - weight flows into the tip of the blade, the blade itself now - drawing Corraidhin’s hand downward in a rising crescendo of - stabbitude.
- -Blavin flinches at the last second, and instead of burying - itself in his throat, the blade plunges into his shoulder and - pins him to the back of the chair. A red mist fills the eye - and threatens to cloud it over entirely. It rolls back in - ecstasy as it drinks deeply. It sings out, “MORE! MORE! MORE!” - and Corraidhin feels the tides of madness rising inside of - him, threatening to wash over him wholly, to pull him under - and carry him away on thundering waves of bloodlust.
-Corraidhin struggles to pull the blade from the chair back. - Blavin whimpers and mewls as he yanks on it, and clutches his - wound and, incredibly, takes a large gulp of his drink.
-The sysorcerer still has the wherewithal and the presence - of mind to be aware of his surroundings. He is not yet so - overcome by the bloodlust. He sees his companions, his fellow - residents of the Milk Market, seated around the table. And he - sees the musclebound bouncers now nearly within reach.
-Finally he draws the dagger. Blavin sinks in his seat and - slides to the floor with his drink, blabbering incoherently, - and starts to slither away.
+RETCON: It has been brought to our
+ attention that the scp spell does not
+ move an entity, but merely copies it from one
+ location to another. As such, the original merbear and
+ tardigrade are still on the deck of the SS RSS. Their
+ facsimiles are present near where Inky used to be.
Okay so two extremely interesting and complicated things + happen all at once and in quick succession. It’s very chaotic + and explosive and cinematic.
+THING THE FIRST
+Corraidhín aims his shootin’ finger—the one that + resolutely, emphatically mashes the Enter key when deploying + to production—at the floaty thief. The very same second he + fires off the magic missile, he sees the figure jerk as a + small projectile first punctures its jellyfish helmet and then + coats its entire cranial area in black ink.
+It screams, “Aw, fuck!”
+The breathing bell is having none of this shit, thank you + very much, and detaches itself from the figure’s head and + starts to propel itself away. As such, the figure no longer + has access to breathable air.
+It screams, “No, wait!”
+And then a fine blade juts out from the bubblebee severing + the cord connecting the floating bundle to the would-be thief. + The blade scoops out a hunk of flesh from the thief’s hip in + the process.
+It screams, “Ouch! Stop, I wasn’t going to…”
+The horkosgrampus—kind of lazily drifting about thus + far—stir from complacency at the first scent of blood. But + they snap to ravenous attention at the first utterance of a + possible lie.
+Finally (an instant later) the magic missile strikes its + target and the thief splatters like a wet paper bag full of + soup hitting the ground.
+It sputters and coughs and screams, “I wasn’t going to! + Please, you can have it! I wasn’t going to take it! I don’t + even want it! It’s yours!”
+And the horkosgrampus fucking lose their minds. They stop + being mere toothy scavenger whales, and instead become the + ravenous, wrathful instruments of the god of oaths and + promises. They descend upon the liar in a fury of teeth and + tusks. First Mate “Lucky” Three-Fingered Gerald cackles with + depraved, unhinged mirth as he is torn to shreds. In the end a + single golden orb—his false eye—is all that is left of the + would-be thief of the second Ginnarak Crystal.
+The eye and the crystal slowly emerge from the + horkosgrampus frenzy, hovering suspended above the harrowkrake + trench.
+THING THE SECOND
+Remember there are two extremely interesting and + complicated things happening all at once?
+The second thing is this.
+First, Corraidhín lets loose his magic missile at + Three-Fingered Gerald. Then, as he is being pulled down by the + undead pirate skeleton, he lets loose a fork bomb.
+The fork bomb is also known as a ‘rabbit attack’ because + the rapidity with which it spawns new processes resembles the + fecundity of breeding rabbits.
+So here’s what it looks like. The skeleton pulls Corraidhín + downward. Corraidhín points and clicks. Pew, pew. A single + small sea bunny slug wriggles its way between the skeleton’s + fingers where it has a hold of the sysorcerer’s ankle. Another + two wriggle out. Then four, eight, sixteen. In an instant + there are dozens, hundreds, thousands, millions of the tiny + slugs in the hold of the ship.
+Everything, every living entity, every process, light and + sound and thought itself, it all grinds to a halt as the sea + bunnies continue to multiply until billions and trillions of + them squeeze and burrow their way amongst molecules, betwixt + atoms, and into the quantum foam between subatomic + particles.
+The ship and everything on it and inside it—including the + original merbear and tardigrade—collapse into a singularity. + It continues to exist in this moment in space and time but + only as a static snapshot of the moment that its operating + system crashed. It is a mirage, a core memory dump, a + segmentation fault, a flickering feedback loop, the same two + to three seconds endlessly repeating: Corraidhín backed into a + corner, and pointing a finger at a skeleton, and then BANG! + over and over and over again.
+Corraidhín, you can continue to act and move, but your have + become unhinged and unattached from this moment in space and + time. You can interact with entities inside the ship, but will + struggle mightily to comprehend and interact with entities + outside the fork bomb.
+Outside observers see the SS RSS become paper thin and + translucent as it starts to lose its footing in this plane of + reality.
WHAT DO YOU DO
+ href="https://framalistes.org/sympa/arc/tildepals/2022-11/msg00080.html">www ]]>++The mission, party-wise, had been an abject failure.
+They had found the crystal, and Master Corraidhín had + vanished. Inky wasn’t sure which was worse — the appalling + lack of water-resistant fireworks surrounding the + disappearance, or the bears’ ceaseless waterworks in grief + over their ghostly counterparts. Said bears plus a giant manta + ray were eventually left with the remains of Inky’s two snack + stashes. (The third was back on the Diamond Howler.) + The crystal was currently securely hidden away inside the Milk + Market, which was for the best. Inky was not about to drag + around an inedible melon that could potentially level entire + cities, if the wizard’s hints about its power were true. The + crystal-retrieval missions were a cover anyway — Inky had + gotten what they were looking for. The equipment and + provisions sponsored by the Benefactor were a handy bonus + though.
+Inside the tent, Inky adds the finishing flourishes to a + package and places it to one side, next to two others of a + similar size and a thin envelope already piled inside a padded + sack on the ground. The client should be pleased. It had taken + longer, but the result had been worth the additional hassle. + The envelope, on the other hand … who knew what had become of + the previous one, sent in an impulsive fit of post-dive haze + once the ship had docked at the port town. Donning a grey + fedora, a worn light brown jacket, a flask kettle and a wooden + box with carrying straps, Inky the “Tiny” tea seller leisurely + sets off for the post office, sack in hand.
+It was still a bit strange — if less shocking than the + first time it happened — to speak in rabbiton with the + postmistress at the counter, although Inky couldn’t actually + detect any significant differences from the common tongue + besides occasionally being reminded they shouldn’t be able to + understand the sounds at all. Rabbiton or rabbitoff, hare mail + couriers are among the fastest across Basmentaria and will + ensure any parcels and letters arrive at their recipients in a + timely manner. Due to their broad network and high delivery + confidence, letters without return addresses were no issue; + they can deliver with a valid recipient address, which they + are able to verify from an extensive series of registries and + course codes before taking the item. So it was that one such + envelope containing yet another somewhat unusual recipe was + promptly delivered to the Milk Market’s ground floor on a + blustery Boltday afternoon.
+Postage done, Inky wanders through one of the city’s + seedier districts, peddling cups of hot tea along the way. + This had become a daily routine for a little over a month + since the Sugrin Sea mission (longer and more sporadically + before that whenever the imp was in the city), including a + spontaneous fifteen-minute “Tiny Teatime” held in open areas + such as small parks, or occasionally in a back alley between + several crowded residences. The tea happening had initially + been a whimsical response to Teatime with Tanokuma + and still regularly attracted children when iced drinks were + served during the summertime.
+Rows of slightly crooked houses sandwiched among acacia + trees line a narrow, winding lane. Inky passes the elderly + playing tabula surrounded by a small group of onlookers, + people chewing on sweet lemongrass or peeling vegetables, + hanging up laundry on colourful lines made of scrap rags, + children laughing and chasing soapy bubbles with wands + dripping from laundry water, and all sorts of activity that + made houses into homes. Many of them were frank about not + having any spare coins for extras like speciality teas brewed + “just like them shops”, but gladly accepted a steaming bamboo + cup upon realising they needn’t pay, if sometimes a little + suspiciously at first. Instead of coin, they held a rich font + of stories, local legends, folk remedies, cooking methods, + insider tip-offs and rumours, which they were often eager to + impart to an attentive audience.
+Some of the passer-by were always in a hurry, downing the + tea as though it were a shot of hard liquor before retrieving + a handful of loose coins from a pocket or sock. When Inky + smiled and told them there was no charge, most would return a + puzzled look or uncertain smile, or roll their eyes, and drop + a copper coin into a slot on the lid of the box anyway. A few + had promptly walked off wordlessly with snickering faces, as + though they had gotten away with something clever. Regardless, + it was one of the best ways to see and observe a bustling + metropolis. No one took any particular notice of young urchins + and vendors selling refreshments, flowers and various trinkets + on the streets.
+Likewise no one witnessed a tea seller pause near one of + the windows at the back of Enrique’s Empanada Emporium late in + the day. For a while they watch the chef within in action, + clearly in his element, before reluctantly pulling away and + retreating quietly up the stairs to the second floor. They + should wash up and see if their marketing manager is in the + mood for some takeout and Terrapin Ale this evening.
+
~
+++Background: Alex isn’t young, but in comparison to his + whizzened uncle Corraidhin he’s the depiction of youth. He has + jet black hair and alert blue eyes, and a quiet serenity about + him that gives one pause, as though he’s constantly + calculating. He gives into his passions quickly however, and + becomes rather animated when his emotions break loose. He’ll + be the first to curse his uncle for his foolish endeavors, + never quite understanding the sysorcerer’s way. Early in life, + after the death of his parents, Corraidhin took him under his + wing and tried in vain to teach him the ways of magical + systems administration. Much to Corraidhin, it only resulted + in damaged systems, and a rift with his nephew.
+It took years to recover from that, but eventually the two + grew close again, though distant nonetheless. That closeness + reflects itself in the situation Alex finds himself in now, a + mysterious alert from some overly contrived magical system, + ruining his perfectly good winning streak. It’s not that he + was necessary bad at all of that stuff, it just, wasn’t as + much fun as gambling. And it certainly wasn’t as exhillerating + as writing malware.
+Breaking into a system, smashing it to bites and pieces, + watching the carefully wrought design burn in amber and green, + now THAT was magic.
+META: Alex is like Corraidhin in some aspects, he’s + younger, more brash, more given to whim and fancy. He’s + somewhat greedy and craven, attracted to riches far too + easily. He’s a passionate gambler, not due to his skill, but + by virtue of his ability to distract and confuse, which gives + him a delightful edge. Some would call it lucky, but he calls + it subterfuge. He has some sysorcerer skills, nothing quite as + flexible as Corraidhin, but he delightfully wreaks havoc with + worms, scrapers, ransom & spyware. If he can’t bypass + something, he’ll delightfully destroy it. If he can’t break + in, he’ll distract someone or something so he can slip by.
+(Think rogue + illusion magic, where Corraidhin is straight + Wizard)
+Introduction: Kev, just give it to me straight, the hell + does this Deadman’s trigger mean. You can’t have a service + like that flap, it’s a boolean, you’re either dead or your + not. And don’t try to lie to me, I’m not some project managing + schmuck, you know full and well Uncle Corraidhin taught me. I + know enough to tell when you’re lying.
+(Kevin) Ah, well, umm. Yes I suppose that’s true. You can’t + be dead and not. It’s just not an option. But Zabbix doesn’t + lie! It’s what monitors your Uncle’s life force, the state of + his infrastructure so to speak. Look check your own, there’s + nothing to indicate any issue with you, but your uncle’s + fluxuates consistently. None of his other state checks are + failing though! So it could just be a problem with his + Deadman’s trigger code.
+Absolutely not. Corraidhin might be a flighty fool, but + he’s not someone who would deploy faulty code to production. + There’s no way in hell it would get past his linter, let alone + all of the QA he does before it even gets that far. Look, what + the hell did you drag him into, you know exactly what he gets + up to, just point me in his direction so I can get this shit + over with.
+(Kevin) Hmm, he didn’t really want me to talk about it, but + last I saw him, he was babbling on and on about some magical + Json sword or something. I couldn’t quite keep up with it.
+You were trying to get him to buy into KDL again weren’t + you?
+(Kevin) It’s a good language I swear, and if your uncle had + just.. (Alex cuts him off)
+Hush it. What did the sword look like, where was he + headed?
+(Kevin) sigh it was large, with a ruby hilt, and a + magical eye of some sort. I’m certain if you just ask around + you’ll find it. Just ask about the sysorcerer who mutters to + his sword, that’s how the poor bastard is remembered around + here these days.
+With this information Alex departed the Sysorcerer’s guild + in search of his Uncle. As he asked around town, people shied + away. Nasty business talking about that one, they’d tell him. + A few mentioned something about an attack, and a dagger and + bloodlust the likes of which they’d only heard from the bard + at their local tavern. None of this sounded like the Uncle he + remembered, but he followed the trail until it lead him to the + Milk Maid.
+As Alex checked around for someone, anyone who seemed to be + in the know, he spotted Inky, serving tea as she watched the + ongoings at the Empanada shop near the Milk Maid.
+Excuse me, miss? You wouldn’t have happened to seen my + Uncle, he’s an old whizened fellow. Constantly harrumphs and + goes on and on endlessly about some magical script, or how + much he hates the School of Powershell. I haven’t been able to + find him, and I’ve been looking all over the city for the + better part of 3 days. Note even his best friend Kevin at the + Sysorcer’s guild knew where he was, and I’m just, I’m at a bit + of a loss..
+sigh I’m sorry to just unload on your like that. + If you don’t know him that’s okay, I’d be happy to pay for a + cup of tea for your time.
+
~
+++(Two days prior)
+An office, barely illuminated by the glow of a moonstone + lamp.
+An elf attired in red silk dress robes with a shimmering + pattern of butterflies, a red floral picture hat and matching + high heel boots lounged in the visitor’s chair in front of a + heavy wooden desk. The charms dangling from her wrist circlets + tinkled as she reached for a teacup. A silver tray was placed + to one side of the desk with a pot of maghrebi francus, two + porcelain cups and a bowl of sugar cubes. The remaining + surface was mostly covered by a map of Basmentaria, the + moonstone lamp and a short stack of books. Behind the desk sat + an imp in a midnight blue suit, a dart pen balanced on the + edge of two fingers of one hand, while the other tapped a + silent rhythm on the pineapple leather armrest.
+The lady in dress robes spoke first. “I made some + inquiries. That sysorcerer acquaintance of yours seems to be + stuck in some sort of spatial-temporal loop. The anomalies are + usually salvageable given time and expert attention. His + nephew is out looking for him now.” She hands the imp a sheet + with a drawing of a pensive but bright-eyed young man with + dark hair, and several lines of notes below. “How are things + at your end?”
+“The situation is tenable for the moment. One checked, + another disengaged. Between the wizard and bard, Blackfoot + will think twice before making any more untoward moves. One of + the waiters at the club said the bard gave him a little + dressing-down after the stabbing. He was practically shaking + in his boots by the end of it.”
+The elf laughed. “I read your earlier missive. Slipping a + catalyst into a milk pudding to stir up a bloodthirsty sword? + I guess you were pretty sure the thirst wouldn’t get out of + hand and kill the hobbit outright.”
+“Not entirely, but the good wizard would fight it with + considerable strength of will. That guild of his may be full + of white hats too busy with their petty squabbling over + semantics to see trouble looming until it smacked them in + their faces, but they have their principles and will not give + in easily when challenged.” The imp grimaced. “An unpleasant + matter but arguably a necessity. It was only a matter of time + before the cursed sword would find itself a target. May as + well put evil to good use.”
+“You did what you had to do, Ink. And that sailor with the + gold eye?”
+“Met with an unfortunate … accident. Securing the crystal + would have been sufficient, but the horkosgrampus weren’t + terribly impressed with him. The Benefactor should be + relieved. Men of their ilk would sooner sell to the highest + bidder.” The pen twirled in their hand once, twice, before + pausing with the nib pointing downward at a spot on the map. + The imp continued, “All the more reason to move as soon as the + young man finds his uncle. Kelsun Peak, most likely.”
+“Right. I’ll let the others know if anything happens.” She + rose to her heels in a whisper of brocade silks. “Do you want + an antidote for … ?” She gestured with a slim, graceful hand + framed in delicate strands of the gold bracelets towards her + companion.
+The imp inclined their head slightly in grateful + acknowledgement. “No need. The condition is relatively + harmless and reversing the effects now might raise suspicion. + The postmistress at the Hutcheon Lane branch of Leplus Post + was very tickled by it.”
+“I see. So that’s how it is.” she replied with undisguised + mirth. The imp ignored her smirk. “Please see to it the + preparations are carried out. The fate of your beloved + operetta house may well depend upon it.”
+“You would never!” The elven lady exclaimed in mock + affront. “No, I wouldn’t, even though it is the bane of all + fine glassware. However, if the crystals came to less + discerning hands …” They shared a solemn look before the elf + nodded and swept out of the room, leaving the cloying scent of + violets in her path.
+~
+Inky gestures wordlessly for the young wizard to follow + them upstairs to the second floor of the Milk Market, heading + straight for the room at one end of a long hallway.
+As Inky enters, their small and fluffy marketing manager + pops its head out of the wooden tub of water standing to one + side of the room. “We have a visitor!” Inky cheerfully tells + the duck. Their marketing manager looks back at them both and + says, “QUACK!”
+Inky turns back to the young man with a smile. “Please have + a seat. How may we address you? Tea? No charge for Master + Corraidhín’s nephew, of course.”
+Once seated on some cushions thrown over a slightly ratty + tartan rug and having poured out a steaming cup of mandarin + pekoe for each of them, Inky begins, “So, about your uncle. + The good news is, we know him. The bad news is, we knew him.” + They then proceed to recount the events of their latest + mission at the site of a shipwreck out in the Sugrin Sea, and + the elder sysorcerer’s disappearance.
+
Prelude:
+A fringe movement of lunatic paleornithologists and + crackpots of various other professions has slowly been gaining + traction over the last few decades. The movement was born when + the enterprising Modern Fuchsia, at the time a budding young + scientist on a dig yearning to make a name for himself, found + the fossil of a modern feathered bird—probably some kind of + swallow—alongside a theropod, that variety of dinosaur widely + accepted to be the ancestor of modern birds. Faced with what + he believed to be irrefutable evidence of a modern descendant + coexisting alongside its own ancient ancestor, Fuchsia arrived + at the only conclusion he was capable of making: Birds Are Not + Dinosaurs. And thus BAND came into being.
+Ever since, Fuschia and his BANDits have spent considerable + amounts of time and energy attending conferences and + publishing papers, pouting and demanding to be taken seriously + by the wider scientific community. A community which, if it + pays them any attention at all, merely mocks and ridicules + their crackpot theories.
+Modern Fuschia is of course wrong. But neither he nor his + BANDits know how dangerously close he came to the actual + truth.
+For much, much deeper in the shadowy fringes of + paleornithology, there is a clandestine operation called BATT. + And only BATT knows the actual explanation for how a modern + descendant might coexist alongside its own ancestor. Birds Are + Time Travelers.
+In the far future when birds are the dominant intelligent + life on Basmentaria, they do indeed invent time travel. The + end result was catastrophic and is the real reason that the + dinosaurs went extinct.
+It is a common misconception that barn swallows are the + most common and widespread species of swallow. That + distinction in fact belongs to the time swallow. + Although—if you’re lucky—you’ll never actually see one. Since + the Incident, the secret agents of BATT have vowed never again + to interfere with or try to alter the time stream. Nor to + allow anyone else to. The time swallows are special bred, + special trained, appearing wherever and whenever an anomaly + appears to remove it and restore the proper timeline. The tiny + birds quite literally swallow, consume, and destroy anything + that meddles with time.
+At their headquarters, in the present day, BATT Director + Purple Martin is delivering a report to his superior. Martin + has a throaty and rich voice of which he is self-conscious in + the presence of his superior’s persistent silence.
+“We have successfully extracted the sysorcerer and have + repaired the anomaly. The subject is currently under the care + of Felixe and is expected to make a full recovery. In his + possession were a couple of interesting artifacts. One Class C + sentient object, a sword. And a piece of exotica of unknown + origin. Our researchers so far suspect that it is a sort of + reliquary containing both elemental and divine arcana. The + xot’s physical manifestation—a crystalline ore—thus far + prevents us from determining the precise identity of the + arcana.”
+Director Purple Martin is delivering this report to a + lanky, thin man folded into an armchair. He wears thin, wire + spectacles with round lenses, and dangles a walking stick over + the arm of the chair as he sits. He interrupts Martin with a + rare utterance. “The reliquary. I shall like to see it.”
+Now then:
+Retrieval Team 43 welcomes Alex into their ranks even as + they mourn the loss of Corraidhín the Wizened.
+It starts off as a somber affair at Lucy’s as you all sit + around your regular table, ensconced and wedged into a corner + surrounded on two sides by the red velvet curtains that line + the walls.
+But then the hobbit joins you.
+Blavin Blandfoot orders a round of drinks in tribute to + Corraidhín. And then another round of drinks to welcome his + nephew Alex. “A family affair, is it not!” And then another + round of drinks because he is thirsty.
+The hobbit is in high spirits, brimming with flair and good + cheer. His arm is fully healed from the attack over a month + ago at this very table. His fond memories and frequent toasts + to the sysorcerer make no reference to the incident.
+“The Benefactor is immensely pleased with your performance + so far!” He punches a new hole in your Frequent Retrieval + cards. “You are one step closer to winning a FABULOUS PRIZE! I + don’t mind telling you I’m a little jealous. Assuming you go + the distance, of course. I mean who doesn’t love hot dogs and + hot tubs!” He winks conspiratorially at you. “To say nothing + of actually getting to meet the Benefactor! Just imagine!”
+After a few more drinks he eventually clears a space on the + table and rolls out a map of Basmentaria. “We once again have + two reports of a crystal spotting!” He jabs a finger at the + mountain range in northern Primora. “The first, as you know, + has been reported by the zephynos high atop Kelsun Peak.”
+“The second,” his voice quivers with excitement. He looks + up at you wide-eyed and gestures away from the map into open + space. “Is on the moon!”
+Seated a couple tables away from you is the same trio who + were present the last time you all met here: a dusty groll, a + matted gnu, and a curious Ornithologer. The observant among + you, if you happened to look, would notice that the + Ornithologer wears a pinkish purplish red armband with the + word BAND on it. They listen to your proceedings with great + interest while trying really hard to look like they’re not + listening. After Blavin’s final proclamation, the trio + finishes their drinks, stands, and starts to leave the dining + room.
+WHAT DO YOU DO
+Find out next time on BASEMENT QUEST
+ + ]]> +Total length: 31904 words / 136 minute read. (Mind you, that’s the +
Total length: 35730 words / 152 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 128 messages posted over 124 days since the first -post on July 13, 2022 for a daily post rate of 1.03.
+There have been 134 messages posted over 128 days since the first +post on July 13, 2022 for a daily post rate of 1.04.
This is a game that me and the kids in the basement are playing over email.
@@ -273,6 +274,33 @@ into the current story arc. you can subscribe to the rss feed.Bio
+Alex is like Corraidhin in some aspects, he’s younger, more brash, +more given to whim and fancy. He’s somewhat greedy and craven, attracted +to riches far too easily. He’s a passionate gambler, not due to his +skill, but by virtue of his ability to distract and confuse, which gives +him a delightful edge. Some would call it lucky, but he calls it +subterfuge. He has some sysorcerer skills, nothing quite as flexible as +Corraidhin, but he delightfully wreaks havoc with worms, scrapers, +ransom & spyware. If he can’t bypass something, he’ll delightfully +destroy it. If he can’t break in, he’ll distract someone or something so +he can slip by.
+Paths:
+Status: timestuck in a fork bomb
https://tilde.town/~dozens/quest/rss.xml
++The mission, party-wise, had been an abject failure.
+They had found the crystal, and Master Corraidhín had vanished. Inky +wasn’t sure which was worse — the appalling lack of water-resistant +fireworks surrounding the disappearance, or the bears’ ceaseless +waterworks in grief over their ghostly counterparts. Said bears plus a +giant manta ray were eventually left with the remains of Inky’s two +snack stashes. (The third was back on the Diamond Howler.) The +crystal was currently securely hidden away inside the Milk Market, which +was for the best. Inky was not about to drag around an inedible melon +that could potentially level entire cities, if the wizard’s hints about +its power were true. The crystal-retrieval missions were a cover anyway +— Inky had gotten what they were looking for. The equipment and +provisions sponsored by the Benefactor were a handy bonus though.
+Inside the tent, Inky adds the finishing flourishes to a package and +places it to one side, next to two others of a similar size and a thin +envelope already piled inside a padded sack on the ground. The client +should be pleased. It had taken longer, but the result had been worth +the additional hassle. The envelope, on the other hand … who knew what +had become of the previous one, sent in an impulsive fit of post-dive +haze once the ship had docked at the port town. Donning a grey fedora, a +worn light brown jacket, a flask kettle and a wooden box with carrying +straps, Inky the “Tiny” tea seller leisurely sets off for the post +office, sack in hand.
+It was still a bit strange — if less shocking than the first time it +happened — to speak in rabbiton with the postmistress at the counter, +although Inky couldn’t actually detect any significant differences from +the common tongue besides occasionally being reminded they shouldn’t be +able to understand the sounds at all. Rabbiton or rabbitoff, hare mail +couriers are among the fastest across Basmentaria and will ensure any +parcels and letters arrive at their recipients in a timely manner. Due +to their broad network and high delivery confidence, letters without +return addresses were no issue; they can deliver with a valid recipient +address, which they are able to verify from an extensive series of +registries and course codes before taking the item. So it was that one +such envelope containing yet another somewhat unusual recipe was +promptly delivered to the Milk Market’s ground floor on a blustery +Boltday afternoon.
+Postage done, Inky wanders through one of the city’s seedier +districts, peddling cups of hot tea along the way. This had become a +daily routine for a little over a month since the Sugrin Sea mission +(longer and more sporadically before that whenever the imp was in the +city), including a spontaneous fifteen-minute “Tiny Teatime” held in +open areas such as small parks, or occasionally in a back alley between +several crowded residences. The tea happening had initially been a +whimsical response to Teatime with Tanokuma and still regularly +attracted children when iced drinks were served during the +summertime.
+Rows of slightly crooked houses sandwiched among acacia trees line a +narrow, winding lane. Inky passes the elderly playing tabula surrounded +by a small group of onlookers, people chewing on sweet lemongrass or +peeling vegetables, hanging up laundry on colourful lines made of scrap +rags, children laughing and chasing soapy bubbles with wands dripping +from laundry water, and all sorts of activity that made houses into +homes. Many of them were frank about not having any spare coins for +extras like speciality teas brewed “just like them shops”, but gladly +accepted a steaming bamboo cup upon realising they needn’t pay, if +sometimes a little suspiciously at first. Instead of coin, they held a +rich font of stories, local legends, folk remedies, cooking methods, +insider tip-offs and rumours, which they were often eager to impart to +an attentive audience.
+Some of the passer-by were always in a hurry, downing the tea as +though it were a shot of hard liquor before retrieving a handful of +loose coins from a pocket or sock. When Inky smiled and told them there +was no charge, most would return a puzzled look or uncertain smile, or +roll their eyes, and drop a copper coin into a slot on the lid of the +box anyway. A few had promptly walked off wordlessly with snickering +faces, as though they had gotten away with something clever. Regardless, +it was one of the best ways to see and observe a bustling metropolis. No +one took any particular notice of young urchins and vendors selling +refreshments, flowers and various trinkets on the streets.
+Likewise no one witnessed a tea seller pause near one of the windows +at the back of Enrique’s Empanada Emporium late in the day. For a while +they watch the chef within in action, clearly in his element, before +reluctantly pulling away and retreating quietly up the stairs to the +second floor. They should wash up and see if their marketing manager is +in the mood for some takeout and Terrapin Ale this evening.
+
~
+++Background: Alex isn’t young, but in comparison to his whizzened +uncle Corraidhin he’s the depiction of youth. He has jet black hair and +alert blue eyes, and a quiet serenity about him that gives one pause, as +though he’s constantly calculating. He gives into his passions quickly +however, and becomes rather animated when his emotions break loose. +He’ll be the first to curse his uncle for his foolish endeavors, never +quite understanding the sysorcerer’s way. Early in life, after the death +of his parents, Corraidhin took him under his wing and tried in vain to +teach him the ways of magical systems administration. Much to +Corraidhin, it only resulted in damaged systems, and a rift with his +nephew.
+It took years to recover from that, but eventually the two grew close +again, though distant nonetheless. That closeness reflects itself in the +situation Alex finds himself in now, a mysterious alert from some overly +contrived magical system, ruining his perfectly good winning streak. +It’s not that he was necessary bad at all of that stuff, it just, wasn’t +as much fun as gambling. And it certainly wasn’t as exhillerating as +writing malware.
+Breaking into a system, smashing it to bites and pieces, watching the +carefully wrought design burn in amber and green, now THAT was +magic.
+META: Alex is like Corraidhin in some aspects, he’s younger, more +brash, more given to whim and fancy. He’s somewhat greedy and craven, +attracted to riches far too easily. He’s a passionate gambler, not due +to his skill, but by virtue of his ability to distract and confuse, +which gives him a delightful edge. Some would call it lucky, but he +calls it subterfuge. He has some sysorcerer skills, nothing quite as +flexible as Corraidhin, but he delightfully wreaks havoc with worms, +scrapers, ransom & spyware. If he can’t bypass something, he’ll +delightfully destroy it. If he can’t break in, he’ll distract someone or +something so he can slip by.
+(Think rogue + illusion magic, where Corraidhin is straight +Wizard)
+Introduction: Kev, just give it to me straight, the hell does this +Deadman’s trigger mean. You can’t have a service like that flap, it’s a +boolean, you’re either dead or your not. And don’t try to lie to me, I’m +not some project managing schmuck, you know full and well Uncle +Corraidhin taught me. I know enough to tell when you’re lying.
+(Kevin) Ah, well, umm. Yes I suppose that’s true. You can’t be dead +and not. It’s just not an option. But Zabbix doesn’t lie! It’s what +monitors your Uncle’s life force, the state of his infrastructure so to +speak. Look check your own, there’s nothing to indicate any issue with +you, but your uncle’s fluxuates consistently. None of his other state +checks are failing though! So it could just be a problem with his +Deadman’s trigger code.
+Absolutely not. Corraidhin might be a flighty fool, but he’s not +someone who would deploy faulty code to production. There’s no way in +hell it would get past his linter, let alone all of the QA he does +before it even gets that far. Look, what the hell did you drag him into, +you know exactly what he gets up to, just point me in his direction so I +can get this shit over with.
+(Kevin) Hmm, he didn’t really want me to talk about it, but last I +saw him, he was babbling on and on about some magical Json sword or +something. I couldn’t quite keep up with it.
+You were trying to get him to buy into KDL again weren’t you?
+(Kevin) It’s a good language I swear, and if your uncle had just.. +(Alex cuts him off)
+Hush it. What did the sword look like, where was he headed?
+(Kevin) sigh it was large, with a ruby hilt, and a magical +eye of some sort. I’m certain if you just ask around you’ll find it. +Just ask about the sysorcerer who mutters to his sword, that’s how the +poor bastard is remembered around here these days.
+With this information Alex departed the Sysorcerer’s guild in search +of his Uncle. As he asked around town, people shied away. Nasty business +talking about that one, they’d tell him. A few mentioned something about +an attack, and a dagger and bloodlust the likes of which they’d only +heard from the bard at their local tavern. None of this sounded like the +Uncle he remembered, but he followed the trail until it lead him to the +Milk Maid.
+As Alex checked around for someone, anyone who seemed to be in the +know, he spotted Inky, serving tea as she watched the ongoings at the +Empanada shop near the Milk Maid.
+Excuse me, miss? You wouldn’t have happened to seen my Uncle, he’s an +old whizened fellow. Constantly harrumphs and goes on and on endlessly +about some magical script, or how much he hates the School of +Powershell. I haven’t been able to find him, and I’ve been looking all +over the city for the better part of 3 days. Note even his best friend +Kevin at the Sysorcer’s guild knew where he was, and I’m just, I’m at a +bit of a loss..
+sigh I’m sorry to just unload on your like that. If you +don’t know him that’s okay, I’d be happy to pay for a cup of tea for +your time.
+
~
+++(Two days prior)
+An office, barely illuminated by the glow of a moonstone lamp.
+An elf attired in red silk dress robes with a shimmering pattern of +butterflies, a red floral picture hat and matching high heel boots +lounged in the visitor’s chair in front of a heavy wooden desk. The +charms dangling from her wrist circlets tinkled as she reached for a +teacup. A silver tray was placed to one side of the desk with a pot of +maghrebi francus, two porcelain cups and a bowl of sugar cubes. The +remaining surface was mostly covered by a map of Basmentaria, the +moonstone lamp and a short stack of books. Behind the desk sat an imp in +a midnight blue suit, a dart pen balanced on the edge of two fingers of +one hand, while the other tapped a silent rhythm on the pineapple +leather armrest.
+The lady in dress robes spoke first. “I made some inquiries. That +sysorcerer acquaintance of yours seems to be stuck in some sort of +spatial-temporal loop. The anomalies are usually salvageable given time +and expert attention. His nephew is out looking for him now.” She hands +the imp a sheet with a drawing of a pensive but bright-eyed young man +with dark hair, and several lines of notes below. “How are things at +your end?”
+“The situation is tenable for the moment. One checked, another +disengaged. Between the wizard and bard, Blackfoot will think twice +before making any more untoward moves. One of the waiters at the club +said the bard gave him a little dressing-down after the stabbing. He was +practically shaking in his boots by the end of it.”
+The elf laughed. “I read your earlier missive. Slipping a catalyst +into a milk pudding to stir up a bloodthirsty sword? I guess you were +pretty sure the thirst wouldn’t get out of hand and kill the hobbit +outright.”
+“Not entirely, but the good wizard would fight it with considerable +strength of will. That guild of his may be full of white hats too busy +with their petty squabbling over semantics to see trouble looming until +it smacked them in their faces, but they have their principles and will +not give in easily when challenged.” The imp grimaced. “An unpleasant +matter but arguably a necessity. It was only a matter of time before the +cursed sword would find itself a target. May as well put evil to good +use.”
+“You did what you had to do, Ink. And that sailor with the gold +eye?”
+“Met with an unfortunate … accident. Securing the crystal would have +been sufficient, but the horkosgrampus weren’t terribly impressed with +him. The Benefactor should be relieved. Men of their ilk would sooner +sell to the highest bidder.” The pen twirled in their hand once, twice, +before pausing with the nib pointing downward at a spot on the map. The +imp continued, “All the more reason to move as soon as the young man +finds his uncle. Kelsun Peak, most likely.”
+“Right. I’ll let the others know if anything happens.” She rose to +her heels in a whisper of brocade silks. “Do you want an antidote for … +?” She gestured with a slim, graceful hand framed in delicate strands of +the gold bracelets towards her companion.
+The imp inclined their head slightly in grateful acknowledgement. “No +need. The condition is relatively harmless and reversing the effects now +might raise suspicion. The postmistress at the Hutcheon Lane branch of +Leplus Post was very tickled by it.”
+“I see. So that’s how it is.” she replied with undisguised mirth. The +imp ignored her smirk. “Please see to it the preparations are carried +out. The fate of your beloved operetta house may well depend upon +it.”
+“You would never!” The elven lady exclaimed in mock affront. “No, I +wouldn’t, even though it is the bane of all fine glassware. However, if +the crystals came to less discerning hands …” They shared a solemn look +before the elf nodded and swept out of the room, leaving the cloying +scent of violets in her path.
+~
+Inky gestures wordlessly for the young wizard to follow them upstairs +to the second floor of the Milk Market, heading straight for the room at +one end of a long hallway.
+As Inky enters, their small and fluffy marketing manager pops its +head out of the wooden tub of water standing to one side of the room. +“We have a visitor!” Inky cheerfully tells the duck. Their marketing +manager looks back at them both and says, “QUACK!”
+Inky turns back to the young man with a smile. “Please have a seat. +How may we address you? Tea? No charge for Master Corraidhín’s nephew, +of course.”
+Once seated on some cushions thrown over a slightly ratty tartan rug +and having poured out a steaming cup of mandarin pekoe for each of them, +Inky begins, “So, about your uncle. The good news is, we know him. The +bad news is, we knew him.” They then proceed to recount the events of +their latest mission at the site of a shipwreck out in the Sugrin Sea, +and the elder sysorcerer’s disappearance.
+
Prelude:
+A fringe movement of lunatic paleornithologists and crackpots of +various other professions has slowly been gaining traction over the last +few decades. The movement was born when the enterprising Modern Fuchsia, +at the time a budding young scientist on a dig yearning to make a name +for himself, found the fossil of a modern feathered bird—probably some +kind of swallow—alongside a theropod, that variety of dinosaur widely +accepted to be the ancestor of modern birds. Faced with what he believed +to be irrefutable evidence of a modern descendant coexisting alongside +its own ancient ancestor, Fuchsia arrived at the only conclusion he was +capable of making: Birds Are Not Dinosaurs. And thus BAND came into +being.
+Ever since, Fuschia and his BANDits have spent considerable amounts +of time and energy attending conferences and publishing papers, pouting +and demanding to be taken seriously by the wider scientific community. A +community which, if it pays them any attention at all, merely mocks and +ridicules their crackpot theories.
+Modern Fuschia is of course wrong. But neither he nor his BANDits +know how dangerously close he came to the actual truth.
+For much, much deeper in the shadowy fringes of paleornithology, +there is a clandestine operation called BATT. And only BATT knows the +actual explanation for how a modern descendant might coexist alongside +its own ancestor. Birds Are Time Travelers.
+In the far future when birds are the dominant intelligent life on +Basmentaria, they do indeed invent time travel. The end result was +catastrophic and is the real reason that the dinosaurs went extinct.
+It is a common misconception that barn swallows are the most common +and widespread species of swallow. That distinction in fact belongs to +the time swallow. Although—if you’re lucky—you’ll never +actually see one. Since the Incident, the secret agents of BATT have +vowed never again to interfere with or try to alter the time stream. Nor +to allow anyone else to. The time swallows are special bred, special +trained, appearing wherever and whenever an anomaly appears to remove it +and restore the proper timeline. The tiny birds quite literally swallow, +consume, and destroy anything that meddles with time.
+At their headquarters, in the present day, BATT Director Purple +Martin is delivering a report to his superior. Martin has a throaty and +rich voice of which he is self-conscious in the presence of his +superior’s persistent silence.
+“We have successfully extracted the sysorcerer and have repaired the +anomaly. The subject is currently under the care of Felixe and is +expected to make a full recovery. In his possession were a couple of +interesting artifacts. One Class C sentient object, a sword. And a piece +of exotica of unknown origin. Our researchers so far suspect that it is +a sort of reliquary containing both elemental and divine arcana. The +xot’s physical manifestation—a crystalline ore—thus far prevents us from +determining the precise identity of the arcana.”
+Director Purple Martin is delivering this report to a lanky, thin man +folded into an armchair. He wears thin, wire spectacles with round +lenses, and dangles a walking stick over the arm of the chair as he +sits. He interrupts Martin with a rare utterance. “The reliquary. I +shall like to see it.”
+Now then:
+Retrieval Team 43 welcomes Alex into their ranks even as they mourn +the loss of Corraidhín the Wizened.
+It starts off as a somber affair at Lucy’s as you all sit around your +regular table, ensconced and wedged into a corner surrounded on two +sides by the red velvet curtains that line the walls.
+But then the hobbit joins you.
+Blavin Blandfoot orders a round of drinks in tribute to Corraidhín. +And then another round of drinks to welcome his nephew Alex. “A family +affair, is it not!” And then another round of drinks because he is +thirsty.
+The hobbit is in high spirits, brimming with flair and good cheer. +His arm is fully healed from the attack over a month ago at this very +table. His fond memories and frequent toasts to the sysorcerer make no +reference to the incident.
+“The Benefactor is immensely pleased with your performance so far!” +He punches a new hole in your Frequent Retrieval cards. “You are one +step closer to winning a FABULOUS PRIZE! I don’t mind telling you I’m a +little jealous. Assuming you go the distance, of course. I mean who +doesn’t love hot dogs and hot tubs!” He winks conspiratorially at you. +“To say nothing of actually getting to meet the Benefactor! Just +imagine!”
+After a few more drinks he eventually clears a space on the table and +rolls out a map of Basmentaria. “We once again have two reports of a +crystal spotting!” He jabs a finger at the mountain range in northern +Primora. “The first, as you know, has been reported by the zephynos high +atop Kelsun Peak.”
+“The second,” his voice quivers with excitement. He looks up at you +wide-eyed and gestures away from the map into open space. “Is on the +moon!”
+Seated a couple tables away from you is the same trio who were +present the last time you all met here: a dusty groll, a matted gnu, and +a curious Ornithologer. The observant among you, if you happened to +look, would notice that the Ornithologer wears a pinkish purplish red +armband with the word BAND on it. They listen to your proceedings with +great interest while trying really hard to look like they’re not +listening. After Blavin’s final proclamation, the trio finishes their +drinks, stands, and starts to leave the dining room.
+WHAT DO YOU DO
+Find out next time on BASEMENT QUEST
+href="https://framalistes.org/sympa/arc/tildepals/2022-11/msg00097.html">wwwSome of the creatures who inhabit the world of Basmentaria
SPOILERS!!
THREADS
+NAMES AND NPCS
Upcoming NPCs and/or monsters
NULLAR
-Prelude:
-Different cultures of Basmentaria have different traditional stories -about Nullar, the lord of time and tides.
-The cobits say he is an insatiable Wyrm who lies coiled tightly -around the present moment. He devours the past the moment it stops being -the present. And when he has finished digesting it, he regurgitates it -as the future, the processed remains of the past. And he remains ever -out of sight, just around the corner. Always having just happened. Or -about to happen. But never here, never now.
-The gnu describe Nullar as a fastidious Librarian. They believe that -every time you make a choice, you create a create two separate -timelines, two stories. One in which you chose Option A and one in which -you chose Option B. The Librarian collects these alternate stories, -binds them between the covers of a new book, and adds them to his -collection. In this way he maintains the single sanctioned timeline and -keeps the tree of the multiverse pruned.
-The torque say he is a solitary old man, a weary prisoner of his -office, fatigued by the neverending repeating cycles of time and tide, -with only his ravens for companionship.
-LIBRARIAN
-Back when the Trine walked among the people, before the Artifice -Wars, the gods used to tell stories to help man understand the cosmos -and other things beyond their understanding. Neddas, god of sages and -starlight, was particularly fond of mortals and would spend time with -them, giving them small gifts of trifling divinity and telling them -stories.
-Due to rather unique circumstances, time in Basmentaria is both an -extremely rare and finite resource, and also an illusion, a -hallucination shared by all its inhabitants.
-The truth of the matter is that everything—past, present, and -future—all happens at once.
-Imagine a book. You can flip open to any page at random and begin -reading. This is what we would call in the moment “the present.” The -preceding pages are “the past”, and the pages that follow are “the -future”.
-But all of the pages—the past, present, and future—are already all -there. And I think you can already see that such labels are completely -arbitrary. You can quite easily flip back a few pages into the “past”, -establishing a new, relative present. Just as easily as you can skip -ahead into the future.
-Now, the more interesting part of this whole analogy is existence of -multiple books. Many books do in fact exist, numerous complete -timelines. Volumes of them.
-Every time you make a choice between two options, a new book—a -separate timeline—is created. One in which you choose option A, and its -consequences play out. And a second one in which you choose option B and -suffer all the consequences of that decision, good or bad.
-This is known as the Many Worlds theory.
-Basmentaria is absolutely lousy with worlds. Always has been. And -consequently at some point in its infancy it attracted the attention of -a sentient concept known to the gods of Basmentaria only by euphemisms -and neologisms such as The Bookwyrm, or The Librarian.
-The entity coils around Basmentaria like a great snake. And it -consumes all these extra books, all these many worlds, all these -alternative timelines. Whether these other timelines are wholly consumed -and lost forever, or merely collected and stored carefully away, is -unknown. What we do know is that Basmentaria only has the one, single -book’s worth of time.
-Back to the shared hallucination. It is said that experiential time -is a peculiar side effect of The Librarian’s unique biology. (Truthfully -the whole tapestry kind of starts to unravel at this point, because how -does a sentient concept even have a biology in the first place?) The -gods believe that the entity coils itself tightly around the present -moment and devours the past. And then it shits out the future.
-Whether this is metaphor or not is a hotly debated question. But thus -is it explained that the past is irretrievably behind us. The present is -short and fleeting. The future is merely the processed remains of the -past. And just out of sight, ever beyond our ability to perceive it, -lies The Bookwyrm.
-BIRDS ARE TIME TRAVELERS
-A fringe movement of lunatic paleornithologists and crackpots of -other professions has slowly been gaining traction over the last few -decades. The movement was born when Modern Fuchsia, at the time a -budding young scientist on a dig yearning to make a name for himself, -found a fossil of a modern feathered bird—probably some kind of -swallow—alongside a theropod, the variety of dinosaur widely accepted to -be the ancestor of modern birds. Faced with what he believed to be -irrefutable evidence of a modern descendant coexisting alongside its own -ancestor, Fuchsia was only able to conclude that Birds Are Not -Dinosaurs. And thus BAND came into being.
-Ever since, BANDits have spent considerable amounts of time and -energy attending conferences and publishing papers, pouting and -demanding to be taken seriously be the wider scientific community. A -community which, if they pay them any attention at all, it is only to -mock and ridicule their crackpot theories.
-Modern Fuschia is of course wrong. But neither he nor his BANDits -know how dangerously close he came to the actual truth.
-For much, much deeper in the shadowy fringes of -paleornithology—itself kind of a fringe field to begin with—there is a -clandestine operation called BATT. And only BATT knows the actual -explanation for how a modern descendant might coexist alongside its own -ancestor. Birds Are Time Travelers.
-In the far future when birds are the dominant intelligent life on -Basmentaria, they do indeed invent time travel. The end result was -catastrophic and is the real reason that the dinosaurs went extinct.
-It is a common misconception that barn swallows are the most -widespread species of swallow. That distinction in fact belongs to the -time swallow. Although—if you’re lucky—you’ll never actually -see one. Since the Incident, the secret agents of BATT have vowed never -again to interfere with or try to alter the time stream. Nor to allow -anyone else to. The time swallows are special bred, special trained, -appearing wherever and whenever an anomaly appears to remove it and -restore the proper timeline. The tiny birds quite literally swallow, -consume, and destroy anything that meddles with time.
CRYSTALS
Each crystal has an associated element, a location appropriate to the element, and an aspect of Neddas for the @@ -4345,8 +4625,6 @@ guardian and their minions.
Discette = HD Diskette = better stay away from magnets!!