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@ -18,6 +18,7 @@ src/epistolary/00021.md
src/epistolary/00022.md
src/epistolary/00023.md
src/epistolary/00024.md
src/epistolary/00025.md
src/bestiary/index.md
src/bestiary/aur.md
src/bestiary/blahoblin.md

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<dt>Hemogoblin</dt>
: A little bloody goblinoid, flayed of its flesh and getting blood absolutely EVERYWHERE. Oh god, don't let it touch that! Ew.
: Dispite everything, disgustingly cute.
: Sole manufacturers of an extremely high quality synthetic blood, and thus pretty much single-handedly support the "vegetarian" vampire community.
: <details>![hemogoblin](hemogoblin.png)</details>

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---
title: 00025
created: Sun, 23 Oct 2022 09:41:16 -0600
updated: Sun, 23 Oct 2022 09:41:16 -0600
public: yes
syndicated: yes
---
### 00025 {#00025}
> **Corraidhin** Shit, shit shit shit shit shit. This is NOT good.
> Damn it Y'aml what was that? It wasn't even slightly stealthy
>
> **Y'aml** STAB, delightful blood. Stab the flesh, tear the skin,
> pierce the fruit that gives us strength. Drink the blood, consume
> their soul. More more more more more more more more more
>
> **Corraidhin (internal thought)** Ugh my head, it's heavy, hurts.
> Misty and red? I can't see straight, it's hard to think straight.
> That blasted sword, I thought for a moment it, no, not think, it
> definitely did move on its own. It became lighter and heavier.
> Pulling against it and it just weighs itself down. This little
> magical bauble is definitely cursed..
>
> **Y'aml** CURSED?! Rude Hardy Bear. All we did was stab that evil
> hobbit. And it's getting away! Stab him again, taste his blood! The
> tavern gaurds are closing in, they look like they're trying to get
> rid of us, EVIL. Them trying to stop us from getting that evil
> hobbit is EVIL, STAB THEM.
>
> Corraidhin raises his free hand to his head as though holding a
> wound and he groans in dismay as the dagger rises again. It travels
> swiftly down towards Blavin, missing as he slithers of the booth.
> And again, digging deep into the wooden seat.
>
> **Y'aml** Disgusting wood, stab the flesh! Stab the Hobbit Hardy
> Bear!
>
> But Blavin was inching further out of reach towards the gaurds. In
> desperation the dagger begins swinging side to side, making furtive
> slashing moves in the direction of the guards. The party is safely
> behind Corraidhin, but innocent patrons and the guards are directly
> in their sights.
>
> Corraidhin grabs his other hand and pulls hard, steadying the
> swinging. STOP! I command you you blasted toothpick, STOP. You've
> had your fun, now STOP. These people are innocent, this man has
> done us no harm despite his potential "evils", this is entirely
> uncalled for!
>
> **Y'aml** NO!!! EVIL. STAB. EVIL. STAB. EVIL. STAB.
>
> The dull voice of the magical dagger rises, angry, insistent. It
> consumes the last of Corraidhin's mental strength. All he hears is
> EVIL. STAB. EVIL. STAB. Yet he clings to his spare arm trying
> desparately to resist. At this point the party and the tavern has
> cleared a wide path around the sysorceor as he struggles with
> himself, mumbling, sometimes yelling. EVIL. STAB. EVIL. STAB. NO WE
> WILL NOT. EVIL. INNOCENT. STAB BLOOD DRINK. EVIL. EVIL EVIL EVIL
> STAB IT. MAKE IT BLEED. I WILL NO.. STAB IT. STAB HIM.
>
> The voice seems to change, it dies down. Not yelling, but
> commanding. Firm, calm, sane.
>
> Stab them, stab them, make them bleed. Drink the blood, consume the
> soul, free them from their evil being. Stab them, stab them... over
> and over and over, as the sysorceor approaches Blavin and the
> guards with a malevolent look in his ruby red eyes.
~
> Inky moves to stand next to Blavin and the nightclub bouncers.
> Tossing a tiny "see-eye" container they had borrowed from Master
> Corraidhín at him, Inky looks the sysorceor in the eye and says,
> "You are not your sword."
>
> Watching the wizard's expression, Inky continues, more quietly, "If
> Master Corraidhín truly wishes to end the hobbit, a mere imp would
> not stop him, but likewise, whatever he sets his mind to do, a
> dagger cannot stop him either."
~
> Jarrod steps gently into the fray and activates his FASCINATING
> CHARM, attempting to draw all eyes to him. He carefully avoids the
> wild swinging of the once-sword-now-dagger.
>
> "I think," he rumbles gently, "we could all use a drink over the
> other end of the room. I'm buying, and I'll spin you all a tale of
> wonder! A tale of a wanderer, and of a war hammer, and the first of
> their wild battles together!"
>
> Leaning over to whisper urgently in Corraidhín's ear: "Friend, I do
> not know what occurs here, but pull yourself together. We can later
> sate our blood lust in more appropriate places!" Jarrod lends a sly
> wink in the sysorcerer's direction, one that promises adventure
> later.
The tavern guards tense, but pause their advance, as the crazed
mage's friends position themselves protectively around him and try to
placate him. They wouldn't want to engage a master sysorcerer on the
best of days, much less one with some kind of malevolent blood dagger
in the middle of a psychotic break. If his compatriots can handle him
without them having to interfere, all the better.
The duck waddles up next to Inky and quacks softly, pleadingly at
Corraidhin. Only the Ornithologer in the corner can understand its
words when it says, "As your marketing manager I must strongly advise
against this course of action!"
Seated in the corner next to the Ornithologer is a shaggy groll
dressed in a dusty, faded poncho and a wide brimmed hat; and a
greasy, matted gnu, dressed in black ceremonial robes.
The groll discreetly draws its poncho back revealing a bandoleer of
wands and draws a cracklestick and points it at the sysorcer. The
wand starts to hum and glow as it charges up for a blast.
The gnu slaps the groll's wrist, and immediately launches into a
tirade against the cracklestick's manufacturer's proprietary spell
slotting algorithm, and honestly how can you possibly justify your
choices when there are open source alternatives available?
The groll rolls its eyes, obviously having been on the receiving end
of this particular lecture before, and tries to slap away the gnu's
grasping hands. The ensuing scuffle threatens to turn this powder keg
of a situation into a full blown conflagration until Jarrod actives
his FASCINATING CHARM, commanding the attention of the entire room.
The gnu freezes with its hands around the groll's throat. The groll
halts with fists full of the gnu's beard. A grub smoking a hookah
pauses with the mouthpiece raised to its pursed lips. A distracted
waitress on roller skates crashes right into the bar.
> As though in a trance Corraidhin continues to yell STAB. THEM.
> STAB. IT. cutting wildly at the air before him. As Inky whispers to
> him his expression changes, first a grimace, then a whimper. As
> Jarrod leads the patrons away from the sysorceor he begins to
> tremble and cower away from himself, away from everyone. His ruby
> red eyes dart back and forth between his friends and the patrons,
> like a frightened animal searching for an escape. He pulls the
> dagger into himself, as though sheilding it from his surroundings.
>
> What.. what's going on, he mutters feebly to himself. Everything is
> a blurr. Uncertain of where he is or what's going on, Corraidhin
> thumbs the dagger, caressing the large ruby embedded in the hilt.
> Y'aml, you're still here, good good, the syscoreor croons.
>
> Standing up straight his eyes lock with Jarrod as the Bard glances
> over his shoulder, momentarily distracted from his oration, worried
> about his companion.
>
> I.. ugh, Corraidhin grabs his head as though in pain, and collapses
> to the floor.
Corraidhin hits the floor and the dagger, now bereft of the well of
emotion it had been drawing from, grows still. The eye closes and it
seems to sigh happily. "Good job, Hardy Bear. You have spilled the
blood of evil." And it sleeps, inert, lifeless.
Corraidhin is on the ground cradling the dagger.
Most of the patrons are still fascinated by Jarrod.
Blavin is squirming around on the floor gibbering about reassigning
your case.
The duck has found a toppled plate of corn chips and is happily
snacking away.
You feel like your welcome at Lucy's Basement has been, for the
moment, overstayed.
WHAT DO YOU DO
[www](https://framalistes.org/sympa/arc/tildepals/2022-10/msg00015.html)

144
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@ -242,6 +242,7 @@ of the Were-Hare</a></li>
<li><a href="#00022" id="toc-00022">00022</a></li>
<li><a href="#00023" id="toc-00023">00023</a></li>
<li><a href="#00024" id="toc-00024">00024</a></li>
<li><a href="#00025" id="toc-00025">00025</a></li>
</ul></li>
<li><a href="#bestiary" id="toc-bestiary">Bestiary</a></li>
<li><a href="#geography" id="toc-geography">Geography</a></li>
@ -251,7 +252,7 @@ of the Were-Hare</a></li>
</ul>
</nav>
<h2 id="about">About</h2>
<p>Total length: 20271 words / 86 minutes</p>
<p>Total length: 21552 words / 92 minutes</p>
<p>This is a game that me and the kids in the basement are playing over
email.</p>
<p><a
@ -2489,6 +2490,144 @@ away.</p>
<p>WHAT DO YOU DO</p>
<p><a
href="https://framalistes.org/sympa/arc/tildepals/2022-10/msg00010.html">www</a></p>
<h3 id="00025">00025</h3>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Corraidhin</strong> Shit, shit shit shit shit shit. This is
NOT good. Damn it Y’aml what was that? It wasn’t even slightly
stealthy</p>
<p><strong>Y’aml</strong> STAB, delightful blood. Stab the flesh, tear
the skin, pierce the fruit that gives us strength. Drink the blood,
consume their soul. More more more more more more more more more</p>
<p><strong>Corraidhin (internal thought)</strong> Ugh my head, it’s
heavy, hurts. Misty and red? I can’t see straight, it’s hard to think
straight. That blasted sword, I thought for a moment it, no, not think,
it definitely did move on its own. It became lighter and heavier.
Pulling against it and it just weighs itself down. This little magical
bauble is definitely cursed..</p>
<p><strong>Y’aml</strong> CURSED?! Rude Hardy Bear. All we did was stab
that evil hobbit. And it’s getting away! Stab him again, taste his
blood! The tavern gaurds are closing in, they look like they’re trying
to get rid of us, EVIL. Them trying to stop us from getting that evil
hobbit is EVIL, STAB THEM.</p>
<p>Corraidhin raises his free hand to his head as though holding a wound
and he groans in dismay as the dagger rises again. It travels swiftly
down towards Blavin, missing as he slithers of the booth. And again,
digging deep into the wooden seat.</p>
<p><strong>Y’aml</strong> Disgusting wood, stab the flesh! Stab the
Hobbit Hardy Bear!</p>
<p>But Blavin was inching further out of reach towards the gaurds. In
desperation the dagger begins swinging side to side, making furtive
slashing moves in the direction of the guards. The party is safely
behind Corraidhin, but innocent patrons and the guards are directly in
their sights.</p>
<p>Corraidhin grabs his other hand and pulls hard, steadying the
swinging. STOP! I command you you blasted toothpick, STOP. You’ve had
your fun, now STOP. These people are innocent, this man has done us no
harm despite his potential “evils”, this is entirely uncalled for!</p>
<p><strong>Y’aml</strong> NO!!! EVIL. STAB. EVIL. STAB. EVIL. STAB.</p>
<p>The dull voice of the magical dagger rises, angry, insistent. It
consumes the last of Corraidhin’s mental strength. All he hears is EVIL.
STAB. EVIL. STAB. Yet he clings to his spare arm trying desparately to
resist. At this point the party and the tavern has cleared a wide path
around the sysorceor as he struggles with himself, mumbling, sometimes
yelling. EVIL. STAB. EVIL. STAB. NO WE WILL NOT. EVIL. INNOCENT. STAB
BLOOD DRINK. EVIL. EVIL EVIL EVIL STAB IT. MAKE IT BLEED. I WILL NO..
STAB IT. STAB HIM.</p>
<p>The voice seems to change, it dies down. Not yelling, but commanding.
Firm, calm, sane.</p>
<p>Stab them, stab them, make them bleed. Drink the blood, consume the
soul, free them from their evil being. Stab them, stab them… over and
over and over, as the sysorceor approaches Blavin and the guards with a
malevolent look in his ruby red eyes.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>~</p>
<blockquote>
<p>Inky moves to stand next to Blavin and the nightclub bouncers.
Tossing a tiny “see-eye” container they had borrowed from Master
Corraidhín at him, Inky looks the sysorceor in the eye and says, “You
are not your sword.”</p>
<p>Watching the wizard’s expression, Inky continues, more quietly, “If
Master Corraidhín truly wishes to end the hobbit, a mere imp would not
stop him, but likewise, whatever he sets his mind to do, a dagger cannot
stop him either.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>~</p>
<blockquote>
<p>Jarrod steps gently into the fray and activates his FASCINATING
CHARM, attempting to draw all eyes to him. He carefully avoids the wild
swinging of the once-sword-now-dagger.</p>
<p>“I think,” he rumbles gently, “we could all use a drink over the
other end of the room. I’m buying, and I’ll spin you all a tale of
wonder! A tale of a wanderer, and of a war hammer, and the first of
their wild battles together!”</p>
<p>Leaning over to whisper urgently in Corraidhín’s ear: “Friend, I do
not know what occurs here, but pull yourself together. We can later sate
our blood lust in more appropriate places!” Jarrod lends a sly wink in
the sysorcerer’s direction, one that promises adventure later.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>The tavern guards tense, but pause their advance, as the crazed
mage’s friends position themselves protectively around him and try to
placate him. They wouldn’t want to engage a master sysorcerer on the
best of days, much less one with some kind of malevolent blood dagger in
the middle of a psychotic break. If his compatriots can handle him
without them having to interfere, all the better.</p>
<p>The duck waddles up next to Inky and quacks softly, pleadingly at
Corraidhin. Only the Ornithologer in the corner can understand its words
when it says, “As your marketing manager I must strongly advise against
this course of action!”</p>
<p>Seated in the corner next to the Ornithologer is a shaggy groll
dressed in a dusty, faded poncho and a wide brimmed hat; and a greasy,
matted gnu, dressed in black ceremonial robes.</p>
<p>The groll discreetly draws its poncho back revealing a bandoleer of
wands and draws a cracklestick and points it at the sysorcer. The wand
starts to hum and glow as it charges up for a blast.</p>
<p>The gnu slaps the groll’s wrist, and immediately launches into a
tirade against the cracklestick’s manufacturer’s proprietary spell
slotting algorithm, and honestly how can you possibly justify your
choices when there are open source alternatives available?</p>
<p>The groll rolls its eyes, obviously having been on the receiving end
of this particular lecture before, and tries to slap away the gnu’s
grasping hands. The ensuing scuffle threatens to turn this powder keg of
a situation into a full blown conflagration until Jarrod actives his
FASCINATING CHARM, commanding the attention of the entire room.</p>
<p>The gnu freezes with its hands around the groll’s throat. The groll
halts with fists full of the gnu’s beard. A grub smoking a hookah pauses
with the mouthpiece raised to its pursed lips. A distracted waitress on
roller skates crashes right into the bar.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>As though in a trance Corraidhin continues to yell STAB. THEM. STAB.
IT. cutting wildly at the air before him. As Inky whispers to him his
expression changes, first a grimace, then a whimper. As Jarrod leads the
patrons away from the sysorceor he begins to tremble and cower away from
himself, away from everyone. His ruby red eyes dart back and forth
between his friends and the patrons, like a frightened animal searching
for an escape. He pulls the dagger into himself, as though sheilding it
from his surroundings.</p>
<p>What.. what’s going on, he mutters feebly to himself. Everything is a
blurr. Uncertain of where he is or what’s going on, Corraidhin thumbs
the dagger, caressing the large ruby embedded in the hilt. Y’aml, you’re
still here, good good, the syscoreor croons.</p>
<p>Standing up straight his eyes lock with Jarrod as the Bard glances
over his shoulder, momentarily distracted from his oration, worried
about his companion.</p>
<p>I.. ugh, Corraidhin grabs his head as though in pain, and collapses
to the floor.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Corraidhin hits the floor and the dagger, now bereft of the well of
emotion it had been drawing from, grows still. The eye closes and it
seems to sigh happily. “Good job, Hardy Bear. You have spilled the blood
of evil.” And it sleeps, inert, lifeless.</p>
<p>Corraidhin is on the ground cradling the dagger.</p>
<p>Most of the patrons are still fascinated by Jarrod.</p>
<p>Blavin is squirming around on the floor gibbering about reassigning
your case.</p>
<p>The duck has found a toppled plate of corn chips and is happily
snacking away.</p>
<p>You feel like your welcome at Lucy’s Basement has been, for the
moment, overstayed.</p>
<p>WHAT DO YOU DO</p>
<p><a
href="https://framalistes.org/sympa/arc/tildepals/2022-10/msg00015.html">www</a></p>
<h2 id="bestiary">Bestiary</h2>
<p>Some of the creatures who inhabit the world of Basmentaria</p>
<dt>
@ -2622,6 +2761,9 @@ A little bloody goblinoid, flayed of its flesh and getting blood
absolutely EVERYWHERE. Oh god, don’t let it touch that! Ew.
</dd>
<dd>
Dispite everything, disgustingly cute.
</dd>
<dd>
Sole manufacturers of an extremely high quality synthetic blood, and
thus pretty much single-handedly support the “vegetarian” vampire
community.

347
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@ -169,6 +169,109 @@
]]>
</description>
</item>
<item>
<title>24</title>
<author>dozens@tilde.team (dozens)</author>
<guid isPermaLink="false">24 - Sat, 22 Oct 2022 13:43:40
-0600</guid>
<pubDate>Sat, 22 Oct 2022 13:43:40 -0600</pubDate>
<description>
<![CDATA[
<h3 id="00024">00024</h3>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Corraidhin</strong><br />
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.</p>
<p>Someone who would send out myriads of teams to pillage and
plunder cultural artifacts is truly evil, that must be our
target.</p>
<p>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!</p>
<p><strong>Y’aml</strong><br />
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!</p>
<p><strong>Corraidhin</strong><br />
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.</p>
<p>(Corraidhin tries to silently control Y’aml during the
discussion. However in so doing the party has fallen silent,
aghast even)</p>
<p>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.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Y’aml</strong><br />
We STAB Hardy Bear! We STAB NOW!!</p>
<p>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.</p>
</blockquote>
<!--
Bloodlust 3 to Stabble Stabble
1 2 4: Partial Success
//-->
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<!--
Do Anything 1 to Resist Bloodlust
3: Partial Success
//-->
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>WHAT DO YOU DO</p>
<p><a
href="https://framalistes.org/sympa/arc/tildepals/2022-10/msg00010.html">www</a></p>
]]>
</description>
</item>
<item>
<title>21</title>
<author>dozens@tilde.team (dozens)</author>
@ -321,105 +424,171 @@
</description>
</item>
<item>
<title>24</title>
<title>25</title>
<author>dozens@tilde.team (dozens)</author>
<guid isPermaLink="false">24 - Sat, 22 Oct 2022 13:43:40
<guid isPermaLink="false">25 - Sun, 23 Oct 2022 09:41:16
-0600</guid>
<pubDate>Sat, 22 Oct 2022 13:43:40 -0600</pubDate>
<pubDate>Sun, 23 Oct 2022 09:41:16 -0600</pubDate>
<description>
<![CDATA[
<h3 id="00024">00024</h3>
<h3 id="00025">00025</h3>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Corraidhin</strong><br />
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.</p>
<p>Someone who would send out myriads of teams to pillage and
plunder cultural artifacts is truly evil, that must be our
target.</p>
<p>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!</p>
<p><strong>Y’aml</strong><br />
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!</p>
<p><strong>Corraidhin</strong><br />
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.</p>
<p>(Corraidhin tries to silently control Y’aml during the
discussion. However in so doing the party has fallen silent,
aghast even)</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p><strong>Corraidhin</strong> Shit, shit shit shit shit shit.
This is NOT good. Damn it Y’aml what was that? It wasn’t even
slightly stealthy</p>
<p><strong>Y’aml</strong> STAB, delightful blood. Stab the
flesh, tear the skin, pierce the fruit that gives us strength.
Drink the blood, consume their soul. More more more more more
more more more more</p>
<p><strong>Corraidhin (internal thought)</strong> Ugh my head,
it’s heavy, hurts. Misty and red? I can’t see straight, it’s
hard to think straight. That blasted sword, I thought for a
moment it, no, not think, it definitely did move on its own.
It became lighter and heavier. Pulling against it and it just
weighs itself down. This little magical bauble is definitely
cursed..</p>
<p><strong>Y’aml</strong> CURSED?! Rude Hardy Bear. All we did
was stab that evil hobbit. And it’s getting away! Stab him
again, taste his blood! The tavern gaurds are closing in, they
look like they’re trying to get rid of us, EVIL. Them trying
to stop us from getting that evil hobbit is EVIL, STAB
THEM.</p>
<p>Corraidhin raises his free hand to his head as though
holding a wound and he groans in dismay as the dagger rises
again. It travels swiftly down towards Blavin, missing as he
slithers of the booth. And again, digging deep into the wooden
seat.</p>
<p><strong>Y’aml</strong> Disgusting wood, stab the flesh!
Stab the Hobbit Hardy Bear!</p>
<p>But Blavin was inching further out of reach towards the
gaurds. In desperation the dagger begins swinging side to
side, making furtive slashing moves in the direction of the
guards. The party is safely behind Corraidhin, but innocent
patrons and the guards are directly in their sights.</p>
<p>Corraidhin grabs his other hand and pulls hard, steadying
the swinging. STOP! I command you you blasted toothpick, STOP.
You’ve had your fun, now STOP. These people are innocent, this
man has done us no harm despite his potential “evils”, this is
entirely uncalled for!</p>
<p><strong>Y’aml</strong> NO!!! EVIL. STAB. EVIL. STAB. EVIL.
STAB.</p>
<p>The dull voice of the magical dagger rises, angry,
insistent. It consumes the last of Corraidhin’s mental
strength. All he hears is EVIL. STAB. EVIL. STAB. Yet he
clings to his spare arm trying desparately to resist. At this
point the party and the tavern has cleared a wide path around
the sysorceor as he struggles with himself, mumbling,
sometimes yelling. EVIL. STAB. EVIL. STAB. NO WE WILL NOT.
EVIL. INNOCENT. STAB BLOOD DRINK. EVIL. EVIL EVIL EVIL STAB
IT. MAKE IT BLEED. I WILL NO.. STAB IT. STAB HIM.</p>
<p>The voice seems to change, it dies down. Not yelling, but
commanding. Firm, calm, sane.</p>
<p>Stab them, stab them, make them bleed. Drink the blood,
consume the soul, free them from their evil being. Stab them,
stab them… over and over and over, as the sysorceor approaches
Blavin and the guards with a malevolent look in his ruby red
eyes.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>~</p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Y’aml</strong><br />
We STAB Hardy Bear! We STAB NOW!!</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>Inky moves to stand next to Blavin and the nightclub
bouncers. Tossing a tiny “see-eye” container they had borrowed
from Master Corraidhín at him, Inky looks the sysorceor in the
eye and says, “You are not your sword.”</p>
<p>Watching the wizard’s expression, Inky continues, more
quietly, “If Master Corraidhín truly wishes to end the hobbit,
a mere imp would not stop him, but likewise, whatever he sets
his mind to do, a dagger cannot stop him either.”</p>
</blockquote>
<!--
Bloodlust 3 to Stabble Stabble
1 2 4: Partial Success
//-->
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<!--
Do Anything 1 to Resist Bloodlust
3: Partial Success
//-->
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>~</p>
<blockquote>
<p>Jarrod steps gently into the fray and activates his
FASCINATING CHARM, attempting to draw all eyes to him. He
carefully avoids the wild swinging of the
once-sword-now-dagger.</p>
<p>“I think,” he rumbles gently, “we could all use a drink
over the other end of the room. I’m buying, and I’ll spin you
all a tale of wonder! A tale of a wanderer, and of a war
hammer, and the first of their wild battles together!”</p>
<p>Leaning over to whisper urgently in Corraidhín’s ear:
“Friend, I do not know what occurs here, but pull yourself
together. We can later sate our blood lust in more appropriate
places!” Jarrod lends a sly wink in the sysorcerer’s
direction, one that promises adventure later.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>The tavern guards tense, but pause their advance, as the
crazed mage’s friends position themselves protectively around
him and try to placate him. They wouldn’t want to engage a
master sysorcerer on the best of days, much less one with some
kind of malevolent blood dagger in the middle of a psychotic
break. If his compatriots can handle him without them having
to interfere, all the better.</p>
<p>The duck waddles up next to Inky and quacks softly,
pleadingly at Corraidhin. Only the Ornithologer in the corner
can understand its words when it says, “As your marketing
manager I must strongly advise against this course of
action!”</p>
<p>Seated in the corner next to the Ornithologer is a shaggy
groll dressed in a dusty, faded poncho and a wide brimmed hat;
and a greasy, matted gnu, dressed in black ceremonial
robes.</p>
<p>The groll discreetly draws its poncho back revealing a
bandoleer of wands and draws a cracklestick and points it at
the sysorcer. The wand starts to hum and glow as it charges up
for a blast.</p>
<p>The gnu slaps the groll’s wrist, and immediately launches
into a tirade against the cracklestick’s manufacturer’s
proprietary spell slotting algorithm, and honestly how can you
possibly justify your choices when there are open source
alternatives available?</p>
<p>The groll rolls its eyes, obviously having been on the
receiving end of this particular lecture before, and tries to
slap away the gnu’s grasping hands. The ensuing scuffle
threatens to turn this powder keg of a situation into a full
blown conflagration until Jarrod actives his FASCINATING
CHARM, commanding the attention of the entire room.</p>
<p>The gnu freezes with its hands around the groll’s throat.
The groll halts with fists full of the gnu’s beard. A grub
smoking a hookah pauses with the mouthpiece raised to its
pursed lips. A distracted waitress on roller skates crashes
right into the bar.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>As though in a trance Corraidhin continues to yell STAB.
THEM. STAB. IT. cutting wildly at the air before him. As Inky
whispers to him his expression changes, first a grimace, then
a whimper. As Jarrod leads the patrons away from the sysorceor
he begins to tremble and cower away from himself, away from
everyone. His ruby red eyes dart back and forth between his
friends and the patrons, like a frightened animal searching
for an escape. He pulls the dagger into himself, as though
sheilding it from his surroundings.</p>
<p>What.. what’s going on, he mutters feebly to himself.
Everything is a blurr. Uncertain of where he is or what’s
going on, Corraidhin thumbs the dagger, caressing the large
ruby embedded in the hilt. Y’aml, you’re still here, good
good, the syscoreor croons.</p>
<p>Standing up straight his eyes lock with Jarrod as the Bard
glances over his shoulder, momentarily distracted from his
oration, worried about his companion.</p>
<p>I.. ugh, Corraidhin grabs his head as though in pain, and
collapses to the floor.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Corraidhin hits the floor and the dagger, now bereft of the
well of emotion it had been drawing from, grows still. The eye
closes and it seems to sigh happily. “Good job, Hardy Bear.
You have spilled the blood of evil.” And it sleeps, inert,
lifeless.</p>
<p>Corraidhin is on the ground cradling the dagger.</p>
<p>Most of the patrons are still fascinated by Jarrod.</p>
<p>Blavin is squirming around on the floor gibbering about
reassigning your case.</p>
<p>The duck has found a toppled plate of corn chips and is
happily snacking away.</p>
<p>You feel like your welcome at Lucy’s Basement has been, for
the moment, overstayed.</p>
<p>WHAT DO YOU DO</p>
<p><a
href="https://framalistes.org/sympa/arc/tildepals/2022-10/msg00010.html">www</a></p>
href="https://framalistes.org/sympa/arc/tildepals/2022-10/msg00015.html">www</a></p>
]]>
</description>
</item>

144
www/spoilers.html
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@ -242,6 +242,7 @@ of the Were-Hare</a></li>
<li><a href="#00022" id="toc-00022">00022</a></li>
<li><a href="#00023" id="toc-00023">00023</a></li>
<li><a href="#00024" id="toc-00024">00024</a></li>
<li><a href="#00025" id="toc-00025">00025</a></li>
</ul></li>
<li><a href="#bestiary" id="toc-bestiary">Bestiary</a></li>
<li><a href="#geography" id="toc-geography">Geography</a></li>
@ -254,7 +255,7 @@ id="toc-acknowledgements">Acknowledgements</a></li>
</ul>
</nav>
<h2 id="about">About</h2>
<p>Total length: 20271 words / 86 minutes</p>
<p>Total length: 21552 words / 92 minutes</p>
<p>This is a game that me and the kids in the basement are playing over
email.</p>
<p><a
@ -2492,6 +2493,144 @@ away.</p>
<p>WHAT DO YOU DO</p>
<p><a
href="https://framalistes.org/sympa/arc/tildepals/2022-10/msg00010.html">www</a></p>
<h3 id="00025">00025</h3>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Corraidhin</strong> Shit, shit shit shit shit shit. This is
NOT good. Damn it Y’aml what was that? It wasn’t even slightly
stealthy</p>
<p><strong>Y’aml</strong> STAB, delightful blood. Stab the flesh, tear
the skin, pierce the fruit that gives us strength. Drink the blood,
consume their soul. More more more more more more more more more</p>
<p><strong>Corraidhin (internal thought)</strong> Ugh my head, it’s
heavy, hurts. Misty and red? I can’t see straight, it’s hard to think
straight. That blasted sword, I thought for a moment it, no, not think,
it definitely did move on its own. It became lighter and heavier.
Pulling against it and it just weighs itself down. This little magical
bauble is definitely cursed..</p>
<p><strong>Y’aml</strong> CURSED?! Rude Hardy Bear. All we did was stab
that evil hobbit. And it’s getting away! Stab him again, taste his
blood! The tavern gaurds are closing in, they look like they’re trying
to get rid of us, EVIL. Them trying to stop us from getting that evil
hobbit is EVIL, STAB THEM.</p>
<p>Corraidhin raises his free hand to his head as though holding a wound
and he groans in dismay as the dagger rises again. It travels swiftly
down towards Blavin, missing as he slithers of the booth. And again,
digging deep into the wooden seat.</p>
<p><strong>Y’aml</strong> Disgusting wood, stab the flesh! Stab the
Hobbit Hardy Bear!</p>
<p>But Blavin was inching further out of reach towards the gaurds. In
desperation the dagger begins swinging side to side, making furtive
slashing moves in the direction of the guards. The party is safely
behind Corraidhin, but innocent patrons and the guards are directly in
their sights.</p>
<p>Corraidhin grabs his other hand and pulls hard, steadying the
swinging. STOP! I command you you blasted toothpick, STOP. You’ve had
your fun, now STOP. These people are innocent, this man has done us no
harm despite his potential “evils”, this is entirely uncalled for!</p>
<p><strong>Y’aml</strong> NO!!! EVIL. STAB. EVIL. STAB. EVIL. STAB.</p>
<p>The dull voice of the magical dagger rises, angry, insistent. It
consumes the last of Corraidhin’s mental strength. All he hears is EVIL.
STAB. EVIL. STAB. Yet he clings to his spare arm trying desparately to
resist. At this point the party and the tavern has cleared a wide path
around the sysorceor as he struggles with himself, mumbling, sometimes
yelling. EVIL. STAB. EVIL. STAB. NO WE WILL NOT. EVIL. INNOCENT. STAB
BLOOD DRINK. EVIL. EVIL EVIL EVIL STAB IT. MAKE IT BLEED. I WILL NO..
STAB IT. STAB HIM.</p>
<p>The voice seems to change, it dies down. Not yelling, but commanding.
Firm, calm, sane.</p>
<p>Stab them, stab them, make them bleed. Drink the blood, consume the
soul, free them from their evil being. Stab them, stab them… over and
over and over, as the sysorceor approaches Blavin and the guards with a
malevolent look in his ruby red eyes.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>~</p>
<blockquote>
<p>Inky moves to stand next to Blavin and the nightclub bouncers.
Tossing a tiny “see-eye” container they had borrowed from Master
Corraidhín at him, Inky looks the sysorceor in the eye and says, “You
are not your sword.”</p>
<p>Watching the wizard’s expression, Inky continues, more quietly, “If
Master Corraidhín truly wishes to end the hobbit, a mere imp would not
stop him, but likewise, whatever he sets his mind to do, a dagger cannot
stop him either.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>~</p>
<blockquote>
<p>Jarrod steps gently into the fray and activates his FASCINATING
CHARM, attempting to draw all eyes to him. He carefully avoids the wild
swinging of the once-sword-now-dagger.</p>
<p>“I think,” he rumbles gently, “we could all use a drink over the
other end of the room. I’m buying, and I’ll spin you all a tale of
wonder! A tale of a wanderer, and of a war hammer, and the first of
their wild battles together!”</p>
<p>Leaning over to whisper urgently in Corraidhín’s ear: “Friend, I do
not know what occurs here, but pull yourself together. We can later sate
our blood lust in more appropriate places!” Jarrod lends a sly wink in
the sysorcerer’s direction, one that promises adventure later.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>The tavern guards tense, but pause their advance, as the crazed
mage’s friends position themselves protectively around him and try to
placate him. They wouldn’t want to engage a master sysorcerer on the
best of days, much less one with some kind of malevolent blood dagger in
the middle of a psychotic break. If his compatriots can handle him
without them having to interfere, all the better.</p>
<p>The duck waddles up next to Inky and quacks softly, pleadingly at
Corraidhin. Only the Ornithologer in the corner can understand its words
when it says, “As your marketing manager I must strongly advise against
this course of action!”</p>
<p>Seated in the corner next to the Ornithologer is a shaggy groll
dressed in a dusty, faded poncho and a wide brimmed hat; and a greasy,
matted gnu, dressed in black ceremonial robes.</p>
<p>The groll discreetly draws its poncho back revealing a bandoleer of
wands and draws a cracklestick and points it at the sysorcer. The wand
starts to hum and glow as it charges up for a blast.</p>
<p>The gnu slaps the groll’s wrist, and immediately launches into a
tirade against the cracklestick’s manufacturer’s proprietary spell
slotting algorithm, and honestly how can you possibly justify your
choices when there are open source alternatives available?</p>
<p>The groll rolls its eyes, obviously having been on the receiving end
of this particular lecture before, and tries to slap away the gnu’s
grasping hands. The ensuing scuffle threatens to turn this powder keg of
a situation into a full blown conflagration until Jarrod actives his
FASCINATING CHARM, commanding the attention of the entire room.</p>
<p>The gnu freezes with its hands around the groll’s throat. The groll
halts with fists full of the gnu’s beard. A grub smoking a hookah pauses
with the mouthpiece raised to its pursed lips. A distracted waitress on
roller skates crashes right into the bar.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>As though in a trance Corraidhin continues to yell STAB. THEM. STAB.
IT. cutting wildly at the air before him. As Inky whispers to him his
expression changes, first a grimace, then a whimper. As Jarrod leads the
patrons away from the sysorceor he begins to tremble and cower away from
himself, away from everyone. His ruby red eyes dart back and forth
between his friends and the patrons, like a frightened animal searching
for an escape. He pulls the dagger into himself, as though sheilding it
from his surroundings.</p>
<p>What.. what’s going on, he mutters feebly to himself. Everything is a
blurr. Uncertain of where he is or what’s going on, Corraidhin thumbs
the dagger, caressing the large ruby embedded in the hilt. Y’aml, you’re
still here, good good, the syscoreor croons.</p>
<p>Standing up straight his eyes lock with Jarrod as the Bard glances
over his shoulder, momentarily distracted from his oration, worried
about his companion.</p>
<p>I.. ugh, Corraidhin grabs his head as though in pain, and collapses
to the floor.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Corraidhin hits the floor and the dagger, now bereft of the well of
emotion it had been drawing from, grows still. The eye closes and it
seems to sigh happily. “Good job, Hardy Bear. You have spilled the blood
of evil.” And it sleeps, inert, lifeless.</p>
<p>Corraidhin is on the ground cradling the dagger.</p>
<p>Most of the patrons are still fascinated by Jarrod.</p>
<p>Blavin is squirming around on the floor gibbering about reassigning
your case.</p>
<p>The duck has found a toppled plate of corn chips and is happily
snacking away.</p>
<p>You feel like your welcome at Lucy’s Basement has been, for the
moment, overstayed.</p>
<p>WHAT DO YOU DO</p>
<p><a
href="https://framalistes.org/sympa/arc/tildepals/2022-10/msg00015.html">www</a></p>
<h2 id="bestiary">Bestiary</h2>
<p>Some of the creatures who inhabit the world of Basmentaria</p>
<dt>
@ -2625,6 +2764,9 @@ A little bloody goblinoid, flayed of its flesh and getting blood
absolutely EVERYWHERE. Oh god, don’t let it touch that! Ew.
</dd>
<dd>
Dispite everything, disgustingly cute.
</dd>
<dd>
Sole manufacturers of an extremely high quality synthetic blood, and
thus pretty much single-handedly support the “vegetarian” vampire
community.