quest/src/chapter4.md

title	created	updated	public
Chapter 4	Tue, 21 Mar 2023 21:02:21 -0600	Tue, 21 Mar 2023 21:02:21 -0600	yes

Chapter 4

Chapter 4 of BASEMENT QUEST.

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00054

Once back in the Milk Bar, with the airship safely anchored to the roof of the building, Alex finds himself amongst the old belongings of his former uncle.

sigh "Best get a request to HQ for this airship, maybe they'll let us operate it for a bit, if not I suppose we have to impound it.."

<- OP 2817 * LOC MB-A
-> OP 25120 * LOC ESPER

CLEARANCE: INFORMATIONAL
REQUEST ENCLOSED.

REQUESTING PERMISSION TO IMPOUND OR OPERATE.
ONE CYBERPLASM AIRSHIP "The Rusty Maiden"

"There's also the matter of this little hemogoblin.." Alex mutters to himself while said hemogoblin happily dances around the room, dripping little pools of blood hither and tither.

<- OP 2817 * LOC MB-A
-> OP 41154 * LOC ESPER

CLEARANCE: TOP SECRET
REQUEST ENCLOSED
PACKET ENCLOSED

REQUESTING ANALYSIS
ONE GDB @gdb-readout.dat
TWO BLOOD @blood-soaked-handkerchief
NOTE GDB INDICATES SOME ANOMALY

"Hey little guy, lets go get an empanade. Inky says they're divine." Alex says as he scoops up the little goblin and gently carries him downstairs."

Striding into Enriques kitchen, and availing himself to the empanadas, ignoring an indignant Enrique's protests that these were for paying customers until a small bag of coins is tossed careless over one shoulder. Alex stride through the kitchen and then out and away into the garden to enjoy their pilfered treats.

"I suppose this is more interesting than being on the force at times"

~

Inky stepped into the toques' cabin below deck with a tray of turmeric ginger tea and lavender biscuits. After checking on Bread's bandages and offering the toque reclined on the berth the last bag of mango croutons --- or at least the last one for the next two hours --- Inky perched on a wooden barrel across from where Confidence sat on a creaking old chair next to the bunk and spoke. "We'll be landing in about an hour and getting Bread to a medical facility. You can stay with him while he heals and rest up."

They paused to take a long sip from their cup, as if the liquid was being used to summon their next words. "On behalf of myself and the party, I apologise for the ... disruption, and for what had befallen the hotelier. As you may have already noticed, we're a fair distance away from the Peak and will be arriving in Vay'Nullar soon. This airship was taken over from the cyberplasms in the course of getting the crystal out and the injured to a safe location, and her new captain could hardly fly it back straight into the pirates' hands now.

What we propose is this: you and Bread may take as long as you need to recover. We can arrange for lodgings and new posts in the city. One of our party runs a Milk Market that could certainly use some hired help, and a garden in the back that would benefit from more attention. Pay will be double your current salary at the hotel. Master Alex may also recruit you for other tasks. You don't need to have an answer just yet --- think on it for a bit while you rest and let us know. Afterwards, if you find that you still wish to return to Kelsun Peak, we will pay for travel."

Inky winked at Bread conspiratorially. "You may be interested to know there is a bakery on the Milk Market's first floor. If you like the look of the place, perhaps we can convince the chef to take on an assistant."

~

Tess watched her adviser from her position on one end of the plush chaise lounge in her office, who returned her stare impassively as they sat in the adjoining armchair to her right. The ornate coffee table before them had been laid out for tea, but the other cup remained untouched, which was in itself unusual. Ink rarely turned down tea when it was offered, which likely meant they were preoccupied with something they were unwilling to discuss. This had been happening more frequently since their plans to intercept the Ginnarak Crystals, which was a little concerning, but she knew it would be no use to question them directly. The missive she had received this time through Piskin's people was brief, almost annoyingly so, but they had returned earlier than expected with the articles that production had requested, which had fortunately made up for lost time from the previous delays.

With this in mind, she settled on a lighter note as she picked up her own teacup. "Salvia passed on the items to the production team. Thank you for picking them up from the Runesocesius. I would send my regular couriers but they are tied up with another event. One of them had to care for their sick child and couldn't leave the city. As usual, time and discretion are of the essence."

When her adviser only nodded, she continued. "How is he? He probably insisted on bringing the manuscripts out for you himself. The man is cautious with valuables."

"Quite dead but managing, or so I heard." Ink intoned drily.

Tess caught on immediately. "Didn't you meet with him? The message only mentioned the items had been obtained. Did something happen?"

The imp shrugged. "We met, I delivered the letter and collected the items. We didn't get a chance to talk."

The hotel was slowly but steadily attracting visitors again, especially after their last play had prominently featured the Runesocesius Library as a research partner in the programme credits, but Tess didn't think the hotelier was so busy as to entrust this task to one of his underlings. The man was proud of the first editions the library had amassed, and the notebooks of Lucidieau that the playwright sought as a reference were no doubt counted among the treasures, even if only an expensive commissioned facsimile was permitted out of the library. Something had happened, she was sure, but decided not to press further for the moment.

"And the other matter?" she asked.

"Someone already knew the crystal was at the hotel and retained a crew of cyberplasmic pirates to storm the place." Ink replied flatly. "And yes, your acquaintance is very much dead, shot by the crew leader in the scuffle. As the rumour rags have it, his ghost is now overseeing the building repairs."

Tess was about to admonish the imp gently for the tasteless jest when there was a knock at the door. At her response, the door opened and her secretary entered with a box of pastries and two sets of tableware, which she placed on the coffee table before leaving and closing the door behind her.

Noticing Ink's look of recognition, Tess smiled and ventured, "This is the second time is as many months you awarded that empanada place a glowing review in The Tiny Toaster. I can count the ratings higher than a 10 you've ever given on one hand --- of course I had to try it. Why don't you have some as well?"

Ink blinked. "I didn't write the latest review."

Tess shot them an accusing mock-glare as she lifted a puffy golden brown pastry onto a plate. "It has your inkprints all over it."

"I don't know what you mean. Surely I'm allowed to treat a colleague to lunch, and they are free to express their satisfaction with a meal openly if they wish," Ink replied smoothly.

Tess rolled her eyes. "There's a name for that. It's called bribery."

Ink smiled faintly. "Just so. However, the selection speaks for itself."

"Oh, absolutely! These mini ambrose apple empanadas are wonderful. In fact," Tess prodded the open end of the pastry with her fork, where a light yellow filling was visible, "they remind me a little of the very crispy tortelli someone made several years ago just for the opening reception of The Two Genteelkin of Virdantha."

"Any resemblance is coincidental. The chef is very capable." Ink said evenly.

Tess sighed and returned her plate to the table. "We've talked about this before, Ink. You don't have to hole up in some poor scrub's excuse for a kitchen in a closet. If you need more room downstairs then expand it. Just tell Salvia and she'll take care of it."

Ink lowered their gaze to the teacups. "I appreciate the offer, but the answer is the same. There will be no rest until the crystals are secured."

Some time passes.

The hemogoblin turns out to be a fine housemate and less of a problem than you thought it would be. Be it because its not in the excitement of battle onboard a pirate ship, or be it because it is maturing slightly, it seems in better control of its blood sacs. Barring a few small accidents, it doesn't make much of a mess. It has found and claimed as its own a few unused blankets, and has made a little burrow nest in an out of the way corner behind the furniture.

Bread makes a full recovery and in fact is doing better than ever before. The blood goblin stays by their side during the first hours and days and keeps them pumped full of clean, synthetic blood. Afterwards the toque is flushed a healthy pink and has new vigor. Enrique takes them under his tutelage. And Bread ends up making a fine baker's apprentice. Dough seems to rise more and quicker after he kneads it. "The lad has solar hands," Enrique boasts of his new protegee.

Confidence becomes enthralled with the semi-sentient Wandering Bazaar. The thirteen story building moves with glacial speed up and down the streets, vendors and stalls and shoppers following in its wake. But then also it will disappear in the blink of an eye only to reappear in a totally different part of the area known as the Wandering Bazaar District. Each floor of the tall, narrow tower is occupied entirely by a single shop. But which shop it is seems to vary from day to day. One day the seventh level will be occupied by Fedik's Butcher shop. And the next, Lario's Bakery. It might be days or weeks before one can once again buy hotlinks from Fedik's. Where the shops go when they're not here is one of Basmentaria's great mysteries.

The toque studies the Bazaar's movements and are able to predict its route with more and more accuracy. They become a highly sought out guide. Tourists and visitors trust them to take them to the very spot the Bazaar will appear that day. Residents appreciate the heads up and not getting trapped in their houses when the Bazaar wedges its way into their narrow residential streets, blocking their front doors. And owners of traditional, less ambulatory shops are able to plan ahead for the crowds that will appear on "Bazaar Day".

~

Members of the Retrieval Team who sleep in Milk Market HQ start having dreams of the same mysterious figure. Of course at first nobody knows their dreams are shared by the others. Not until they become more frequent, more regular. By the time the figure has visited you every night for nearly a week, somebody speaks up and you realize the coincidence.

The figure is clad in voluminous robes of deep purple. Long, straight, blonde hair falls around their shoulders. Their soft features are boyish and womanly. They wear a golden circlet on their head and a golden eye in the middle of their forehead. Their passive, neutral face betrays no emotion the entire time.

The dream is always the same. They reach out to you with one hand and turn their palm up. And because of dream logic, in the palm of their hand you can hear the jingling of coins, mirthful laughter, and hushed stories told around a campfire. They curl their fingers into a loose first and the sounds stop. They spread their arms wide and in the folds of their robes you can see three siblings fighting, squabbling over a broken loom.

Then you're standing next to them, and the two of you watch three friends, Snake, Owl, and Dolphin. Owl tells Snake that he is tired of flying and hooting, and doesn't want to be an owl any more, he wants to be flowers. And Snake laughs and tells him that he is Owl, and an owl he must remain. And she leaves him to go eat rodents and bake in the sun. So Owl tells Dolphin that he is tired of flying and hooting, and doesn't want to be an owl any more, he wants to be flowers. Dolphin doesn't want to help Owl, because if he is flowers, they won't be able to be together any longer. But Dolphin finally agrees to help even though they don't want to, because Dolphin loves Owl. With all their strength, they create a great waterspout that will turn Owl into flowers. But the waterspout is too strong, and Dolphin is too weak to control it. It sprays Owl but does not turn him into flowers. Owl's wing is broken and he falls to the ground in a heap of feathers. The waterspout shakes a great boulder from the earth and traps Snake under it. And Dolphin sinks to the bottom of the sea.

And then you wake up.

~

Later you find a letter in the common area of Milk Market HQ. It is not addressed to anybody. When you open it up, it reads:

Time is running out, Retrieval Team 43. Things are starting to draw to a close. We cannot delay our meeting any longer if we both are to achieve our goals. We have information that you are looking for. Meet us at the Harpoon Club next Selday. We will wear the sign.

The letter is signed with a white iris and golden apple.

Anyone in Vay'Nullar would be able to tell you that the Harpoon Club is a game room and fine dining club, and one of the rotating tenants of the Wandering Bazaar. But Confidence would tell you, were you to ask them, that the club won't be there next Selday. (When the Bazaar will appear at East and Lowland.) It is in fact not scheduled to appear until a week and a half after next Selday, on Third Tensday. (When the Bazaar will appear at Cathedral and Pine.)

WHAT DO YOU DO

00055

The nibs had disappeared.

Inky had spotted the small ceramic and wicker teapot among a long row of boxes and bowls at the antique shop on the thirteenth floor of the Wandering Bazaar while looking for a Near-weightless Verifying Matter enclosure (NVMe) to their Handy Duffer Discette as a primary storage. The witch shopkeeper, Agate, had helpfully mentioned the teapot could be used to steep very acidic or alkaline solutions, as well as distil solubles. The box it was subsequently packed in did not include instructions on activating the precipitation feature. With the shop not returning for another week by Confidence's reckoning, Inky had used the teapot in the meantime to rinse off any impurities from an old set of nibs --- the very first functional set they had made as an apprentice inkling --- except the nibs were nowhere to be found when they poured out the citronella solution and removed the lid. Inky supposed it was to be expected --- some witches liked to go on about equal payment for wishes, as if it were as easy as reading off a price tag, and it was difficult to stay irritated at a cute teapot for long. Inky wrote it off as a gift for what would hopefully thereafter be a cutely functional teapot. The shop had a no-refunds policy.

Then came the dream. At first Inky had attributed them to reading the book on the mythology of The Trine that they had slipped out of the Runesocesius Library, along with an obscure cactus leather-bound manuscript containing first-hand accounts of the Artifice Wars. When the dream repeated itself on the third night, Inky suspected it had something to do with the crystals under the Milk Market's roof. While not horrifically bloody in the way Master Corraidhín's description of the vision he had from the first crystal had been, it was haplessly boring when lucid intervention didn't seem to have any effect. It ran on like a low-budget B-Grade play that had only three scenes with a few props each. By the fourth night, the dream had become worse than a nib-nibbling teapot that they stayed up entire nights for the rest of that week while they were camping at the Milk Market.

It was mostly an excuse to drop into the kitchens downstairs --- which they could now enter on the pretext of visiting Bread to observe the apprentice's progress --- in the early morning hours and push new tea blends onto its unfortunate occupants. Most of the three dozen or so infusions had been full of fruits and spices, six of which would go well with items on the empanada shop's current menu. A handful were medicinal after procuring a herb illustrated on one moth-bitten page snatched on the hotel steps back on the Peak. A few others were teas in the loosest sense of the word. These were as tasteless and colourless as tap water, only the scent offering a faint clue as to their ingredients. They had other applications, least of which was in a prank on one empanada chef. (Inky left him a box of zephyl tea --- another Kelsun Peak speciality besides mulled wine --- before he could too riled up, though.)

The note left at the Milk Market was the black cherry atop the hassle cake. Confidence was fairly sure that the fine establishment mentioned in the note wouldn't appear on the day indicated. Couldn't "Mother" have chosen to meet somewhere a little more convenient? So it was that despite the shop having a no-refunds policy, or because of it, Inky found themselves returning to the antique shop inside the Wandering Bazaar a week later looking for another item. "Do you sell flight vessels that could transport people to and from specific places ... such as the Harpoon Club?" they asked the witch.

You and the witch go back and forth a few times before she realizes that you want to visit a place where it is when it isn't there.

"Transdimensional extratemporal colocation?" Agate claps her hands in delight. "This is going to be fun! A witchy problem wants a witchy solution. That's what my Auntie Tenfingers always said!"

"Why bother with flying contraptions when you yourself are a perfectly adequate vessel? I'm going to prescribe you a dream ritual," she says, scribbling in a notebook. "It's complex. But only because it's a lot of steps. And the timing is kind of particular in a couple places. But if you follow the directions, you shouldn't have any trouble." She rips the page out of the notebook and hands it you.

"Basically, you'll enter a host's dreams, and then delve into the Collective Unconsciousness. From there you should be able to find the Wandering Bazaar's pocket dimension. Of course you'll need to find a guide to take you there. You'll have to find one in the Sea of Dreams."

"And you'll need this!" She ducks behind the counter and reappears with a smoke-gray box bound with thick black ribbon. It's about as long as her forearm. She unwraps the box and opens it and pulls out a thick, round candle. It is an unhealthy, sickening translucent yellow. In the base of the candle is a large, blackened, withered, and shriveled hand. It is within and without the candle. As though it is grasping the base of the candle, but also like it has been molded into the candle on purpose. As though the hand is imprisoned in the wax. You can just make out a hazy small round object in the center of the candle through the wax. A large nut or marble. The hand looks like it is reaching for it. The candle has been burned down a fair bit. The wick is low and trimmed, and the edges are black and warped where the fatty wax has melted and hardened. You guess there's only about two-thirds left of the candle.

The witch measures down from the top of the candle with a length of string and bores a small hole in its side. She wedges a large nail into the hole, leaving half of it jutting out. "A crude clock," she winks at you. "Place the candle on a hard metal plate. When it burns down enough for the wax here to soften, the nail will fall out and strike the plate and wake you up."

She pushes it across the counter toward you and frowns. "Eh, should be okay," she shrugs. "But if at any point it looks like the base gets soft enough that the hand might be able to grasp the eye," she cautions pointing toward the round object in the center of the candle, "smash the thing. As hard as you can. Destroy the hand, and run."

"The rest of the instructions should be pretty self explanatory!" she exclaims, perking up. "Let me know if you have any questions!"

<details>

<summary>

Ritual Details

</summary>

Ritual Steps In Brief:

1. Find a volunteer to be the Dream Host.

2. Link your sanctum to the place where the Bazaar will be on the appointed date. (You can't just do your ceremony out in the open in the middle of the street! Find somewhere you can safely leave your bodies for a few hours.)

3. Draw a circle of salt.

4. At the appointed time, put the Dream Host in the circle. Also the Travelers (you), the Dream Sigil, and the Nyxmaer Candle.

5. Once the Host is asleep (Sleep spell not included), light the candle and enter the Host's dream.

6. Turn "away" from the dream, cross the Sea of Dreams to the Collective Unconsciousness.

7. Find the Bazaar's pocket dimension.

</details>

The day the letter arrived Alex was nowhere to be found. It was a bit strange, somewhat chilling even, that he'd disappear like that. Ever since they had arrived back at the Milk Maid he'd been seen skulking about his uncle's study, or pacing the garden out back somewhat agitatedly. Unbeknownst to the party, Alex had anticipated the arrival of the letter, HQ had been following every lead they could pull in since he began with the Ginnarak recovery team. Not that they really had much to go off of, but the courier who left the letter wasn't hard to track. That was, until he slipped inside one of the ever changing shops right as it was moving along.

The trail went cold after that. Which meant Alex had to get it moving again, or at least the crumpled communique he'd received said as much. Things were moving too quickly to think too hard on the how, all that was needed was action, something drastic to flush things out.

That's why Alex finds himself on the east side of the market, skulk about the back alley behind The Temporal Cup.

"Gotta get this shit ready, there's no other options here" Alex thought to himself. He loathed this type of work, it was messy, abhorrently vile in his mind, but what choice did he have? His hands worked deftly at the wires in the small package hidden inside the recess of a loose brick. Once finished, the little packet came to life, muted lights blicking away happily as the brick slid back over it.

This was the 3rd and final eavesdropping device, all placed at the busiest cafes in market, all rigged with self destruct mechanisms large enough to level the building if they're found.. The eavesdropping Alex could abide by, but the wanton destruction for the sake of security was painful to swallow.

But once again, it wasn't much like Alex had a say in the matter. The first sign of objection, an inclination that he'd refuse orders, and they'd have an assassin on him before he could leave the alley. And if he took it out, they'd send double, there'd be no rest.

--- Later that day

Alex watched twtxt feeds scroll through from his monitoring devices. Most of it unimportant gossip. So and so haves an affair, what's for lunch, where to find good empanadas in the market, so on and so forth. An endless stream on the pulse of the market.

It was errant curiosity to watch these, the Magic Lichen in the monitoring system was trained to hunt for any hint of what the courier was up to, any twinge from Blavin and his ilk. It'd send alerts straight to him as soon as something came up, but it was interesting to see the pulse of the city trail by. And what else could he do? It was too dangerous to go back to the Milk Maid, any hint he was there could blow his cover. Best to lay low for the time being, let the scrapers scrape and the agents comb the streets until they get a bead on their target.

Milk Market HQ ought to be quiet. Alex has been conspicuously absent. Missing in action. Inky seems to be out making rounds delivering tea, or spending more time than usual at the empenadaria. So Milk Market HQ ought to be quiet.

Instead, a certain young hemogoblin and a certain yellow duck (both of whom have yet to be named, by the way) are squealing as they rampage through the rooms on the top floor of the building, upsetting the furniture in their wake and in general making a huge mess.

It took some coaxing on the hemogoblin's part. The duck was determinedly uninterested in anything besides a soak in its tub and a nap on its cushion. And it did a good job of ignoring the persistent, pestering goblin for most of the afternoon. But jumping into a wooden tub full of blood cracked the foul's disinterested facade. It gave furious chase to the goblin until the heat of the moment cooled down. At which point the two of them simply enjoyed the thrill of chasing each other through the apartments.

Confidence is actually the first one to stumble across the carnage. They were just popping by to drop off some new pamphlets, but froze in the doorway when they saw the suite in disarray and the walls plastered with blood and feathers. "What the toque..." And then they quietly closed the door and left without going in after all.

~

Gliftwirp browses the stalls trailing behind the Wandering Bazaar. He is bare chested save for a sleeveless vest. He wears long, baggy, striped trousers bunched at the ankle, and a bright red sash tied loosely around his waist. He grins a wide, gap-toothed grin as he thumps a melon.

"Look at the size of this melon! And perfectly ripe!" he beams at the stall vendor. "You'll be here next week? With more like this?"

Very few people would be able to tell Gliftwirp's profession from his attire. For those who can, one look at his red sash would immediately cause them to give him a wide berth. Because Gliftwirp is a warpwefter. A master assassin trained in the ancient art of sarong-fu. That is, the deadly application of soft and flexible weapons. Whips, chains, garrotes, nunchucks. And most famously---and most effectively---sashes, sarongs, scarves, and the like. The saying goes that a clothed warpwefter is never unarmed. Nor even is a nude one if they can get their hands on your clothes. And a warpwefter can sneak their weapons into the most secure of locations.

"I am a visitor here, and don't know my way around," he keeps up the small-talk with the vendor, having paid for the melon. "Do you know if there is a building around here called 'Milk Market?' I'm supposed to meet someone there. No, they're not expecting me. It's going to be a surprise!"

He grins his wide toothy grin.

~

The twtxt feed from the listening devices is dull and quiet. The monitoring software is designed to only deliver messages containing certain buzzwords. And those messages are few and far between.

You decide to tap into the unfiltered stream and let the endless waves of blather wash over you. It's inane. Idle gossip and mindless chitter-chatter.

After a day or two of this, you notice yourself getting uncharacteristically agitated. You squint at the lines of messages coming in and notice a few transposed characters in some of them, forming new nonsensical words. A couple messages are missing some whitespace, squishing words together in maddening run-ons. Glitchy. There's no reason the listening devices should be returning errors like this.

Later still, the feeds have gotten worse. Some words seem to be written backwards. Entire messages are garbled word soup, devoid of any meaning or sense whatsoever. Some of the timestamps are invalid datetimes. But you prefer them to the ones that are valid, but which are stamped years ago. And you far prefer them to the ones that are stamped far in the future.

The anomalies are overall infrequent. On their own, they don't amount to much. And when you show them, nobody at HQ gives you with much more than a slightly patronizing, indulgent shrug. But the glitches shouldn't be happening at all, is the thing. And when you compile them all together, you start to notice things. Patterns insinuating themselves, maddeningly just short of reason or meaning. Like a song stuck in your head when you can't remember the lyrics or the melody. But there's something there nonetheless. The promise of something, at least. Something bigger. A wide tapestry of links and connections, wanting to be known.

There are names. Ellis, the lady in red who sits at the center of a tangled web. Ousia, a sea of endless knowledge. A sea of magic. The 215R Dude, a denizen of the other side who can deliver you to its shores. Other strange beings who lurk just out of sight, just beyond the veil of perception. The veil that you are now beginning to pierce with the snippets and snatches of information you pluck from your feeds.

You start to see signs of the veil elsewhere. Of the conspiracy. Whatever. You can't decide what to call it. Street graffiti outside of a red spider spinning a red web. Phrases like "215R" show up in random articles in the paper. As though the secret world is trying to cross over. Or to draw you into it.

WHAT DO YOU DO

00056

The agitation Alex feels bubbles just beneath the surface. Patterns where patterns shouldn't be, strange orders from HQ, indifference where once was ample aide as well. It was maddening. Combine it all with the haunting suspicion that there was constantly someone just around the next corner, and it was enough to truly drive Alex mad.

That uneasiness takes its toll on a long enough time line, but Alex wasn't about to let it get to him. Or so he thought to himself as he cast a furtive look at his monitoring equipment. This paranoia had served him well in the past, very well in fact. It's a sort of sixth sense in a way, always kept Alex off the edge of the cliff, especially when someone stepped close enough to push him off. Those were the types of skills HQ sought after in the first place.

Alex closes the iron door on his bunker, leaving his monitoring equipment running, dead man's trigger set to blow the place shoul anyone enter it. Can't be too careful these days..

Emerging from the sewer grate, sticking to the shadows, Alex makes his way down an alley, then another, and yet another, finally emerging a few blocks from the Milk Market. Across the street, as he had expected, was Marvelo's Marvelous MurderSticks, a quaint place should one needed something, well you get the picture, they don't really sell anything but weaponry here.

Alex ducked into the entrance of the shop and strode towards the back rack, where a collection of knives was on display. A rough looking fellow, ruddy red beard, thinning hair, moved from the counter as he saw Alex approach. "Fine sampling of knives we have, could I interest you in one?" Marvelo says. Alex reaches for a thin stilleto style dagger, and hands it to Marvelo "This one seems about right, but I'd like an extra sharp edge put on it, if you don't mind". Marvelo takes the stilleto from Alex say "Not a problem at all sir", and he heads into the back.

He sets to work honing the edge, and once complete he places it on his work bench. Grabbing a velvet lined case from a stack, he deftly removes the bottom and places a rolled piece of paper into the bottom, alongside an m1911 style pistol, and a couple of clips of ammo. He then places the velvet bottom back over the equipment, and places the stilleto on top, bringing the entire package back to the front. "An extra fine edge on this one sir, that'll be 15 gold, plus another 5 to cover the service.

Alex pays, and nips out the shop and heads back to the back alley. Paranoia begets what it requets, Alex mutters to himself as he disassembles the box holstering the pistol and ammo, and sheathing the dagger. Can't keep going unarmed like I'm some kind of beat cop, not anymore.. Alex discards the case and unfurls the message, quickly deciphering the encryption set on it by Marvelo.

The hunt is still on, no word on Blavin nor the Iris group, yet.
Agent 7 heard rumor of a couple of persons inquiring about the "Milk Market" these past few days.
Agent 3 heard similar rumors, was able to bribe a melon vendor to acertain the figure wore a red sash, and was looking for friends.
Agent 6 has kept watch on the Market, nothing strange yet, coming and goings as usual, no strange visitors
Agent 4 monitoring feeds still present glitches, something abnormal
Agent 5 found the melon vendor dead in a back alley, strangled to death, not immediate signs of blunt force trauma, caution advised

Alex burned the note, striding rapidly away from the alley, taking a meandering route away from the Milk Market, looping back around, and heading back towards it by yet another. Nobody appeared to be following him, yet he paused at each corner and turn, waiting for the footsteps of a pursuant.

Noting nothing, he made his way through the back entrance of Enrique's Empanadas greeting the cook quietly, but jovial. "Enrique, where's Inky? We've got a problem."

~

Inky skims the page. They thank the witch, pay for the items and exit the shop, promptly discarding all notions of meeting Bother at the place stipulated on the note.

(Half and one hour later)

One-sixths into a caramel cantaloupe cream cornet, Inky runs into Confidence outside the Wandering Bazaar and obtains some of their new pamphlets, minted with luminescent ink for the convenience of late-night tourists. These are subsequently hare-mailed to every editor at the Niuewstijl office, which is almost certain to earn another chiding remark from Tess about etiquette and the handling of unsolicited bulk mail to parent editorial teams.

(Half and two hours later)

The installation on display at the Milk Market was grotesque --- that is to say, a work of beauty. Inky steps carefully through the rooms to not disturb the piece. Afterwards, they sign the guestbook set up on an upturned milk crate by the door, delightedly pasting rows of horse head and thumbs-up emo Gs on a page thoughtfully titled "you can't ed the unedible".

(Half and three hours earlier)

Thanking Agate for her time, Inky passes her a sheet of paper on which were written a few questions about the prescribed ritual, with some space after each question should the witch prefer to scribble a response:

• What do guides in the Sea of Dreams and the Ravenfolk typically seek in return for directing travellers to the correct pocket dimension?

• An establishment inside the Bazaar is only open in the evenings whenever it appears in the city. How long does travel to a pocket dimension typically take, allowing for time to seek out a guide? Is there a way travellers can estimate the time to set out on their journey, in order to arrive at the establishment while it is open?

• Who are the Red Spider and "Dude 215R" mentioned in the ritual? How can travellers avoid summoning them?

• Would anything happen to the travellers if any of the sigils were removed during the ritual before they wake up?

(Half and four hours later)

Two sets of eyes peer down at the contents of an open tin. One accompanied by a focused look and a little trepidation, following the pinkish, flesh-like chunks speckled with white pockets of fat as they tumble into a hot pan and almost immediately begin to move of their own accord. The moving mounds resemble small round mouths opening, each with a rim of sharp teeth. The other pair of eyes belongs to a grinning face that beams when the mounds bloom into bright red flat caps, the edges beneath about to soften in the olive oil.

Minutes after, The slices are ready. Inky accepts the plate of tostada with spicy pickled artichoke mushrooms and tomatoes with a murmur of thanks. Reassembling the recipe for the tinned spicy artichoke mushrooms had been a tedious process --- someone had ripped out the pages from an old pickling book that had long ceased publication. Eventually Inky found a former nomad who had eaten them for two years in their youth and could recall or somewhat describe the taste. Flowery and savoury, they said. Many taste tests later, it turned out to be closer to partially decomposed cheese in ponderosa lemon juice. Canning was fortuitously easier with the increasing portability of sealers. Rather than telling the empanada chef any of this, Inky watches satisfaction slowly spread across his face. The tale that follows is far more entertaining.

(Half and five hours later)

While measuring out ingredients for the forty-second tea infusion since the start of the missions, not that Inky was keeping a close count, they hear a familiar voice a short distance outside the door asking for their whereabouts. Without pausing in their whisking, Inky simply informs the owner of the voice they're not here, obviously, before emerging from the storage pantry with a fresh pot and bowls on a wooden tray, and greets the returning sysorcerer.

Agate writes back quickly:

What do guides in the Sea of Dreams and the Ravenfolk typically seek in return for directing travellers to the correct pocket dimension?

Intangibles. Usually memories, hopes, or dreams.

An establishment inside the Bazaar is only open in the evenings whenever it appears in the city. How long does travel to a pocket dimension typically take, allowing for time to seek out a guide? Is there a way travellers can estimate the time to set out on their journey, in order to arrive at the establishment while it is open?

You'll find that time is rather malleable on the Otherside. You'll likely arrive exactly when you're meant to. No need to worry too much about it.

Who are the Red Spider and "Dude 215R" mentioned in the ritual? How can travellers avoid summoning them?

Godforms manifested by the Linking Sigil and the Dream Sigil, respectively. It's not terrible if they show up. But it's definitely not ideal. You shouldn't register on their radar as long as you don't pump too much energy into, or siphon to much energy out of, the sigils. If they do show up, just know that you're in the presence of a godlike power, and behave accordingly.

Would anything happen to the travellers if any of the sigils were removed during the ritual before they wake up?

If the sigils are removed or if the circle is broken, you'll likely just wake up before you wanted to. Same goes for if your dreamform is destroyed while in the Dreaming. The only real danger you may encounter is the Scissormen and their ilk. They will attempt to permanently sever your dreamform from your waking body. Which would leave your body a soulless husk, and leave your consciousness adrift in the Sea of Dreams. But that probably won't happen! Okay good luck, have fun!

WHAT DO YOU DO

00057

Alex lifts his teacup and sips the fragrantly tea, "perfumed of rosehips, and cardamum? An interesting choice. I appreciate it Inky, these past few days have been terribly rough, and I'm rather tired of field rations." Alex takes a sip, and then continues hurridly. "I've been monitoring the Bazar, we are in grave danger. It started with just me, but I fear it's bled over to everyone here at the Milk Market. I can't be entirely certain."

Alex looks worriedly at Inky. "There's a lot going on here. As soon as we got back from Kelsun I was sent on an assignment, normally not an issue, but they wanted me to level 3 of the busiest coffee shops in the bazar. I planted those bombs, alongside listening devices, and then I bugged out. My team appears to have been assigned equally bizarre assignments, all rather violent messy things. A lot of innocent lives are on the line here."

"We dropped off the grid, I've got an isolated listening post in the sewers here, it's heavily reinforced and that's where I've been hiding out, but I'm not certain it's safe. Agent 5 found a melon vendor dead in the market, and this vendor was specifically seeking out the Milk Market, looking for us. I believe it may be an assassin, could be from HQ, could be from Blavin. It's entirely opaque to me."

"As far as I can tell, my agents are all loyal to me, there's 5 of them in total, 6 if you count me. We could man the ship and get the hell out of here in a few hours, and it may be our best chance. But there's the iris letter we need to attend to, and I cannot for the life of me find anything, not a damn trace, of Blavin. And I think all of this bodes very poorly for us."

Alex looks worriedly at Inky, and you're telling me we have a ritual we have to perform, to find the iris group's meeting place.. I'm leery Ink, I have to be you see. But my uncle trusted you, and I do as well. If you think this is our best shot, we can hole up in the sewers and try to perform this dream walk of your witch friend's. But if this iris business turns out to be a trap, well, how well can you handle a gun?

~

"Your courage and concern are admirable, Master Alex. Caution is likewise advisable." Inky nods seriously.

The next moment, they gave the sysorcerer a slightly deranged grin. "I'm sure you have already seen many grave dangers. What's another one for the bucket list? What's life if not violent and messy? So many melons dismembered and laid waste daily---"

As if suddenly recalling a detail, Inky pauses and blinks. "Melon vendor? Oh, poor Pepo. He has been complaining about his neighbour's boa constrictors for years. The serpents were drawn to the rodents his fruits typically attracted, which might not have been a problem were it not for them hanging out at his stall and scaring off his customers. Maybe he finally took matters into his own hands, with tragic results." They look at an empty mixing bowl across the table glumly. "He had offered to bring over a few of the new variety as soon as they arrived, as he was already delivering to a household the next district over."

They send Master Alex a sidelong glance. "Someone is after you? You didn't do something horrid like help an old grandmother cross the street on sockless skates, for instance?" Refilling the sysorcerer's cup, Inky continues, "As for Blavin, only 3 of the crystals have been recovered. Blavin knows Team 43 is his best chance of obtaining the others. Until he has all the crystals, he will stay his hand. If he doesn't know that, then he is hardly a threat."

Setting down the teapot, Inky shrugs. "They seem eager to get our attention. I suppose I could spare them their twelve minutes of fame, for the right price. Enlightenment would probably be too much to ask of a nightmare. If you'd rather take your team and make a run for it instead, that's fine too. If they come knocking I'll just tell them you missed the hotel fondue at Kelsun Peak."

Their gaze skips to one of the cups before they shake their head. "No gun." They turn around and take down a bamboo walking stick hanging from a hook on a wall next to a worn coat. Inky grasps the handle and pulls. It slides out quietly to reveal a long, thin, tapered surgical steel tube which, if someone were to lean in for a closer inspection, is sparsely covered in tiny, needle-like protrusions along the surface. On the underside, a transparent sliver ran the length of the tube to end about a forefinger's length from the handle. Visible through the narrow window is a colourless liquid, most likely a sedative or toxin, fills the reinforced steel interior.

They smile mirthlessly at Master Alex. "I don't know that Master Corraidhín trusted me, because if he did, it would have been the most foolhardy thing the wise man has ever done. You would do well to not make that mistake."

~

"It doesn't sound like we have all too much of an option", Alex says, as a little Scarab beetle in his pocket chimes, "that'll be the dead man's trigger going off in my hideout."

Alex frowns, shame to lose all of that data, those systems, that hideout.. but I hope whoever broke in enjoys thermite, assuming they don't asphyxiate quickly enough to miss the fun..

Inky, you're right, life is a bit violent and messy, so lets bring the violent mess to these bastards. If you've got a lead on this with this dream ritual, then fuck it, lets take the risk. I won't run from this fight, my uncle sure as hell wouldn't. And at worst, he'd go out with a magnificient bang. Lets give it back tenfold, for poor Pepo.

Nodding his own approval Alex continues, I have another hideout in the eastern quandrant, near the sysorcerer's guild. It's a little risky to head out that way, but none of my Zabbix alerts indicate it was compromised. It has automated IDS and IPS systems, so we should be safe enough in there once we whole up. At very least we'll know if someone comes for us, and we'll have a little bit of time to react on it. We should bring the Toques with us, and little blod clot, and the duck.

Looking sorrowfully at Enrique, "I think it might be best if you got the hell out of dodge too friend, it isn't safe, and I don't want to see you become collateral here. Head down to the wharf, I'll have agent 5 meet you there, he'll help you and your family lay low until all of this blows over."

~

At Enrique's deep frown, Inky sighs and adds, "Might as well do as Master Alex says. He can spot danger twelve blocks away, and turtle soup is really out of fashion these days."

Then they excuse themselves to pack a few items, returning about fifteen minutes later with a knapsack and a cross-strap carrier draped in a black cloth cover. Inky says, "I hope you don't mind if I bring along a guest as well."

The cover is pulled back to expose a dome-shaped birdhouse, with transparent circular rings at the top partially obscured by sliding shutters of the same shape. A wooden hoop with a woven, web-like pattern and adorned with a string of feathers hangs from one side. On the opposite side is a double door with a miniature knob over each door. Inky lightly taps on one of the doors, and at a low click coming from within in response, swings the doors wide enough for the kitchen lamps to illuminate the great horned owl resting on a pillow inside. The bird opens one amber eye for a moment, gaze sweeping idly across the occupants in the room before dozing off again.

"This is Fuko. She and her twin brother Futa have certain shared connections. What one sees, the other will also know. I asked their caretaker if I could borrow them for a while. Fuko will accompany me for the ritual. Her brother is at another location and can send a message if a need arises." Inky explains with a wry expression. "Think of it as a minor indulgence of sorts. I was told their kind, along with eagle owls, are very good at negotiating with those of the ravens."

They give the owl a small smile. "She may be a little temperamental, but she is well-trained." Closing the birdhouse doors, Inky turns back to Master Alex. "I suppose you'd rather not reveal the location of your hideout to any more people than necessary. Her carrier will remain covered on the way in and out."

Gliftwirp stands under the branches of a tree, pooled in shadow, far from the small gathering. He has been to plenty of funerals. Often under these very circumstances, in fact. And he always keeps his distance out of respect.

For one, he owns no clothes but his vest, sash, and trousers. And his bright red colors would be a sign of disrespect among the mourners. Secondly and most importantly, he himself is the one who put the man in the ground.

Sadly, he had little choice. He had underestimated the sysorcer. Didn't realize he had his own agents working for him. When he realized that one of the agents had been in contact with the melon vendor, he knew that Popplewick could and would identify the warpwefter if pressured.

Gliftwirp had grown to enjoy his daily chats with the melon vendor. Popplewick was a kind, determined man. A refugee from the Cinderlands, his family came to Vay'Nullar following the Artifice Wars when he was just a boy. He grew up poor, and often relied on the generosity of others. But eventually he was able to support himself and his small family. He was proud of the life he had built.

So Gliftwirp took no pleasure in what came next. Late one night when Popplewick was on his way home from the market, the assassin slipped a bag over his head and dragged him into a dark alley. He cinched the bag tight, cutting off his air. There was a brief struggle before Popplewick passed out and Gliftwirp lowered him down to the ground. He held him there, unconscious and not breathing, until he was gone. In only took but a moment. And then Gliftwirp stood up and left.

Now at the funeral, the mourners leave one by one. Until only the widow is left, cradling a small sleeping child to her chest. "Oh, Pepo," she whispers to the headstone. "What can I do now?"

When she leaves, she does not return to the main path. She meanders slowly as though in a daze toward the back of the graveyard and down the hill. She steps into the wood. A flash of red follows her at a distance.

She kneels on the banks of the forest river and sets the child down on wide flat rock. It is awake now and looks up at her with solemn eyes. "I am sorry, made-of-me," she says to the child. And that is all the explanation it gets.

She stands and turns and walks away. The child watches her go.

When she has been gone for some minutes, Gliftwirp steps out of the shadows and crouches down beside the child. It looks up and reaches for him. "Look at you," he says to the child as he scoops it up. "Who would throw you away? A perfectly good baby!" He stands and bounces the child. "A sweet little melon rind is what you are. Ha! Very well. Come, Rind, we have work to do."

The assassin, child in his arms, walks back toward the city.

~

In the aftermath, Agent 5 is found down by the docks. They clearly struggled in death. The assassin blamed him for Popplewick's death and the widow's weakness.

Down in the sewers, two tiny mittened hands reach up and awkwardly turn the doorknob to Alex's hideout. The bolt clears the latch with a faint click. Two tiny cloth hands struggle against the heavy iron door, pushing it slowly open, inch by inch. A mechanism clicks inside and there is a whoosh of air and then a boom as the bunker violently ignites. The tiny figure is incinerated, and blown back into the sewer tunnel.

Gliftwirp steps forward into the light of the blaze and crouches down by the tiny figure. He picks it up, a tattered and burned bundle of cloth. "Look, Rind," he says to the small child standing at his elbow. "You must always acknowledge and be grateful for those who sacrifice for you." He starts to untie and unfold the cloth puppet as he speaks. It unfurls and smooths out and stitches itself back together under his touch. Even the burn marks fade, and soon Gliftwirp is once again holding his red sash.

"Now, Rind," he says standing up and taking the child's hand, squinting into the fire. "Let's see what we can salvage here."

WHAT DO YOU DO

• The time of the ritual is at hand.
• What final preparations do you make before entering Dreamspace?

00058

(A week prior)

The secretary collected the stack of papers that had accumulated at one corner of the desk. "This might help," she said, setting down a bundle of herbs with white and pink flowers in place of the papers.

Inky stared at the blooms, hands stilled over the owl's plumage. "Oh! Thanks. Good thinking, really. It'll help make the stench more bearable when they find the remains."

The grey elf was confused for a moment, then mortified as the words sank in. "That's not what I meant! It's for the circle," she clarified.

Seeing the imp's preoccupied nod, she coughed lightly to regain their attention, then spoke in a hushed voice. "Beaker's associates have picked up the empanada shop proprietor and transported him to an undisclosed location. There will be a retinue with him at all times."

Inky seemed to visibly pull themselves back to the room before responding, "Thank you, Salvia. One more thing --- if I do not return by the indicated time, please activate the hitsuzen protocol. As precaution."

The secretary looked at Inky in concern. "Is everything all right? If you're still troubled by the hotelier, accidents happen. A single incident---"

"Third. An unidentified man was attacked at the docks. He was probably sent to investigate the melon vendor. One of the other stall owners heard him asking questions shortly after the melon vendor disappeared."

Salvia's violet eyes narrowed. "What, the fruit vendor? Didn't the tabloids say it was an accident? He tried to get rid of a neighbor's nest of snakes."

Inky only raised an eyebrow at her.

The secretary let out a low curse. "You didn't tell her. You didn't want her to worry," she said aloud in realization. She sighed. "She's going to be pretty angry with you when she finds out, you know."

Inky offered her a sardonic smile. "Making people angry is my job. You of all people know this well. In the event of my timely demise I'm sure the others would find it cause for a grand celebration." They replied matter-of-factly before returning to smoothing the feathers of one bird wing.

Salvia shook her head vehemently. "That's not true. You'll make it back, Ink. What then---"

"Then our fair Lady's ire would be the least of the problems."

~

Alex stared morosely into his cup of coffee. He'd received word of agent 5's demise that morning, and had been the only thing on his mind since. 5, no Be'tram knew the risks, we all knew the risks defying HQ brought, but to happen so suddenly? He'd snuck down to the wharf once he'd heard, making sure to cover his tracks and dodge any potential witnesses. He even managed to slip past the police cordon they'd setup around the body. What he'd found wasn't pretty, it looked like Be'Tram had suffered in his final moments. The bruising around his neck pointed to strangulation, with some sort of cloth, perhaps a rope. The bruising was deep, and there wasn't a cut, burn, shot or something of the likes on his otherwise.

The kill had been intimate.

Alex had worked quickly that night, popping Be'Tram's eye had been hard, but he'd of wanted Alex to have it. Behind his right eye was a recording device, it could only catch the last 15m or so of what he had seen, but it would give him a clear look at what had happened. And potentially lead Alex to the killer. Miserable business, but Be'Tram knew it could make a difference.

Alex had planted a bomb on the body after he had extracted the eye, and made his way well away from the area before it went off obliterating the remains. A regrettable end for an old friend, but it was too dangerous to leave.

And then there was the matter of the zabbix alert, a little purple red critical for the sewer hideout. He'd had time to send out a drone beetle. The smoldering slag that was left was reassuring. Most of the equipment was utterly destroyed, racks upon racks of servers reduced to twisted melted metal. The effectively of the destruction was delightful, in a sick sort of desperate way. Alex felt assured that most if not all of the equipment was useless, but this spelled the end of a valuable listening outpost. And whoever had done it wasn't part of the slag pile.

Alex stood up, his coffee untouched. The cafe around his burbled in quiet excitement. The city had lit up since the Melon vendor's death. A thousand rumors abounded about it, but none of them held true; some said the city had become dangerous, a crime syndicate had arisen in the neighboring city block another thought, and did you hear about the explosion at the wharf the other night, the city was electric, yet somehow ever so slightly off the pulse of the issue.

As Alex stepped away a woman with horn rimmed glasses strode past the table he had just abandoned, deftly pulling the note from beneath the coffee cup, left for her.

4 -> 3
Daylight breaks on the morrow
The suns rays make chase
casting soft cloth
across the nap of nature's neck

So, night relents and gives way
biding time until
it can rule
in its own domain

For the passerby, it was but a bit of poetry, scribbled carelessly on the back of a napkin in a coffee near the wharf. But for Agent 3 it was a warning, one part notes on Agent 5s demise recovered from his eyecam, one part orders; stay low and we'll strike these bastards from the shadows, on our terms, on our ground. Similar missives were delivered to Agents 6 & 7. The numbers were dwindling rapidly, even just one agent lost was hard to stomach.

Alex hand gripped the pistol in his coat pocket with a white knuckled grip as he stepped from the coffee shop into the city. Whatever was after him, whatever had gotten to Be'Tram, it had better know he was coming, and he'd happily send it straight to hell. HQ be damned, the rules be damned, this little game of cat and mouse had just gotten personal.

~

Alex, Inky, Confidence, Bread, and Agent 7 find themselves in a dark backroom in a secluded corner of an old fish processing plant on the wharf. The accommodations are rough, and the stench is abhorrent, but it's the best that could be procured in a pinch. And it should provide enough seclusion.

The backroom is like that of many factories, high up near the ceiling, a single rusty rickety staircase winds its way along the side of the building for what seems to be 3 flights, before it reaches a metal room with dusty grimy windows, and a single steel door. The windows on the interior overlook the fish processing plant, where rows of belts and machinery stand still, covered in dust and long forgotten blood. You're glad to know that the factory stopped operating years ago, hygiene is lacking in every sense.

Alex stares forlornly out the exterior windows, the sky is a grey overcast, it matches his mood perfectly. He didn't like what him and Inky were about to do, but they didn't have much they could do about it. They would be vulnerable for the duration of the ritual. But Agent 7 and Confidence were there to help mitigate that risk. Alex and Agent 7 had taken every precaution they could think of.

The plant floor was scattered with booby traps, trip wires, and alarms. The other agents were laying low, but kept drones around the wharf feeding in a network of twtxt data back to Agent 7 for recon. And that was on top of the double barred steel doors, and reinforced glass box they'd chosen as their hide out. Meticulously planned, Alex expected no less from Agent 7.

See Marvelo had been at this as long as Alex had, and then some. He was sharp as a tack, with an animal-like third sense that came from years of close calls. He was, simply put, the right man for the job, when that job was keeping your unconscious ass alive.

Alex turns away from the window and addresses Inky. "Apologies for the smell, it turns out there's a strong correlation between disgust and seclusion, but I believe we should at least be safe here. Safer than we would have been back home. I'm ready if you are, as ready as I'll ever be that is."

The Golden Iris have summoned you to appear at the Harpoon Club this evening. But the Harpoon Club is nowhere to be found on this plane of existence. It won't appear until a week and a half from now, on the last day of the month.

Confidence the Guide has predicted exactly where the Wandering Bazaar will be on that day. With a small bucket of red paint and a large brush, he has drawn a Linking Sigil on the ground at the location. He sits nearby, making sure careless passersby and mischievous kids don't disturb it, but otherwise letting the sigil absorb the energies of the bustle of shopping and commerce.

At the fish market, Marvelo is posted outside. He keeps vigilant watch, alert to every movement and disturbance.

And inside, Bread, Inky, Fuko, and Alex are huddled up in the office in the back near the ceiling. They all sit inside a dark circle that has been smudged on the floor with a paste made of ash and salt. Painted on the ground is a second Linking Sigil, connecting this spot to Confidence's, allowing the energies of the two locations to co-mingle. There is also the Dream Sigil, which will connect this place to the Dreaming.

Bread the Host is propped up on some pillows and cushions in the center of the circle, next to the Nyxmaer. The candle is alleged to be made of the flesh and fat of a certain nightmare. Its hand and eye bound in the wax. The Dream Sigil is the door, but the Nyxmaer is the key. The catalyst that will cause all of the otherwise inert metaphysical particles to become volatile and reactive. It is what will allow you to actually pass over and arrive on the shores of the Sea of Dreams.

Per the shop witch's instructions, the Nyxmaer has been placed on a thin, hard tin plate. As the candle burns, the wax will soften and eventually allow the large metal nail in its side to fall. When it strikes the plate, you will awaken, exiting the Dreaming. You expect hours may pass in the realm of sleep. But only about thirty minutes will pass here.

Inky and Alex sit inside the circle, near the perimeter, facing Bread in the center. Fuko the owl sits at Inky's side.

It is dim. You are illuminated by mundane, non-magical candles set around the edges of the circle. Outside, a steady rain beats on the roof and the windows of the building. The smell of fish is faint but ever-present. A constant reminder of the small creatures that have left their bodies in a fashion far more permanent and irreversible than the separation of spirit and body you are about to experience. You hope.

WHAT DO YOU DO

• How do you induce a deep and powerful slumber in Bread?

• What shape or form will you take when you arrive in the Dreaming?

• What are you secretly worried or hopeful about being exposed in the dreamland, the realm of metaphor?

00059

Alex procures from a pocket of his trenchcoat a tiny vial. On the vial is a small strip of parchment which reads:

#!/bin/ash
sleepy=true

sleep() {
        while sleepy; do
                sleep(10)
        done
}

trap sleep INT EXIT

He empties the vial into a glass of warm milk and hands it to bread.

"Drink up friend, this'll relax and soothe you. You'll probably have the best night's sleep you've ever had"

Over the radio Alex provides a quick reminder to Marvelo.

"7, remember, should you need to wake bread to get us out you can interrupt or cancel the sleep script, Ctrl + C should work for the disruption work. Or if you need to you can set sleepy=false, if it gets crazy and you need to modify the metavarbalic properties of the enchantment."

Turning to Inky, "Eight bells and all's well, lets get this show on the road"

Bread smiles and thanks you for the milk. They down the glass, smack their lips a few times, and wipe their mouth with the back of their hand. Their eyelids grow heavy and close, and they slump down on the cushions. They're already asleep by the time their head hits the pillow.

Inky nods once at Alex's words and finishes off their own cuppa steeped with calea and thyme, and blended into osmanthus matcha. Lucida, Protege, Aware, Perfume. A meaningless mantra.

They glance to their owlish accomplice (who, she will remind you, is well-trained and needs no sleeping aid, thank you very much, unlike her impish charge) and silently mouth the words "Dude 215R" with a wink. Then they settle for a nap, chin pillowed on their forearms, which are propped atop drawn-up knees. A walking stick rests on their lap. A herb bouquet of pink blooms becomes an owl cushion.

Inky dreamforms of a cream noogle. Puko. And Fuko is, well, still Fuko.

You light the Nyxmaer. The flame crackles and dances. It smokes darkly, and the scent it gives off is thick and heady.

You breathe deeply of it and settle down to sleep.

When you open your eyes you are standing on the branch of an enormous white tree. It's as wide as a narrow street. Its leaves are silver blades that uncurl in the dappled light from below.

One of the first things you notice is that gravity is reversed here. The branches below you reach down, grazing an endless sky. Small iridescent jellyfish medusae drift lazily far, far below, catching and reflecting the light. And the trunk thickens as it reaches up overhead, where its roots drill into the ceiling above.

Because of dream logic, you know that in some way this tree represents Kelsun Peak, Bread's home. And also because of dream logic, you know that the branches furthest away from you in some way represent the great dragon Lucin who lives deep in the mountain. And they are just as dangerous. They sway in the breeze and seem to be aware of you, and are for now satisfied at the distance you keep from them.

There is a chipmunk sitting cross-legged before you on the branch. It looks curiously up at you and says, "The Red Squirrel stole my acorns! Are you going to get them back for me?"

You can feel a metaphysical tug in your gut as your orient yourself to dreamspace like the needle of a compass. "Inward" you can feel a tug toward Bread's deep unconscious. To their core memories. "Outward" you can feel a tug away from Bread toward the shores of the Sea of Dreams, where you may continue your journey through the Collective Unconsciousness to the pocket dimension of the Wandering Bazaar. You need not move physically to travel in either direction. It's more a matter of choosing a destination, and letting the winds blow you in that direction.

"My acorns!" insists the chipmunk, wringing its hands. "The Red Squirrel has taken them all! Are you going to help me?"

WHAT DO YOU DO

00060

Alex takes inventory of himself, this dream world is definitely strange, but fortunately its decided to provide him with his impecable fashion, trench coat and all. Unfortunately the same can't be said for his roguish good looks, as he's found himself 6 arms heavier, and a bit more octopus-y than he remembers.

Nontheless this doesn't appear to be much of an impediment, and he promptly moves on with assessing the situation.

"Acorns? No, I don't think so. I'm afraid octopus' are terrible at fetching acrons, and at any rate, I have a dreadfully important meeting across town." turning to address Inky, "We need to make a break for it, what'd the witch tell you? Envision our goal or something? This is really a little outside of my realm of mechanical magic expertise.. unless.."

Alex makes a gesture with his tentacles in the area and a terminal prompt appears before him. His tentacles work at blinding speed at the digital window, a quick bypass there, a root access escalation there.

"Looks like this whole place runs on Linux, it's an older kernel, about 2.6 or so, but it checks out. Easy to exploit as needed. Here I'm giving us sudo access, should we need it."

"Oh and squirrel, here's your acorns"

find /* -name '*acron*' -exec mv /home/squirrel { } \

It takes Alectopus a couple tries, but he gets it. First he corrects 'acron' to 'acorn'. Then he moves all the acorns to the chipmunk instead of to the squirrel.

Hundreds of acorns appear at the chipmunk's feet. It squeals in delight.

In the distance, far below you, you hear the anguished yell of what can only be a Red Squirrel whose giant stash of acorns has just vanished.

The chipmunk rubs its hands together gleefully and starts scooping up acorns by the armful and shoving them into its mouth by the dozen. "Oh, thank you! Thank you! Thank you!" it says around a mouthful of nuts. "Here..." It tosses you a large square silver coin with a round hole drilled in the center. On one side is the number twenty-one next to a picture of a curved, short-handled sickle. On the other side is the number five and a picture of a flail.

"A Twenty-One Fiver! Sorry, you deserve more, but it's all I have," it apologizes as it scampers off, no doubt to hide its nuts. Hopefully somewhere more secure this time.

If you hold the coin up to your eye and peer through the hole, you see the dreamscape before you as though looking through a cloudy film. All the same stuff is there, but it's hazy and shadowy.

Standing a fair distance from you on the branch, just out of hailing distance, is a tall figure cloaked in black robes. Dark shadows pool restlessly around its feet. Occasionally the shadows leap up and take the form of demons the like of which words cannot describe, before falling and returning to shadow once more. The figure wears a large spherical helmet of obsidian-like glass. You can see constant flashes of a rainbow of colors crackle and splinter along the inside of the helmet like lightning, but illuminating nothing within. You feel sickened at the sight, but at the edge of your mind you feels a tug, a familiarity. Something about this character is familiar to you, but you cannot place it.

When you lower the coin, the figure and the dark landscape both disappear. When you raise it again, the distorted landscape reappears but the figure is gone.

You notice a pair of large ravens watching you rather intently from the branches below.

WHAT DO YOU DO

00061

Alex the Octopus and Inky the Noogle stand on a tree branch as wide a street in the heart of the great white upside-down forest.

A cry of anguish and anger echoes through the forest, and the branches below you sway and rustle as something rises up from the depths. You keep catching a glimpse of scarlet between the silvery white leaves.

The large black ravens perched below you scream in agitation and fly up past you to the thicker branches up above, where they hop side to side and loudly scold and protest the disturbance. A single black feather the length of your hand settles to the ground at your feet, knocked loose during their flight.

You finally see the fearsome beast crashing through the branches below you. Its crazed, yellow eyes as large and round as dinner plates, a great eight-legged rodent leaps from branch to branch as it swiftly ascends. It is a bloody, crimson red. Its long tufted ears lay flat against its elongated, grinning skull. Its ribbon-like tail twitches as it trails along behind it like a river of blood. It cries out again in anger, showing its overgrown incisors, and grinds and gnashes its back teeth.

Its eyes bore into you with wild fury and blind madness as it climbs.

"She's not herself," sighs the chipmunk, suddenly at your side once more. When you look down at the chipmunk, however, it has suddenly turned into a small featureless black turtle with a sticky sweet roll instead of a shell. Its smooth little head pokes timidly out of the roll.

"The Red Squirrel," laments the turtle. "She's being ridden by a ghost. An angry ghost who isn't from here. Somebody left the door open, and it blew in on the breeze." The turtle's voice trails off until its final words are barely a whisper.

You can still feel two currents tugging at you and trying to pull you under. One inward toward your host's deep, core memories. And the second pulling you outward toward the Sea of Dreams.

You have but a moment before the Red Squirrel is upon you.

WHAT DO YOU DO

00062

One moment, Inky is half-asleep on their feet in the middle of Branch Avenue. In the next, they are reclining in a banana boat that resembles a canoe painted with long stripes of yellow and white with deep brown swipes. The s'more interior padding is soft, yet with the suppleness of fruit leather. A few round, matching brown mini-cushions are strewn across the boat interior. Also in the boat are two silver spoon paddles, more for looks than cooks.

They don't know where the boat came from. Things just appear. Like that Red Squirrel. Inky moves to holler a greeting, but instead recites:

"sgb rpthqqbk hr qba sgb fgnrsr dktb
sgb qnkkr rwbbs uma rn uqb ynt
sgnt uqs ly fthahmf rsuq ul h sghmb
h rbb vbqhky ly utrohehntr rhfm
sgb kns wur snrra uma sgbm h aqbw
uma cnqstmb ruha hs rgnta db ynt ott"[1]

[1]:
"The squirrel is red, the ghost's blue,
The roll's sweet, and so are you.
Thou art my guiding star, am I thine?
I see verily my auspicious sign:
The lot was toss'd and then I drew,
And Fortune said it shou'd be you. Puu."

~

While Inky boards her banana boat and recites poetry to the maddened squirrel, Alex springs to action leaping blithely from the branch towards the squirrel. Beneath him manifests a cockpit, sleek and futuristic. Around this materializes a large robotic weapon, octopus-oid in shape. The many tentacles bristle with weapons both fearsome and deadly.

Alex grabs the controls, in one tentacle he latches onto the banana boat, that way he won't accidentally get separated from Inky. With the other seven a series of feathers appear in every brilliant hue. The tentacle attached to the boat unfurls allowing Alex to draw closer to the squirrel. As the gap closes the most intense tickle fight the dream world has ever seen ensues, bringing joyous laughter to the faces of many.

"Inky, if we need to get out of here, just jet it! That tentacle will yank the control pod and me with it!"

Alex basically becomes a Mech pilot, and confronts the Red Squirrel head on with the Octopod.

You engage in the tickle fight to end all tickle fights!

Its eight arms are more than a match for the squirrels eight legs. You have the advantage of reach, entanglement, and sucker pads. It struggles in your grasp, gnashing its terrible teeth, but cannot reach you. Its long tail whips around ineffectively, battering you softly.

The agitated squirrel squeals and swells like a red balloon. The mech's tentacles struggle to contain it. Just as the strain on the machine is about to become unbearable, the rodent violently deflates. It collapses in on itself with such ferocity that it turns itself inside out. The octopod, all tangled up in the collapsing squirrel, is pulled along as it folds in on itself until it becomes a hungry void the size of a marble, floating in space and sucking at the air.

Inky watches from the banana boat as Alex and the squirrel disappear from the Silver Forest. The squirrel portal finally closes in on itself, severing the banana boat from the octopus mecha at the last possible second. Inky on this side. Alex on the other.

Alex, you and the wreckage of the octopod are vomited out onto a sandy beach. Red mist and vapors dissipate from your entry point. Before you is a vast ocean, lapping lazily at the beach. The shoreline extends endlessly in both directions. Behind you are endless sand dunes. Though there is no sun, the sky seems to hover at sunset, all brilliant, swirling oranges and purples.

A lone humanoid figure can be seen standing atop a nearby dune. It is tall. It has legs like a goat or fawn, and a paunchy belly. Its long neck protrudes into a kind of trunk that eventually folds over and hangs down in front of the creature, about chest height. It terminates in a smooth, round nub. No face. It wears a small satchel at its hip, its strap slung over one shoulder and across its chest. Its long arms hand loosely at its sides. Despite the lack of a face and any sensory organs, it seems to be watching you. Slowly, it descends the dune and starts walking toward you. It reaches into its satchel and draws a long, sharp knife as it approaches.

Inky, you are in the banana boat in the Silver Forest. The turtle that was a chipmunk has holed up in its shell, effectively just a sticky bun.

"You wanted to see me," intones a slightly muffled voice behind you. A statement, not a question. You turn to see a figure cloaked in shadows and demons. They wear a domed helmet of black obsidian glass, flashes of rainbow colored light crackling along the inside illuminating very little of the smoke-filled interior.

"What is it you seek from Dude 215R?"

WHAT DO YOU DO

00063

"Greetings, Great One." Inky bows, back parallel to the ground while they stand on the branch, now a humanoid child in a black uniform and matching bookbag hanging under one arm. The banana boat is nowhere in sight. Fuko follows her errant charge and the cloaked figure from a nearby branch.

"This lowly one wonders if they may be permitted to seek the Great Spirit's insight, whose wisdom endures before and beyond." Inky begins, staring down the blurry reflection of silver boughs overhead on the polished toes of their black shoes. They notice idly they do not see themselves in the reflection.

Straightening from the bow, they look up at the figure and hold out a plate of taiyaki. After a moment, the child asks haltingly, "There may come a day when this one will be asked to choose between the chance to protect many and that which they desire to protect most. Should this one choose equally? Will the choice matter if both paths eventually lead to destruction? Could destruction and salvation be two sides of the same coin?"

You and the Dude are sitting in small upholstered chairs, across a small half table from each other. There is a large sticky bun on a white lacy doily on the table. Next to you is a small portal-sized window, and outside you can see green rolling hills and small copses of trees fly by. The other seats on the small train car are all empty. The two of you are alone.

"I cannot give you advice," the Dude says. "But I can offer you experience."

They raise a hand and hold a loosely closed fist out over the table. The walls of the train become fuzzy and blurry, then translucent, and finally transparent. They disappear and you have the sensation of rocketing through space at dizzying speeds.

The track splits ahead you. To one side, bound to one track is that which you desire to protect most. Bound to the other are the many.

"You can choose safely here. It's just a dream, after all." The Dude opens their fist. The Twenty-one Fiver coin rests in their palm. "Heads, you steer the train into the many, sparing that which you love most. Tails, the opposite. You spare the many, and sacrifice that which you hold dear." They hold the coin out to you.

The train barrels toward the fork. "But choose quickly, lest the choice be made for you."

Alex scrambles from the wreckage of his mech, or what remained from the gore portal he'd just experienced. The thought of what had occurred made him grimace, which was an unusual state of affairs for an octopus, that is until Alex realized he seemed to be back in his own body.

"Sunset, or perhaps rise? It's hard to tell. Pretty though.. could be prettier without the creepy knife dude." Alex mutters to himself while he rummages through the destroyed cockpit of the mech. He makes quick work, detaches a side panel, pulls a couple of wires, and a compartment in the back opens revealing the smooth dark blue metal and wood grain of an ak74u sub machine gun. Amused Alex pulls the weapon from the compartment and notices a distinct lack of additional magazines, just the one large drum attached to the weapon with large red letters emblazoned on it [INFINITE AMMO]. "Neat."

Alex pulls himself from the wreck, and jumps down behind one of the fallen tentacles taking a firing position behind cover, ak74u aimed down range at the faceless figure.

"I don't know who you are, but I don't trust anyone who approaches with a weapon. Let's both stand down and talk this through! I'm not supposed to be here, and I reckon you don't want me here either. I'd be happy to oblige and skidaddle if you'd be so kind as to point the way out!" Alex pauses waiting for a reply.

The tall figure halts a short distance away. It raises a hand and waves. In greeting? Surrender? In a fluid motion it continues to lift the same hand and grabs a hold of its trunk, a little less than a foot from the tip. It squeezes its fist tightly and the tip begins to swell. It raises its other hand, and the knife, and starts to saw into the flesh of the trunk behind its fist. The blade cuts cleanly as though through a loaf of bread. There is no blood or gore.

When the creature lowers its hand, you can see that the center of the trunk is a solid, bright pink fleshy material like a grapefruit, in the center of which are two pin-prick eyes and a wide thin gash of a mouth.

It still holds the tip of its severed trunk in its hand, a thin stalk and a bulging cap looking for all the world like a large white button mushroom. Peering up from the stem of the mushroom, an identical pink face regards you stoically.

Both faces speak at the exact same time, one high pitched and one a deep baritone. "Welcome, Dreamer, to Ousia, the Sea of Dreams. We are Kasutva."

Big Kasutva stoops down to set the small mushroom Kasutva down on the ground. If they're both Kasutva, that is. If that's the way their biology and sense of self actually works. Mushroom Kasutva wobbles side to side a little bit and waggles its stalk as it looks around. Big Kasutva places its knife back in its satchel and takes a few small steps closer to you.

"We did not mean to offend you," the two say, still perfectly in sync. "As for the way out, that depends only somewhat on your destination. Whatever the answer, we can assure you that it lies across the sea." Large Kasutva gestures broadly toward the expanse of ocean. Small Kasutva lacks any limbs and cannot gesture, but smiles softly at you.

"But tell us what it is you seek. Perhaps we can be of help."

WHAT DO YOU DO

00064

Back at the fish market, Marvelo squints into the pouring rain and swears under his breath, frustrated at the limited visibility.

His colleague is lying on the floor behind him in some kind of state of deeply altered consciousness, along with an inkling, a toque, and an owl. In fact, the only waking beings left inside the market are himself, a fluffy little duck, and a sticky hemogoblin.

"I've seen stranger things," he shrugs and admits to himself.

The duck and the goblin are both fluffed up and huddled up next to each other softly quacking and chirping to themselves.

He pauses and holds his breath as something indistinct catches his attention. Years of training have produced an instinct he has learned not to question. It has saved his butt more times than he can count. Sometimes it screams at him and the danger is apparent. Like that time with the Permian Raiders off the southern tip of Harshwind Glade. Other times, such as this, all he gets is the vague feeling that something is off. He waits. He's been here before. His subconscious has spotted something, noticed some pattern that doesn't fit its surroundings. He knows if he's patient, his conscious mind will catch up and realize what it was.

He squints out into the pouring rain. There! A flash of red close to the ground.

"What in the world," he wonders as a small child wearing a bright red dress toddles into view. It looks up at him blankly as the rain beats down on its head and shoulders.

"What are you doing out here, little guy? You're getting soaked!" Marvelo, concerned, rushes forward to comfort the child.

Inky gingerly takes the coin with both hands, small digits clamping onto the straight edges. They look at the Twenty-one Fiver nestled against the fuzzy outlines of one palm before peering up again at the figure seated before them. "Thank you, Great Spirit." Inky says. "If truly allowed to choose, then, this one accepts the price."

They toss the coin up into the air. A beat, and they are hovering a few feet above the tracks, between the fork and the oncoming train with no walls. Inky watches as the child's body begins to shrink as rapidly as the black uniform expands, the entire apparition thinning and becoming translucent. The shirt continues to grow until the hem brushes the train tracks and the collar peeks over the invisible tops of the train, the trousers and shoes having been pushed into the stones and earth below.

A portal, the child's voice supplies distantly. At the back of their awareness, Inky homes in on the coin as it continues to spin. When the train thunders down upon the oversized shirt doorway-apparent, they brace for the force of the impact. Instead, all they could feel is a creeping weariness, like water draining through tea leaves in a sieve, while being suddenly surrounded by and staring into a deep reflectionless pool.

Is it two to two, or two past eight, Inky wonders.

The last thing within their consciousness is a gleam of silver as the coin lands on one of its corners mid-spin, bounces off the small half table and falls into the shadows.

You sink into the dark reflectionless pool, letting its waters close over you and pull you under. You ponder its depths from within in its embrace, mindless of the passage of time.

After a few minutes, or a few days, you notice faint light rising up here and there from below. Fuzzy, cobwebby human shapes float suspended in the waters. Some far away, distant as stars. Some drift close enough that you would be able to discern their features, if they had any.

You realize all at once that these are the dream forms of sleeping Basmentarians everywhere, and that you are floating in Ousia, a solitary awakened dreamer in a literal sea of the passive slumbering.

As though responding to your realization, the waters bear you up and you pierce the weak membrane between water and air. You float effortlessly and the gentle waves nudge you ever onward toward some unknown shore. Or merely farther out to sea. You're not sure.

You continue to see the dreamers all around you. You watch curiously as you float by two that seem to have bumped into one another and fused together, their cobwebby bodies sprouting hard crystalline growths and spreading like creeping vines, forming a lattice and creating a small floating island.

After a few hours, or a few weeks, you wash up on the beach of a large island. There is a steep rock, a pillar of a mountain, jutting straight up from the center of the island some distance ahead. And jutting from the pillar is a fractal structure of interconnected towers, all sprouting and branching from one large central tower. The top of the tower disappears far overhead, obscured by a rippling aurora of green and pink lights in the sky.

Some distance down the beach, just out of hailing distance, a lone figure stands gazing at the sea, their back to the tower.

The figure waits.

The tower's strange geometry beckons.

Kasutva, how can I know that I can trust you? What do you gain in helping me, and was there really no way for you to communicate with me without beheading yourself? That seems a little bit distraughting. Like, do you need a bandage or some headache medicine or something? I feel like if I yanked my face off I'd need an ibuprofen. I have some if you want? (alex rummages in a coat pocket and finds a bottle of pain killers, and offers them to the being).

Right anyways, answers questions. I'm looking for my Uncle first and foremost. He dropped off the map a few days ago, and I can't find hide nor hair of him. Then the murders started. Shit at HQ when wild, hit the wall literally, and now I'm in some sort of fever dream talking to what can only be a manifestation of my own subconscious, or perhaps someone else's. Look. I need to get back to Inky, we're trying to meet someone and we're running late, and in the scheme of things my problems aren't so big if the world's going to end because some mad hatter is after these blasted crystal's we've been collecting..

Even as you speak, you notice the edges of Big Kasutva's "wounds" start to close until its flesh begins to once more envelop and enclose its face.

The creature courteously accepts a few pills from you, but simply deposits them in its satchel.

"No, it doesn't hurt us," say the two voices together. "And little matter if it did. It is necessary for us to speak."

They listen to your story. Big Kasutva's voice starts to become muffled as its skin now grows over its mouth. Only its eyes are visible as the two of them continue. "If your Inky has come to this place, then there is only one place they can have gone." They gesture to the sea. "And that place is Ephemeris. The Heart of the Dreaming at the center of Ousia."

Big Kasutva finally falls silent as it heals completely. It guides you to the shoreline, where a long pier has suddenly appeared. Mushroom Kasutva continues to speak for both of them.

"We only ask to accompany you as you go. We wish to see Ephemeris ourselves. But we cannot abandon our post here on the dunes," it says looking at Big Kasutva. "And we," it says gesturing to itself, "are too small to brave the sea alone."

Big Kasutva stops short of the end of the pier. The little mushroom hops right up to the edge and peers down at the water.

"All that is left is to jump, Alex. And let the waters of Ousia bear you up and carry you to Ephemeris."

It hops up to you and extends itself in a clear request, despite its lack of limbs, that it wants you to pick it up.

WHAT DO YOU DO

00065

Marvelo fetched a fluffy blanket from the piles of blankets and pillows in the ritual room where the dreamers continue to sleep. He has wrapped up the child and is drying them off. The sound of rain continues to drum incessantly outside.

"Poor thing, you're chilled to the bone. Don't worry, Uncle Marv will take care of you. There we go. Fix you right up!"

The child is still and silent. It has not made a noise this whole time. Nor has it acted on its own to actually do anything besides stare up at Marvelo with wide, dark eyes.

"How did you end up outside by yourself in the rain, hmm? No? That's okay. What about your name? Have you got a name?"

"Rind," says a voice behind Marvelo. At the sound of its name, the child's eyes flick over Marvelo's shoulder. The mercenary starts to spin around even as the blanket writhes in his hands, wrapping itself around his wrists and binding them tightly together.

"Hungh!" he cries out wordlessly and tucks into a roll, turning to face his assailant and---he hopes---dodging any potential attack from behind. And also putting some distance between himself and the child to get it out of harms way.

Marvelo tries to push up to his knees as cords of rope snake their way out of the shadows and coil around his knees and elbows. He struggles to pull free of them. A thicker rope wraps around his waist, and another squeezes around his chest and back. The ropes contract and pull Marvelo into a ball. He groans and falls to his side. He looks up into the eyes of a man wearing a bright red sash.

The child has tottled over to the man and reaches its arms up. The man scoops the child up and holds it in the crook of one arm. The child puts its arms around the man's neck and looks down at Marvelo while resting its cheek on the man's chest.

"His name is Rind," the man smiles.

Feeling bedraggled yet dry despite having been submerged under water, Inky lays on the beach, staring up at the sky before sitting up and looking around the landscape. They are now attired in a hooded azure blue vest over red shirt and shorts, and blue shoes over mismatched knee-high stockings. Their auburn hair is tied back with the drawstrings from an attached small pouch. A plush toy resembling a certain floofy duck peeks out from the hood.

They sense a soft weight land on one shoulder, and smile as Fuko nips at their ear, no doubt partly in reproach for wandering off again without her, and maybe partly meant to be reassuring. This is followed several moments later by a low hiss and a series of light taps next to Inky's ear with her beak. Inky murmurs, "Is that so ... we should call it a wrap soon. Master Alex would probably be happy having Big Bother to himself anyway, to grill as he likes."

After a very long minute, Inky sighs and taking out a piece of paper and pencil from their suitcase, scribbles a "pome":

Island tower of towers
Nowhere everywhere the sea
Keep your apples and flowers
Your suitor has come for thee

They roll up the paper and tuck it into a small and clear glass bottle with a cork stopper. Murmuring the sysorcerer's name to the bottle, they lower it into the water and watch as the bottle drifts into the distance.

Walking along the shoreline and stopping a short distance from the lone figure, Inky says casually, "Good day, fellow thing-finder."

The figure turns in your direction and lowers their hood revealing a long, hooked, black beak and a face covered in black feathers. Beady black eyes regard you without blinking.

The feathers around its throat bristle when it speaks like a thick bristling beard.

"Greetings, Dreamer, and welcome to Ephemeris, the Heart of the Dreaming. What brings you to the Throne of Konsu?"

Well Kasutva, I may as well trust you. I imagine if you meant me harm there are more direct and interesting ways to harm me than to misguide me. Give me a moment to collect myself, I've never been much for swimming you see, learned late and was always deathly afraid as a child. Dreadful stuff really.

Alex steps away briefly to the edge of the pier and looks into the Azure blue ocean, a swirl of unending blue depth. Still not my thing, Alex mutters to himself. As he steels himself he notices a bottle adrift, nearing the pier. As it comes closer, he plucks it from the water, decorks it and inspects the note inside.

"What does it say" the little Kasutva inquires.

"Oh nothing, just someone trying to get in contact about our floating pirateships extended warranty" Alex replies bruskly. This definitely must have come from Inky Alex thinks to himself. They must have found the way.

"Look Kasutva, this has been great fun, but I really think I ought to be going, not really sure that a sea of anyones dreams is my sort of thing and all that. And I seem ot have done not but create a mess of things" Alex says as he gestures to the wreckage of the Mech. Alex gestures in the air before him, a small split keyboard appears in front of him and he types out a few short commands.

cat > /home/inky/messages/urgent <<EOF
Got your message
In a bit of a bind, wrapped up with some weird mushroom guy who wants to go for a swim.
Not sure how to handle it, but I might have to dip back to the real world and let you finish here.
I've made a write mess of things, but I trust you can finish this.

Oh, see attached, if you get into a pinch just use this spell, it'll get you what you need.

grep -A4 AID ~/messages/urgent | sed 's/AID//' | sh

AID
4b1af3fcf4ce005ef86d83c45713ba1a548b4e79da09a6d44632cdb6c5917489
d7d500fa37b986d931b70e114b4e67375b10b373aa6649641e7132e8b3dc7d18
ef6efe98ffd070f486c00b4f50d8bf1448414ef9c2fabe0cacd40bebafba8a02
1d0d1bf0188b842d9ae08b9b37b0f266936ef38b8f07e5c90e4a9351bf018898
EOF

"Right!" Alex exclaims startling the little Kasutva accidentally. "Time for me to head back to the real world. Anything you need from me before I head out? Oh also, can I take the ak74u? I think I might need it."

"Back ... back to the waking world?" Mushroom Kasutva stammers. "But..."

It looks out at the sea with a look of longing, confusion, and frustration. "But we were finally going to see Ephemeris," they say almost wistfully.

"You were going to take us to Ephemeris!" they shout at you, suddenly angry.

Mushroom Kasutva screws up its face and roars in rage as it rushes at you and tries to shove you over the edge of the pier into the waters below.

But Kasutva is less than a foot tall and quite ineffective at shoving a human-sized person such as Alex.

Big Kasutva, on the otherhand, is roughly twelve feet tall and quite capable of manhandling a human-sized person.

You look up in time to jerk back out of the way as they swipe at your chest with their face-removing knife. It was all a feint though. As soon as you are slightly off balance from dodging their attack, they reach out with their other hand and give you a shove.

You trip over Mushroom Kasutva, who has positioned themself in just such a way to best tangle up your feet. You stumble backwards a few steps until one of your feet steps out into open air. You twist and and look behind you as Ousia rises up to meet you.

Kasutva clings to your leg as you fall, crying. "We're sorry. We're sorry," they say over and over as you are pulled below the waves.

WHAT DO YOU DO

00066

"Thank you. May your search brings you good tidings." Inky replies with a smile and nod towards the sea.

"As to what brings me here, another traveller and myself have been summoned to the Harpoon Club at a Wandering Bazaar. However, despite uncovering the occasional biscuit tin or cotton candy wheel, my knack for thing-finding doesn't really extend to sentient bazaars in pocket dimensions." Inky chuckles wryly. "Might you happen to know the way?"

As they end their question, Inky slips their hands into the pockets of their hooded vest and is met with an envelope nestled within one of them. A message from Master Alex. The packet is a bit lumpy to the touch, as though there is a small round object inside. The sysorcerer may have decided to spend some quality time with his stalker after all. Must be lovely to have a dedicated fan. The two wouldn't mind if Inky went on a spot of sightseeing.

"Also, did you say the Throne of Konsu?" They glance in the direction of the large tower and back to the figure before them.

"Ah, you don't know the story of Lord Konsu?" The ravenfolk beckons you to walk with him as you talk. "In the beginning, nobody knew how to dream. There were no real people then. Just beasts and creatures and horrors.

"So at that point, every creature visited Ousia only twice: at the moment of birth, and at the moment of death. And all the time in between was spent longing to return to the sea."

At the ravenfolk's side, the world spins under your feet. In mere steps, you have made it to the base of the mountain jutting from the center of the island.

"And one day, Konsu did. He dreamed. He was the first. Each night he returned to the sea, and it swallowed his madness and his wildness. It evolved his mind. It is dreaming, you see, that makes you human.

"The sea claims everything though eventually. But you know this already. You crossed the sea. Surely you saw how it can work on dreamers who have tarried here too long."

Still the ravenfolk guides you onward until you arrive at the base of the fractal tower, all purple and yellow stones.

You step inside and find voluminous halls, walls lined with statues of all subjects. Fawns in revelry, elegant women in repose, terrible giants in agony, warriors standing at attention, leaping fish, and roaring lions.

He leads you through a labyrinth of empty halls, up grand stairs, across yawning vestibules and dizzying bridges suspended between towers as he continues to talk.

"Ousia works even on Konsu the Lord of All Dreams. Ephermeris is his throne, it's true. But it is also his prison. The island is Konsu, you see. He is no longer at liberty to roam his domain himself, in his own flesh. But perhaps you have already met one of his avatars? Morpheus? The Dude 215R? Kilroy? Hmm, yes, I see that you have.

"Well," he says pulling up short of an archway. You can hear voices and laughter and the clinking of dinnerware on the other side. "I believe we have arrived at your destination. I thank you for the company, and will leave you here."

The ravenfolk withdraws, disappearing once more into the maze of the tower.

You look through the archway and see a plush dinner club absolutely packed with patrons of all possible shapes and sizes. The Harpoon Club.

You catch somebody waving at you from a table in the far corner. Blavin Blandfoot. He grins and beckons you forward.

Joining him is a tall, slender cat person. Its facial features mostly obscured by its jet-black fur. And with their back to you, a wizened old man. The three of them are in the middle of a round of tumbrot, a complicated game of wagers---overly complicated, some would say---involving a special deck of cards, a set of dice, and a tumbling tower of blocks.

You watch as the cat reaches out and carefully removes a block from the middle of the tower. It places it on top, and the tower sways. The group at the table excitedly holds its breath, and when the tower falls, the cat holds its head in its hands in exaggerated dismay. The old man whoops and gathers up his winnings and then turns and looks over his shoulder in the direction that Blavin is waving.

Corraidhín the Sysorcerer grins and waves at you.

Alex pulls at the trigger of the ak and he plummets towards the waves sending a wave of cold lead towards the bigger Katsuva. "Son of a bitch, never trust someone who has to hide their face, agent 7, marvelo, always was right on that one." Hell, dunno if magical dream guns work on mushrooms, but to hell with it, Alex thought.

He plunges into the water gripping tightly to his weapon, the little katsuva clinging to him. As the water wraps around him he kicks at the little mushroom breaking its grasp on his leg, and begins to swim back up to the surface. "Like hell we're doing this your way cavatappi dude."

Back in the real world..

Marvelo stares bleakly at the child and his assailant. "Who the fuck do you think you are? And what the hell are you doing with the kid, Rind, ain't nothin good to come from some shady bloke like you. The hell do you think you're teaching him?"

As Marvelo hurls insults as demands at his assailant he slyly presses his thumb and forefinger into the palm of his left hand, breaking a small resistor embedded in his palm which activates as feint electrical pulse inside his body. Just enough to trigger a Zabbix alarm, which kicks off a series out automated correction scripts. A dose of adrenaline here, a quick alaert to the remaining agents with a broadcast LAT/LONG details via encrypted twtxt feed, but most importantly something special Alex had each agent prepare, just in case their luck ran out, an alarm only the damned could sleep through.

The screech of heavy metal music blares throughout the audio system of the warehouse, every alarm and speaker comes alive blaring heavy riffs of guitar and wicked drums fill the air while screaming echos around the building. Marvelo laughs maniacly as his uninvited guest reels at the unexpected turn of events.

"Alex! We caught him!" Marvelo yells through his laughing fit.

Gliftwirp frowns as the sirens wail in the fish market. He tightens the rope around Marvelo's neck. Deprived of oxygen, Marvelo struggles and then goes limp.

The hemogoblin in the corner trembles as an overpowering sense of JUSTICE sings in its veins. It gnashes its teeth and its bloodshoot eyes become pupil-less pools of red. A single word dances on the tip of its tongue.

It watches as Gliftwirp stands at the edge of the ritual circle, looking in. Pillows and blankets creep slowly toward the dreamers like slugs intent on smothering them.

The hemogoblin launches itself into the air with a cry of "EEEEE! VULL!" and lands on the assassin's back, sinking its teeth into the nape of his neck and reaching its claws around for his face.

Gliftwirp cries out in pain and surprise. His hands shoot back to pry the thing from his back even as he is propelled forward by the force of the attack.

Gliftwirp and the hemogoblin cross the circle of salt and ash and spill into the pillows in a heap and instantly both of them fall fast asleep.

An observer would almost think they were cuddling each other in their sleep. If it weren't, that is, for the goblin's claws, still sunk into the side of the warpwefter's face.

Rind, sired by the melon seller, abandoned by his own mother, and adopted by the assassin, watches all of this unfold. And sits down and strokes the duck's feathers.

~

Alex's ascent into the waking world is interrupted by a surge that tugs him sideways and off track. The presence of new arrivals in the stream, the tenuous connection between the waking and dreaming worlds held open by the Dream Sigil. Somebody beckoning him, summoning him.

He emerges from the void into an endless, featureless expanse. Plain, loose, dark soil as far as the eye can see, with only a small rock or two here and there to break up the monotony. The black empty sky looms ominously overhead.

Before you is a tall, slender person in voluminous robes of deep purple. Their soft, smooth face framed by curtains of long, straight, blonde hair. They wear a golden circlet on their head and a golden eye in the middle of their forehead. And in their hands they wield a resplendent longsword.

Shreds of a tattered red cloth lie strewn about their feet.

They lift their head at your appearance. "Alex," they say. "It is good that we finally meet. You have done me a great service in gathering pieces of my essence---including this, the Sword of Y'aml!---so that I may finally start to return to Basmentaria. You have done so much already, but I am afraid I must ask more of you still."

WHAT DO YOU DO

00067

In the fish market, the dreamers continue to sleep soundly through the ringing claxon alarms with nothing but maybe the twitch of a finger to indicate that they hear anything at all.

During the commotion with Marvelo and Gliftwirp, nobody but Rind noticed the thick rusty nail in the side of the candle wiggle its way out of the soft wax and clatter onto the plate at the base of the candle, the ringing of tin masked by the ringing of the claxon alarm.

Still the dreamers sleep.

Rind watches as the candle burns dangerously low. The mummified hand of the Nyxmaer in the base of the candle starts to wriggle, struggle, and strain against the softening wax. It stretches and reaches for the eye in the center of the candle.

Rind continues to soothe the duck and stroke its feathers. The child looks at the space where Gliftwirp and the hemogoblin stumbled into the circle, smudging the line of salt and ash, breaking the circle and severing its continuity. Making a small space for something to get in. Or out.

"Yo! Little cavatappi dude, where the hell are we?!" Alex's eyes scan the room rapidly. There's no water, aside from what he dragged in with his abrupt departure from the pier. The dark sky stretches into the nothingness of the void. Asthe robed figure begins speaks Alex takes note of his situation.

'Nowhere to hide, zero cover. A whole lot of nothing actually. It's one thing after another with this dream thing.'

As the figure finishes his address Alex nods politely. "I'll be honest my guy, I haven't the foggiest what you're talking about. Looks to me you've got the whole sword thing, all I've got is my trusty AK. I guess back top side, in umm I guess the real world, I did find a wonky dagger my uncle tried to hide. But I'm pretty sure that got eaten by a cute little hemogoblin while I was busy murdering ghost pirates. Anyways more to the point, I'm not quite sure I follow."

Alex pauses briefly and then continues, "You say you need to get out of here? Now that part I follow, me the hell too. I just got attacked by some freaky sadist mushroom that called itself katsuva. Cut its head clean off just so it could try and chuck me in the drink. Right unpleasant fella, but I think I lost him when, well, I got here, wherever that is."

"Now I don't know much, but I'm not much for trust after getting attacked by a talking mushroom monster. So if you'll excuse me, I reckon the exit is right about that way (Alex jabs his finger over his back away from the figure), and I'm inclined to head out unless you know a better way."

You weren't in the kobit caves with the rest of Retrieval Team 43, so you didn't see the reliefs. But every Basmentarian is familiar with the iconography of the Trine. This figure is dressed in the traditional rainments of Neddas, god of sages and starlight. Furthermore you recognize them from your dreams in the Milk Market.

Kasutva the small mushroom meeps and hides behind your leg.

"You know, we each of us loved you in our own way," Neddas says. "But of the three of us, I alone gave away pieces of my divinity. I wanted to see you thrive and grow strong.

"You've already found several pieces of my essence. Coin in the treasure hoard below the earth. Mirth in the shipwreck under the sea. And lore in the clouds atop Kelsun Peak.

"And of course you found justice," they say, looking at the sword. "This one got a little weird." The frown. "Became a little sentient, didn't it?" They press the blade of the sword to their chest and absorb it into their being. They sigh happily.

"You have found enough of my essence that I am able to start to materialize again. Not quite in Basmentaria yet. But here, a little bit.

"There are still two more pieces out there. If you can reunite all five crystals, I will be able to cross over into Basmentaria again.

"So yes, Alex. You are correct. It is time you head out. Return to Basmentaria. Find the remaining crystals, so that I may return and right the wrongs of the past. I will do what I can to assist you."

Inky waves back once, twice in greeting, before crossing their forefingers twice, touching a hand briefly to their chest, and strolling towards the restrooms.

Leaning against a wall outside of the rest area, out of sight from the main dining hall, Inky pulls out the message from Master Alex and reads it. Engagement confirmed, it seems. Also in the envelope is a smooth oval grey pebble with the letters "sh" carved onto it. A mini dousojin. How considerate of him.

Putting the envelope and pebble into a shorts pocket, Inky holds up a chewy blood berry biscuit, which they offer to the great horned owl patiently perched on their shoulder. "What if we just zip out now and have a walk around the towers? Do you think it will cause offence to the Grand Master of the realm?" Inky asks her. Fuko looks up from her treat and gives them a short series of disapproving clicks of her beak.

"He wants more 'intel'," Inky says. It isn't even a question.

On another occasion they would be glad to see Master Corraidhn animated and well --- when there wasn't a demanding curmudgeon on the other end of an absurd fishing expedition. The elder sysorcerer's presence in the Dreaming, illusion or otherwise, has effectively dashed any prospect of an early night out.

"Thirteen minutes. Only because Scoops likes you." Inky tells the owl.

They look down at their shirt with orange horizontal stripes, blue knee-length shorts, blue running shoes, and wordlessly declare the change of clothes suitable for fine non-dining. The noogle's drawstring pouch is knotted to a metal hoop on a pocket flap to one side of their shorts, having let loose a short mop of tousled red hair. A plush floofy duck keychain dangles next to the pouch.

Emerging from the hallway, the awkward, skinny youth with an owl approaches the far corner table.

You approach the far corner table, weaving your way through the crowded tables of the Harpoon Club.

"Inky!" Blavin chorttles merrily as you pull up a chair. The cat person nods politely at you and starts rebuilding the block tower.

Corraidhín watches the archway behind you as you enter. When nobody follows you into the Harpoon Club he frowns, tugs on his beard, and sits up straighter in his chair.

"You're alone?" Blavin observes. "No matter. Thank you so much for meeting us here! I trust it wasn't too much trouble? A little bit out of the way, I know. But it is so very hard to find a place away from prying eyes, isn't it?"

"Get to the point, Blavin." snaps Corraidhín.

"Quite right!" laughs Blavin, taking a sip of his drink. "Listen," he says, suddenly very serious. "It's time I came clean to you. You deserve that much. And besides, I think we can help each other. While it is true that I work for the Benefactor, I don't actually serve their interests. You see, I represent another party. A double agent they would call me in the spy novels." He waves his hand dismissively, as though somebody were making a fuss over him and he were embarrassed.

"As I'm sure you already know, our organization is called the Golden Iris. Like the Benefactor, our goal is to collect the Ginnarak Cystals. I know you've heard all the old stories. Together they could kill a god, blah blah blah." He sloshes his drink as the gestures. "But we think they've got it all wrong, Inky. That is, they have it backwards at least!"

Blavin leans in, his eyes shining. "The Golden Iris intends nothing less than creating a new god!"

"The Trine has been absent for years. We're going to restore the balance. Now you see why the mission is so important, Inky. We need the crystals."

"Now I know what you're going to say! It all sounds too fantastic. Yes well, that's why I brought along somebody whose credibility I know you'll trust!" He beams at Corraidhín.

The wizard sighs. "As far as I can tell, the hobbit is telling the truth."

Blavin grins as Corraidhín continues.

"The Golden Iris is trying to elevate Sitopotnia, the Corn Mother, to godhood. Which I admit makes a certain kind of sense. She's the only mortal to have created life after all. Kind of the ideal candidate for the job to be honest.

They've hitched an odd team of mules to their buggy to help them. And they're managing to drag the thing forward despite all pulling in slightly different directions. The Cyberplasms want new bodies. The Gnu Zealots want to open source the process so everybody can create new gods. And I don't actually know what the BAND wackos want."

Corraidhín shrugs, "I don't have a particular dog in this fight. The Benefactor was able to excise the, ahem, 'anomaly' that happened at the SS RSS. Including the second crystal, which is currently in his possession, and my body, which is still technically back at the institute and still under the care of Felixe here." The black cat gives another polite nod. Having completed building the tumbling tower, it is now shuffling the tumbrot cards, face down, around on the table.

"Felixe is Basmentaria's preeminent expert in preserving entities that happen to exist between two states. Or that happen to exist in two states at the same time.. Bah, it's complicated," Corraidhín huffs.

"Yes!" interrupts Blavin. "Now! Despite working closely with him all this time, I am actually none the wiser as to the Benefactor's actual plans for the crystals. I just know we need them more.

"Inky, you must retrieve the remaining crystals. And also the one in the Benefactor's possession. And deliver them to us so we may usher in a new age for Basmentaria!"

Felixe the cat deals the cards out to the center of the table, face down, in a cross. Three across, three high. It sets the remainder of the deck aside and looks at you expectantly.

WHAT DO YOU DO?

00068

The fingertips of the Nyxmaer graze the eye and an eldritch wind begins to howl inside the fish market.

It whips around and around inside the ritual circle, flipping blankets and tossing pillows. The dreamers also toss and turn in their sleep, but still do not wake. The foul wind tugs at their hair and at their clothing.

The small candles around the edge of the circle go out, plunging the room into near darkness. The dark flame of the demon candle sputters.

The wind screams as it pushes through the small smudged gap in the circle and out onto the floor of the market. It coils around Rind's feet and teases at the hem of the child's dress. It ruffles the duck's feathers.

The fingertips flick over the eye, caress it, draw it close. And finally its fist closes tightly around it.

The last candle goes out, plunging the room into darkness. The wind and the sirens stop all at once, and in the silence all that can be heard is the steady rain outside.

"Look Trine or not, I need a little more than this. I ain't nobodies errand boy, and insofar as I can tell either the Gods are dead, or they haven't given a rats ass about me or anyone else. What's more, you're claiming to be some sort of divinity, yet you can only manifest here amongst my nightmares, the same ones I learned years ago to shut out. You never forget the face of your first mark, but what they don't tell you is it doesn't have to haunt you either." Alex looks directly at the apparition.

"But I'm reasonable too. Give me some proof you say what you are. You say you have power to share? Well power I need. I have people to protect, and an unclue to rescue. I'll be damned if I let anything happen to them. Yet here I am, stuck in this god firsaken place chittering away with my own subconcious getting attacked by freaking mushrooms people."

"Just give it to me straight Neddas, what assistance are you offering, and what must I give in return? If you an guarantee me a way to protect those close to me, I don't give a rats ass about the rest."

Neddas silently holds your gaze for a long moment.

"What you ask of me is fair, since I am asking so much of you."

They hold out their hands and present you with a stone amulet. It slightly resembles the Ginnarak Crystals. Much smaller. And more almond shaped than melon shaped. But it is the same shade of blue, with the same veins of slightly pulsating gold throughout. It hangs from a fine chain of small silver links.

"As long as this stone is in your possession, you will find you have the courage to do what you think is right. Be aware that it is a piece of me. And those who know about it will try to take it from you."

In the distance you can hear alarms and terrible moans carried on a howling wind.

~

Corraidhín impatiently flips over the first three tumbrot cards in front of Inky:

1. A tall man looks from a battlemented roof over sea and shore; he holds a globe in his right hand, while a staff in his left rests on the battlement; another is fixed in a ring. The Rose and Cross and Lily should be noticed on the left side.

2. Strange chalices of vision, but the images are more especially those of the fantastic spirit.

3. A ferryman carrying passengers in his punt to the further shore. The course is smooth, and seeing that the freight is light, it may be noted that the work is not beyond his strength.

Felixe the Cat passes the two six-sided tumbrot dice to Inky and recites a small pome for the inkling:

In the superior world it is
A young man, leaning on his
to indicate therein. It is
speaking, to the traditional
red standard has been

You can suddenly hear an ominous wind whistling outside the club and battering at the windows.

"Well?" Balvin prompts. "What do you do?"

00069

Inky offers the cat person a bemused half-smile, then turns to the sysorcerer. "We hope you are well. Young Master Alex has been searching for you. He had planned on coming, but had to attend to an urgent matter on short notice."

A pause, then Inky slides an open envelope --- a plain affair with a grid of tiny blue dots, and a single sheet of a similar pattern inside --- across the table towards the wizard. They continue, "If there is anything you wish to tell him, you can write it in a language only you two understand and seal the envelope. This one will do their best to pass on the message." They wave another identical envelope, indicating the message will be copied once sealed before pocketing it again.

"If you do decide to write, please do it promptly. This one will be departing shortly, and the envelope in front of you will disappear," they inform the sysorcerer with an apologetic look and a tinge of sadness.

To the self-proclaimed double agent, Inky replies, "Thanks for the information. Master Alex will be positively ecstatic with the news." They send the hobbit a lopsided smile. "Nevertheless, you will understand if the party would like to consider your proposal further before providing an answer. Haste makes waste, as proverbs say. Perhaps your pirate captain would agree. My condolences."

Ignoring the proffered dice, Inky bids the group at the table good evening and exits the club by the same route with which they had entered, trying to stave off the growing unease at the back of their mind.

~

Three corridors later, one with a high vaulted ceiling away from the din of the gambling club, Inky slows their brisk trot and hands Fuko the envelope. The owl grips the item, dives down and drops it onto the thick carpet. She places the back of one feet lightly over a corner of the envelope, deftly slicing open the top layer along one edge with a claw. Working quickly, she pulls out the contents with her beak, smoothing out the sheet with a brush of her wings. Next, she flies in a slow circle above the papers a few times before descending again upon the papers and dragging them into a cake tin. Finally, the bird pops the lid over the container, where the paper within turns into dry compost.

"It's confidential. Please do not decode." Inky says as a reminder from their spot near the end of the corridor.

Fuko levels an unimpressed look at her companion, as if to say, Yes, for the twenty-fourth time. Inky smiles back at her and asks, "Is your boss satisfied now?" The smile widens briefly at the indignant screech and clicks in response, then vanish as the events of the past few moments caught up to them again. Here in a hallway brightly lit by glow lamps away from any windows, the howling winds are a distant echo, but it did not stop Inky from wondering.

It had been a risk, dallying around longer to give the elder wizard time to say his piece in writing. No one could have missed the disappointment written clearly on his face when he realised his nephew hadn't come. Now, from Fuko's sparse recount of what their tails had found, the candle had burned down, releasing something somewhere, yet none of the others had woken up. It would appear that Master Alex had not left the Dreaming at all, but was in another area doing Neddas-only-knows-what.

They stare up at the large central chandelier in the next room with thousands of crystal beads that gleam like tiny droplets suspended in the air. Orange shirt and blue shorts have since been replaced with a red brimmed hat and blue duffel coat, the drawstring pouch tied below the collar, and running shoes with red rain boots. The mess of ginger hair is trimmed to a caramel crop.

When the owl settles again on their shoulder, stirring Inky from their thoughts, they collect the cake tin, remove the lid and look inside. From a pocket of their coat, they pull out three seeds and nudge them with two fingers into the soil. Descending a flight of stairs, Inky sets the dousojin, grown to the size of a boulder, and the tin on a side table. They pour seaweed tea into the tin from a glass bottle, then refill the bottle with small fish-shaped crackers, corking and placing it beside the tin.

"Thank you, Great Spirit. This useless one will take their leave now, and apologises if they have accidentally 'left the door open' for something to blow in that should not be here." Inky says.

They turn to the great horned owl. "Impeccable as ever, both of you. Thanks for coming along tonight. You may go, Fuko. When you wake yourself or with Futa's help, please get into the carrier as quickly as you can, activate the connection and leave immediately. Sever it as soon as you arrive safely. Forget about pulling off the patch under my forearm, it can be delivered later, or he can have the body sent over eventually. Leave and don't look back." Then, more airily, "Should we meet again, Inky the Insolent shall bring you a large 'rat at two eels'. How's that for a handsome reward?"

~

Alex takes the amulet solemnly "Alright, now that's something I can believe in." he says as he turns the locket over in his hand. The golden veins shimmer and pulse inside of the pale blue. Alex dons the necklace, noting that the stone is warm, almost exactly body temperature. "Alright Neddas, you've got yourself a deal. I'll finish assembling the crystals, we'll haul you back out to Basementaria. And it sounds like we're cracking a few eggs along the way thanks to this".

The howling interrupts, growing louder, becoming a cacaphony of tormented banshee wails. The gray expanse of sand fills with a vile wind, a thick almost physical wall of dark black smog closes in. Neddas, is nowhere to be found.

Alex dips down and scoops up the little Katsuva, tucking him into the ruck sack at his side. "Hang tight little guy, I think the ride out of here's going to get bumpy.."

In a single swift motion Alex pulls back the bolt on his AK74u and levels it at the smog, letting loose a sustained volley of gunfire. Bullets whiz with a defeaning RATATATAT. While laying down suppressing fire, he pulls the little console back up to his side with a short wave of the hand. A single command is all he needs here.

When Alex pulls up his terminal he sees a notification blinking in the corner of the screen. A message from Corraidhín?

The howling wind abruptly stops and the smog quickly dissipates.

~

In the fish market, Alex and Inky both wake with a start, gasping for breath as though drowning.

It is dark. The lights are all out but it looks as through Marvelo has dropped some flairs on the ground. They fill the room with an eerie, crackling red glow.

It is not quiet. The antiques dealer / spymaster has a couple of cords of rope and a couple loose blankets coiled around his arms and legs. He is shaking them off while screaming obscenities and repeatedly firing a blaster pistol at a large, roaring abomination standing in the center of the room.

The nightmare has an almost fetal-looking head with a long, bulbous skull that looks far too large for its body. A single eye glares malevolently from the center of its small face. Oily feathers drip from a thin, sagging membrane that runs from wrist to ankle. Its leathery skin cracks and oozes from repeated shots to the torso from Marvelo's blaster, but it seems unbothered by the attack.

It screeches and lunges forward and swings one massive arm at Marvelo. Its leathery, feathery wing slices through the air like a billowing cape behind its claws. Marvelo jumps to the side at the last moment, firing another shot right into the creature's chest while in midair, and lands on the ground.

Now prone and helpless on the floor, he looks up as the beast looms over him. It screeches and falls on top of him, shoving its slender hands into his mouth. Marvelo's muffled screams become pitiful whimpers as the creature pulls out teeth by the handful and crams them into its own mouth.

WHAT DO YOU DO?

00070

Alex scrambles up from the pile of blankets and pilows kicking things away from him in haste as he grabs at his shoulder holster, pulling out a sleek looking m1911 pistol.

"Marvelo! Hang on mate I've got you!" Alex yells as he empties a clip into the side of the creature. click click "Fuck out." Alex pulls the clip from the pistol and chucks it at the creature "Hey you ugly fuck! Right here, I'm right the fuck here!" Alex shouts as he slams another clip into the reciever and starts to fire away at the creature.

Despite the yelling and flurry of lead Alex delivered to it the creature continued it's macabre dental work. Marvelo's whimpers and groans of pain becoming gradually fainter as life leaves his body.

"Goddamit!" Alex yells in desperation. Another death on his hands, another agent lost on his watch. Another member of HIS team gone. This job never gets easier.

Alex continues to fire away at the creature as he attempts to formulate a plan.

"Inky, look, I don't know what the hell that is. But it's intent on tearing us to pieces insofar as I can tell. Marvelo and I rigged the entire goddamn building to blow though, just in case shit went to hell. Unless you've got a better idea I'll tackle the goddamn thing and try and keep it distracted long enough for you to bug the hell out, preferably through the window if you can stomach it. And then I'll level the place on top of it" Alex grimaces as he pulls a detonator from his pocket and shows it to Inky.

"If you have any better ideas I am ALL ears. Not sure if I can really pull this one off and get out unscathed.."

~

<!-- Meta: CW for graphic violence. -->

Inky stares at the creature in their midst in all its exquisitely monstrous glory for a brief moment that seems much longer amid the creature's ear-splitting screeches. Eventually coming to, Inky turns to check the birdhouse. More specifically, the pattern of circles next to the doors. Through the dim red glow, they could make out three circles alternating between dark and light. The door had been bolted from the inside, the interior was empty and the secure drop back to the lab had been triggered. Fuko had already left then.

Suddenly recalling the witch's warning, Inky yells, "Bread! Run! We'll catch up later!" They grab the bouquet of dried herbs from the floor and spring to their feet, walking stick in hand, and dash towards the Nyxmaer candle. On the way they drop the bouquet into an unlit brazier that stood off to one side, only pausing briefly to strike a match and toss it through the opening.

Between the loud bangs of gunfire and muffled screams, they bring the steel-reinforced stick down hard on the mummified hand and eye several times quickly. Pushing the remains off the tin plate with the walking stick then tucking the stick under one arm at the handle, they run a kitchen knife through the eye and hand with both gloved hands into the wooden surface beneath.

The flowery scents of sage, thyme and rosemary permeate the room.[1]

Looking over to the sysorcerer when he spoke but still keeping the creature within their line of sight, Inky replies, "No, Master Alex. You have a team to lead and an uncle to rescue. Allow me to do the demolition honours. Go grab Marvelo and run. Here," they toss a small packet of pain relievers in powdered form wrapped in wax paper from their first-aid kit, along with a small cheesecloth pouch filled with nilgiri tea leaves --- still sopping wet from the flask of iced tea in which it had been steeped --- to Master Alex. "This should help with the bleeding, just watch out for shock."

They smile at the sysorcerer. "All dreams end eventually, as do nightmares. And what is darkness without light?" While speaking, they drop a bundle of twigs and sweet grass[2] on top of the candle remains that still sat on the thick wooden slab of a rusty metal office desk. They pour a flask of a clear liquid over it. The pile suddenly erupts like a bonfire over a pyre, throwing shadows on the walls that dance and lick away with the crackling flames.

1

ward off evil or cleanse negative energies, thyme to induce courage and guard against nightmares, and rosemary to clear and focus the mind.

2

such as when helping their young relatives move into a new home for the first time with a housewarming ritual.

~

Alex glances at Inky as he takes the offered medicines, "only use that as a last resort, got it? We've got a couple of innocents in here too, hard to keep track of with that big ass monster in here."

Alex continues laying down covering fire as he advances on the monster. He casts a glance over his shoulder to see Inky begin smashing the eye and hand that were embedded in the candle. "Strange, but I guess it makes about as much sense as the rest of this situation."

Alex lunges forward, teeth gritted, as he tackles the monster pushing it off of Marvelo. He struggles with it, attempting to blast the eye of the beast with his pistol.

Alex rains bullets down on the nightmare until he finally gets its attention. It turns from its bloody work and glares at him with its single emerald eye, teeth dribbling from the tiny face in the middle of its oversized, bulbous head. There is a grinding noise like rocks in a tumbler as it tries to roar at you around a mouthful of loose molars.

From its crouch over Marvelo, it leaps high into the air and spreads its limbs, pulling its wings taut and gliding through the air.

It lands on the ceiling, digging in with its hind claws, reaching down and swinging at Alex from behind.

Bread staggers out of the sleeping circle looking exactly as hungover as somebody who has had several interlopers gallivanting around inside their head. They swing a bardiche and bury the blade between its shoulders, striking bone so hard that it rips the weapon from the toque's hands.

The Nyxmaer squeals and falls to the floor, spilling a few more teeth when it hits. It knocks Bread aside and frantically scrabbles after the loose teeth, scooping them up and cramming them back in its mouth.

Just then Inky stabs the artifacts and the creature clutches its head and falls in a heap at Alex's feet.

It howls and writhes, and looks at Alex with a dazed look. He raises his gun and fires directly into the nightmare's eye.

The eye shatters like glass and a howling, screaming, putrid wind screams from the wound, rising and filling the room. The nightmare seems to deflate and pool at Alex's feet.

Its flesh sloughs off, revealing Rind and the marketing manager in the center of its torso, and leaving them in an unconscious pile.

Marvelo babbles incoherently where he lies, wide-eyed and in shock, his jaw hideously broken.

The hemogoblin hops over and gently pats Rind and the duck on their faces.

Gliftwrip is the only one still asleep, face down in the pillows in the center of the circle.

A malevolent force rides the still howling wind and hovers screaming up near the ceiling of the fish market.

WHAT DO YOU DO?

00071

Neddas loves mortals. Possibly more than they love themself. It's why they've diminished their own divinity over the eons by freely giving parts of themself away---gifting tiny aspects of themself to the mortals. Part of their constant delight in doing so is that even with their divine wisdom they can never quite be sure what any mortal or mortals will actually do with a sliver of godhood, with a divine spark. Consequently they have a lot of experience with giving what they thought is a perfect gift only for it to be misused, or for it to backfire in some unexpected way.

The Sword of Y'aml is a prime example. Justice without Wisom turned out to be a cruel weapon, seeing evil everywhere and smiting it on sight. And Wisdom itself proved as impotent as Justice was overzealous: it became as cold and as cruel in its own way, locked away in ivory towers, refusing to intervene, made lame by theory and academia.

So now, in this moment, Neddas watches closely to see if they finally got it right. Does this mortal have not only the Wisdom to know what to do, but also the Courage to do it in the name of Justice?

Alex rushes to Marvelo's side and quickly begins to administer medicine to him. "Sorry old friend, it's not much considering the wound, but it should help you at least stay lucid" Alex says as he administers the medicine Inky gave him. He takes quick stock of Marvelo's wound, most of his teeth are gone, his jaw is horribly disfigured, it's doubtful if it'll heal properly. At best he'll need prostethics, potentially a full mechanical jaw. It is essentially a death knell in this kind of work, the perfect normality Marvelo had always strove for would be forever marred by his sudden abnormality. Alex shakes his head, "It's fine Marv, I'm positive we can get this fixed, no worse than at wound Agent 3 took in Cosovo, remember that one? Hell of a thing that" Alex grins grimly, casting a glance over his shoulder. "Alright, you should be set old friend, best I can do for now." Alex hands him back his blaster and sits him up against the wall, the bleeding staunched, but the magled jaw not much better.

Alex stands, reloads his pistol, and turns to face the malevolent apparition.

"I don't know who the fuck you think you are, or what the fuck you think you're doing. But nobody, and I mean nobody, messes with my agents, my friends." Alex approaches the apparition, pistol gripped in one hand, and the crystal pendant Neddas gave him held tight in the other. "Alright Neddas, you said you'd give me something I could protect my friends with. Don't think I believe in it much, but I'd of said until about 15 minutes ago that candles don't produce macabre dentists either." Alex stands before the apparition, daring it to move, come and try me if you dare.

Alex faces down the howling apparition---pistol in one hand, amulet in the other---daring and defiant.

The wind engulfs him, swirls around him, wraps him in its embrace, and presses him to its bosom.

While Master Alex faces the screaming presence overhead, Inky steps over to where Marvelo is slumped against the wall. Working quickly, they wipe the blood on the agent's face with a clean kerchief and antiseptic, then gently realign the shattered jaw, wrapping bandages around his head to hold it in place. They pull a blanket laying on the ground nearby over his body before getting to their feet again.

At the mention of Neddas, they tense minutely before turning away to stand in a corner, gloved hands in their coat pockets, a quiet witness to the ensuing confrontation.

Inky continues to patch up Marvelo and watches as the nightmare chooses its new vessel.

Flesh and bone start to materialize around Alex as the Nyxmaer tries to encase him in its ribcage and grow a new body.

The creature starts to take shape, but falters at the threshold of creation. It appears to you as though through a smoky haze, or from the bottom of a murky well. Something is holding it back from materializing.

It thrashes and redoubles its efforts, desperate to be born. Alex stands still in the eye of its storm. You see the Nyxmaer's tiny face take shape in the small cyclone. It roars as Alex lifts the amulet, and fires his pistol.

The demon's pinched face wails as the wind no longer presses in on Alex from all sides but is suddenly yanked toward him. The struggling body collapses and folds in on itself. The wind goes out of the room as the amulet inhales the Nyxmaer and all its fury.

And then all is quiet.

Marvelo looks up at Inky and whimpers.

A heavy paper envelope, disturbed by the wind, settles to the ground. It was torn open in the commotion, and two tickets spill out: "The bearer of this ticket is entitled to an all expenses paid trip to the moon." It is signed by Blavin Blandfoot and bears the seal of the Benefactor.

WHAT DO YOU DO

00072

Alex grabs the envelope from in front of him and rushes to check on Inky and Marvelo. "Are you two alright?" he asks as he notes the patch job Inky performed. "Thank you Inky, I understand why my uncle trusted you so much." he said sincerely. Inky was far better a healer than Alex could ever hope to be.

He steps away, noting there's not much he can do after Inky gives their response. Marv is stable, but not much a talker at the moment. He proceeds to check on the duck, the child Rind, and the hemogoblin. The little hemogoblin burbbles happily and climbs up to sit on Alex's shoulder, tugging lightly at the cord which suspended the gem Neddas gave him, now worn around his neck. "Best not mess with that one little one, I'm not sure what the hell just happened, but I don't trust it. Or any of this eldritch mumbo jumbo.."

Rind is quiet pensive, and doesn't respond much when Alex attempts to interact. "Inky, do you think you can look after this one when you get a second? I'm going to check on the sleeping bloke."

Alex carefully makes his way back towards the circle, making sure not to cross over it. He quietly inspects their unwelcomed guest.

"I don't know who you think you are, but I ought to put a bullet through your skull where you lay you sick son of a bitch. How dare you sneak up on my friends like that." Alex racks his pistol, noting there's a bullet in the chamber, and levels it at the silk assassin. "Inky, unless you have objections, I'm going to tie up some loose ends.." Alex says grimly.

~

"It's just basic first aid, Master Alex. Any old adventuring sod on the street can do it. Thank you for the thought, though." Inky replies. "However, very few people can pull off what you just did. That was a remarkable feat."

They take a long look at the child, then beckon their marketing manager closer, crouching down next to them to speak softly and slowly to the child. "I guess you've already met duck. You're friends, right? But did you know that duck is a really good listener? Whenever you're sad or scared, you can tell duck. Duck always knows what to do. If you let duck give you a hug, duck can help you feel better too." They guide the child's hands to the duck's back and let them rest there, watching for a moment as small, thin fingers begin to stroke the feathers of their own accord.

At the sysorcerer's direct address, they look over to him and their slumbering visitor's form. "Do as you like, Master Alex." Inky says tonelessly. They add in a low voice, "In all likelihood he will be unable to cause trouble this side again. If he has not woken up now that the candle's spell has broken, he probably never will. Maybe justice has already been served, or the Scissorfolk got to him. Mercy is an unpopular idea of late though, and I'm hardly in a position to ask anyone to ponder its meaning."

They frown at the body. "Speaking of which, the ever-resourceful case manager has another proposal for you to consider, having gone as far as to recruit a local celebrity you know well to speak to his cause. His group, the Golden Iris, wants the crystals for the purpose of conferring divinity upon the Corn Mother Sitopotnia and making knowledge of the process available to all. No doubt he'll be expecting a response to his offer soon. But I see you have already made your choice." Inky offers the sysorcerer a resigned smile.

The sound of tapping on glass interrupts Inky's next words. They look in the direction of the window to see the scops owl outside with a weatherproof pouch in its beak. Inky walks over to the window, wedging it open just wide enough to allow the bird to hop in and takes the pouch. A tiny smirk makes its way to Inky's face when they return the owl's searching stare, despite an attempt to look stern and failing. "He let you out, hmm? All right, in a minute," Inky murmurs to the newly arrived messenger, while pulling out an envelope from the pouch. As the small owl sets itself on the imp's right shoulder like it belonged there, said imp half-turns to Master Alex, expression serious again.

"One more thing." They place the detonator, followed by the envelope, on top of a stack of pillows a few paces from the sysorcerer. It is identical in appearance to the one they had presented to Master Corraidhín in the Dreaming.

"Since you weren't at the meeting, I offered to take a message from your uncle presumptive. Fuko's caretaker has a contraption that can print copies of notes written on special paper after showing them to the twins. It has come in handy on occasion in remote areas with few or no amenities," Inky explains. "Anyway, I don't know if he wrote anything, or if he was truly Master Corraidhín. Fuko handled the rest and I didn't ask her amid the hustle. It could be a blank sheet and everything I just said was probably a terrible joke. He did seem genuinely glum you couldn't be there, though." They shrug. "You know what to do from here. Now, if you'll excuse me, I would very much like some fresh air." With those parting words and walking stick in hand, Inky strides quickly from the room, out of the dilapidated building and into the drizzling rain.

~

Alex gripped his pistol as Inky walked away, her words ringing in his ears "you have already made your choice. The statement brings pause, a flicker of doubt, and a frown mars Alex's face. As Inky shuts the door behind her Alex lets out a discontented sigh, what was it Uncle had said?

"A man's fate, is wrought by his own hand"

Alex looked at the sleeping man before him, the pistol in his hand, Marvelo's blood spattered haphazardly across his gloves and trench coat. Was more blood really the answer? Would killing this man right the wrong done against Alex? Or his agents? Would their dangerous game get any less dangerous?

A single shot rang out from the warehouse, the bullet lodge harmlessly amongst pillows and blankets. The pistol cast aside, resting next to the bestilled assassin, with a small note afixed to it.

'Your fate is wrought by your own hand, not mine. - Agent 4'

Alex gathers himself, discontented, and pulls the letter Inky gave him open. Inside was Uncle's familiar writing, in the simple cypher he'd used when Alex was just a boy.

I have only a moment to pen this, and I don't know if it'll reach
you, but I trust Inky will try.

I am very much alive, rest assured, but the where I haven't yet
pieced together. Blavin has my physical and metaphysical form
trapped. And he has the second crystal.

But don't worry, if you're looking as Inky claimed, I rest well
knowing my unrelenting rebel will raise hell itself to find me.

Remember, son, we write our own fate.

- 10

Alex shakes as he folds the letter back into the envelope and presses it gently against his breast coat pocket. "I'm coming Uncle", he whispers as he strides across the room and into the rainy night.

He catches up with Inky a little down the dock, and comes to sit beside her on the wharf. The patter of rain hitting heavily dampened planks and stone resounding around them.

"Inky.. thank you. For the letter, but also your friendship." Alex casts a side long glance towards Inky, and he begins to describe his dream sequence in a rambling sort of way. As he nears the end, "And that Neddas gave me this stone, he said gesturing to the necklace he wore. But I'd of told you it was bullshit before any of this happened. And now you're telling me there are factions, Blavin, the Benefactor, hell I guess us, all vying for control of these crystals. I don't know what to do, or what any of it means, but I know we can forge our own path in this, the rest of it be damned!"

Alex sighs heavily. "I couldn't kill the assassin. He killed one of my men, almost killed Marvelo. He'd of killed us if he hadn't gotten caught in that magic. I don't know if I have it in me Inky, I'm not sure I can keep staring into the abyss without tipping over the edge."

"Everything was a little easier when it was just the agency, hunting down the bad guys. We had the data, knew the crimes. All of this though?" he gestures broadly towards the sea in front of them "is about as clear as a ship on these waters. There's no light to guide us. And all I want is my Uncle back."

Alex sighs heavily again and hands the envelope from Blavin to Inky, "and it doesn't look like it ends here, Blavin wants us to head to the moon, but I'm not so sure we should go.."

~

The imp remains quiet for a long time, staring out into the open sea.

Eventually, Inky says, "I cannot tell you what to do."

They look at the envelope but make no move to take it.

"You already have the Fair One's blessing. Combined with your talents, fortitude and determination, success is more or less assured if you decide to go. If you decide not to, maybe Master Corraidhín will turn up on his own again when he is sufficiently recovered --- if he does not run off to collect the remainder of the crystals himself." Inky chuckles at that. "Master Alex is such a thoughtful nephew, not wanting to deprive his uncle of his fun."

They lean back on their hands and study Master Alex under half-lidded eyes. "You really are like your uncle." A few beats pass, and they turn their attention upwards to the sky, tilting their head up towards the errant raindrops and cool winds blowing in from across the waters.

In the days that follow, you move Marvelo into the Milk Market to care for him during his recovery.

The reclusive Blacksmith of Vay'Nullar (a dwrlugh who---as is traditional among its kind---refuses to go by any given name) makes a rare appearance outside of its forge to present Marvelo with a new artificial jaw made of polished granite and bronze. An exquisite gift that more than settles an old debt owed from an adventure the two of them shared long ago.

It will never be mistaken for flesh, but it does somewhat complement the golden tones of Marvelo's skin. With the skill of a surgeon, and a level of craftmanship unique to the dwrlugh, the Blacksmith affixes the jaw to Marvelo's bones with small metal screws, and lengthens and sews his muscles to the contraption so that it operates naturally, just like the real thing.

Marvelo grows stronger as the days go by. His recovery is no doubt accelerated by the hemogoblin, who provides ample transfusions and refuses to leave his bed. Confidence and Bread continue to help out around the place, and take turns checking in on him.

Though he will ever be physically scarred by his encounter with the Nyxmaer, Marvelo soon enough is able to eat and drink on his own. Soon after that he is puttering around the Milk Market and growing restless at his confinement.

Kasutva falls in with Quack and Clot and attains the rank of Milk Market Mascot. They have a better command of language than their companions. And, being an escapee dream entity, at times behaves a little alien, inscrutible, and other-wordly. They don't sleep, for example. And every morning they demand a full recounting of everybody's dreams, omitting nothing, and sometimes requiring up to three retellings of each dream. But they otherwise settle right right in.

Another curious presence in the Milk Market is Rind. The orphaned child of Pepo the melon vendor. Abandoned by his mother. Adopted by Gliftwirp the assassin. The child has still not uttered a word the entire time. Rind and the duck have formed an inseparable bond. Apparently becoming a conjoined host for a living dentophiliac nightmare will do that. Whenever you least suspect it, you'll turn around to find Rind standing behind you, silent, wide-eyed, and watching. Cradling the duck in his arms and stroking its feathers.

Gliftwirp has still not responded to any attempts to wake him. The toques have assumed responsibility for sustaining him through his unnatural slumber. Feeding him broth, and carrying him outside now and then for fresh air and sunshine. More kindness than Alex is comfortable with, no doubt. Rind visits him often in the storage closet where his cot is set up. Keeping a silent, watchful vigil. Rind's apparent affection for the assassin is actually probably the only reason Gliftwirp is shown any compassion whatsoever by Team 43.

Your next mission looms ahead of you. Putting your heads together with Marvelo and Confidence, you agree that the most simple way forward will be to use the pirate balloonship currently docked above the Market. It is straight-forward enough to retrofit it with a portable atmosphere (which will provide you with breathable oxygen and gravity) and a starhelm (which will allow you to pilot the ship through the void of space). Both items can be obtained in Vay'Nullar for a reasonable price.

The only thing holding you back at this point is your own reservations about the various interested parties and their motivations.

Do you help the Golden Iris create a new god? Or do you help an existing, exiled god return to Basmentaria? And then who knows what the mysterious Benefactor's plans are?

Whatever your answer, there's one thing you know: If you don't get moving soon, the next Ginnarak Crystal will fall into somebody else's hands.

WHAT DO YOU DO

00073

<!-- CW: angst -->

Tess looked up as Ink entered her office. Attired in a dark grey suit, nondescript save for a small silver owl pin adorning the collar, her adviser's face held an impassive expression as they returned her probing gaze. Her secretary stood to one side, but Tess did not miss the apologetic look she gave Ink as the imp approached the desk, a broad polished presence carved from aged cypress. Tess pursed her lips further in a displeased frown.

"Ink, what's this about another temporary leave request?" she tapped the form on her desk with a gold-plated fountain pen bearing a miniature cloisonné butterfly on its cap, and pinned her adviser with a hard stare. "Does this have something to do with the crystals again?"

"Yes, is something the matter?" Ink asked.

Tess's expression turned furious. "Salvia told me everything. When you started on this wild duck chase, we agreed you will keep me informed at all times. Not only did you fail to do so, your little game has led to the manager's death at the Runesocesius. For this alone, the theatre could be liable for damages as a result of your recklessness. I asked you to retrieve a set of notebooks and source material for the play, not to reduce sections of their library to ashes. And that's not counting the number of eyewitness accounts claiming you forcibly kidnapped two of the hotel employees in a pirate airship. A pirate airship that is currently moored over that dingy bakery you like to shamelessly promote in the magazine."

The elf shot her adviser a withering look before continuing, "You jeopardised the theatre's good standing with the hotel, all for the sake of a shiny piece of stone. Did you even think before you acted? As if all that hadn't been foolish enough, you decided to enter a dream ritual while being pursued by a serial killer. A child would have better sense than that."

Tess sighed. "We're extremely fortunate the hotel has decided not to pursue compensation for damages. We also managed to keep most of the stories along with the rumours from appearing in the tabloids, but this has got to stop now, Ink. You are to cease all involvement with those cursed crystals immediately. Stop going on these so-called missions. I have been very patient with you, even to indulge you and your fantasies about the crystals and their supposed potential to level entire cities. The city is fine, the operetta house is still standing, and it's time you return to work."

She sat back in her chair and eyed Ink critically. "As a reminder, I do expect my employees to actually be present, not traipsing around Basmentaria playing the intrepid hero. Save that for the stage if you want. Is that clear?"

"Perfectly so," Ink replied, "but I'd still like that temporary leave all the same, if you don't mind. Most of the preliminary details for the Cast Iron series have been finalised, and Salvia can check on things in the meantime."

"Ink---" she warned.

"Tess, we found out something important about the crystals. Once collected and its powers replicated, everyone could create their own deity. Imagine having your very own gourmand deity to make the most divine meals every day, or a goddess of operetta serenading the halls every night. Wouldn't that be wonderful? When the crystals have been secured, obviously. The next one is on the moon---"

The elf had enough. "Ink! Stop this madness! Do you even hear what you're saying?" she thundered, raising her voice in annoyance and no small amount of anger. Reining in some of her irritation, she continued in a more measured tone. "You've not been yourself lately. Frankly, I'm starting to wonder if you're in any condition to continue in your position as my adviser and asset manager, given your recent pattern of reckless behaviour, disregard for the safety of others and poor judgement."

She watched Ink's face for any sign of embarrassment, remorse, anything to indicate her message had gotten through. Instead, the imp had the audacity to look astonished, before nodding once.

"Wonder no more." they said.

From their suit jacket pocket, they removed a pair of identification key cards and set them on her desk.

"Thank you, Lady Elvesier. It has been a pleasure." Ink bowed their head, before turning on their heels and exiting the office, the door closing soundlessly behind them.

Salvia turned her gaze from the door back to her employer, distressed. "My Lady," she started.

Tess shook her head. "Leave them. They will come to their senses in a month when they realise all the myths and hearsay about the crystals' alleged powers are just that, idle chatter. They will get bored, drive the Nieuwstijl editors into another frenzy then stroll in again as if nothing had happened."

Or so she hoped.

Outwardly she had to be firm --- Ink's antics can be excessive occasionally, even as those same methods had helped turn the previously dwindling Nieuwstijl readership and fortunes around. She hated pulling rank, more so on someone in her inner circle who, before this fiasco, had also been one of the most reliable members of her staff. It was a bit unfair, she knew, when the work was still getting done and they were finally heeding her suggestion to take time off, after years of practically living on the theatre premises when not out on business for the Foundation, dining out and writing scathing reviews for the magazine, or arguing with Piskin over one of his projects. But she needed Ink to see they were being unreasonable. This obsession with the crystals was getting out of hand.

Tess had noticed more perturbing changes in her friend shortly after their return from some form of sleep ritual with Piskin's help, ostensibly to get more information about the crystals from a secret conspiracy group. (The kingfisher had refused to divulge any details, but his grimace had told Salvia the event hadn't gone according to plan.)

The first and most apparent was that they no longer took tea while in her office. One afternoon in Ink's ensuite office, Tess had opted for a cup of whichever tea Ink was having that day and had nearly spit out the liquid in surprise, only managing not to through years of etiquette training in her upbringing. While she and Ink had different tastes in tea, Ink's particularity about it meant that whatever was on offer was usually fragrant, often with light floral notes, and soothing on the palate. Six sugar cubes and a half-cup of cream later, the tea --- an unusually strong and utterly vile brew laced with something very bitter she couldn't identify --- was still awful. When Tess complained about the flavour, Ink had told her it was ordinary ceylon (she was certain it wasn't), apologised and offered to make her a fresh pot of a different blend. She accepted a second cup, relieved to find it much more to her liking, but observed that Ink did not take anything in theirs when they refilled their cup from the first pot.

Ink was also spending more time at the theatre again, instead of at the bakery and the gang of ruffians they had been cavorting with while chasing those accursed crystals. This was unexpected but welcome given the empanada chef had been allowed to return to his shop and by all accounts the bakery had reopened, though still under close watch. However, a few times when she or Salvia were preparing to leave for the day, they had caught the imp staring into empty space behind their desk, their eyes taking on a peculiar distant cast that she didn't like at all. Once, Salvia had found them on the rooftop garden on her way back from collecting a few herbs before an oncoming storm, staring up at the clouds as the first few droplets began to fall. She invited them to tea and refreshments to be sent up from the restaurant downstairs or the empanada shop, but Ink had declined politely, wishing her a good evening before moving further into the garden and out of sight behind a cluster of pine trees.

No, she decided. This was something Ink needed to figure out on their own --- before trouble fully or finally caught up to them.

~

Tess was right --- they had been negligent.

It had been a close call with Bread, who was saved only by the toque's own healthy constitution and sheer luck. Master Alex's agent hadn't fared much better, either. While first aid had been part of the self-defence training Inky had undertaken after the ugly incident at the concert hall several years ago, the encounter with the toques had all but shown Inky that their grasp of first aid in relation to field surgery and wilderness emergency was sorely lacking.

In the aftermath of the dream ritual, Inky resolved to do something about the oversight. They sat in their office long past work hours poring over herbal tracts as well as books on loan from the city library ranging from applied toxicology, general anatomy to extrication procedures, making notes on ingredients, effects, pressure points and related topics. They scoured new and used bookshops, then went to an apothecary and the witch's antique shop to restock their kit. It was a crash course at best, but it would have to do.

Since relinquishing their position as Lady Elvesier's adviser, Inky had started working at a healer's camp at the edge of the city a few days per week in exchange for food, often as part of a skeleton crew on the night shift. The encampment mostly saw farmers or day labourers caught in accidents and mudslides; mothers from remote settlements cradling their sick children with high fevers, infected animal bites or food-borne illnesses; and adventurers who had met with misfortune in some dungeon or another, staggering into the camp or being carried in by a fellow explorer.

When the camp was filled with patients, it sometimes meant Inky did not sleep for four or five days at a stretch, with only breaks for meals during the day, or tea and light snacks during the night. It was fine, though. Imps did not really need sleep, though many do enjoy a good nap or adopt the habits of their sleep-requiring partners. However, healing did not come naturally to Inky, who was familiar with more poisons than antidotes from sourcing raw materials for dyes. Starting with the most common ailments, they slowly learned to treat some of the more extensive and serious injuries.

All in all, time put towards something Inky would rather need not be used on missions.

~

Lately, Inky did not stay long when they made their presence known at the Milk Market, but came by a number of times to visit a recovering Marvelo with a bag of fresh fruits and a few adventure thrillers from a comic bookshop as a diversion while he was unable to venture out yet. Besides occupying themselves at the healer's camp or with other preparations, it was to give the sysorcerer some space to consider his next course of action. The dream ritual had nearly cost him another member of his team, even if he had gained the Fair One's protection on the way. Inky wasn't entirely sure how far that protection extended to his subordinates, and wasn't about to persuade the sysorcerer to find out.

It had the additional advantage of not being in the same room with the Milk Market Mascot. Inky had ignored the mascot's incessant demands for detailed accounts of their dreams, but the smell of wet sand mixed faintly with stars that rolled off the mushroom-like creature in waves was harder to brush off. It set off a phantom ache, and it had nothing to do with stars.

However, Inky had a funny idea they wanted to try, and who would be a better assistant than Bread, the experienced host of sleeping rituals? They ushered the bakery apprentice into an unused cooling room with a sleeping bag, a pillow and a cloth bundle of books on the pastries of Agendell, then locked the door behind them both. Several bottles, a tea service and a few implements were laid out on one of the wheeled racks that stood at one end of the room.

Once Bread was reclined comfortably in the sleeping bag on the floor, Inky began the first of three sets of tests in two four-hour blocks, one block each for a sleep and wake tea. The toque was instructed to take the sleep tea and rest for four hours, after which Inky would administer the wake tea, having them stay up for four hours eating and reading before repeating with the next round of different infusions. Aside from Confidence leaving their meals at the door, no one disturbed their trial by tea. When the tests ended, Inky thanked the baker's apprentice for their help and informed them they could keep the books.

Three days later, Inky slipped into the storage closet where a slumbering man lay alone in his cot. The child was probably playing with the duck in their room on the other side of the Milk Market. They poured liquid from a vial into the man's mouth, careful to not spill any, and wiped the sleeping face afterwards. After several minutes without a response, Inky nodded to themselves and left the building.

~

After knocking at the door and waiting for it to be opened, Inky walked into Marvelo's room carrying an open cardboard box in both arms. From the box which they deposited onto a nearby table, they pulled out a small rectangular wooden planter that held a single plant with a tea green rosette (the accompanying information card read "Echeveria elegans" at the top), a decorative wicker pot of mint, and an old-fashioned watering can, placing the items by the window.

"A spot of green for the room. Mint is very resilient, just like its new owner." Inky said to the agent with a wry smile.

They turned back to the box and extracted the remaining items --- a bound notebook, an antique fountain pen with refill kit and a portable shredder. These were set on the nightstand next to the reading lamp and a tray with the cold remnants of a half-eaten meal.

"It has an invisible ink mode," they said, gesturing towards the pen.

Sitting on a vacant chair next to the table, Inky offered, "I probably hadn't mentioned it before, but I used to work at a theatre. On one occasion I went along with the props and effects people to a few antique shops and a curios market while they picked up some items for the upcoming play at the time. They had drawn up a list, of course, but you never quite know what you'll get until you're there. One of the shops had a black case with a glossy top about the size of your palm with a sliding panel at the back and very flat keys. The shop owner said it was a 'droidfour'. They don't make things like that off the shelf anymore. The props guy even scouted out a working candle-powered raclette cooker. Said he was going to caramelise onions on it for the dining room scene. A bit of a waste really. Sound effects crew got herself a rotary dialer to attach to a keypad. She makes the most awfully astounding noise dashboards in all of Vay'Nullar. By the time we got out at the last stop, we were more than a hundred percent over budget. Our employer was not amused."

Inky grinned briefly at the memory, then continued. "Most of the items found uses in the next production months later. It saved the crew another trip." They look at Marvelo solemnly. "Sometimes there are unexpected outcomes despite the best-laid plans. Instead of the light switch you were looking for, you find a stiff and slightly rusty crank at the shop. And it's one of the most compact and effective ways of making creaking door sound effects you'll ever get on a live stage."

They eyed the tray on the nightstand, then rose to their feet, taking the tray with them. "I will come by again another day, more often if you decide you can stomach my presence a bit longer, or would enjoy talking to a breathing fifth wall. I was told it's an acquired taste." Inky gave the occupant of the room a small smile. "Let me know if you require a sleeping aid. The notebook is for the things you want to say but will never tell anyone."

~

"The remaining agents are watching the street and market Marvelo, there's nothing to worry about. We have every aspect of the building covered completely. You're safe here." Alex said to Marvelo as he gave him a doubtful work. Despite the mechanical surgery he was still quite weak, and words came to him in a startling and feeble stutter. The monsters attack had done more than shatter his jaw, he'd lost his edge, reduced to a shadow of his former self. Alex had made a habit of annoucing himself whenever he entered Marvelo's recovery room, and often times despite that fact found himself staring down the sleek barrel of Marvelo's blaster.

Alex didn't blame him. That ordeal had harmed them all in more ways than one.

"I'll have Lee stand watch outside your door if it helps any. She'll keep you safe. Agent 3 was the most aware of any of us after all." Marvelo smiled weakly. "Is there anything I can do for you friend, nip down to the curio store, fetch the books to keep your mind off things perhaps?" but Marvelo only stuttered a feeble "n-nn-no" in response.

Alex sighed, "Alright friend, stay the watch. I'll check back when I can".

"Marvelo might find himself behind the desk of that curio shop for the rest of his life. If he could stand to greet visitors without brandishing his weapons when they entered the room.." Alex thought to himself as he wandered into the kitchen to find Lee. She often made herself present there, helping the Empanada chef here and there in return for free empanadas. A sly one as always, but the position in the kitchen kept her appraised as to the ongoings on the restuarant. All of which inevitably trickled into the agents twtxt feeds.

"Lee, can you keep a closer eye on Marv? He can't stand ten minutes without leveling his iron at the door. The shell shock isn't going to get better, but we can try" Alex whispered as he passed Lee on his way out the door.

It was common place for the agents to pass words amongst themselves in the milk market in this fashion. Keeping a low hushed profile. Only speaking briefly in passing when necessary. It helped reduce operational friction, reduce the surface for someone, something, to pick up on where they were or what they were doing. It might have been unnecessary in the moment, but after all the planning, traps, guards, and forethought that had gone into that damned dream thing. And then what? An agent dead, another maimed and a shell of his former self? They couldn't be too careful.

Alex emerged into the midday sun on the busy street outside of the Milk Market. The city babbled with life, yet felt isolating, lonely. The crowds milled around like the gentle motion of a river, milling aimlessly onward. It was easy for Alex to slip into the ebb and flow of these rivers of people, to become lost amongst the crowd. To pretend for a moment to be less than he truly was. He hadn't been sleeping since the dream.

The insomnia hadn't been immediately apparent to him, he felt driven initially; by anxiety to help his friend recover, by fear of the unknown, by hatred towards Blavin and his blasted baubles and the curse they afflicted upon his friends. Yet Alex had taken that drive and planned the retrofit of the airship, hired a crew using the funds he had gotten from his uncles life insurance policy. Sourced the parts, planned the project, and managed it dutifully. It was only once this was all in motion that he had realized he could not sleep. As a result he had taken on a weared and grim look to his once unassuming looks, and he knew it caused him to stand out, even in this sea of endlessly moving people.

"Anonymity, such a fleeting thing" Alex thought to himself as he entered "Gig 'a Hertz" and picked a booth in the far corner. The cafe was adorned with electronic techno theme, lots of expose circuitry and the likes. An easy place to plant bugs, which of course agent 6 had done the week before. Dierks was the best at that kind of work, small electronics and the likes just came to him naturally. Alex appreciated those strengths, it made his electronic work seem ameture.

A waitress brought Alex a cup of coffe and asked him if he needed anything else, though he gave her no more response than a simple shake of the head and she departed. In her wake stood a woman in a dark grey business suit, hair neatly done, professional in every sense.

"Veronica" Alex said in a curt tone "Alex" she responded just as short. "I assume you know why I'm here?"

Alex was perfectly aware of why this woman was here, a storm cloud in his otherwise sunny day. She was with Headquarters, from the Office of the Eye, and there were never any good meetings with Eyes.

She continued without getting an answer, "Your flagrant disregard for our operation has nearly blown our entire organization out the water. And I find more and more of my men dead each time we try to make good on what you owe us."

"I don't know what you're talking about ma'am." though Alex did, he was all too aware. Each man's face seared into his brain. He took no pleasure in killing, but when it was him versus them he really had no choice.

"You know damn well what I'm talking about. This isn't some sort of goddamn arms race, some day you're going to slip up, and then we'll get what you owe" the woman spat at him.

"Veronica, please" Alex said in a cloying fake tone "we're at an impasse here. What I owe I cannot pay, and have no intention to make good on it. Why don't we part ways. You release me and my team from our contractual obligations, and we promise not to blow the Eyes cover. I've heard whistle blowers are well received these days after all. And before you object, I don't mind reducing your head count a little further to make my point clear."

Veronica stared at him bewildered "You wouldn't dare! They'd draw and quarter you in the public square! The cosovo mission alone.." her sentence trailed off in stunned objection.

"I absolutely would. You see Veronica, that's the difference between you and I. I have nothing to lose, so it makes no difference to me. Either you turn a blind eye to what I'm doing, or I take down the whole goddamn organization with me. We go nuclear, in more ways than one." Alex sad coldly.

"Is that where Tsar Bomba went then? You said it was lost, to the bottom of the sea after Cosovo went to shit." she said, shakily.

"I can neither confirm nor deny, but I imagine the Eye would object to such wonton and senseless violence. I however, have no such suggestions. And zero intentions to assist you in preventing it either. So run along, go see if you can find it. You'll need every man you can get if you mean to scour this city and find my insurance policy. Or, you can close the Eye. Report our termination to headquarters, and we both walk away from this dangerous arms race richer." As Alex finished his demand he took one last sip from his coffee, now cold, and stood.

"It's been delightful Veronica! But I really must be away, you see my Uncle's sick and I really need to finish that errand for him, but we'll catch up again real soon." Alex said charmingly, and then departed.

Later that evening:

"The eye is closed friends. There are few amongst us, but we are free from the organization now. I know this is worrying, we'll no longer have the Eye's intel, or their equipment. But we have our own here at the Milk Market. And from this point forward, we have but one mission." Alex pulled the crystal necklace from his shirt "We find the rest of the pieces of Neddas and assemble them, then we make each and every one of these fuckers pay. The Eye, Blavin, it doesn't matter. With these, we can and will forge a new world order."

~

Make them pay? New world order? Inky stood frozen in the hallway outside the door, cardboard box in hand.

It was ill timing; whenever Inky had dropped by the Milk Market, it had usually been in the afternoons, before heading on to the healers' camp or running other errands. They had emerged from another four-day shift that afternoon rather than early morning, after a healer had arrived in place of another who had fallen sick the previous evening. A few hours and a change of clothes later, it was almost supper time. Inky had brought along a book on coping with trauma and passed by the market to pick up dessert -- an orange pie and a jar of berry preserves -- with the plan to sit with the morose agent for a while, doing some listening of a different sort if the latter was ready to talk about his ordeal.

A confrontation would have drawn the lines where each of them stood, not that bursting into the room with five armed agents was necessarily advisable. Worse, a standoff would upset Marvelo, who was immensely loyal to the sysorcerer, and unravel any potential progress made towards helping the man get back on his feet. At any rate, they would know Inky had been in, so Inky simply left the box by the door with a hastily scribbled note that they were unwell and would come in again on another day. Descending the stairs, they wandered through the city to the wharf, where they sat for some time, any appetite for dessert having evaporated, staring out at the rising tides.

Was this what the Fair One had really promised in addition to the pendant the sysorcerer now wore? Power and vengeance over those who they deemed had wronged them? Were they all going to end up like the assassin, in a nebulous limbo between the living and the dead? Who else was on their list? Despite the sysorcerer's gesture of camaraderie at the docks that night, was Inky among the names now that Inky had no use to them, once it sank in that the Fair One's pact essentially assured success on the missions, or when the crystals had been collected? The dream ritual had been partly Inky's suggestion, and they had wrecked one of the sysorcerer's beetles back at the Runesocesius. Some secret groups have disposed of people for much less. Did Master Corraidhín oversaw this cabal? It was difficult to picture the elderly wizard looking upon the meeting with approval, but could Inky say they truly knew the uncle or nephew well?

Maybe all of this didn't matter, if it was the only way.