3723 lines
178 KiB
Markdown
3723 lines
178 KiB
Markdown
---
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title: Chapter 4
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created: Tue, 21 Mar 2023 21:02:21 -0600
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updated: Tue, 21 Mar 2023 21:02:21 -0600
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public: yes
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---
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## Chapter 4
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Chapter 4 of BASEMENT QUEST.
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Jump to:
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[54](#00054)
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[55](#00055)
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[56](#00056)
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[57](#00057)
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[58](#00058)
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[59](#00059)
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[60](#00060)
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[61](#00061)
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[62](#00062)
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[63](#00063)
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[64](#00064)
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[65](#00065)
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[66](#00066)
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[67](#00067)
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[68](#00068)
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[69](#00069)
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[70](#00070)
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[71](#00071)
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[72](#00072)
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[73](#00073)
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<!--
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do this:
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ls -1 src/epistolary/000{38..53}.md | xargs pandoc -f markdown -t markdown >> src/chapter3.md
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//-->
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#### 00054 {#00054}
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> Once back in the Milk Bar, with the airship safely anchored to the
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> roof of the building, Alex finds himself amongst the old belongings of
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> his former uncle.
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>
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> *sigh* "Best get a request to HQ for this airship, maybe they'll let
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> us operate it for a bit, if not I suppose we have to impound it.."
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>
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> <- OP 2817 * LOC MB-A
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> -> OP 25120 * LOC ESPER
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>
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> CLEARANCE: INFORMATIONAL
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> REQUEST ENCLOSED.
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>
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> REQUESTING PERMISSION TO IMPOUND OR OPERATE.
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> ONE CYBERPLASM AIRSHIP "The Rusty Maiden"
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>
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> "There's also the matter of this little hemogoblin.." Alex mutters to
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> himself while said hemogoblin happily dances around the room, dripping
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> little pools of blood hither and tither.
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>
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> <- OP 2817 * LOC MB-A
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> -> OP 41154 * LOC ESPER
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>
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> CLEARANCE: TOP SECRET
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> REQUEST ENCLOSED
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> PACKET ENCLOSED
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>
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> REQUESTING ANALYSIS
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> ONE GDB @gdb-readout.dat
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> TWO BLOOD @blood-soaked-handkerchief
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> NOTE GDB INDICATES SOME ANOMALY
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>
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> "Hey little guy, lets go get an empanade. Inky says they're divine."
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> Alex says as he scoops up the little goblin and gently carries him
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> downstairs."
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>
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> Striding into Enriques kitchen, and availing himself to the empanadas,
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> ignoring an indignant Enrique's protests that these were for paying
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> customers until a small bag of coins is tossed careless over one
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> shoulder. Alex stride through the kitchen and then out and away into
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> the garden to enjoy their pilfered treats.
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>
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> "I suppose this is more interesting than being on the force at times"
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\~
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> Inky stepped into the toques' cabin below deck with a tray of turmeric
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> ginger tea and lavender biscuits. After checking on Bread's bandages
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> and offering the toque reclined on the berth the last bag of mango
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> croutons --- or at least the last one for the next two hours --- Inky
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> perched on a wooden barrel across from where Confidence sat on a
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> creaking old chair next to the bunk and spoke. "We'll be landing in
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> about an hour and getting Bread to a medical facility. You can stay
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> with him while he heals and rest up."
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>
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> They paused to take a long sip from their cup, as if the liquid was
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> being used to summon their next words. "On behalf of myself and the
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> party, I apologise for the ... disruption, and for what had befallen
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> the hotelier. As you may have already noticed, we're a fair distance
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> away from the Peak and will be arriving in Vay'Nullar soon. This
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> airship was taken over from the cyberplasms in the course of getting
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> the crystal out and the injured to a safe location, and her new
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> captain could hardly fly it back straight into the pirates' hands now.
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>
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> What we propose is this: you and Bread may take as long as you need to
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> recover. We can arrange for lodgings and new posts in the city. One of
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> our party runs a Milk Market that could certainly use some hired help,
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> and a garden in the back that would benefit from more attention. Pay
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> will be double your current salary at the hotel. Master Alex may also
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> recruit you for other tasks. You don't need to have an answer just yet
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> --- think on it for a bit while you rest and let us know. Afterwards,
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> if you find that you still wish to return to Kelsun Peak, we will pay
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> for travel."
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>
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> Inky winked at Bread conspiratorially. "You may be interested to know
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> there is a bakery on the Milk Market's first floor. If you like the
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> look of the place, perhaps we can convince the chef to take on an
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> assistant."
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>
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> \~
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>
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> Tess watched her adviser from her position on one end of the plush
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> chaise lounge in her office, who returned her stare impassively as
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> they sat in the adjoining armchair to her right. The ornate coffee
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> table before them had been laid out for tea, but the other cup
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> remained untouched, which was in itself unusual. Ink rarely turned
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> down tea when it was offered, which likely meant they were preoccupied
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> with something they were unwilling to discuss. This had been happening
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> more frequently since their plans to intercept the Ginnarak Crystals,
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> which was a little concerning, but she knew it would be no use to
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> question them directly. The missive she had received this time through
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> Piskin's people was brief, almost annoyingly so, but they had returned
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> earlier than expected with the articles that production had requested,
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> which had fortunately made up for lost time from the previous delays.
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>
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> With this in mind, she settled on a lighter note as she picked up her
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> own teacup. "Salvia passed on the items to the production team. Thank
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> you for picking them up from the Runesocesius. I would send my regular
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> couriers but they are tied up with another event. One of them had to
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> care for their sick child and couldn't leave the city. As usual, time
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> and discretion are of the essence."
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>
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> When her adviser only nodded, she continued. "How is he? He probably
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> insisted on bringing the manuscripts out for you himself. The man is
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> cautious with valuables."
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>
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> "Quite dead but managing, or so I heard." Ink intoned drily.
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>
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> Tess caught on immediately. "Didn't you meet with him? The message
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> only mentioned the items had been obtained. Did something happen?"
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>
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> The imp shrugged. "We met, I delivered the letter and collected the
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> items. We didn't get a chance to talk."
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>
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> The hotel was slowly but steadily attracting visitors again,
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> especially after their last play had prominently featured the
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> Runesocesius Library as a research partner in the programme credits,
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> but Tess didn't think the hotelier was so busy as to entrust this task
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> to one of his underlings. The man was proud of the first editions the
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> library had amassed, and the notebooks of Lucidieau that the
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> playwright sought as a reference were no doubt counted among the
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> treasures, even if only an expensive commissioned facsimile was
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> permitted out of the library. Something had happened, she was sure,
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> but decided not to press further for the moment.
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>
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> "And the other matter?" she asked.
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>
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> "Someone already knew the crystal was at the hotel and retained a crew
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> of cyberplasmic pirates to storm the place." Ink replied flatly. "And
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> yes, your acquaintance is very much dead, shot by the crew leader in
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> the scuffle. As the rumour rags have it, his ghost is now overseeing
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> the building repairs."
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>
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> Tess was about to admonish the imp gently for the tasteless jest when
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> there was a knock at the door. At her response, the door opened and
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> her secretary entered with a box of pastries and two sets of
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> tableware, which she placed on the coffee table before leaving and
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> closing the door behind her.
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>
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> Noticing Ink's look of recognition, Tess smiled and ventured, "This is
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> the second time is as many months you awarded that empanada place a
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> glowing review in *The Tiny Toaster*. I can count the ratings higher
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> than a 10 you've ever given on one hand --- of course I had to try it.
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> Why don't you have some as well?"
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>
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> Ink blinked. "I didn't write the latest review."
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>
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> Tess shot them an accusing mock-glare as she lifted a puffy golden
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> brown pastry onto a plate. "It has your inkprints all over it."
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>
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> "I don't know what you mean. Surely I'm allowed to treat a colleague
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> to lunch, and they are free to express their satisfaction with a meal
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> openly if they wish," Ink replied smoothly.
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>
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> Tess rolled her eyes. "There's a name for that. It's called bribery."
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>
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> Ink smiled faintly. "Just so. However, the selection speaks for
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> itself."
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>
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> "Oh, absolutely! These mini ambrose apple empanadas are wonderful. In
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> fact," Tess prodded the open end of the pastry with her fork, where a
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> light yellow filling was visible, "they remind me a little of the very
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> crispy tortelli *someone* made several years ago just for the opening
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> reception of *The Two Genteelkin of Virdantha*."
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>
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> "Any resemblance is coincidental. The chef is very capable." Ink said
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> evenly.
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>
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> Tess sighed and returned her plate to the table. "We've talked about
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> this before, Ink. You don't have to hole up in some poor scrub's
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> excuse for a kitchen in a closet. If you need more room downstairs
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> then expand it. Just tell Salvia and she'll take care of it."
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>
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> Ink lowered their gaze to the teacups. "I appreciate the offer, but
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> the answer is the same. There will be no rest until the crystals are
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> secured."
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Some time passes.
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The hemogoblin turns out to be a fine housemate and less of a problem
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than you thought it would be. Be it because its not in the excitement of
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battle onboard a pirate ship, or be it because it is maturing slightly,
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it seems in better control of its blood sacs. Barring a few small
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accidents, it doesn't make much of a mess. It has found and claimed as
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its own a few unused blankets, and has made a little burrow nest in an
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out of the way corner behind the furniture.
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Bread makes a full recovery and in fact is doing better than ever
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before. The blood goblin stays by their side during the first hours and
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days and keeps them pumped full of clean, synthetic blood. Afterwards
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the toque is flushed a healthy pink and has new vigor. Enrique takes
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them under his tutelage. And Bread ends up making a fine baker's
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apprentice. Dough seems to rise more and quicker after he kneads it.
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"The lad has solar hands," Enrique boasts of his new protegee.
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Confidence becomes enthralled with the semi-sentient Wandering Bazaar.
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The thirteen story building moves with glacial speed up and down the
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streets, vendors and stalls and shoppers following in its wake. But then
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also it will disappear in the blink of an eye only to reappear in a
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totally different part of the area known as the Wandering Bazaar
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District. Each floor of the tall, narrow tower is occupied entirely by a
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single shop. But which shop it is seems to vary from day to day. One day
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the seventh level will be occupied by Fedik's Butcher shop. And the
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next, Lario's Bakery. It might be days or weeks before one can once
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again buy hotlinks from Fedik's. Where the shops go when they're not
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here is one of Basmentaria's great mysteries.
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The toque studies the Bazaar's movements and are able to predict its
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route with more and more accuracy. They become a highly sought out
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guide. Tourists and visitors trust them to take them to the very spot
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the Bazaar will appear that day. Residents appreciate the heads up and
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not getting trapped in their houses when the Bazaar wedges its way into
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their narrow residential streets, blocking their front doors. And owners
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of traditional, less ambulatory shops are able to plan ahead for the
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crowds that will appear on "Bazaar Day".
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\~
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Members of the Retrieval Team who sleep in Milk Market HQ start having
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dreams of the same mysterious figure. Of course at first nobody knows
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their dreams are shared by the others. Not until they become more
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frequent, more regular. By the time the figure has visited you every
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night for nearly a week, somebody speaks up and you realize the
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coincidence.
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The figure is clad in voluminous robes of deep purple. Long, straight,
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blonde hair falls around their shoulders. Their soft features are boyish
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and womanly. They wear a golden circlet on their head and a golden eye
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in the middle of their forehead. Their passive, neutral face betrays no
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emotion the entire time.
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The dream is always the same. They reach out to you with one hand and
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turn their palm up. And because of dream logic, in the palm of their
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hand you can hear the jingling of coins, mirthful laughter, and hushed
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stories told around a campfire. They curl their fingers into a loose
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first and the sounds stop. They spread their arms wide and in the folds
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of their robes you can see three siblings fighting, squabbling over a
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broken loom.
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Then you're standing next to them, and the two of you watch three
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friends, Snake, Owl, and Dolphin. Owl tells Snake that he is tired of
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flying and hooting, and doesn't want to be an owl any more, he wants to
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be flowers. And Snake laughs and tells him that he is Owl, and an owl he
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must remain. And she leaves him to go eat rodents and bake in the sun.
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So Owl tells Dolphin that he is tired of flying and hooting, and doesn't
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want to be an owl any more, he wants to be flowers. Dolphin doesn't want
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to help Owl, because if he is flowers, they won't be able to be together
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any longer. But Dolphin finally agrees to help even though they don't
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want to, because Dolphin loves Owl. With all their strength, they create
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a great waterspout that will turn Owl into flowers. But the waterspout
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is too strong, and Dolphin is too weak to control it. It sprays Owl but
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does not turn him into flowers. Owl's wing is broken and he falls to the
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ground in a heap of feathers. The waterspout shakes a great boulder from
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the earth and traps Snake under it. And Dolphin sinks to the bottom of
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the sea.
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And then you wake up.
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\~
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Later you find a letter in the common area of Milk Market HQ. It is not
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addressed to anybody. When you open it up, it reads:
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> Time is running out, Retrieval Team 43. Things are starting to draw to
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> a close. We cannot delay our meeting any longer if we both are to
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> achieve our goals. We have information that you are looking for. Meet
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> us at the Harpoon Club next Selday. We will wear the sign.
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The letter is signed with a white iris and golden apple.
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Anyone in Vay'Nullar would be able to tell you that the Harpoon Club is
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a game room and fine dining club, and one of the rotating tenants of the
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Wandering Bazaar. But Confidence would tell you, were you to ask them,
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that the club won't be there next Selday. (When the Bazaar will appear
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at East and Lowland.) It is in fact not scheduled to appear until a week
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and a half after next Selday, on Third Tensday. (When the Bazaar will
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appear at Cathedral and Pine.)
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WHAT DO YOU DO
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#### 00055 {#00055}
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> The nibs had disappeared.
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>
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> Inky had spotted the small ceramic and wicker teapot among a long row
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> of boxes and bowls at the antique shop on the thirteenth floor of the
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> Wandering Bazaar while looking for a Near-weightless Verifying Matter
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> enclosure (NVMe) to their Handy Duffer Discette as a primary storage.
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> The witch shopkeeper, Agate, had helpfully mentioned the teapot could
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> be used to steep very acidic or alkaline solutions, as well as distil
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> solubles. The box it was subsequently packed in did not include
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> instructions on activating the precipitation feature. With the shop
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> not returning for another week by Confidence's reckoning, Inky had
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> used the teapot in the meantime to rinse off any impurities from an
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> old set of nibs --- the very first functional set they had made as an
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> apprentice inkling --- except the nibs were nowhere to be found when
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> they poured out the citronella solution and removed the lid. Inky
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> supposed it was to be expected --- some witches liked to go on about
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> equal payment for wishes, as if it were as easy as reading off a price
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> tag, and it was difficult to stay irritated at a cute teapot for long.
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> Inky wrote it off as a gift for what would hopefully thereafter be a
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> cutely functional teapot. The shop had a no-refunds policy.
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>
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> Then came the dream. At first Inky had attributed them to reading the
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> book on the mythology of The Trine that they had slipped out of the
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> Runesocesius Library, along with an obscure cactus leather-bound
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> manuscript containing first-hand accounts of the Artifice Wars. When
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> the dream repeated itself on the third night, Inky suspected it had
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> something to do with the crystals under the Milk Market's roof. While
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> not horrifically bloody in the way Master Corraidhín's description of
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> the vision he had from the first crystal had been, it was haplessly
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> boring when lucid intervention didn't seem to have any effect. It ran
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> on like a low-budget B-Grade play that had only three scenes with a
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> few props each. By the fourth night, the dream had become worse than a
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> nib-nibbling teapot that they stayed up entire nights for the rest of
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> that week while they were camping at the Milk Market.
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>
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> It was mostly an excuse to drop into the kitchens downstairs --- which
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> they could now enter on the pretext of visiting Bread to observe the
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> apprentice's progress --- in the early morning hours and push new tea
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> blends onto its unfortunate occupants. Most of the three dozen or so
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> infusions had been full of fruits and spices, six of which would go
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> well with items on the empanada shop's current menu. A handful were
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> medicinal after procuring a herb illustrated on one moth-bitten page
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> snatched on the hotel steps back on the Peak. A few others were teas
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> in the loosest sense of the word. These were as tasteless and
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> colourless as tap water, only the scent offering a faint clue as to
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> their ingredients. They had other applications, least of which was in
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> a prank on one empanada chef. (Inky left him a box of zephyl tea ---
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> another Kelsun Peak speciality besides mulled wine --- before he could
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> too riled up, though.)
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>
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> The note left at the Milk Market was the black cherry atop the hassle
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> cake. Confidence was fairly sure that the fine establishment mentioned
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> in the note wouldn't appear on the day indicated. Couldn't "Mother"
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> have chosen to meet somewhere a little more convenient? So it was that
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> despite the shop having a no-refunds policy, or because of it, Inky
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> found themselves returning to the antique shop inside the Wandering
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> Bazaar a week later looking for another item. "Do you sell flight
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> vessels that could transport people to and from specific places ...
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> such as the Harpoon Club?" they asked the witch.
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You and the witch go back and forth a few times before she realizes that
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you want to visit a place where it is when it isn't there.
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"Transdimensional extratemporal colocation?" Agate claps her hands in
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delight. "This is going to be fun! A witchy problem wants a witchy
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solution. That's what my Auntie Tenfingers always said!"
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"Why bother with flying contraptions when you yourself are a perfectly
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adequate vessel? I'm going to prescribe you a dream ritual," she says,
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scribbling in a notebook. "It's complex. But only because it's a lot of
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steps. And the timing is kind of particular in a couple places. But if
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you follow the directions, you shouldn't have any trouble." She rips the
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page out of the notebook and hands it you.
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"Basically, you'll enter a host's dreams, and then delve into the
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Collective Unconsciousness. From there you should be able to find the
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Wandering Bazaar's pocket dimension. Of course you'll need to find a
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guide to take you there. You'll have to find one in the Sea of Dreams."
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"And you'll need this!" She ducks behind the counter and reappears with
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a smoke-gray box bound with thick black ribbon. It's about as long as
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her forearm. She unwraps the box and opens it and pulls out a thick,
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round candle. It is an unhealthy, sickening translucent yellow. In the
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base of the candle is a large, blackened, withered, and shriveled hand.
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It is within and without the candle. As though it is grasping the base
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of the candle, but also like it has been molded into the candle on
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purpose. As though the hand is imprisoned in the wax. You can just make
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out a hazy small round object in the center of the candle through the
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wax. A large nut or marble. The hand looks like it is reaching for it.
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The candle has been burned down a fair bit. The wick is low and trimmed,
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and the edges are black and warped where the fatty wax has melted and
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hardened. You guess there's only about two-thirds left of the candle.
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The witch measures down from the top of the candle with a length of
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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!"
|
|
|
|
```{=html}
|
|
<details>
|
|
```
|
|
```{=html}
|
|
<summary>
|
|
```
|
|
Ritual Details
|
|
```{=html}
|
|
</summary>
|
|
```
|
|
![ritual outline](https://tilde.town/~dozens/quest/ritual.png)
|
|
|
|
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.
|
|
|
|
```{=html}
|
|
</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 {#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 {#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 {#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 {#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 {#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 {#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 {#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 {#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 {#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 {#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 {#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 {#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 {#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 {#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 {#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.."
|
|
|
|
\~
|
|
|
|
```{=html}
|
|
<!-- 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.
|
|
>
|
|
> \[1\] It is said the ancients began the practice of burning sage to
|
|
> ward off evil or cleanse negative energies, thyme to induce courage
|
|
> and guard against nightmares, and rosemary to clear and focus the
|
|
> mind.
|
|
>
|
|
> \[2\] The elder aunties commonly use sweet grass for purification,
|
|
> 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 {#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 {#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.
|
|
>
|
|
> ``` 4,
|
|
>
|
|
> 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 {#00073}
|
|
|
|
```{=html}
|
|
<!-- 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.
|