quest/src/epistolary/00058.md

title	created	updated	public	syndicated
00058	Sat, 21 Jan 2023 16:24:45 -0700	Sun, 29 Jan 2023 11:02:32 -0700	yes	yes

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?