157 lines
6.8 KiB
Markdown
157 lines
6.8 KiB
Markdown
---
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title: 00049
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created: Thu, 29 Dec 2022 18:55:34 -0700
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updated: Fri, 30 Dec 2022 08:12:55 -0700
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syndicated: yes
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public: yes
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---
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### 00049 {#00049}
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> "They *are* a good guide," Inky corrects adamantly. "Do you hear
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> that, Bread? You're not allowed to disappear until you've had an
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> entire bag of these croutons, and even then you're still not
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> allowed. If I'd known you'd never had croutons before I wouldn't
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> have let you walk a step further into that hall. That was
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> simultaneously the worst and best idea ever. Mango! Croutons! What
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> a travesty. Did you even taste any of it? No? You have to! How can
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> you offer guests delicious fondue without croutons? Speaking of
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> which, we haven't gotten that fondue you promised yet, that's
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> reason #144 you can't disappear. What's reason #143? Crostinis.
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> Small toasted bread. Slice of life. You can put cheese on it too,
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> if you really must …"
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>
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> And so on. While Inky talks at Bread in a bid to keep them
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> conscious, they whisk out a first-aid kit from their courier bag
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> and kneeling on the floor, proceeds to stem the bleeding from the
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> chest wound with coagulant-coated bandages. Slowly, they tip a
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> flask of tea infused with some restorative herbs down Bread's open
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> mouth, careful not to pour too quickly. Inky pauses mid-diatribe
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> and mid-pour to thrust another flask of tea into Confidence's hand,
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> the one wrapped four-fifths of the hotelier and ask, "Are you
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> injured? Please keep an eye on your companion, I will summon for
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> assistance."
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>
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> Standing up, Inky walks to a window, opens it and peers out. They
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> look around for a hot air balloon and notice the unmoored airship.
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> After squinting at it with a mini-spyglass, they see Alex standing
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> at the helm of the ship with a young hemogoblin on board. Inky
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> waves, and makes a vertical cross sign with a fist and thumb on the
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> opposite upper arm a few times. Next, they pull out a small tin
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> whistle, and toot a few sharp notes in the same cadence as the
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> one-liner directed at Bread earlier by the gondola station. After a
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> moment, a scops owl swoops in to land on the windowsill. Inky
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> inserts a rolled piece of paper into a small pouch hanging at the
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> bird's back, and the bird flies off again.
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>
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> Returning to the figures slumped against the wall, Inky places the
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> Ginnarak crystal in a lightly padded cloth bag, stowing it away in
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> their knapsack-style backpack. They resume checking and tending to
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> the toques' injuries, while expounding upon various permutations of
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> toasted bread to a captive audience.
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Bread closes their eyes and smiles dreamily at the descriptions of
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various breads. They weakly sip the tea as you tip it into their
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mouth and swallow with effort.
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<!--
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Inky rolls Do Anything 1 to stabilize Bread
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2 = Things go poorly
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Spend 1 remaining xp to advance = Success + gain Medicine 2
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//-->
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They sigh and open their eyes. They focus on you and maintain eye
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contact as you draw from a seemingly bottomless well of knowledge on
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the topic of toasted breads. Bread and life are clinging fast to each
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other, neither ready or willing to let go of the other. They are
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going to be okay.
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Confidence's wounds are superficial. They are winded from dragging
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Bread and the hotelier up seven flights of stairs. But they are fine.
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The hotelier's wounds are sadly quite fatal. Honestly it was all over
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for him the moment he took the full force of the captain's plasma
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canon to his chest. He babbles, "It's not ... I wasn't ..." And then
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with sudden realization and quiet resignation, a clear-eyed, "Oh."
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And then he is gone.
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His courage in the face of danger is the reason you now have the
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third of the five Ginnarak Crystals in your pack. Whether or not his
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death was in vain is now largely up to you and what you decide to do
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with the crystal.
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~
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Downstairs in the Great Hall of the library, one of the remaining
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Cyberplasms crouches down next to the inert cybernetic eye that until
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very recently belonged to their captain. They pick it up and turn it
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over in their hand. "Worry not, my captain," the ghost mourns. "We
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will find the quintessence. And once we do, we will be made anew in
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the forge of our Mother."
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He rolls the orb in palm of his hand. A faint arc of energy crackles
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across its surface. And the eye rolls over of its own volition and
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looks up at the pirate.
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Suddenly reverent, the pirate gently places the eye on the ground as
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a ghostly face begins to form around it. The pirate waits patiently,
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attentively. It's not every day one gets to bare witness to a new
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birth. The ectoplasm that gathers around the eye forms a rail-thin
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body. Its head is bald and its face sports a neatly trimmed mustache.
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It is missing an arm and a leg.
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Dutifully, the witness fetches a recently discarded arm canon and leg
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booster. The exotica tap into the energy provided by a new crossing
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over, and come online, and create a new mesh.
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The hotelier stands and looks down at its new body. As it were. It
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looks around at its surroundings. It picks up a few books and starts
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shelving them.
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The pirate, mostly wishing to provide companionship and comfort to
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the new ghost, assists with tidying up.
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~
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Alex, you are at the helm of the balloon-ship. As you start to drift
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slightly up and away, the blue dome of the hotel comes into view. On
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its peak you can see a life-sized statue of a stern-faced
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Runesocesius wielding a spear, drawn back as though ready to hurl an
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angry thunderbolt down at the world below.
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The hemogoblin is still down on the deck by the canons. You see it
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waving cheerily at the library tower. You squint in that direction,
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but can't see what has caught its attention.
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A small tufted-ear owl silently lands next to you breaking you from
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your reverie. The owl is wearing a small harness with a pouch at the
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back. Inside the pouch is a rolled piece of paper signed by Inky, up
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on the seventh floor of the tower.
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You count seven windows up the side of the tower from its base. There
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seems to be some movement inside, but you can't make much out from
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here. With a lucky shot, you think you might be able to hook the
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window frame with a zipline.
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~
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Outside, a pink zephynos is spinning raw cloud into a minuscule opera
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house and performing arts center under the direction of an amber imp
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with a new hunger for life. It is an organic looking structure: a
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primary concert hall, surrounded by a number of smaller stages and
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performance areas spiraling out from the center like a nautilus
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shell.
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The imp smiles happily, proudly. What tales will be told here! What
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songs will be sung! "Lorehold," it whispers to itself. "You will tell
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the world's stories."
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It is already trying out lines in its head, imagining the play it
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will write of this day. About the hotel and the library and the
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pirates and the cloud dragons. About a pair of adventurers. And a
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very brave and lucky drone pilot that dared to chase its dreams.
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WHAT DO YOU DO
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[www](https://framalistes.org/sympa/arc/tildepals/2022-12/msg00252.html)
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