quest/www/rss.xml

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  <channel>
    <atom:link href="https://tilde.town/~dozens/quest/rss.xml" rel="self" type="application/rss+xml" />
    <title>BASEMENT QWEST</title>
    <link>https://tilde.town/~dozens/quest/rss.xml</link>
    <description>Friends having ADVENTURES! Huzzah!</description>
    <item>
      <title>53</title>
      <author>dozens@tilde.team (dozens)</author>
      <guid isPermaLink="false">53 - Mon, 02 Jan 2023 14:15:49
-0700</guid>
      <pubDate>Mon, 02 Jan 2023 14:15:49 -0700</pubDate>
      <description>
        <![CDATA[
          <h3 id="00053">00053</h3>
          <blockquote>
          <p>The GDB flashes, vibrates, and murmurs electronic static as
          it collects information from the Hemogoblin. “Peculiar
          readings indeed” Alex mutters, stashing the blood sample and
          readings from the device. Best to scp a copy of these for safe
          keeping.</p>
          <pre><code>scp gdb-readout.dat blood-soaked-handky hq:~</code></pre>
          <p>Alright little guy, dunno what’s wrong with ya, but you
          seem just as sweet and chipper as you were before, best not
          let anything foul befall you. Alex scoops the little
          hemogoblin up and puts him into his pack. The little goblin
          chirps happily, soaking the back in blood. “Hmm I guess I’ll
          need a new cloak when we get to town.. good thing the STAGS
          are water proof.” Taking accord of the situation Alex notices
          that Ink has dropped onto the deck, and is hurridly beckoning
          what looks like a stretcher and confidence down the zip line.
          “I guess things went not so smoothly back in the hotel
          then..”</p>
          <p>Looking up past confidence along the zip line Alex also
          notes a set of cyberplasms making their way clumsily along the
          zipline. “Shit! Inky, Confidence! Get the hell on the ship
          NOW!”</p>
          <p>Alex dashes back up to the helm of the ship and grabs the
          wheel. As soon as Inky has Confidence and the stretcher safely
          on the deck Alex grabs the wheel and casts the wheel hard to
          starboard side, ripping the zipline and moarings from the wall
          of the hotel. “Inky cut the zipline, quick a you can, and
          check the side of the hull for any stow aways!!”</p>
          </blockquote>
          <p>~</p>
          <blockquote>
          <p>As the toques slide down the last few feet to the deck of
          the balloonship. Inky takes out a sharp knife and saws through
          the zipline. As they patrol along the edge to check the side
          of the hull for additional company, Inky pulls out a tea
          strainer from their kit and opens a bag of limequats, small
          round fruits they keep around for their zest and juice to
          flavour some infusions. They drop a limequat into the
          strainer, preparing to fling a ball of citrus at the potential
          presence of any stowaways.</p>
          </blockquote>
          <p>Inky and Confidence carefully dump Bread onto the deck of
          the ship. They grunt at the impact and mutter a weak thank
          you.</p>
          <p>Inky starts to saw through the zipline with their knife.
          The closest cyberplasm can almost reach out for the railing
          and haul itself up. The second pirate is not far behind it.
          Alex yanks the ship hard to starboard and—thanks to Inky
          sawing on it—the line snaps cleanly in two.</p>
          <p>Inky looks over the railing in time to see the second
          pirate fall into the sea of clouds with a surprised look on
          its face. There is no trace of the first one. As Inky patrols
          alongside the edge to check for additional company, they see
          one ghostly hand and then the other reach up and grab hold of
          the rail.</p>
          <p>When the cyberplasm pops its head up and peers over the
          railing, the first thing it sees is a tea strainer flying at
          its face. It tries to turn away, but ends up with a face full
          of limequat juice nonetheless. As the citrus starts to burn,
          it squeezes its eyes shut tight, even tighter than its grip on
          the railing. All of its focus and effort is concentrated on
          the burning sensation in its eyes. On autopilot, one of its
          hands lets go of the railing to quickly wipe the juice
          away.</p>
          <p>When it grips the railing again, its hand is now slick with
          juice, and it slips. Knocked off balance and unable to get a
          grip, the pirate cries out as it too falls into the ocean of
          clouds, eyes squeezed shut the whole time.</p>
          <p>Poking its head and arms out of the pack on Alex’s back,
          the hemogoblin claps and cheers.</p>
          <p>The balloonship sails away from Runesocesius and from
          Kelsun Peak. The sun is starting to set, and the clouds are
          turning brilliant pinks and reds. This delights the zephynos,
          who leap and cavort in the clouds, and run playfully alongside
          the ship for a while.</p>
          <p>You have in your possession a stolen pirate airship, a
          recovered Ginnarak Crystal, a couple novellas and manhwa, two
          warrior toque tour guides, and a childlike hemogoblin who may
          or may not be possessed by some kind of spirit.</p>
          <p>END OF CHAPTER 3</p>
          <ul>
          <li>What do you do once you get back to the Milk Market?</li>
          <li>Do you keep the airship?</li>
          <li>What becomes of Confidence and Bread?</li>
          <li>What do you do with the goblin child?</li>
          </ul>
          <p><a
          href="https://framalistes.org/sympa/arc/tildepals/2023-01/msg00019.html">www</a></p>
        ]]>
      </description>
    </item>
    <item>
      <title>43</title>
      <author>dozens@tilde.team (dozens)</author>
      <guid isPermaLink="false">43 - Mon, 19 Dec 2022 08:03:20
-0700</guid>
      <pubDate>Mon, 19 Dec 2022 08:03:25 -0700</pubDate>
      <description>
        <![CDATA[
          <h3 id="00043">00043</h3>
          <blockquote>
          <p>Pirates?! Again?! Alex groans, unfortunately he’s run into
          this crew of dastardly mostly cybernetic punks in the past.
          Nasty group back home, always kept the precinct busy. Not
          necessarily with the detective work, it was always a little
          obvious when they showed up. They have a flair for the
          dramatic.</p>
          <p>Alex shouts to Inky &amp; Jarrod “Come on, we need to get
          in one of those balloons and fast!” he then darts off in the
          direction of the nearest abandoned balloon in the market
          place, not looking to see if his companions had followed
          him.</p>
          <p><em>internally</em> I know these guys have pulled off
          smaller heists, they could just be attacking the hotel to
          plunder riches from its guests. They don’t seem the likes of a
          retrieval team.. Then again, that Blavin fellow has multiple
          teams working for him, and he doesn’t seem all too picky about
          how they get the job done, it wouldn’t be surprising if he’d
          hired some brigands hoping they’d get the gems faster.</p>
          <p>Alex conjures up another bug, a stag beetle this time, and
          casts it away at the pirate ship. It’ll probably take some
          time to catch up, but once it does we’ll be able to keep an
          eye on the pirate’s ship and general actions, at least within
          line of sight of the bug.</p>
          <p>As Alex reaches the balloon he grabs the ruby hilted dagger
          and cuts the mooring lines keeping it down, and jumps into the
          basket preparing for take off.</p>
          </blockquote>
          <p>You spot a balloon that has already been knocked half loose
          of its mooring by the pirate attack. The basket is listing to
          the side and tugging at the one remaining rope tying it down
          Its owner scurries around in circles trying to secure it.</p>
          <p>The vertical panels of the balloon are all different
          colors, creating a brilliant rainbow pattern. The large woven
          basket is large enough for maybe three people.</p>
          <p>You leap inside, swinging the ruby hilted dagger at the
          remaining mooring line. The balloon owner cries out in dismay.
          The basket shifts beneath your feet as the balloon tugs it
          skyward.</p>
          <p>In the burner, a small sunspoke—a minor fire elemental—is
          merrily burning away, producing a modest flame that is hot
          enough to lift the balloon slowly above the market into the
          sky. There is a knob valve on the side of the burner to allow
          more oxygen to flow in, thereby feeding the sunspoke and
          encouraging it to burn more intensely and raise the balloon
          higher and faster. The valve is currently only about one third
          open.</p>
          <p>A pile of blankets in one corner of the basket—and that
          area of the basket itself—is covered in blood. Somebody
          injured in the pirate attack must have temporarily climbed
          into the basket looking for cover? As you’re about to look
          away, something large-ish (small for a human, large for an
          animal) under the blankets shifts and moves.</p>
          <blockquote>
          <p>Inky stares after Alex’s sprinting figure before shrugging
          and stepping towards one of the stalls selling sandwiches
          bowled over by one of the large boulders. They place some
          loose change on the stall’s wooden sign that had tipped over
          on the ground and pocket one of the sandwiches displayed
          inside an open chest oven. Next, they pick up several of the
          scented candles scattered on the ground by the crash, throwing
          some coins in the direction of the disoriented vendor before
          continuing at a leisurely pace up the steps to the hotel,
          taking in the balloonship and surrounding scenery. The members
          of their merry party arriving first can hold their own as well
          as the fort of a hotel.</p>
          </blockquote>
          <p>You do a little leisurely shopping as the vendors and other
          shoppers put out fires and tend to the injured. With a couple
          scented candles and a sandwich safely in your pocket, you
          start to climb the cloud steps, enjoying the scenery as you
          go. Bread and Confidence have quite a bit of a head start on
          you, and are nowhere to be seen. As the stairway winds around
          the mountainside, the market and its bustle recede from view,
          and soon you are quite isolated and alone.</p>
          <p>The majesty of creation is humbling here: the endless,
          roiling ocean of cloud; the towering mountain of rock. It’s as
          though this was the creator’s playground when they were still
          trying to figure out scale. Before they quite got it right for
          human-sized creatures.</p>
          <p>About halfway up your climb, it starts raining sheets of
          paper. You snatch one and read it. Some heroic fantasy about
          slaying demons and facing great peril. You grab another. A
          bodice-ripping romance. Another. A gourmand’s food tour of
          Basmentaria, eating their way from coast to coast. A murder
          mystery whodunnit. An aetherwael handler’s guide to
          interplanetary travel. How to grow your own fortified
          pumpkins. On the Care and Maintenance of Fortles. The Rise and
          Fall and Rise of Palace Runesocesius. Within a minute, you
          have fists full of an entire library’s worth of snippets and
          passages.</p>
          <p>~</p>
          <p>It looks as though Alex will approach the hotel by balloon
          from the non-pirate side. And Inky’s approach by stair will
          deposit them at the hotel entrance, roughly
          pirate-adjacent.</p>
          <p>WHAT DO YOU DO</p>
          <p><a
          href="https://framalistes.org/sympa/arc/tildepals/2022-12/msg00217.html">www</a></p>
        ]]>
      </description>
    </item>
    <item>
      <title>39</title>
      <author>dozens@tilde.team (dozens)</author>
      <guid isPermaLink="false">39 - Sat, 19 Nov 2022 07:38:02
-0700</guid>
      <pubDate>Fri, 25 Nov 2022 07:11:12 -0700</pubDate>
      <description>
        <![CDATA[
          <h3 id="00039">00039</h3>
          <blockquote>
          <p>Alex silently observes the party and this foolish hobbit,
          before him three untouched drinks have accumulated. He’s a
          little less enthusiatic about taking drink from strangers, too
          much risk in that. As Blavin describes this crystal, whatever
          it may be, he catches a glimpse of the pinkish purplish
          armband on the party across from them. They don’t look out of
          place given the patrons at the tavern, but he’s certain they
          were listening in on the animated conversation of the hobbit.
          It could be nothing, or it coule be connected to Corraidhin,
          best to put a bug on them Alex thinks.</p>
          <p>Silently beneath the table and out of site Alex prepares a
          bug and sets it off to follow the person with the armband.
          Once the bug catches up to the part it’s programmed to perform
          a tcpdump and capture information streaming around it, and
          then report back to Alex once full. By no means a perfect
          method of spying, but it’s low energy and can be maintained
          from great distances without taxing Alex’s energy.</p>
          <p>As Blavin comes back to the group from his grandoise space
          commentary Alex begins to question him.</p>
          <p>Enough of your theatrics hobbit. Tell me about the mark,
          you’ve obviously tipped off the entire tavern as to the
          whereabouts of whatever it is you’re looking for, so give us
          an edge, something those evesdroppers a table over don’t have.
          And cut this tripe about your benefactor, who is he, and what
          does he want with this magical baubbles.</p>
          <p>As Alex finishes his questions he sits quietly for a moment
          staring down Blavin.</p>
          <p>During this outburts, as all eyes turn to Blavin for his
          response, Alex casts yet another bug. This one sneaks onto the
          personage of Blavin himself. Programmed the same way.</p>
          <p>We’ll get information from someone, subtle, or not if
          needed.</p>
          </blockquote>
          <p>~</p>
          <blockquote>
          <p>Inky watches with faint amusement as a magical device,
          likely a probe, found its way onto their mission handler.</p>
          <p>Inky might have missed the slight movement under the table
          if they weren’t waiting for it, having received word of the
          younger wizard’s penchant for pre-emptive offence magic. As it
          were, the offices and surrounding premises were routinely
          swept for similar devices, a more recent example of which had
          been placed in plain sight by an overzealous tabloid writer
          hoping to pick up an exclusive reveal. The quality of the
          contraption, which had immediately fallen apart when detached
          from its gum adhesive on the back of a glass vase, had been
          almost insulting.</p>
          <p>It seems Blackfoot hadn’t learned his lesson after all, and
          if Alex was keen to give him a reminder, Inky had no
          objection. As Blavin takes another swig from his sixth drink
          of the evening, the waitress smiling at him with a wink as she
          set down their glasses before skating away to take another
          order (Inky made sure tip her liberally for the attentive
          service), Inky let their line of sight flicker to a
          fuchsia-coloured band on a departing customer’s arm.</p>
          <p>Inky smiles internally at the sight — they can almost hear
          Beaker’s crow of dismay. The poor kingfisher had been under
          increased pressure of late from other scientific associations
          and prominent speakers to exclude BAND from presenting at one
          of the largest annual ornithology conferences of the year on
          accusations of spreading misinformation and junk science in
          addition to attempting to erase the history of native bird
          tribes. There had been a huge row, which ended with the
          BANDits storming off, yelling about “the proof being crystal
          clear” and that they will bring “ancient arcane evidence”. The
          Alcedinian researcher had lamented the halcyon days when
          conferences were avenues for scientific exchange, not
          twittering soapboxes. Not that anyone who had ever tried to
          arrange any gathering of birds of a feather really thought
          things simply glided along smoothly before. However, the
          advent of dedicated carrier pigeon networks had made it easier
          to relay research to and from smaller communities, opening the
          pathways for their participation, including a few somewhat
          Controversial fringe groups like BAND.</p>
          </blockquote>
          <p>Alex attempts to shake down the hobbit, who titters merrily
          at his demands.</p>
          <p>“You know nearly everything I do, dear! Your <em>mark</em>
          as you put it,” Blaven theatrically drops his voice as he
          looks around for eavesdroppers, “would be the zephynos of
          Kelsun Peak should you choose to go that route.</p>
          <p>“If you choose to go to the moon, you’ll have a harder go
          of it,” he frowns. He flips the map over and draws four
          circles in a straight line. They have the proportions of a
          grapefruit, an orange, a tangerine, and an orange. He jabs a
          finger at the grapefruit. “This is us, here, earth.” He points
          at the two oranges and the tangerine. “And these are our
          planet’s moons.” He points to them in order. “Selene, the
          Green Lady. Moonmoon. And Lua, the Red Lady. Recently, as you
          well know, we had a super eclipse in which these four bodies
          and the sun all lined up in perfect alignment. The combined
          magnetic pull of the spheres allowed a rare commingling of the
          ionic spheres, and our instruments were able to detect the
          crystal somewhere out there in space. If I were to bet on it,
          I would put my money on Lua.” He points to the farthest moon,
          the Red Lady, with its own tiny satellite, Moonmoon. He looks
          up at you and explains, “She’s far enough away that her
          ionosphere would never make contact with ours except for in
          this particular, rare circumstance. That’s why the crystal has
          escaped our detection for so long.”</p>
          <p>“As for the Benefactor!” He brightens up. “He’s a
          magnificent fellow as you well know! A renowned collector. His
          wishes are to preserve the crystals and protect them (and us!)
          from their misuse or mishandling! He has a hot tub!” he winks
          at you. “Speaking of crystals,” he adds as an afterthought,
          taking another sip of his drink, “why don’t you hand that
          crystal over to me and I’ll deliver it to the Benefactor. That
          is what he’s paying you for after all!”</p>
          <!--
          Meta: Alex rolls Investigation 2 on the Ornithologer Trio
          4, 5 = Mixed Success
          //-->
          <p>The Ornithologer’s Trio leaves Lucy’s Basement quite
          oblivious to their bug. The Ornithologer turns out to be the
          orator of their little group, ranting about the conspiracy,
          the attempted cover up, about how Big Science wants to
          convince you that birds are dinosaurs but they’re just pulling
          the wool over your eyes. The truth is right there in the
          fossil record for crying out loud! All you have to do is look
          for yourself. Nobody these days wants to <em>think</em> is the
          problem. They just get their information from the authorities
          and take it as gospel, but they don’t see that the authorities
          have adopted a narrative that suits their own ends.</p>
          <p>At which point the groll interjects and asks what is the
          end goal of Big Science, and how exactly does convincing the
          proletariat that birds are dinosaurs help achieve it?</p>
          <p>The BANDit scowls and answers, Look, you just don’t get it,
          okay!</p>
          <p>The three split up and go their separate ways and disappear
          into the night.</p>
          <p>You learn the following, one of which is true, one of which
          is false, and one of which is meaningless.</p>
          <ol type="1">
          <li><p>BAND plans to intercept the CRYSTAL of VOID and use it
          to petition the Insatiable Wyrm for definitive proof that
          Birds Are Not Dinosaurs. In this way they shall shame their
          fellow paleornithologists and earn their rightful place at the
          table of Big Science, which they have spent decades
          undermining.</p></li>
          <li><p>The Gnu Zealots intend to reverse engineer the power of
          the crystals, create a newborn godling, and then release their
          findings, thus laying the foundation of the world’s first
          truly open source religion</p></li>
          <li><p>The trio seeks the crystals not at all, but in fact
          search for Sitopotnia, creator and progenitor of the entire
          amaizeon race—including corbits, aurs, centaurs, and
          others—and the only mortal in the history of Basmentaria to
          successfully take the mantle of creation from the
          overgods.</p></li>
          </ol>
          <!--
          Meta: Alex rolls Investigation 2 on Blaven
          1, 3 = Things go poorly, gain 1 xp
          //-->
          <p>Meanwhile, Blaven slips out into the early, early morning
          carrying his own bug. He whistles tunelessly to himself as he
          sails down the street with a wide and veering but surprisingly
          steady gait.</p>
          <p>Once he gets a few blocks away, his gait narrows and his
          step becomes more lively, a bit jaunty. He stands upright and
          ceases whistling. All signs of drunkenness disappear as he
          tugs on his sleeves and straightens his vest, and runs a hand
          through his hair.</p>
          <p>He meets a goblin catcher in the street going the other
          way, wearily making his way home after a long night’s work. He
          wears a tiny goblin in a glass jar around his neck, as is the
          signifier of his trade. And he carries over his shoulder a
          large cloth sack, the contents of which writhe and kick. Looks
          like it was a productive night for our goblin catcher! Blaven
          gives him a little bow and a salute, laughs, and pats him on
          the back in passing, deftly transferring the bug. “Good night
          for it then ey?” he calls cheerily. The goblin catcher smiles
          politely, mumbles a nicety, and carries on.</p>
          <p>Later, hidden safely away from spying eyes and listening
          ears, Blaven sits at his desk, putting the final flourishes on
          a missive. He sits back and re-reads it to himself, lips
          moving silently. He nods and smiles, satisfied, and reaches
          for a stamp to sign the letter. He presses it into a dark red
          ink pad and then onto the parchment, leaving the image of an
          apple and iris. He sands the paper, carefully folds it, and
          places it in an envelope.</p>
          <p>WHAT DO YOU DO</p>
          <p>Note: Feel free to back up and play out some more
          conversation at Lucy’s before Blavin leaves if you want
          to.</p>
          <p>Options on the table:</p>
          <ul>
          <li>To the mountains!</li>
          <li>To the moon!</li>
          <li>Something else!</li>
          </ul>
          <p><a
          href="https://framalistes.org/sympa/arc/tildepals/2022-11/msg00103.html">www</a></p>
        ]]>
      </description>
    </item>
    <item>
      <title>46</title>
      <author>dozens@tilde.team (dozens)</author>
      <guid isPermaLink="false">46 - Thu, 22 Dec 2022 12:36:07
-0700</guid>
      <pubDate>Thu, 22 Dec 2022 12:36:10 -0700</pubDate>
      <description>
        <![CDATA[
          <h3 id="00046">00046</h3>
          <blockquote>
          <p>Ah so I suppose those Toques were being honest then, there
          was a Ginnarak crystal, and I guess they were going to give it
          to us.. oh well, nothing good in life comes easy.</p>
          <p>Alex cranks the dial on the sunspoke, grabs the hemogoblin
          from the basket, and jumps out of the balloon and onto the
          deck of the ship. He rushes over to the nearest pile of
          bundled rope and barrels and stows his new hemo friend. “Just
          stay hidden little guy, let me take care of these pirates
          first.”</p>
          <p>Alex grabs the dagger from his side as he makes his way
          towards the side of the ship, first thing first, best to cut
          the mooring lines and zip lines. The static clawing sensation
          appears at the back of Alex’s mind, but he attempts to ignore
          it. There’s too much that needs to be done too quickly, and
          he’s all too aware of the danger he’s put himself in. “What
          would Corraidhin do..” Alex thinks to himself, “perhaps a
          spell?”.</p>
          <div class="sourceCode" id="cb1"><pre
          class="sourceCode lua"><code class="sourceCode lua"><span id="cb1-1"><a href="#cb1-1" aria-hidden="true" tabindex="-1"></a><span class="kw">function</span> target<span class="op">:</span>new<span class="op">(</span>obj<span class="op">,</span> tbl<span class="op">)</span></span>
<span id="cb1-2"><a href="#cb1-2" aria-hidden="true" tabindex="-1"></a>  obj <span class="op">=</span> obj <span class="kw">or</span> <span class="op">{}</span></span>
<span id="cb1-3"><a href="#cb1-3" aria-hidden="true" tabindex="-1"></a>  <span class="fu">setmetatable</span><span class="op">(</span>obj<span class="op">,</span> self<span class="op">)</span></span>
<span id="cb1-4"><a href="#cb1-4" aria-hidden="true" tabindex="-1"></a>  self<span class="op">.</span><span class="cn">__</span>index <span class="op">=</span> self</span>
<span id="cb1-5"><a href="#cb1-5" aria-hidden="true" tabindex="-1"></a>  self<span class="op">.</span>x <span class="op">=</span> <span class="dv">0</span></span>
<span id="cb1-6"><a href="#cb1-6" aria-hidden="true" tabindex="-1"></a>  self<span class="op">.</span>y <span class="op">=</span> <span class="dv">0</span></span>
<span id="cb1-7"><a href="#cb1-7" aria-hidden="true" tabindex="-1"></a>  self<span class="op">.</span>speed <span class="op">=</span> <span class="dv">0</span></span>
<span id="cb1-8"><a href="#cb1-8" aria-hidden="true" tabindex="-1"></a>  reutrn obj</span>
<span id="cb1-9"><a href="#cb1-9" aria-hidden="true" tabindex="-1"></a><span class="kw">end</span></span>
<span id="cb1-10"><a href="#cb1-10" aria-hidden="true" tabindex="-1"></a></span>
<span id="cb1-11"><a href="#cb1-11" aria-hidden="true" tabindex="-1"></a><span class="kw">function</span> target<span class="op">:</span>yeet<span class="op">()</span></span>
<span id="cb1-12"><a href="#cb1-12" aria-hidden="true" tabindex="-1"></a>  self<span class="op">.</span>x <span class="op">=</span> <span class="dv">100</span></span>
<span id="cb1-13"><a href="#cb1-13" aria-hidden="true" tabindex="-1"></a>  self<span class="op">.</span>y <span class="op">=</span> <span class="dv">100</span></span>
<span id="cb1-14"><a href="#cb1-14" aria-hidden="true" tabindex="-1"></a>  self<span class="op">.</span>speed <span class="op">=</span> <span class="dv">50</span></span>
<span id="cb1-15"><a href="#cb1-15" aria-hidden="true" tabindex="-1"></a>  <span class="cf">return</span> self</span>
<span id="cb1-16"><a href="#cb1-16" aria-hidden="true" tabindex="-1"></a><span class="kw">end</span></span></code></pre></div>
          <p>After preparing the spell Alex makes his way towards the
          guard rail ready to cut the mooring and zip lines, spell at
          the ready should an enemy appear.</p>
          </blockquote>
          <p>You crank the dial to 11. The sunspoke squeals in delight
          and burns like a tiny star. You grab the hemogoblin, who
          chirrups and clings tightly to you, and leap from the balloon
          onto the deck of the airship.</p>
          <p>You think you can hear—barely audible—the sunspoke singing
          a song of homecoming as the hot air balloon continues to rise
          unpiloted up toward the sun.</p>
          <p>You rush over to cover behind a barrel, and deposit your
          new hemogoblin friend safely inside the center of a large coil
          of rope. It looks up at you quizzically, but nods when you
          tell it to stay put.</p>
          <p>You invoke the powers of the moon and prepare a quick but
          (hopefully) sufficient Spell of Yeeting.</p>
          <!--
          Alex rolls Do Anything 1 to cut the lines and avoid detection
          6 = Great Success! Level Up!
          //-->
          <p>When you draw the dagger, the world develops a faint static
          background noise which is easy enough to ignore at the moment
          given the state of things. You dash forward and start sawing
          at the thick mooring lines. The dagger’s ruby hilt flashes in
          the sunlight as you work, and in your mind’s eye you see a
          bright red wine, and a drop of blood red ink flowing from the
          nib of a fountain pen.</p>
          <p>You shake the images from your head just as you finish
          sawing through the rope. A Cyberplasm who was shimmying back
          up the rope from the hotel to the ship yelps as the line goes
          slack and swings back into the side of the cliff. The pirate
          rebounds from the impact, bounces off the mountainside a few
          times, and falls from view as it disappears through the clouds
          below.</p>
          <p>The ship drifts lazily, rising slightly, and despite your
          best sneaking around, the remaining Cyberplasms on board
          cannot help but notice that the ship is no longer tethered.
          You successfully hide behind a barrel as three cyber ghost
          pirates come rushing over to the ship railing and lean over,
          looking below at where there are no longer any ropes attaching
          the ship to the hotel.</p>
          <p>Out of the corner of your eye, you can see the hemogoblin
          toddling across the deck toward the Cyberplasms, no doubt
          curious about what they’re looking at over the side of the
          ship.</p>
          <blockquote>
          <p>“Indeed, Bread, it’s me. You have not yet escaped your fate
          of untraceable disappearance just yet.” Inky deadpans, then
          smiles. “We have much to discuss, but later. I do need a guide
          … to your hotelier. Presumably I will find them by following
          the racket and trail of ruined decor, but maybe you know of a
          quicker route?”</p>
          </blockquote>
          <p>Bread smiles at the threat of being untraceably
          disappeared, mostly confident that they are on the inside of a
          private little joke and that they are presently in no actual
          danger from Inky. They grip their hammer a little tighter
          nonetheless.</p>
          <p>Confidence slips their trowels into their apron. “Yes, this
          way!”</p>
          <p>They hurry down the hall. You know you’re going the right
          way because tattered, torn, charred books litter the ground in
          increasing numbers. Bits of paper and ash fall like snow.</p>
          <p>Confidence guides you away from the entrance to the
          library’s Great Hall, and takes you instead to a smaller, more
          discreet staff entrance. They open the door a crack, and as
          you look through you are just in time to see the ship captain
          with their cybernetic leg, arm canon, and eye. Now that the
          crew have cleared the way for them, they stroll across the
          library over piles of fallen, damaged books.</p>
          <p>A thin bald man with a neatly trimmed mustache is on the
          other side of the hall, his back turned to the pirate. He
          wears a fine suit and has just finished unlocking a glass
          display case. He retrieves a multifaceted blue and gold stone
          and hugs it to his chest with both arms. He throws a panicked
          glance over his shoulder at the slowly approaching pirate, and
          turns to run away. His retreat is halted by a small explosion
          at his feet. He skids to a stop and looks back at the pirate,
          who is lowering their arm canon.</p>
          <p>“The crystal,” the captain demands in a voice part ghostly
          moan, part mechanical drone. “Hand it over, hotelier.” It
          steps closer. “Mother has promised us new bodies if we deliver
          the quintessence. You won’t be permitted to stand in our
          way.”</p>
          <p>One pirate near the breach tucks a couple volumes of manhwa
          under its arm and climbs out onto the mooring line, returning
          to the ship with its plunder. It howls as the line suddenly
          goes slack, flinging the pirate and its comics into the
          mountainside, and then out into space.</p>
          <p>Sunlight pours into the library from outside as the shadow
          of the airship shifts as it starts to drift, suddenly
          unmoored.</p>
          <p>WHAT DO YOU DO</p>
          <p><a
          href="https://framalistes.org/sympa/arc/tildepals/2022-12/msg00231.html">www</a></p>
        ]]>
      </description>
    </item>
    <item>
      <title>47</title>
      <author>dozens@tilde.team (dozens)</author>
      <guid isPermaLink="false">47 - Thu, 22 Dec 2022 16:51:54
-0700</guid>
      <pubDate>Thu, 22 Dec 2022 16:51:59 -0700</pubDate>
      <description>
        <![CDATA[
          <h3 id="00047">00047</h3>
          <blockquote>
          <p>Damn it! I should’ve left the little goblin in the balloon,
          this could get tricky..</p>
          <p>Time slows for just the briefest of moments while Alex
          calculates his next move. Looking at the position of the
          pirates he can probably yeet the middlemost one away from the
          group into the left most pirate. Best case this sends both of
          them sailing over the edge of the ship, worst case it just
          slightly knocks them off balance. In either event this gives
          me enough time to dart from cover and quickly dispatch the
          right most pirate with Uncle’s dagger. I’ve got to sever each
          connection point between the ecotplasm and the cybernetics,
          nothing quite as quick and easy as flesh and blood, but a
          quick slice to the left most armpit, and another to the right
          most leg right above the carotid artery should do it..</p>
          <p>Jumping immediately to action Alex casts
          <code>yeet.middle_cyberplasm()</code> sending the middle
          pirate into the left most pirate away from the hemogoblin
          while he dashes forward to take the third right most pirate by
          surprise. As he reaches the right most pirate he makes two
          quick slices, first at the leg, followed by a quick upper cut
          to the left arm.</p>
          </blockquote>
          <!--
          Alex rolls Do Anything 1 to yeet the cyberplasm
          3 = Things go poorly. Gain 1 xp.
          Spend 1 xp to pass and gain Sysorcery 2
          //-->
          <p>You channel some of the ambient environmental charge into
          your prepared incantation. It’s comforting sometimes to peer
          behind the veil and see the world through this lens. It’s so
          simple. The separation of self and other is an illusion:
          everything is just a table. The concept of time itself is
          simplified: coroutines prevent everything from happening all
          at once and create the illusion of concurrency. It’s all
          really quite elegant.</p>
          <p>Anyway so the hemogoblin sidles up next to the pirates at
          the railing. It’s not tall enough to see over the railing, and
          starts to kind of jump up and down, trying to catch a glimpse.
          The pirates look down at it in confusion just as the
          <code>yeet</code> happens, and they knock into each other. The
          leftmost one almost manages to regain its balance but then
          trips over the little blood gremlin and pitches over the
          railing. The middle pirate yelps as the startled hemogoblin
          darts between its legs to get out of the way. The pirate
          stumbles and then slips in a small puddle of blood. Its feet
          shoot from beneath it and it too tips over the railing.</p>
          <!--
          Alex rolls Do Anything 1 to sever connections
          1 = Things go poorly. Gain 1 xp.
          Spend 1 xp to pass and gain Stabbing 2
          //-->
          <p>The hemogoblin dashes right into the waiting arms of the
          rightmost Cyberplasm. “Gotcha, you little … ugh! What …” The
          pirate is starting to regret snatching up the little furball,
          which is defensively gushing blood all over it, when you make
          your first slice into its left armpit. Half its cybernetics go
          offline. One arm goes limp and it drops the hemogoblin, which
          scurries around and hides behind you. The pirate turns toward
          you, now full of regrets, and you stab into its right leg,
          knocking its tech completely offline and dispersing the
          ghostly energies.</p>
          <p>As far as you can tell, the ship is now free of
          Cyberplasms.</p>
          <p>The hemogoblin thrusts its tiny fists in the air and
          cheers.</p>
          <blockquote>
          <p>Inky shakes out several large and very fine kerchiefs,
          handing two each to the guides and gestures for them to cover
          their noses and mouths with them while they perform the action
          themselves to demonstrate.</p>
          <p>Donning a pair of skydiving goggles snatched from one of
          the souvenir stalls at the gondola station while no one was
          looking (replacing it with its approximate weight in silver
          coins), Inky retrieves a black metal box that previously
          served as a portable camp stove from their knapsack and
          removes the lid. The inside of the box is filled with dry wood
          chips mixed with a pine green powder, and Inky throws in the
          wicks pulled from some of the scented candles that were pushed
          into a heater flask to melt fully during the walk up the hotel
          steps. Finally, Inky pours another vial of foul-smelling
          liquid over the contents, opens the door just wide enough to
          slide the metal box through to one side of the door a few
          paces away.</p>
          <p>A mildly sweet, cloying smoke emanates from the flameless
          heat inside the box, which begin to fill the library hall with
          a rapidly thickening cloud. It is also taking on an acrid and
          slightly sooty edge. Near the door, Inky fans more of the
          smoke in the direction of the cyberplasmic apparition with a
          thin bound manuscript laying on the floor.</p>
          </blockquote>
          <p>Bread, Confidence, and you all don protective gear. You
          push the camp stove through the door like an Olympic curler.
          It glides across the library floor a respectable distance
          considering the book debris and the lack of sweepers. Much
          more quickly than one would think possible, the hall is filled
          with a thick, sooty smoke. The Cyberplasm captain groans with
          frustration as even the short distance between it and the
          hotelier (and the crystal) becomes occluded in the smoke
          screen. The hotelier wisely doesn’t make a sound as he
          disappears from view.</p>
          <p>Bread nudges you, grins, and gives you a thumbs up.</p>
          <p>WHAT DO YOU DO</p>
          <p><a
          href="https://framalistes.org/sympa/arc/tildepals/2022-12/msg00234.html">www</a></p>
        ]]>
      </description>
    </item>
    <item>
      <title>52</title>
      <author>dozens@tilde.team (dozens)</author>
      <guid isPermaLink="false">52 - Mon, 02 Jan 2023 12:38:09
-0700</guid>
      <pubDate>Mon, 02 Jan 2023 12:38:09 -0700</pubDate>
      <description>
        <![CDATA[
          <h3 id="00052">00052</h3>
          <blockquote>
          <p>Hmm well, that umm, heya little fella. What umm, what did
          you find there? Alex moves to pick up Uncle Corraidhin’s
          dagger, noting that it’s not nearly as brilliant as it was
          before. The ruby gem in the hilt appearing far closer to black
          obsidian now, rather unnerving all things considered..</p>
          <p>“There’s definitely something wrong with this Hemogoblin,
          this isn’t normal” Alex thinks to himself, “What in the ever
          loving run level 0 did Uncle have this dagger for, and why the
          hell would he stuff it inside some old book.” He deftly
          pockets the dagger, for further inspection once they’re back
          at base. Likely someone at HQ can do a deeper analysis of it
          then. Thinking ahead, Alex also grabs a handkerchief from his
          breast pocket and soaks it in the pool of blood around the
          hemogoblin, better than nothing he supposes.</p>
          <p>Pulling a multi pronged instrument labelled “GBD” from his
          bag Alex begins to inspect the hemogoblin for magical,
          metaphysical, and technological aburations. “Just sit still a
          bit little fella, lets see what’s going on”</p>
          </blockquote>
          <p>The hemogoblin hums merrily as you retrieve the dagger and
          fruitlessly attempt to mop up the pool of blood. It wriggles
          around—suddenly seemingly boneless—and giggles and blows
          raspberries as you try to take measurements with the GBD. It
          is kind of annoying but also totally cute.</p>
          <p>Your instrument picks up on an anomaly. You have a clear
          vital signal for the hemogoblin. That’s normal. And there is
          an extremely high amount of ferrous material inside of it. But
          you think that’s also probably normal for a hemogoblin.
          Finally, there is a faint signal of some other kind of entity.
          And that is not normal.</p>
          <p>Under normal circumstances you would say, given the
          measurements, that this second non-goblin entity is in some
          kind of stable but near-death or catatonic state. As though it
          is a deep sleep. Is there some weird magic at work here? Or is
          this some strange, undocumented part of the normal hemogoblin
          physiology? Did this little fella just absorb a knife
          spirit?</p>
          <p>The hemogoblin reaches up and holds your hand as you pass
          the instrument over its body. It smiles at you happily.</p>
          <p>WHAT DO YOU DO</p>
          <p><a
          href="https://framalistes.org/sympa/arc/tildepals/2023-01/msg00016.html">www</a></p>
        ]]>
      </description>
    </item>
    <item>
      <title>48</title>
      <author>dozens@tilde.team (dozens)</author>
      <guid isPermaLink="false">48 - Wed, 28 Dec 2022 16:08:10
-0700</guid>
      <pubDate>Wed, 28 Dec 2022 16:08:12 -0700</pubDate>
      <description>
        <![CDATA[
          <h3 id="00048">00048</h3>
          <blockquote>
          <p>Alex snatches up his new hemo friend cheering huzzah as he
          does. We’ve got a pirate ship little guy!</p>
          <p>Rushing about the deck Alex quickly takes stock of what’s
          left, plenty of ammo, general supplies, fuel, perfectly
          provisioned for a quick crystal kidnapping. Smart move
          pirates, but not smart enough.</p>
          <p>Alex heads to the helm and steadies the ship guiding it out
          and away from the library, can’t have any of the remaining
          cyberplasms easily reboarding it now can we? Once the ship is
          out of range Alex checks his S.T.A.G drone’s twtxt feed for
          updates.</p>
          <pre><code>@&lt;drone/fhsoa7483/video&gt; Cyberplasm approaching crystal
@&lt;drone/fhsoa7483/gps&gt; approx library, top level
@&lt;drone/fhsoa7483/audio&gt; Cyberplasm threatens violence
@&lt;drone/fhsoa7483/video&gt; Inky, bread, confidence enter subvertly
@&lt;drone/fhsoa7483/video&gt; Visual feed impaired due to unknown smog
@&lt;drone/fhsoa7483/audio&gt; Angry tones, uncertain who</code></pre>
          <p>Not particularly helpful, and it rules out my first
          thought. I could blindly fire the broadside canons into the
          library hoping to hit the cyberplasm, but I’d be just as
          likely to hit Inky, Bread, Confidence or any other innocent
          bystander. I’ve got to get a message to her.</p>
          <p>Alex quickly dispatches a command to the S.T.A.G</p>
          <pre><code>@&lt;drone/fhsoa7483/cmd&gt; Seek Inky
@&lt;drone/fhsoa7483/relay&gt; Secured ship, inform A.I of intentions, will coordinate rescue via the stolen ship</code></pre>
          <p>If all we’ve got is this, then we’d best be ready for a
          quick rescue. Alex busies himself preparing a new zipline and
          mooring lines. He then loads the boradside canons and the top
          deck swivel canons. It’ll need to be quick, but if I’m ready I
          can swing the ship in close, deploy a zipline for Inky to zip
          down to the ship with, and defend the retreat with the
          swivels. If everyone retreats to the ship we can take a note
          from the pirates playbook and blast them to hell with the
          broadsides while we make our retreat. Or simply run I suppose,
          but I dislike the idea of leaving innocent people to deal with
          angry pirates</p>
          </blockquote>
          <p>The hemogoblin cheers you on as you take possession of the
          airship, accidentally squirting a few jets of rust colored
          blood in its excitement. Must still be quite young. They don’t
          gain full control of their blood sacs until well into
          adulthood.</p>
          <p>You check your S.T.A.G. drone’s twtxt feeds. This A.I.
          seems especially reliable, you note with satisfaction. Its
          updates are regular and detailed. Even when there’s not much
          to report.</p>
          <p>You load up the canons and take control of the helm. The
          hemogoblin stands at attention at the broadside canons with a
          cracklesparkler, ready to light the fuse at your command. You
          steer the ship a short distance away from the hotel, hopefully
          out of reach of the cyberplasms. But within range of your own
          canons and ziplines.</p>
          <blockquote>
          <p>While Inky has the attention of both guides, they close the
          door again until it is slightly ajar, and make a series of
          hand gestures. First pointing at themselves, at their own
          forearm and fist held stiffly to mimic the shape of the
          captain’s arm cannon, to indicate that Inky will handle the
          Cyberplasm. Then Inky points the two fingers of a hand at
          Bread and Confidence, turns the two fingers downward and
          swings them back and forth in opposite directions to convey
          walking. This was followed by a single finger pointing in the
          general direction they had last seen the hotelier; then the
          finger hooks inward, the arm repeating a yanking motion once
          or twice before ending the gesture with a thumb tossed over
          their shoulder towards the hallway away from the staff
          entrance, to ask them to get their boss out of the library to
          a safe spot.</p>
          <p>Without waiting for confirmation from the toques, Inky
          opens the door, abruptly stops, turns and shoves a compostable
          bag of mango-flavoured croutons at Bread, gives them a thumbs
          up in return and a mildly disturbing, eye-crinkling smile
          behind their kerchief, before slipping inside the smoky room.
          One hand is already pulling out a thin, extendable metal
          walking pole with a carrying strap visually resembling the
          type used by hikers from their courier bag to check for
          obstacles amid the lowered visibility.</p>
          </blockquote>
          <p>Confidence watches all of your hand gestures closely, and
          then nods resolutely. They draw their large hoe, and turn and
          start to crouch run toward the main entrance to to the main
          hall of the library.</p>
          <p>Bread looks confused, but ready to follow Confidence. They
          grab their heavy meat tenderizer and crouch down in imitation
          of their fellow toque. Before they can run off, you shove a
          bag of croutons into their arms. “Small. Toasted. Bread,” they
          intonate slowly in wonder. The confusion falls from their face
          as they break into a wide grin. “Now I’ll never disappear
          without a trace,” they laugh. They thank you and run like a
          duck after Confidence.</p>
          <blockquote>
          <p>Inside, Inky lobs the empty glass vial that had held the
          unpleasantly pungent organic catalyst at a spot the floor
          several paces roughly from where the Cyberplasm — presumably
          the leader of the group — had been standing earlier, in the
          opposite direction of the staff entrance in an attempt to
          divert attention from the hotelier’s last location. As they
          edge along the wall towards the tower stairs, walking pole
          looped over one hand, Inky grabs a few small hardcover
          novellas from a wall shelf. Straightening from their crouch,
          Inky tosses them one at a time horizontally in quick
          succession like a discus, but without the full-body turning
          motion, across the hall towards the sounds of frustrated
          groans and angry muttering. The first starting higher around
          where a human head might have once been, one at waist height
          and another at the juncture below where ectoplasmic knees
          might meet prosthetic legs.</p>
          </blockquote>
          <p>You pick up three hardback novellas. If it wasn’t so smoky,
          and if you weren’t so much in the middle of a potentially life
          and death struggle with the Cyberplasm captain of a pirate
          airship, you might notice their titles: <em>Stop and Smell the
          Crystals</em>, <em>Living the Corn</em>, and <em>A Big
          Moon</em>.</p>
          <!--
          NOTE: book titles generated by https://booktitlegenerator.com/
          //-->
          <p>Anyway, you start flinging.</p>
          <!--
          Inky rolls Do Anything 1 to sever cyber eye
          1: Things go poorly; gain 1 xp
          Spend xp to level up, Throwing 2
          //-->
          <p>After you toss the catalyst, you can see a plasmic form
          heavily blurred and obscured by the smoke turn in that
          direction. You fling <em>Stop and Smell the Crystals</em> at
          it, and it spins like a discus and smashes into the pirate
          right in the face, above the chin. It howls and brings its
          hand to its face, and turns and charges up its arm cannon.</p>
          <!--
          Inky rolls Do Anything 1 to sever arm canon
          5 (2): Success at cost
          //-->
          <p>Mostly going on sound now, you fling <em>Living the
          Corn</em> at the pirate’s moan and at the electric whine of
          the canon charging. You hear the canon discharge but the
          half-blind pirate fires wide. You see the flash of the energy
          blast hitting something, someone, else obscured by smoke in
          the middle distance between the two of you. A man screams out
          in pain. Right after the muffled thump of his body hitting the
          ground, you hear the clinking and ringing of something heavy
          and metallic striking and rolling across the floor.</p>
          <p><em>Living on Corn</em> strikes the pirate in the elbow,
          and with a fizzle and a spark, the arm cannon sputters
          offline.</p>
          <!--
          Inky rolls Do Anything 1 to sever cyber leg
          6 4: Great Success!
          //-->
          <p>The pirate stumbles forward, half-lame and half-blind. It
          stoops and scoops up a heavy melon-sized object. It stomps its
          cybernetic boot, and small rockets spring out from small
          compartments on either side of its ankle. They start to fire
          up and the pirate is about to make its escape when <em>A Big
          Moon</em> hits it right above knee and severs the ghost’s
          final connection to its final enhancement.</p>
          <p>It groans as it starts to dissipate, dropping the heavy
          object once more.</p>
          <p>“My crew, it is too late for me! I shall never have a new
          body now! But it’s not too late for you! You must bring the
          quintessence to Mother!”</p>
          <p>And then the pirate’s essence is diluted in the smoke
          filling the library.</p>
          <blockquote>
          <p>At that moment Inky hears a very low whirring accompanied
          by clicking sounds behind them and without glancing backwards,
          swings the walking pole at the source of the buzzing. The
          stick collides with something, sending it careening backwards
          with a light clatter through what is likely a row of
          bookshelves around the area already partially emptied of their
          contents. From the static noise that ensues, Inky realises
          whatever it was may or may not have been one of the wizard’s
          bugs hovering in the shadows earlier or a disembodied,
          ectoplasm-spewing prosthetic limb after all. Inky calls out
          sheepishly, “Sorry, Young Master Alex! Was that yours? Oops?
          Haha?” before smashing two more empty glass bottles as a
          distraction for any remaining Cyberplasms lurking on the same
          floor, and sprints up the tower stairs, using the banisters as
          a guide.</p>
          </blockquote>
          <p>The Amber Imp is feverishly reporting all the goings on
          from inside the S.T.A.G. drone when Inky strikes its
          conveyance with their walking pole. The bug is destroyed on
          contact. The imp barely manages to fire off one final End Of
          Transmission post before ejecting from the craft, which sinks
          below like an exploded firework. It drifts on the currents of
          smoke and flows out through the hole in the wall into the open
          air outside. The imp falls through open space and starts to
          think back on its life. So much time and energy spent chasing
          its hopes and dreams, its goals and aspirations. So much of
          its life wasted in pursuit. Always reaching, never grasping.
          Is that all it gets? Is this the end? Did it ever really even
          get a chance to really live?</p>
          <p>These thoughts race through its head as it falls, but are
          cut short when it abruptly lands on a hard bed of cloudstuff.
          It tumbles and rolls and comes to a stop. And when it looks
          up, amazed to be alive and vowing to make the most of this
          second chance at life, it looks up into the benevolent smiling
          face of a pink zephynos.</p>
          <p>~</p>
          <p>Inky, you cross the floor to where the pirate had its last
          stand. You find what appears to be approximately one-fifth of
          the hotelier, and wonder idly where the rest of him might be.
          And you notice a conspicuous lack of Ginnarak Crystal.</p>
          <p>You do however notice a soft crunch underfoot. And when you
          bend down to inspect it—disorganized cyberplasms running amok
          in the smoke behind you—you discover a trail of mango flavored
          croutons leading across the hall to the tower stairs.</p>
          <p>You sprint up the stairs using the banisters as a guide.
          The breadcrumb trail ends on the seventh level, where
          Confidence sits slumped against the wall between two
          bookshelves. They have one arm around four-fifths of the
          hotelier, his shocked gaze telling you everything you need to
          know, that he is entirely dead but just doesn’t know it yet.
          Their other arm is around Bread, who has suffered a massive
          wound to the chest and is only slightly more alive than the
          hotelier. On the ground between Confidence’s legs is the
          Ginnarak Crystal. Several loose pages are stuck to its sides,
          held in place by drying blood and ectoplasm.</p>
          <p>Confidence looks at you and smiles wearily. “We left a
          trail for you. It was Bread’s idea. They were a good
          guide.”</p>
          <p>WHAT DO YOU DO</p>
          <p><a
          href="https://framalistes.org/sympa/arc/tildepals/2022-12/msg00250.html">www</a></p>
        ]]>
      </description>
    </item>
    <item>
      <title>44</title>
      <author>dozens@tilde.team (dozens)</author>
      <guid isPermaLink="false">44 - Tue, 20 Dec 2022 08:47:08
-0700</guid>
      <pubDate>Tue, 20 Dec 2022 08:47:11 -0700</pubDate>
      <description>
        <![CDATA[
          <h3 id="00044">00044</h3>
          <blockquote>
          <p>As Alex spots the sunspoke valve he grabs it and cranks it
          up to the 2/3 mark. “Sorry little friend, we’re going to need
          a little bit more juice”. The baloon lurches upwards as air
          rushes in feeding the sunspoke, causing it to burn more
          intensely. After setting the sunspoke ablaze and shouting back
          to the balloon’s owner Alex takes account of his surroundings.
          It’s during this time he spots the bloodied, moving blankets.
          They seem to writhe, as though something beneath them is
          injured.</p>
          <p>Gripping the dagger firmly in one hand Alex grabs the
          blankets from the corner of the balloon basket revealing
          whatever lay beneath.</p>
          </blockquote>
          <p>The sunspoke stretches its little arms and wriggles its
          little fingers. It sighs happily, luxuriating in the extra
          fuel. It burns twice as bright, shooting a hot jet of bright
          yellow flame up into the parachute. The sunspoke starts to
          glow a molten red, and you start to rise faster.</p>
          <p>As you rise up over the peak, you can finally spot the
          Runesocesius. The grand hotel is draped over the top of the
          mountain, clinging to it like a dragon resting on its
          hoard.</p>
          <p>The “cyberplasms” as Confidence called them have docked to
          the side of a tower on the other side of the peak from you.
          They have shot a large hole in the side of the tower, and you
          can see them now starting to zipline into the building. A
          thick plume of black smoke billows out of the side of the
          tower, carrying pages and pages of loose paper into the air
          with it. They rain down like snow. The tower must house an
          extensive library.</p>
          <p>You cautiously pull back a corner of the bloody blankets,
          jeweled dagger raised and ready to strike. You reveal a small
          bloody furry blob. You see two big round eyes, a short-snouted
          face, and enormous pointed ears. It quickly looks away from
          you, chirps pathetically, and trembles as it cowers in place.
          You have found a frightened hemogoblin stowaway!</p>
          <p>WHAT DO YOU DO</p>
          <p><a
          href="https://framalistes.org/sympa/arc/tildepals/2022-12/msg00219.html">www</a></p>
        ]]>
      </description>
    </item>
    <item>
      <title>49</title>
      <author>dozens@tilde.team (dozens)</author>
      <guid isPermaLink="false">49 - Thu, 29 Dec 2022 18:55:34
-0700</guid>
      <pubDate>Fri, 30 Dec 2022 08:12:55 -0700</pubDate>
      <description>
        <![CDATA[
          <h3 id="00049">00049</h3>
          <blockquote>
          <p>“They <em>are</em> a good guide,” Inky corrects adamantly.
          “Do you hear that, Bread? You’re not allowed to disappear
          until you’ve had an entire bag of these croutons, and even
          then you’re still not allowed. If I’d known you’d never had
          croutons before I wouldn’t have let you walk a step further
          into that hall. That was simultaneously the worst and best
          idea ever. Mango! Croutons! What a travesty. Did you even
          taste any of it? No? You have to! How can you offer guests
          delicious fondue without croutons? Speaking of which, we
          haven’t gotten that fondue you promised yet, that’s reason
          #144 you can’t disappear. What’s reason #143? Crostinis. Small
          toasted bread. Slice of life. You can put cheese on it too, if
          you really must …”</p>
          <p>And so on. While Inky talks at Bread in a bid to keep them
          conscious, they whisk out a first-aid kit from their courier
          bag and kneeling on the floor, proceeds to stem the bleeding
          from the chest wound with coagulant-coated bandages. Slowly,
          they tip a flask of tea infused with some restorative herbs
          down Bread’s open mouth, careful not to pour too quickly. Inky
          pauses mid-diatribe and mid-pour to thrust another flask of
          tea into Confidence’s hand, the one wrapped four-fifths of the
          hotelier and ask, “Are you injured? Please keep an eye on your
          companion, I will summon for assistance.”</p>
          <p>Standing up, Inky walks to a window, opens it and peers
          out. They look around for a hot air balloon and notice the
          unmoored airship. After squinting at it with a mini-spyglass,
          they see Alex standing at the helm of the ship with a young
          hemogoblin on board. Inky waves, and makes a vertical cross
          sign with a fist and thumb on the opposite upper arm a few
          times. Next, they pull out a small tin whistle, and toot a few
          sharp notes in the same cadence as the one-liner directed at
          Bread earlier by the gondola station. After a moment, a scops
          owl swoops in to land on the windowsill. Inky inserts a rolled
          piece of paper into a small pouch hanging at the bird’s back,
          and the bird flies off again.</p>
          <p>Returning to the figures slumped against the wall, Inky
          places the Ginnarak crystal in a lightly padded cloth bag,
          stowing it away in their knapsack-style backpack. They resume
          checking and tending to the toques’ injuries, while expounding
          upon various permutations of toasted bread to a captive
          audience.</p>
          </blockquote>
          <p>Bread closes their eyes and smiles dreamily at the
          descriptions of various breads. They weakly sip the tea as you
          tip it into their mouth and swallow with effort.</p>
          <!--
          Inky rolls Do Anything 1 to stabilize Bread
          2 = Things go poorly
          Spend 1 remaining xp to advance = Success + gain Medicine 2
          //-->
          <p>They sigh and open their eyes. They focus on you and
          maintain eye contact as you draw from a seemingly bottomless
          well of knowledge on the topic of toasted breads. Bread and
          life are clinging fast to each other, neither ready or willing
          to let go of the other. They are going to be okay.</p>
          <p>Confidence’s wounds are superficial. They are winded from
          dragging Bread and the hotelier up seven flights of stairs.
          But they are fine.</p>
          <p>The hotelier’s wounds are sadly quite fatal. Honestly it
          was all over for him the moment he took the full force of the
          captain’s plasma canon to his chest. He babbles, “It’s not … I
          wasn’t …” And then with sudden realization and quiet
          resignation, a clear-eyed, “Oh.” And then he is gone.</p>
          <p>His courage in the face of danger is the reason you now
          have the third of the five Ginnarak Crystals in your pack.
          Whether or not his death was in vain is now largely up to you
          and what you decide to do with the crystal.</p>
          <p>~</p>
          <p>Downstairs in the Great Hall of the library, one of the
          remaining Cyberplasms crouches down next to the inert
          cybernetic eye that until very recently belonged to their
          captain. They pick it up and turn it over in their hand.
          “Worry not, my captain,” the ghost mourns. “We will find the
          quintessence. And once we do, we will be made anew in the
          forge of our Mother.”</p>
          <p>He rolls the orb in palm of his hand. A faint arc of energy
          crackles across its surface. And the eye rolls over of its own
          volition and looks up at the pirate.</p>
          <p>Suddenly reverent, the pirate gently places the eye on the
          ground as a ghostly face begins to form around it. The pirate
          waits patiently, attentively. It’s not every day one gets to
          bare witness to a new birth. The ectoplasm that gathers around
          the eye forms a rail-thin body. Its head is bald and its face
          sports a neatly trimmed mustache. It is missing an arm and a
          leg.</p>
          <p>Dutifully, the witness fetches a recently discarded arm
          canon and leg booster. The exotica tap into the energy
          provided by a new crossing over, and come online, and create a
          new mesh.</p>
          <p>The hotelier stands and looks down at its new body. As it
          were. It looks around at its surroundings. It picks up a few
          books and starts shelving them.</p>
          <p>The pirate, mostly wishing to provide companionship and
          comfort to the new ghost, assists with tidying up.</p>
          <p>~</p>
          <p>Alex, you are at the helm of the balloon-ship. As you start
          to drift slightly up and away, the blue dome of the hotel
          comes into view. On its peak you can see a life-sized statue
          of a stern-faced Runesocesius wielding a spear, drawn back as
          though ready to hurl an angry thunderbolt down at the world
          below.</p>
          <p>The hemogoblin is still down on the deck by the canons. You
          see it waving cheerily at the library tower. You squint in
          that direction, but can’t see what has caught its
          attention.</p>
          <p>A small tufted-ear owl silently lands next to you breaking
          you from your reverie. The owl is wearing a small harness with
          a pouch at the back. Inside the pouch is a rolled piece of
          paper signed by Inky, up on the seventh floor of the
          tower.</p>
          <p>You count seven windows up the side of the tower from its
          base. There seems to be some movement inside, but you can’t
          make much out from here. With a lucky shot, you think you
          might be able to hook the window frame with a zipline.</p>
          <p>~</p>
          <p>Outside, a pink zephynos is spinning raw cloud into a
          minuscule opera house and performing arts center under the
          direction of an amber imp with a new hunger for life. It is an
          organic looking structure: a primary concert hall, surrounded
          by a number of smaller stages and performance areas spiraling
          out from the center like a nautilus shell.</p>
          <p>The imp smiles happily, proudly. What tales will be told
          here! What songs will be sung! “Lorehold,” it whispers to
          itself. “You will tell the world’s stories.”</p>
          <p>It is already trying out lines in its head, imagining the
          play it will write of this day. About the hotel and the
          library and the pirates and the cloud dragons. About a pair of
          adventurers. And a very brave and lucky drone pilot that dared
          to chase its dreams.</p>
          <p>WHAT DO YOU DO</p>
          <p><a
          href="https://framalistes.org/sympa/arc/tildepals/2022-12/msg00252.html">www</a></p>
        ]]>
      </description>
    </item>
    <item>
      <title>42</title>
      <author>dozens@tilde.team (dozens)</author>
      <guid isPermaLink="false">42 - Sat, 17 Dec 2022 08:01:41
-0700</guid>
      <pubDate>Sat, 17 Dec 2022 08:01:48 -0700</pubDate>
      <description>
        <![CDATA[
          <h3 id="00042">00042</h3>
          <blockquote>
          <p>This seems a bit strange. Certainly Blavin has been pulling
          strings from behind the scenes the whole time, but why
          coordinate a special escort for us when there are other
          retrieval teams, and we’ve been less than amicable with the
          bloke the entire time.. Alex thinks to himself.</p>
          <p><em>DM: I’d like to check for any signs of deceit in the
          toques demeanor or communcations with us</em></p>
          <p>Confidence you said right? What would you do if I simply
          chose not to accompany you? I mean, there’s a whole city
          around us, perhaps I’d prefer a drink before climbing a
          mountains worth of stairs. Or better yet, I could get back on
          the boat and ride to the top and same myself the hassle.</p>
          </blockquote>
          <p>Bread once again looks confused. Confidence looks
          surprised, caught off guard.</p>
          <!--
          Alex rolls Investigation 2 to check for signs of deceit
          3 5 = Partial Success / Success at Cost
          //-->
          <p>Confidence sputters, “Well, yes, of course. You’ve been
          traveling for some time now, haven’t you? I can assure you
          that the food and drink at Runesocesius will be better than
          anything you can get here! But the choice is entirely yours.
          Feel free to avail yourself of the local offerings. We will
          wait here at the steps for you.”</p>
          <p>Bread nods slowly, and seems to trailing behind the
          conversation just a second or two.</p>
          <p>Their reactions seem genuine to you despite the
          circumstances. They seem like a couple of low level employees
          of a luxury hotel earnestly trying to follow the instructions
          they’ve been given.</p>
          <p>There are a couple of stalls and vendors set up around the
          gondola station. Many of them serve mulled wine and hot
          chocolate. There is some edible fare. Hot sandwiches and
          pitas. Nothing that an empanada from Enrique’s wouldn’t put to
          shame. But they look hot and steamy, and of great comfort to
          anybody who might be hungry and cold. There are a few fire
          pits, next to which there are long benches with blankets,
          where you might sit and warm up for a bit.</p>
          <p>The gondola lift ends here, and does not continue up to the
          mountain any further. The cloud steps are the most common way
          to get up to the peak, and to the Runesocesius. But you’re
          pretty sure one or two of the stalls here offers balloon rides
          up to the peak for thrill seekers and for those with
          accessibility needs.</p>
          <blockquote>
          <p>“I think you already know I’m interested in neither bread
          nor cheese, the second of which I certainly did not ask for
          yet you tried to offer in your hasty pretence.” Inky smiles
          thinly at the toques.</p>
          <p>Taking out a small bag of gold coins and weighing it slowly
          on one hand to the sound of coins clinking inside the pouch,
          Inky continues, “Speak, answer our questions frankly and you
          will be rewarded. The hotelier up there need not know. Breathe
          a word of our little chat to another soul, however …” Inky’s
          gaze cut briefly to four snow ravens perched atop a spiral
          lamp post and back, “and you will learn the meaning of
          disappearing without a trace.”</p>
          </blockquote>
          <p>Bread looks confused. You are starting to believe it is
          their default expression. “So, you <em>don’t</em> want no
          chee—”</p>
          <p>“Our only desire is to help!” Confidence hastily
          interrupts. He smiles pleasingly. “We are your guides! Not
          just physically up the steps, but in all things here on Kelsun
          Peak. You have but to ask, and if it is within our power to
          give it, it will be yours! We are but humble ser—”</p>
          <p>And just then Confidence is also suddenly interrupted. A
          thundering boom like a canon sounds from somewhere nearby,
          followed quickly by an explosion somewhere up above. Snow
          ravens fly off in all directions in a panic. The sound ripples
          through the mountaintop, rattling the ground on which you
          stand. A bunch of small rocks and two large boulders shake
          loose from the mountainside. Shoppers and travelers shout and
          duck for cover as they are pelted by the scree. One of the
          large boulder bounces clear over the station and plummets down
          the side of the mountain before disappearing into the cloud
          ocean below. The second one falls straight toward the
          platform. A vendor selling wreaths and candles dives out of
          the way as his stall is crushed by the boulder. A bench is
          toppled over, spilling its blankets into the fire pit, and
          catches fire, quickly spreading to another nearby stall.</p>
          <p>Bread looks up at the sky, confused. You see a thin line of
          black smoke starting to rise up into the sky from over the
          ridge where the Runesocesius lies. Confidence shouts, and you
          see him pointing at the sea, where a balloonship is rising up
          out of the cloud bank, sailing quickly toward you and the
          summit of Kelsun Peak.</p>
          <p>It resembles a seafaring ship, but instead of masts and
          sails, it has two large, colorful, patchwork balloons that
          provide it lift. A large fan on a pivot at the rear of the
          ship provides thrust. As you watch, it fires a second
          canon—that <em>is</em> what the sound was!—nearly straight up,
          arcing up and over the peak at Palace Runesocesius.</p>
          <p>The crew of the ship bustle around on the deck of the ship,
          reloading the canons, firing the balloons, shouting, giving
          and following orders.</p>
          <p>“Cyberplasms,” groans Confidence, and Bread whimpers. Alex,
          that quiet, dull, static roar that has been constantly
          tickling the back of your head ever since you found that
          dagger seems to rise in pitch and in tone. It conveys a sense
          of urgency, of warning. You can <em>almost</em> hear a
          desperate voice behind the static fuzz cautioning you,
          “Evil…”</p>
          <p>The only corporeal element of the crew are their cybernetic
          enhancements. A mechanical leg. A synthetic eye. A claw, a
          hook, a hand. An arm canon. Almost all of them have more than
          one, some as many as 3 or 5. The cybernetic pieces of each
          individual crew member are held together by plasmic energy
          arcs, crackling blue and green. And surrounding the bioware
          and the plasmic arcs of each crew member, like a blanket or a
          cocoon, is the translucent, wavering, ghostly form of some
          humanoid long-dead.</p>
          <p>The figure standing on the deck surveying the work of the
          rest of the crew—presumably the captain—has a synthetic eye
          rotating freely, 360 degrees in all directions, inside its
          skull-like head; a bulky arm canon; and a thin robotic leg
          terminating in a thick boot. Plasmic blasts arc through its
          core, sometimes disrupting and glitching its ghostly body.</p>
          <p>The captain raises its arm canon and shouts to the crew.
          Its voice carried on the breeze sounds like something
          otherworldly rising slowly from the murky deep. “Fire the
          canon, boys! And fire up the balloons! Drop the ballast! That
          crystal is <em>ours!</em>”</p>
          <p>It happens very quickly: the ship ascends to the summit and
          soon is firing grappling hooks at it to pull themselves in and
          breach the walls of the hotel.</p>
          <p>Bread looks at you, wide-eyed and trembling. They let loose
          a pitiful wail and turn and start running up the steps.
          “Bread!” Confidence yells after them. They cast a backward
          glance at you. “I’ve got to help Bread! We’ve got to save the
          hotel!” And they give chase to their fellow toque, bounding up
          the cloudstuff steps.</p>
          <p>WHAT DO YOU DO</p>
          <p><a
          href="https://framalistes.org/sympa/arc/tildepals/2022-12/msg00203.html">www</a></p>
        ]]>
      </description>
    </item>
    <item>
      <title>50</title>
      <author>dozens@tilde.team (dozens)</author>
      <guid isPermaLink="false">50 - Sat, 31 Dec 2022 10:33:06
-0700</guid>
      <pubDate>Sat, 31 Dec 2022 10:33:07 -0700</pubDate>
      <description>
        <![CDATA[
          <h3 id="00050">00050</h3>
          <blockquote>
          <p>Meta: I look forward to reading the A.I.’s play once it’s
          written, we should go back and write the sequence of events
          for this segment from their perspective in play form at some
          point.</p>
          <p>Alex gingerly takes the note from the owl and reads it
          quickly. “I guess my S.T.A.G. got to Inky after all.” Eyeing
          the tower and cutting up the windows, it looks like maybe I’d
          get a shot in from the zip line. But it’s iffy.</p>
          <p>Alex grabs the wheel and guides the balloonship slowly up a
          few levels. From that vantage point it should only be 3-4
          levels between the ship and I.</p>
          <p>After getting the ship in place he grabs a zip line canon
          and launches it at one of the windows on the 7th floor,
          sinking the anchor firmly beneath the window.</p>
          <p>Now to signal Inky… Alex rummages around the ship, finding
          both a signal flare gun and flares in the cargo hold, at least
          the pirates were prepared for the worst. Taking aim away from
          the Balloon Sails, Alex fires the flare up into the air
          creating a dazingly and bright signal in the sky.</p>
          </blockquote>
          <p>You fire the zipline and the hemogoblin cheers adorably.
          The spear pierces the stone right beneath the 7th floor
          window, and the hooks extend and foam, cementing the line in
          place.</p>
          <p>In a locker on the side of the ship you find a few signal
          flares. You point them away from the balloons and fire into
          the sky. The flares explode brilliantly and hang dazzling in
          the sky before slowly drifting downward.</p>
          <p>A pair of zephynos swim over, attracted by the brilliant
          sparkling lights. They excitedly bat at the air with their
          hands and turn somersaults. They pull at some clouds and
          squeeze them into dozens of abstract forms inspired by the
          bursts. They toss them back and forth playfully and soon the
          boulders are drifting around listlessly overhead.</p>
          <p>Below, almost all of the Cyberplasms have noticed by now
          that their ship has been stolen. Several crowd into the hole
          in the wall and shout and shake their fists at you.</p>
          <p>You hear a low chirrup behind you and turn to see the
          hemogoblin standing in the middle of the deck. Somehow in all
          the commotion it has managed to get its tiny little hands on
          the ruby-hilted dagger. It grips the hilt tightly in both
          hands and gazes in wide-eyed wonder at the gem, utterly
          captivated, back turned to the fireworks. The hemogoblin and
          the blade are absolutely dripping with rivers of blood. A
          decent sized pool has already formed at its feet.</p>
          <p>WHAT DO YOU DO</p>
          <p><a
          href="https://framalistes.org/sympa/arc/tildepals/2022-12/msg00257.html">www</a></p>
        ]]>
      </description>
    </item>
    <item>
      <title>41</title>
      <author>dozens@tilde.team (dozens)</author>
      <guid isPermaLink="false">41 - Wed, 14 Dec 2022 17:50:38
-0700</guid>
      <pubDate>Wed, 14 Dec 2022 17:50:44 -0700</pubDate>
      <description>
        <![CDATA[
          <h3 id="00041">00041</h3>
          <blockquote>
          <p>Alex grips the encoded message he received in reply to his
          last request firmly in his coat pocket. It was simple, curt,
          impactful. “Trust no one”. Which begged the question, could
          even it be trusted? Was HQ compromised? His informants in
          danger? His allies and leads awash in the dark grey mist of
          uncertainity. Or had his message been intercepted, cracked,
          and a farsical response been sent in its place. Alex wasn’t
          certain which, but the strange format and unusually speedy
          response had him on edge.</p>
          <p>This anxiety didn’t boil up to the surface, not a line of
          worry or hint of the inner turbulence broke his cold blue
          eyes. Outwardly he was just as composed as ever, but between
          these uncertainties, the loss of his uncle, and now this
          utterly strange dagger he’d found amongst his uncle’s
          belongings, he wasn’t certain how long that composure would
          last. It didn’t held that he felt this gnawing at the back of
          his mind, as though something was probing, attempting to
          communicate with him, somewhere between telepathy and utter
          magic, and not in any sense that Alex understood.</p>
          <p>And here he stood, a stranger amongst amidst his uncle’s
          allies, and very little intention to change that situation at
          the moment.</p>
          <p>As the gondola touched down and the Toques rushed to greet
          them Alex jumped blithely off the ship and onto firm, but
          fluffy, ground. He cast a look around him at what appeared to
          be an ordinary port of entry, noting the crowds of people
          passing by. As the Toques arrived Alex spoke curtly to them,
          “Who sends you to greet us, and where do you wish to take us,
          and by what means do we travel?”. Short, cut, information
          only. There’s too much unnerving in an unknown situation like
          this.</p>
          </blockquote>
          <p>~</p>
          <blockquote>
          <p>Inky greets the toques in turn politely, then turns to the
          second toque and says, “A little bit of bread and no
          cheese.”</p>
          </blockquote>
          <p>“Cheese?” Bread cocks their head looks at Inky with a touch
          of embarrassment. They start patting at their pockets,
          presumably looking for a morsel of cheese to share with the
          travelers, but finding none. They groan miserably. Confidence
          butts in apologetically, “There will be plenty of food at the
          hotel if you want some! Some delicious fondue perhaps? Kelsun
          Peak’s famous liquid gold!”</p>
          <p>“Blavin Blandfoot arranged for us to meet you,” Bread
          answers Alex. Confidence nods enthusiastically in agreement.
          “But I suppose technically the hotelier sent us.” Bread points
          up at the sky, in the general direction of the summit of
          Kelsun Peak. “We are to escort you to Palace Runesocesius.”
          They thumb over their shoulder in the general direction of the
          stairs. “By way of the cloud steps. On foot.”</p>
          <p>Confidence leans in close and lowers their voice. “A
          Ginnarak Crystal! I can’t hardly believe it! Thought they had
          all been lost to the ages. I hear it’s complete dumb random
          luck that this one turned up. Story is, an aetherwael beached
          itself on some wide zephynos boulevard. Happens sometimes.
          Poor things can’t distinguish between clouds and cloudstuff. I
          don’t blame ’em! At a distance, you and me can’t either!
          Anyway, this aetherwael has got a harpoon stuck in its side.
          Dratted poachers. May they all fall out of the sky and be
          dashed to a thousand pieces on the rocks below. But it had a
          harpoon in its side and was trailing behind it a float bag
          tethered to the harpoon. And you probably already guessed what
          was inside of it!” By the time Confidence finishes their brief
          story, they are trembling and nearly breathless with
          excitement.</p>
          <p>“Anyway,” Bread interrupts their excited companion in an
          attempt to restore decorum. Both of the toques have been
          gently herding you toward the base of the stairs this whole
          time. “You know how the zephynos are. You could give them all
          the coin in Basmentaria, or something priceless like a
          Ginnarak Crystal, and they’d just as quickly misplace it out
          of carelessness. If it’s not a cloud they can sculpt into the
          shape of seussomorph or the likeness of some fantasy creature,
          they just don’t give a fig. Luckily the hotelier caught wind
          of the aetherwael and found out about the crystal before they
          managed to lose it, or bury it inside of a sculpture or
          something silly! He has it safe and sound in the library up at
          Runesocesius now.” Bread climbs the first step, his foot
          sinking barely a centimeter into wispy cloud before striking
          the solid cloudstuff. “Come! The hotelier will be very excited
          to greet you!”</p>
          <p>WHAT DO YOU DO</p>
          <p><a
          href="https://framalistes.org/sympa/arc/tildepals/2022-12/msg00193.html">www</a></p>
        ]]>
      </description>
    </item>
    <item>
      <title>40</title>
      <author>dozens@tilde.team (dozens)</author>
      <guid isPermaLink="false">40 - Sun, 27 Nov 2022 01:30:42
-0700</guid>
      <pubDate>Wed, 14 Dec 2022 05:41:15 -0700</pubDate>
      <description>
        <![CDATA[
          <h3 id="00040">00040</h3>
          <blockquote>
          <p>As Blavin finished his afterthought about handing over the
          crystal, a yelp was the only warning they heard before a young
          waiter was suddenly half-sprawled over the hobbit, a tray of
          ginger beers toppled from his hand and the mugs’ contents
          splashed onto the hobbit’s front, though fortunately some of
          it ended up in a large puddle on the ground rather than on
          Blavin’s person. The waiter had tripped over a bag on the
          floor on his way to the table two over from theirs and was
          scrambling to his feet.</p>
          <p>“By Nullar’s nuts, I— OH SH——!! S-s-sorry, sir! Hold on,
          l-lemme get— uh—” the waiter looked around frantically. The
          waitress who had brought their drinks rushed over with some
          clean dry towels, a few of which she handed to the other
          waiter, and they both proceeded to wipe and dab at Blavin’s
          damp clothes amid the hapless waiter’s babbled apologies.
          Under the cover of the towels, the waitress patted down the
          hobbit’s vest and replaced the sheaf of papers she had
          covertly lifted from one of the vest pockets earlier with a
          beguiling smile and wink. Once the beer on the floor had been
          cleaned up (the despondent young waiter had offered to pay for
          Blavin’s next two rounds of drinks) and the waiters had moved
          on to serve other customers, Inky spoke.</p>
          <p>“You don’t mind that we prefer to deliver it to the
          Benefactor personally, of course,” Inky piped cheerily,
          referring to the crystal. “The late wizard thought it was
          prudent to cover our bases since you’re a new, untested case
          manager after all. Besides, a little delayed gratification
          never hurt anybody, did it?” Inky smiled and raised their
          drink. “Another toast in tribute to Master Corraidhín! May his
          courage and buoyant spirit guide us on our next mission!”</p>
          <p>~</p>
          <p>When Inky stepped out of the tavern and was a few paces
          away, someone clattered through the door and called out, “Hey!
          You forgot your takeout!”</p>
          <p>Inky turned in the direction of the voice. It was the
          waitress who had served their table earlier. She waved a brown
          paper bag in one hand. Inky gave her an embarrassed smile and
          said, “Thanks.” As the bag changed hands, the waitress mouthed
          soundlessly, <em>We’ll report any more.</em> She went back
          inside, and Inky strolled off into the cool night air with the
          bag securely tucked away next to a tea pouch and a more
          pressing question: what blend would go best with fried
          tofurkey balls?</p>
          <p>~</p>
          <p><em>(Meanwhile)</em></p>
          <p>“The BANDit and his associates had gone to the tavern.” His
          assistant looked up from the scrap of paper held under a
          claw.</p>
          <p>Beaker heaved a sigh and rubbed the tips of one wing
          against his forehead. Surely he had better things to do than
          play Eye Spy over a bunch of crackpots, such as peer reviewing
          the latest draft of a paper on the development of Cerylidian
          hunting techniques for an upcoming issue of <em>The
          Ichnition</em>. But Cio seemed to think something may come of
          it and unfortunately, she was usually right about
          troublemakers.</p>
          <p>“Tell them to continue tailing from a distance,” he replied
          with a distracted wave, and his assistant left the room.</p>
          <p>Anyway, if he had the spare time, he could look at more
          interesting things, like the data he had collected surrounding
          the disappearance of the time anomaly that had popped up a few
          weeks ago. It had happened gradually, and he still wasn’t
          entirely sure what had caused this particular incident, but
          the signals picked up by his instruments had later faded, just
          like other ones before it. Still, it was comparatively larger
          than previous ones, and seemed to have taken slightly longer
          to dissipate, which meant more data points.</p>
          <p>He stole another glance at his Dat repositories before
          sighing again, swivelling his chair and attention back to the
          manuscript before him. Work first … then more work.</p>
          </blockquote>
          <p>~</p>
          <blockquote>
          <p>The party dispersed after the discussion with Blavin.
          Nobody had wanted to relinquish the crystal to him, personally
          Alex felt that was prudent, though he still wasn’t sure what
          the point of it all was. The foolish hobbit had blathered on
          and on about their “mark” tactfully ignoring the real
          questions. And then the bug, damn it, the bug that chittered
          on about absolutely nothing for hours. It didn’t take Alex too
          long to figure out why, but he clung to the transmission until
          it died out hoping he’d be mistaken.</p>
          <p>So there he sat, in the attic of his once Uncle, staring
          bleakly into a cup of dark black coffee. The desk strewn with
          hastily scratched notes pulled from the bugs feeds. At least
          the one that had tracked that nosey group had proved somewhat
          helpful. Turns out this little group has less friends than a
          drunk who’s run up their tab.</p>
          <p>Still, there’s no point to share any of this information.
          It’s too loose, not definitive enough to action with the
          group.</p>
          <p>Alex begins to pen a message to an fellow operative, in
          hopes that HQ will pick it up and assign someone to the
          task.</p>
          <pre><code>&lt;- OP 2817 * LOC MB-A
-&gt; OP 25120 * LOC ESPER

CLEARANCE: SECRET
PACKET ENCLOSED. YOUR EYES ONLY.

REQUESTING DETAIL ON BLAVIN
EMPLOY OF &quot;THE BENEFACTOR&quot;
PERCEPTIVE, AWARE OF BUGS.
DO NOT CONTACT, DO NOT DISRUPT
EXTREME CAUTION IMPERATIVE.</code></pre>
          <p>Once penned Alex encrypts it with GPG and sends it along.
          These channels have worked well for him in the past. If Blavin
          wants to play games, then games we shall have.</p>
          <p>“I hate to do this” Alex mumbles to himself. “Normally I’d
          trail him myself, but I don’t think I have much say in the
          matter.” As it stands the group is dead set on gathering more
          of these cyrstals, regardless of what the danger may be, and
          if Alex wants to find his Uncle, they’re his best bet in doing
          so. Blavin doesn’t even matter outside of that. But if he can
          help the group reach their end faster, or force the
          information out of Blavin, perhaps it can come sooner..</p>
          <p>Alex lets out another sigh and glances wistfully around the
          gloomy attic room. It looked just like he remembered his
          Uncle’s office looking like at the College of Sysorcerery when
          he had taught there. He always was so particular. Pushing his
          chair away and grabbing his coffee he wanders to the bookshelf
          where a large steamer chest sits beside it. The bookshelf is
          covered in manuscripts, “Practical Common Lisp”, “The C
          Programming Language Vol 2”, “RHEL 5 Systems Administration”,
          each one arcane and well worn. And the amount of volumes,
          sometimes it’s a wonder Corraidhin had time to do anything
          other than read.</p>
          <p>“Maybe if I had been a little more studious I’d know how to
          help you..” as he pulls “A Guide to Backups and All Things
          Necessary” off of the shelf a knife falls out of the book, and
          clatters onto the floor glaring malevolently up at Alex.</p>
          </blockquote>
          <p>Your gondola lift finally rises above the thick layer of
          clouds. The sudden flash of clear blue sky is a revelation
          after ascending for nearly 60 minutes through clouds so thick
          you couldn’t see through the foggy windows more than three
          feet. Above you towers rocky, imposing Kelsun Peak. You can
          just see a tiny portion of the hotel roof through a cleft in
          the rocks. Below you, a frozen turbulent ocean of clouds
          dotted with twisting leaning spires and spiraling branching
          towers, all made out of solid cloudstuff. Handiwork of the
          whimsical and industrious zephynos.</p>
          <p>You spot two or three of them now, leaping and diving
          playfully through the clouds like dolphins, spinning the
          clouds like yarn, and packing them into solid constructs.
          Their current project resembles a garden of outlandish,
          distorted tubas, french horns, and trombones.</p>
          <p>The small cloud dragons are about 6 - 8 feet long including
          their thick tails. They have wide faces with round lidless
          eyes, and always seem to be smiling. Their heads are topped
          with multiple pairs of filamented stalks. They have six short,
          stubby arms with long thin fingers that they use to knead and
          pull clouds into solid shapes.</p>
          <p>They build ceaselessly and mostly for the sake of building:
          they have no apparent need for the structures themselves,
          living as they do floating among the clouds. On occasion they
          have been entreated to build on behalf of others. And the rare
          floating palace or city can still be found drifting around
          Basmentaria as a result. The great city of Vay’Neddas—tethered
          to the ground by great chains to Primora in the north and
          Agendell in the south—is one of their greatest enduring
          works.</p>
          <p>You approach the gondola station at the base of Kelsun
          Peak, and exit your cable car as it slowly rounds the
          bullwheel. There are two toques—presumably meant to be
          operating the lifts—standing off to the side, ignoring their
          responsibilities, complaining loudly to nobody and everybody
          about being forced to work long hours and being unfairly
          compensated. The tips of their soft, conical heads slump
          forward, calling to mind revolutionaries, or smurfs.</p>
          <p>It is wicked cold as you step out onto the platform and the
          wind nips and bites at you relentlessly.</p>
          <p>At the edge of the platform, foggy white steps made of firm
          cloudstuff climb up around the side of the mountain peak to
          the Palace Runesocesius. Once the conspicuously extravagant
          residence of one of Basmentaria’s most powerful politicians,
          it has since—after its owner fell from public favor and was
          routed out—been gutted and transformed into a luxury hotel of
          equally conspicuous extravagance. It continues to be one of
          the highest inhabitable places on Basmentaria.</p>
          <p>Two small toques at the base of the steps rush forward to
          meet you—the floppy tips of their coneheads waggling side to
          side in their exuberance—and introduce themselves as
          Confidence and Bread, your guides. They have been instructed
          to guide you up to Runesocesius where you will take posession
          of the Ginnarak Crystal.</p>
          <p>WHAT DO YOU DO</p>
          <p><a
          href="https://framalistes.org/sympa/arc/tildepals/2022-12/msg00186.html">www</a></p>
        ]]>
      </description>
    </item>
    <item>
      <title>45</title>
      <author>dozens@tilde.team (dozens)</author>
      <guid isPermaLink="false">45 - Tue, 20 Dec 2022 10:15:23
-0700</guid>
      <pubDate>Thu, 22 Dec 2022 09:29:11 -0700</pubDate>
      <description>
        <![CDATA[
          <h3 id="00045">00045</h3>
          <blockquote>
          <p>As the blankets draw back from the bloody mass, a cute
          little hemogoblin appears. “Aww little fellas just scared.”
          Alex lowers the dagger, but otherwise ignores the hemogoblin.
          Best to leave it be for now, there’s more important
          things.</p>
          <p>As the balloon gets within range of the ship Alex begins to
          scan the deck for Cyberplasms. At the same time he checks his
          bug to track the location of the cyberplasms more acutely. It
          looks like there may be an opporunity to jump from the balloon
          to the ship. After that cutting the zip lines would give me
          the opporunity to steal the ship, leaving the cyberplasms
          trapped at the top of the hotel.</p>
          </blockquote>
          <p>Just a few Cyberplasms remain on the deck of the airship.
          The vast majority of them have zipped into the hotel
          tower.</p>
          <p>You check your bug’s feed. It has gone almost entirely
          unnoticed in the fracas, and you are able to piece together a
          clear picture of the inside of the tower. It is indeed a grand
          library, its galleries spanning each floor of the tower. One
          of the largest collections in all of Basmentaria.</p>
          <p>The Cyberplasms have breached the tower near its base and
          are pouring into the Great Hall. You tune in just in time to
          see a rail-thin, bald and mustachioed man standing defensively
          in front of a display case. “No! You can’t!” he exclaims as a
          disembodied sickle approaches him in a cloud of electricity
          and ectoplasm.</p>
          <p>Behind the glass in the display case is a bluish hunk of
          rock the size of a melon, with gently pulsing gold veins.</p>
          <blockquote>
          <p>Inky puts away the papers they caught in passing or picked
          up along the path up to read later, including a number that
          from a cursory glance appear to be from a culinary collection
          and a few from some moth-eaten but finely illustrated
          botanical tome, among others.</p>
          <p>Eventually arriving at the hotel entrance, Inky enters and
          manages to catch a frantic-looking attendant near the
          reception to ask the whereabouts of the hotelier, indicating
          they had a business appointment with said manager.</p>
          </blockquote>
          <p>You walk in through the hotel’s main entrance. The grandeur
          would take your breath away were it not for the shouting and
          the smoke and the explosions coming from down the hall to your
          right.</p>
          <p>You wave down a passing hotel clerk and inquire after the
          hotelier. They are hauling a large bucket of hot water, and
          carrying an oversized bundle of clean towels under one arm.
          They pause for a moment to look at you incredulously before
          running off in the opposite direction.</p>
          <p>A cry rings out nearby and a Cyberplasm flies through an
          open door down the hallway. It lands in a heap of crackling
          energy, smears of ectoplasm streaking the floor as though it
          were bleeding heavily. It seems to be barely held together by
          the energy stored in its cybernetic leg and a metal skull
          plate.</p>
          <p>It scoots backwards on its hands and its butt, trying to
          stand up. Two toques leap out of the door after it. You
          recognize Bread and Confidence right away.</p>
          <p>Bread has obviously been to the kitchens. They are wearing
          tin baking sheets and an oversized pot on their heard as
          makeshift armor, and have a couple of dangerous looking
          kitchen knives hanging from their belt. At the moment they are
          swinging a large meat tenderizer over their head as though it
          were a war hammer.</p>
          <p>Confidence, meanwhile, has been to the gardener’s shed.
          They are wearing a heavy leather apron and thick leather
          gloves, and have a trowel in each hand, and a large hoe or
          rake strapped to their back.</p>
          <p>Bread lowers their hammer on Cyberplasms head, denting the
          skull plate. And Confidence darts in and stabs with both hands
          at the leg. As soon as the prosthetics go offline and the
          plasmic arcs cease firing, there is nothing left holding the
          ectoplasm together and the ghost kind of dissipates into the
          air with a soft wail.</p>
          <p>They look up and notice you at the same time, relaxing
          their offensive stances. “Oh!” cries Bread. “It’s you!”</p>
          <p>“You don’t happen,” asks Confidence, “to need a guide, do
          you?”</p>
          <p>WHAT DO YOU DO</p>
          <p><a
          href="https://framalistes.org/sympa/arc/tildepals/2022-12/msg00227.html">www</a></p>
        ]]>
      </description>
    </item>
    <item>
      <title>38</title>
      <author>dozens@tilde.team (dozens)</author>
      <guid isPermaLink="false">38 - Mon, 14 Nov 2022 18:30:25
-0700</guid>
      <pubDate>Mon, 14 Nov 2022 18:30:35 -0700</pubDate>
      <description>
        <![CDATA[
          <h3 id="00038">00038</h3>
          <blockquote>
          <p>The mission, party-wise, had been an abject failure.</p>
          <p>They had found the crystal, and Master Corraidhín had
          vanished. Inky wasn’t sure which was worse — the appalling
          lack of water-resistant fireworks surrounding the
          disappearance, or the bears’ ceaseless waterworks in grief
          over their ghostly counterparts. Said bears plus a giant manta
          ray were eventually left with the remains of Inky’s two snack
          stashes. (The third was back on the <em>Diamond Howler</em>.)
          The crystal was currently securely hidden away inside the Milk
          Market, which was for the best. Inky was not about to drag
          around an inedible melon that could potentially level entire
          cities, if the wizard’s hints about its power were true. The
          crystal-retrieval missions were a cover anyway — Inky had
          gotten what they were looking for. The equipment and
          provisions sponsored by the Benefactor were a handy bonus
          though.</p>
          <p>Inside the tent, Inky adds the finishing flourishes to a
          package and places it to one side, next to two others of a
          similar size and a thin envelope already piled inside a padded
          sack on the ground. The client should be pleased. It had taken
          longer, but the result had been worth the additional hassle.
          The envelope, on the other hand … who knew what had become of
          the previous one, sent in an impulsive fit of post-dive haze
          once the ship had docked at the port town. Donning a grey
          fedora, a worn light brown jacket, a flask kettle and a wooden
          box with carrying straps, Inky the “Tiny” tea seller leisurely
          sets off for the post office, sack in hand.</p>
          <p>It was still a bit strange — if less shocking than the
          first time it happened — to speak in rabbiton with the
          postmistress at the counter, although Inky couldn’t actually
          detect any significant differences from the common tongue
          besides occasionally being reminded they shouldn’t be able to
          understand the sounds at all. Rabbiton or rabbitoff, hare mail
          couriers are among the fastest across Basmentaria and will
          ensure any parcels and letters arrive at their recipients in a
          timely manner. Due to their broad network and high delivery
          confidence, letters without return addresses were no issue;
          they can deliver with a valid recipient address, which they
          are able to verify from an extensive series of registries and
          course codes before taking the item. So it was that one such
          envelope containing yet another somewhat unusual recipe was
          promptly delivered to the Milk Market’s ground floor on a
          blustery Boltday afternoon.</p>
          <p>Postage done, Inky wanders through one of the city’s
          seedier districts, peddling cups of hot tea along the way.
          This had become a daily routine for a little over a month
          since the Sugrin Sea mission (longer and more sporadically
          before that whenever the imp was in the city), including a
          spontaneous fifteen-minute “Tiny Teatime” held in open areas
          such as small parks, or occasionally in a back alley between
          several crowded residences. The tea happening had initially
          been a whimsical response to <em>Teatime with Tanokuma</em>
          and still regularly attracted children when iced drinks were
          served during the summertime.</p>
          <p>Rows of slightly crooked houses sandwiched among acacia
          trees line a narrow, winding lane. Inky passes the elderly
          playing tabula surrounded by a small group of onlookers,
          people chewing on sweet lemongrass or peeling vegetables,
          hanging up laundry on colourful lines made of scrap rags,
          children laughing and chasing soapy bubbles with wands
          dripping from laundry water, and all sorts of activity that
          made houses into homes. Many of them were frank about not
          having any spare coins for extras like speciality teas brewed
          “just like them shops”, but gladly accepted a steaming bamboo
          cup upon realising they needn’t pay, if sometimes a little
          suspiciously at first. Instead of coin, they held a rich font
          of stories, local legends, folk remedies, cooking methods,
          insider tip-offs and rumours, which they were often eager to
          impart to an attentive audience.</p>
          <p>Some of the passer-by were always in a hurry, downing the
          tea as though it were a shot of hard liquor before retrieving
          a handful of loose coins from a pocket or sock. When Inky
          smiled and told them there was no charge, most would return a
          puzzled look or uncertain smile, or roll their eyes, and drop
          a copper coin into a slot on the lid of the box anyway. A few
          had promptly walked off wordlessly with snickering faces, as
          though they had gotten away with something clever. Regardless,
          it was one of the best ways to see and observe a bustling
          metropolis. No one took any particular notice of young urchins
          and vendors selling refreshments, flowers and various trinkets
          on the streets.</p>
          <p>Likewise no one witnessed a tea seller pause near one of
          the windows at the back of Enrique’s Empanada Emporium late in
          the day. For a while they watch the chef within in action,
          clearly in his element, before reluctantly pulling away and
          retreating quietly up the stairs to the second floor. They
          should wash up and see if their marketing manager is in the
          mood for some takeout and Terrapin Ale this evening.</p>
          </blockquote>
          <p>~</p>
          <blockquote>
          <p>Background: Alex isn’t young, but in comparison to his
          whizzened uncle Corraidhin he’s the depiction of youth. He has
          jet black hair and alert blue eyes, and a quiet serenity about
          him that gives one pause, as though he’s constantly
          calculating. He gives into his passions quickly however, and
          becomes rather animated when his emotions break loose. He’ll
          be the first to curse his uncle for his foolish endeavors,
          never quite understanding the sysorcerer’s way. Early in life,
          after the death of his parents, Corraidhin took him under his
          wing and tried in vain to teach him the ways of magical
          systems administration. Much to Corraidhin, it only resulted
          in damaged systems, and a rift with his nephew.</p>
          <p>It took years to recover from that, but eventually the two
          grew close again, though distant nonetheless. That closeness
          reflects itself in the situation Alex finds himself in now, a
          mysterious alert from some overly contrived magical system,
          ruining his perfectly good winning streak. It’s not that he
          was necessary bad at all of that stuff, it just, wasn’t as
          much fun as gambling. And it certainly wasn’t as exhillerating
          as writing malware.</p>
          <p>Breaking into a system, smashing it to bites and pieces,
          watching the carefully wrought design burn in amber and green,
          now THAT was magic.</p>
          <p>META: Alex is like Corraidhin in some aspects, he’s
          younger, more brash, more given to whim and fancy. He’s
          somewhat greedy and craven, attracted to riches far too
          easily. He’s a passionate gambler, not due to his skill, but
          by virtue of his ability to distract and confuse, which gives
          him a delightful edge. Some would call it lucky, but he calls
          it subterfuge. He has some sysorcerer skills, nothing quite as
          flexible as Corraidhin, but he delightfully wreaks havoc with
          worms, scrapers, ransom &amp; spyware. If he can’t bypass
          something, he’ll delightfully destroy it. If he can’t break
          in, he’ll distract someone or something so he can slip by.</p>
          <p>(Think rogue + illusion magic, where Corraidhin is straight
          Wizard)</p>
          <p>Introduction: Kev, just give it to me straight, the hell
          does this Deadman’s trigger mean. You can’t have a service
          like that flap, it’s a boolean, you’re either dead or your
          not. And don’t try to lie to me, I’m not some project managing
          schmuck, you know full and well Uncle Corraidhin taught me. I
          know enough to tell when you’re lying.</p>
          <p>(Kevin) Ah, well, umm. Yes I suppose that’s true. You can’t
          be dead and not. It’s just not an option. But Zabbix doesn’t
          lie! It’s what monitors your Uncle’s life force, the state of
          his infrastructure so to speak. Look check your own, there’s
          nothing to indicate any issue with you, but your uncle’s
          fluxuates consistently. None of his other state checks are
          failing though! So it could just be a problem with his
          Deadman’s trigger code.</p>
          <p>Absolutely not. Corraidhin might be a flighty fool, but
          he’s not someone who would deploy faulty code to production.
          There’s no way in hell it would get past his linter, let alone
          all of the QA he does before it even gets that far. Look, what
          the hell did you drag him into, you know exactly what he gets
          up to, just point me in his direction so I can get this shit
          over with.</p>
          <p>(Kevin) Hmm, he didn’t really want me to talk about it, but
          last I saw him, he was babbling on and on about some magical
          Json sword or something. I couldn’t quite keep up with it.</p>
          <p>You were trying to get him to buy into KDL again weren’t
          you?</p>
          <p>(Kevin) It’s a good language I swear, and if your uncle had
          just.. (Alex cuts him off)</p>
          <p>Hush it. What did the sword look like, where was he
          headed?</p>
          <p>(Kevin) <em>sigh</em> it was large, with a ruby hilt, and a
          magical eye of some sort. I’m certain if you just ask around
          you’ll find it. Just ask about the sysorcerer who mutters to
          his sword, that’s how the poor bastard is remembered around
          here these days.</p>
          <p>With this information Alex departed the Sysorcerer’s guild
          in search of his Uncle. As he asked around town, people shied
          away. Nasty business talking about that one, they’d tell him.
          A few mentioned something about an attack, and a dagger and
          bloodlust the likes of which they’d only heard from the bard
          at their local tavern. None of this sounded like the Uncle he
          remembered, but he followed the trail until it lead him to the
          Milk Maid.</p>
          <p>As Alex checked around for someone, anyone who seemed to be
          in the know, he spotted Inky, serving tea as she watched the
          ongoings at the Empanada shop near the Milk Maid.</p>
          <p>Excuse me, miss? You wouldn’t have happened to seen my
          Uncle, he’s an old whizened fellow. Constantly harrumphs and
          goes on and on endlessly about some magical script, or how
          much he hates the School of Powershell. I haven’t been able to
          find him, and I’ve been looking all over the city for the
          better part of 3 days. Note even his best friend Kevin at the
          Sysorcer’s guild knew where he was, and I’m just, I’m at a bit
          of a loss..</p>
          <p><em>sigh</em> I’m sorry to just unload on your like that.
          If you don’t know him that’s okay, I’d be happy to pay for a
          cup of tea for your time.</p>
          </blockquote>
          <p>~</p>
          <blockquote>
          <p><em>(Two days prior)</em></p>
          <p>An office, barely illuminated by the glow of a moonstone
          lamp.</p>
          <p>An elf attired in red silk dress robes with a shimmering
          pattern of butterflies, a red floral picture hat and matching
          high heel boots lounged in the visitor’s chair in front of a
          heavy wooden desk. The charms dangling from her wrist circlets
          tinkled as she reached for a teacup. A silver tray was placed
          to one side of the desk with a pot of maghrebi francus, two
          porcelain cups and a bowl of sugar cubes. The remaining
          surface was mostly covered by a map of Basmentaria, the
          moonstone lamp and a short stack of books. Behind the desk sat
          an imp in a midnight blue suit, a dart pen balanced on the
          edge of two fingers of one hand, while the other tapped a
          silent rhythm on the pineapple leather armrest.</p>
          <p>The lady in dress robes spoke first. “I made some
          inquiries. That sysorcerer acquaintance of yours seems to be
          stuck in some sort of spatial-temporal loop. The anomalies are
          usually salvageable given time and expert attention. His
          nephew is out looking for him now.” She hands the imp a sheet
          with a drawing of a pensive but bright-eyed young man with
          dark hair, and several lines of notes below. “How are things
          at your end?”</p>
          <p>“The situation is tenable for the moment. One checked,
          another disengaged. Between the wizard and bard, Blackfoot
          will think twice before making any more untoward moves. One of
          the waiters at the club said the bard gave him a little
          dressing-down after the stabbing. He was practically shaking
          in his boots by the end of it.”</p>
          <p>The elf laughed. “I read your earlier missive. Slipping a
          catalyst into a milk pudding to stir up a bloodthirsty sword?
          I guess you were pretty sure the thirst wouldn’t get out of
          hand and kill the hobbit outright.”</p>
          <p>“Not entirely, but the good wizard would fight it with
          considerable strength of will. That guild of his may be full
          of white hats too busy with their petty squabbling over
          semantics to see trouble looming until it smacked them in
          their faces, but they have their principles and will not give
          in easily when challenged.” The imp grimaced. “An unpleasant
          matter but arguably a necessity. It was only a matter of time
          before the cursed sword would find itself a target. May as
          well put evil to good use.”</p>
          <p>“You did what you had to do, Ink. And that sailor with the
          gold eye?”</p>
          <p>“Met with an unfortunate … accident. Securing the crystal
          would have been sufficient, but the horkosgrampus weren’t
          terribly impressed with him. The Benefactor should be
          relieved. Men of their ilk would sooner sell to the highest
          bidder.” The pen twirled in their hand once, twice, before
          pausing with the nib pointing downward at a spot on the map.
          The imp continued, “All the more reason to move as soon as the
          young man finds his uncle. Kelsun Peak, most likely.”</p>
          <p>“Right. I’ll let the others know if anything happens.” She
          rose to her heels in a whisper of brocade silks. “Do you want
          an antidote for … ?” She gestured with a slim, graceful hand
          framed in delicate strands of the gold bracelets towards her
          companion.</p>
          <p>The imp inclined their head slightly in grateful
          acknowledgement. “No need. The condition is relatively
          harmless and reversing the effects now might raise suspicion.
          The postmistress at the Hutcheon Lane branch of Leplus Post
          was very tickled by it.”</p>
          <p>“I see. So that’s how it is.” she replied with undisguised
          mirth. The imp ignored her smirk. “Please see to it the
          preparations are carried out. The fate of your beloved
          operetta house may well depend upon it.”</p>
          <p>“You would never!” The elven lady exclaimed in mock
          affront. “No, I wouldn’t, even though it is the bane of all
          fine glassware. However, if the crystals came to less
          discerning hands …” They shared a solemn look before the elf
          nodded and swept out of the room, leaving the cloying scent of
          violets in her path.</p>
          <p>~</p>
          <p>Inky gestures wordlessly for the young wizard to follow
          them upstairs to the second floor of the Milk Market, heading
          straight for the room at one end of a long hallway.</p>
          <p>As Inky enters, their small and fluffy marketing manager
          pops its head out of the wooden tub of water standing to one
          side of the room. “We have a visitor!” Inky cheerfully tells
          the duck. Their marketing manager looks back at them both and
          says, “QUACK!”</p>
          <p>Inky turns back to the young man with a smile. “Please have
          a seat. How may we address you? Tea? No charge for Master
          Corraidhín’s nephew, of course.”</p>
          <p>Once seated on some cushions thrown over a slightly ratty
          tartan rug and having poured out a steaming cup of mandarin
          pekoe for each of them, Inky begins, “So, about your uncle.
          The good news is, we know him. The bad news is, we knew him.”
          They then proceed to recount the events of their latest
          mission at the site of a shipwreck out in the Sugrin Sea, and
          the elder sysorcerer’s disappearance.</p>
          </blockquote>
          <p>Prelude:</p>
          <p>A fringe movement of lunatic paleornithologists and
          crackpots of various other professions has slowly been gaining
          traction over the last few decades. The movement was born when
          the enterprising Modern Fuchsia, at the time a budding young
          scientist on a dig yearning to make a name for himself, found
          the fossil of a modern feathered bird—probably some kind of
          swallow—alongside a theropod, that variety of dinosaur widely
          accepted to be the ancestor of modern birds. Faced with what
          he believed to be irrefutable evidence of a modern descendant
          coexisting alongside its own ancient ancestor, Fuchsia arrived
          at the only conclusion he was capable of making: Birds Are Not
          Dinosaurs. And thus BAND came into being.</p>
          <p>Ever since, Fuschia and his BANDits have spent considerable
          amounts of time and energy attending conferences and
          publishing papers, pouting and demanding to be taken seriously
          by the wider scientific community. A community which, if it
          pays them any attention at all, merely mocks and ridicules
          their crackpot theories.</p>
          <p>Modern Fuschia is of course wrong. But neither he nor his
          BANDits know how dangerously close he came to the actual
          truth.</p>
          <p>For much, much deeper in the shadowy fringes of
          paleornithology, there is a clandestine operation called BATT.
          And only BATT knows the actual explanation for how a modern
          descendant might coexist alongside its own ancestor. Birds Are
          Time Travelers.</p>
          <p>In the far future when birds are the dominant intelligent
          life on Basmentaria, they do indeed invent time travel. The
          end result was catastrophic and is the real reason that the
          dinosaurs went extinct.</p>
          <p>It is a common misconception that barn swallows are the
          most common and widespread species of swallow. That
          distinction in fact belongs to the <em>time swallow</em>.
          Although—if you’re lucky—you’ll never actually see one. Since
          the Incident, the secret agents of BATT have vowed never again
          to interfere with or try to alter the time stream. Nor to
          allow anyone else to. The time swallows are special bred,
          special trained, appearing wherever and whenever an anomaly
          appears to remove it and restore the proper timeline. The tiny
          birds quite literally swallow, consume, and destroy anything
          that meddles with time.</p>
          <p>At their headquarters, in the present day, BATT Director
          Purple Martin is delivering a report to his superior. Martin
          has a throaty and rich voice of which he is self-conscious in
          the presence of his superior’s persistent silence.</p>
          <p>“We have successfully extracted the sysorcerer and have
          repaired the anomaly. The subject is currently under the care
          of Felixe and is expected to make a full recovery. In his
          possession were a couple of interesting artifacts. One Class C
          sentient object, a sword. And a piece of exotica of unknown
          origin. Our researchers so far suspect that it is a sort of
          reliquary containing both elemental and divine arcana. The
          xot’s physical manifestation—a crystalline ore—thus far
          prevents us from determining the precise identity of the
          arcana.”</p>
          <p>Director Purple Martin is delivering this report to a
          lanky, thin man folded into an armchair. He wears thin, wire
          spectacles with round lenses, and dangles a walking stick over
          the arm of the chair as he sits. He interrupts Martin with a
          rare utterance. “The reliquary. I shall like to see it.”</p>
          <p>Now then:</p>
          <p>Retrieval Team 43 welcomes Alex into their ranks even as
          they mourn the loss of Corraidhín the Wizened.</p>
          <p>It starts off as a somber affair at Lucy’s as you all sit
          around your regular table, ensconced and wedged into a corner
          surrounded on two sides by the red velvet curtains that line
          the walls.</p>
          <p>But then the hobbit joins you.</p>
          <p>Blavin Blandfoot orders a round of drinks in tribute to
          Corraidhín. And then another round of drinks to welcome his
          nephew Alex. “A family affair, is it not!” And then another
          round of drinks because he is thirsty.</p>
          <p>The hobbit is in high spirits, brimming with flair and good
          cheer. His arm is fully healed from the attack over a month
          ago at this very table. His fond memories and frequent toasts
          to the sysorcerer make no reference to the incident.</p>
          <p>“The Benefactor is immensely pleased with your performance
          so far!” He punches a new hole in your Frequent Retrieval
          cards. “You are one step closer to winning a FABULOUS PRIZE! I
          don’t mind telling you I’m a little jealous. Assuming you go
          the distance, of course. I mean who doesn’t love hot dogs and
          hot tubs!” He winks conspiratorially at you. “To say nothing
          of actually getting to meet the Benefactor! Just imagine!”</p>
          <p>After a few more drinks he eventually clears a space on the
          table and rolls out a map of Basmentaria. “We once again have
          two reports of a crystal spotting!” He jabs a finger at the
          mountain range in northern Primora. “The first, as you know,
          has been reported by the zephynos high atop Kelsun Peak.”</p>
          <p>“The second,” his voice quivers with excitement. He looks
          up at you wide-eyed and gestures away from the map into open
          space. “Is on the moon!”</p>
          <p>Seated a couple tables away from you is the same trio who
          were present the last time you all met here: a dusty groll, a
          matted gnu, and a curious Ornithologer. The observant among
          you, if you happened to look, would notice that the
          Ornithologer wears a pinkish purplish red armband with the
          word BAND on it. They listen to your proceedings with great
          interest while trying really hard to look like they’re not
          listening. After Blavin’s final proclamation, the trio
          finishes their drinks, stands, and starts to leave the dining
          room.</p>
          <p>WHAT DO YOU DO</p>
          <ul>
          <li>Do you give the second crystal to Blavin?</li>
          <li>Do you choose to go to Kelsun Peak, or to the moon?</li>
          <li>Who is the Lady in Red and what does she want?</li>
          <li>Will Corraidhín recover in the care of Felixe?</li>
          <li>Who does the Director of BATT report to and what do they
          want with the 1st Crystal?</li>
          <li>What’s the deal with the Ornithologer’s Trio?</li>
          <li>Who left you the note signed with an iris and apple?</li>
          </ul>
          <p>Find out next time on BASEMENT QUEST</p>
          <p><a
          href="https://framalistes.org/sympa/arc/tildepals/2022-11/msg00097.html">www</a></p>
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    </item>
    <item>
      <title>51</title>
      <author>dozens@tilde.team (dozens)</author>
      <guid isPermaLink="false">51 - Sat, 31 Dec 2022 17:08:07
-0700</guid>
      <pubDate>Sat, 31 Dec 2022 17:08:07 -0700</pubDate>
      <description>
        <![CDATA[
          <h3 id="00051">00051</h3>
          <blockquote>
          <p>As they wait for the balloonship to approach, Inky glances
          to the prone remains of the hotelier on the floor and frowns.
          There wasn’t much they could do about that now. It was really
          inconvenient timing — he hadn’t received the papers yet. Inky
          can already picture Cio’s unspoken but palpable disappointment
          even as she offered reassurances that it was perfectly fine.
          The gnawing guilt she could inflict with a look was worse than
          a tenacious terrorier with a bone biscuit. Then Inky recalls
          an urban legend from the elderly aunts they sometimes pass by
          during teatimes, which claim that it was possible to send
          messages and items to the deceased by burning the
          articles.</p>
          <p>Ducking momentarily behind another bookshelf, Inky removes
          an envelope bearing the seal of a butterfly in red wax, drops
          it into a recently-emptied shortbread tin and holds a lit
          match to a corner of the paper. Before long the entire
          envelope is consumed by the flames and the lid replaced
          tightly over the tin. If the paperwork found its way to the
          hotelier on the spiritual plane, that would be the formalities
          completed. Or if it was reduced to ashes without ever reaching
          the recipient, no one had to know.</p>
          <p>Inky walks back to the window to see a flare light and a
          zip line ending below the windowsill. They look to the other
          end of the line, back to the toques, and around the room.
          Their gaze lands on a few cloth covers draped over several
          bookshelves near an alcove from top to bottom, possibly to
          protect the manuscripts on the shelves from extended exposure
          to dust and light. They tie a large red kerchief to the zip
          line to indicate they had seen flare signal, before turning to
          Confidence. “There’s an airship waiting outside with a zip
          line. We should get Bread patched up by a healer in town. It
          wouldn’t do to have them walk around like that, unless you
          want to turn the hotel into a haunted house attraction.”</p>
          <p>As they finish speaking, Inky pulls off three of the
          covers, two iron spears and one of the two decorative flag
          poles with flags featuring the crest of Runesocesius, and a
          symbol (of the old town, Inky surmises) that stood in a nook
          between the wall and a bookshelf. Crossing over to a wall
          display of ceremonial chains and maces, they remove two of the
          metal chains that hung on from hooks on the wall. Having
          gathered the items, they retrieve two zip line harnesses, some
          parachute cord and two additional pulley hooks from their
          bag.</p>
          <p>They lay the chains on the floor about two feet apart,
          followed by the cloth sheets with their outer surfaces facing
          down over them, and tie the corners at both ends to the flag
          pole to form the base of a makeshift hammock. With
          Confidence’s help, they slide Bread onto the sheets, being
          cautious to avoid further jostling the toque’s injuries. Inky
          wraps the ends of the chains around the flagpole, tying them
          and the cloth bundle with loops of parachute cord, and sets
          the pulley hooks to links on the top surface of the flag
          pole.</p>
          <p>Inky puts on a zip line harness and throws the spare one to
          Confidence, directing them to do the same. With some
          difficulty, they hoist the bundle of Bread to the window. Inky
          descends first, hooking their harness pulley to the zip line
          as they brace against the tower wall. As the bundle is slowly
          lowered through the window, Inky connects the pulley hooks on
          the metal chains to the zip line, Confidence bringing up the
          rear while Inky holds the hammock steady.</p>
          <p>While the zephynos play overhead, the three of them prepare
          to slide down to the deck of the balloonship along the zip
          line.</p>
          </blockquote>
          <p>Confidence and Inky, framing the Bread basket between them,
          slide down the zipline to the balloonship. The zephynos frolic
          up overhead, and the hole in the library wall gapes below. And
          beyond that, the endless sea of clouds.</p>
          <p>Inky, having descended the line first, makes it to the ship
          ahead of Bread and Confidence. They clambor up over the side,
          unhook themself, and reach for the corner of the hammock.</p>
          <p>The 3rd Ginnarak Crystal is now on the deck of the
          ship.</p>
          <p>Looking up, Inky sees that two determined cyberplasms have
          started following them out the library tower window. Neither
          has a harness. One is hanging upside down on the cable, arms
          and legs wrapped around it, and has managed to shimmy a couple
          feet away from Runesocesius. The other has just swung out of
          the window and is holding onto the line with their hands. They
          are kicking their legs up over and over, trying to swing high
          enough to lock their ankles around the cable.</p>
          <p>In the time that it will take you to unhook the hammock and
          get both Bread and Confidence onto the ship, the two pirates
          will have closed most of the distance between you and might be
          within striking distance.</p>
          <p>Meanwhile on the deck of the ship, the hemogoblin is deeply
          entranced by a private conversation it seems to be having with
          the ruby-hilt dagger. It nods and chirps and coos as it
          continues to strangle the grip in its tiny bloody hands,
          singing softly and soothingly. The ruby flashes and glints,
          almost strobe-like in the sunlight, as though in the midst of
          some kind of struggle. But as the hemogoblin continues its
          strange lullaby, the gem eventually fades and grows dull,
          until finally it resembles nothing more than a lifeless lump
          of stone.</p>
          <p>The hemogoblin releases its death grip on the dagger and
          lowers its arms to its sides, allowing the dagger to slip to
          the ground. It looks up at you happily with ruby-red eyes that
          seem to flash in the sunlight, and it chirps merrily.</p>
          <p>WHAT DO YOU DO</p>
          <p><a
          href="https://framalistes.org/sympa/arc/tildepals/2023-01/msg00014.html">www</a></p>
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