259 lines
12 KiB
Markdown
259 lines
12 KiB
Markdown
---
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title: 00057
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created: Mon, 16 Jan 2023 20:30:44 -0700
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updated: Fri, 20 Jan 2023 14:58:46 -0700
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public: yes
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syndicated: yes
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---
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### 00057 {#00057}
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> Alex lifts his teacup and sips the fragrantly tea, "perfumed of
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> rosehips, and cardamum? An interesting choice. I appreciate it
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> Inky, these past few days have been terribly rough, and I'm rather
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> tired of field rations." Alex takes a sip, and then continues
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> hurridly. "I've been monitoring the Bazar, we are in grave danger.
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> It started with just me, but I fear it's bled over to everyone here
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> at the Milk Market. I can't be entirely certain."
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>
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> Alex looks worriedly at Inky. "There's a lot going on here. As soon
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> as we got back from Kelsun I was sent on an assignment, normally
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> not an issue, but they wanted me to level 3 of the busiest coffee
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> shops in the bazar. I planted those bombs, alongside listening
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> devices, and then I bugged out. My team appears to have been
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> assigned equally bizarre assignments, all rather violent messy
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> things. A lot of innocent lives are on the line here."
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>
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> "We dropped off the grid, I've got an isolated listening post in
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> the sewers here, it's heavily reinforced and that's where I've been
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> hiding out, but I'm not certain it's safe. Agent 5 found a melon
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> vendor dead in the market, and this vendor was specifically seeking
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> out the Milk Market, looking for us. I believe it may be an
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> assassin, could be from HQ, could be from Blavin. It's entirely
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> opaque to me."
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>
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> "As far as I can tell, my agents are all loyal to me, there's 5 of
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> them in total, 6 if you count me. We could man the ship and get the
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> hell out of here in a few hours, and it may be our best chance. But
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> there's the iris letter we need to attend to, and I cannot for the
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> life of me find anything, not a damn trace, of Blavin. And I think
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> all of this bodes very poorly for us."
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>
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> Alex looks worriedly at Inky, and you're telling me we have a
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> ritual we have to perform, to find the iris group's meeting place..
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> I'm leery Ink, I have to be you see. But my uncle trusted you, and
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> I do as well. If you think this is our best shot, we can hole up in
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> the sewers and try to perform this dream walk of your witch
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> friend's. But if this iris business turns out to be a trap, well,
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> how well can you handle a gun?
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~
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> "Your courage and concern are admirable, Master Alex. Caution is
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> likewise advisable." Inky nods seriously.
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>
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> The next moment, they gave the sysorcerer a slightly deranged grin.
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> "I'm sure you have already seen many grave dangers. What's another
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> one for the bucket list? What's life if not violent and messy? So
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> many melons dismembered and laid waste daily—"
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>
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> As if suddenly recalling a detail, Inky pauses and blinks. "Melon
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> vendor? Oh, poor Pepo. He has been complaining about his
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> neighbour's boa constrictors for years. The serpents were drawn to
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> the rodents his fruits typically attracted, which might not have
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> been a problem were it not for them hanging out at his stall and
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> scaring off his customers. Maybe he finally took matters into his
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> own hands, with tragic results." They look at an empty mixing bowl
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> across the table glumly. "He had offered to bring over a few of the
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> new variety as soon as they arrived, as he was already delivering
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> to a household the next district over."
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>
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> They send Master Alex a sidelong glance. "Someone is after you? You
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> didn't do something horrid like help an old grandmother cross the
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> street on sockless skates, for instance?" Refilling the
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> sysorcerer's cup, Inky continues, "As for Blavin, only 3 of the
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> crystals have been recovered. Blavin knows Team 43 is his best
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> chance of obtaining the others. Until he has all the crystals, he
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> will stay his hand. If he doesn't know that, then he is hardly a
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> threat."
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>
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> Setting down the teapot, Inky shrugs. "They seem eager to get our
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> attention. I suppose I could spare them their twelve minutes of
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> fame, for the right price. Enlightenment would probably be too much
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> to ask of a nightmare. If you'd rather take your team and make a
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> run for it instead, that's fine too. If they come knocking I'll
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> just tell them you missed the hotel fondue at Kelsun Peak."
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>
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> Their gaze skips to one of the cups before they shake their head.
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> "No gun." They turn around and take down a bamboo walking stick
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> hanging from a hook on a wall next to a worn coat. Inky grasps the
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> handle and pulls. It slides out quietly to reveal a long, thin,
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> tapered surgical steel tube which, if someone were to lean in for a
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> closer inspection, is sparsely covered in tiny, needle-like
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> protrusions along the surface. On the underside, a transparent
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> sliver ran the length of the tube to end about a forefinger's
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> length from the handle. Visible through the narrow window is a
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> colourless liquid, most likely a sedative or toxin, fills the
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> reinforced steel interior.
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>
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> They smile mirthlessly at Master Alex. "I don't know that Master
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> Corraidhín trusted me, because if he did, it would have been the
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> most foolhardy thing the wise man has ever done. You would do well
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> to not make that mistake."
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~
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> "It doesn't sound like we have all too much of an option", Alex
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> says, as a little Scarab beetle in his pocket chimes, "that'll be
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> the dead man's trigger going off in my hideout."
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>
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> Alex frowns, shame to lose all of that data, those systems, that
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> hideout.. but I hope whoever broke in enjoys thermite, assuming
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> they don't asphyxiate quickly enough to miss the fun..
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>
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> Inky, you're right, life is a bit violent and messy, so lets bring
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> the violent mess to these bastards. If you've got a lead on this
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> with this dream ritual, then fuck it, lets take the risk. I won't
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> run from this fight, my uncle sure as hell wouldn't. And at worst,
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> he'd go out with a magnificient bang. Lets give it back tenfold,
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> for poor Pepo.
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>
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> Nodding his own approval Alex continues, I have another hideout in
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> the eastern quandrant, near the sysorcerer's guild. It's a little
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> risky to head out that way, but none of my Zabbix alerts indicate
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> it was compromised. It has automated IDS and IPS systems, so we
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> should be safe enough in there once we whole up. At very least
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> we'll know if someone comes for us, and we'll have a little bit of
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> time to react on it. We should bring the Toques with us, and little
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> blod clot, and the duck.
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>
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> Looking sorrowfully at Enrique, "I think it might be best if you
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> got the hell out of dodge too friend, it isn't safe, and I don't
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> want to see you become collateral here. Head down to the wharf,
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> I'll have agent 5 meet you there, he'll help you and your family
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> lay low until all of this blows over."
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~
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> At Enrique's deep frown, Inky sighs and adds, "Might as well do as
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> Master Alex says. He can spot danger twelve blocks away, and turtle
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> soup is really out of fashion these days."
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>
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> Then they excuse themselves to pack a few items, returning about
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> fifteen minutes later with a knapsack and a cross-strap carrier
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> draped in a black cloth cover. Inky says, "I hope you don't mind if
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> I bring along a guest as well."
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>
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> The cover is pulled back to expose a dome-shaped birdhouse, with
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> transparent circular rings at the top partially obscured by sliding
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> shutters of the same shape. A wooden hoop with a woven, web-like
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> pattern and adorned with a string of feathers hangs from one side.
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> On the opposite side is a double door with a miniature knob over
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> each door. Inky lightly taps on one of the doors, and at a low
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> click coming from within in response, swings the doors wide enough
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> for the kitchen lamps to illuminate the great horned owl resting on
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> a pillow inside. The bird opens one amber eye for a moment, gaze
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> sweeping idly across the occupants in the room before dozing off
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> again.
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>
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> "This is Fuko. She and her twin brother Futa have certain shared
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> connections. What one sees, the other will also know. I asked their
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> caretaker if I could borrow them for a while. Fuko will accompany
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> me for the ritual. Her brother is at another location and can send
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> a message if a need arises." Inky explains with a wry expression.
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> "Think of it as a minor indulgence of sorts. I was told their kind,
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> along with eagle owls, are very good at negotiating with those of
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> the ravens."
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>
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> They give the owl a small smile. "She may be a little
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> temperamental, but she is well-trained." Closing the birdhouse
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> doors, Inky turns back to Master Alex. "I suppose you'd rather not
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> reveal the location of your hideout to any more people than
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> necessary. Her carrier will remain covered on the way in and out."
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Gliftwirp stands under the branches of a tree, pooled in shadow, far
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from the small gathering. He has been to plenty of funerals. Often
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under these very circumstances, in fact. And he always keeps his
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distance out of respect.
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For one, he owns no clothes but his vest, sash, and trousers. And his
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bright red colors would be a sign of disrespect among the mourners.
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Secondly and most importantly, he himself is the one who put the man
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in the ground.
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Sadly, he had little choice. He had underestimated the sysorcer.
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Didn't realize he had his own agents working for him. When he
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realized that one of the agents had been in contact with the melon
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vendor, he knew that Popplewick could and would identify the
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warpwefter if pressured.
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Gliftwirp had grown to enjoy his daily chats with the melon vendor.
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Popplewick was a kind, determined man. A refugee from the
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Cinderlands, his family came to Vay'Nullar following the Artifice
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Wars when he was just a boy. He grew up poor, and often relied on the
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generosity of others. But eventually he was able to support himself
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and his small family. He was proud of the life he had built.
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So Gliftwirp took no pleasure in what came next. Late one night when
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Popplewick was on his way home from the market, the assassin slipped
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a bag over his head and dragged him into a dark alley. He cinched the
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bag tight, cutting off his air. There was a brief struggle before
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Popplewick passed out and Gliftwirp lowered him down to the ground.
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He held him there, unconscious and not breathing, until he was gone.
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In only took but a moment. And then Gliftwirp stood up and left.
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Now at the funeral, the mourners leave one by one. Until only the
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widow is left, cradling a small sleeping child to her chest. "Oh,
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Pepo," she whispers to the headstone. "What can I do now?"
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When she leaves, she does not return to the main path. She meanders
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slowly as though in a daze toward the back of the graveyard and down
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the hill. She steps into the wood. A flash of red follows her at a
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distance.
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She kneels on the banks of the forest river and sets the child down
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on wide flat rock. It is awake now and looks up at her with solemn
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eyes. "I am sorry, made-of-me," she says to the child. And that is
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all the explanation it gets.
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She stands and turns and walks away. The child watches her go.
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When she has been gone for some minutes, Gliftwirp steps out of the
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shadows and crouches down beside the child. It looks up and reaches
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for him. "Look at you," he says to the child as he scoops it up. "Who
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would throw you away? A perfectly good baby!" He stands and bounces
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the child. "A sweet little melon rind is what you are. Ha! Very well.
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Come, Rind, we have work to do."
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The assassin, child in his arms, walks back toward the city.
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~
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In the aftermath, Agent 5 is found down by the docks. They clearly
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struggled in death. The assassin blamed him for Popplewick's death
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and the widow's weakness.
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Down in the sewers, two tiny mittened hands reach up and awkwardly
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turn the doorknob to Alex's hideout. The bolt clears the latch with a
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faint click. Two tiny cloth hands struggle against the heavy iron
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door, pushing it slowly open, inch by inch. A mechanism clicks inside
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and there is a whoosh of air and then a boom as the bunker violently
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ignites. The tiny figure is incinerated, and blown back into the
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sewer tunnel.
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Gliftwirp steps forward into the light of the blaze and crouches down
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by the tiny figure. He picks it up, a tattered and burned bundle of
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cloth. "Look, Rind," he says to the small child standing at his
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elbow. "You must always acknowledge and be grateful for those who
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sacrifice for you." He starts to untie and unfold the cloth puppet as
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he speaks. It unfurls and smooths out and stitches itself back
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together under his touch. Even the burn marks fade, and soon
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Gliftwirp is once again holding his red sash.
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"Now, Rind," he says standing up and taking the child's hand,
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squinting into the fire. "Let's see what we can salvage here."
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WHAT DO YOU DO
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- The time of the ritual is at hand.
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- What final preparations do you make before entering Dreamspace?
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