Join us for the thrilling conclusion of BBJ QUEST: Social Anxiety Barbarian!

Previously:

• Part one: At the mouth of the caves
• Part two: Cave Lads
• Part three: Lullaby for the dead
• Part four: Deadspace and Beyond
• Part five: The Owl's Haunt

Recap

An entity known as the Owl has been poisoning the town's beloved Forgotten Dead and turning them into stone for unknown reasons. But it has got to stop! Our hero's investigation leads them from Lullaby, City of the Dead, into Deadspace, a realm made up of the final memories of the dead. They trade the memory of their long lost lover to a ravenfolk for safe passage through the Beyond, a vast mysterious crimson void that connects the final moments of all the dead. Finally arriving at a lavender pool, they jump in and are transported to a beautiful forest meadow where two little girls are picking wildflowers.

And that's where we are now.

125 ~bx @ 14:40 2021/11/30

124[You]

ASK THEM IF THE FLOWERS SMELL NICE

126 ~dozens @ 15:30 2021/11/30 [edited]

125[bx]

The younger one has a wild tangle of long, curly, uncombed, straw-colored hair. She avoids your eyes and hangs back a little bit.

The older has black hair cut into a severe bob with short bangs. She looks at you boldly and unafraid. “I'm Nemosyne. This is my sister Heckat.”

You ask them about the flowers. Nemosyne nods and holds out the bouquet she has gathered. “Want to smell? They're really nice.” She smiles.

The younger one, still kind of hiding behind her older sister, asks in a voice barely above a whisper, “Are you here about the lady?”

Nemosyne keeps smiling but almost seems to flinch when Heckat speaks up.

There's an odd sense of familiarity to all of this. The girls, the meadow, the house. Sort of a weak pre-deja-vu.

WHAT DO

127 ~dozens @ 15:41 2021/11/30

Pronounciation Guide

Nemosyne

=> https://ttm.sh/Fd2

Heckat

=> https://ttm.sh/Fdu

128 ~bx @ 15:20 2021/12/02

126[You]

I SAY “Yes please” AND SMELL THE FLOWERS

129 ~dozens @ 15:43 2021/12/02

128[bx]

They smell really nice. Kind of sweet and heady.

Nemosyne smiles at you happily. Heckat eyes you warily.

A voice calls out from the cottage. “Girls? Nemosyne!”

Nemosyne turns and calls out over her shoulder, “Coming!”

She turns back to you, “We have to go now. Bye!” And she turns and starts skipping toward the house, clutching her flowers in her hand.

Heckat watches her go and hangs back for a moment showing no concern nor urgency about her summons, as though accustomed to being overlooked and ignored. You notice her hair again, unbrushed and tangled. A smudge of dirt on her face. Her dress is frayed and patched, an obvious hand-me-down from her older sister.

She glances up at you now and then as she talks but mostly keeps her eyes down, “Nobody listens to me about the lady. She's not supposed to be here.”

She finally fixes you with a stare and you notice her eyes are a deep golden amber.

“Are you here about the lady?”

WHAT DO

130 ~Gaffen @ 04:14 2021/12/03

129[You]

I MIGHT BE; TELL ME ABOUT THE LADY

131 ~dozens @ 10:33 2021/12/03

130[Gaffen]

Heckat frowns and looks down at the ground.

“She arrived here a while ago. People act funny around her. I don't like her. She's not supposed to be here.”

She turns and points behind her to where the trees climb up a modest hill.

“She stays over the hill in the hollow in the old tower.”

She digs in the dirt with her toe as she talks and draws the same abstract owl shape that that one Forgotten Dead drew back in the village when you questioned it.

She says, “I hope you're here to make her go away,” then she abruptly scratches out the drawing with her foot and turns and runs toward the cottage.

WHAT DO

132 ~cymen @ 06:03 2021/12/06

131[You]

I walk to the hill top.

133 ~dozens @ 13:09 2021/12/06

132[cymen]

You leave the bright, sunny meadow and enter the shadowy forest. When you make it to the top of the hill, you look down into the vale below you. You see the remains of what looks like an ancient fort and settlement. The houses and cottages that used to surround the fort are all completely gone and reclaimed by nature, save a stone chimney here and a few crumbling stones there. Most of the fort is gone too save for a crumbling stone wall in severe disrepair, and a fallen tower.

The base of the tower still actually stands in the center of the courtyard inside the crumbling wall. It's about one half to one story tall, and it seems like most of its insides are exposed to the elements.

The rest of the tower, about two story's worth, is laying on its side. A large segment of it is laying across the crumbling wall, having flattened it to the ground when it fell. This looks like the most obvious place to climb over and into the courtyard should you choose to approach the tower base.

The vale is quiet. There are fewer trees down below and more open grassy spaces.

As the sun starts to set, shadows grow long and darkness settles over the vale. You can see the warm flickering glow of a candle emanating from somewhere within the tower base.

WHAT DO

134 ~cymen @ 16:08 2021/12/06

133[You]

I will try to sneak up on the lady using the shadows of dusk. I am taking my time so as not to walk into any traps and maybe try not to take the most obvious route.

135 ~dozens @ 17:55 2021/12/06

134[cymen]

You descend into the vale and take a circuitous route around the tower, sticking to the shadows and trying to be quiet.

You get to the smashed part of the wall and carefully climb up the sloped pile of rubble, and then down the other side.

The tower is a short distance from you now. The warm candlelight you saw earlier continues to flicker somewhere deep inside.

When you find the tower entrance, you creep forward to get a look.

The inside of the tower is basically one large room. Most of it is under open sky, but there's a large section of it, farthest away from you, that is protected by a portion of ceiling. It is in this part of the tower that the candlelight is coming from.

It is set up as an alchemist's laboratory. There are cauldrons and beakers and bottles and vials. A crude makeshift shelf leaning against the wall is full of sample jars and other rare ingredients. A long wide workbench is in the center of the room mostly devoid of any area to actually work. It is piled with books and heavy tomes.

A tall slender woman in a dark cloak stands at the table with a candle, hunched over a book, running her finger over the lines as she mumbles quietly to herself. She then quickly moves to reference a second book, and then a third, before returning to the first.

You hang back in the shadows and she seems not to have noticed you.

WHAT DO

136 ~Gaffen @ 04:57 2021/12/07

135[You]

I TRY TO MAKE YOU THE NATURE OF HER STUDIES; WHAT'S SHE DOING IN THERE?

137 ~dozens @ 09:16 2021/12/07 [edited]

136[Gaffen]

As you watch, she looks away from her books toward the far corner of the room, and walks over there to a small cauldron. She reaches in and pulls out a small clump of sporeshard.

Shard in hand she walks back to the workbench and starts to roll the thing up in a long strip of leather. She looks up to the ceiling and reaches one hand up toward the rafters and a speckled owl silently flies down and lands next to her. She ties the leather to the owl's leg.

At the edge of the table is what looks like a large round mirror lying flat on its back. But when she drags her fingers across it, its silvery surface ripples and moves like water. She grabs the owl with two hands and plunges it through the surface of the mirror, up to her elbows.

When she withdraws her hands they are empty, and she goes back to puttering around with her instruments and studying her books.

As all this happens, you manage to get a better look at her. She is tall and thin and pale. Her black cloak envelops her small frame, its hood thrown back to reveal a tight short crown of curly sandy hair. Her eyes are a dark golden amber. She's grown, but there's no mistaking that this is Heckat, the little girl from the meadow.

138 ~cymen @ 09:59 2021/12/07

137[You]

I try to wrap my head around things for a minute or so.

I am in deadspace. It seems to be an actual place. People live here. People live here... people live in deadspace. What? Heckat is here multiple times. She has a device to send things elsewhere. Presumably to the land of the living.

I am in so far over my head now light is filtering down anymore.

139 ~cymen @ 10:01 2021/12/07

138[cymen]

Fuck it. If she is the bad gal here I don't stand a chance anyway. I stand up and call out: Heckat, would you kindly explain to me what you are doing here?

140 ~dozens @ 11:00 2021/12/07

139[cymen]

You startle her when you call out. She bolts upright and stares at you with wide golden eyes. A look flickers across her face—hope? panic?—but then it's gone and her face is carefully neutral.

“You,” she says with a touch of sadness.

“I told you not to look for me. You told me you wouldn't look for me.”

You are confused. You've never met Heckat. Either of them, the child or the adult.

She cocks her head to the side. “You don't remember?” She walks slowly around the table so that she is standing in front of it, facing you.

“You don't remember, do you?” She shakes her head sadly as she steps slowly toward you, studying your face. “Tell me what memories you gave up crossing the Beyond, you poor fool.”

141 ~Gaffen @ 10:13 2021/12/08

140[You]

OH NO D:

142 ~dozens @ 12:00 2021/12/08

141[Gaffen]

“My... memories?” you falter as realization suddenly dawns on you.

You gave up the memories of your lover to the ravenfolk for safe passage through the Beyond.

Which means...

“Oh no.”

Heckat reaches out and gently cups your face with one hand and shakes her head.

“No,” she says. “No, don't fret about it. This is for the best, really. This will make things easier.”

She withdraws her hand and turns her back on you as she walks back to the workbench.

“You were probably the last person alive who still remembered me for who I was. Now I truly am entirely forgotten.” She laughs mirthlessly and roughly turns a few pages in one of the large tomes. She closes her eyes and sighs. “Now I'm free.”

“You don't remember any of this any more. But I grew up completely overshadowed by my sister. I don't remember my parents ever even saying my name. To everybody else, whenever they bothered to think of me, I was only 'Nemosyne's sister' and nothing more. I barely even existed. And after she died, I didn't even have that to tether me to the world anymore.”

She turns and peers into the cauldron where the sporeshards are growing, and she adds a few drops of something from a bottle she plucks off the shelf.

“I felt just like the Forgotten Dead, you know. Not really of this world, but compelled to linger on. They just want to feel human again. But they can't. I relate to them so much, in fact. Them the forgotten dead, me the forgotten living.”

She turns and fixes you with a stare from across the room.

“Everybody deserves the right to actually be forgotten. Actually forgotten. It is an unkindness to make them linger on they way they do.”

She takes a step forward and places her hands flat on the workbench and leans slightly forward.

“So, yes. I am 'the owl'. I'm setting them all free. And I won't allow you to stop me.”

WHAT DO

143 ~cymen @ 12:36 2021/12/08

142[You]

I take her hands. “Explain it to me! Why are the Forgotten Dead not really forgotten? Why do they linger?”

144 ~dozens @ 14:34 2021/12/08

143[cymen]

“My whole life, my entire identity has been based on who my sister is. 'Nemosyne's sister' they called me. As though I didn't even have a name! That's all they want. They just want somebody to know their name. As long as you keep giving them hope every year during the Festival of Remembering, they'll cling to that hope and keep coming back. The same way I used to hope people would see me for who I am instead of who my sister is. After she was gone, it was like I disappeared and I could finally be me. I want the same for them.”

145 ~Gaffen @ 03:42 2021/12/09

144[You]

YOU MAY FEEL YOU ARE DOING THEM A KINDNESS, BUT HOW DO YOU KNOW THIS IS WHAT THEY WANT?

146 ~dozens @ 07:56 2021/12/09

145[Gaffen]

Heckate sneers at you, “Don't you dare to question me! I've BEEN there! I've lived what they're going through. And I've felt the peace of finally being let go.”

“Now,” she continues, suddenly calm and placid once more, “you should leave here and let me continue my work. You promised, after all, that you wouldn't come looking for me. So keep your promise and go back where you came from.”

She returns to her research and her work, seeming to ignore you for now.

WHAT DO

147 ~cymen @ 13:43 2021/12/09

146[You]

I promised a little girl just over that hill I would see about the lady. The little girl thinks she shouldn't be here.

LOOK AT HER LIKE IT IS A QUESTION

148 ~dozens @ 17:50 2021/12/09

147[cymen]

Heckate raises an eyebrow at you. “She said that? That's odd... I haven't seen any original behavior from any of the projections since I've arrived. I had in fact decided that this was some kind of feedback loop on autoplay. Nothing new has happened since I've been here, nothing to deviate from the script.”

She looks thoughtful, “But if it suddenly recognizes you and me as not being part of the simulation, then ... where is that sentience actually coming from?”

She narrows her eyes at you suspiciously, “You changed something. How did you get here anyway?”

She produces a small cloth pouch on a draw string from somewhere within her voluminous cloak and bounces it in the palm of her hand a few times as she crosses the floor toward you once again.

“Tell me, are you even really here, hmm?”

She holds the pouch out to you and then suddenly drops it, swiftly snatching the draw string as it falls through her closing fist. She flicks her wrist, sending the pouch arcing through the air toward you face. You flinch out of the way at the last minute but it still catches you in the collarbone, and it releases a small cloud of fine mist upon impact.

You breathe in the mist and you cough and your vision swims for just a second.

You feel your connection to deadspace decay further from okay to weak.

“Hmm,” Heckate nods. “Well you've seen about 'the lady', dear. Now I really do think it's time you were on your way.”

She draws the pouch back and prepares to bop you in the face again.

UH OH NOW WHAT

149 ~Gaffen @ 03:11 2021/12/10

148[You]

“THAT WAS MEAN!” ATTEMPT A SWEEP KICK TO THROW HER OFF BALANCE. GRAB A BOOK. SCARPER!

150 ~dozens @ 08:03 2021/12/10

149[Gaffen]

“Hey, that was mean!” you cry out, blinking and sneezing in the dust. She grins maliciously at you as the pouch arcs down again toward your face.

This time you're ready though and you crouch low and knock her legs out from under her with a sweeping kick. She squeals and falls all the way down in a heap, her puffy black cloak billowing around her.

You jump up and grab the nearest book. You know this is all basically a dream. There's no permanence here: you can't take objects from deadspace with you when you wake up. But...

You dash to the edge of the table as Heckate groans and starts to get to her feet. You bat the surface of the large round mirror a couple times like a cat to disturb its surface, and it ripples like a saucer of milk. “WAIT!” Heckat screams behind you. You glance over your shoulder. She's too far to stop you. You thrust the book through the mirror up to your elbows. It's ice cold. You open your hands and drop the book, letting it fall who knows where, and draw your hands back out. Your hands sting from the cold. You shake them out.

Heckat growls angrily and reaches both arms up toward the sky. You look up in time to see a half dozen large owls silently decend from the rafters, all razor sharp beaks and talons.

You close your eyes and try to actively feel the feeling of letting go, of slipping away. You sever your already weak connection to deadspace.

You open your eyes and see the owl, face twisted in anger. You smile, “Bye, Heckat,” and you fade away as the first owl sinks its talons into nothing.

You wake up gasping for breath on the floor cushions in the Loominary. You heave and wretch into a bucket that had been placed at your side for just this reason. Re-entry is hell. It takes several minutes to calm down.

Now, two things:

On the floor near you is a giant leather bound tome. The one from the owl's haunt.

And, at the far end of the room laid out on a stone altar is the forgotten dead, the one whose sacrifice allowed you to enter deadspace in the first place.

Only this time, you know him. You remember.

Silas.

You know his name, his friends, how he died. His story dances on the tip your tongue, begging to be told.

He turns his head and looks at you weakly, imploringly.

WELCOME BACK TO THE LIVING, WHAT DO

151 ~cymen @ 11:44 2021/12/11

150[You]

Grab the book and start searching through it for clues!

152 ~dozens @ 14:58 2021/12/11

151[cymen]

You flip through the book. It's dense. A lot of geomancy, mycology/biomancy, and necromancy. Heckat has scribbled copious amounts of notes and calculations and corrections in the margains.

You think if you spend some time with it, you can learn a lot about the production of sporeshard. Including isolating the deadshroom strain if you wanted to have more expiditions into deadspace. You also think it might be possible to come up with a treatment or antidote for the disease.

Behind you, Silas groans on the altar. He's mostly stone at this point.

WHAT DO

153 ~cymen @ 16:15 2021/12/11

152[You]

Try talking to Silas!

154 ~dozens @ 21:16 2021/12/11

153[cymen]

You approach the altar where Silas is slowly turning to stone.

You look at him and remember living through his final moments.

“I know you.”

He turns his head and looks at you.

And then you do something that by definition nobody has ever done.

You name one of the forgotten dead.

“I know you, Silas. I was there. I saw it all.”

And you tell him everything. How his friends loved him. How Lethe was with him at the end.

Silas looks at you and smiles.

He looks away and then the life leaves his body.

He looks content and peaceful.

Silas is now longer one of the forgotten dead.

He has been named. He has been remembered.

And the disease stops spreading across his body.

THE END

155 ~dozens @ 21:17 2021/12/11

154[You]

== Epilogue ==

Heckat was right about one thing. The forgotten dead don't deserve to be made to linger on, desperate for recognition, desperate to be remembered.

But her conclusion was wrong. The answer isn't to kill them and turn them stone. The answer is to give them what they want.

Using Heckat's tome, you are able to isolate the deathshroom strain from the sporeshard.

Over the next couple of days, you and the Weavers use the deathshrooms to bear witness to the final moments of all of the remaining forgotten dead. And then you name them and memorialize them. And they pass peacefully and happily.

You save them all.

The dead who have already been turned to stone, who couldn't be saved, are moved into the town center as a memorial to the forgotten dead, whom you have made obsolete. There will never be any more.

The statues are paid tribute every year during the Festival of Remembering.

Time passes.

One day you return home to find a bouquet of wildflowers with a card. It's not signed, but it has an abstract drawing of an owl.

The two of you ultimately wanted the same thing in the end, after all.

And you respect her wishes to be forgotten and don't look for her again.

This is a copy/paste of a fun little freeform roleplaying game my friends and I are playing together on a bulletin board on tilde.town.

Read along as our hero journeys into the memories of the dead, and from there into the void of the Beyond!

All posts in this series:

• Part one: At the mouth of the caves
• Part two: Cave Lads
• Part three: Lullaby for the dead
• Part four: Deadspace and Beyond
• Part five: The Owl's Haunt

Recap

Our hero entered the lair of the Cave Lads to retrieve a bunch a stolen ceremonial blankets and traditional costumes needed for the annual Festival of Remembering. They fought off and outsmarted a bunch of weird creatures and puzzling encounters and finally confronted the Lads and got the goods back. The Lads told our hero that it was all just a prank that they had been put up to by “the owl”.

Back at town, the Festival of Remembering is able to commence with the return of the stolen goods. People commemorate and celebrate the dead, and everything goes great until that night when the townspeople eagerly await the benign Forgotten Dead who are supposed to rise and enter the town looking for warmth and stories.

Only a handful of the dead appear, and they are suffering some kind of infection that is slowly turning them to stone. One of the dead draws an owl when questioned.

Our hero decides to go to the city of the dead, Lullaby, to investigate. There they find a member of the powerful Weavers guild collecting samples from one of the petrified dead. After a tense stand off, they agree to work together, and the enigmatic Owl comes up again.

We learn that the mushroom that accompanies the petrification process has been shown to, when burned and inhaled, plunge one's consciousness into a projection of the final moments of the person from whom the mushroom was harvested, and from there potentially to a shared landscape common to all the dead.

Our hero agrees to try the mushroom.

Which brings us to now!

101 ~dozens @ 22:27 2021/10/26

100[bx]

On the way to the Loominary, the weaver tells you everything they know about the mushroom.

1. When harvested from a body, it can be dried and burned, and inhaling the smoke allows you to enter the memories of the deceased on which it grew.

2. If you eat the mushroom (not recommended!) you gain the look, smell, etc. of a corpse. Humans and animals will view and treat you as dead even as you go about your business. The effect lasts for about 24 hours and/or until you take a bath.

At the Loominary, the Somnambulists prepare you for your journey.

Here's what they tell you about Deadspace:

You'll enter the memories of the deceased leading up to their death. The more you smoke, the stronger your connection to Deadspace. When the subject dies in their memories, your journey ends. You can change their memories (e.g. to prevent their death and give you more time) but doing so weakens your connection to Deadspace. When your connection breaks, you wake up weak, shivering, and vomiting.

From the initial memory, you can journey inward into the subject's deepest core memories. Or you can journey outward into deep Deadspace, into the Beyond. The Beyond is a shifting landscape with landmarks that are the same no matter whose memories you start from, suggesting that it might be some kind of persistant afterlife shared by all.

You meet your subject: one of the forgotten dead laid out on a cot. Its disease has progressed a fair bit: it is half petrified, but has been picked clean of the fungus. It has a wide gap between its two front teeth, and its left eye socket is so shallow you don't think an eye could have fit in it while it was alive. It looks at you pitifully and pleadingly.

The mushrooms have been prepared for you ahead of time. You lie down on some cushions and light the censer. The smoke fills the room and your lungs, and the sensation is unpleasant. It's like somehow falling asleep while drowning. Your heart races and feels like it will beat out of your chest even as your breathing slows and your eyes become heavy and finally close.

You jerk awake and find yourself sitting at a table in a busy tavern. There is lively music and chattering voices. The atmosphere is jolly and festive. A chorus of raucous laughing voices sings out behind you. You turn and see three friends playing cards. One of them is gathering up their winnings after winning the round. He's a gap-toothed young man with an eyepatch. “I swear,” another of them laughs. “You're going to rob us blind if you keep winning like that!”

102 ~bx @ 15:29 2021/10/31

101[You]

WAIT BUT HOW CAN I SEE HIM, IF IM SUPPOSED TO BE HIM. I AM CONFUSE

103 ~dozens @ 17:01 2021/10/31

102[bx]

You are still yourself.

Deadspace is playing a sort of reenactment inside your head of his final moments based on his memories.

It's as though this is all a play, and you've suddenly appeared on stage.

The gap-toothed young man with the eyepatch retorts to his friend, “Rob you blind?” He taps his eyepatch. “Well, you'd be in good company!” The two of them laugh, while the third card player sitting at the table glowers and scowls.

“Tell ya what!” Eyepatch continues. “I'll buy you two another drink with the money I just took from you—haha!—and then I must bid you a good night!”

He waves at the tavern keeper, holds up two fingers, and then drops some coins on the table and stands up. “Goodnight, gentlemen!” He gives a little bow, puts on his coat, and heads for the door.

The sour friend glares at him as he goes, and the jolly friend calls after him. “Come back, Silas! You have to give us a chance to win our money back! Aw, fine then. Next time.”

Silas. You've just learned something that by definition nobody else has ever known: the name of one of the forgotten dead.

Silas will die sometime in the next few minutes.

What do you do?

104 ~Gaffen @ 11:17 2021/11/01

103[You]

I EXAMINE THE THIRD CARD PLAYER, COULD THEY BE THE KILLER??

105 ~dozens @ 16:46 2021/11/01

104[Gaffen]

After a moment, the jolly friend gets distracted with flirting with somebody at another table, and the sour friend discreetly grabs his coat and slips away after Silas. Is it him? Could he be the killer?

You follow him out and step into the night. It's dark and cold, and most people have the good sense to be indoors. You follow him up and down a few roads until he stops before a small stone footbridge and steps off the road into the shadow of a tree. Up on the bridge, bathed in the light of a lantern on a pole, is Silas. He sits up on the guard wall, gazing whistfully at the dark current as it rushes beneath him, dangling his feet idly in mid-air, lost in his thoughts. As you watch, the sour friend steps out of the shadow back onto the road. He reaches into his cloak and slowly creeps toward the bridge.

WHAT DO YOU DO

106 ~Gaffen @ 04:13 2021/11/03

105[You]

OH NO! I TRY TO WARN SILAS HE'S IN DANGER

107 ~dozens @ 09:53 2021/11/03 [edited]

106[Gaffen]

Sour Friend is almost to the bridge, and draws his hand from his cloak. He's holding something small, but you can't see what it is.

You call out just as he crosses over from the shadows into the pool of light cast by the lantern. “Silas! Watch out!”

They both whip around to face you.

Now that you can see them in the light, it looks as though Sour Friend has pulled a tobacco pipe from their cloak? He stands staring at you, momentarily frozen, scowl deepening into a surprised grimace.

Silas looks at you and at Sour Friend. “Lethe? What..” Lethe (aka Sour Friend) turns from you to look over his shoulder back at Silas.

Silas swings his legs back over the wall and hops down onto the bridge. “Lethe, who is that-”

You and Lethe both see it before Silas does. A plumicorn—a huge horned owl-like creature—swoops silently down and attacks Silas. Its sharp talons claw at his scalp and its hooked beak snaps at his fingers and wrists as Silas raises his hands to his face and falls backward against the low stone wall. Silas gasps violently, but the attack is otherwise eerily silent.

“Silas!” Lethe rushes forward as the plumicorn flies off.

Silas's hands and face are all bloodied, and he slumps against the low wall as Lethe runs to his side.

You have changed the memory. If Silas had still been sitting on the wall when the creature attacked, he would have easily pitched forward off the bridge and into the inky black water. You feel a brief wave of queasiness and your vision swims for a second as your connection to Deadspace degrades from strong to good.

Certain actions in Deadspace, such as changing a memory, weaken your connection here. When your connection breaks, you reawaken in the world of the living.

For now, Silas is alive, and Lethe is tenderly holding his hands and cradling his head, examining his wounds, a concerned scowl on his face.

WHAT DO

109 ~dozens @ 11:55 2021/11/17 [edited]

108[bx]

You rush forward to see if Silas is okay.

Lethe scowls up at you while continuing to comfort and coddle Silas. You're starting to wonder whether that's just the way his face looks.

“I'm okay... I'm okay...” Silas blubbers. He has long bloody scratches on his hands and wrists and on his scalp, but none of them seem that deep or that serious. He'll be just fine.

The world around you wobbles and shimmers nauseatingly and then snaps back into place. You feel your connection to Deadspace weaken from good to okay.

Because in real life Silas died during the plumicorn attack, he has no actual memory of anything that is happening right now, and so Deadspace is struggling to maintain this memory, and to keep you in it.

You feel like you could hang out here a little longer and ask a few more questions at the risk of being ejected from Deadspace.

Or, you could venture toward either of the edges of Deadspace.

Imagine Deadspace as a donut.

From where you are currently, you could venture inward toward the “hole” into Silas's other memories. There, you could explore other core memories. Could he have formed memories after he died? Could you possibly find out who poisoned him and the other Forgotten Dead?

Or you could venture outward to the edge into the Beyond, into the communal deadspace shared by everybody. Its mysteries (and dangers) are uncharted and unknown, but might eventually lead you to other memory bubbles like this one.

Stay here? INWARD to Silas's Core Memories? OUTWARD to the Beyond?

110 ~bx @ 12:25 2021/11/17

109[You]

LETS GO OUTWARD

111 ~dozens @ 17:57 2021/11/18

110[bx]

You step to the side and slip out of the world, leaving Silas and Lethe behind on the bridge, and emerge in the crimson void of the Beyond.

The Beyond has landmarks and denizens.

Although most of the Beyond is constantly shifting and changing, there are persistent landmarks common to every instance of Deadspace. This leads travelers to believe that the Beyond is a single experience and location shared by all the dead. Traveling between landmarks is pretty much the only way to progress through the Beyond and learn its mysteries. And if you're careful, and lucky, it can be done without provoking any hostility.

The denizens of the Beyond include the fleshless Hollow Men, whom you'd best avoid, and the enigmatic Ravenfolk, who can be bartered with.

You are currently suspended in the crimson void. There's nothing above and nothing below, yet you can stand and walk as though on firm ground.

Nearby is the towering obsidian obelisk known as the Lighthouse, usually the first landmark seen upon entering the Beyond.

In the middle distance is something that stands on two legs like a man, covered in a cloak of glittering black feathers. Its head is the bleached white skull of a large bird with a long beak and large empty eyes. One of the Ravenfolk. It faces you and stands motionless as though waiting.

WHAT DO

112 ~Gaffen @ 02:09 2021/11/19

111[You]

I GREET THE RAVEN

113 ~dozens @ 11:18 2021/11/19

112[Gaffen]

You approach the ravenfolk. It stands much taller than you.

Its voice emanates from somewhere within its empty skull and seems to envelope you.

“Greetings, Living One. Tell me what brings you here, and I will tell whether I can help you.”

114 ~Gaffen @ 04:02 2021/11/22

113[You]

I SEEK KNOWLADGE OF A GREAT OWL, AND A BOTH CRYSTALINE AND FUNGAL BLIGHT THAT ATTACKS THE DEAD

115 ~dozens @ 08:26 2021/11/22

114[Gaffen]

The ravenfolk nods.

“That which you seek are all one and the same. I will take you to them if you are willing to trade with me. The price is a precious memory. That of a loved one. Give the memory to me, and I will show you the owl.”

Agree?

116 ~cymen @ 12:58 2021/11/23

115[You]

I slowly shake my head Which memory?

117 ~dozens @ 14:33 2021/11/23

116[cymen]

Which memory indeed. Name somebody who was special to you[1]. A parent, sibling, friend, teacher, lover, etc.

[1]: You, the hero of BBJ Quest. Not you the human reading this.

118 ~Gaffen @ 04:08 2021/11/25

117[You]

HELP ME HEAL, RAVEN, REMOVE MY PREVIOUS LOVE FROM MY MIND

119 ~dozens @ 10:29 2021/11/25

118[Gaffen]

You agree to the ravenfolk's terms and offer them the memory of your lover.

They accept.

Your memories flow from you like water, swiftly receding until you stand alone on the dry, sandy shore of remembrance. Your heart stops aching, but is now less full.

The sorrow and resentment is gone, but so is all of the growth and everything you learned from the relationship about yourself and life and love.

There. You are free of pain, and completely ignorant of the hazards of love.

The absence of your memory is so complete that you don't even have the capacity to wonder if it was worth it.

HEALED?

120 ~dozens @ 10:47 2021/11/25

119[You]

The ravenfolk seems to swell and take on new vitality after feasting on your memory.

They turn and lead you away from the Lighthouse into the expansive crimson void of the Beyond.

With the help of your guide and a little bit of luck, you avoid the Hollow Men with their chattering teeth and a lumbering slavering Void Beast that sails past a little too closely for your comfort.

You rest for a while by the Iron Husk, a colossal figure that is rusted and hollowed out, lying in scattered pieces. You ask the ravenfolk about it and they tell you that it is a dead god, that it walked the spheres and inspired awe and fear before being banished to the Beyond, where it was forgotten and eventually died.

You continue on and eventually come to a cloudy lavender pool.

The ravenfolk gestures toward the pool, “The owl resides in this memory bubble, far from the prying eyes of man.”

“I have fulfilled my end of our bargain. Fare well, traveler.”

The ravenfolk explodes with a burst of inky black feathers into a flock of blackbirds and flies away into the void.

You are alone in the Beyond next to a murky purple pool.

WHAT DO

121 ~bx @ 06:59 2021/11/28

120[You]

I PUT MY HAND IN THE POOL

122 ~dozens @ 07:39 2021/11/28

121[bx]

You reach your hand into the pool and swish it around a bit. The pool seems to be full of a heavy swirling vaporous mist. It feels kind of cool and maybe a little damp.

Thick ropes of purple mist swirl lazily around as you agitate them, but quickly settle back down as soon as you stop.

You withdraw your hand and inspect it. Looks fine.

I guess the ravenfolk was suggesting that the owl, and the answer to who is poisoning the dead, lies through these mists..

WHAT DO

123 ~Gaffen @ 08:03 2021/11/30

122[You]

DESCEND INTO THE POOL

124 ~dozens @ 09:08 2021/11/30

123[Gaffen]

There's no wading into the pool. So you just dive in.

The mist gathers with alarming quickness around in thick ropes like a hungry animal, taking on substance that it previously lacked. You resist the urge to panic as it squeezes around you and hugs you tight, thickening and darkening from lavender to deep purple to black so that you cannot see and cannot move. Surprisingly, the mist rockets you upward instead of lowering you down into the pool. You brace yourself, barely able to breathe, and squeeze your eyes tightly shut until you feel your ascent start to slow and then come to a stop. As the thick ropes loosen their grip and then melt away into nothingness, you feel soft grass beneath you and see sunshine through your still closed eyelids.

You open your eyes and find that you have been deposited in a vibrant green forest meadow carpeted with wildflowers of purple, yellow, and orange.

The sun shines warmly and there is a gentle breeze.

A small simple cottage stands next to the treeline, near which two little girls are picking flowers.

WHAT DO

THE END

Stay tuned next time for Social Anxiety Barbarian Part 5: The Owl's Haunt!

by Osgood H. Oswald

Introduction

This essay will compare and contrast the published versions of backgammon through the ages, will review its current iteration as a popular fantasy role-playing game, and will finally connect its past to its potential future via its use as a divination tool.

Past: A Brief History

Backgammon 1st Edition, also known as OBKGM (Original Backgammon) was released in Iran in 2021 BC. The original ruleset was relatively lightweight compared to later editions. The rules, board, dice, and pieces were all slightly different from what we play today, but the core mechanic of “racing game with sending pieces back to the beginning” remains unchanged.

One thing that is unique to this edition is the spiritual component of the game. Certain squares had certain meanings and landing on them predicted a player's future, or foretold an omen, or was understood to be a message from some deity or other supernatural figure.

The 2nd edition (BKGM 2e) was published in 1166 BC in Persia. It controversially dropped all support for the supernatural and removed all references to omens and deities. Its rules are a little different from what we play today, but it essentially the same game.

BKGM 3e, the first major update to the game during the modern era, didn't come out until the 1920s when a Mississippi riverboat captain with a serious gambling addiction named Fathomer Applesail introduced the doubling cube. This would be, to date, the game's last major innovation.

The cube was originally intended to merely enhance the gambling aspect of the game, but it ended up having unintended, far reaching strategic impacts.

Finally, in the 1960s, a supplement was published as version 3.5 containing additional optional rules involving the doubling cube. This is the current version of the game.

Present: A Review of BKGM 3.5e

Today, backgammon is a popular fantasy role-playing game in which you adopt the persona of a powerful wizard of the “backgammon” school of magic. You play by enchanting 15 checkers (your “men”), bending them to your will, and then racing them around the track to bring them home before your opponent can do the same.

The risk of the game is right there in the name. “Backgammon” is derived from the words “Back” and “Game.” It is a game in which you risk having your men bumped off the track and banished from the board to the ethereal state of limbo known as the “bar”. At that point, all further progress halts until you are able to successfully conjure your lost man from the bar and they are reborn and sent back to the beginning of the track where they must begin their journey anew.

It's ohana rules.

“Ohana means family. And family means nobody gets left behind or forgotten.”

-Lilo and Stitch

The wizard you play is also adept at chronomancy. They are able to leverage an arcane device known as the Doubling Cube. It is a false gift that, if refused, immediately ends the current conflict and catapaults the players forward in time to the beginning of the next game. It is a subtle manipuation of time, but powerful in the hands of a skilled wizard.

Whereas Dungeons & Dragons is a wargame at heart with fantasy roleplay layered on top, Backgammon is at its core a racing game. As is the case with most roleplaying games, it is a game of skill and strategy, but also of chance and luck: randomness is injected into the game through the rolling of dice. In this case, two six-sided dice are rolled to determine how many spaces your men can move.

Future: Bringing The Sacred Back

Starting from the opening position of the 3.5e board, one must roll exactly 167 in order to bring all their men home, assuming perfect play.

The number one stands for unity and indivisibility. And as Frank Black tells us, the devil is six, and god is seven. So 167, the unity of god and the devil, means perfect balance and harmony, such as that which what is seen in the taoist yin-yang and the discordian hodge-podge.

Given a platform of perfect balance, the 3.5e board is an ideal candidate for reincorporating some of the mysticism of OBKGM.

The I-Ching provides a framework for doing so.

The eight trigrams map easily to the 24 points. There will be three runs of Heaven, Lake, Fire, Thunder, Wind, Water, Mountain, and Earth, starting from point 1 and continuing to point 24.

When you roll two dice, you will (usually) move two checkers. It will often be arbitrary which move corresponds to the first, or upper, trigram.

When feeling compelled to do so, you can look up the resulting hexagram. For example, at https://divination.com/iching/lookup/

The difficulty with this system is it requires a lookup. The benefit is that it allows all 64 hexagrams to be represented on a 24 point board. The difficulty of the lookup can be circumnavigated by simply deciding for yourself what, for example, “mountain over water” means to you.

Conclusion

A potential 4th Edition of backgammon should include content not seen since the publication of Original Backgammon. Namely, the portents and omens and other elements of divination. It is high time backgammon was weird and occult again.

02

123

Why XMPP is better than Matrix?

[1] EVOLUTION AND NATURAL SELECTION:

I was obsessed with this question for a long-time. Which is the best IM protocol that exists today?

When I asked this to my dear friend, whose work is related to evolutionary biology, he replied “I have no ideas when it comes to computers. But I know this. Anything in this world that has survived for a long-time, had to be fit to withstand selective pressures. So look at what existed for long time, that's probably has properties to adapt well.”. Holy hell! Being a biotechnologist, I had to slap myself for not thinking this on my own.

But what makes a protocol fit? For that I looked at biology first. For a being to evolve, the process happens both forward and backward. That is, the being must pickup (forward) a new feature that will make it fit or drop (backward) a existing feature that is hindering it to be fit. Most importantly, the being must have properties (information in genetic material) that gives it these abilities (pickup or drop features), in the first place.

Now, what properties might that be for protocols? Extensibility and Modularity. If a protocol is both extensible and modular, it can pickup or drop a feature when needed (Well, protocol is not sentient, developers are the ones who do things). These properties (extensibility and modularity) must be innate nature (design model?) of the protocol, so that it can evolve in response to selective pressures. Here, selective pressures refers to needs of that protocol.

Why both properties and not just any one of them? As mentioned earlier, evolution is both forward and backward. If a protocol only is extensible, you cannot easily drop a extended feature, if it becomes obsolete, security-critical or blot. If a protocol is only modular, you cannot easily extend a feature in demand. So a protocol that is both extensible and modular, is fitter than, a protocol that has only one of these properties. In other words, Extensibility and Modularity are evolutionary properties of a protocol.

By design, XMPP has these evolutionary properties, whereas Matrix does not.

[2] IGNORANCE:

Matrix seems to be started because of ignorance. Its stated in its website, under “Imagine a world”, the reasons why matrix was started and/or aiming to achieve. Now, there was already XMPP, in which said goals could have been achieved with either existing XEPs or creating new XEPs. Instead, a new protocol was designed from scratch.

I think this kind of trend “Protocol ABC doesn't have this XYZ feature, so let me start a protocol from scratch” should be discouraged. It causes even more fragmentation in IM realm.

This is the very situation where matrix devs should have made use of the properties of XMPP to improve it. Even the outstanding feature (I admit. its a fantastic idea) of matrix, decentralized conversation store, could have been implemented in XMPP as an XEP. Imagine the time and effort spent on improving XMPP, instead of reinventing wheels in matrix. We could have had a neat ubiquitous IM platform.

[3] FLEXIBLE DEPLOYMENT:

IM platforms should be able to be deployed as minimal as possible or as feature as possible. Certain features should be able to be optionally enabled or disabled, based on the needs of the deployer.

For example, if an activist collective decides to provide IM service to its members, but doesn't want to store any messages on server for privacy purposes but to only queue the messages to deliver to clients (like POP instead of IMAP), it can be done by dropping (backward adaptation) the XEP responsible for archiving. Matrix cannot do this.

[3] FINAL THOUGHTS:

Please note that these are criticisms towards Matrix over XMPP, not hate. I appreciate the work done by Matrix devs, especially on decentralized conversation store. It is my current notion that, it will be better for XMPP and Matrix devs to combine their efforts by improving XMPP and bring matrix features to it via XEPs. XEP-Matrix?

I installed Linux on a Laptop for it and a few weeks later the wifi stoped working and i needed to buy a external adapter on a small usb device.

That worked but im a bit meh :P

Caturday Fundamentals A Brief history By Kiddy

Caturday is celebrated each Saturday (and many other days of the week as Kranfahrer stated) to express love to our feline companions in the world full of troubles. As far as we know, animals are the purest living beings this earth has and you know you are in the right way when one of this creatures comes to you to get love and stays.

Caturday start day and creator is unknown but as Stux said “My bet is on one mighty cat out there somewhere” which reveals to us that the beginning of this could have been since the day of ancient Egypt around 3100 BC.

Enough said, let’s celebrate Caturday as it should be, letting our cats enjoy the day.

I am Kiddy The Kid.

You might know me as K' or Kiddy The Kid... Does it really matter? I am just testing this.

Entremés de La cueva de Salamanca

Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra

Salen PANCRACIO, LEONARDA y CRISTINA.

  

PANCRACIO.–   Enjugad, señora, esas lágrimas, y poned pausa a vuestros suspiros, considerando que cuatro días de ausencia no son siglos. Yo volveré, a lo más largo, a los cinco, si Dios no me quita la vida; aunque será mejor, por no turbar la vuestra, romper mi palabra, y dejar esta jornada; que sin mi presencia se podrá casar mi hermana.

 

LEONARDA.–   No quiero yo, mi Pancracio y mi señor, que por respeto mío vos parezcáis descortés; id en hora buena, y cumplid con vuestras obligaciones, pues las que os llevan son precisas; que yo me apretaré con mi llaga y pasaré mi soledad lo menos mal que pudiere. Sólo os encargo la vuelta, y que no paséis del término que habéis puesto.

Tenme, Cristina, que se me aprieta el corazón.

 

(Desmáyase LEONARDA.)

  

CRISTINA.–   ¡Oh, que bien hayan las bodas y las fiestas! En verdad, señor, que, si yo fuera que vuesa merced, que nunca allá fuera.

 

PANCRACIO.–   Entra, hija, por un vidro de agua para echársela en el rostro. Mas espera; diréle unas palabras que sé al oído, que tienen virtud para hacer volver de los desmayos.

 

(Dícele las palabras; vuelve LEONARDA diciendo:)

  

LEONARDA.–   ¡Basta!, ello ha de ser forzoso; no hay sino tener paciencia, bien mío; cuanto más os detuviéredes, más dilatáis mi contento. Vuestro compadre Loniso os debe de aguardar ya en el coche. Andad don Dios; que Él os vuelva tan presto y tan bueno como yo deseo.

   -fol. 248v-   

PANCRACIO.–   Mi ángel, si gustas que me quede, no me moveré de aquí más que una estatua.

 

LEONARDA.–   No, no, descanso mío; que mi gusto está en el vuestro; y, por agora, más que os vais que no os quedéis, pues es vuestra honra la mía.

 

CRISTINA.–   ¡Oh, espejo del matrimonio! A fe que si todas las casadas quisiesen tanto a sus maridos como mi señora Leonarda quiere al suyo, que otro gallo les cantase.

 

LEONARDA.–   Entra, Cristinica, y saca mi manto, que quiero acompañar a tu señor hasta dejarle en el coche.

 

PANCRACIO.–   No, por mi amor; abrazadme y quedaos, por vida mía.

Cristinica, ten cuenta de regalar a tu señora, que yo te mando un calzado cuando vuelva, como tú le quisieres.

 

CRISTINA.–   Vaya, señor, y no lleve pena de mi señora, porque la pienso persuadir de manera a que nos holguemos, que no imagine en la falta que vuesa merced le ha de hacer.

 

LEONARDA.–   ¿Holgar yo? ¡Qué bien estás en la cuenta, niña! Porque, ausente de mi gusto, no se hicieron los placeres ni las glorias para mí; penas y dolores, sí.

 

PANCRACIO.–   Ya no lo puedo sufrir. Quedad en paz, lumbre destos ojos, los cuales no verán cosa que les dé placer hasta volveros a ver.

 

(Éntrase PANCRACIO.)

  

LEONARDA.–   ¡Allá darás, rayo, en casa de Ana Díaz. Vayas, y no vuelvas; la ida del humo. Por Dios, que esta vez no os han de valer vuestras valentías ni vuestro recatos!

 

CRISTINA.–   Mil veces temí que con tus estremos habías de estorbar su partida y nuestros contentos.

 

LEONARDA.–   ¿Si vendrán esta noche los que esperamos?

 

CRISTINA.–   ¿Pues no? Ya los tengo avisados, y ellos están tan en ello, que esta tarde enviaron con la lavandera, nuestra secretaria, como que eran paños, una canasta de colar, llena de mil regalos y de cosas de comer, que no parece sino [u]no de los serones que da el rey el Jueves Santo a sus pobres; sino que la canasta es de Pascua, porque hay en ella empanadas, fiambreras, manjar blanco, y dos capones que aún no están acabados de pelar, y todo género de fruta de la que hay ahora; y, sobre todo, una bota de hasta una arroba de vino, de lo de una oreja, que huele que traciende.

 

LEONARDA.–   Es muy cumplido, y lo fue siempre, mi Riponce, sacristán de las telas de mis entrañas.

 

CRISTINA.–   Pues, ¿qué le falta a mi maese Nicolás, barbero de mis hígados y navaja de mis pesadumbres, que así me las rapa y quita cuando le veo, como si nunca las hubiera tenido?

   -fol. 249r-   

LEONARDA.–   ¿Pusiste la canasta en cobro?

 

CRISTINA.–   En la cocina la tengo, cubierta con un cernadero, por el disimulo.

 

(Llama a la puerta el ESTUDIANTE Carraolano, y, en llamando, sin esperar que le respondan, entra.)

  

LEONARDA.–   Cristina, mira quién llama.

 

ESTUDIANTE.–   Señoras, yo soy, un pobre estudiante.

 

CRISTINA.–   Bien se os parece que sois pobre y estudiante, pues lo uno muestra vuestro vestido, y el ser pobre vuestro atrevimiento. Cosa estraña es ésta, que no hay pobre que espere a que le saquen la limosna a la puerta, sino que se entran en las casas hasta el último rincón, sin mirar si despiertan a quien duerme, o si no.

 

ESTUDIANTE.–   Otra más blanda respuesta esperaba yo de la buena gracia de vuesa merced; cuanto más, que yo no quería ni buscaba otra limosna, sino alguna caballeriza o pajar donde defenderme esta noche de las inclemencias del cielo, que, según se me trasluce, parece que con grandísimo rigor a la tierra amenazan.

 

LEONARDA.–   ¿Y de dónde bueno sois, amigo?

 

ESTUDIANTE.–   Salmantino soy, señora mía; quiero decir que soy de Salamanca. Iba a Roma con un tío mío, el cual murió en el camino, en el corazón de Francia. Vime solo; determiné volverme a mi tierra; robáronme los lacayos o compañeros de Roque Guinarde, en Cataluña, porque él estaba ausente; que, a estar allí, no consintiera que se me hiciera agravio, porque es muy cortés y comedido, y además limosnero. Hame tomado a estas santas puertas la noche, que por tales las juzgo, y busco mi remedio.

 

LEONARDA.–   En verdad, Cristina, que me ha movido a lástima el estudiante.

 

CRISTINA.–   Ya me tiene a mí rasgadas las entrañas. Tengámosle en casa esta noche, pues de las sobras del castillo se podrá mantener el real; quiero decir que en las reliquias de la canasta habrá en quien adore su hambre; y más, que me ayudará a pelar la volatería que viene en la cesta.

 

LEONARDA.–   Pues, ¿cómo, Cristina, quieres que metamos en nuestra casa testigos de nuestras liviandades?

 

CRISTINA.–   Así tiene él talle de hablar por el colodrillo, como por la boca.

Venga acá, amigo: ¿sabe pelar?

 

ESTUDIANTE.–   ¿Cómo si sé pelar? No entiendo eso de saber pelar, si no es que quiere vuesa merced motejarme de pelón; que no hay para qué, pues yo me confieso por el mayor pelón del mundo.

 

CRISTINA.–   No lo digo yo por eso, en mi ánima, sino por saber si    -fol. 249v-   sabía pelar dos o tres pares de capones.

 

ESTUDIANTE.–   Lo que sabré responder es que yo, señoras, por la gracia de Dios, soy graduado de bachiller por Salamanca, y no digo...

 

LEONARDA.–   Desa manera, ¿quién duda sino que sabrá pelar no sólo capones, sino gansos y avutardas? Y, en esto del guardar secreto, ¿cómo le va? Y, a dicha, ¿[es] tentado de decir todo lo que vee, imagina o siente?

 

ESTUDIANTE.–   Así pueden matar delante de mí más hombres que carneros en el Rastro, que yo desplegue mis labios para decir palabra alguna.

 

CRISTINA.–   Pues atúrese esa boca, y cósase esa lengua con una agujeta de dos cabos, y amuélese esos dientes, y éntrese con nosotras, y verá misterios y cenará maravillas, y podrá medir en un pajar los pies que quisiere para su cama.

 

ESTUDIANTE.–   Con siete tendré demasiado: que no soy nada codicioso ni regalado.

 

(Entran el SACRISTÁN Reponce y el BARBERO.)

  

SACRISTÁN.–   ¡Oh, que en hora buena estén los automedones y guías de los carros de nuestros gustos, las luces de nuestras tinieblas, y las dos recíprocas voluntades que sirven de basas y colunas a la amorosa fábrica de nuestros deseos!

 

LEONARDA.–   ¡Esto sólo me enfada dél! Reponce mío: habla, por tu vida, a lo moderno, y de modo que te entienda, y no te encarames donde no te alcance.

 

BARBERO.–   Eso tengo yo bueno, que hablo más llano que una suela de zapato; pan por vino y vino por pan, o como suele decirse.

 

SACRISTÁN.–   Sí, que diferencia ha de haber de un sacristán gramático a un barbero romancista.

 

CRISTINA.–   Para lo que yo he menester a mi barbero, tanto latín sabe, y aún más, que supo Antonio de Nebrija; y no se dispute agora de ciencia ni de modos de hablar: que cada uno habla, si no como debe, a lo menos, como sabe; y entrémonos, y manos a labor, que hay mucho que hacer.

 

ESTUDIANTE.–   Y mucho que pelar.

 

SACRISTÁN.–   ¿Quién es este buen hombre?

 

LEONARDA.–   Un pobre estudiante salamanqueso, que pide albergo para esta noche.

 

SACRISTÁN.–   Yo le daré un par de reales para cena y para lecho, y váyase con Dios.

 

ESTUDIANTE.–   Señor sacristán Reponce, recibo y agradezco la merced y la limosna; pero yo soy mudo, y pelón además, como lo ha menester esta señora doncella, que me tiene convidado; y voto a...    -fol. 250r-   de no irme esta noche desta casa, si todo el mundo me lo manda. Confíese vuesa merced mucho de enhoramala de un hombre de mis prendas, que se contenta de dormir en un pajar; y si lo han por sus capones, péleselos el Turco y cómanselos ellos, y nunca del cuero les salgan.

 

BARBERO.–   Éste más parece rufián que pobre. Talle tiene de alzarse con toda la casa.

 

CRISTINA.–   No medre yo, si no me contenta el brío. Entrémonos todos, y demos orden en lo que se ha de hacer; que el pobre pelará y callará como en misa.

 

ESTUDIANTE.–   Y aun como en vísperas.

 

SACRISTÁN.–   Puesto me ha miedo el pobre estudiante; yo apostaré que sabe más latín que yo.

 

LEONARDA.–   De ahí le deben de nacer los bríos que tiene; pero no te pese, amigo, de hacer caridad, que vale para todas las cosas.

 

(Éntranse todos, y sale Leoniso, COMPADRE DE PANCRACIO, y PANCRACIO.)

  

COMPADRE.–   Luego lo vi yo que nos había de faltar la rueda; no hay cochero que no sea temático; si él rodeara un poco y salvara aquel barranco, ya estuviéramos dos leguas de aquí.

 

PANCRACIO.–   A mí no se me da nada; que antes gusto de volverme y pasar esta noche con mi esposa Leonarda, que en la venta; porque la dejé esta tarde casi para espirar, del sentimiento de mi partida.

 

COMPADRE.–   ¡Gran mujer! ¡De buena os ha dado el cielo, señor compadre! Dadle gracias por ello.

 

PANCRACIO.–   Yo se las doy como puedo, y no como debo; no hay Lucrecia que se [le] llegue, ni Porcia que se le iguale; la honestidad y el recogimiento han hecho en ella su morada.

 

COMPADRE.–   Si la mía no fuera celosa, no tenía yo más que desear. Por esta calle está más cerca mi casa; tomad, compadre, por éstas, y estaréis presto en la vuestra; y veámonos mañana, que [no] me faltará coche para la jornada. Adiós.

 

PANCRACIO.–   Adiós.

 

(Éntranse los dos.)

  

(Vuelven a salir el SACRISTÁN [y] el BARBERO, con sus guitarras; LEONARDA, CRISTINA y el ESTUDIANTE. Sale el SACRISTÁN con la sotana alzada y ceñida al cuerpo, danzando al son de su misma guitarra; y, a cada cabriola, vaya diciendo estas palabras:)

  

SACRISTÁN.–   ¡Linda noche, lindo rato, linda cena y lindo amor!

 

CRISTINA.–   Señor sacristán Reponce, no es éste tiempo de danzar; dése    -fol. 250v-   orden en cenar y en las demás cosas, y quédense las danzas para mejor coyuntura.

 

SACRISTÁN.–   ¡Linda noche, lindo rato, linda cena y lindo amor!

 

LEONARDA.–   Déjale, Cristina; que en estremo gusto de ver su agilidad.

 

(Llama PANCRACIO a la puerta, y dice:)

  

PANCRACIO.–   Gente dormida, ¿no oís? ¿Cómo, y tan temprano tenéis atrancada la puerta? Los recatos de mi Leonarda deben de andar por aquí.

 

LEONARDA.–   ¡Ay, desdichada! A la voz y a los golpes, mi marido Pancracio es éste; algo le debe de haber sucedido, pues él se vuelve. Señores, a recogerse a la carbonera: digo al desván, donde está el carbón.

Corre, Cristina, y llévalos; que yo entretendré a Pancracio de modo que tengas lugar para todo.

 

ESTUDIANTE.–   ¡Fea noche, amargo rato, mala cena y peor amor!

 

CRISTINA.–   ¡Gentil relente, por cierto! ¡Ea, vengan todos!

 

PANCRACIO.–   ¿Qué diablos es esto? ¿Cómo no me abrís, lirones?

 

ESTUDIANTE.–   Es el toque, que yo no quiero correr la suerte destos señores. Escóndanse ellos donde quisieren, y llévenme a mí al pajar, que, si allí me hallan, antes pareceré pobre que adúltero.

 

CRISTINA.–   Caminen, que se hunde la casa a golpes.

 

SACRISTÁN.–   El alma llevo en los dientes.

 

BARBERO.–   Y yo en los carcañares.

 

(Éntranse todos y asómase LEONARDA a la ventana.)

  

LEONARDA.–   ¿Quién está ahí? ¿Quién llama?

 

PANCRACIO.–   Tu marido soy, Leonarda mía; ábreme, que ha media hora que estoy rompiendo a golpes estas puertas.

 

LEONARDA.–   En la voz, bien me parece a mí que oigo a mi cepo Pancracio; pero la voz de un gallo se parece a la de otro gallo, y no me aseguro.

 

PANCRACIO.–   ¡Oh recato inaudito de mujer prudente! Que yo soy, vida mía, tu marido Pancracio: ábreme con toda seguridad.

 

LEONARDA.–   Venga acá, yo lo veré agora. ¿Qué hice yo cuando él se partió esta tarde?

 

PANCRACIO.–   Suspiraste, lloraste y al cabo te desmayaste.

 

LEONARDA.–   Verdad; pero, con todo esto, dígame: ¿qué señales tengo yo en uno de mis hombros?

 

PANCRACIO.–   En el izquierdo tienes un lunar del grandor de medio real, con tres cabellos como tres mil hebras de oro.

 

LEONARDA.–   Verdad; pero, ¿cómo se llama la doncella de casa?

 

PANCRACIO.–   ¡Ea, boba, no seas enfadosa, Cristinica se llama! ¿Qué más quieres?

 

[LEONARDA].–   ¡Cristinica, Cristinica, tu señor es; ábrele, niña!

 

CRISTINA.–   Ya voy, señora; que él sea    -fol. 251r-   muy bien venido.

¿Qué es esto, señor de mi alma? ¿Qué acelerada vuelta es ésta?

 

LEONARDA.–   ¡Ay, bien mío! Decídnoslo presto, que el temor de algún mal suceso me tiene ya sin pulsos.

 

PANCRACIO.–   No ha sido otra cosa sino que en un barranco se quebró la rueda del coche, y mi compadre y yo determinamos volvernos, y no pasar la noche en el campo; y mañana buscaremos en qué ir, pues hay tiempo. Pero ¿qué voces hay?

 

(Dentro, y como de muy lejos, diga el ESTUDIANTE:)

  

ESTUDIANTE.–   ¡Ábranme aquí, señores; que me ahogo!

 

PANCRACIO.–   ¿Es en casa o en la calle?

 

CRISTINA.–   Que me maten si no es el pobre estudiante que encerré en el pajar, para que durmiese esta noche.

 

PANCRACIO.–   ¿Estudiante encerrado en mi casa, y en mi ausencia? ¡Malo! En verdad, señora, que si no me tuviera asegurado vuestra mucha bondad, que me causara algún recelo este encerramiento; pero ve, Cristina, y ábrele, que se le debe de haber caído toda la paja a cuestas.

 

CRISTINA.–   Ya voy.

 

LEONARDA.–   Señor, que es un pobre salamanqueso, que pidió que le acogiésemos esta noche, por amor de Dios, aunque fuese en el pajar; y ya sabes mi condición, que no puedo negar nada de lo que se me pide, y encerrámosle; pero veisle aquí, y mirad cuál sale.

 

(Sale el ESTUDIANTE y CRISTINA; él lleno de paja las barbas, cabeza y vestido.)

  

ESTUDIANTE.–   Si yo no tuviera tanto miedo, y fuera menos escrupuloso, yo hubiera escusado el peligro de ahogarme en el pajar, y hubiera cenado mejor, y tenido más blanda y menos peligrosa cama.

 

PANCRACIO.–   ¿Y quién os había de dar, amigo, mejor cena y mejor cama?

 

ESTUDIANTE.–   ¿Quién? Mi habilidad, sino que el temor de la justicia me tiene atadas las manos.

 

PANCRACIO.–   ¡Peligrosa habilidad debe de ser la vuestra, pues os teméis de la justicia!

 

ESTUDIANTE.–   La ciencia que aprendí en la Cueva de Salamanca, de donde yo soy natural, si se dejara usar sin miedo de la Santa Inquisición, yo sé que cenara y recenara a costa de mis herederos; y aun quizá no estoy muy fuera de usalla, siquiera por esta vez, donde la necesidad me fuerza y me disculpa; pero no sé yo si estas señoras serán tan secretas como yo lo he sido.

 

PANCRACIO.–   No se cure dellas, amigo, sino haga lo que quisiere, que yo les haré que callen; y ya deseo en todo estremo ver alguna destas cosas que dicen que    -fol. 251v-   se aprenden en la Cueva de Salamanca.

 

ESTUDIANTE.–   ¿No se contentará vuesa merced con que le saque aquí dos demonios en figuras humanas, que traigan a cuestas una canasta llena de cosas fiambres y comederas?

 

LEONARDA.–   ¿Demonios en mi casa y en mi presencia? ¡Jesús! Librada sea yo de lo que librarme no sé.

 

CRISTINA.–    [Aparte.]  El mismo diablo tiene el estudiante en el cuerpo: ¡plega a Dios que vaya a buen viento esta parva! Temblándome está el corazón en el pecho.

 

PANCRACIO.–   Ahora bien; si ha de ser sin peligro y sin espantos, yo me holgaré de ver esos señores demonios y a la canasta de las fiambreras; y torno a advertir que las figuras no sean espantosas.

 

ESTUDIANTE.–   Digo que saldrán en figura del sacristán de la parroquia, y en la de un barbero su amigo.

 

CRISTINA.–   ¿Mas que lo dice por el sacristán Riponce y por maese Roque, el barbero de casa? ¡Desdichados dellos, que se han de ver convertidos en diablos! Y dígame, hermano, ¿y éstos han de ser diablos bautizados?

 

ESTUDIANTE.–   ¡Gentil novedad! ¿Adónde diablos hay diablos bautizados, o para qué se han de bautizar los diablos? Aunque podrá ser que éstos lo fuesen, porque no hay regla sin excepción; y apártense, y verán maravillas.

 

LEONARDA.–    [Aparte.]  ¡Ay, sin ventura! Aquí se descose; aquí salen nuestras maldades a plaza; aquí soy muerta.

 

CRISTINA.–    [Aparte.]  ¡Ánimo, señora, que buen corazón quebranta mala ventura!

ESTUDIANTE   Vosotros, mezquinos, que en la carbonerahallastes amparo a vuestra desgracia,salid, y en los hombros, con priesa y con gracia,sacad la canasta de la fïambrera;no me incitéis a que de otra maneramás dura os conjure. Salid: ¿qué esperáis?Mirad que si a dicha el salir rehusáis,tendrá mal suceso mi nueva quimera.

Hora bien, yo sé cómo me tengo de haber con estos demonicos humanos; quiero entrar allá dentro, y a solas hacer un conjuro tan fuerte, que los haga salir más que de paso;    -fol. 252r-   aunque la calidad destos demonios más está en sabellos aconsejar, que en conjurallos.

 

(Éntrase el ESTUDIANTE.)

  

PANCRACIO.–   Yo digo que si éste sale con lo que ha dicho, que será la cosa más nueva y más rara que se haya visto en el mundo.

 

LEONARDA.–   Sí saldrá, ¿quién lo duda? Pues, ¿habíanos de engañar?

 

CRISTINA.–   Ruido anda allá dentro; yo apostaré que los saca; pero vee aquí do vuelve con los demonios y el apatusco de la canasta.

 

LEONARDA.–   ¡Jesús! ¡Qué parecidos son los de la carga al sacristán Reponce y al barbero de la plazuela!

 

CRISTINA.–   Mira, señora, que donde hay demonios no se ha de decir Jesús.

 

SACRISTÁN.–   Digan lo que quisieren; que nosotros somos como los perros del herrero, que dormimos al son de las martilladas; ninguna cosa nos espanta ni turba.

 

LEONARDA.–   Lléguense a que yo coma de lo que viene de la canasta; no tomen menos.

 

ESTUDIANTE.–   Yo haré la salva y comenzaré por el vino.  (Bebe.) 

Bueno es: ¿es de Esquivias, señor sacridiablo?

 

SACRISTÁN.–   De Esquivias es, ¡juro a...!

 

ESTUDIANTE.–   Téngase, por vida suya, y no pase adelante. ¡Amiguito soy yo de diablos juradores! Demonico, demonico, aquí no venimos a hacer pecados mortales, sino a pasar una hora de pasatiempo, y cenar, y irnos con Cristo.

 

CRISTINA.–   ¿Y éstos han de cenar con nosotros?

 

PANCRACIO.–   Sí, que los diablos no comen.

 

BARBERO.–   Sí comen algunos, pero no todos; y nosotros somos de los que comen.

 

CRISTINA.–   ¡Ay, señores! Quédense acá los pobres diablos, pues han traído la cena; que sería poca cortesía dejarlos ir muertos de hambre, y parecen diablos muy honrados y muy hombres de bien.

 

LEONARDA.–   Como no nos espanten, y si mi marido gusta, quédense en buen hora.

 

PANCRACIO.–   Queden; que quiero ver lo que nunca he visto.

 

BARBERO.–   Nuestro Señor pague a vuesa[s] mercede[s] la buena obra, señores míos.

 

CRISTINA.–   ¡Ay, qué bien criado

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