Nightingale: Apparently Chaos Is Self-Sustaining

 

The Night the Chaos Took a Sickie

Craig was out for the night.

This presented CCF with an unusual and frankly unsettling opportunity: an evening in which nothing might go catastrophically wrong.

Naturally, we began by mocking his previous exploits.

There is tradition to maintain.

Without Craig, this promised to be a night where items might actually be put into the correct storage boxes. Backstory might be read. Quest instructions might be followed. Doors might be opened only after someone had checked what was on the other side. Strange glowing objects might even remain unmolested for upwards of thirty seconds.

This was so unlike our usual Friday nights—where near disaster is painstakingly converted into near success—that nobody really knew what to do.

We didn’t actually have a plan.

So we did the chores again.

It seemed safest.

Haute Couture and Structural Trouser Engineering

Myles continued practising his newly acquired tailoring skills, experimenting with better clothing and discovering that Nightingale takes material choice surprisingly seriously.

Different fibres. Different effects. Different bonuses.

The Victorian Realmwalker apparently lives or dies according to whether his trousers have been manufactured from sufficiently magical hemp.

There was, however, one glaring omission in the entire technological tree.

We still can’t make self-cleaning pants, which is a serious concern.

Nightingale contains interdimensional portals, levitating rocks, enchanted umbrellas, magical firearms, arcane machinery and beings from the Fae realms—but apparently stain-resistant trousers remain beyond the limits of human understanding.

Myles also taught Zaph how to make magic pants.

Every great civilisation eventually reaches this milestone.

The Romans had aqueducts.

The Victorians had steam power.

CCF has trousers with enchantment slots.

Dave meanwhile produced the truly important components: buttons and buckles.

These are the things that hold your magic pants up and thereby prevent embarrassing incidents during fights.

History remembers the swordsmith.

It rarely remembers the bloke making the button that stops the swordsmith's trousers falling around his ankles while fighting a six-metre-tall corrupted bear.

This blog remembers.

Previously, in Zaph’s Quest Log...

With the domestic duties complete, it was time to get Zaph caught up and onto Welkin's Reach.

Luckily, our growing network of lodestars meant we could use fast travel rather than repeat every journey on foot. This considerably reduced the chances of someone spotting a mushroom three kilometres in the wrong direction and declaring it strategically important.

A quick jump took us back to the Site of Power, where Zaph could collect the final quests from Desma and talk to Puck about his own quest.

Myles accompanied Zaph through the backlog.

First, cure a corrupted Canute.

Then cleanse the poison root network.

Then smash some runes for Puck.

Then force-feed the cure to the infected guy.

All perfectly normal medical procedure.

Myles is, after all, the group's medic. His bedside manner has now progressed from apply bandage to hold the patient down while administering experimental Fae medicine by force.

Progress.

We aren’t talking about Puck still ignoring Myles.

It’s a sore point.

Puck will happily manifest out of thin air, deliver cryptic speeches to virtually anyone else, discuss the metaphysical nature of reality and generally behave like Shakespeare's more irritating cousin.

Myles?

Nothing.

Apparently twenty-nine years of keeping CCF alive does not qualify one for fairy dialogue.

Project Excalibur

While Zaph and Myles were completing useful tasks, Dave had embarked upon another important undertaking.

Dave learnt how to build a sword.

Not merely find a sword.

Build one.

He forged the haft.

He forged the blade.

He assembled the components.

He enchanted it with fire.

He enchanted it with healing.

He named it Excalibur.

And he skipped the entire stuck-in-a-stone business because, frankly, we had places to be.

Was it better than his previous attempt?

Well, the gear score was higher.

The damage had gone from 52 to 87.

There was healing.

So yes.

It was considerably better.

The only remaining weak component in the weapons platform was Dave.

If future Dave could learn to parry, duck or dodge, the whole package might become formidable.

Current Dave has one combat doctrine:

Rush in swinging.

Followed shortly afterwards by:

Faceplant.

There are military academies with less consistent tactical doctrine.

Return of the Bear

Next came Zaph's final quest in Sylvan's Cradle.

Zaph and Myles climbed the Fae tower and descended into the ruins.

Dave had done all this the previous week, so while waiting he sharpened and polished his sword.

And no, that’s not a euphemism.

Deep beneath the ruins, Zaph and Myles once again encountered Azazel, the giant corrupted bear.

Last time we met Azazel, proceedings had followed the traditional giant-monster format:

1. Monster appears.

2. CCF attacks monster.

3. Monster regrets several recent life choices.

4. Loot.

Azazel had apparently spent the intervening week reviewing the match footage.

This time, instead of accepting another drubbing with professional dignity, he ran towards the corrupted trees, sprouted tentacles and started healing himself.

“That’s new,” said Myles.

Then the screaming started.

Loud, girly screaming.

The kind of screaming that travels remarkably well through ancient stone ruins, across dimensional barriers and apparently all the way to the Druid village.

Dave heard it.

At last.

His moment.

Dave grabbed Excalibur and portaled to the Site of Power.

Finally, his hour was here.

Leroy Jenkins.

Down the tower he came to join his friends in battle fierce against the corruption.

A corrupted giant bear with tentacles?

No problem.

That’s what axes are for.

Regeneration?

That’s what the flaming sword was for.

Whether Excalibur's healing enchantment was intended to compensate for Dave's continuing refusal to defend himself remains unclear, but one designs systems around known failure modes.

Soon Azazel had succumbed to another comprehensive butt-kicking.

One imagines he rued the day he crossed paths with CCF for a second time.

More specifically, CCF without Craig.

If Craig had been there: TPW.

Without him, we wiped the floor with Azazel and turned him into a rug.

Correlation is not causation.

But sometimes correlation is standing next to the smoking crater holding a shovel.

Zaph collected his rewards and we headed for Welkin's Reach.

Welcome to Welkin’s Reach. Mind the Ground.

We gave Zaph the standard tourist orientation.

Here are the floating rocks.

These are the magic springboards.

This is the map, which has details missing for reasons known only to the cartographer and Satan.

That large yellow expanse is the desert.

Heatstroke is a serious concern.

Please ensure your umbrella has been enchanted correctly before attempting unscheduled aviation.

Then we took Zaph on the flight to the Zeppelin.

Strangely, unlike Craig, he didn’t fall out of the sky and die halfway there.

It is almost as though he read the blog and put the correct enchantment on his umbrella.

This sort of behaviour could revolutionise the group.

Once aboard, Zaph collected the Unlock the Lesser Observatory quest, and we headed into the desert to solve some Bastilles of Agility puzzles.

And then something peculiar happened.

It Feels Like We Are Playing With Craig

For the next hour, all three of us channelled Craig.

We went to the wrong location.

We solved puzzles without understanding what we were doing.

Zaph somehow unlocked three of them.

Dave and Myles had unlocked only two.

So we did another one.

Nobody could explain exactly why some counted and some didn't.

This is standard CCF puzzle procedure.

The important thing is not understanding the system.

The important thing is repeatedly poking it until numbers increase.

Dave then became distracted by glowing blue crystals on a platform.

Normal service had resumed.

Five Chimes, Three Men and One Dave

Eventually we travelled back to the Lesser Observatory.

The door was open.

Good start.

We descended several levels, killed Bound, solved puzzles, spoke to Puck and returned to the main floor using a portal.

So far, suspiciously competent.

We climbed the stairs towards the next level.

The doorway wouldn’t let us through.

Apparently we had missed a puzzle.

Back down we went.

What followed was a demonstration of an important mathematical principle:

Three grown men cannot reliably solve a puzzle involving five chiming pieces if Dave is one of the men and Dave keeps activating his piece in the wrong sequence.

There would be a pattern.

Myles would explain the pattern.

Zaph would confirm the pattern.

Dave would acknowledge the pattern.

The sequence would begin.

And then—

BONG.

Dave.

Wrong one.

Again.

Humanity put people on the Moon with less discussion.

Eventually the door opened.

Behind it was a curious glowing rune.

Normally, this would be the point where Craig clicked it while everyone else was still saying, "Nobody touch—"

But Craig wasn't here.

So, deprived of our designated disaster initiator, we all clicked it.

And nothing happened.

We talked to Puck to complete the quest.

Yadda, yadda, yadda...

Something, something else...

Congratulations.

Presumably the lore was excellent.

Filling in the Blanks

Zaph logged off early, leaving Dave and Myles alone with a large map containing suspicious amounts of unexplored territory.

This could not stand.

We would explore the entire map of Welkin's Reach.

Properly.

Systematically.

With a plan.

The plan was simple:

Float to Grid A1.

Then proceed clockwise around the outside edge of the map.

It felt like Burke and Wills without horses.

Or adequate preparation.

Or any particular reason for being there.

But we had a plan.

And like every plan involving Dave, it failed upon first contact with something shiny.

A1 lay in a perfectly straight line.

How hard could that be?

Very, apparently.

Just to the right was a ruin sitting on a floating rock.

Then another ruin.

And another interesting thing.

Our straight line gradually became a zig-zag resembling the final moments of a fly trapped inside a conservatory.

Eventually we reached the vicinity and turned towards A7.

A magic launch pad hurled us high into the sky.

Back to the plan.

Dave ate some food for an extra stamina boost, checked the map and placed his own marker on A8.

Why A8?

Because the map was wider than Myles's screen.

Cartography by hardware limitation.

The Great Empty C

At B8 we discovered an Intellect puzzle floating in the sky.

We dropped a lodestar there so we could easily return.

According to The Plan™, our next destination should have been H8.

Then Dave noticed that most of the C row of grid sections remained blank.

So we diverted to C5.

And discovered the reason the entire line was blank.

There was nothing there.

A rare moment in which the absence of map information perfectly represented the available content.

However, Dave did spot some interesting ruins high on a mesa around D3.

Later, these would become the interesting ruins at D4.

Whether the ruins moved or our cartography continued to be powered primarily by optimism is not important.

We digress.

Back to B8.

From there we travelled down towards H8.

The map filled in nicely as we glided over hostile camps and bounced off floating rocks because we had missed the magic launch pads on top of them.

At this point the map had become covered in scrawly red lines showing everywhere we had travelled.

It looked less like an explorer's chart and more like evidence being prepared for a psychiatric assessment.

The Merchant of H1

From H8 we crossed the bottom of the map towards H1.

There we discovered an Essence Trader.

Picture the quintessential tinkerer selling overpriced junk that nobody wants.

That man.

Dave studied the prices.

Perhaps, he reasoned, 130 Essence for a cog wasn't actually ridiculous.

Maybe buying it gave you several cogs.

Perhaps the listed price represented a bundle.

Perhaps Nightingale had simply failed to communicate this clearly.

An experiment was required.

Dave spent 50 Essence on fish stew.

One bit of fish.

Mystery solved.

The trader was indeed taking the piss.

Still, just in case we are ever sufficiently desperate to pay these prices, we built a lodestar there.

CCF logistics doctrine: complain bitterly about a location, then build permanent infrastructure enabling immediate return.

Launch Pad Occupied

Only one section of the loop remained.

We needed to fly up the left-hand side of the map and return to A1.

Easy.

Except there were four automatons standing on the launch pad.

It turns out fighting enemies positioned on a magical platform designed to violently fling anything touching it hundreds of metres into the air introduces certain tactical complications.

Approach enemy.

Swing weapon.

Step slightly too far forward.

WHEEEEEEEEEEE.

Return from low orbit.

Try again.

Eventually we killed them.

Because CCF may not be elegant, but we are persistent.

The return to A1 was uneventful.

Been there.

Done that.

Mapped it.

Probably.

Chests Are Not Transdimensional

Back at the Zeppelin base we decided to improve our outpost.

Workbenches would be useful.

Beds would be useful.

Civilisation would be useful.

Myles installed a crafting bench and a saw bench because he needed lumber to make a hammer so he could repair things.

A straightforward industrial chain.

Dave attempted something more ambitious.

He built an advanced sewing bench.

Except he couldn’t finish it because he needed twine.

So he built a basic sewing bench to make twine.

Except he couldn’t finish that because he needed fibre.

At this point we rediscovered one of Nightingale's most inconvenient laws of physics:

The enormous chests full of crafting materials we'd carefully accumulated were back in Sylvan's Cradle.

Chests are not transdimensional.

Apparently our network of magical portals spanning impossible realms cannot transport the contents of a cupboard.

Victorian science has limits.

Dave therefore went gathering.

He found an oasis and harvested all its water weeds while his helper chopped down trees.

Myles flew out and installed another lodestar there.

This was partly for logistical reasons.

It was also because one never knows when CCF might require a refreshing dip at the end of a sweaty day exploring the desert.

Infrastructure planning must consider staff wellbeing.

A Little Off-the-Books Side Adventuring

Remember those interesting ruins on the mesa?

D3.

D4.

Somewhere beginning with D.

Dave decided this was the perfect opportunity for he and Myles to undertake a little unofficial exploration.

This was entirely sensible because nothing says responsible decision-making like starting an undocumented dungeon shortly before finishing for the night.

At the top of the mesa we found a non-functional portal.

Lots of crickets.

And a bunker.

We may or may not have explored our way through the bunker.

We may or may not have slaughtered the Bound.

We may or may not have solved puzzles and collected Essence.

There is, legally speaking, insufficient evidence.

At the bottom of the bunker we discovered a buried portal.

Nearby was a switch.

Craig wasn't with us.

This created a vacuum.

Nature abhors a vacuum.

Myles channelled Craig.

“what does this switch do?”

Flick.

The switch activated the portal.

It also spawned a large number of extremely pissed-off Bound who had apparently been enjoying a quiet nap until two middle-aged Realmwalkers broke into their bunker and started operating the machinery.

There followed the traditional exchange of cultural perspectives.

They attempted to murder us.

We murdered them first.

With the Bound defeated, the portal stood ready.

We considered going through.

Then wisdom prevailed.

Some experiences are better shared.

More importantly, some disasters require Craig to be present so we have someone to blame.

We left the portal for another night.

Tonight's Campfire Song – A Chaunting Lay by Zaph

As evening settled over the desert, Zaph's contribution to the oral tradition of CCF was reconstructed around the fire.

Not the original tune, obviously.

This is a respectable Victorian expedition.

Mostly.

The Ballad of the Sensibly Enchanted Umbrella

Across the dunes went Zaph one night,
Umbrella glowing, enchantments right.
No sudden plummet, no crater below,
Just smugly drifting where sane people go.

Puck told a tale of the Fae and their schemes,
Of portals and bargains and troublesome dreams.
Zaph nodded wisely, then wandered away,
Having retained not one word Puck had to say.

Three days of desert, springboards and sand,
With half of the map still vaguely unplanned.
The quest log insists there is something to do—
We'll probably discover exactly what,
sometime around quarter past two.

Did We Learn or Achieve Anything This Week?

Against all reasonable expectations, yes.

We learnt:

Scarves are not a good substitute for coats.

This feels like information the British Empire should already have established, but apparently experimental verification was required.

Craig makes Dave look competent…. It’s a low bar

Absence truly does make the heart grow fonder.

Or distort comparative performance metrics.

Giant scorpions on launch pads should be banned from games

This requires no further explanation.

Any game designer responsible knows what they did.

We achieved:

Dave achieved – Leroy Jenkins (Forget to parry)

Excalibur works.

The defensive controls remain theoretical.

Myles achieved – Buttons ()

Some achievements require explanation.

This isn't one of them.

Buttons.

Craig achieved – I am Sick (Of falling from the sky)

He wasn't even present and still managed to receive an achievement.

That takes talent.

Zaph achieved – I am done (With the Sylvan Realm)

At last.

The quests are complete.

The desert awaits.

The Lesser Observatory is open.

Puck is talking to everybody except Myles.

And somewhere beneath a mesa is an activated portal surrounded by recently deceased Bound, waiting patiently for CCF to return with Craig.

Because an evening without Craig may be efficient.

It may be orderly.

It may even involve correctly enchanted umbrellas and items placed in the right boxes.

But sooner or later somebody still has to flick the switch.

Nightingale: The Umbrella Incident - Three Falls and a Coronial Finding

 

Craig had complained that Dave wasn't properly recording all his epic achievements.

This was, on the surface, a reasonable complaint.

Last week Dave had nominated Craig for the Achieved Something award, which might sound faintly sarcastic but was nevertheless recognition. Craig felt that his many contributions to the group were not receiving the detailed historical treatment they deserved.

And Craig had a point.

Sometimes he does get the rough end of the blogging.

This is completely unrelated to his inability to follow verbal instructions, his refusal to read written instructions, his general disregard for lore and backstory—apparently that's Dave's job—his tendency to build ladders that lead nowhere, his enthusiasm for creating traps specifically to prank the others, and the peculiar statistical anomaly whereby Craig is suspiciously close to almost everything immediately before it goes wrong.

Pure coincidence.

Clearly the historical record needed correcting.

So this week Dave committed to giving more blog space to Craig's contributions.

The universe, as it turned out, had heard this request.

The universe also has a sense of humour.

Craig may not enjoy the result.

Particularly because, had Craig actually read all of last week's blog, he might have noticed that Dave and Myles had already hatched a plan to prank him.

It was not an elaborate plan.

There were no blueprints.

There was no need for a PowerPoint deck, a risk register, a Jira epic or a steering committee.

The entire plan could be summarised as:

Craig yelling WTF as he plummeted to his death from a great height.

A simple plan.

An elegant plan.

A plan which, importantly, relied upon Craig not reading things.

So confidence was high.

But we digress.

A day earlier...

Thursday Night: Responsible Adults Doing Housekeeping

Friday was a public holiday, which meant the obvious and mature response was to add another Nightingale session on Thursday night.

Zaph was unavailable, so rather than advance the main quest without him, the remaining three agreed that Thursday would be devoted to housekeeping.

This is the sort of thing that happens to gaming groups after nearly thirty years.

There was once a time when extra gaming meant charging heroically into unknown dungeons, slaying dragons and acquiring legendary weapons.

Now it means:

"Perhaps we should reorganise the storage."

Myles began by teaching Craig how to enchant gear.

Craig had spent all his magic essence.

Or that's what he says.

The exact fate of Craig's essence reserves remains a matter for forensic accountants, several regulatory bodies and possibly a Royal Commission.

Whatever had happened to it, Craig had none.

So Craig talked Myles into using his essence to craft charms and enchantments for Craig to apply to his gear.

This arrangement had many benefits.

For Craig.

Craig added stamina and damage-boosting invocations to his clothes and armour while Myles stood nearby in the traditional role of Adult Supervising Someone Who Has Been Explicitly Told Which Button To Press.

Under Myles's eagle eye and instructions, Craig also applied a charm to his umbrella.

This detail is not important.

There is absolutely no reason to remember it.

Please move along.

Meanwhile Dave was organising the inventory.

This involved opening storage chests and discovering everything Craig had dumped into random locations rather than putting it in the correct chest.

For clarity, it is not just Craig who does this.

Myles does as well.

This is one of those minor domestic incompatibilities that have destroyed lesser civilisations.

Dave believes items have categories.

Myles and Craig believe a chest is a chest, and if the lid closes the system is working.

After recovering ores from food storage, fibres from metal storage and whatever other acts of inventory terrorism had occurred during the previous week, Dave restored order.

The group then processed the raw materials.

Ore became ingots.

Sand became glass.

Wood became lumber.

Industry flourished.

Smoke rose from furnaces.

The base briefly resembled a functioning Victorian industrial enterprise rather than a shed occupied by four heavily armed men who spend most evenings arguing about where someone put the coal.

Eventually Myles surveyed the timber reserves and made a serious tactical error.

He declared that two tons of wood was enough.

Craig immediately replied:

"So we need more wood then,"

He grabbed his axe and headed out to clear-cut another forest.

Somewhere in the distance, an entire ecosystem whispered, "Oh, bollocks."

Dave upgraded his tools.

Then Dave lost his climbing picks.

Which is impressive because the purpose of organising everything had ostensibly been to know where everything was.

Apparently the storage system had become so efficient that even Dave could no longer defeat it.

With the chores complete, the group considered what to do next.

Zaph was away, nobody wanted to progress the main quest without him, and there were only so many times three grown men could admire neatly stacked ingots.

So everyone logged off for the night.

A sensible, restrained session.

The last one of those for a while.

Friday Night: Side Quests, Because Nothing Can Possibly Go Wrong

Friday evening arrived.

Craig had still not been pranked.

This administrative oversight would shortly be corrected.

With Zaph away, the group decided to clean up some side quests instead of progressing the main story.

This produced an unexpectedly productive opening.

Two Bastilles were solved: one musical and one involving symbols.

Large quantities of tin and copper were mined.

Another druid was assisted in building a camp.

There was gathering.

There was construction.

There was puzzle-solving.

There was, briefly, competence.

Unfortunately Nightingale's quest system has ideas about co-op play.

Most multiplayer games work on the principle of "someone solves the quest, and we all complete it".

Nightingale prefers individual accountability.

Everyone must personally complete the quest.

This is admirable in the same way that making every passenger on a commercial flight personally land the aircraft would be admirable.

So the current quest situation looked like this:

Cure a corrupted Canute: Myles could do it. Craig and Dave could not.

Puck's quest: Dave could do it. Myles and Craig could not.

The team had therefore reached that advanced stage of cooperative gaming where everyone is standing next to the same quest objective while inhabiting subtly different bureaucratic realities.

Craig Makes a Critical Perception Check

The group headed toward the marker Dave had placed on the map for Puck's quest.

The marker sat on top of a hill.

The objective, however, did not.

There was nothing there.

Dave looked around and announced:

"It looks like its below us, there must be a cave"

This was strong deductive work.

The marker was below them.

Therefore: cave.

The search began.

Craig found the cave.

Inside the cave was the corrupted mushroom they were looking for.

Dave searched for runes or ruins and couldn't find them.

Craig looked around.

Craig found the runes.

They were above everyone, sitting on a ledge.

Myles was astonished.

Not performatively astonished.

Actually astonished.

Myles asked Craig multiple times how he'd spotted them.

There are events that force historians to reconsider long-established assumptions.

The fall of Constantinople.

The discovery of penicillin.

The first powered flight.

Craig noticing something before everyone else.

For the official record—and it genuinely pains everyone involved to write this—the group could not have completed Puck's quest without Craig.

There.

It is documented.

Craig has been given credit.

Everyone may wish to bookmark this section because normal service will shortly resume.

Our Bad: We Completed the Main Quest

With only half the night gone, a problem emerged.

Everyone was bored.

The side quests were finished.

The inventory was squared away.

Myles had built several lodestar fast-travel points.

There were no immediate chores left.

Three gamers found themselves in the terrible position of having efficiently completed the things they had specifically planned to do.

There was nothing for it.

They accidentally started doing the main quest.

This was unfortunate because the whole point of not doing the main quest was to avoid doing it without Zaph.

They would simply have to repeat it with him next week.

Nobody saw any problem with this.

The group found Desma at the Site of Power and dropped a lodestone there to enable fast travel.

Craig picked up the Puck quest.

They told Desma how they had tested her purity potion, and Desma sent them off to cure the corrupted Canute.

Desma needed them to test and improve the potion so she could cure a colleague suffering from a mysterious ailment.

She supplied some additional ingredients.

Those ingredients were turned into cleansing potions.

The cleansing potions were then tested on corrupted roots inside a ruin.

They worked.

So far, excellent.

Science had happened.

The group had followed a method.

There were ingredients, experimentation and observable results.

This was practically a peer-reviewed clinical trial by CCF standards.

Next they took the potion and fixed the Realm Transmuter.

Myles played a minor card so everyone could gain more essence.

The group then returned to Desma and reported their success.

From there they spoke to her sick colleague.

The colleague was sceptical.

He didn't think the potion would work.

This is where medical ethics took a brief holiday.

The group held him down and waterboarded him with the potion until he drank it.

The patient had not exactly provided informed consent, but he had provided an opinion, and the team had decided that his opinion was inconvenient.

Unfortunately, the patient was correct.

The potion didn't help.

Having survived an experimental treatment administered by four adventurers whose bedside manner largely consisted of pinning him to the floor, he suggested they find someone in Welkins Rest.

This seemed like excellent advice.

Particularly the part where they went somewhere else.

Opening the Portal

There was still nothing better to do.

So the group climbed the Fae tower beside Desma's camp to cleanse the Site of Power.

They descended into the ruins beneath it.

And descended.

And descended some more.

There were puzzles.

There were Boundless.

There were multiple underground levels.

The cheerful Victorian gaslamp adventure gradually turned into one of those situations where nobody has seen natural daylight for half an hour and Dave is cheerfully saying things like, "There might be another room down here."

Eventually, deep underground, they found the big bad boss.

Azazel the Penitent.

A giant corrupted bear.

Azazel was apparently asleep.

The group looked around for some mechanism that might awaken him.

A lever.

A rune.

A ritual.

Perhaps an ancient inscription explaining the careful ceremonial process necessary to summon the beast.

Nothing obvious presented itself.

So Dave hit the bear with his sword.

Because that always works.

It worked.

Azazel woke up.

There followed the traditional exchange of views between heavily armed adventurers and an enormous corrupted animal.

We came.

We saw.

We kicked its corrupted arse.

For defeating Azazel, the group received a Major Realm card for Welkins Reach.

They made a quick trip to the crossroads.

Myles activated the portal mechanism.

And a gateway opened into a new realm.

This was exciting.

New scenery.

New enemies.

New resources.

New mysteries.

And, as Craig would soon discover, an entirely new relationship with gravity.

Welkins Reach: Nightingale Turns the Difficulty Knob

The first thing everyone noticed upon arriving at the ruined observatory was the floating landscape.

Chunks of rock hung impossibly in the sky.

Ruins sat on top of them.

Imagine Avatar without the Na'vi.

And with more Victorian umbrellas.

Dave immediately recognised the underlying game-design philosophy.

Jumping puzzles.

Excellent.

The map was also different.

Instead of politely revealing most of the interesting nearby locations, it displayed only a couple of points.

Everything else would have to be discovered through exploration.

The Boundless had also upgraded their equipment.

There were now riflemen.

Because apparently being mobbed by supernatural creatures wasn't sufficient.

And there were flying gargoyles.

Because apparently being shot by supernatural creatures wasn't sufficient either.

Welkins Reach also contained instant-death traps.

Just in case anyone remained optimistic.

Finally, the entire realm was a desert.

Exposure to the sun caused UV damage.

Travellers therefore needed to keep their umbrellas up to avoid slowly roasting beneath the desert sky.

The umbrella had gone from whimsical Victorian accessory to essential survival equipment.

This would shortly become relevant.

The First Umbrella Incident

Welkins Reach contained blue magical springboards.

Stepping onto one launched the traveller high into the air.

At the top of the trajectory, the traveller could open an umbrella and glide across enormous distances.

It was ridiculous.

It was glorious.

It was exactly the sort of traversal system that Nightingale had been building toward.

And it worked wonderfully.

Provided Myles hadn't sabotaged your umbrella.

With almost nothing marked on the map, Myles asked Dave to choose an objective.

Dave looked around.

A Zeppelin was floating above a distant rock in the sky.

There are times when careful strategic planning is required.

This wasn't one of them.

Obviously they were going to the Zeppelin.

Myles stepped onto the magical springboard.

The springboard hurled him high into the desert sky.

At the top of the arc he opened his umbrella, caught the altered gravity and glided toward the distant Zeppelin camp.

He made it.

Dave followed.

Springboard.

Sky.

Umbrella.

Glide.

Zeppelin.

Easy.

Then Craig stepped onto the springboard.

Craig shot upward.

Craig opened his umbrella.

Craig began gliding toward the Zeppelin camp.

Craig continued gliding toward the—

Oops.

Craig ran out of stamina.

Craig dropped out of the sky.

There is a particular moment in any failed glide where controlled flight becomes falling with accessories.

Craig passed through this transition.

Rapidly.

Some distance below, the desert waited.

Craig plummeted to his death.

There was concern.

There was confusion.

There was also the immediate and unanimous conclusion that Craig must have done something wrong.

The group blamed Craig for being unable to follow simple instructions.

This was plausible because history had provided an extensive body of supporting evidence.

No further investigation was considered necessary.

Zeppelin Camp and Other Sensible Activities

Myles built a lodestar fast-travel point at the Zeppelin camp so Craig could rejoin everyone without needing to perform another aviation demonstration.

Craig arrived.

The group picked up some quests.

They stole everything that wasn't locked down.

Civilisation had been restored.

One of the new objectives sent them toward a crashed Zeppelin site.

Fortunately the wreck was nearby.

More importantly, it was lower down.

Craig could reach it.

The group headed over to investigate.

The Boundless ambushed them.

The new riflemen opened fire.

Flying gargoyles joined in.

Dave was knocked out.

Fortunately Dave's follower rescued him, proving once again that computer-controlled companions can occasionally demonstrate better situational awareness than the actual players.

Dave recovered.

Then Dave found lots of new flowers to pick.

Life was good in the desert.

Some men recover from near-death experiences by reassessing their priorities.

Dave sees a new reagent.

The Second Umbrella Incident

Eventually the group found another blue magical springboard.

Dave chose an observatory as the next destination.

There turned out to be two observatories.

Dave went to the wrong one.

Myles went to the correct one.

Craig went upward.

Craig opened his umbrella.

Craig started gliding.

Craig ran out of stamina.

Craig plummeted to his death.

Again.

This created a delicate communications problem.

Dave had chosen the wrong observatory.

Craig had died.

These two facts could potentially create awkward questions.

Fortunately the group acted quickly.

Everyone blamed Craig.

He had obviously gone to the wrong observatory.

This explanation had the important advantage of arriving before Craig had enough time to construct an alternative narrative.

Momentum is everything.

Who Locks Doors With Magic?

The observatory was magically locked.

Apparently whoever had built it felt that an ordinary deadbolt was insufficient.

To unlock it, the group needed to solve several Bastilles.

This was placed on the to-do list.

Another magical springboard nearby offered access to a floating ruin.

Myles installed another lodestar so they could return later and use the location as a jumping-off point for further exploration.

And speaking of jumping off...

The springboard sat on a nearby floating rock.

Dave jumped toward it.

Dave missed.

This needs to be formally recorded because Dave is NOT the master of jumping puzzles.

That title remains vacant.

Or possibly cursed.

The Third Umbrella Incident

Myles asked Dave to choose the next objective.

Dave selected a ruin barely visible in the distance.

Myles looked at the gap.

Myles looked at Dave.

Myles declared that it was too far away.

Dave said it was easy.

Then Dave demonstrated.

He jumped onto the magical springboard.

The springboard threw him high into the air.

He opened his umbrella.

He began gliding.

It was a long way.

Very long.

Dave kept one eye on his stamina as the bar slowly ticked downward.

The distant ruin got closer.

The stamina bar got shorter.

The ruin got closer.

Eventually Dave reached it.

He landed with half his stamina remaining.

Perfect.

This was exactly the sort of demonstration required.

Sometimes, if you want to persuade Craig to jump to his death, you simply need to prove that something is possible first.

Craig jumped onto the springboard.

The springboard launched him skyward.

Craig opened his umbrella.

He began gliding toward the distant ruin.

And his stamina started dropping.

Quickly.

Very quickly.

Suspiciously quickly.

The ruin remained far away.

Craig's stamina vanished.

Gravity reviewed the situation and decided to become involved.

Craig fell to his death.

Again.

For the third time.

Myles followed.

Myles launched.

Myles opened his umbrella.

Myles glided to the ruin.

Myles landed successfully.

Dave had made it.

Myles had made it.

Craig had become terrain.

After clearing out the Boundless occupying the ruin, the group held a serious discussion about why Craig was having so much trouble with his umbrella.

There had been three attempts.

There had been three deaths.

The variable appeared to be Craig.

Myles considered the evidence.

Then Myles noted that he must have mistakenly installed the wrong charm on Craig's umbrella.

Ah.

Craig probably would have accepted this explanation.

A simple enchanting mistake.

Tragic.

Unfortunate.

Nobody's fault.

But Dave, displaying the sort of loyalty normally associated with Crown witnesses negotiating immunity, pointed out one additional fact.

This was exactly the gliding-death prank that Dave and Myles had discussed doing to Craig the previous week.

Not something vaguely similar.

Not merely a prank involving an umbrella.

The exact plan.

Sabotage Craig's gliding.

Get him to leap from somewhere high.

Watch him discover the problem after it was much too late to do anything about it.

And not only had the prank worked.

They had managed to get Craig to fall for it three times.

The first death could be considered an accident.

The second death suggested a pattern.

By the third, the experiment had reproducibility.

Peer review was unnecessary.

Tonight's Campfire Song: A Chaunting Lay by Myles

As the desert night settled around the realm walkers, someone produced the traditional campfire instrument used by adventurers since antiquity: unjustified confidence.

A suitable chaunting lay was required.

So, in the spirit of the evening:

Through the Fae gate, off we go,
Where floating rocks ignore below.
Zeppelins tumble, gargoyles fly,
And riflemen explain exactly why.

Minor cards twist season and air,
Major cards send us gods-know-where.
Blue springs launch us toward the moon,
Then umbrellas turn the fall to swoon.

Hold it high and watch stamina drain,
Ignore the rapidly approaching plain.
Did someone charm that brolly wrong?
Best not ask; just glide along.

Myles says surely Craig missed a step,
Dave demonstrates with stamina left.
The ruin is close—well, close-ish, perhaps—
Until Craig begins his atmospheric collapse.

What did you do this time, Craig?
Perhaps the instructions were slightly vague.
One fall, two falls, three in the sand:
Plausible deniability is going exactly as planned.

There was probably applause.

Or litigation.

Did We Learn or Achieve Anything This Week?

Against expectations, yes.

We learnt:

The corruption in Sylvans Grove was caused by someone breaking a contract with the Fae.

So this one was not Craig's fault.

The Fae, apparently, take their contracts seriously.

This is useful information for future interactions with magical beings.

Read the agreement.

Check the termination clauses.

Never assume immortals regard "we forgot" as a valid defence.

We also learnt that you can prank the prankster.

This is significant.

For years Craig has operated under the assumption that asymmetrical prank warfare favours the attacker.

He has dug holes.

Built traps.

Constructed ladders whose relationship with useful destinations could best be described as theoretical.

He has enjoyed the comfortable certainty that if something was going to explode, collapse or inconvenience someone, he would know about it in advance because he had probably built it.

Welkins Reach changed the strategic balance.

We also learnt that if you talk quickly, you can convince Craig it's his fault he fell to his death.

Speed is essential.

Once Craig hits the ground, there is a brief window before suspicion activates.

This window should be filled immediately with confident statements about instructions, stamina management and user error.

Do not allow silence.

Silence encourages questions.

Finally, we learnt that magic blue springboards are the best when combined with altered gravity and boosted umbrellas.

Ideally umbrellas that have actually been boosted.

Disclaimer

Myles's enchanting notes were mysteriously destroyed in a fire.

Tragic.

No one knows how it happened.

As a result, there is no proof that Myles deliberately, with malice aforethought, applied the wrong charm to Craig's umbrella specifically to enable Dave's ingenious make-Craig-fall-to-his-death prank.

There is simply no documentary evidence.

Only circumstances.

And motive.

And opportunity.

And prior discussion.

And three bodies belonging to the same person.

But no notes.

Similarly, no proof exists showing that the prank was Dave's idea.

Accordingly, any attempted retribution will be dealt with harshly.

Legal counsel has advised that this statement is both necessary and probably useless.

Coronial Investigation

Craig subsequently declared that his falling deaths were not his fault.

He demanded an investigation.

This was granted.

The investigation was conducted with all the rigour, independence and procedural fairness traditionally associated with inquiries where the suspects write the final report.

After reviewing the evidence, the coroner has ruled the causes of Craig's three deaths as follows:

Death One: Umbrella failure, most likely caused by Craig.

Death Two: Craig didn't read the instructions, leading to a second umbrella failure.

Death Three: Craig never learns.

The findings are final.

There is no avenue of appeal.

Particularly because the appeal tribunal's notes have also been destroyed in a fire.

We Achieved

And now, because this whole episode began with Craig complaining that Dave wasn't adequately recording everyone's epic accomplishments, the official achievements for the week.

Dave

I can fly
Glide a thousand metres with an umbrella.

A significant accomplishment and definitive proof that crossing vast aerial distances with an umbrella is perfectly safe provided nobody has quietly tampered with your equipment.

Myles

My Bad
Apply the wrong charm to Craig's umbrella.

An innocent crafting mishap whose timing, consequences and striking similarity to a previously discussed prank are entirely coincidental.

I can't believe you saw that
Be astonished by Craig's perception.

Earned after Craig located the runes that everyone else had missed and without which Puck's quest could not have been completed.

History must record the truth.

Even when inconvenient.

Craig

Punked
Fall to your death repeatedly from the same prank.

Not once.

Not twice.

Three times.

This is the sort of commitment to a running gag that cannot be taught.

I saw the runes
(And I did not kill the deputy)

And there it is.

Craig asked for his achievements to receive more coverage.

They have.

Extensively.

In the interests of fairness, the record now clearly establishes that Craig successfully found the cave, discovered the runes everyone else missed, helped make Puck's quest possible, learnt how to enchant his equipment, bravely embraced the new aerial traversal mechanics of Welkins Reach, and personally performed extensive field testing on the consequences of incorrectly charmed umbrellas.

Three times.

Future historians may debate whether this was an heroic week for Craig.

What they cannot claim is that Dave failed to write it down.

Footnote — A Brief Note on Gravity: Welkins Reach’s gravity is noticeably lower than in the realms we had come from. Moving around has a faintly lunar quality to it: jumps carry further, falls take longer, and everyone bounds about like Queen Victoria has somehow annexed the Moon and immediately required umbrellas.

This makes Craig’s achievement considerably more impressive. The realm had quite literally turned gravity down to a more forgiving setting, giving him additional time to reconsider his decisions on the way to the ground. He nevertheless managed to plummet to his death three times. Low gravity, magical springboards and an enchanted umbrella should have been a recipe for graceful aerial exploration. In Craig’s hands, it became an unusually prolonged coronial matter.