515 days after a wizard cursed the REALM…
Current Version:
Stop me if you’ve heard this one. An elven mathematician, a faery photographer, and an optimistic ghost walk into a bar…
The tavern is a standalone structure at the center of a hamlet on the Great Western Trading Road that runs through the REALM from Wordler Village toward the Del Fenwickian border. The damage in this part of the REALM is not as extensive as in the Village itself, but there are signs of a hasty evacuation and the predation of Apocalypse Beasts.
“What’ll you have, strangers?” asks the ghost of a barkeep.
“I’d like for my ability to enjoy physical beverages to be restored please,” says Formerly Melvin.
The ghostly barkeep shakes his head. “If I could pour wine for ghosts, this place would be packed with customers.”
“Just as well,” says Formerly Melvin. “I no longer have any money to pay for drinks anyway.”
Gloriander spurs the clockwork squirrel to hop onto a barstool. Shutterbug settles onto the bar and begins snapping pictures. Her camera flashes its bulb with each button-press and whines during each recharge.
“I don’t suppose you have any vittles for the still-living,” Shutterbug asks. “We’ve been eating bugs and foraging for plants, but that’s no way fer a Steampunk Faery to survive.”
The ghostly barkeep grins. “Edge of town. Follow your nose.”
“Thanks!”
Glory grabs the camera from the Faery’s hands, aims at the barkeep, and presses the button. The devices flashes. The ghost vanishes.
“You’ve done captured his soul!” Shutterbug exclaims.
The Elf pulls out the photographic plate and tucks it away. “I didn’t trust that toothy grin of his. If he’s telling the truth, you can develop the film and set him free. No harm done, since he’s already dead.” She pauses. “You can do that, right?”
“Dunno,” Shutterbug admits. “I’ve never captured an actual soul before.” She takes the camera back and examines it thoughtfully.
Formerly Melvin shudders. “Remind me to never make you angry at me,” he tells Glory.
At the far western edge of town, as the barkeep had promised, something smells delicious.
“Like heaven a la mode,” Shutterbug exclaims.
“I’ll take your word for it.” Formerly Melvin taps his ghostly nose with a ghostly finger. “The remains of my senses are no longer talking to the afterimage of my mind. But on the bright side, I can’t smell those piles of garbage or those rotting corpses either.”
“There are an awful lot of them, aren’t they?” Glory asks, as she steers the clockwork squirrel around yet another pile of bones.
The squirrel-riding Elf and floating ghost follow the fluttering Steampunk Faery’s nose to a tray of muffins cooling on a windowsill. “Blueberry,” she proclaims.
“I’ve calculated the odds,” Glory states. “This is almost certainly a trap.”
“Or maybe it’s not,” says Formerly Melvin. “We’re overdue for some good luck to balance out all of the bad luck we’ve had so far.”
“That’s not how statistical analysis works.”
“Blueberry is my very favorite flavor ever,” Shutterbug announces, buzzing the muffins in ever-closer swoops.
“Another data point.” Glory frowns. “Those odds aren’t trending well.”
Shutterbug alights on one of the muffins, tears off a chunk and takes a big bite.
The muffins fade away. The windowsill fades away. The house fades away. The entire hamlet melts back into wilderness. All that remains, the only part that was ever real, are the piles of garbage and rotting corpses.
Those, and a cackling laughter that echoes across the landscape.
“The faery is gone,” Formerly Melvin notes. “But on the positive side…”
“What?” asks Glory.
Melvin floats in a thoughtful circle. “Yeah, I’ve got nothing.”
Web3 Draft:
- Listed on OpenSea
- Listed on Rarible
Revision Notes:
To be added.
