What Is Best?

By Thorin N. Tatge

=What is the ultimate goal?=

If answering this timeless question were up to you, where would you turn—to the natural world or to the works of civilization? Would you take up politics? Warfare? Love? Philosophy? Would you seek out company or adopt a solitary path? In this unique novel, the choice is yours. As either a wild mink or an educated water dragon, explore a detailed world centered around two countries perpetually at war. Revel in the possibilities.

Featuring:
-79 possible endings (and 1 impossible one)!
-A four-legged protagonist!
-An innovative challenge system!
-Poetry at the end of each adventure!
-Secrets to be discovered!

_What Is Best?_ is larger, richer and more grown-up than the typical interactive novel. Will you discover purpose in its pages?

=Because a single life may not be enough to find the answer.=

• Language: English
• Publisher: Thorin N. Tatge
• Release date: Nov 10, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370637249

Thorin N. Tatge

Thorin N. Tatge runs a library tutoring program in Minneapolis, Minnesota, that caters primarily to East African youth. He is an avid gamer and puzzler who enjoys drumming, songwriting, lengthy walks, mathematics and philosophy. Brought up in science fiction/fantasy fandom, he enjoys writing about talking animals and can sometimes be found pretending to be one on the internet.

Book preview

What Is Best?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

An interactive novel

by

Thorin N. Tatge

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

WHAT IS BEST?

Copyright 2009 by Thorin N. Tatge.

Copyright 2022 for this Smashwords digital edition.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted by any means without written permission of the author.

The first 70,000 words of this book were written during National Novel Writing Month, 2008.

For more information, visit http://www.nanowrimo.org.

ISBN 1-442-19513-4

What is the ultimate goal?

A single life may not be enough to find the answer.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

This is a book about a life. Like any life, it is full of choices.

Unlike an ordinary book, however, What Is Best? is divided into numbered sections. At the end of each section, you’ll be instructed which section to read next. Where there’s an option, pick the one you prefer. You may sometimes be told to turn to a given section based on previous events, in which case no choice is needed.

Note for the electronic edition: Some e-readers, including calibre, allow you to use the shortcut Alt+ to return from hyperlinks.  This will be very useful if you want to undo a choice or look back on where you came from! Alt+ will allow you to go forward again.

On some paths, you will run into challenges, designated by the word CHALLENGE! These represent tasks of skill too complex or uncertain to be resolved simply by making choices, such as combat. It is quite possible to reach the end of your story without encountering any challenges. The rules for resolving challenges are at the back of the book. If you would rather not use the challenge system, a quick resolution method is also provided.

You may also find yourself receiving bonuses or penalties that apply to future challenges. Remember these or write them down; their function is explained in the challenge rules.

The main character in this book is searching for something very much like the meaning of life. In the real world, this search can take almost as many forms as there are things under the sun. Here, you can reach any of seventy-nine different endings. When your story is over, take a break to reflect and start again when you’re ready. A wide variety of adventures are possible.

There are multiple ways to reach the final section, #251, but none of them are easy. If you manage to do it, congratulations are in order! You can focus on achieving this and thus on ‘beating’ the book, or you can forget about the final section, go with the flow, and see what comes. It should be fun either way.

Search well!

#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#

Now it begins...

#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#

1

And now you are.

You exist. Anything more than that is icing on the cake; for now, this is infinitely more than enough.

Hello, says something other than you.

Hello! you reply.

How are you feeling? asks the other.

…I don’t know. What’s going on?

You’re new, reassures the other. Don’t worry about it. It’s all uphill from here.

Ah.

You’re not certain whether ‘uphill’ is a good thing, but, deciding to take this on faith, you rest a while.

Soon, you feel yourself developing, expanding, becoming more defined. You like this. It makes you feel confident.

You address the other thing. Who are you?

I’m Creator, it says. I created you.

Really? Wow. That’s pretty amazing.

I’m glad you think so. Do you like yourself yet?

You’d like to say yes, but you aren’t really sure. Don’t know. Haven’t got any basis for comparison.

That’s all right. Your life has yet to begin.

Life?

Yes. Life is what you do. It’s what you’re for.

This is quite a revelation. Oh! Well. But I…I feel alive already.

That’s good, says Creator. That means you’ll be ready soon.

I see.

Would you like to know what this is all about?

Yes, please, you reply with relief.

Creator lays it out for you. Here’s how it is. You are a being—a structured set of perceptions. I am going to put you into the universe. You will not be aware of the entire universe, however. Only part of it.

Okay. I can live with that.

Because your particular combination of perceptions will be unique, Creator continues, your existence will itself contribute to the scope of the universe. In this way, I add to the universe by doing nothing more than creating living beings.

Is that good? you ask.

There’s no telling. Life, though, by its nature, loves life. You will probably consider your own existence to be good, as well as the existence of the universe as a whole. Don’t let me influence your perspective, though; it’s yours to control.

You think this all over. "Will there be any part of the universe that only I get to perceive?"

Yes, in fact. Your own internal processes will be yours alone. No one else will know them completely.

You feel excitement welling. When do I start?

As soon as I give you your assignment, Creator tells you.

Oh! What’s that?

The ultimate goal of life. I want you to figure out the goal that lies beyond all others. The best thing there can be.

The weight of this is beginning to get to you. How am I supposed to figure that out?

That’s up to you. Most of my creations never even remember speaking with me. There simply isn’t enough here for them to hang their memories on.

"What?! How could anyone forget this?" you ask.

"Your resolve is strong. That very fact may mean that you’ll be one of the few who will remember."

Well, of course I will.

I have high hopes for you. You have some important choices to make, though.

What? Already?

Don’t worry. Everyone goes through this process. You simply have to pick what appeals to you most.

Two figures appear abruptly before you. They’re your very first perceptions, and they flummox you completely. It’s some time before you regain focus and sanity.

"What are these things?"

They are grids meant to determine things about you: which existential paradigm you will follow, which level of that existence you will occupy, and which subsection of that level you will experience.

What does all that mean?

You’ll find out in time, says Creator sympathetically. The introduction of specifics can be terrifying when all you’ve ever known are generalities.

Then what do I do?

Just choose one item from each of the following lists:

Iron, Copper, Tin, Gold, Lead, Uranium

Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12

But what are these lists for? you plead.

They mean different things in each subsection of existence. Your personality will determine which items from them you choose.

You’re resigned to making your very first choice, scary though it is. All right, you tell Creator. I’ve picked the ones I like.

Choose a metal, a planet and a number from the given lists, and turn to Section 2.

2

Find where the first two items you chose intersect, Creator instructs. That will lead you to a symbol."

BirthTable1

All right, you reply. I have it.

Now find that same symbol along the perimeter of the other table.

You do so. I’ve found it.

Good. Now, do you remember the number you chose from the third list?

Yes.

From the space containing your symbol, count inward a number of spaces equal to the number you chose.

Onto the grid?

Yes, says Creator. You will reach a space with a number and a letter.

All right.

The letter tells you which direction to move—Up, Down, Left or Right. The number tells you how many spaces to move in that direction.

Oh, I get it!

Good. Continue moving from space to space in this fashion until you reach one of the numbers in bold.

BirthTable

You work your way mentally along the grid, moving this way and that, until, almost before you know it—

Done!

Very good! Which number did you end up on?

Follow Creator’s instructions!

If your final number is 5, turn to Section 5.

If your final number is 41, turn to Section 41.

If your final number is 69, turn to Section 69.

If your final number is something else, turn to Section 70.

3

It’s another risk, on top of all those you’ve taken before. Leaving the river for the woods. Leaving the nighttime for the daytime. Living hungrily for weeks while waiting for the doves to raise their brood. Leaving the solitary life for the bustle and uncertainty of being with other people. Leaving the flatlands for the mountains. Visiting the city. Journeying for months to get to the equatorial belt. Accepting the kinship of those whose experiences are different from your own, whose vision of divinity is different from your own, whose bodies are profoundly different from your own. Allowing yourself into the public eye. Accepting the company of ‘big people’, and with them, civilization.

Every step along the way has been fraught with risk, and every step has terrified you on some level. This one is the worst. This one could end up transforming you into a soulless cyborg, or failing that, destroy everything you’ve worked for. Either result would leave you broken. Despite their smiling faces and clean clothing, these technologically minded people scare you more than anything you’ve ever encountered.

You want to turn them away. You want to run away. By now, though, you know the drill. You have to plunge in. You have to embrace the newness. There’s no choice but to take this final risk.

You clear your throat before a field of reporters. The Transformation Club is pleased to announce its partnership with specialized branches from the following scientific institutions…

You create a specialized branch of your own just for this research, called Deep Transformation. You put some of your most trusted members on its board and mandate them to advertise—to draw in further funding and further scientists.

You’re excited about it, despite your fear. These people believe that with the right level of precision, it should be possible to actually change people’s brains. If they’re right, you and untold numbers of others really will be able to experience echolocation! Males will be able to genuinely feel a mother’s love for their imaginary children. Birds will know the thrill of falling! Humans will know the wonders of sniffing a tree. And why limit the pleasures to those already known? Maybe people everywhere will soon be seeing music and tasting through their feet!

The draw of these possibilities becomes irresistible, and soon the world’s best scientists are flocking from everywhere—even the distant and mysterious Antipodes—to make use of the huge pool of perspectives, documentation, and resources Deep Transformation offers. One year follows another, and with each year another of the organization’s goals is achieved. Custom neurosurgery becomes a reality—you boldly test it out to prove its safety and live for a day with the hearing of a fennec fox. More and more procedures are developed while money streams in from more and more governments. The following year, implants are developed to automate the procedure. Now emotional and sensory matrices can be switched on and off with a little plastic toggle implanted in a person’s neck.

The windfall discoveries keep coming. You relocate to a huge research facility in eastern Amestanzia, selected for its proximity to terrain of every kind. You dine on exotic fish and dwell near caves, plains, white rocks, red rocks, temperate forest, tropical forest, lakes, steppe, and taiga. Your best friends include creatures that run every gamut.

Soon, Deep Transformation becomes the most important foundation in all of science and biotechnology. And when the technology starts slipping out to the public, it’s hardly a blink of an eye before society everywhere is utterly transformed.

Through it all, you remain the world’s top expert on assuming new identities. You never stop seeking new experiences to explore, and your ambition soars. People tell you you can’t learn to program, but you can and you do. People say there are limits to what the biological brain can comprehend; you analyze those limits and you gnaw holes straight through them. You remake the very concept of the mind.

One week, in an inspired frenzy, you network up dozens of simulators, scribble out a script for them, and establish conclusively what it must feel like to be a god. Ignoring everyone telling you to slow down, you program your own neural arrays according to your script, hook yourself into a powerful supervisory machine, and lean over to flick the little plastic switch in your neck with your tongue.

Suddenly, you are no longer a mink. You are a naked entity.

Creator is here with you.

Is this real? you ask.

It isn’t unreal, Creator says.

Your mind is swimming. Am I dead now, or still alive?

Neither, says Creator. But I will say this. You are the only being in the whole of creation—which extends through more conceptual levels than you could possibly imagine—ever to return to me without dying.

Really?! you ask.

Really, says Creator. I’m very proud of you. You have made it back to me on to your own.

You’re excited now. It’s been such an incredible journey! I can’t believe so much has happened to me in just…in just nine years of life! But I guess…I guess that’s what happens when you embrace existence. You get more of it.

True. Of course, now that you are here, you no longer have the power to leave.

If you still had ears, you’d be able to feel them drooping. I—I beg your pardon?

The machines that brought you here cannot bring you back. You are with me now.

Your emotions dissipate. You’re stunned. And scared. Is my life over? you whisper.

Never mind that. I want you to become calm. Rest now, and speak again when you are ready to speak.

Creator’s presence suddenly slips away then. You linger, without reference points or sensations, and discover that your mind is drifting. Your mind is all you have! Anxiously, you close off every emotional matrix you know how to identify and wait for everything to stabilize. Your fear and excitement gradually fade and commingle. You conduct yourself skillfully into the most profound of rests.

At last, you find yourself perfectly calm.

Section 251.

4

For the better part of a day, your journey takes you over difficult terrain and through thick vegetation. There is food out here, but you’d expected the going to be quicker in Regynia’s vicinity.

The city turns out to stand on high ground, with tumultuous bluffs abutting it to the south and southeast, rocky flats to the northeast, swamps to the west, and a plain of yellow grass and clover to the north. You climb the incline with fierce dedication, more than ready for respite. As you enter the stately city, it begins to rain. The thick drops make the place smell more interesting than it already is, with its spires of brown and colorful oval windows.

There is hardly anyone out in the rain, which is getting menacing and cold. You may be semi-aquatic, but you need shelter to avoid getting uncomfortably pelted and frozen. There are signs this storm may even turn to hail.

You could just crawl under a rubbish bin and wait it out, but that smacks of desperation. A city like this is no place to be so humble.

I suppose I’ll knock on the door of a house with lit windows. Section 9.

I’ll find the biggest building in town and look for shelter there. Section 18.

5

Five, you declare.

All right, says Creator. Listen carefully, then. This is what that means for you. You are going to be a physical entity in the gravicentric level of the universe’s thirty-three trillion, nine hundred forty-one billion, six hundred fifty-seven million, eight hundred twenty-eight thousand, four hundred fifteenth stratum. You are going to have a body that serves as an extension of your mind.

You aren’t quite sure what to make of this. Does that mean my mind is going to get bigger?

No, your mind currently has no size at all, big or small. What I mean is something different. Your mind will be allowed to interface with the physical world. Your body will be what smoothes that interaction. It will make the fact of being a physical entity feel perfectly natural.

Oh. That sounds good.

I’ll leave that judgment up to you. At this point, you have one more decision to make. Most of your nature has already been determined, but you now get to choose between two possible identities.

I do? Why? And why only two?

It’s traditional.

Really? You wonder whether it was Creator who started the tradition. All right. Show them to me. I’m ready.

Once again, two discrete perceptions manifest for you, but unlike before, they are more than abstract. They have details. They have shape. The effect is even more overwhelming than that of the grids, causing your focus to waver. Creator waits until you are able to attend to the two perceptions without fear.

I think I’m okay now, you report.

Both of your choices are vertebrate animals, Creator explains, which offer the most scope for expression on this stratum. They both enjoy living near rivers, and they are both meat-eaters, with all the baggage that entails.

I think I follow, you reply.

Creator now indicates one of the two perceptions. First, you can be a mink. That’s more or less just an ordinary person. Highly instinctive, with plenty of energy. Or…

Now Creator indicates the other perception. ...Alternately, you can be a water dragon. That option is much less common, so you’ll want to consider it in depth. It’s an artful, contemplative creature.

You study the two perceptions with care, trying to discern the qualities in them that Creator names.

Take your time. When you’ve made your decision, let me know.

It’s a while before the creatures you’re examining even make any sense to you—you’re still baffled by what kind of framework could possibly justify their existence. Still, in time you’re able to find things about them that appeal to you. You’re reasonably confident, in fact, when you announce your decision:

I’d like to be a mink. Maybe if I’m an ordinary person, I won’t be distracted by silly things. Section 7.

I like the way the water dragon feels. That’s my choice. Section 13.

Actually, if it’s all right, I think I’ll just stay here. I don’t feel the need to have a body—I’m happy the way I am. Section 81.

6

Ferem Lin is frozen before you, her eyes impassioned. She sighs then. And there it is. The end of two dreams…one old, one new. Well, Modi, by now your wisdom may well be greater than mine. I defer to you.

Are you disappointed? you ask.

Yes, but that’s the nature of maturity. She swings her delicate shoulders away. Modi, it seems your destiny is to take the Diadem and live out your fantasies, while the rest of us look on and imagine how it must be. She smiles tenderly. I ask only that before you immerse yourself irrevocably, you take the time to return to us once and let us know where some of the best lie.

Of course, you say. You’re already beginning to shiver with excitement.

The theory you’ve worked out works flawlessly. You use your paratomagic to reverse the Diadem’s spin in quick alternation, thus aging both faster and slower so quickly that it feels normal. Thus is the hole patched in this flawed but mighty artifact.

You delve into the Diadem’s fantasy world. You take it slow at first, but it’s less than an hour before you’re flying through the stars, meeting famous deceased people, swimming along unnaturally warm pristine rivers filled with soft blossoms.

Each day or two, you emerge. You drink Ferem Lin’s wine, eat tiny vegetables from her garden, and tell her about the most remarkable parts of your adventures. She listens grimly, settled in her chair. Each time you find more servants there, and more infrastructure built; Ferem Lin and Mr. Tiatsu are building a system to support your body without their help. You marvel at it all and feel distinct guilt at your singular fortune.

Only once, says Ferem Lin one day, I would like to try it. Without the alternation. I can’t do what you do, Modi. But I will accept the loss of several months of life in exchange for one night and one day under the Diadem’s spell.

You assent. You advise her how to make the most of her time, and then she goes under. You can hardly sleep that night. It’s a great relief when she keeps her word and rises again after twenty-four hours. She returns the Diadem with a sober nod and does not speak about her adventures.

Your time in reality is done now. It’s time to bid farewell to external limitations. You write a detailed last will and testament, and then hug Mr. Tiatsu, Ferem Lin, and all of the servants once before plunging into the world of the Diadem for good.

All too easily, you drift away.

Your life is a magnificent thing. Familiar settings and people are so much more dignified now, and every endeavor carries with it so much more potential. Good deeds reward the doer like never before. You encounter Lord Inen in a new manor house of polished dark wood and tinkling bells, and he happily makes you his equal once you stalemate him in a battle of wits. You go into investment and find a natural flair for it. You join a jungle expedition run by fine gentleman and find yourself under attack by savage wildcats and runaway elephants; yet your group always manages to find a resourceful recourse, and you make it through to a lost quarry filled with archaeological treasures. Your life grows rich and glorious.

You later imagine yourself leading a war against some of the powerful gods of myth. The plot of this struggle becomes intricate and taxes all your imaginary battle acumen, but somehow, your side comes out victorious. You are hailed as the greatest warrior ever to live.

Years go by, and you now join an army of noble gods warring against the rest. You are the only mortal being they allow to participate in their wars. You frequent their court, and once the great war is won, you are granted the mantle of godhood yourself, as is your destiny. Not looking back, you immerse yourself in the grandiose haze of their eternal politics.

And now you are speaking with Creator, who exists above them all. I am certainly glad to see you, you tell Creator.

Oh, you cannot see me, says Creator. But you can perceive me with a sense made for nothing else.

I do. Do you know how I feel? I’m happy because I’ve discovered the answer to your age-old question.

You know the ultimate goal, Modi? Creator asks.

"Yes,’ you say with pride, and you open your mouth and give the answer. You don’t know what it is; as in a dream, you are by now a master of leaving details hazy. You only know that your answer is pure and true and best.

Well done, says Creator with amazement, flowing over you and absorbing you into Creator’s own being. You have given the best answer possible, Modi. And now you need labor no more.

You enter then into what feels like a dream inside a dream. Both God’s Diadem and the very God that Diadem evokes are now empowering you to live out your fantasies. You reside in a cozy little house with a brook running through the backyard, a heated rock patch and a white picket fence. You have a wife, also a water dragon, but just as eager for the mated life as you. Together, you raise children in the human style—reading news magazines, working long hours in an office, cuddling up under electric blankets and eating special foods for the holidays. You send your children off to school and take pride as they outperform the humans in their class. You rise to prominence in your job and buy your wife many beautiful things, and as a result she becomes more beautiful and the two of you enjoy yourselves for hours, days, weeks at a time.

You grow old and eventually meet Creator within this fantasy, as well. Creator absorbs you in and grants you another dream. Now, rejuvenated, you toil in an emerald mine under difficult conditions, but your life is three layers down from reality, so that even the worst dust clouds and longest workdays feel no worse than being nestled in three layers of pillows. You fight viciously against the tyranny of the foremen and call out the big boss on the evil things he’s done. In time, you overthrow him and lead the workers to discover their own methods of mining that produce more emeralds than before. You organize their system of production and then announce to the world what you’ve done, and soon, from all around the world, you hear tales of mines being—

And then, abruptly, it ends. Your physical body, tended by loyal servants and existing outside the warm protection of two Creators and a Diadem, finally gives out. There is no telling how many years you’ve existed in your dream. In the end, all the protection and all the glory you conjured up for yourself was imaginary—but when the end arrives, it arrives so quickly that you don’t even realize it.

You’re simply gone.

If you could have

anything

What would it be?

Ever-changing wonders

in an endless fantasy!

But what

is the purpose

of all these dreams sublime?

I’ll conjure up a purpose, and it will

do just

fine.

-End-

7

So this is life!

You dwell in the banks and shallows of a watercourse whose name you’ve neither learned nor contemplated. You sleep in a low-ceilinged den dug from the first reach of soil past a sandy bed that once flowed with water, but now, due to erosion of the opposite shore, is merely moist now and then. You eat well. Crawfish, snails, frogs, fish—these and more keep you strong and almost content. Small ducks are the most exciting prizes; catching them is an art your parents never taught you, but you’re proud to develop it day by day.

Your stream—or is it a small river?—is surrounded by straight, wet-barked trees that aren’t very big, but that seem proud to grow where they do. Some stretches consist of larger, darker trees with less growing beneath them. You go there sometimes for a change of pace, but never for long, as you know it’s not your habitat. You prefer never to be more than a good dash from the waterside.

You ‘re cordial with your neighbors to either side—minks like you with territories of their own. You all keep mainly to yourselves and rarely hunt outside your marked boundaries. You have a few favorite spots you like to stick with, anyway—the best places to corner fish, and whatnot. Those are always the places that seem the most beautiful in the long run.

You remember three summers and three winters. You’ve been out roving twice now, looking for a mate without any luck. No worries—you’re getting smarter and stronger every season, and it’s only a matter of time. Maybe this will be your lucky spring.

There’s a city nearby—filled with humans, like they all are. Your mother took you there in your first autumn, but you remember it only as a mélange, and have little desire to experience that again. Some animals go to the city in order to earn wealth and buy fascinating marvels, but you know that’s not realistic for you. You have no skills that humans would care about, so why would they reward you? Happy not to take wild risks, you remain at home, content with the knowledge that life is as it should be.

You’re digging at a boulder one night, hoping to dislodge it and discover insects and worms beneath, when your claw catches in a crevice. Before you can check yourself, it’s torn, and you’re stricken with pain. Even though the blood stays inside, you can smell it welling. You know it will heal—you’ve known worse—but suddenly the feeling of fear and disorientation strikes you as amazingly familiar. You fall to the ground, boggled by vivid memories of Creator, and the emotional shock of being shown grids and images before birth.

You moan in perplexity and wonder. What is all this? Clinging to the memory, you lope over the sand into your den and lie there, striving to recall anything you can about your pre-existence. This is incredible. This is real! All of it comes back to you while you lie there, your claw throbbing. The very notion that in the past you were something different from what you are…the memory of your cosmic assignment. To discover the ultimate goal…is that really what you’re meant to do?!

Hours pass, but the memory doesn’t fade now that it’s been unearthed. You know that it’s all true. There’s no way your mind could have concocted this alone. Your heart is beating rapidly. You raise your upper body, looking over the river that’s always been your home.

Everything has changed. You now have a mission. As strange as it seems, you have to do something. But what?

I…I guess it’s finally time for me to go to the city. Section 24.

Well, if I’ve got a goal to discover, I can’t stay here forever. I wonder what the dark woods hold. Section 37.

There’s no reason for me to go wandering hither and yon. The truth is, I can search for purpose just fine right here on the river. Section 55.

No. I won’t do this. I like my life. There’s no point in risking health and happiness just to solve some mystery I don’t want to solve. Section 120.

8

Travel is an idyllic thing for you. You enjoy the peaceful state of changing just one thing at a time—your location—allowing you all the time you like to enjoy the splendid weather and contemplate everything under the sun.

You rise each morning and hasten to resume your journey. While it’s possible, you travel from treetop to treetop. After they finally disappear, you make your way along a wide, unpaved road surrounded by grass.

On a morning cool and blue and full of gentle birdsong, you cross paths with a tall, silly-looking woman, dressed in soft dyed wool of a dozen colors. She looks like she could be twenty or two hundred—there’s no telling. She’s pushing a little wooden cart loaded up on top with sewing wares—pins and pincushions and threads and buttons and such.

Seeing you, she perks up and cries, Oh, what a fine creature! You back away while she runs up to you to take a look. Look at you. Such ponderous muscles…such a regal neck! Fancy—a lizard of your size, just traveling on the road! She bows her head. Will you give me the pleasure of sewing you a costume—a costume with little tiny jangles that sound like the breeze?

Um…well, certainly, if that’s what you like. Section 12.

Madam, please; I must be on my way. Section 16.

9

You quest around for a while until a formidable house on a corner draws your attention. It’s not the tallest on the block, but its diagonal orientation, elegant shingles, and sloping surfaces give it distinction, and there are, indeed, lights in many of the windows.

Unfortunately, you can’t reach the knocker and your partially webbed feet don’t make very good fists, so you scritch-scratch at the door a few times. There’s no response, so you try again in twenty seconds, a bit louder.

The door opens. Inside, the lights shine brightly on the polished wood floor. A short, leathery man with messy black hair kneels and addresses you. Hello. Do you need a place to stay?

You blink. Yes, please, you say. In a snap, you’re out of the rain, and a stout little woman you take to be this man’s wife is wiping you dry. How did you know I needed a place? you ask.

The man sets his lips together and a wrinkle is prominent for a moment above his eyes. This is the Petroqi kinship. People come here all the time. Everybody knows to send their travelers here.

They do? I had no idea. I only came here because the light was on...

They say our house has a friendly look to it, says the woman, whose mat of hair matches her husband’s. We’ve had priests and holy men of various kinds come through and bless it, so I’m not too surprised.

But wait—what kind of thing are you?

A mink! Section 14.

A water dragon! Section 26.

10

Really, Jemi? You? A spy?

You straighten your posture and flaunt your ears. Who would suspect me? I know how to blend in. I lived my entire life up until a few weeks ago by a river, just living the natural life.

That’s precisely why I have my doubts, says Napine.

But you go to her husband, Perry. You tell him privately what his wife’s been doing, and while he groans, he takes it as no great surprise.

After smoking awhile on his pipe, he brings himself upright in his chair. I like the idea, actually. If we’re going to do this spy thing, we’ll do it right. My wife goes back to what she does best—nursing--and you take up the slack. You can be our bundle of hope.

You go back to Napine with this and she agrees reluctantly—you suspect she’s never going to dismantle her gossip mill entirely. A circle of her friends brief you on the geography, the history, the politics and the logistics of the mission. You do your best to absorb it all, but your brain feels limited in scope, so you keep what you feel is important at the forefront.

Vayellia is a proud old country that feels it’s destined to own the world someday and is patient enough to claim it piece by piece. The border between the two countries is long and complicated, and Brisden’s modest top priority is learning where they’ll garrison their forces next. They certainly wouldn’t complain if you were to attempt loftier goals, however—such as toppling the emperor from power, or laying the groundwork for others to do so.

At last, you’re as ready as you feel you can be, and you let your friends know. They take you, somewhat ceremoniously, to a hill on the west side of town, and bid you farewell.

Here, says Rarne, an agile young man who fronts as a well mason. He bestows a medallion on a shortened cord around your neck, and then raises a finger. This is for luck. Don’t argue—it works.

Thanks, you tell him, and all the people who’ve outfitted you. I’ve never done anything like this before, and I’m really excited. I’ll be back as soon as I can.

Mind, if you do end up dying, says Perry, I hope we don’t find out about it. Better for your fate to stay a mystery, so we can console ourselves when things get rotten. ‘Don’t worry—Jemi’ll be back any day,’ we’ll say. With that, there’s a peal of maudlin laughter that continues to ring in your ears until you’re well beyond the city limits.

Your gear and training give you a +1 bonus for all future challenges. In addition, your medallion allows you to select the same element multiple times during future challenges. (Normally, for example, you couldn’t pick both Root x Nose and Root x Belly in the same challenge, but now you can.) Of course, you still can’t pick the same exact pair of elements more than once. If you receive the Sacred Completeness special result, stop after picking a total of eight pairs. Section 94.

11

The rotund man turns in his seat with surprise. Good luck with that, he tells you. You choose to take this sentiment as genuine beneficence.

First, you return to Jayadhem. Lord Inen is skeptical and uninclined to help you, but you have various friends who outfit you with basic gear for the trip. It’s clear they think you’re a little crazy, but they, too, wish you the best of luck, and you can tell they mean it.

It’s true—you have no real idea how you can bring an end to this mysterious menace, but you urgently feel the need to make a mark somehow. Otherwise, how can you hope to answer the ultimate question? It stands to reason that if you can’t excel at politics, perhaps you can excel at…something else. Or, who knows? Maybe the lizardman threat will boil down to politics in the end after all.

Section 73.

12

The colorful woman is delighted. She offers to let you ride in the bottom of her vending cart on the way back to her cottage. You climb onto a wooden shelf piled with sundry fabric, and she clicks the door gently closed. Since you’re a bit drowsy, you happily go to sleep.

When you wake up, the birdsong is gone. You rap at the door of the cart, and from some distance away the woman’s cheery voice sings, Just a bit, dear! Your outfit isn’t done yet!

I’d like to get out and stretch a bit, you call.

In a bit, dear!

You scrabble. The door is locked. This is absurd. Please! Let me out, Madam.

Not until your outfit is done! she calls. I want it to be a surprise.

You’re appalled. She’s keeping you prisoner in her cart and acting like it’s a favor. You implore further, to no avail, and then lie down again, resigned to being let out whenever this batty woman decides to free you. You sleep.

When the door opens at last, it’s evening. The woman lets you out and you promptly dash away, trying to find a way out of the cottage. But there is none: she’s locked the door and you can’t reach the latch. Do you intend to keep me imprisoned here forever, Madam? you demand.

Of course not! I just want to see how you fit in the little suit I’ve made for you.

You look at the garment she’s holding out. It’s made of fine wool, dyed in yellow and various pastels, with little metal jangles, as promised, and tassels as well. It has holes for your legs and a partial sleeve for your tail.

That looks ridiculous, you tell her.

Well, is that bad? she queries. Aren’t clothes a ridiculous thing in the first place?

If not for mammals, you reply, then certainly for those of us with cold blood. If I try it on, will you let me leave?

Of course, of course!

The cottage is full of wooden things—a spinning wheel and loom, a table, a barrel, a number of chairs. But it also has bottles made of clay and a large pot of iron. And the only light present creeps in through cracks in the walls—there are no windows or lamps.

You allow her to put you on a chair, and then you wiggle into the garment, which comes in two pieces that clasp together with hooks. It’s very soft against your scales. You walk around a bit, letting the jangles tinkle, and then start to feel odd. You find that you want to curl up with humor, tell jokes and make merry; to wiggle your body and make the outfit really chime. But you don’t know why. In a place like this, you should be scared, not jovial. And that terrifies you.

Madam, are you a witch?! you shout. Have you enchanted this outfit?

Of course I have! It’s not a real outfit unless it’s got a bit of magic. Don’t you know what you are, my pretty lizard? You’re a jester now! You’re my very own jester, and you’ll make my customers so very happy. Go on, tell a joke...do a foible!

You find that it’s easy to comply. You roll a somersault in slow motion. You tell a joke you heard once years ago and since forgot, about a hungry crow and a talking scarecrow, and it comes out better than you remembered. This outfit is amazing! Despite the circumstances, it’s tempting to go along with this witch’s wishes and see what you can accomplish.

This is incredible! I wish you’d been forthright about this from the outset. Section 20.

All right, I’ve put it on—now let me outside, as you promised. Section 29.

13

So this is life!

A brook crafted to be beautiful to the senses. A gazebo of your own. Freedom to wander the city, but amenities enough to make this urge fleeting. An education and a liege lord who cares about you. Although you try to maintain an appreciative disposition, it’s often hard not to take for granted all the good things you enjoy.

You are an emerald-colored lizard about two feet in length, not counting your ample tail. You reside in the courtyard of Lord Ajiam Aratunil Inen, Imperial Secretary of Health and Inferior Council to the Throne of Vayellia. Although you, as his vassal, have no formal power of your own, your connection to such an important man makes it easy to find acquaintances. In your youth, he provided for your education on various subjects, a debt you keep close to your heart. Your tutors were mainly birds, especially the venerable cranes and crows renowned for giving Vayellia what are called ‘the world’s wisest skies’. Now you pass the boon forward by tutoring the human children of the lord’s servants, a task that you