U: FXMap[f0.40000000000000002FC:FXMapperSettings{"Grid Straight ConnectionsT"Grid BoxesT"Arrow Color" black"Paths as CurvesT"Location TasksT"Edit on CreationF"Box Number Color" grey"Create on ConnectionT"Font Objects" Times"Map0"Grid Diagonal ConnectionsF"Location DescriptionF"Use Room CursorF"Box Border Color" black" Language"en"Automatic ConnectionT"Location NumbersT"Box Darkness Color" grey"Box BG Color" white"Font Text" Times" BG Color"dark grey"The 12:54 to Asgard"0i[ U:FXSection[[ U: FXRoom["On the catwalk" gloves "[ U:FXConnection[ Fii[@-U;["Treehouse"(roll of tape screws electric drill "[ 0000@3000Fii"The Treehouse is about six feet long and two foot wide, plenty of space to walk or sit, but the rain is making it treacherous. The joist plank is normally stable even out at the far unspported end, but today it feels like it has more spring to it. Maybe the humidity made it flexible or something, but a good bounce on it and it'd start oscillating like a diving board right now. It also feels slicker under your boots than usual -- probably all the oil from a dozen years of mayonnaise-laden sandwich drippings is floating to the surface. Below is the catwalk, and under that is the lighting grid, its cables snaking up to J-hooks in the ceiling and down the back wall, just within reach of here.0T[ii0U; [ Fii[@-U;["'On the truss of the lighting grid"screwdriver"[ 000000@>0Fii"0F[ii0U; [ Fii[@-U;["Studio A backstage"tile sponge "[ @I0U; [ Fii[@LU;["Props corner"6suitcase seed nails mug bulbs batteries rutabaga "[ 000000@R0Fii"CWhere all old studio junk goes to die. You've looked through this stuff before, trying to find something that'd even clear a few bucks at a yard sale, but management caught you at it and declared every piece of crap here to be off-limits private property. There's a jug of fertilizer and a feather boa here. Yeah, whatever.0F[ii0U; [ Fii[@L0[ii00U; [ Fii[@LU;["Behind the set""[ U; [ Fii[@dU;["Maintenance closet"ugardening spade rubber sheet shit rubber bands sponge boa socks hammer roof tile tape drill seed rutabaga nails "[ 0000@j000Fii"All your stuff is in the wrong places or dumped on the floor. What's with people? Be nice once and a while and don't f-- up a guy's stuff when he's not there. And then call him in late at night to do something quite honestly pretty whucking dangerous.0F[ii 00@a0000Fii"Nothing to see here but a dank corridor of padded gray walls, like the inside of an asylum, which as far as you're concerned, it is. A locked door marked "Maintenance Staff Only" (that's you) lies north, and the glare of the studio is back to the southeast.0F[iiFii"Crisscrossings of muddy footprints head in from the door to the south, going northwest around the back of the newsroom set, and east into the dimly-lit clutter of worn-out equipment and props. Directly ahead of you, bundled snakes of cables and wires lead into the eye-mangling glare of the set itself. Overhead hang the racks of studio lights. Spiral stairs go up to the catwalk rigging.0F[ii000Fii"CSheez, it's slippery up here. The woven black iron grille of the catwalk isn't providing much traction, now that it's spattered with rainwater, which is coming down in goblike droplets and streams, seemingly from everywhere, spattering off the rigging and the lamps, and running in curvy trickles down the insulated wiring.0F@6@L@U@d@m@A[ @3@I@]@R@a@j@>"U;[[ U;["Underworld"suitcase socks "[ U; [ Fii[@U;["Aboard the ferry""[ U; [ Fii[@U;["Marina dock""[ U; [ Fii[@U;["Welcoming station""[ 0U; [ Fii[@U;["Bronze Kingdom""[ U; [ Fii[U;["Iron Kingdom""[ U; [ Fii[@U;["Column base""[ 0000@000Fii" Inside the base of the column is an octagonal platform, ringed by a grille of bars that arch overhead to form a flat peak, from which antiquated gearwork is connected to a set of chains and cables that reach up into the vertical darkness. A sconce hangs down below it, scorched and sooty.0F[ii000@000Fii"The base of the iron column is a set of interlocking bars, triangled and latticed, reinforced with lateral beams as tall as your body. An opening in the front side leads into a space in the center of the column.0F@[ii0000@00Fii"You are here before a great bronze door decorated with bronze filagree and gold leaf. Around it an archway of stone, 80 feet high and 25 feet wide, carved into which are figures from history and myth, frozen in their moment.0F[ii00@000Fii "Like the entrance to a theme park, if such things floated in the clouds as they do in the imagination of a child. A broad plaza, open above to the sky, and ringed by a zen garden of smooth pale stones, raked into parallel lines that follow the circular curve of the plaza. In the center is an inlaid carving of a compass rose, 14 feet across, with a triangular spike like a sundial whose shadow always points north, no matter how long you stare at it.0F[ii000@000Fii "Your ferry boat rocks gently against the wooden dock. Ropes tie it off and park it in the bobbling water, in a busy and tangled marina of hundreds of such vessels. You seem to have gotten the no-frills ride, as the largest of the other ships is a king's navy yacht, with gold trim on its topside rails, gleaming brass cannonade, and what looks like a snack bar. Of the other vessels, even the least of its cousins -- not counting yours -- is ornamented specific to a different culture. You apparently either have no culture or no imagination. You would complain, but you know not whom to, or whether your treatment isn't, in fact, justified.0F[ii000@000Fii "|The river flows around you. Death stands aft, using his scythe as a rudder. You are at the prow, staring into the mist.0F[ii0000000Fii "A steady drip, small and distant, echoes and expands to describe an endless space. Behind you is nothing. Before you, crawling from the darkness to the left and sliding on to the oblivion of the right, is an infinite, silver river. You mistake it for a lake, so slowly does it flow, so smoothly unrippled is its surface. You cannot see the far side, as a veil of curdling, curlicuing mist hides everything beyond a stone's throw in a milky haze.0F@@@@@@[ @@@@@@"UnderworldU;[[U;["Column Top""[ U; [ Fii[@U;["Ocean realm""[ 0000@000Fii"Vast, endless and eternal, the ocean is before you and all around. Swimming against strong waves, you sputter for air and thrash with tired muscles. Overhead, there is a great clamor in the sky, and flames lashing like whipmarks that cut through the atmosphere. A great beast, an ancient serpent, falls from the heavens, thrashing with fury, and burns all the way down to the water with a tremendous splash. Gnashing and thrashing, the dragon bites on his own tail as it sinks beneath the waves, encircling the world.0F[iiU; [ Fii[@U;[" Desert""[ 00000@00Fii"A vast arid stretch of soil and sharp rocks, endless in all directions, baked by the sun all day and starved with cold at night. It's currently daytime.0F[iiU; [ Fii[@U;["Windy outcropping""[ 000000@0Fii"The northern sun is low and pale, hidden by a smear of gray clouds over a green sea that washes with great crashes on the rocks far below. On an outcropping of rock at the jagged edge of a windswept fjord, a gnarled ash tree, ancient and bent, makes its stand against the elements.0F[iiU; [ Fii[@U;["Riverbank""[ 0000000@Fii"Under a clear midnight sky, the stars twinkle and sparkle, millions and billions in a milky band of diamonds. The air is exceptionally clear, and the river captures and dancingly reflects the heavens within it.0F[iiU; [ Fii[@U;["Heaven's Gate""[ @0000000Fii"The gate of a great walled city, of alabaster towers and standards flying in the winds, a gate shining under a golden sky, glinting and sparkling. A gate of lapis and jade, pearl and silver, emerald and garnet, platinum and elecrum.0F[iiU; [ Fii[@U;["Garden of Eden"red fruit "[ 0@000000Fii"A lush garden, a young rainforest, all the trees and flowers are new under the sun, yellow-green and tender, bursting with fragrance and juice and sap, overflowing with life. You can seemingly watch it all grow, as if in a time lapse, every blade of grass straining upwards, reaching for the sunlight, exhaling oxygen so thickly that the sky seems pink and gold even under a high sun.0F[iiU; [ Fii[@U;["Mount Olympus" feather "[ 00@00000Fii"1Red rocks ribboned with gray and orange chalamite, bands of olive trees, white temples of marble, a blue sky, a green river. Ambrosia and nectar, wine and honey. Lazing and dancing and playing in the sunshine are a curvaceous company of vixens and nymphs, shrieking with the utter gaiety of youth at play.0F[iiU; [ Fii[@U;[" Chaos""[ 000@0000Fii"There is no up or down, or in or out, or side to side, or alive or dead, or vision or blindness, or health or sickness. Neither darkness nor light. A seething ruin, a boiling of time, a crazed stir of constant annihilation, the end result of infinite entropy, neither beginning nor end.0F[iiFii"An octagonal platform, at the center of which is an inlaid compass rose. A grille of bars that arch overhead to form a flat peak, from which antiquated gearwork and a sooty sconce hang. Exits lead in each of eight directions.0F@@@@@@@@[ @@@@@@@@"U;[[ U;["Field of snow""[ 00U; [ Fii[@,U;["Frozen creek""[ 00U; [ Fii[U;["Farmhouse""[ U; [ Fii[U;["Village outskirts""[ 00U; [ Fii[U;["Village Square""[ 0000U; [ Fii[@PU;["Long road home""[ @V0000000Fi i"The road is clotted with deep snow, and a fog rolls in as you progress, making you lose your sense of familiarity with the landscape. You halt at what seems to be like a dead end, as memories of a different existence are suddenly opened within your mind.0F[ii0@M0Fi i"The village is sleepy and quiet, tucked away and locked up for the night. A steep hill down a narrow cobblestone street leads away from the village square to the west. The long road back to your home is to the south.0F@G[ii0@D000Fii"<At the outskirts of a village, you pause to rest a moment in the rows of a vineyard, snow-covered and bare in the winter months. A fierce wind howls at your back, but perhaps it will give you just enough strength to move you the last few steps. There are lights just ahead to the east, and the smell of baking bread.0F@>[ii00000@;0Fii"Casting warm light on the pale blue snow, the small farmhouse looks closed up for the winter evening. Through the windows you can see some amount of activity. The scent of woodsmoke nearly obscures what your hunger allows you to pick up -- the smells of supper being prepared.0F@5[ii000@20Fii"Lifeless grass lines the edges of a slippery frozen creek. A bridge over the creek leads east to a farmhouse. Dark woods lie to the southeast.0F[ii00000Fii".Nothing but snow from horizon to horizon.0F@5@>@G@P@Y[ @2@;@D@M@V"U;[[U;["You Bet Your Afterlife!""[ 00000000Fii"0F["i i