S1E7 - Into the Wanderers' Library - Episode 7 - The Hunt

Hello and welcome once again to into the Wanderer's Library with Professor Artyom Harkin. Slightly different format today. You are currently in my wireless earbuds, as opposed to the microphone setup that I have in my office. I felt like having a bit of a wander around today just to stretch the legs. Or six of them. I say six because two of them are currently in the form of arms. Or at least one and a half of them are in the form of arms anyway. But rambling aside, I constantly say I'm surprised I haven't got that on a T shirt. I swear most of these recordings, these lectures or podcasts of mine are there. Since when did we have a laundry room? God, I've been so sending my clothes to the dry cleaners for nothing. Oh, now I'm fuming. Right? Regardless, regardless, as stated in the last episode, this time I will be reading following the paper trail. Now, the digital copy of this, I should note, is actually not on the Wanderer's Library, is it? I was gonna say I'm currently reading off the digital copy. I do have the paper copy in my office, but I figured I'd use a digital copy while I'm walking around. There's a different insignia on here. Vitalis llc. Vitalis llc. Where have I heard that before? H. It'll come to me. It'll come to me. Right? This is by doesn't say no author, but the translations are provided in France. So for our French listeners, there is a digital translation for this following the paper trail. It all starts with a single piece of paper reading, a single name, followed by a string of characters. Clayne Opcol 2E44A52AC1. Good God, that's longer than the ending to Return of the King. Right? Come on, we can power through this. Come on, you got this. Arty Clean Opcol 2E44A52AC 1972 FBB862466E B1D O B. I'm gonna do that again just to make sure I have got this right, because I feel like if I get it wrong, I'm gonna summon something again. Clean upcol2e44a52ac1972fbb8624 66eb1dob why do I feel like I've just activated something? The worker repeated out loud before folding the piece into the shape of a bird. Or so they had been told. Not like they could know for certain. Letting it fly into the dusty sky, its yellowed wings flapped fast, moving towards the northeast. The worker thus followed after the avian trinket. This had been their job since their inception. Receive a name, turn it into a guide, and follow through the maze of records, looking for. Well, a record. It is said that when a soul disappears, it leaves, or it still leaves behind something. Here that something was a single sheet of paper detailing information of some kind. The worker wasn't sure what that information was about, for they did not bother reading any of the papers they fetched. Rude of them, impractical of them. There might be something useful, though that information wasn't meant for them. Or rather, for. Pardon me, that information wasn't meant for them, but rather for someone. Probably they weren't aware of the finer details of the job, but they knew it was import. They knew it was important. If it weren't, it wouldn't be this difficult. After several cycles of walking through the filing cabinets that compromise the floor, walls and roof of the new facilities, they noticed the paper bird was flying in circles over one of the older places, the voids of lost wisdom. Gigantic sinkholes of paper where almost all records rested, buried until their retrieval was asked of them. The worker whistled, the paper bird diving into the sinkhole with the worker jumping after it. They knew not what death, death felt like, but swimming into a sinkhole, lost in the darkness of the sea of paper cuts, was scary and thus was most likely akin to dying. That's how they had heard dying was like, from a few souls that they had the pleasure of meeting after a time inside the void that felt like an eternity during which they could hear nothing but the crumpling of millions of sheets of paper and see nothing but the shine of the paper bird they were following after they reached the bottom. A bottom. At the very least, bottom. Sorry, that was childish of me. Some workers spoke of older times where the sinkholes were deeper below and the current sinkholes were the places they call offices or homes. Times where all papers would be filed in the usual system instead of dropped by the millions into the ground, forming immense piles. Have we got sinkholes here? I could. I could have sworn we had a bottleless pit. Or a fight. I'll put you here. We have Bonnet pit, East wing. It's that west wing. I've always been bad with my geography. Let me just stop. Where was I? Then they would run out of space. Whenever it happened, they would begin building upwards. These new heights would become a new place to work in, and the previous one would be filled to the brim with the papers they could be filed during the building period. They had asked the older workers why they did things this way and they had always responded the same way. This is how it's always been. As far as they knew, the cycle was a natural part of the realm of this part of the realm. At least for they had heard not everywhere was like this. Past the towers of manifolds there were rivers of ink and mountains of wooden castles and basements and many other such constructs. What the purpose was they didn't know. Their knowledge of it did affect their job anyway. The birds slowly unfolded into a sheet again. Passing through a filing cabinet. The worker grabbed the rusty handle and pushed. It barely moved. They tried again getting the drawer out. Pieces of the spring that's supposed to keep it in place. Jumping around loose tons of paper began being sucked into the hole. They had made the worker amongst the parchments another scary moment. But the worker barely reacted. This was part of a date job after all. A rather common part as well. Getting up and removing several of the papers stuck to their body. They kept following after the bird which had folded itself again into its previous shape, jumping around, looking left and right before navigating through the building. This was the easy part which allowed the worker to take a short break. Sitting down on a collapsed cabinet, watching as the door. So they began filling with the cabinet they had let in. This would make finding information here more difficult in the future, but it was quite rare that they needed to explore the same areas again. This might become a problem in a thousand, thousand thousand cycles. Oh well. Finally. The bird chirps the single sound these constructs make. The worker getting up and walking to where it was. The bird had a single sheet of paper on its beak. The worker took it and immediately after the bird exploded into bits of confetti paper. Thanks for your service. The worker pulled out a brown coloured envelope, putting the file in without a second of hesitation they made their way back to the cabinet hole they had left, jumping through it, swimming against the bureaucratic current. After a few moments they were free of the pool. Finally their scavenger hunt was over and they were ready to go home. Give him all my this blasted hook. Do you ever find when you've got when you have certain prosthesis that your stub sweats underneath the kind of cup that the. The prosthesis has and goes over since. Stop. Oh, that's not comfortable. That's not comfortable at all. I'm just going to leave that. Yeah, don't need that for a while. Finally, this scavenger hunt was over and they were ready to go home. The return took about the same amount of cycles as their departure. Once back in the offices, they met the paper effigy, a massive creature made of thousands of workers that moved as a single one. This was the entity that assigned every worker of this part of the realm the bird guides they needed to complete their work. Clayne Opcole not reading that long, long code again. I frankly cannot be asked. The worker read the name of the folder before presenting it to the effigy. The goliath stares at the worker with hundreds of judgmental eyes before stretching a limb. The worker on the end of it, grabbing the paper before inserting it inside a cylindrical capsule, dropping it inside a pipe system that sent the file wherever it needed. Oh, they've got pipes like we have. Or at least like I have on my end. I don't know if anyone else has it. I was gonna say that's normally how I send a mail. Here is your next job. The effigy spoke, the voices of all the automatons that composed it harmonizing together before grabbing the topmost paper off one of the hundreds of towers that surrounded them, each one a job yet to fulfill. The worker accepts it before looking at contained a single name followed by a string of characters. Alison Waugh oh God, here we go. In in the spirit of posterity, I will try and get this right. 2e4 4e. I've already cocked it up. Hang on. Come on, you got this, Arty Alison Waugh 2E44A52A6C1972FBB862466EA8329 do you get that? Do I need to do it again? The worker repeated out loud before folding the piece into the shape of a bird. The bird flew southeast. The worker fell, followed. I. I just went to try and close a book in my hand before realizing I hadn't got the other hand to mime it. So I've just slapped my entire hand, my entire palm against my stubborn oh, that's amusing to me, right? That was following the paper trail. Nice little bit of slice of life, a little bit of the A little glimpse into the average worker life of actually a fairly nameless individual. Sorry, I wish I had more there, but I think I'm. I'm losing focus. I might just be hungry. I haven't had. I haven't had my lunch yet. Breakfast was nice. Hang on, do I still have. No, I've eaten it. Damn it. I was really craving that leg. Damn past me, beating me to it. Where exactly is this set? I'm curious, because it wouldn't surprise me if this following the paper trail was actually set in the library itself, because I've seen bottomless pits full of papers that have fallen into some of them. You haven't owned hell until you've tried to crawl out of something and your legs keep getting stuck on all the different sheets. Paper cuts are one thing. Paper cuts on multiple legs simultaneously. It's not on. Not on at all. Goodness, I'm hungry. Right. Need to find the kitchen again. If they've moved it. Hang on. Is that one of a serpent's hand? Hmm. Next time we'll be reading about the exhibition. How very interesting. I will see you in the next installment of into the Wanderer's Library. This has been Professor Artyom Haakin. Now, if you excuse me. Going to go find lunch.

It has been some months since I set forth on my mission to explore the galaxy and collect people's stories for our community archives. I have seen underground cities and planets clad in ice, space stations teeming with people, and monasteries thick with silence. I have broken bread with strangers, heard their stories and sung their songs. But there is still so much more to be seen, so many tales yet to be told. And I intend to hear them explore the stars with Traveling Light, a queer and cosy science fantasy podcast about finding common ground and celebrating difference. The story and its world are shaped by our listeners with audience submissions and choose your own adventures decision making. Visit monstrous productions.org to learn more or listen now. Wherever you get your podcasts.