You grab a handful of peanuts from the dish on the bar, and begin to lay them out in a circular formation. It's tempting to eat a few of them, but right now forming the ritual circle is more important. Also, this is a text-based adventure, so you wouldn't truly be able to enjoy the savoury snack.

​

Taking a few of the candles from nearby tables, you place one at each of the four cardinal points. You sit silently for a moment, training your focus on the flickering candle flames and the faint glistening of the salt on the peanuts. The man next to you grunts.

​

"Something wrong?" you ask, turning to him with a wary eye.

​

"Message could not be delivered," he spits through a mouthful of spam, "go bother some other fucker."

​

The man you now know to be the Mailer Daemon is clearly not the conversational sort, so you decide to leave him to his meal. You consult the piece of paper Sam handed you. The words written across it begin to resolve themselves into something almost recognisable, illuminated by candlelight. An incantation. A template. 

 

You place the paper in the heart of the ritual circle, and begin to recite the words. You speak the phrases as if they were the hallowed mantra of some ancient and arcane rite. 

​

"Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Nulla sollicitudin faucibus efficitur. Proin eu placerat elit, vel vulputate sapien. Aliquam sagittis sed nisl sit amet malesuada. Ut dignissim quam orci."

​

The tavern falls silent. The patrons sit, staring in your direction, their drinks half-lifted to their mouths. There's a puff of smoke. In the middle of the circle of peanuts, and standing only a few inches tall, is the Website Wizard.

​

"Hello!" he says, cheerily. "I am Yu Ar-Ell, the Website Wizard. It looks like you're trying to add a new paragraph. Would you like some tips on formatting?"

​

"I knew it," the barkeeper breathes, staring at the tiny man on her bar. She stumbles backwards, feeling her way to the safety of the doorway to the kitchens. From behind the heavy wooden door, she watches on cautiously.

 

Sam hurries over to your side, peering down at the wee wizard.  "No, no need for formatting, thank you," he says, "can I update my user permissions?"

​

"Sorry," Yu Ar-Ell says, shaking his head, "only the owner of the ritual has the rites."

Sam looks to you with imploring eyes, and you nod your head sagely.

​

"Make it so," you utter, "may Sam Hain be granted full rights, or whatever."

​

The Website Wizard bows a flourishing bow, and with a wave of his wand declares, "It is done! Is there anything else I can help you with?"

​

"Please," Sam replies, "publish the page, and update the nameservers."

​

"The Rites of Redirection are invoked!" he announces triumphantly, and turns to face the Mailer Daemon. "The sacred name records are secure. Your services are no longer required, Mailer Daemon. You are banished."

​

"Return to sender," the Mailer Daemon groans, heaving himself up from the barstool and shuffling away, out of the tavern.

​

"Thank you," Sam Hain effuses, taking your hand in a firm shake, "thank you! Now you've recited the Lorem Ipsum incantation, the nameservers will align. The domain will be stable once again! I suppose I should let you get back to your browsing." He turns to face the Website Wizard. "Now please, open me a portal out of here."