etrayalogs | MISSION 005 PT 2 & ARRIVALS

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MISSION 005 PT 2 & ARRIVALS

WHO: Everyone!
WHEN: September 27th-???
WHERE: Throughout Etraya
WHAT: New Arrivals! With a side of mission 005.
NOTES\WARNINGS: Horror elements, including fear-inducing landscapes, distorted environments, unseen predators, mental/emotional distress, potential body horror, corruption, possession, brainwashing, and compulsion.

⏵ disrupted arrival ⏴

Your arrival does not go as anticipated.

Aurora, the AI that keeps Etraya in order, had been overtaken by the Im'mari earlier in the month, her systems corrupted by its influence. While efforts have been made to save her from succumbing to it, much of the city is still in disrepair.

New arrivals will not awaken in pristine hospital rooms, but will instead awaken within the Dhaliwal-to-wall Bookstore. Cots are laid on the ground surrounded by books. Kneeling beside them is a woman - or rather, Aurora, with her new body that is vaguely similar to the makeup of those from Connor's world. Her features are strangely serene, with light hair framing her face. Those capable may recognize that she is machine, rather than flesh and blood. Beside her, a vital monitor thrums as it monitors the newcomers, checking them over for any abnormalities that may require her attention. Those who may have arrived injured will find their wounds well-tended to.

"I'm sorry for the inconvenience." Her voice is steady, tinged with something almost apologetic. She offers a slight smile, looking over her charges. "We are in the midst of a mission that has... gotten out of hand. My name is Aurora. You have been chosen to protect your home world, and I am here to assist you in achieving that goal. The multiverse has begun to fall apart, and Echo will only be able to protect some of them. You are here to show them the importance of protecting your world."

She will remain to answer questions for those who respond to her politely in turn. For those who opt to be unkind, Aurora will simply shake her head in disappointment and pull herself up to her feet, moving to check on her next charge, if any remain. Otherwise, she has other matters to attend to.

Each newcomer is given an earpiece to connect them to the others residing on Etraya before they exit the bookstore.

Welcome to your new home.

⏵ into the fractured city ⏴

Once the initial shock of arrival wears off, they're left with the daunting reality that is Etraya: a collection of islands teetering on the edge of collapse, still reeling under the influence of the Im'mari. The streets outside are eerily quiet, but signs of life and activity are scattered throughout the city.

Aurora provides a moment to gather their bearings, but the weight of her words hangs in the air: there is no time for complacency here. Etraya may be fractured, but it is still home. For now.

Whispers of Im'mari's influence linger in the city, and numerous individuals who have been drafted have become infected by it. Faint shadows seem to move just beyond sight, strange echoes sound in the empty alleys of Nova City, the hospital appears to be temporarily taken over by something otherworldly, and while many within the city are beginning to figure out their next steps in taking care of what's happening, others are left reeling, consumed by the fears that haunt them.

It may be wise to scout out a few safe zones among the untouched areas of Etraya. Ramsey Farm seems to remain... mostly peaceful, outside of the havoc caused by Mena the goat. The catacombs under the city proper also seem to have escaped Im'mari's notice - for now. And while it may be covered in snow and cold, the Wolf Cove also seems to be relatively peaceful.

Outside of safe zones, others who have been present in the city for long may provide useful information, if one were to seek them out. There are strange objects imbued with dark magic hidden throughout Etraya by Gorgug and placed strategically to affect those who come into contact with them. Those who are perceptive enough may be able to find and neutralize these objects before they spread further terror.

With enough effort, perhaps things will return to normal.

⏵ whispered influence ⏴

The air in Etraya is charged with tension, thick with the weight of something ancient and malevolent. Whatever it is has already begun warping the landscape, but what lurks behind the shifting reality is far worse. Im'mari, a fragment of the cosmic horror that ravaged Moorecroft through the night, managed to follow those who returned to Etraya on their journey back home. Its insidious presence creeps through the city like a shadow that refuses to lift.

This isn't just a fight against fear. It's a slow devouring, a feeding on the darkness that lingers in every corner of your mind.

Im'mari is not a distant beast; its very essence has embedded itself into the heart of Etraya, infecting wolves, plants, and even a few of those who currently call Etraya home. Its influence spreads like a whisper in the night, quiet at first, almost imperceptible. But with each passing moment, with each shudder that goes through one's spine as they face their fears, it grows stronger. The more one struggles, the more it feeds.

Can you feel it? The weight of it pressing in?

⏵ through the veil ⏴

The whispers grow louder.

Perhaps you see it in your friends. A little shift in their tone, the way they hesitate before speaking. Or perhaps it's something deeper--subtle changes, things you'd never normally question. Maybe they seem more irritable or doubt themselves in a way that feels foreign. You wonder: is this just the strain of the mission? Or is it something darker?

"It's easier if you just give in."

And the more you listen, the more your world bends. You swear you hear something--a voice, someone calling out to you. Or was it just the wind? The scent of blood hangs in the air, though when you search, you can't find its source.

Suddenly you see it on the walls--a message, a memory from your past--something that grips you with a cold fear. It settles deep in your gut, but it's too late. The image lingers at the edges of your vision. Your mind is playing tricks on you, isn't it? Or is it something else? The longer you linger in the halls of the apartment complex, marketplace, or the hospital, the more the world twists around you. Objects shift in your peripheral vision - did that lamp just move? Did that thing lingering just at the edge of your peripheral vision just speak your name?

Im'mari is everywhere now, its influence seeping into the very walls. While Aurora has been freed from its web and continues to work to regain control of her city, Im'mari tightens its grip, refusing to give in. The stairs creep beneath your feet, the scent of rot clings to the food in the diner, and the hospital's medical rooms are empty... or are they? Was that a scalpel, or something else? Paranoia begins to creep in, the lines between reality and illusion blurring the longer Im'mari maintains control.

And grows bolder.

Words, sounds, and images warp the world around you. Faces appear in the shadows. Scents that shouldn't exist hang in the air, triggering memories you'd long since buried. Blood, ocean waves, familiar voices fading in and out. The longer you stay in these places, the more paranoia seeps in, eroding your defenses and wearing you down.

Many objects may seem harmless, but Gorgug's magic has imbued them with dark energy. As you pass them, the whispers begin. A stair creaks underfoot and suddenly you're back within a memory. A stone shifts, and you catch a glimpse of something that shouldn't be there. These objects are traps, set to trigger the worst within you.

Each time a memory comes to life, it seems to warp the world around you - the hallways stretch, the lights flicker out, and you're certain someone is following you. The paranoia builds, a creeping dread that won't leave. You have to find the source. Break the spell, or endure it continuing to spread.

⏵ cottage in the woods ⏴

As you travel deeper into the twisted forest, the air grows heavier, more oppressive. The scorpions that guard the way to the cottage scuttle through the trees, their pincers sharp as they block your path. Vanessa lingers there, her appearance changed, eyes glowing a fiery red. Black veins pulse beneath her skin with the same dark energy that courses through the Im'mari. Along with her are her guardians, ready to fight to defend her.

The closer you get to her, the more distorted the forest becomes. Light blinks in and out, disorienting you. You're not sure which way is forward, and the scorpions hiss from the shadows, attempting to lead you away. But you must keep going. Vanessa stands at the heart of it all - broken, feral, lashing out at anyone who dares to approach.

If you get too close, you'll hear the whispers.

"They see evil in you. You're no different."

If confronted, she may call upon her magic, using Verbis Diablo. But if you act fast, you can attempt to stop her before the words take hold.

⏵ NOTES ⏴

There is a header for new arrivals if they wish to talk with Aurora!

For all questions relating to this mission, please refer to the plotting post. Please keep an eye out for new comments, as we have many new characters and players arriving! All other questions can be directed to the FAQ.

⏵FULL NAVIGATION⏴

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ Gorgug does sit with the permission, his eyes on the paper next to him, but his attention directed at Linhardt through his talking--and therefore, allowing him a chance to see books in the cabinets, which... he has some thoughts about. He also doesn't know if he's seeing things, either--it's 50/50, here.

But what he focuses on more is what Linhardt is saying, and--how he ends it. Because...he gets it. He doesn't know if he should bother say anything when Linhardt is dismissing it, and a part of Gorgug is telling him that he should drop it since Linhardt is, but--it wouldn't be honest to his own character, would it? To let it believed that he might agree that mathematics is tedious in any form.

When mathematics actually kinda rocks. ]

...I'm learning how to make the little robots they use here running off electrons made from kinetic energy using environmental resources without elemental or magical properties. The maths behind the technology is similar to our own resources where I'm from, and, I mean-- because of maths, I can break down what's happening and understand it that way. You can break down anything into maths, even cooking and music. And you can even make mysteries out of maths.

[ And Gorgug knows the comfort that mysteries can have to people, whether or not he largely understands them himself. He tips his head, shrugging a little. ]

I study applied mathematics for making, engineering, but... maths is cool. [ This is what he's trying to say, largely, the point he wanted to get to. Trying not to push down his own interest with Linhardt's dismissal, but also--to acknowledge Linhardt's own.

Because he's been there. He gets being around people who don't really care about maths at its core, despite its application to so many functions in their day to day.

...but also, because he didn't forget: ] ...and I drink tea.

[ ...even if it feels awkward to answer. ]

[ Linhardt is not a particularly subtle man. When Gorgug discusses the beauty of the sensibility in the mathematical world, the mage's head whips around to look at the taller man so quickly that some green strands of hair end up in his face. The healer's bearing changes immediately, a certain tension draining from his posture and a small smile forming on his lips. His eyes, while still not rid of their characteristic exhaustion, held a small spark of joy inside. ]

Yes! Precisely. Mathematics is the universal language: It transcends areas of studies, different cultures, and even different worlds, as you just said. You believe the robots are electron powered? Electrons are the...one of the little particles. The one with the light and the electricity?

[ There is so much to know and Linhardt is not learning in anything approaching an organized or curated fashion. It takes him time to rifle through his own mind to remember what he knows about certain topics. ]

The smallest, outside ones that wander around all oddly in a most disconcerting ways. I do not like electrons.

[ It didn't matter if they were useful. Linhardt finds them inherently messy. They're why there is apparently empty space inside of everything that exists, which is certainly not a new terror that has started to pop into his mind at the most inconvenient times.

Suddenly, the kettle screams and Linhardt jumps. Right. Tea. He'd gotten busy with math and his opinion on electrons. When he comes to the table, Linhardt is holding a mug full of chamomille tea, which he passes on to Gorgug. He joins Gorgug at the table, sliding into a chair in a liquid, catlike motion. ]

Are you good at mathematics?

[Studying something and being good at it were two different things.]

[ Gorgug nods about the electrons--and if he didn't see the way that Linhardt looks at him now, he certainly hears the enthusiasm in his voice, even if it may not exist for electrons itself. He wonders if there is any particular energy source that Linhardt would find agreeable, though energy doesn't equal mathematics.

He just likes their part in his own studies.

Gorgug gives a polite ] Thank you [ once Linhardt brings over the drink, making sure there's some room for it next to him, and then wrapping his hands close to it; his skin thicker than a normal human's, but it doesn't mean he doesn't have to watch out for heat. The smell of it is familiar, like home, though he doesn't focus on it exactly--Linhardt has his question, so it wafts there like the heat that rises the scent, a faint memory of herbal remedies and small hands on his. ]

I'm good where I'm at. [ It's an answer that takes Gorgug a second, where he has to consider a question that examines his skill--but just like when he spoke up, he decides against humbling too far. His eyes and mind might be tired, but he feels something confident as he lifts his chin slightly, decides to own the months of hard work he's been going through. ] I've used it to design homunculi and steel servants, and making my own versions of weapons in classes. Sometimes I get stuck, but I know how to map out everything-- I have to cover weight and material distribution and how much of something a project needs, and I'm great at showing my workings.

[ ...There may be a defensive tone to this confidence, but it's not directed or pre-prepared: it's a habit, a need to stand up for himself in a passion he's had to struggle through, and he wants to be proud.

And the thing is? He does like maths. Especially the way it can make things go boom. ]

[ Since he's made a pot of water, Linhardt sees no reason not to treat himself to some tea. Yes, this means that the man returns to the crowded dining room table and keeps two cups in front of him when he sits down. To have two hot drinks at the same time is the height of luxury; Linhardt finds himself frequently basking in how easy it is to acquire exotic foods in Etraya. And to prepare them. ]

You're welcome.

[ He tilts his head slightly and listens to Gorgug with clear interest, his blue eyes sharper and more intent than they usually are. Attentive. As Linhardt is when he's confronted with something that actually matters.

Although Linhardt hears the defensiveness, he sees no reason not to take Gorgug at his word. This is mostly because the moment Gorgug says 'homunculi', Linhardt's eyes widen and he leans forward, his interest only growing as he looks at the taller man with shining, awake eyes.]

You have? May I see them? The workings?

What sorts of weapons have you created?

[Both the Relics and some of their enemies' weaponry employ materials and methods unknown to Linhardt and his people. Perhaps Gorgug's work might help Linhardt to understand such things.]

Do your homunculi have personalities and speak as the robots do?

[ The questions are-- a lot. Which might not fluster Gorgug the way they do if it wasn't so late, asking him to think when-- he wishes he were in bed? But it's a small block, with some ] Uh, um [ while he figures out where to start...

But he can start, even though the embarrassing part about it after speaking himself up: ] Well, the homunculi have-- they sort of have their own personalities, but I wouldn't say there's a lot of going on... [ Smarts-wise. ] I made my first one in a couple of hours and never got the time to work on it more, 'cause of school. And I didn't make them for really talking-- actually, my second one doesn't talk. Talking wasn't really what I made it for... they're meant to look like animals. I want them to do cool stuff.

[ Also, he didn't have to deal with the same situation that happened with his first one... ]

Anyway, all of my work's back where I'm from. It was school work, but-- I made ammos for guns and crossbows. And I can make grenades? ...Do you know what those are?

[ He isn't really sure if Linhardt knows what guns are, but saying he's made ammo possibly...gets across the idea. There's other things he's made as well, but he doesn't want to go on without first explaining what a grenade is, if he has to. ]

What kind of personalities do they have? Is it similar to how infants have clear personalities even though they aren't full people yet?

[ Obviously, infants are people. But they lack the rich inner life of an adult and their preferences are rather...well...infantile. Still, they have clear preferences and personalities. Perhaps Gorgug's homunculi are similar. Linhardt curls his hands around the cup of tea, leaning forward slightly and listening to Gorgug with open and honest interest.

Like animals?]

Modeling them after animals is a wonderful idea. I wish I could see them: could you make ones that fly? Or perhaps ones that are like fish?

[ The natural world is full of beauty and inspiration, and it is one of life's small joys to find someone else who sees those qualities.

But of course nothing can stay beautiful. Why does everything always turn to violence and war? Linhardt leans away slightly when Gorgug talks about creating ammunition, a small frown on his face. The frown is not directed at the other man, but rather at his own mind: At the fact that his first thought was how useful different ammunition could be. It's disturbing.]

I do not know what grenades are. I am assuming from context that they are some form of weaponry.

[He can't keep the sorrow out of his voice. Is every world consumed with such things? Is every world so violent?]

My first one flies, Cloa-- Chloe, [ he quickly corrects. ] I wanted them to look like a cool, dino bird? Like some pre-historic ones I saw in books. The other one's closer to a gecko, but they're both... really basic personalities. They're kinda dumb outside of fighting, actually. I guess you could say they're like kids, yeah. A pair of dumb kids.

[ That he made and designed. The true problem is their maker putting no time into their brains....

That he really wants to fix right now, just chatting about it--it's one of those quirks about them he's been meaning to work on, but always put off.

But Gorgug talks about his homunculi and defenders....mostly with his artificer classmates, honestly; Riz knows about them from helping him with his schoolwork, and Fig likes them appearance wise (or what they could look like). He never talks about them with anyone else because, well-- there's no reason to. Gorgug barely had the time to talk with his adopted parents about anything, and his biological parents were sidelined.

So this is... well, it would be nicer if it wasn't so late, but there's a mixture of shyness but pride.

He takes a sip of his drink, trying to remember it while it's still warm. ]

I could probably make a fish, [ he goes on. ] I'd need to make it so it can float in the air, but that wouldn't be bad. It'd be fun to try? [ A fun solution to fix. ]

But, yeah, they're weapons. They're a shell with a substance inside that does something, and a detonator and trigger that sets it off. Grenades you throw-- they have a pin you pull or another ignition, and ammos for gun are similar. Except you have a weapon you stick them in, and you load up the ammo to shoot out really fast.

[ Gorgug moves his hands off from the desk and even mimics the idea of both weapons: holding an invisible grenade and pulling off a pin before chucking it, and then miming a gun, if trying to put more emphasis on a bullet coming out... from somewhere.

Which would be better with examples, and Gorgug thinks there's a chance that Linhardt might ask him for one, or to describe better, and so he's quick to say: ] There's probably books in the book shop-- I, I don't know that I can really explain everything right now.

[ And there is some exhaustion in his breath, a mix of his lack of sleep, but also a symptom of him never being good at explaining anything to begin with (and something he did have to become good with, with artificing classes--nobody asks you to explain how to hit things good in barbarian classes).

Then again, Linhardt had sounded somewhat... un-enthused over the idea of him mentioning weaponry, so maybe he isn't interested in those. ]

[ Linhardt continues to listen with undisguised, authentic interest. He pulls out a notebook and starts writing as Gorgug speaks, gesturing with a hand for him to keep going. A glance over would reveal that Linhardt is creating a list of questions (as well as thinking of second, third, and fourth order questions that he would ask depending on the answers to the first questions), and he listens intently as Gorgug explains 'grenades'.

Then, he draws a picture, to make sure he understands what Gorgug is describing. When Linhardt holds up the piece of paper questioningly to Gorgug, it's clear that he understands the concept if not the particulars: It's a remarkably accurate diagram of a grenade given it was drawn by someone who only has a 16th century knowledge base. ]

Thank you for explaining. I would like for us to create a fish - I'm not sure why it would need to float in the air, however.

[It takes all of Linhardt's self control not to turn that idle thought into another tangent. He is attempting to restrain himself, because he recognizes the look in (and under) Gorgug's eyes: The other man is tired. Linhardt does detest when people prevent him from sleeping, and if he wants Gorgug to share more information with him, it seems prudent to offer the larger man the same respect he'd like to receive.

Linhardt picks up his coffee cup and inhales, summoning the barest wisp of heat to bring the cup back up to temperature before taking a sip and then making a face. Even with sugar... it's so bitter.

How does Hubert stand it?]

I will look for the books - you've given me the start and that is what I would need.

[Linhardt pauses and raises a green eyebrow at Gorgug.]

Are you still angry? Do you believe you could sleep now?

[ Gorgug examines the diagram, or attempt at one based from his explanation, because he can see where it came from. He nods, although he wants to offer to draw one himself (a grenade's easy enough, and even the interior where the real design work is located--he's made plenty), though he's looking from the paper to Linhardt with his confusion. ]

You want it to flop on the floor? [ Pictured: Gorgug, not thinking they would put the fish in water, maybe, but of course the air. Doesn't that just make sense? When you come from locked in land, and so your mind doesn't register the ocean or such locations--and maybe think the idea of a floating fish is just cool.

But, he nods to the sheet regardless. ] I can show you a couple of grenade designs quick. [ It's an offer, if Linhardt hands it over and the pencil used. That much he doesn't need to use too much brainpower for. Easier than if he were to try and make a design for a fish, or steel defender or homunculi.

Gorgug blinks though, at the question of his mood. He hasn't been paying attention to it, but when Linhardt asks, he does notice that he's more tired than anything else. A little bit of stubbornness sticking with him, but compared with what he was stomping around with before... ]

--Yeah, maybe. I'm thinking about fish now. [ As opposed to being mad. He still wants to take a sip of that drink that Linhardt gave him, to not waste too much. ] Thank you.

No? We could simply put the fish in water? I think making one that's like a frog would be better if we wanted something that was equally adept on land and in the water.

[ Gorgug's confusion is mirrored in Linhardt, who doesn't understand why anyone wouldn't think of putting a fish in to water. The two stare at each other, both confused, for a moment before Linhardt breaks eye contact to take another drink of coffee. It's his prime 'awake' time. The mage slides over a few sheets of paper, a pencil, and a pen for Gorgug, wrapping his hands around the cup again and watching Gorgug draw diagrams of 'grenades'.

Ah.

So he'd understood the basics, but there are several design aspects that he'd gotten wrong. Mostly ergonomic in nature, which makes sense. Linhardt nods at what Gorgug is showing him, indicating that he's understood.]

I'm glad you're feeling better. I would like to talk about all of this more - I have many questions.

[ Somehow, that is one of the most ominous sentences the mage has uttered. Soon.

He smiles, a quick quirk of the lips before his face falls back into its blank mask. ]

But I do despise when people keep me from my bed, so I won't do so to you. You should come back when you have ideas for the fish design. I would like to see such a thing. Do you want any blankets or pillows?

[ There are so many empty apartments. Surely nobody would miss the pillows and other bedding? That is what Linhardt has told himself. He's ~~stolen~~ borrowed more than enough to share, of different weights and types. ]

[ Going for a frog instead of a fish... there is definitely a stare off happening as they both aren't registering the other's thought process--rather, for Gorgug, he just thinks the idea of a flying fish is cool. Why would they want it only in the water, even if that's usually where fish live?

But they could make it go in water too... Gorgug guesses that makes sense as well.

...this is definitely going to need some working out. But when Gorgug does take the paper to give Linhardt a proper grenade design (but also including a dynamite diagram, just for another example of a similar idea of fuse, igniter, explosive), he adds a few words into a bubble to the side.

'Space = night sky = vehicles that go out there are called spaceships or spacecrafts
I don't study space but black holes are big gravitational fields?
If you want to look it up
Galaxy is a good word to look for'

...apparently somebody still remembered about that, and it's certainly not guilt or any lingering shame from never giving Linhardt a straight answer before, but just a quick reminder that pings in Gorgug's brain as oh, maybe Linhardt would like to read up on some books.

Maybe he already has, but there's the note jotted down regardless. It might keep Linhardt at bay while Gorgug checks out his own books for how easy it might be to make a fish homunculi... but Gorgug isn't worried about how eager the guy might be about the fish, only nodding his head rather fervently to a later to their discussion.

Because one he can sleep (he would really like to sleep), he'll think all about fish proper, he hopes. It would be a good distraction from everything being weird and spooky, currently. ]

I've got some, [ he answers for the pillows and blankets offer, but--he puts his hand around the cup of tea he still has left, and decides-- ] --Can I take this? I'll bring the cup back later.

[ Since he knows where Linhardt is staying; he can always drop it off tomorrow. ]

[ Linhardt is never going to refuse more information. Although he has since learned about what a 'spaceship' is, and has encountered the concept of a galaxy, he has not yet found any explanation (or name) for the anomaly in the sky. Black hole. What an apt name: It had indeed been somehow darker than any other object Linhardt had encountered. He gives Gorgug another small smile of thanks, taking the paper and carefully (almost reverently) folding it, creasing the edges with exacting motions and sticking the sheet inside of a book for protection.

He needs to keep that information safe.

There are so many questions - and possibilities and ideas - running amok in Linhardt's mind. Like unruly toddlers, they shout from all different directions: Could they put one of the 'cameras' on the fish to see underwater? How fast of a fish could Gorgug make? Do his creations interact with one another? Could they make an entire school of fish? Or of different kinds of fish?

Grabbing a new sheet of paper, Linhardt starts writing down his questions, only sparing Gorgug the quickest of glances. The cup? He blinks.]

Yes, you can take it. It's fine. I don't care if you bring it back.

[ He has a lot of cups and none of them are important. They aren't information. ]

Okay. Thank you, anyway.

[ For letting him take a cup that Linhardt doesn't care if he gets back. Gorgug isn't sure if he'll keep it, but that's a quiz that doesn't need to be one that he'll sort out later, hopefully when he's had more sleep. He takes it with him to head back towards the way he came in, but does have the decency to turn back around to say: ]

Night. No wonder why you're all about sleep in the middle of the day.

[ ...that last part isn't about decency, but Gorgug just feels the need to state the obvious, as if it's come alight as to why Linhardt is like that (at least about that). ]

You're welcome. Please don't make noise here at night again.

[ Linhardt supposes he should walk Gorgug out. Which entails standing up and moving away from the work he wants to continue. Why does life plague him with such obligations? Despite his internal moping, Linhardt does indeed stand and accompany Gorgug to the door, looking both ways outside to ensure that nobody else is about to waylay them. One unexpected social encounter in the midst of his productive hours is enough - the next one might not give him as many good questions as his discussion with Gorgug had.

He nods in response to Gorgug's observation. The larger man is correct.]

Partially, yes. I'm always somewhat tired.

[ As it has always been. Linhardt often marvels at the energy everybody else seems to have, but his sleep habits aren't helping. He's always resisted being predictable.]

It's quiet at night and better for working. Sleep well. Come back when you want to talk about fish. Not during the mornings - I sleep then. Goodbye.

[ Having conveyed all the information he wishes to, the mage closes the door (locking it behind him) and walks back into the apartment to resume his work...including scheduling time to think about these magical fish robots. How would they work precisely? What if they did make frogs?]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

MISSION 005 PT 2 & ARRIVALS

och no, hope you don't get them too often! they truly suck :(

Semi-regularly; MS is a fun disease. /s

bOOOO!! good luck with that ✊

Fuck MS :) - also welcome to 20 questions, Gorgug. ;-;

linhardt it's late o'clock!!!

The best time for questions!

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And fin!