Completed [Ristage Caverns] There is nothing inside the mailbox

[Anton]

12th Spring, 512 AV

"Kill me."

A pause as wide as the chasm of time itself.

"No. The luxury of death is yet beyond you. There is much to be done."

"I'm sorry," the slightest quiver, so very child-like in it's uncertainty. "I can't do it."

"There was never an option. You know the price."

"I'll pay it."

"But not with your life. No, not this time. There are other commodities a human life can offer."

"Did I stutter, wretch? I will pay it!"

"Many have said the same. Many have opted for the debt over death. All your mortal priorities are skewed; you just didn't know it before you met me. You're just like the rest: Predictable."

"You know nothing about me, wretch."

"I know you offered your two brothers up to Vayt for a printing press and a pair of boots. I know you cooked your sister just to see her boil, to see her squeal like a sow as the red took over her skin. I know-"

"Ewwwwww. That's just gross. Why would you say that?"

"Hey, you broke character first. It wasn't me this time."

Two figures, one tall, one short, walking through the damp, cold gloom of the cavern. They were, as far as the eye could see, alone with each other.

Or perhaps there were things lurking beyond the fringe of sight. Things so quiet that the only noise they made was silence.

Anton made a face at the much, much taller Huntell. "You're mean," he half-whined. "You're like rhysol-mean, like glassbeak-mean. Like speaker-mean!"

"The last one was uncalled for, young man."

"Well, that's how mean you are."

Anton then looked around, one of many brief pauses in their conversation that forced his attention away from the comfort of distracting bantering and words and into his dread surroundings around and about. He had been assured that the top levels of the ristage caverns were fairly safe, that they were cleared as extra housing for the Womiyu, that anything he needed to be afraid of was down below and had little interest coming up to feast on little children.

It changed nothing.

Huntell was as tuned to his mood as ever. "Get used to the dark, squirt. This ain't the worse you're gonna see."

"There's worst?"

Huntell shrugged. "Some parts of the underground. Always a bigger chunk of darkness out there."

"Why are we here?"

"To train. Only 4 more days, squirt. Thought you would like a change of scenery."

"...You took me from the safety of civilization into this stone-covered hellhole teeming with unspeakable horrors just beneath our feet because you THOUGHT I would like a change of scenery?"

"Huh. When you put it that way..."

[Anton]

They started the day with meditation.

Anton loathed meditation.

It wasn't because he couldn't do it, though his natural aversion to sitting in one place and keeping still wasn't much help. It wasn't because he was impatient and young and rash, and valued magic as more a willful agent of action and applied knowledge over a cultivated, disiplined mindset, although that too was true, as much as he would never admit that shortcoming to anyone. Or himself. It wasn't because his legs ended sore and hurting when he had to assume that ridiculous cross-legged sitting position that all trainees had to assume in the name of standardization, though that could have been a big factor otherwise.

It was, however, because it reminded him how far he had overreached.

Reimancy. Voiding. Projection. Hypnotism. Flux. Auristics.

Elemental might. Nothingness. Astral extension. Mental manipulation. Physical prowess. Insight.

Each discipline's meditative exercises had it's own preferred mindset, had it's own mental quality that set it apart from the rest, sometimes slightly, sometimes drastically. Perhaps, if he were a more experienced mage, more set in the ways of his magic, he wouldn't have as much of a problem. But he wasn't an experienced mage, was he? All his disciplines were fledging one and in varying states of early development. The instructors were already hesitant to allow him to specialize in two, let alone three, but in his arrogance, he went behind their backs, tutorless and unmanaged, and sought to learn more.

His little mistake.

And the little voice in his head told him it was the best one he ever made.

Huntell said he was to prepare for voiding first. And like the depthless nothingness that was the Voider's great sword, he too endeavoured to think of emptiness. To not close his mind's eye, but to force it wide open, fully and unblinking, and behold nothing upon nothing.

And to say the words. Later, of course.

He dropped himself gently to the ground, back-first, his body stretched completely across the cold, hard floor. Yes, this was a comfortable position, one he could get used to.

But comfort, too, was an attachment.

With great reluctance, he let it go too.

Initiation into Voiding, fittingly, was hardly as dramatic or as violating as, say, Reimancy or Projection, but it all equalled out in the end when one thought about it: A brutal but swift induction versus a tranquil but tediously long and hopelessly boring journey into bleak nothingness. It ultimately came down to an allocation of misery: Three minutes or Three weeks?

He picked the 3 minutes any day.

And in a truly perfect world, choice and talent would be synonyms.

They had each been given a sentence to remember, then. And some of the other kids had such ridiculously cool lines like: 'Nothing is true, everything is permitted." and "Resistance is futile. We are the Silence." and "Today, I am the answer." And that naturally raised his expectations to rather unrealistic levels. So when he got his sentence...

Well...

Back to the present.

Detached, without doubt or worry, without care and concern, he submerged himself into a sea of emptiness.

And said the words.

A final fantasy is only final when it ends.

A final fantasy is only final when it ends.

A final fantasy is only final when it ends.

A final fantasy is only final when it ends.

A final fantasy is only final when it ends.

A final fantasy is only final when it ends.

A final fantasy is only final when it ends.

A final fantasy is only final when it ends.

Once upon a time, he knew motion and he knew stillness. Once upon a time, he knew how to breath and he knew how it was to choke. Once upon a time, such abstracts as time and direction and distance meant something. Meant alot actually. Directed him whether he liked it or not, in a way so absolute and so uncompromising that no human authority, however fearsome, could ever hope to emulate it.

A final fantasy is only final when it ends.

A final fantasy is only final when it ends.

A final fantasy is only final when it ends.

A final fantasy is only final when it ends.

A final fantasy is only final when it ends.

He knew Ionu, still, but only in that one single sense: That she created illusions, and that illusions created lies, and that her one true greatest work was nothing that Rhysol -Who? What? Why? Just a word, again, two syllables without cause or purpose or any significance whatsoever- could ever hope to compete against.

A final fantasy is only final when it ends.

A final fantasy is only final when it ends.

A final fantasy is only final when it ends.

A final fantasy is only final when it ends.

A final fantasy is only final when it ends.

A final fantasy is only final when it ends.

A final fantasy is only final when it ends.

And her greatest work was reality.

Because anything and everything he had ever felt only had meaning inside reality. And how could that be right? How could he look to the sky and find answers in the clouds? How could he look to a sparrow feeding her young and call it life? How could he see patterns in the shattered lattice when there were none? How could he ever look up into another person's eyes and cared?

A final fantasy is only final when it ends.

A final fantasy is only final when it ends.

A final fantasy is only final when it ends.

A final fantasy is only final when it ends.

A final fantasy is only final when it ends.

He had said the sentence 25 times. Or a 100. Or a 1000. Or, inexplicably, not at all. Numbers, too, meant something in the grand illusion.

But not here.

Never here.

Here they were simply shapes, and the meaning that was once affixed to them were the work of those who sought to define the universe as a mathematical structure. As a series of statistics and calculations and equations and-

Goodbye.

A final fantasy is only final when it ends.

A final fantasy is only final when it ends.

A final fantasy is only final when it ends.

A final fantasy is only final when it ends.

A final fantasy is only final when it ends.

The rooster killed the hen because she was pregnant with another cock's eggs.

Huh. He should have giggled at that, even if he didn't quite grasp what it meant. Even in the before. Cock was just a funny word.

A final fantasy is only final when it ends.

A final fantasy is only final when it ends.

A final fantasy is only final when it ends.

A final fantasy is only final when it ends.

A final fantasy is only final when it ends.

A final fantasy is only final when it ends.

Maybe the world was empty, and his eyes were just flawed. Wrong. Inflicted with a disease that saw life in a vast, rolling wasteland of dirt and beavers. Or maybe the world was far richer and far more beautiful than he could have ever imagined, but he was blind, so blind that nobody could tell him what they sniffed with their ears.

A final fantasy is only final when it ends.

A final fantasy is only final when it ends.

A final fantasy is only final when it ends.

A final fantasy is only final when it ends.

A final fantasy is only final when it ends.

Between a kitten and a puppy, there was no contest.

He picked the beef.

A final fantasy is only final when it ends.

A final fantasy is only final when it ends.

A final fantasy is only final when it ends.

A final fantasy is only final when it ends.

She lived.

She loved.

And she died.

A final fantasy is only final when it ends.

A final fantasy is only final when it ends.

A final fantasy is only final when it ends.

A final fantasy is only final when it ends.

A final fantasy is only final when it ends.

Did monsters dream?

Did we dream? Or did dreams have us? They always seemed to be in control, after all.

A final fantasy is only final when it ends.

A final fantasy is only final when it ends.

A final fantasy is only final when it ends.

A final fantasy is only final when it ends.

A final fantasy is only final when it ends.

A final fantasy is only final when it ends.

No.

That was the only conceivable answer to the universe.

No.

You are nothing.

Nothing upon nothing suffused the world.

A final fantasy is only final when it ends.

And so it did.

There was nothing in the mailbox anymore.

The letters all went home to their wives and children and mistresses.

Anton opened his eyes slowly.

Then narrowed them.

The air before him brimmed with djed working it's very literal magic. Quickly, swiftly, it made a very small hole of nothing in the world, forcing out the air and light and the things that reality called it's own. The void made it's nest here now, and it wasn't much of a sharer. It was, however, a pathological grower, and it swelled as djed gorged it silly.

The tiny little portal expanded into the size of a fist. Then a head. Then a head and a half. Then two heads. For a moment, it looked as if it would threaten to grow yet somemore, swell to a size that could take him in, as if daring him to enter.

And maybe he would take that dare. Maybe.

Nothing mattered, after all. Only standing still could hurt more than-

Huh.

Magic WAS dangerous.

But the portal did stop growing, and the continued stream of djed that he was pouring into it did nothing to change that. To punish the portal's limits, Anton reversed the process, allowing that little piece of the world to return to it's spot as the portal sealed itself. Still, he wasn't completely disappointed.

It was the largest portal he had ever made.

Progress, then.

[Anton]

And the answer to progress was more progress.

The voiding would have to be continued.

All this time, Huntell simply stood to the side, back against the wall, uncharacteristic in both his lack of a wisecrack and the solemn air around him. He was watching intently, and when Anton stole a glance over, he noted the tense edge to his jaw and the hardness in his usually relaxed eyes. Proper magic was always a big deal for Huntell, that much was evident since their first meeting, but there was something about this discipline that made him a tad uneasy.

What did Huntell do anyway? They've been so involved in the trainee's training that they've never had a chance to talk about the mentor.

And speaking of chances...

He took one.

"You're a voider, aren't you?" Anton said, turning to face Huntell. He had nothing more than a few scraps of inconclusive observations, a feeling in his gut, and the knowledge that Huntell seemed perfectly confident in allowing him to void under his watch, as opposed to the earlier Reimancy exercise they had a few days back.

It'll be so embarrassing if he were wrong, but his curiosity won this round.

"One of the best in the silencers."

He felt lucky this fine day, so he took another chance.

"Why are you afraid of the void?"

"I think the real question is why you're not afraid?" Huntell said, his voice growing hard. "Does the gatekeeper control the-"

"-residents of the castle?" Anton finished for him. Perhaps Huntell wasn't the only one getting to know the other guy in this little partnership. "But he does control the door. They are kept in at his pleasure."

"Not when he opens the door so often."

"It's a very big castle."

"There are more residents than the gatekeeper knows of. One might slip through."

"Won't happen. The gate is too small for a resident to slip through"

"For you? For now. Maybe. You have a gift for portalcraft, squirt, but with magic, risk escalates with strength. Return to your practice, we will talk about this later."

And as he returned to his position against the wall, ever watching, Anton didn't know what he was supposed to feel. He had been praised, truly praised, by Huntell for the first time, but at the same time, it came with warnings of things in the dark and how he didn't care enough to fear them.

It was a fortunate thing Huntell didn't know he used the void as a magical equivalent of sheep counting.

He shoved those thoughts aside and returned to his practice.

[Anton]

A little point of night so profound that day itself became a lie.

An emptiness that took the alien, foreign light unto it's emerging core - and extinguished it. And in it's absence, did it thrive and grow.

And eventually, expire.

Rinse, wash, repeat.

Anton went again and again, settling into the routine that brought metaphorical arms of djed infront of him, pulling away at the walls of reality so that un-reality could be nurtured in it's place. Like a kindling fire, the hole then did grew, and swell, and finally, at the zenith of it's growth, the djed that brought it to life, that molded it into being abandoned it to it's death.

The only thing missing was the wailing death cry of a half-starved infant as the void portal collapsed on itself.

It occurred to him, then, that he was a very creepy child.

He wondered whether it was the magic, or the intense bitterness that came with family envy.

"Hey, Huntell," he called out again. "What do you see when you void?"

"Hmm?"

"What does the portal remind you of?"

Huntell seemed to think for a moment. "Bedding an ugly maiden as a dare. There's no real pleasure to it. Best get it done as quickly as possible."

"Huh?"

"Some day, squirt. You'll know some day."

Well, that wasn't helpful.

Huntell needed to make up for that bit of unhelpfulness.

"Huntell, I want to know more about the this."

"Look, I blabbed. I'm sorry. You're still too young for-"

"The void. Not the ugly maiden."

"Oh." Someone else might have been sheepish about it. Not him. "Okay."

[Anton]

"Maybe we should start with a story-"

"NO!"

"It's very relevant."

"Like a windpipe. It helps you breathe. It'll be a sorry thing if something happened to yours."

"Maybe I should take some preventive measures by STANDING UP."

"I can project a-"

"Oh no, my poor, feebly poked throat. My death heralds the loss of innocence. Woe is me."

"Woe is your face too."

"Better cheer it up then. Starting with the mouth."

"I hear slapping's a great cheer inducer, maybe-OW!"

"Theory debunked, squirt."

"My skull's still developing! It hurts!"

"And to soothe the pain, I'll tell the story!"

And so a man who had no qualms with minor child abuse to end an argument, and a boy rubbing the back of his head sat down, backs against cave walls that were cold and hard and vaguely moist.

"You heard of Sagallius?"

Who hadn't? One of the most powerful - perhaps THE most Powerful- wizard of the old ages, even before he rose to the ranks of the divine. Anton thought it was just a silly question at first, yet another small flicker of the annoying assumptions that Huntell made of his perceived age-induced ignorance. But when he thought about it, what did he truly know about Sagallius? Powerful Wizard. Overgave into insanity. Ascended to Godhood. Three big events, with large, gaping blanks in between.

He simply nodded.

"Well, this story's about him."

Anton found himself sitting up abit straighter, found himself paying just a teensy bit more attention, as if hearing something about the great Sagallius's life - his choices, his triumphs, his failures - might tell him something about his own self.

Huntell merely smiled at that. "You are unspeakably arrogant."

Bam! Right on the nail. He sometimes wondered whether Huntell was an aurist too. He said nothing, of course, for anything he could say would sound painfully transparent.

"It's a cautionary tale about overgiving, his story, I suppose, although we tend to cut out the part where he lays claim to unlimited power. Hard to make it unappealing with that ending. He was a voider too, ya know?"

"Really?"

"Yeah. More than that,of course. Some say he knew every discipline and more. He was born to the Benshirans of Eyktol, year 56 BV, if my history lessons serve me right."

"Benshirans?"

"Desert Nomads. They who worship Yahal."

"Huh." Indeed, questions sometimes birthed even more questions.

Another time, then.

"Okay, continue."

"Sagallius was a true child of magic. They say he was already a fledging reimancer at the age of 4, creating water without the need for an initiation. Such talent needed an outlet, and so he scoured the Eyktol for magic schools. He found them, and one after another, left them, as he quickly learned their secrets. He moved to Alehea as a young man, hoping that the better magic schools there could teach him more. They did, briefly, and then he surpassed them all."

"Story of my life."

"You're ten."

"And a half."

"Right." He didn't need to roll his eyes; his tone did it for him. "Carrying on, Sagallius then killed the traitor Alchemist Rupert Pycon, and was granted the position of court mage by Emperor Kovinus. They got married, in a heterosexual way, so to speak."

"What?"

"...They became good friends and bought each other presents."

"Oh. That's nice."

"Then Kovinus died."

A sigh. "Huntell, I know you like sad endings, but it's getting old."

"But he did die this time!"

"Sure." Anton just stared at him, a touch of mock sadness to his smile. "I believe you."

"He got cut up by an assassin."

"Only one? I'm surprised the assassin's employer didn't gather his colleagues, line up infront of the city gates and waited in line for his death"

"I-"

"Shortstuff wasn't real, was he?"

"He is! In my heart and in yours!"

"You don't have a heart."

"I do, however, have a story to finish."

"Fine!"

Huntell made a big show of clearing his throat, and then: "Sagallius fended off many attempts on his best friend's life, and Suvan, the opposing empire, grew impatient, desperate. They went for their best, and he responded with gusto. Enter Wolkirk, the man they called the slayer."

"That's a real buffy name, and I have Faith that his mother wasn't of sound mind when she named him."

Huntell let out a little chuckle, and continued. It was funnier for his mentor for some reason. "Wolkirk was a relentless killing machine, even in his earlier years. They say he was to martial prowess as Sagallius was to magic, and there was no doubt that he was to have a bright future in the Suvan army. Then he killed, like, 12 of his friends."

"Why?"

"It was something to do, I guess. Some people just ain't right in the head."

"Like you?"

"More like you."

"I'm not the one who-"

"They covered it up. He got hitched into the life of an assassin instead. He killed alot of people, and with his reputation all swelled up, they gave him a shot at Kovinus. Let's just say Sagallius disagreed. He came with a squad of other killers, into the woods where Kovinus and his family were out fox hunting, and Sagallius struck back with magic. They say it was a grand fight, and it ended when Sagallius voided a big chunk of the forest."

"A big chunk?"

"Yup."

"Can I do that?"

"No. He overgave. Kovinus still died. Wolkirk got cast into the void, and his assassins were killed. The end."

"What happened to Sagallius in the end?"

"He lost his position as court mage. Lost his best friend. Lost his sanity. And so with nothing left but magic, he schemed. He plotted, and when the Valterrian struck, he went for a God. Aquiras, God of Doors, fell, and Sagallius, God of Manipulation, ascended."

"And Wolkirk?"

"Don't know. Some say he still lingers in the void, feasting on nothingness. Others say a God took a fancy to him, and saved him. I say he just died. Because it's the void. So what have we learned?"

"One day, I'll be able to void a whole for-"

"What have we learned?"

"To take a god's heart is to cl-"

"What have we learned?"

"Um, Stuff that goes into the void dies?"

"It's a start."

"And that if the void claimed even Sagallius, it could very well claim the rest of us?"

"And that only a God can save someone from the void from the other side. Quill, pen, we begin with the lesson."

Typical.

[Anton]

It'll be nice to have a change of scenery, Huntell said. You'll be writing on the cold, hard floor, he did not add. The comfort of the library, of chairs and tables and relative warm, was too much to ask for, apparently. Huntell didn't seem to mind though, since he was the one doing the talking. It went on and on for awhile.

When it was finished, he stared at what he wrote.

Voiding

• Allows mage access to portals and blackholes that lead to the void
• The Void: One of three known dimensions, that represents emptiness and nothing. Reality - our realm - sits between the nothingess or the void and the everything that is the Ukalas (?)
• Functions as a glorified disposal system/backpack
• Terms: Other side - The Void. This side - Our Reality.
• Three basic elements: Portal, Pull, Anchor
• Portal - A link between This Side and the Other Side. Portals cannot be used to reach places in the world of the Ukalas. Portals cannot be opened from the other side. Portals can be moved?
• Pull - Attractive or repulsive. Omni-directional and selective pull?
• Anchor - An item with the user's djed. Used to open portals to a certain point of the void. Can be used to link portals, allowing teleportation.
• Risks - Self-voiding, overgiving, things in the void
• Self-voiding - Bye
• Overgiving - More mild than Reimancy, more than auristics. Most symptoms are common ones. Unique - Insanity, hallucinations, micro-portals popping over body (?!)
• Relics (The first monsters, alien and twisted. Sometimes even phenomena) fragments (Pieces of a Dead God), undead (Nuit?) - We need a bigger stick

He always had mixed feelings when he learnt more and more about his craft. On one hand, it was baffling at how much could be done, how much more power could be drawn out by delving into the secret intricacies. He had always known there was more, but to simply understand that little fact, and to see it unravel were two different things entirely. It was a whole, wide world of arcane, then.

And he was going to conquer it.

The one thing that truly interested him was the idea of anchors. To tap into the a specific point of the void, to create a point of familiarity in an endless sea of monotony was an intriguing idea. Perhaps, Huntell would let him try it out.

Naturally, even knowledge became a joke at Huntell's expense.

"You can't actually do any of these now."

"WHAT?"

"It shouldn't come as a surprise. You've barely even made a portal."

"It's the size of my head now."

"They'll be sure to assign you to kill your head then. Or a cat. provided it doesn't run. All you can do is pull now."

"Only pull?"

"Attractive pull. Voiding's got a steep learning curve. Won't be much use for awhile."

Darn.

Steep learning curve, eat your fat face out.

"Let's begin, Huntell."

His mentor picked up a few small stones from the ground and placed them right before his feet. The instructions were left unsaid, for they were obvious enough: Draw the stones into the endless depths of the void using the attractive pull of the portal.

Djed flexed and rippled right around the point before and slightly above the stones, slowly stealing away the matter around as the void broke it's way into the world. Like a hatchling breaking out of an egg, it continued to crack at the walls between the there and the here - This side and the other side, he remembered himself, seeking to get used to those terms - and as the shell that was reality came apart, the portal widened. But something was different this time. The portal wouldn't expand to it's full length, stopping an inch short, And Anton knew why. Djed was being diverted from the creation of the portal to strengthen it's new added feature: The attractive pull.

His first time was weak. Faint. A mere breeze that took in the stones...and simply rattled them abit. As he continued to pull djed into the portal, it became apparent that it was a futile effort, and that this attempt was a failure.

He stole away the state of not-matter keeping the portal alive, smashing it shut on the hinge of reality.

"Why isn't it working?" He asked Huntell. "Why don't the stones move?"

"...You did it once. It comes with practice. Do you get everything right on the first try?"

"Usually."

"Well, time to actually work for something then, squirt." His voice wasn't unkind, but it still stung.

"Okay."

He repeated the process again. This time, he placed more emphasis on the pull, reallocating djed that should have been spent on maintaining the size of the portal to the vacuum rush that should have drawn in the stones. The portal was even smaller this time, slightly larger than half the size of the previous one, but the pull was greater than ever, and the stones suffered for it. Amidst a copious amount of rattling, it actually started to move towards the portal, even rising off the ground a few times.

But, ultimately, not enough. It still fell short of the portal.

A smaller portal had a stronger pull. Simple enough.

He turned to look at Huntell, who simply waved him off with a 'Go again' gesture.

Refocusing on the air before the stones, he promised himself he would get it right this time.

The portal yet shrunk again, this time barely bigger than the size of his small child hand. But the strength of the pull was proportionately greater for the loss in size. The pull immediatly devoured the stones without fuss or fanfare, without the insulting rattle and half-lifts that had marked his previous two attempts.

Third's time the charm.

[Anton]

You can't actually do any of these right now.

The words rolled around in his head that night, like a wheel that wouldn't stop spinning. That couldn't stop spinning. As he lay there, on the same mat that was the only thing he could call his own for those growing years, thinking about the day. Thinking about what it would mean in a day. In a week. In a year.

He had all the time in the world, but all he wanted to do was jump right to the end.

Or maybe...

Maybe there was that other reason...

And when you slice off the end of the sentence, and send it out as an echo...

You can't actually do any of these.

There is, after all, nothing in the mailbox.

You can't make nothing out of nothing.

And it tore at him, the very idea that it wasn't enough. The very idea that Huntell could have somehow considered it too, that any number of silencers had entertained that thought in their little heads.

He was meant to be the best. In his heart of hearts, he had always known he was destined for that power.

But in a land of gods and monsters, maybe the best was just a tiny paintspot on the canvas of reality.

At his whim, The void came to him again, tearing through from the other side to sing him a lullaby that only he could hear. But he wanted no empty songs this time.

He tried to nudge the portal.

Tried to move it.

Tried to work beyond the boundaries that Huntell had set for him.

Again.

And again.

And again.

The charm failed him, then.

Again.

And again.

And again.

He tried until he sweated, until his face was red with effort and strain, until he was starting to feel the wooziness that marked the path into overgiving, until the djed sustaining the portal just wouldn't come quite so easily anymore.

[Fallacy]

XP Award! Name:Anton XP Award: Voiding- 5 Meditation- 4 Observation- 3 Rhetoric- 2 Writing- 2 Lore: Voiding Terminology Voiding: Anchors Voiding: Pull and Push Voiding Risks Creating a faint attractive Pull The Three Dimensions Failing to move a void portal Potential dangers within the void Sagallius Married in a heterosexual way Wolkirk Sagallius: A Cautionary Tale Notes: As entertaining as ever. Very well done mixing story with relevance. If I missed any lore you think that you have earned please point it out to me in a PM. Any questions or concerns about the rewards gained please send a PM