1st leaf | [video/text]

[tortileghostwriter]

[The video turns on at first to show a kid that...well, he looks a lot like Dave Strider, except not. No shades, lighter skin, lighter hair, purple eyes...hell, he looks just as much like Rose Lalonde. He looks angry, unamused, and very, very tired. With a very new side dose of slight surprise at realizing the video had already begun recording.]

Ugh, I knew that I should have just gone with text...

[Said quietly, mostly to himself. More like a more erudite, non-Texan Dave. With an echo? Huh. Must just be the mic. Yeah, sure. He cuts the feed, shortly followed by this message.]


i will readily admit that being pulled from a null universe doomed to be yet another footnote in the annals of paradox space and into whatever dimension that this tower occupies was quite felicitous indeed
auspicious even
certainly adventitious if only by its very nature
and i suppose that i owe our assuredly ever so gracious hosts some credit in that regard
however
i have business to attend to in the incipisphere
more specifically the land of crystal and mirage
and i will simply not be kept from it
so i believe that my first order of business will be to proceed to aggrieve aggress and attack
until i have stolen away the secrets that this infernal place has to hide
as i said to strider once before
lets rock the fucking house

Comments

[tortileghostwriter]

[He's angry as all hell, and it's starting to show on his face.]

"The same cancer. The same unstoppable adversary." The Scratch isn't a means to salvation, it's erasure. Of everything, with the data recombining into new permutations to create a new world and session equally doomed to die. We are only revolutions of ruin. Even if we were to do it again ourselves, what's to say that it won't all simply happen again?

[He's quiet for a long moment. The anger is mostly contained again, and when he speaks again it's quiet. Almost searching. He can't quite keep his tone in its usual measured state for it.]

What has all of this been for?

[It becomes clear at this point in the tale that the game is both creation myth and broken bildungsroman. As with any good fairy tale, the children enter the woods but never emerge again. A new world is consecrated with their spilled blood, and from their bones and ash emerge new life. This then invites the question from the reader: does that life deserve to be sacrificed?

Fuck the game. Die for the sake of birthing a world you'll never see, or go out like a roaring flame, in defiance of the whole fucking deathtrap.

Our contention is that the sceadugenga has a choice.

If you're to be a sacrificial lamb, then surely you should take control of how?]

[salamancer.livejournal.com]

Perhaps the time we have been given here, away from our timelines, can perhaps help us to figure out a way to stop this seemingly never ending cycle of dead Lalondes? [A wry smile, but she's not quite feeling it.] If the answer is not the Scratch, then we must find it in another source.

I assume you also have Jack in your session, yes?

[tortileghostwriter]

To break the cycle, one must break the game.

[Said simply matter-of-factly. He takes pause at the mention of Jack's name, but he nods.]

Our session sired the Sovereign Slayer as well.