"You know me not, if you think that," Vizsla says, as your group proceeds. "Consider it. In the former, the snowstorm is 'frightful,' and traps the singer and his lone companion in a cabin, with dwindling rations and a dying fire. Driven to despair, the singer gives into his fate, and calls for yet more and more snow and ice to entomb himself and his companion."
She says all that like it's the highest of praise. Then, she scowls. "While in the latter, the singer is tramping about, flaunting her obvious denial of the facts of the situation, desperately coping with her absolute isolation – and failing. Bleugh. Not me at all."
Hurricanrana and Lamp exchange doubtful glances.
Vizsla's musical rant helped pass the time, and you soon draw near to the edge of the Anchor. The Abyss is not far off…>>763407
"Much the same as you," Monkey says. "We faced riddles and mechanisms that gave our more combat-oriented personnel quite the run for their money."
Fox grunts. "Hey, hey, nobody warned me there would be calculus involved. I studied my algebra, but for a secret society thousands of years old, there sure was a lot of advanced problems they left behind in their headquarters."
Anzu shrugs. "Our language and mathematics are
based on foundations handed down from generations past. I didn't find it so surprising. They were like cool games."
"Math games?" Fox scoffs. "Cool? Nerd."
She goes for her gun, and him his sword, but they don't quite feel like fighting on breaktime.>>763408>>763405
With a battlecry, Rooster-beetle flings himself into the Black Thread, spiraling about as he disappears into it. About half a minute later, he tumbles out of the other side… and falls to the ground.
His body lays inert, and lifeless.
Supper's jaw hangs open in shock.