She’s listening to you. Good. An audience is always appreciated. You grin once more, teeth spread across the sky, the buildings, etched in to the minds of those baring witness to you. Amusement causes you to crackle and hiss more as well.

THE RULES— HERE— ARE DIF—FERENT—.

HAVE— YOU NOT— NOTICED—?

You gesture with spiked cricket legs translucent wings under protective shells glossy carapace appendages at the scene about you, at the entire universe, world seen and unseen. Hushed murmurers echo your movements, whisper harsh truths and fantastic lies.

THE GAME— HAS STARTED— ALREADY— BUT NOT— THE SESSION—.

THERE ARE— NO— QUEST BEDS—. THEY DREAM— WHILE AWAKE— THEY HAVE— NO BOUNDARIES— AS LONG AS— THEY CAN— FIND— WHO THEY ARE— WHILE THEY— DREAM—.

DYING— AND DREAMING— ARE VERY— SIMILAR—. BOTH LEAD TO— NEW FRONTIERS—. THE MEDIUMS—. THOSE WILL— TAKE CARE OF— THEM— NURTURE THEM—.

(This, you think within the you that is the you at the core of yourself, is the goddamn fucking problem with taking on The Black Crown. Have to be asslicking cryptic as shit.)

> Reprimand.

The Seer’s hesitance irritates you, makes you grind your teeth like tombstones against one another during an earthquake. If you had a less symbolic form you’d reach out and shake her.

BITE— YOUR TONGUE—!

YOUR FEAR— OF FAILURE— SHACKLES YOU—. IT WILL— PARALYZE YOU— AND— YOU WILL— LOSE— YOUR CHANCE. 

HE’S ALREADY— DEAD—. HOW BADLY— COULD YOU POSSIBLY— FUCK UP—?

Gallows humor with the weeping hangwoman. How ironic.

You too redirect your attention to Deuce— no, he’s not Deuce now. He’s something much older with a different purpose, filled with space and the stars of his ancestors, driven by genetic instinct. Perfectly breed for this duty. Son of those infatuated by death, rebirth, mirth and rage.

Child of Saturn.

Bard carvingsinging the Dirge of passage into his palebond’s fleshbonessoul.

(You’re no father yourself, a twisted paternal figure at best, but you cannot help but to feel… proud.)

YES— HE KNOWS— THE WAY— TO PROSPIT— AND— BEYOND—.

TAKE UP— THE SHOVEL— THE PIPE— AND STRIKE OUT— THE PATH—.