!em3oEn8LAg 07/31/10(Sat)01:08 No.11452951|
>This is the closest tripcode I'll ever find to actually saying "WeedMachine." How can I resist?
Your pace quickens as you rustle through the brush, intrigued. There was no mention of natives; perhaps you are merely witnessing some slender form of ape making its way through the trees? Motioning for Sebastian to keep up, you tread carefully into the deeper underbrush, when your steps fall to a stop, Sebastian nearly running into you.
In a small clearing up ahead, you can see pale blue lights, dancing listlessly through the air, and your heart catches in your throat. Wisps? Physical manifestations of arcane energy, created only with extreme difficulty in an Aether Crucible, in labs of Alchemy that no common man will ever see, here flitting about like insects in the broad tropical sunlight. There is no doubt about the goldmine this island represents; the Empire could search for forty thousand years and never find a land more rich in the pure, unbridled arcane. You are so caught in your reverie that your eyes fail to notice the shimmer against the tree-trunk. Your ears perk up at the faint spark, and you are bowled over by Sebastian, tackled to the ground in a flurry of scrolls, bottles, and armor.
Scrambling to your feet, you see the doglike legs, the quadruped form, rising into the truncated torso, twin arms bearing crablike pincers, a squat, tumor-like head hosting a motley bouquet of stalklike eyes perched atop flickering mandibles. Your hand traces its way to your wheellock pistol, safely ensconced in its leather holster.