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You are Circe, but who you are isn’t important right now. Your mentor, Professor Mog, has informed you by letter that he’s currently locked up in a dungeon in Pryport, although his location may not remain the same due to the increasingly rash decision-making skills of his colleague, Mitra. With the distance, you are sure the circumstances have long changed.

You only grow more vexed as Touryn reads over the letter. You say, “What has he gotten himself into now?” The rest of your tag-alongs, whose numbers are worryingly multiplying, have managed to grasp the basic outline of what’s happening.

Schwartz says to herself, “I wasn’t aware he was the unlawful sort; I wouldn’t have come to him otherwise.”

“It must be a misunderstanding! There’s no way he’d do something to get himself thrown into a dungeon,” you say.

“If you say so,” she replies. You don’t think she believes you at all.

Meanwhile, Syrup is talking to Renith and Silvia. She raises her arms into the air, reaching upwards. “He’s thiiis big. A giant bird, and he talked too.”

Silvia opened her mouth in awe. “It talked? Really? Wow, I wanna see him.”

“Really, a full-blooded beloved.” Syrup opens and closes her hands, as if grasping for something. “He looked fluffy, but I didn’t get to check...”

Renith scratches his head. “Ya sure it was that big? Don’t they have troubles at that size? Maybe it’s ‘cause you’re a bit short, makes everything else look big, eh?” Syrup gives him a tired expression in return.

Touryn, finishing reading, hands you back the letter. He replies, “I agree with you—we need to head back. Problem is, how?”

“Maybe we can find a ride...” you think out loud.

Shaking her head, Schwartz says, “Before that, we should make it clear. We are going to Qualen, no? The cruise we were on before should have arrived there by now.” It’s a bit further away, and the trail is unfamiliar, but there is the ship. You also have to pass through a patch of dense forest, denser than where you passed through from before. Alternatively, the small fishing town of Kowal would have boats accessible.

The main continent feels so far away.
>Wait until morning for a ride.
>Rest, and go by foot when you wake.
>Start walking now.

>To Kowal.
>To Qualen.

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Archive: http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?searchall=Kaleidoscope+Quest
Twitter: https://twitter.com/hopelessQM

Glossary: https://pastebin.com/HnZX05tJ

The world map has been updated!

And 10 threads! Let's see if I can type up a bestiary between updates.
>>Wait until morning for a ride.
>To Kowal.
To Kowal in the morning, not by foot

Syrup yawns loudly and covers her mouth as she does so. Schwartz says to you, “I know how you feel, but we should really wait until we all had some rest.” Renith yawns contagiously after, and it starts sweeping through, like a cascade of tiredness.

“I guess,” you say, “It is getting late. And we probably won’t find anyone willing to give us a ride at this hour.”

Touryn says nothing about this, but Schwartz cheerfully clasps her hands together. She says, “Great! I see that’s settled. Now, why don’t we find a wonderful place where the ceiling doesn’t threaten to fall down at any time? Is everyone in agreement? Perfect.” She ushers everyone down the stairs, out of the shrine, and into town.

You saw Silvia wanting to get a word in, but she was completely silenced by Schwartz’s deadly stare.

By the time you got to your bed in a rather nice inn, you dropped down like a rock. Faintly, you could hear yourself murmuring about the professor. You wonder where he is now. He’s always been with you in every expedition, and this was the first time the two of you remained apart for so long. You hope nothing has happened to him...


It is afternoon, and you believe you have a problem with your sleeping habits. You stretch and feel your body fall into place, and you stride out into the street. Solaria is high in the sky and is shining way too bright for your comfort. A quick glance around, and you find the others huddling over something. Touryn turns around and makes it clear with his appearance that he hasn’t slept a bit.

You walk up to them. “What’s going on?”


Someone bought a wagon,” Touryn answers.

“Listen, we can hardly go around crowding around bags of letters or bales of hay, now can we? There aren’t even any carriages around, unbelievable!” Schwartz says, justifying herself. She pats one of the horses, who whinnies, and she pulls her hand away.

Touryn blankly watches. “Do you even know how to steer a horse?”

“I don’t, but how hard can it be?” One of the horses leans its head in to presumably chew on her hair, and she steps away just in time. She glances between it and Touryn. “Well, I’m sure one of us knows. Who wants to discover a hidden talent?”

“Me!” Silvia says, raising a wrist. Her scythe moves her long sleeve, making it wave.

You ask, “Can... can you even hold onto the reins?”

“I can sweep, how hard can it be? I still want to try.” She’s beaming.

Schwartz interjects before anyone can stop her. “Anyway, we have a way of getting to Kowal now. Come on, get on.“

“Eh?” Renith interrupts. “I thought the fancy boat was west?”

You answer for her. “Kowal’s closer, and plus, we already know the way. Since it looks like Silvia is steering... we should probably play it safe.” You climb into the back of the wagon as Schwartz sits in front beside Silvia.

You and Touryn watch anxiously as Silvia grasps the reins weakly, and you wonder if everything would work out.

Syrup cheers. “Silvie, you can do it.”

Renith says, “If the horses don’t listen to ya, I’ll give ‘em a good whack.”

Schwartz turns around to glare at him. “Don’t you dare. If anything happens, you’ll be the one pulling this wagon.”

He withdraws. “What’s that? I didn’t say anything.” She gives him a warning glower before bringing her attention to Silvia again. “I think I was told you had to do this...”

The wagon behinds to move after some prodding, and you decide to not look before fear overwhelms you and forces you to leap out for your own safety.

Roll 1d30 for Silvia. Her enthusiasm gives her a whopping +1 bonus!
DCs: 15, 20, 25.

Attempt to strike up a conversation?
>No one.
Rolled 24 + 1 (1d30 + 1)

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Woohoo! Silvia is a natural at this, apparently
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Who would've thought?

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“Renith,” you say catching is attention, “You snuck onto the boat, right?” You remember how Schwartz told you about her finding out the spearman had snuck on without a ticket.

“Hmm? Yeah, what ‘bout it?” He stares out the back of the wagon as the horses pick up speed, the buildings of Basylen passing by.

“Was it because you wanted to go to Qualen, or...?”

“Nah. I thought it looked interestin’ so I hopped on. S’all there is to it.” His tail waves a bit, brushing up against the canvas of the wagon. “Why’d ya ask?”

“I just thought since you’re still with us, maybe you never really had any business here.”

“I don’t. I don’t really like bein’ tied down, ya get me? Guess it’s ‘bout time I go home though, think I went a bit far this time?”

“A bit far... if you’re saying that, I’m guessing you’re not talking about anywhere near Ristella.”

“Nope, past that, past Aldrose.”

“You’re from all the way there? You’re talking about those islands, right—"

The wagon halts, and you are almost thrown onto the floor.

Touryn says, “I think something’s ahead.”

“I feel it too,” Silvia says, nodding. The horses begin to stop, and in the distant, you can barely make out a silhouette. It’s about as tall as the trees, which is too say, absolutely terrifying. “Come on now, let’s get out of here!” She whips the reins, and the horses take off. On the bumpy road, the wagon rocks back and forth as the wheels pass over rocks and dirt. “H-hey, steady... steady!”

They only listen to her slightly as they tear down the path.


Eventually, past the scattered light and soft fog, you can make out a beast with thick black fur. The details of its body is hidden beneath it, as it’s unbelievably thick. It stands on its hind legs, and a single, massive horns rises out of its head, twisting and turning until it stops at a sharp point. It watches the wagon with its beady eyes, and then, ever so slowly, it leans forward. Gravity accelerates it down, and the creature’s front paws meet the earth with a violent crash. And then, it begins to walk forward, its gait transforming into heavy strides. Because of the sparseness of the trees, it doesn’t need to turn much either, meaning it can simply continue to pick up speed.

Touryn nudges you. “Circe, you’re the expert, right? What is that?”

“Uh, that’s not a faerie,” you answer, “That’s just nature.”

Syrup says, “It’s a unicorn.” Touryn looks at her, and she clarifies with: “It’s has one horn.” It’s moving impossibly fast for something of that size. Every time its paws hit the ground, you can feel the wagon shudder. As the wagon turns with the path, its forced to run into a tree, and it does that by swinging its horn up and running right through it as if it were nothing at all. Bark and shards of wood fly over and scatter on its fur as it continues to close in.

Keeping his eyes on the beast, Touryn leans in to Schwartz and Silvia. “If we could speed up, that’d be great.”

The girl steering is too focused to reply. “Steady...! Steady! To the right, come on!”

Meanwhile, Schwartz has a hand over her mouth, her brow furrowed from frustration and deep thinking. “I think we’ve arrived from over there? No wait, over there! No, don’t go that way!”

You ask Renith, “You got these things up there in Micedonia?”

“Ha! Now that’d be exciting. Nope, all we got are... more curses, I guess. Not much to say ‘bout it, really.” He frowns. “I don’t know how ta kill one of these, if that’s what ya askin’. Uh, maybe stab it in the brain?”

Syrup says, “It doesn’t have a brain.”

He nods. “Cool, guess we’ll just die then.”

You ask, “How does it live if it doesn’t have one?!”

“Decentralized, probably,” she answers.

Roll 1d30.
Someone should really do something.
>Touryn can handle this, probably.
>Syrup might have something.
>Schwartz still has her wand.
Rolled 5 (1d30)

>Syrup might have something.
Rolled 22 (1d30)

Well, that ain't good. Rerolling.
If that didn't make the dc, I can roll again.

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You turn to Syrup for the answer to this growing problem. “What should we do?”

“Why are you asking me?” she asks in return.

“Well, you seemed to know what it is.”

She replies, “It was an educated guess. I don’t actually know.”

“Okay, that’s fair.” The unicorn, or whatever it is, is getting close. If another minute were to pass, surely the distance between would be small enough for it to leap at the wagon. “I don’t think anyone unarmed can really survive an encounter with something like that anyways. Do you think Touryn’s sword can cut through it?”

Syrup reaches inside her coat. “It’s okay, I think I have something.” She pulls out a vial of pastel yellow, filled to the brim. At the top, instead of air, there’s a rumbling fog instead. She raises it into the air with one hand and smashes out of the back of the wagon onto the path. It explodes into fumes that rise up instantly, and the unicorn runs straight through it. It continues on for another few steps until a paw fails to move into place in time, and its unable to catch itself. The beast buckles, tilts, and falls into a roll. Thick dust is kicked up, and the wagon continues down its path, unscathed.

You watch as it shrinks with the distance. “What in Luna’s name was that?”

“A neurotoxin,” she replies.


“I’m starting to become more and more worried for you,” you say, “Why were you carrying that around again?”

“I made it by accident once. I made some more because I thought it would be useful,” she says, “And I finally got to use it. Neat.”

“You made a neurotoxin by accident?” you say, “How are you still alive?”

“Dose makes the poison,” she answers. “Like how if you eat a little bit of plateroot, you can stop bleeding, but if you eat a whole bunch, your teeth will fall out.”

You shake your head. “I don’t even want to know.”

Renith asks, “Ya sure got a lot of things in that coat. What are ya gonna do if something tackles ya?”

“That’s why I stay back,” she says, “But if something runs into me, they can die with me when I explode.”

“What a sudden way ta go.” He sits down, folding his arms. “Remind me ta stay away from ya?”

Schwartz calls out, “You got rid of it? Thank the heavens, good work.”

Silvia says to the horses, “There, there, it’s gone now. Everything is okay.” They start to calm down, and you are again able to sit down without fearing that you’d be thrown off and out.

- - -

By sundown, you have reached Kowal. The small fishing village is exactly as you remembered it, which is to say, there’s almost nothing here. There was the small stable where Schwartz had previously found ride to Basylen. You ignore Silvia whispering things to the horses, and instead opt to take a look around.

Shaking his head, Touryn says to Schwartz, “Are you planning on selling the horses?”

“What? No, they’re mine.”

“How are you planning on bringing that with you on a boat?” he asks, “I don’t think you’ve thought this through.”

“What is there to think? Why, a big enough ship and there would be no problems.”

“Schwartz, we’re not in Pryport! Just sell the wagon for Solaria’s sake!”

“Fine, but I’ll be taking one horse with me!”

“To where? You live in an apartment!” Ah, they’re like an old married couple. You watch them bicker, enjoying the free entertainment.

Renith taps your shoulder. “Got a moment?”

“Sure,” you follow him a couple of paces away from everyone else. “What is it?”

“Lemme get this straight, didya actually come down all the way here just ta return a diary?” He leans on the wall of a building and gives you a skeptical look.

“Yup, that sounds about right. Why?”

“That’s just about as trivial the reason I gave you, eh?” he says, laughing. “I didn’t believe ya, but guess I was wrong.”

“I don’t think that was trivial. If I never came here, I think...” you glance at Silvia, “Things would be a lot different.”

“Trivial for you,” he says, “Not talkin’ ‘bout her. If we’re bein’ honest here, I didn’t think ya were that type of person when I saw ya. Kinda curious.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you say.

“Ah, never mind, forget I said anythin’.”

>”Tell me. I won’t get mad, I promise.”
>”...I’ll do that then.”
>”No, go on. What were you saying?”
>”In any case, I don’t think it was trivial for me.”
>”Tell me. I won’t get mad, I promise.”
>”In any case, I don’t think it was trivial for me.”

>“But if something runs into me, they can die with me when I explode.”

Dammit Syrup, these best levels are off the charts!
Those two

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“Tell me. I won’t get mad, I promise.”

“Double promise?”

“Uh...?” You hesitate, confused. “Uh, yeah, double promise.”

He shakes his head, “Nah, that didn’t sound like a double promise to me.”

“I double promise,” you repeat, firmly this time. Luna’s sake, he needs to spit it out.

He stifles a laugh. “Okay. No offense, but...” You stop yourself from saying that is the worst possible way to start with something. “...Ya seemed like a bookworm or somethin’, eh? Like ya’d rather spend all your time in a workshop than dealin’ with stuff like this.”

You sigh. “Well, you’re not wrong. Normally I’d be with the Professor, so I guess you could say this is new to me. But it’s not like I really had a choice,” you say, “I don’t think this was trivial to me. After reading it, I had to do something. I had to return it, at least. If I didn’t, I don’t think I’d ever forget about it in my life.” You leave out the part where you only finished the diary after accepting the job.

He pushes off the wall with a foot and starts walking by. “I respect that. Regrets aren’t somethin’ to live by,” he says. For a moment, you think he has something else to say, but he chooses not to.

You follow him back, where the others seemed to have decided on something. Silvia has a sullen expression.

Schwartz announces, “Alright, we’ve decided. We’re selling the wagon and both of the horses.”

Touryn says, “Great, now we need someone in a small fishing village that already has horses to buy it.”

“Oh, shut up.”


You are not on a fishing boat. It’s far too large to be one, although certainly not large enough to have cabins for everyone. There are two, exactly, and Touryn and Renith offered to leave the good captain with his own room while they handle the weather outside.

It’s so tiny compared to the cruise ship that you have to barely walk to find almost everyone.

You lean on the railing, staring at the waters. The sky is clear, and Tide is calm. Whitebloom becomes smaller and smaller, and in the opposite direction, you can make out mountain peaks from the main continent. It’s so far away.

Recently, you’ve been forced to wait for a tremendous amount of time.

Time spent waiting for it to become day again, waiting for a wagon to reach its destination, or waiting for the boat to touch on another shore.

You hunch over, trying to beat back the butterflies in your stomach.

You can’t keep waiting like this. You’ll die before you find the professor again, or at least, your stomach would have finished eating itself. What you need is a distraction, maybe.

Maybe someone to bother.
>Syrup and Silvia.
>Schwartz and Renith.
>Have some time for yourself.
>>Syrup and Silvia.
These two

You run your hand along the metal of the boat, twisted and shaped by Loam. You feel its perfections that were beaten away with each passing day, and the sudden feeling of glass makes you turn your head. Inside, you see Syrup and Silvia talking to each other. You watch them for a few moments, and you decide to enter the room.

“Silvie, how do you hold things?” Syrup asks her. Silvia sits in front of her, a sleeve on an arm drawn back to reveal her faerie replacement for hands. Syrup, with both her hands, feels the part where her arm transform from human to century mantis. A wicked blade of sharpened bone.

She answers. “I dulled near the base here so I can grab things.” With her other scythe, she grinds the two together. “I have to do it every now and then. Sometimes I accidentally cut through my broom. Sometimes I just use my mouth instead.”

“It must be tough...” You say.

“I’m used to it,” she replies. She eyes flicker to the window, and she tells you, “I’m not used to this water thing, though. My head’s kind of sick.”

Syrup says, “If you feel like something will come up, tell me.”

“I think I’ll be okay,” she says. The boat is steadily rocking, and knowing Tide, it could be much worse. “Circe,” she calls out.

“What is it?” You take a seat by a small table. More of a nightstand than anything.

“What’s that?” She motions out the window, and you see a faint light, floating upwards. Another one follows, and then countless others. Drifting through, they seem to swim in the sky, pushing through the air like soft, drifting jellyfish.

“Oh, I haven’t seen those in a while.”

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“Those are skyfish,” you say, “Don’t let the name fool you. They aren’t anything close to a fish. They’re faeries—” One of them drifts toward the window, and up close, you can see those small arcs and lines upon seemingly nothing. It shifts and flickers, the small particles of dust, dirt, and all sorts of things gravitating to each other in a neat formation. “Spell circles are just shapes, and they’re just coincidences that happen to live. The soft glow comes from any Solaria light, because otherwise, they wouldn’t exist,” you mumble to yourself, “An almost recursive evocation.”

“An evocation...” Silvia says, “How do you know so much about faeries?”

You watch as one of the skyfishes draw close. It touches the glass, and the circle collapses. The light dies instantly. You wonder if there was any life to begin with. “It clicks with me,” you say. It clicks. Sliding into place, as if it were only right, as if it were meant for you.

Syrup says, “You could be a faerie doctor instead of a witch. The first, maybe.”

“And then it would mean other witches paying me, and in the end, it’ll still be the same thing,” you say, “Faerie historian, maybe?” The lights outside multiply, a wave of lights that cover the side of the boat. A storm, or maybe a sign? You watch them flutter, and you say, “Hey, do you know what’s a group of butterflies are called?”

Silvia asks, “I don’t, what is it?”

“A kaleidoscope,” you muse, “But I think it fits the skyfish better, don’t you think?”

The three of you watch out the window until they’re carried by the winds elsewhere, the last one lingering before it’s swept away like the others, at the whim of the gods.

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The Ristellan air feels great. You’ve returned back home, and even with the winds of Tide buffeting your back, you feel that all is right. Raising your hands in the air, you stretch and yawn. “Finally, Risetlla!” You practically skip down the docks. There, the skyline of the city hasn’t changed a bit. There’d be no reason it would, after all.

Pivoting around a heel, you find the others catching up. Schwartz looks more relieved than everyone else, while Touryn lingers behind. He seems to be looking right at you. As the others walk past and stop to see why you’re still standing there, you’re too busy finding the words to reply.

“Sorry to say, but it looks like we’ll be parting here,” he tells you. You already knew, from the way he dragged his feet.

“Are you going to Pryport?” you ask. An empty question.

Syrup opens her mouth, weakly asking, “Why?”

“I need to find Mitra,” he replies. Of course. “I’ll go wherever she goes.”

You start to say, “I have a shop I need to take care of, but...”

“We’re walking toward the same thing, so we’ll meet again.” He only offers a soft smile.

“It was fun,” you say, “I’ll catch up to you, when I can.”

“I’ll look forward to our next meeting. Safe travels, Circe, everyone.” He waves, turning around and heading down the port.

“Safe travels,” you tell him, “Touryn.”

Everyone else gives him their farewells.

He’ll be fine.

That’s why when you could turn around without looking back. It’s then that Schwartz tells you, “I should really get going too. It was wonderful travelling with you all. Circe, if you need me, you know where to find me. Oh, and as for your the payment, I’ll have it ready by tomorrow.” She gives you, Syrup, and Silvia a quick hug, and for Renith, she bumps her knuckles with his.

As you walk down the poorly-planned streets, you note how your company has changed. It’s become... in tune with Gaia.

You turn your head to Renith. “Are you seriously that bored?”

He says, “You’re goin’ to Pryport then, right? Same direction as Micedonia, really. What, I can’t tag along?”

You sigh. “Do what you want.”


The cobblestone roads become straighter and wider, and the sky begins to open up. Entering the marketplace, your eyes are already on where the shop would be. A quick check, and then you can leave. You can’t let the professor return to utter ruin, after all. Through the crowds you go, and when you reach the front door, all you can do is stand there without words.

A piece of glass was cut through the now open door, as if someone had cut a hole and pushed it in. And past it, you can see someone has rummaged through everything. A gap between items on the shelves here and there, and some are shattered on the floor. You stride forward, your eyes running all over everything you and the professor had lost. As you make your way to the workshop, all you can feel is the white-hot rage bubbling forth.

You’ve never felt like this before.

Your knuckles whiten as you crouch down to collect the remains of your attempts at a familiar. Wet. You grind your teeth and tighten your fists, your fingernails digging into your skin. Hands trembling, you scream as you throw a chair across the workshop. It clatters as it hits a desk, making a bigger mess as more items fall over.

You don’t care anymore.

This was all you had.
A while ago...

“Let’s just ask around. We should split up; we’ll cover more ground that way,” she said.

With a sigh, he reluctantly walked through the crowds of the small town. He found this place uncomfortable. Its history bled into the walls and streets, not for any significance or value, but that it must be preserved for its own sake. And as a result, the future that tries to take hold withers in the presence of the past that refuses to leave.

He scans down the roads, glancing from person to person until he gave up. There is nothing to be found here. A town like this is best buried beneath time. It is then that he finds it—a humble fortune-telling shop. It takes all of a second before he decides to enter.

Past the curtains, he soon learns it is genuine. The rooms are not shrouded in secrecy, but rather bountiful light. Welcomed by the soothsayer, he is lead inside and seated. A circular table with white cloth draped over it sits in the center of a circular room, and he sits in a chair opposite of the one who would conduct it. With a tug of a string, the lights in the room cease, and in the emptiness of the shadows, the soothsayer finds her way into her seat.

The soothsayer tells him what to do, and he obliges. He places his hands at the center of the table, and with a soft prayer, the spell circle on the cloth begins to glow. At first, it is but a fading light, but as it shimmers, it swells into an overwhelming clarity.

A simple man might know Solaria as the god whose domain is light. The silent, quiet Gift that vanishes shadows. In actuality, that would be too overreaching. Such a thing would set the eidolon far from the others, and its power and influence would be so far-reaching, it would fail to even maintain the simplest of footholds on the physical plane.

Rather, it is about the act of vanishing shadows, the act of allowing man to distinguish between forms. Its domain is the framing of sight, to be able to understand the difference between man from beast and friend from foe. Like the other major eidola, its strength lies in the freedom of an abstract form. And the concept of time, to Solaria, is but another facet of the world, another thing to distinguish.

From the past, the present, and the future, a thousand lights lay before him. They do not shatter, nor do they meld. Instead, they disappear, overwhelmed by singular forms that grow and grow until they begin to sear into his mind. Yet, as the future was uncertain, it continues to change. The soothsayer could not see it, but he could.


He watches himself as he behind the princess as she gives her announcement. No, she has aged. And with the crown she wears, it’s clear, she has become a queen. He could not hear the illusion, but he is sure the conclusion of her speech was met with thunderous applause. She gives her goodbyes and retreats into the castle, and he follows the other guards as they accompany her. The queen gives them a few words, but it cannot be understood. But with his eyes, he watches as he draws Nightingale swiftly. Before the queen could turn around, the rest of the royal guards have fallen. And when she understood what was happening, a raging wind sweeps by. The marbled hallways become lined with deep scars, the carpet is shredded into dust, and her body is torn into pieces. The gemstone on the hilt of his sword shatters and Nightingale is cracked, but he barely pays attention to it all. He sees himself kneeling before the throbbing red that glows brilliantly, sifting through the carnage and retrieving a ring that has a milky-white stone set atop it.

And as Touryn pulled away from the sight that was shown by Solaria itself, words could barely form. All he could ask is—

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Thank you for playing! Ending the thread here, and the next one will be soon, hopefully.
I'm here for any comments, questions, or concerns. Criticism is appreciated, too.

Twitter: https://twitter.com/hopelessQM
Thanks for running, as always Hopeless. Syrup was in top form during that Unicorn part, I chuckled quite a bit. And the scene with the skyfish was really comfy. Quite a bit happened there at the end, itself a little melancholic to see party members go and both Circe and Touryn had their hearts punched in the gut. Hopefully we can make things better for them!
Thanks for running! I missed the thread again, but catching up was fun.

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