Footsteps echoed throughout the mostly empty corridor, reverberating across the still unblemished cerametal path. Though Hurin wanted to ask what on Aesold the floor was made of, he kept his gob shut; for the first time since coming here, the two wise ones had expressions that were a mixture of being stupidly constipated from eating raw Cherrise and having found out that your wife of 3 years was cheating on you with your 50-year old female neighbour from next door– don't ask, this is his greatest shame!
Anyways, back to the story–
"Shit, shit, shit! For a resource of this importance, you'd usually expect a guardian of sorts to guard the door, but what did we get here? Nothing! Damn it old man, what kind of shitshow have you dragged us into! First was the fact that the souls of the people here don't get dragged into the BOR for a complete overhaul before being yeeted into reincarnation, then with the fact that most of fucking people here are acting like NPCs, plugged in with shoddy-ass cues, giving me the heebie-jeebies. And now you're saying that the whole fecking genre is wrong-
You old git, this is one hell of a fuck-up on your end!
But we'll discuss this shit later- what we need to know now is where on Aeronia is the archive guardian...?"
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Clip, clop...
Walking down the dimly lit hallway, Mephitra curled her lips slightly, pleased to see that her worthless guards had managed to collect themselves and come here- I mean, they were the lousiest and dumbest of the bunch anyway, considering the fact that his majesty, Lord Ingan, had bestowed his grace upon them, only to turn into mindless husks just because they couldn't handle HIS majestic power!
Hmph, bunch of imbeciles! Once the Dark Star explodes, Lord Ingan will finally see that I am the only one he needs, not those skimpy scamps who failed him so many times. Well, it's only natural, considering the fact that HE's so much more better than that incompetent nincompoop of an Elf-
"AAARRRGGGHHH!"
Clutching her head, Mephitra fell to the ground, images unfamiliar to her filling eevry nook and cranny of her mind, images of an Elf handing her flowers, talking with her, embarrassing himself while attempting to do a lame party trick, handing a small box to her-
Damn it, who the FUCK are you!?
A shadowy Elf mechanically walked up to her, using its dark, fading hands to try to wake her up. "Don't touch me, you fool! Only the Great One shall touch me! Do it one more time, and I'll rip apart that head of yours and use it as a chamber pot for whenever me and the Lord Ingan sleep with each other!" Screeching at the top of her lungs, Mephitra smacked away the helping hand, unwilling to have a peasant's touch upon her saintly figure.
Watching the soulless peon return to the station, Mephitra turned her gaze towards the center of the room, where the Drak Star, the unstable Dark Matter reactor, lay. Seeing the timer counting down faster than ever, she could not help but grin maniacally, pleased to see that her endeavour was nearing the end.
Soon, my lord, soon I shall bear your seed and give you the greatest gift of all time!
With bloodshot eyes, Mephitra headed back to the fortified gate, intending to hamper the unruly Adventurers as much as she could, all to ensure that the plans of her lord were fulfilled...
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