August 24th, 2019
Emit residence
It has been a long year of nothing. Peace, as one accustomed to it would call such conditions.
To one designed for strife and destruction however, it is a featureless limbo.
Even with the embrace of his wife, it is not enough to feed the flames of his longing spirit.
Thoren is one of ambition, and such a sound conclusion is antithetical to everything he's ever known.
Everything he could be doing now is either too small to matter, or too vast to grasp without help. So in the months that have progressed since "happily ever after", he has been in quiet despair.
A machine with no purpose.
A soul with no passion.
Tonight however, that has been brought to a pause.
A prospitian mailcarrier hikes up Mt. Phoenix, ominous letter in hand. She's dealt in many letters before, but this must be the first one that's arrived at the post office from "The Underworld", of all places. Is there even an underworld, or is this just the set-up for an ARG or something?
Surely those that had played the game would know all about those.
The mail-carrier finally reaches the summit of the grand overlooking mountain. She can see the entirety of Charcherry forest in all of its pink and purple splendor.
In retrospect it should have been obvious that the life player who terraformed this world is a woman, but that's beside the point.
The blue house atop the great hill awaits.
The mailcarrier is slightly peeved that this house does not have a mailbox. You'd think the home of this planet's version of Santa Claus would have a fucking mailbox, but noooooo, he doesn't even bother to install a mail slot! So she has to go all the way up the fucking mountain every single fucking year (yes, she's pissed about this even after only one or two years of doing this) with a sack of letters to this asshole. This absolute CHARLATAN among jolly old men! This skinny metal bitch is practically the EXACT OPPOSITE of what she thinks Santa Claus should be!
So the mailcarrier stomps up to the front door and knocks on the door. Loudly.
BANG BANG BANG!
Thoren is half-asleep in his depressive state. He scrolls through his twitter feed again, reblogs something about a search engine which plants trees, and then sighs. If only he were allowed entry into the vanilla timeline, he could try to fix everything that ails it, all for the sake of preserving their priceless internet.
The one thing that had kept the lost pawns sane enough to function.
However, the possibility of The Reckoning is not one that should be dwelled upon, especially if one hopes to avert it.
Three furious knocks punctuate the silence and shatter the stasis that Thoren has been operaqting under this entire time.
He springs into action and rushes downstairs.
Thoren opens the door and is greeted by a Pissed-off Mailcarrier. She forces herself to be cordial in handing over the single elegant letter. Thoren eagerly accepts it.
is it a smash invitation?
is it a smash invitation?
is it a smash invitation?
is it a smash invitation?
is it a smash invitation?
is it a smash invitation?
No, it's... a golf invitation.
Disappointment.
Then again, it's not like he even had a ghost of a chance of being in smash bros. Mii gunner yes, but that's not the same.
He reads the letter.
...dammit, referred to by his deadname.
Must have been a mass-produced letter.
Thoren reads over this. Perhaps this could be a chance to bond with that mysterious and powerful individual he had met months ago.
The figure known as Tempus.
Though they live in a different dimension, Thoren is almost certain that they are the reincarnation of the missing Seth 64. Seeing as Voidco lost track of Seth 64 the moment that lost soul got scrubbed and launched away, it's very possible that Tempus would never obtain a letter.
Thoren would have to seek them out himself.
The ignition is fired.
The Eros Machina roars to life!
Thoren backs the big rig out of the garage and sets a course for the "Aurelia Dimension". According to his sources, Tempus lives on the moon which orbits their version of Earth. A fine way to get away from humanity while still being in range. He inputs a long series of codes and commands into his internal console, preparing to send his vessel to another dimension.
Soon enough, he and his vehicle disappear, nary a trace.
Next stop: the fucking moon!
