Lunalake Island

Through a tear in space, the S.S. Victoria emerged, barely missing a strange small moon with a hole in its side that poured out a stream of water down into a cloudy mass, the vessel experiencing some turbulence. It was as if the vessel was pulled down into the flow, entering into an unknown atmosphere, engulfed and blinded by dark clouds on all sides. Piercing through it the vessel descended, the deeper they went, the brighter it became. Finally piercing the veil of clouds a bright flash of light went through all the windows, Basalah shielding her eyes from the brightness. The shaking finally abated, and a vibrant world opened up before the crew, a world unlike a typical planet, composed of islands adrift around a dark misty core, a massive white tree growing out from the depths holding some of them in its branches. Following the lunar waterfall the vessel was being carried towards one of the biggest upper islands, with a large lake in the middle of it fed by the water that they were apparently being carried by.

It became clear the closer they got that this island was inhabited, a cityscape brimming with life could be seen, but they were not being pulled towards that, but rather towards the center part of the lake, where a peculiar blue clock tower was, half submerged in the water, a clock tower they were currently on a collision course with.

"This is quite lovely... familiar somehow? But perhaps we should pull up?" Grimms said with only the slight hint of urgency.

As the vessel continued along its crash course for the strange structure, but as it nearly hit, a figure atop the tower stood on its very top and reached up, and the vessel slowed to a strangely peaceful stop, a rippling in the water going out from the tower's base, and a strange ringing sound going through the vessel. After the stop, the vessel was abruptly dropped to rest adrift in the lake with a splash. Basalah fell over, and even Grimms toppled over onto a resounding clunk.

From the clock tower, a bridge extended from under a door under the giant clock face to the S.S. Victoria, like the cuckoo of a clock.

"Urgh... heh, any landing you live from is a good landing, aye?" Grimms said with a chuckle, placing a hand on his knee to stabilize himself as he stood back to his feet. He looked out at the bridge. "Well, looks like they are practically rolling out th-" before he could finish his sentence, the door opened and a red carpet rolled out onto the bridge. "...literally rolling out the red carpet for us."

"Finally, some recognition," Basalah muttered, getting back onto her hind feet and dusting herself off. Looking out the window she braced her eyes with her arms once again. "Warm... bright..."

The grating noise of tortured machinery screeched through the spaceship as it was carried along by the lunar waterfall, its engine still unleashing its great blue flame. At the helm, John's hand leapt towards the chadburn, swinging the handle towards the "Slow" sign on the other side. For the duration of the ride, John would swing the wheel this way and that, attempting to escape the pull of the current. When it became clear this wasn't going to work, he resolved to keep the wheel steady. When he saw the half-submerged clocktower, however, he swung the chadburn handle towards "Full, Astern" and renewed his efforts to veer off the collision course.
The ship then slowed, apparently thanks to the efforts of the figure on top of the tower, and plummeted into the waters below. As it crashed into the lake, huge bodies of steam leapt from the undersides of the S.S Victoria, and there was a final metallic moan as the tortured guts of the ship decelerated and cooled down.
A moment of silence passed within the hull, punctuated only by the lowering pitch of the engine's hum. Then, a voice cried, "I can't thee! I can't thee! I think I've gone blind!"
Another, gruffer voice croaked, "Shut up, Jack."
In the bridge, a prone John gripped the edge of the control panel and laboriously lifted himself up. Looking out, he could see the clocktower, although his current position denied him the ability to tell the time. His sights still on the tower, he reached for the gramocon horn and said, "Land ho, ladies and gentlemen. You can make your way to the exit now." Dropping the horn into its slot, he turned and made his way out.
The ladder that served as the main entrance and exit to the vessel was built (as much as the term could be used when dealing with the alien geometries of the S.S Victoria) to be a mere 300 feet away from the bridge. As such, while the Chosen Few were guiding the volunteers through a series of doors that would provide them with the shortest route, John was already by the hatch. As he climbed the ladder, he allowed himself a brief contemplation on the natives' reception of his maiden vessel. How far were the inhabitants of this world in terms of technology? Were they staring wide-eyed at a strange, metallic ship that was somehow given the ability to sail through the skies, or were they simply examining the works of obsolete technology, having designed aerial craft of sleeker build and more efficient machinery? Resolving that these questions will be answered in due time, he spun the wheel of the hatch and left the spacious vessel.

Even after what must have been only a few hours in the S.S Victoria, and even countless more hours beforehand during its time in the Teslatorium, John still had to adjust to the fact that, while the spaceship was a mile long inside, it was still merely 150 feet in length on the outside. His waist still under the opening, he took in his surroundings, noting the buildings of alien (or perhaps familiar) design, a rather large detail he would have noticed while airborne had he not been as occupied by the threat of collision with the tower. Turning back to the tower, finally noticing the red-carpeted bridge leading into the building, he endeavoured to discern the figure at the top of the clocktower who helped them make a safe landing. "Good day!" he cried out with a wave, climbing out. A metallic bellow from behind cut him off as all the exhaust pipes at the stern of the vessel belched a mass of blue vapour that curled in unusual shapes until it dissipated.
The skeleton turned away from the noise and said, "Don't worry! That's just the engine letting off excess steam! We come in peace!" If there were onlookers viewing him from the side or behind him, they may notice that he had his double-barrelled shotgun strapped to his back, which only served to sully his claims.

“Ah, a shame.” Vragi muttered in mock disappointment. The dwarf, having playfully bid farewell to their new 'friends' (a term with which Vragi would often refer to friend and foe alike, much to the annoyance of those around him), took hold of a nearby table for balance as the ship emerged into a new world.

Vragi shielded his eyes against the light, blinding compared to the chaotic darkness they had escaped just moments ago. He waddled over to the window to take in the grand view. For a second, as he spotted the great tree at the centre of the land – or rather, lands - he mistook it for the Yggdrasil he was so familiar with, and thought they had somehow happened upon his own homeworld. He quickly realised this was incorrect.

Vragi had not yet had the delight of witnessing the strange phenomenon of airborne islands and wondered what was keeping the landmasses afloat; some type of magic, advanced technology or perhaps both? As far as the dwarf was concerned, these were more or less interchangeable and he rarely, if ever, attempted to differentiate between the two. He didn’t seem concerned about the fact that the ship was on what appeared to be an inescapable collision course with the tower in the lake. Truth be told, he probably hadn’t noticed.

He did, however, notice a sudden upward movement of the lovely vista he had been admiring, followed by what felt like a lack of gravity. It took Vragi maybe a second or so to put two and two together, at which point there was a large splash, the fundamental forces caught up and Vragi, who seemed to be floating merrily 2 meters in the air, was slammed into the floor, bounced once or twice, and after a short pause, slowly sat up, groaning and rubbing his bruised head.

“Ah... perhaps not if it gives you a migraine...” he responded to Grimms' comment on the landing.

Still in a daze, Vragi vaguely heard instructions for leaving the vessel and allowed himself to be guided toward the entrance, quite unaware that he had left his helmet behind, rolling aimlessly on the floor of the cafetorium.

The figure atop the the tower sunk quickly within the building disappearing from sight, likely some form of elevator contraption or chute. Almost immediately after this, the figure emerged at the other end of the red carpet bridge, out from the doorway to greet the most abrupt visitors of his... abode. A real dapper dandy this one was, dressed fancy from neck to toe, wearing a black suit, red tie tucked neatly, black dress pants, shiny black dress shoes, carrying a black cane with a crow head carved into its handle, white gloves covered his hands, and yet tall and spindly was he, he had to bow to walk through his own door. As he faced them, courteously still rising from his bow, it was clear he was no ordinary man, had his stature not given that away yet, his face was akin to a bird, witch a beak-like curved nose, angry-looking feathery eyebrows, and piercing large red-to-yellow eyes, feathers rust-red and white, hair slicked back into a slope and silvery, giving the impression he was rather advanced in his years.

He looked them over briefly, his eyes looked like they were scrutinizing every detail of his visitors, though that may just be because they are so large and piercing anyways. He then cleared his throat, fished through his coat to glance at a paper, before making a gesture towards the group. He began to speak boldly in an unknown tongue, only to note some confusion. He cleared his throat and started again.

"Welcome, travelers from beyond the veil, to the humble island of Lunalake! I am the governor or this piece of land, Abdown is the name, and I will be acting ambassador for this land, foreign to you. Before you in this direction is Lunalake City, which-" he said in announcement, holding his hands out back towards the other side of the lake, a large city of variable colorful houses, big and small, with a rather eccentric pattern, or lack of pattern to them. They could still be defined as housing, at the very least, and by technological level and general aesthetic seemed late Victorian. What seemed out of place, however, is that even from this distance, it was clear there had been some small battle, breaks in the streets, pieces of roofing blown off, a still steaming crater in the city square. He furrowed his brow, breaking from his rehearsed cordiality. "-well, is still very much intact. A bit of an unfortunate misunderstanding that I can assure ended without tragedy."

"Right," Basalah said, suspiciously squinting. "First off, how do you know we came from beyond the veil and are not just travelers from another part of this world, and why are you being so... nice... to armed aliens? This isn't one of those ploys to get outsiders to do random quests to solve the problems the natives are too lazy to do?"

"First off, this craft of yours literally came out of a hole in the sky, a craft of make and design that even here is uncharacteristic, running on what I presume to be a fuel definable as the physical manifestation of thoughts and dreams, which, while, is not at all an unfamiliar concept to us Memorians, the usage of devices explicitly to manipulate it, is. Furthermore, this implies you are beings, or at least there are beings among you that are not innately capable of producing these effects. Not to brag, or put you down in any way, of course, because by ability alone, few of us can pierce the veil, so I applaud your feat!"

"I-," Basalah began, finding herself without words.

"Secondly, I'd rather our problems be solved by us, without dragging outsiders into it, as that would be rather rude, and well... needlessly dangerous... as well as likely resulting in bad reviews to our tourism department, which is barely existent to begin with," he continued, adjusting his tie. "Anyone want tea or coffee? Crumpets perhaps? I'm sure you are all exhausted from your trip, and I'd be a damn bad host not to offer, especially with a lady in my midst," he finished, motioning to the inside of his tower before heading inside and descending within.

"This... is all so strangely familiar to me," Grimms said, getting a good glance at everything as he got upon and walked across the cuckoo bridge towards the door.

"La- hmph, didn't ask for- I'll show you a... you... ugh..." Basalah muttered incoherently with her crackling voice, arms crossed and puffed up in proud agitation, flustered and confused shifting eyes about for anything to say. At last she exhales, looking defeated. "Ffffff... fine!" She then followed suite.

As he saw what he had to assume was the occupant of this clock tower, John dusted off his jacket in an attempt to make himself more presentable while the rest of his crew emerged. The amount of space on top of the vessel allowed the group to spread around behind John, the Chosen Few taking the front as they watched the bird-like man approach them. Their expressions showed a considerable lack of fear or surprise from the figure's acutely avian appearance, seemingly so used to oddity that it has become mundane to them.
The man, introducing himself as Abdown, then formally welcomed the outsiders (with help from a piece of paper, likely, thought John with suspicion, a speech he had rehearsed for this very occasion) to his land. As he gestured to the cityscape, John clearly approved of an erratic architectural design that nevertheless brought him comfort for its temporal familiarity, although his smile soon faded as he took in the destruction that spoke to him of a terrorist attack. He then listened to Abdown's answers to Basalah's interrogation, eventually staring at the man for having accurately described the vessel's power source when he had only just seen it. He willingly accepted that the "Memorians" were familiar with the fantastical, because there was simply no other reason he could have gotten it so accurately.
John would bow in thanks for Abdown's brief congratulation on 'piercing the veil', and would have stated his thanks in word had the man not then continued on, break adventuring customs by refusing to ask for assistance from the outsiders since it would be rude, which was understandable. The aristocratic skeleton would lighten up at the sound of tea and crumpets. "That would certainly be appreciated, at least from my part," he said, glancing at his comrades, who weren't at home with tea but found the opportunity to unwind after the perilous journey inviting enough. With silent agreement, the Chosen Few would follow the Memorian governor down the red carpet.
As he descended, John would hear a whispered conversation behind him, unheard by Abdown;
"I may have theen too much thymbolic imagery during our time in the Thentre," whispered Jack, "but I can't help but notice that that guy'th a bird and he liveth in a cuckoo clock tower. You know what I mean, right?"
"Certainly," muttered Max. "To be honest, I'm surprised he didn't come out attached to a spring."
"This place sure is odd," whispered Fancy. "But it sure beats floating around in the Edge."
"Just you wait till those monsters come crawling out of the shadows," murmured Max darkly.
"Can't wait ter have some of them crumpets, at any rate," said Adam, effectively ending the secretive chatter.
"You had much tea back where you were from, Adam?" said Jack.
"Yeah," said Adam bluntly. "We was posh, remember?"
"Forget I athked, then," shrugged Jack.

Vragi followed the others out onto the bridge as the stranger approached them. He scratched his hair, which caused him to realize he’d forgot his helmet. He shrugged his shoulders - he could find it later, probably.

Vragi was finding it hard to follow the exchange, not because it was boring but because he was peering intently at the bridge on which they stood, trying very hard to discern what materials it might consist of, that is if they were like anything he was familiar with. Myriad questions were, as usual, flooding through the dwarf’s mind.

Multitasking was not a strength of Vragi’s, and so this unfortunately had the effect of him losing track of the conversation while he stared at the construct. He vaguely caught something about being welcome and something about ambassadors and tourism. To him this meant that they weren’t about to be brutally massacred and so he continued to zone out, now turning his attention to the city across the lake to gaze at the assortment of coloured buildings. Aside from being quite pretty in his opinion, the architectural structures in this world seemed fascinating to Vragi, coming in so many different and loud colours. Of course he forgot to consider the possibility of the buildings being, say, painted, and immediately his thoughts turned toward the possibilities of the countless different building materials used in this realm, and all the strange methods and techniques he imagined might be used by its inhabitants.

In fact he was so lost in his own strange daydream that he realized the group had begun moving. Snapping back to reality (for lack of a better word) he recalled something about being invited in for tea and crumpets.

“Tea and crumpets? That sounds fantastic!” he blurted out to no-one in particular before leaning toward the few and whispering as discreetly as he could manage;

“Psst, what’s ‘Tee and Crumb-Pots’?”

"Tea is a form of drink made from boiling water and steeping in the leaves of- you seriously don't know what tea is!? Having you been living under a rock y- Oh... right," Basalah said, giving time to ponder her words, realizing she is practically talking to a caveman of a more literal sense. She had taken a moment to assess the intellect of her comrades in more scrutinizing depth. For the most part it seemed that, besides the giant and one of the skeleton brothers... John... the others seemed average, more or less, with a few sparks in between. She rubbed her chin as she entered the surprisingly roomy elevator, a fancy one with a Victorian flair, blue with eloquent designs etched into the walls, the control panel was brass, fitted with a series of buttons. On the buttons there were no numbers, rather, some form of symbols. The lack of a strong female presence also functions in my favor of asserting my own, she thought. Though my current state makes that a... considerable obstacle.

"Well, down we go then," Abdown said as they all entered the elevator, placing his arms behind his back. He then pushed a button on the panel, prompting the doors to close with a clank, and, with a shake, it began to descend. It became apparent that the elevator also had an open view out the door, giving a free look out into the shaft for some reason. Through unseen speakers the sound of eloquent violin music could be heard softly playing. After a while of descent, they could see fanciful long hallway after another passing by the door, architecture that should be impossible to fit within the constraints of a tower. After about the fifth, the lights in the elevator flickered before going out entirely, and pitch black took the entirety. The speakers crackled, as something massive passed by the elevator. Basalah, fearless, looked out the door. The elevator was descending into what would be only described as an impossible space within the rings of a massive brass Armillary sphere, tracking the rotation of this world's islands around a core, the moon above that, and beyond that, something more complex and strange, bodies beyond visible space with strange markings etched within, blocked out by a rotating curved sheet representing the veil, the lettering glowing different colors on these rings with other series of smaller spheres carried within them.

"We had never considered before the first encounter the potentiality of infinite permutations beyond our sphere, more beautiful, or infinitely more horrible," he said this, as the rings began to pass by the door in a faster motion, the blur of them generating an image within their glowing symbols of a brilliantly colorful green-and-blue planet, then something ripping through its sky, a form shooting out like a comet, striking the moon taking off a chunk from its side then plunging into the planet, blanketing it in void and scattering pieces of land into the air. The image blanks out as they seem to enter back into a relatively normal shaft again, the music returning to normal and the lights flickering back on. The elevator descended into something akin to an eloquent spacious lobby, a series of stairs curving up into upper rooms, red carpeting with intricate designs in them, above them a crystal chandelier that jingled ever so softly, and before... before them was a table, at first appearing as ivory seemed instead a white wood grown into an eloquent design, likewise with the chairs with red cushions. On this rather large table was a pot of tea, cups, and some crumpets in plates already prepared with care, along with a fine assortment of marmalades to compliment. "Feel free to help y-"

"MINE!" Basalah suddenly shrieked, breaching her collected demeanor into a wild frenzy, lunging at the table and scarfing down on the crumpets like a wild animal.

"-ourselves," he finished, stroking his chin. "There's plenty, so no worries. Quite the... appetite she has."

"Appetites like that were not uncommon with the impoverished," Grimms said somewhat starkly. "Then again, she's also growing, so maybe it is that, anyways, my gratitude for your hospitality," he continued, his tone turning back to the more familiar warm cordiality, placing a hand on his chest and bowing to their host before making his way to the table. With a strange level of care, his massive fingers plucked up a knife and with patient care spread a seemingly strawberry flavored jam on it, before consuming it within his flaming jaws. He then, with equal finesse, took a cup, filled with with tea, and, pinky out, drank it. "Ah, magnificent blend."

The journey into the Memorian governor's domain proved fascinating to all parties, including John. The decadent and large elevator with the symbolled control panel; The see-through doors; the elevator passing through a vast, rotating brass contraption made of rotating rings and spheres within an immeasurable space; the brief images they witnessed manifest from the glowing symbols far away, of a planet not unalike the world that the skeletal brothers left behind, seemingly shattered by its own device. The image was considerably strange to the Chosen Few, and only John could guess at its significance - perhaps a brief history lesson on this world's sundering? Nevertheless, the words of Abdown made John smile slightly; so the Memorians knew of the Imagiverse outside. He doubted they liked the view they got, this deep into the Edge.
Then the doors opened to a similarly decadent room furnished with an ivory dining table and accompanying chairs that seemed to have been grown rather than carved, populated by an assortment of teapots, cups and plates, the latter of which were already laden with crumpets and marmalades. The crew stared in awe of the luxurious sight, which would have fitted only the finest cream of Victorian society, and were only snapped out of their reverie as Basalah leapt onto the table and devoured the crumpets like a starved rodent. On the Memorian governor's invitation, they took their seats, the skeletal brothers sat next to each other while the others were more spread out across the table, but not so much that they would have to yell to talk amongst themselves.
Rubbing his hands together enthusiastically, John procured a cup and pot and began to pour himself and Adam the Briton's beverage. "Aah," sighed John, "Nothing like a cuppa to unwind from the journey." When the plates were restocked with fresh crumpets, he reached out and placed one on his plate, as well as taking a jar of jam and applying a spread to his confectionery. "I must say, Abdown, you keep a fine abode. I don't think even my house is as glamorous as yours, although I must say it's been a while since we've dusted our home."
Directly to his right, Adam was grasping at the cup with an expression of sheer concentration as he tried to remember the customs of drinking tea. Which finger was it that you had to stick out? At a whim, he stuck out a finger at random and was about to take a sip when he saw Grimms on the other side of the table with his pinky out. Adam looked down at his cup, where he had unfortunately stuck out his middle finger, and quickly corrected himself before anyone saw. Looking around the table, he saw Max on the opposite side to his left, who didn't even bother with the handle and was holding the entire cup as if it were a mug of coffee. To his right, Jack was having difficulty getting his gloved fingers through the handle before deciding to just pinch the handle between four fingers exempting the pinky. A similar situation was occurring with Fancy, sitting opposite to Jack, except that his hand was just one slab of fingerless white with a thumb on the side, so he slotted that through the handle as he gripped the cup to drink.
John had also noted the mishaps of his fellow men, despairing at their lack of table etiquette, and elected to ignore them as he continued to talk to Abdown, wherever he was situated. "You mentioned that you had seen what was outside your world, or at least became aware of what was outside. What was your method of seeing "through the veil", if you don't mind me asking? Was it a typical telescope, or something similar?"

Vragi, despite his disbelief that tea and crumpets were not something to do with letters and collecting leftover bread, nevertheless followed the others into the elevator. A contraption the smith still found mysterious despite having used them several times before, the lift seemed to take them through a rather marvellous display of what he guessed was some type of cosmos.

As they disembarked Vragi was forced to flatten himself against the wall so he wouldn’t be in the way as Basalah charged toward the table. Judging from their host’s refined but - surprised, the dwarf supposed - reaction, interrupting before diving at the food and consuming said food as rapidly as physically possible was probably not considered appropriate behaviour at large. A shame, too, he thought, as it wasn’t far off from what he was used to back home. Grimms seemed to possess a greater understanding of whatever etiquette was required in this sort of situation and Vragi very deliberately sat on the opposite side of the table in order to observe and imitate, with little success, the manner in which to partake of this ritual. He tried to make himself feel better by watching some of the other attempts, although this didn’t seem to help so he decided he would be content with blissful ignorance for the time being.

Vragi confidently stirred a spoonful of marmalade into his tea while he listened in on the conversation.

"You are most courteous, though I admit I may have cheated some with my powers," Abdown said, in response to John complimenting his estranged household. He stifled back a laugh as he observed the others, and John's own reaction to them. When he heard the more refined skeleton brother's question, he froze and put down his cup. "We dream," he said, which would be cryptic, had it not been stated so matter-of-fact. "We dream, we see visions, we possess a kind of sight that sees beyond this world, and into countless others. They are like to us a reel that plays within our subconscious mind, and in our youngest self, our first dream becomes the foundation of our being. My first vision was of clocks, of constructs, of theoretical concepts, and architecture. I built this tower, never before seeing one in person. Though, the interior is also a bit... non-euclidean, as you've seen."

"Hm, I too have visions from time-to-time," Grimms said, rubbing his forehead.

"You should, even under that shell of yours I can tell at least part of you hails from this world," Abdown answered.

"You... you can just say that with certainty..?" Grimms said, the giant's tone almost trembling for once. "But I... with due respect, this is not the world I grew up in, and not the one I raised my children."

"Well," Abdown began, his eyes closing as he nodded his head. "When the Silence took this world, many were displaced by its anomalous existence forcing itself in, the world you call home may have been the most receptive, and you as a still forming infant was transported there," Abdown said. "I'd be surprised if you were the only one who ended up there."

"I... I may not have been," Grimms said softly, looking into his cup, a chuckle. "Well... that explains the third eye on my kids, I was worried I did something wrong."

"You don't have..? My, how peculiar!" Abdown said with a spark of curiosity.

"So, is she also a Memorian?" Grimms asked, motioning towards Basalah.

"Her? My, no, but there is certainly nothing wrong with what she is either! But... there is an emerald flame, one that is ambitious and hungry, that could give endless warmth... or bring everything to ash."

"What do you mean by that..?" Basalah said, a suspicious tone in her voice.

"That you have beautiful eyes," Abdown said, sipping his tea again.

"I-," Basalah squeaked, her eyes widened, and face left blank.

John was taking a sip of his cup when his question was answered, and it remained to his lips for a few seconds before he remembered to put it down. The answer was strange, yet so simple. It occurred to him how easy it must have been, travelling the expanses of Fantasy, to encounter a thing that he had once seen in his own dreams. However, in this case, this was not mere coincidence for the Memorians, but part of some innate psychic ability.

And not only a gift of clairvoyance, it seemed as Abdown continued, but the determinant of their core existence. Well, that explains this fellow's fascination with clockwork, even if he probably didn't know how all the gears were supposed to work. The puzzle pieces fitting together in John's mind began to hint at a picture; of a world built around the dreams of its inhabitants, where the drifting Ideas said to govern the existence of every individual entity were possibly rooting themselves into the minds of Memoria's inhabitants. The thought of a world deriving its concepts and structure from the worlds around it reminded him of the parasite universes that latched onto other dimensions to siphon off time and existence from them, although in this case, it was simply a case of passive imitation and not active bloodletting.

"It is a fine tower, nevertheless," John said. "I cannot begin to list the benefits that could come from incorporating such architecture into our world, should we achieve the means of doing so. I have, however, heard of arguments against the use of the term "non-Euclidean" for spatial phenomenon of this type, as non-Euclidean simply refers to the geometry of spheres and the like, and that such geometry would only be a side-effect of alien geometries that we don't understand. I, on the other hand, tend to ignore such arguments until they can provide an adequate alternative term to describe it."

"Isn't 'eldritch' the word we use for shit like that, John?" said Max.

"Well, apparently, that term, while somewhat appropriate, carries a negative connotation and wouldn't fit into any factual reports for such phenomenon." John takes another sip of his tea as he says this.

"Figures," grunts Max in reply, taking a confectionary from one of the plates and engulfing it in one bite.

A few seconds of silence passes between the Chosen Few, some still processing the ambassador's answer, until finally a voice says, "Uh, guyth, I fink I got my fingerth thtuck in the handle. Can thomeone help?"
"Hold on a sec!" That came from Fancy, who was already standing up from his seat to go and assist his Toon comrade.

Vragi nodded in agreement with John’s statement on the tower. It was certainly like nothing the dwarf had encountered prior.

“If you don’t mind me asking, can something like that be done?” He inquired, “If this tower was thought or willed into existence from some kind of ability – please excuse me if I’ve misinterpreted – is it possible it might have properties unique to its own existence? Most scholars I’ve met would probably give up straightaway.”

By his tone of voice and the way he leaned slightly over the table, it was clear that Vragi was asking out of curiosity rather than doubt. He had no idea how or even if it were possible to imitate such a construct, but his mind was racing at the thought of all the possibilities, not to mention the challenge.

As he finished his question Vragi took a sip of his 'concoction' , enjoying its texture and sweet citrus taste. It was at this point that he realised that the others, at least those who understood this custom better than he did, had spread their sweet orange paste onto the bread with holes. A look of realisation crossed his face as this epiphany washed over him and he glanced uneasily at his drink, wondering if anyone had noticed and if he should try and salvage his marmalade.