Sgrub! (Karl, Ferret)

[Sporky]

==> Be the ancestrally conflicted troll

Your name is WYTMONDE HERLEIFER. You have a fondness for BERETS, MILITARY CAPS and OLD COMBAT HELMETS, as well as making your own WAR MEDALS. You enjoy FIRST PERSON SHOOTERS a great deal, and some day hope to join the ALTERNIAN MILITARY. Your trolltag is recoillessBifurcation, and your blood is FELDGRAU, which is a greyish shade of grey, and you are therefore considered a low-end greenblood. Your horns are RATHER POINTY, and stick off of your forehead at 45 DEGREE ANGLE. You talk with perfect capitalization and punctuation, but you tend to use 6s for Gs and 4s for As. You are quick to tell people 6/6/44, though you don't know what that means, but you figure it is important. As per your dreams, you wield MACHINEGUNKIND, and you never go anywhere without your box-fed TROLLNER 63. Anywhere. Your lusus is a giant featherbeast, and his name is ROMMWEL. He used to constantly put you through rigorous physical exercise, but he has slacked off as of late.

You are the descendant of KIMBALL ZEO, who was the FUSILIER GRANDUS of the Alternian military, and a feldgrau like you. Though you lack his supposed prowess with machineguns, being unable to dual-wield TROLLNING M2s, you hope you can be as respected and badass as him some day. Your most beloved hat, your GRENADIER'S SOFTCAP, apparently used to belong to him. You treasure it greatly, even if you don't always wear it.

You are also the descendant of BENEDICT SWITHIN, Navy commodore turned PETTICOAT SEAGRIFT. He was a master of MACHINEGUNKIND, PISTOLKIND, AND SABERKIND, and second only to Marquise Mindfang in the amount of terror he inflicted on the population of Alternia. You don't know about him, but he has been in your sopor dreams lately, and seagrifts have been on your mind a lot, especially after those few conversations with that Vriska troll...

_____________________________________

Another long Alternian night was just beginning. Trolls all across the planet were crawling out of their recuperacoons to do various things. Some were feeding a monstrous lusus that could have killed them all in an instant, some were lamenting having sold out their new game to a major company, some were ready to be mass-murdering asshats. But not this one.

No, Wytmonde Herleifer was crawling out of the sopor to do...nothing. He had no plans for the night, and Rommwel wasn't squawking at him, so he was good. Very slowly, he got dressed, and made sure his strife specibus was set back to Machinegunkind. He'd been toying with pistolkind before he'd settled into the sopor, but it wasn't really his thing.

His bleary eyes, still heavy from sleep, scanned his respiteblock. There was nothing out of the ordinary. His FLARPING fatigues hung on one wall, always neatly pressed when he wasn't wearing them. He had a lot of pride in those fatigues, they made him feel like his ancestor..strong,proud, commanding. Bah..whatever. Now was not the time for playing soldier.

Like any sensible troll of seven and a half sweeps, he made his way over to his grubtop and started it up, immediately logging into Trollian. He resolved to simply wait for his friends to contact him, idly playing with the model howitzer on his desk while he waited.

[Vipervertical]

==> Be the smitten troll

Your name is PERZAC TROUSEN and today you have been alive for seven sweeps. Your interests include FAWNING over your MATESPRIT and EXPLORING. You also enjoy playing GAMES on your grubtop with friends and hope to spend the rest of your life with your MATESPRIT. Your trolltag is intrepidStalker and you type with HARD Cs and ELONGATED Us. Your blood is ICTERINE, placing you on the high end of the yellowblood. Your hair is SHAGGY and almost constantly in your eyes, but you don’t mind. Your horns grow ALMOST STRAIGHT UP from your head before turning outwards, and are REASONABLY LONG. You wield the KNIFEKIND and are never without your oversized HUNTING KNIFE. Your lusus is a small but slightly overweight woofbeast named WULFGANGUE, which you thought fit his noble features. He is a trusted friend and always knows how to cheer you up.

You are the descendent of HUVERT GARNSBURTH, a FAMOUS EXPLORER of the Alternian jungles. You’ve resolved to become as skilled an adventurer as he was, and met your MATESPRIT while hiking through a nearby forest. You wear a pair of HIKING BOOTS that supposedly belonged to your ancestor and wear them constantly.

---

Perzac eagerly climbed out of his recuperacoon and got dressed, excited for the night’s plans. After sliding his hunting knife into its scabbard he grabbed his grubtop and logged onto Trollian. He was pleased to see that his adventuring partner was online and quickly messaged her.

--intrepidStalker [IS] began trolling agrarianPredator [AP]—
IS: We still on for tonight?
AP: i dOnt knOw~
AP: i feel sOrta sick~
IS: D:{ Oh noooo!
IS: I hope youu feel better soon.
IS: I hate being sikk.
AP: i was really lOOking fOrward tO tOnight~
AP: i guess we’ll have tO dO this sOme Other time~
IS: Don’t worry abouut it.
IS: Youu juust fokuus on getting better.
IS: <3
AP: awww, yOu're sO sweet~
AP: <3~
--intrepidStalker [IS] gave up trolling agrarianPredator [AP]—

Perzac sighed, filled with disappointment. His plans for the night were dashed, but he couldn’t be mad at her. Wulfgangue came in to the room and nuzzled his side, filling him with more confidence. He scratched his lusus’ head and resolved to find something else to do that night. Scanning Trollian he noticed one of his former FLARPing friends online.

--intrepidStalker [IS] began trolling recoillessBifurcation[RB]—
IS: Arquua just kankelled on me.
IS: Youu doing anything tonight?

[Karl the Unfettered]

===> Be the lost troll

Your name is COLFERAS MALVAKAIN, and you have recently turned six and a half sweeps. You know nothing about any of your ancestors despite your research, leading you to think they were REDBLOODED NOBODIES WHO NEVER AMOUNTED TO NOTHIN. You are determined to avoid such a fate yourself, at ANY COST, despite your own nauseatingly BRIGHT RED BLOOD. Technically CANDY-APPLE RED, but you tell yourself every night that you don't care. AT ALL. You don't care so much that, unlike other MUTANT REDBLOODS, you don't bother with hiding it at all; you wear it on your sleeve, like some lazy HIGHBLOOD. You enjoy a decent glass of HARD LIQUOR on your days off and have an INQUISITIVE AND SOMEWHAT SCHOLARLY NATURE, but this often gets buried under the BLOODLUST your chosen profession requires.

Your horns are simple, not TOO LARGE or TOO SMALL, but JUST RIGHT, poking out from your forehead and sweeping back in a GRACEFUL CURVE. You keep your hair neatly combed to the side, like any RESPECTABLE MAFIOSO, even though you are, at the moment, merely a WANNABE WISEGUY. You wear RUN-DOWN COMBAT BOOTS you claimed off the dead body of one of the fallen during the frequent GANG WARS you engage in, along with STURDY TROUSERS and a MULTI-POCKETED TRENCHCOAT. You love your coat, its so damn awesome. Sometimes you just STAND THERE PUTTING STUFF IN THE POCKETS AND TAKING IT OUT, all day long. You also enjoy GANG WARS and the distillation, smuggling, selling and distribution of ULTRASTRONG MOONSHINE, both the BOOTLEGGED and ILLEGAL varieties; you don't drink it, though, since the stuff you deal with could PUT A FULL-GROWN MUSCLEBEAST INTO A COMA. And he'd WAKE UP BLIND, if he ever woke up at all.

Per your desire to rise above your presumably good-fer-nothin ancestors, all your strife specibi have been self-taught and found on your own. You are most proficient with SMGKIND, proudly wielding a large ALTERNIAN TYPEWRITER into battle; as a backup you have a PISTOLKIND specibus, from which you can whip out assorted HOLD-OUT GUNS, and when your back's really against the wall you also have KATANAKIND. You don't know why, really... you just found it one day, and kept it cuz it looked cool. They tell you you look cool flailing about with your SHINTO HEAVY TROLLBLADE, and you have no reason to doubt them. Neither do the unfortunates whose varicoloured blood stains its artfully rusted surface.

Your lusus is a small, but mighty hawkbeast named MASSACREE, whose senses blend with yours in combat. He has taught you the speed and evasive maneuvering for which you are most well known, though you also have sufficient brute force to wield the myriad heavy weapons you call your own. Your trolltag is wannabeWiseguy, and you st-tutter on most of your Ts and hard Cs or K-Ks but otherwise t-try to have c-correct speech, c-capiche? You also have a HABIT OF LURKING on trollian, logging on and waiting for others to acknowledge you; predictably, you can go for weeks without anything but orders and gang war assignments, but you don't really care. Your symbol is a green SHAMROCK on a MUTANT RED circle, and this symbol is proudly emblazoned on all your shirts and the left breast of your awesome coat.

---------------------

Another night, another gang war. Colferas couldn't wait, and eagerly climbed out of his recuperacoon to log on and get his marching orders. First, though, he checked his gear, as he did every time he climbed out for another war; he'd learned early on that unchecked gear could betray you in the oddest of ways at the worst of times, never a good thing. One time his ALTERNIAN TYPEWRITER had, inexplicably, morphed into a pathetic HOUSE KEY without him ever noticing! He'd not gone without checking his weapons every night since then.

That taken care of he logged onto Trollian, but to his dismay none of his superiors were on yet. Glancing around, he saw some of those annoying highbloods who'd added him recently for some reason. Probably just to make fun of him for being a freak, but he wasn't about to give them the satisfaction of trolling them first.

Stupid gits. He wondered why he'd let them add him at all, and seriously considered banning them. But he did that every night, and every night decided against it; maybe they really just wanted to talk, but he doubted it.

[Sporky]

There was a flicker of movement on Wytmonde's main Trollian window. Colferas was on. Huh. Wytmonde was alright with Colferas, even if he was a bit standoffish and rude. Oh well. Not every troll could be perfectly nice and friend. Wytmonde bit, bringing up a Trollian window.

recoillessBifurcation began trolling wannabeWiseguy

[RB]: Heeyyyy, it's the wise6uy.
[RB]:Wh4t's up, m4n? you 6onn4 m4ke me 4n offer I c4n't refuse?

And then another window binged; Perzac. Alright, awesome.

[RB]:Th4t sucks, m4n.
[RB]:No, I'm not doin6 4nythin6. Just 6ot out of the slime. Mi6ht fire up Trolldiers of Misfortune. OR w4tch Hum4n 2 464in.
[RB]:They're e4tin6 her. 4nd then they're 6onn4 e4t me. Oh my 6ooooooooooooooooo6.

[Vipervertical]

Perzac chuckled as he read Wytmonde's response. He always was one for watching those movies that were so bad they're funny.

IS: Trolldiers of Misfortuune again?
IS: I mean it's a pretty good game, I guuess.
IS: Buut I kinda want to play something new.
IS: Youu know what I mean?

His rapid typing allowed him to deliver several messages before Wytmonde had a chance to respond, which probably meant he was distracted by something else. He sighed, leaning his head back against his recuperacoon. Wulfgangue was curled up against his side, prompting him to give the lusus some more scratching while he awaited a response.

[Karl the Unfettered]

Wow! One of them had actually deigned to troll him! Colferas was briefly excited, but quashed it beneath the typical irritability he was more known for. He glanced around his room, and his eyes alighted on a box of illegal moonshine.

wW: Wow, someone's t-talk-king to me! *rolls eyes*
wW: Yeah I got an offer for ya, soldier-boy. Int-terest-ted in some BOOTLEGGED MOONSHINE?
wW: Fresh from upt-town, t-too, just yest-terday!
wW: T-Trade one whole c-crate for a military-grade flamethrower and some fuel, whaddaya say?!

If he could get a sale off, he might get a promotion! Colferas went all tingly at the prospect, and on the spur of the moment decided to troll that other guy who'd added him earlier.

wannabeWiseguy began trolling intrepidStalker

wW: Hey you. Found any more gay ruins in your gay jungles recently?
wW: I swear, what self-respect-ting t-troll wastes all his t-time in the jungles, huh?
wW: I bet you haven't even got any decent loot t-to show for it!
wW: But if you do I'll t-trade some moonshine for it. It's gotta be some seriously PHAT LEWT if you want some of this! I'm c-complet-tely serious!

Two sales in one evening. If this came off he'd be promoted for DAMN SURE.

[Sporky]

Wytmonde pondered Colferas' offer. Epic liquor in exchange for fire. Illegal liquor in exchange for a flamethrower...hmm. This was a tough decision indeed wait no it wasn't. It wasn't at all.

[RB]:Liquor for fire?
[RB]:You'd better believe I'm in on th4t!

Quickly, he looked around his block for the flamethrower in question. Yes, there it was in a corner. Fuel, however...

[RB]:Cr4444444p. I don't think I got fuel, m4n. Sorry. Is the thin6 by itself still worth some booze?

And while he was waiting for Colferas to reply:

RB: Ye4h, I know wh4t you me4n 4bout pl4yin6 new stuff. But if it 4in't broke, don't fix it. Know wh4t I'm s4yin'?
IS: I guuess. I mean, I've had lots of fuun with it.
IS: It juust gets old after a while.
RB: I know wh4t you me4n.
RB: But when your hive is w4y up in the mount4ins..well.
IS: I get youu.
IS: Hey, I'm going to go ouut for a bit. It's a nike night.
RB: Mmk4y. H4ve fun.

recoillessBifurcation ceased trolling intrepidStalker

Just then, he noticed something blinking on his task manager bar. It was Seagrift's Grip, his torrenting program.It was blinking to show a file transfer completed...huh. He didn't remember downloading anything. So, out of curiosity, he checked the file:

Sgrub.zip

Uhhhhhh...what?

Oh, hey. That was that thing Luthor Games had bought from some yellowblood homebrewer. Cool. He opened the folder. There were two installers and a tiny, tiny readme. He went with the readme.


CONGLATURATION!


You have been selected to try out the newest up and coming genre-bending game from Luthor Games! Sgrub is an action-RPG that has you and your acquaintances as the stars! Just send the installers to a friend, install the client and server programs, set up a stable client-server loop, and enjoy!





Luthor Games is not responsible for any quadrants filled when playing Sgrub. This trial software can only be installed six time.

Six time? Oh, okay what. Right before his eyes, the word 'six' changed to 'three' in a blink.


Uhhhhhh...

[Vipervertical]

He glanced out the window as he chatted with Wytmonde and was suddenly overcome with hive-fever. Excusing himself from the conversation he captchalouged the grubtop into his sylladex and headed out to the balcony, enjoying the fresh air. His grubtop beeped at him, meaning someone else was trolling him. He shrugged, too busy enjoying the great outdoors to bother responding.

On a whim he leapt down from the second floor, landing on the soft grass below in a roll. He was hardly on his feet before he fell onto his back, basking in the cool breeze. His grubtop beeped again. Somebody was getting impatient. He sighed and sat up, a little annoyed to have to mess with his Hemomancy Fetch Modus.

Placing his wrist in his mouth, he bit down. Sharp teeth ripped through hard flesh, causing yellow blood to begin dripping out of the wound. He dabbed his other fingers in the blood and traced out the grubtop in the soft grass, which ressurected it from the purgatory of his sylladex. It was an annoying method of doing business, but it worked. Now to see who was bothering him...

IS: Oh, it's youu.
IS: The redblood.
IS: No, I haven't found any ruuins rekently.
IS: So how have youu been?

The yellow blood on his fingers smeared the keys, but they were already painted by his previous uses, so he didn't mind. To tell the truth, he actually liked the redblood. He admired the way he didn't hide his mutant blood. He just...couldn't remember his name. They hadn't talked much, but he hoped that they'd become friends in time. Of course, Wytmonde kept telling him friendship was a disease...

[Karl the Unfettered]

Hm... no fuel, and no ruins. His daydream of a quick promotion began to evaporate, at the same time as he remembered that explorer dude, Prozac or whatever his name was, wasn't much of a drinker; Wytmonde could be counted on to snap up a crate full of Ultrastrong, but not Prozac. He replied to soldier-boy first:

wW: No fuel? Eh, I c-could probably dist-till moonshine st-trong enough t-to make do unt-til one of us finds the real deal.
wW: In any event, with only half the deal on your end I c-can only t-trade half a c-crate of Ult-trast-trong. St-till enough to royally fark a guy up from now t-til the end of the world, you know.
wW: It isn't a T-TOT-TAL lie that my Ult-trast-trong can put a Musclebeast into a c-coma, after all. *cheesy grin*
wW: So! Half a c-crate of Ult-tra-st-trong Moonshine for one milit-tary flamethrower, sans fuel. Do we have an ac-cord?

Colferas grinned to himself, since half a crate was still more than he'd moved at once in... gog, half a sweep? He couldn't remember.

Glancing to the side, he saw Prozac had replied at last, and went to say stuff back at him:

wW: Yep, that's me. The redblood who doesn't hide behind c-cowardly gray anonymity. Not like that K-Kark-kat. Gog he's a c-coward. *rolls eyes*
wW: But enough of c-cowards. You st-till got any loot you'd like t-to t-trade?
wW: Like, horns or anything? I've got this old recipe for hot sauce, it seems REALLY farking st-trong, but it needs three horns and a chipoltle pepper.
wW: Whatever THAT is. *rolls eyes*
wW: Got anything like that? Or would you know where t-to find it? I'll t-trade anything you'd like... weaksauce moonshine, wat-tered-down ale, anything I've got for t-trading.

The recipe was so old it didn't have a name on it, or it'd been scratched out. Colferas wanted it because it was rare and valuable and his boss was always looking for strong drinks and sauces like that, but also it seemed capable of permanently maximizing the strength and stamina of the drinker; the manuscript referred to it as Vim, an archaic term if ever there was one.

He could only imagine the taste... probably something like distilled pain.

[Sporky]

Only half a crate? Awwwwwwww. Wytmonde was saddened by this news. Oh well. It wasn't that bad of a deal. Half a crate of UltraSTRONG moonshine for a lonesome flamethrower. He could dig that.

[RB]:H4lf 4 c4se for just 4 fle4methrower? De3l.
[RB]:By the w4y, you know 4nythin6 4bout torrents? My 6ubtop just torrented somethin6 on its own, I think. Th4t S6rub 64me I he4r trolls t4lk 4bout.

Wytmonde shook his bone nook, trying to drive out the slight aching feeling that had started up. Thinking about that Sgrub thing made his head hurt.

Suddenly, he found himself going to his FLARPing trophy case, where he displayed his most prized FLARP acquisitions. Oddly, among them was a rusty, broken stopwatch, the kind track coaches use. It had never worked, no matter what he'd tried to do to it. And yet...he had felt compelled to take it.

He took the stopwatch from the case, and sat back down at his grubtop, waiting for responses.

[Vipervertical]

Perzac was pleased to see the redblood's responses. He didn't seem at all upset to be called as such. He seemed almost proud to be a mutant. His confidance was infectious, and Perzac was feeling pretty good about himself now.

IS: Hot sauuke?
IS: I don't know...
IS: If it's as hot as youu say it is, I'll definitely bite.
IS: I think I fouund a few horns one time in the forest. They looked kinda like troll horns, buut I'm not suure.
IS: No idea what a chipoltle pepper is thouugh...

He flicked his neck, getting the hair out of his eyes so he could see the screen better. It almost immediately fell back into its original location, but he didn't seem to even notice. He looked back at the hive, longing to check out those horns again now that they'd been brought up. What he didn't want to do was have to get back up. If he captchalouged the grubtop again he would have to ressurect it with the Hemomancy modus again, and his wrist was just finishing healing up.

Perzac sighed again. Why did things have to be so complicated?

[Karl the Unfettered]

Torrents...? Oh, those computer things. Colferas frowned; he usually didn't have much to do with computers, but his INQUISITIVE AND SOMEWHAT SCHOLARLY NATURE forbade him from not pursuing a line of thought or an area of study, no matter how trivial.

wW: I don't make deals, soldier-boy, I make ac-cords. And it seems we have an ac-cord.
wW: As for your myst-tery t-torrent... I'm not sure I t-trust that Sgrub stuff. It seems awful fishy t-to me, and not in the sexy way the female Sea Dwellers have.
wW: You know, those FINS, and those GILLS, and that JEWELERY and their SK-KIN...

Gog he was getting himself worked up; he had to focus! He was TRADING here, for fark's sake!

wW: Ehm, sorry, I get c-carried away somet-times. I'll bring the half-c-crate around your place later t-tonight, I have some other ac-cords to see t-to. See ya then!

wannabeWiseguy quickly ceased trolling recoillessBifurcation

Whew... better take a moment to get it together. Alright, now for yellowblood...

wW: Yeah, I have no c-clue what a chipotle pepper is either, not precisely. Probably fark-king spicy though.
wW: Anyway, from what I've gathered, the most pot-tent horns are only found on the st-trongest of the Horny Beasts, and those are usually found in like mount-tains or some such.
wW: It'd probably be an ADVENT-TURE, get-ting three of them, and a t-troll c-can't have advent-tures by himself no mat-ter what c-color his blood is.

He couldn't believe he was about to say this, but the hot sauce couldn't not be made! To distill that mythical sauce, he... he'd do anything! Put up with anybody!

wW: So we should do it t-together. As a t-team, you know. I'm sure I c-could t-take a few weeks off from the gang wars, especially for legendary hot sauce like this.
wW: Maybe you c-could ask that soldier-boy, uh.... Wytmonde? The guy who's always banging on about his fark-king ancest-tors...
wW: What's the big deal about ancest-tors, anyway? Do you know what it is?
wW: Jegus, I don't usually t-talk so much. Must be bec-cause someone's actually listening.

[Sporky]

Wytmonde had to sort of agree with Colferas. It was a mighty suspicious thing, a file torrenting itself. He didn't know they could do that. He'd have to speak to somebody about it, that's for sure. Scanning his Trollian contact list, he- HRKK

---

Wytmonde looked down at his unconscious past self. Well, now he knew who had knocked him out and left that weird stuff; he had. Kinda..barbaric. Just whacking himself in the back of the nook with the butt of his machinegun. But hey, stable time crap.

Looking around, he knew what he had to do. He accessed his sylladex, and left the magic clock gears right next to his grubtop. He knew they had been the first things he noticed when he woke up. But that wasn't all.

He made his way over to the flamethrower, and pulled the flamethrower fuel he'd given to Colferas from his sylladex, putting it next to the flamethrower it belonged to. He was leaving this fuel here so he could give it to Colferas so he could leave it here so he could give it to Colferas. Yep. Made perfect sense.

There was nothing else he needed to do. With a smirk at his past self, the Heir of Time disappeared back into the future.

---

Wytmonde groaned as he lifted his bone nook from the keyboard of his grubtop. What..the sweet hornfiling troll Jegus was that? The back of his bone nook hurt, so he rubbed it..wet. He looked at his hand, a small amount of grey-green blood was on his fingers. Okay, so someone had hit him in the back of the nook..weird.

Then he noticed the pile of weird, faintly glowing clock gears on his desk next to his grubtop. What the..they weren't there before he'd been conked on the nook. He poked at them, then did nothing, just made the sound a pile of metal makes when you shift it around...weird.

He gave his bone nook a firm shake. Weird shenanigans were going down. Weird, man. WEIRD. But oh well. He had a strange feeling that things would work out alright in the end.

[Vipervertical]

Perzac read over the responses with a slight smile. An adventure, eh? Perzac loved adventures. But...

IS: I love adventuures! That souunds great!
IS: Only...
IS: Kan we wait for a bit?
IS: I promised my matesprit that I'd always take her with me when I go on adventuures.
IS: And she's sikk right now.
IS: Maybe we kan go tomorrow?

He looked back at the hive again. Maybe...

IS: I'll be right bakk.

He captchalouged the grubtop again. It was a shame to have to put it back in his sylladex when he just got it out, but those horns were calling to him now. He rolled to his feet and headed back into his hive. Inside he found his trophy case. In it were a few FLARPing trophies, but more important were his RELICs which he discovered from exploring. Sure enough, there were four nicely sized horns in the case. They resembled troll horns, but they were far too large to come from any troll he knew of. Not even that monster Tavros.

He sighed, biting down on his wrist again, reopening the just healed wound. The fingers of his left hand once again dabbed themselves in the yellow gore before tracing out the grubtop on the nearby desk.

IS: I think I've got them...

[Karl the Unfettered]

Matesprit...? Oh gog, Prozac was a skirt-chaser. Colferas rubbed the bridge of his nose, growling in irritation; the last thing he needed was some greenblood chick whining the whole way across Alternia, about rashes and sores and Jegus-knows what other little pains. He was about to berate the guy when he noticed he'd logged off. Farking coward... probably gone to dote over his precious skirt; it was enough to make any self-respecting wiseguy sick.

While Prozac (he was sure that wasn't the guy's name, but it was close enough for now) was gone Colferas looked at his own trophy case. It was mostly extra weapons and fetch modi; some PISTOLS, a few lesser TYPEWRITER-style SMGs, a wallet modus. The wallet was incredibly practical and really quite handy, but it made things way too easy; he much preferred the pocket modus that was built into his trenchcoat, which probably wasn't that much more difficult, but for sure it had style in orders of magnitude beyond any mere wallet.

His grubtop beeped, and he glanced at it to see Prozac had showed up again. Colferas scowled and sat down, ready to read the mewlings of some mate-struck loser, but the scowl was wiped away when he saw what was actually said; the yellowblood thought he had some of the horns!

wW: You've already got some?! Sweet! How many?!
wW: We'll st-tll need a chipotle pepper, but I have no c-clue where t-to get one of those.
wW: We c-could go on an advent-ture for that, maybe, but I'd st-till like t-to t-trade for your horns.
wW: So whaddaya want, eh? I got guns, fetch modi, all sortsa gang war swag and booty and st-tuff.
wW: Seriously, man! Name your price! I'm t-tot-tally not kidding here!

He was breaking every rule of trading he'd been taught, but... it was horns! For the sauce! The Sauce!

[Sporky]

Wytmonde's head still hurt like a hornfiling nubsucker. Gog damn it.. though it was starting to fade, that was good. Headaches were never something you wanted to have, and that it was fiding was a sign that the random blow to the head hadn't left lasting damage.

Oh, hey Trollian was beeping. Oh...oh gog. It was that mysterious, vague troll again...lovely.

-- illusionaryVulpine [IV] began trolling recoillessBifurcation [RB]
IV: greet1ngs
RB: ()X Hello. X()
IV: h0w are y0u t0day
RB: ()X 6ood. X()
IV: c00l
RB: ()X But...th4t S6rub thin6 th4t torrented itself to me before is on my mind. X()
IV: 0h?
RB: ()X Yes. X()
RB: ()X The, uhhh...re4dme ch4n6ed. X()
IV: 0h?
IV: d0 tell
RB: ()X It used to s4y it couldn't be inst4lled more th4n six times. X()
IV: n0w?
RB: ()X Three. X()
IV: lemme guess
IV: ... Ah.
RB: ()X Wh4t were you expectin6? X()
IV: l00ks l1ke s0me players are already 1n the game
RB: ()X It's likely th4t Luthor 64mes sent it to other trolls, too. X()
IV: 1ndeed
RB: ()X Testin6 4 pre-rele4se copy on only one 6roup seems...dumb. X()
IV: wh0 sa1d 1t was a prerelease
IV: 1f anyth1ng, 1 th1nk 1t w0uld be an exclus1ve release, m0re than a test
RB: ()X Well, I'd he4rd th4t they were testin6 4 new 64me-ch4n6er. X()
RB: ()X I put two 4nd two to6ether. X()
IV: well, sgrub w1ll be l1fe-alter1ng 1f y0u play 1t, thats f0r certa1n
RB: ()X They s4id th4t 4bout Elder Scrolls IV. X()
IV: trust me
RB: ()X But my life didn't ch4n6e. X()
IV: th1s 1s the real deal
RB: ()X If you s4y so. X()
IV: 1ve seen 1t played
RB: ()X It's just 4 64me. X()
IV: well
IV: n0t sgrub, but a d1fferent vers10n. 0ne c0uld say a d1fferent 1terat10n.
RB: ()X Uhhhh. X()
IV: well, as 1t 1s. 1 d0ubt 1d be able t0 st0p y0u fr0m play1ng sgrub. espec1ally s1nce y0u already have
RB: ()X Hmmm? X()
IV: y0u already f1n1shed y0ur sess10n. at least t0 me y0u have.
RB: ()X Uhhhh...'k4y. X()
RB: ()X You've 6one from 'wh4t' to 'kind4 creepy' X()
IV: ((ah, 0k.))
IV: y0uve already played
RB: ()X No I h4ven't. X()
RB: ()X Stop bein6 so mystic4l 4nd spooky. X()
RB: ()X It's weirdin6 me out. X()
IV: wh0s be1ng myst1cal
RB: ()X You 4re. X()
IV: 1m be1ng rather pla1n w1th y0u.
RB: ()X You s4id I 4lre4dy pl4yed. X()
RB: ()X I h4ven't. X()
RB: ()X The S6rub inst4llers 4re just sittin6 in their folder with their creepy re4dme. X()
IV: 0h, 1 kn0w y0u havent yet 1nstalled 1t. t0 y0ur perspect1ve
IV: but t0 m1ne, y0uve already ended y0ur sess10n
IV: and 0thers have been played
RB: ()X You're m4kin6 4bsolutely no sense. X()
IV: strange, 1 th0ught 1 made c0mplete sense.
IV: but then aga1n
IV: y0ure 0ut 0f t1me
IV: my t1me, at least
RB: ()X Wh4t. X()
IV: 1ndeed.
IV: t1me 1s a funny th1ng
RB: ()X The sense you 4re m4kin6 is ne64tive. X()
IV: t0 the n0rmal pers0n, 1t seems t0 travel 1n a stra1ght l1ne, always fl0w1ng f0rward
RB: ()X Oh 6o6, not this stupid quote. X()
IV: qu0te?
RB: ()X Yes. X()
IV: here 1 was th1nk1ng 1 was be1ng 0r1g1nal
RB: ()X Let me 6uess. X()
RB: ()X Wibbly wobbly timey-wimey stuff? X()
IV: what? 0r rather, wh0?
RB: ()X Yes. Who. X()
IV: y0u s0und l1ke y0u need a D0ct0r.
RB: ()X Ok4y, now you're just bein6 overt. X()
IV: 1ndub1tably
IV: but n0, 1ts n0t t1my-w1my
RB: ()X Wh4t is it, d4re I 4sk? X()
IV: flu1d
RB: ()X ..Of course. X()
RB: ()X Like w4ter. Like the w4ves cr4shin6 464inst 4 se46rift's ship. X()
IV: M0re l1ke currents 1nteract1ng, send1ng a fl0at1ng 0bject here, there, and everywhere
RB: ()X You're st4rtin6 to m4ke 4 little sense, oddly. X()
IV: 1 f1gured the naut1cal anal0gy w0uld w0rk
RB: ()X Despite the f4ct th4t i'm 4 milit4ry m4n, not 4 se46rift. X()
RB: ()X ...I think. X()
RB: ()X Th4t 6o6d4mn Vrisk4 person h4s my thinkp4n 4ll in 4 tizzy. X()
IV: true. e1ther way
IV: 1 d0ubt y0u g0t where y0u were w1h0ut a bas1s 0f naut1cal kn0weldge
RB: I need to 6o now. You're seriously weirdin6 me out.
IV: Very well
reoillessBifurcation ceased trolling illusionaryVulpine

[Vipervertical]

The redblood seemed absolutely estatic about the horns. He was offering all sorts of items to barter. Unfortunately, none of them seemed all that interesting to him, except maybe the fetch modi.

IS: Aktuually, I'd rather juust have some of the hot sauuke.
IS: Buut those are some very tempting offers.
IS: And of kouurse we'll go on an adventuure for the chipoltle pepper sometime.
IS: It souunds like a lot of fuun!

He glanced at one of the other RELICs: A strange gun that had never worked. It was long and fit comfortably in his hands, but it just...didn't work. He picked it up anyway, twirling it around and pretending to shoot it. He chuckled before setting it back down, remembering the conversation he was in the midst. Suddenly very embarrassed and glad that Trollian didn't have a viewing window.

Wulfgangue took the opportunity to leap up and lie down on the desk next to the grubtop, no doubt hoping for more attention. Perzac just sighed and gave in, sitting down in his deskchair and scratching the lusus while he looked at the grubtop for responses.

[Karl the Unfettered]

wW: Share the sauce? Hmm...
wW: We c-could do that I guess. If there's enough.
wW: Oh yeah. We'd also have t-to find another st-till, I don't want t-to lose mine and all the lore seems t-to indic-cate this Sauce will dest-troy the apparat-tus used in its dist-tillation.
wW: And I've got a moonshine rack-ket t-to run, you underst-tand.

He glanced out the window, gauging the time; he did have a delivery to make, after all.

wW: Well I have a delivery t-to make, so I'll see you soon, Prozac!

wannabeWiseguy ceased trolling intrepidStalker

Colferas figured he should check with soldier-boy, to confirm the time and make sure he wasn't going to deliver on an empty hive.

wannabeWiseguy began trolling recoillessBifurcation

wW: Hey, soldier-boy, I'm heading out for your hive now.
wW: I should be there in about t-twenty minutes, you'll be there right?
wW: Bad for business t-to make deliveries on empty hives, you know.
wW: Also, just t-to c-confirm... one milit-tary flamethrower for half a c-case of Ult-trast-trong Moonshine, c-correct?

[Sporky]

Gog, now Wtmonde was even more confused. The smack to the back of the head, the weird future time water shenanigans of that other person...what happened to when the most confusing thing in his nights was where he'd left his glass of whiskey when he'd crawled into she sopor?

He had to calm down. He was freaking out over nothing. Absolutely nothing. It was just weird stuff going on. Weird things happened to trolls all the gog damn time. Nothing to be confused about, right? Yes, nothing to fret over.

See, there was Colferas. Everything was perfectly normal.

[RB]:Ye4h ye4h, I'm here.
[RB]:Twenty minutes is fine.
[RB]:4nd yep, th4t's the de4l.
[RB]:See you then!

[Vipervertical]

The redblood seemed a little wary to share the sauce, but agreed nonetheless. Then he started going on about a still or something. Perzac wasn't too clear on the mechanics of making hot sauce, but he did have most of those ingredients. Just as he was about to correct the redblood's spelling of his name, he logged off. Perzac stared at the grubtop in a daze, not really certain of what to do about this development. He eventually settled on leaving the grubtop alone and scratching Wulfgangue. Clearly, quick thinking was not one of his strong suits.

As he scratched his lusus, he remembered that he was in the middle of enjoying the outside air when the redblood interrupted. But...he really didn't want to captchalouge the grubtop again. He sighed once more. Complication after complication, all on account of this silly fetch modus. What does hemomancy even mean, anyway? In the end, he decided to see if Wytmonde had thought of anything worth doing.

-- intrepidStalker [IS] began trolling recoillessBifurcation [RB] --
IS: Hi again.
IS: I guuess tonight's not a good night for going ouut.
IS: So what've youu been uup to?