#f.action

> For some reason, you have a platoon of bipedal lobster people following you around. But they seemed to understand what you said to them when you inquired of the ruins-- several of them seemed frightened but some of them absolutely insisted-- at least, that’s what you could feel from them-- insisted upon escorting you there.

> The moons hung high by the time you got to the threshold of the ruins, and as you concentrated, you could almost feel a throbbing pulse in the ground, in the air around you-- perfectly synchronized to the beat of your own pusher.

> You made your way within, and you became aware of a secondary pulsing, one that you recognized-- why was Nephea here? You could practically taste her on the air, just through the pulsing you could feel; and it only raised that many more questions.

> You made your way deeper into the ruins, following the pulsing until you emerged in an antechamber, facing someone who seemed to be kneeling in front of an ancient statue. You stepped forward, your eyes locked on the statue; and your hand pressed to his shoulder--

> You awoke again, one last time before staggering to the floor, your head shockingly clear, refreshingly sharp-- you remember, you remember everything now. And you can still taste that familiar pulsing on the back of your tongue.

> You turn, running a hand through your hair before observing the door. It wasn’t closed when you came back in-- but you could swear you can hear something outside it. Again. 

> You reach a hand out, wrapping around the doorknob and--

> You awaken again, in what looks like a rocky, craggy grotto, knelt prostrate before a statuesque, rather Amazonian redhead-- who appears more amused than anything.

“You’re dreaming, little revolutionary.” 

> Her voice echoes and rattles through your brain, hissing sibilant notes raising gooseflesh across your arms.

“I know. How do I break it, Enyo?”

“That’s for you to find out. After all, you’ve been dreaming for quite some time... My advice to you is to stop talking, and start swinging. The world is waiting.”

> You stand, sweeping a hand through your hair again. You remember absolutely despising when she got all cryptic, but you can’t tell where those memories are coming from right now. 

> You turn from your denizen to the mouth of the grotto, ascending through dark, dank cave passages, before finally emerging on the surface-- you can see the moons just barely beginning to rise; and just over the hilltops you can see what appears to be ruins. 

> For some reason, there appear to be rivers of molten iron coursing through the planet’s crust; and mist hovering just over it-- you put the bizarre juxtaposition out of your head, and start walking. 

> What was it Yehuda said? Bash open the extruder, take the card and the block, use the card on the lathe with the block, take the completed block to the alchemiter, and do something with whatever item turns up.

“You’re an ugly sack of ass, huh? Yehuda said... ‘You’ll have to attack it from behind’... Maybe this is what he meant.”

> With one kama clutched beneath your arm, you spin the other before launching it towards the floor between the... Thing’s legs, bouncing upwards before the line ran out-- catching the thing right in the back.

“Gotcha.” 

> With one tug, you’ve split it up to the sternum; only raising more questions as what appears to be molten iron spills against the floor before hardening-- and whatever the hell that thing was exploded into what looked like... Silver gushers? 

> You find your lips forming those words, though the voice speaking them in your head isn’t your own. The growling outside has gotten louder. Hurry up... And start swinging.

> You pull the door back, stepping into the hallway-- looking down to the left and right before a pair of eyes, about waist level lock with yours.

> You mutter to yourself as the desktop is left unattended-- you’re currently rifling through the late Warden’s belongings, looking for anything that could be used as a weapon-- and strike gleaming fucking gold.

> Figures, the Warden was enough of a freak that he literally kept your kamas in a rather ornate looking dresser.  Trophy types always disgusted you a little bit-- but that was a little bit beside the point right now. You spun your trusty blades in your handss before joining the handles together, making a wicked dervish of a weapon before spinning it over your shoulder. 

“Nice to see some things don’t change.”