|Add...a bunch of stuff this time I guess, this is not that usable really?|
Weeks ago a note was delivered to you by an indistinct bird-like space. It formally requested your attendance at a wedding for two people youd never heard of, much less met, in the city of Morlojog. Your curiosity has gotten the better of you - or maybe you just cant resist an open bar - and here you find yourself, at Morlojog, surrounded by strangers, near the Mouth of Morlojogoth, the cathedral of Morjog the Inevitable. (These names can be confusing but they make more sense in the original Molg.)
Your local lord or duchess or whatever received such an invitation. Perhaps they are curious, perhaps they are embarrassed at having forgotten such an occasion, perhaps they are furious, perhaps they are merely observing courtly custom. Either way you are their envoy, and you have very specific business with the bride and groom once all this is over.
Theres a gift in your pack. You thought it was absolutely delightful at the time you bought it, and later decided to give it to someone special. Now youve lost your way, and wearing your finery at that! Its odd that you decided to dress to the nines for this ride. Now you find yourself outside this hard to pronounce town...hey a wedding! That sounds like fun. And you wont even feel uncomfortable crashing because you have a gift with you! That was fortunate! A string of coincidences has led you here, like an anglerfish, and you are none the wiser.
You were at home, in bed. It was night. Now where are you? Did you get dressed in the dark? Did you giftwrap your spare boots? Without knowing why you know youre at a wedding and that you need to just go along with it and not upset anything. You know the bride and groom on sight...well, not KNOW them, youve never set eyes on them before, maybe not even someone of their species, depending on where you're from and what you are.
Morlojog is an up and coming city-state that has made tremendous strides in the last sixty years. You'd been meaning to see what all the fuss was about and on learning of the upcoming festival, the 100th Flowering Festival Morlojog has had since installing their first monarch, you decided that now was the perfect opportunity. The inns are all at capacity and even the citizens are turning away would-be-lodgers and their gold, strangers stuffed in the rafters. So you wander, and in wandering you come upon this church...
Your hands are shaking. Your mouth is dry. The air smells like iron and fire. Your breaths are quick and deep. Everyones eyes look stoned, and youre sure that yours do as well. Forgotten instincts that once screamed at you in the dark about serpents, about wolves, ABOUT the dark, howl and scratch at you now. Youll die here if you dont do somethingbut you cannot stop the ceremony. You cannot change this one moment of crystallizing salt, this fate. Somebodys getting married. That is etched as fact in the bedrock of your existence.
However you've arrived, you're here now, and you're having a bit of trouble remembering what you've been doing lately. You may know where you are, or even why you came here in the first place, but the story begins as in a dream and you never learn much about what you dreamed just before. You may have walked into town, had a sandwich, rented a room, fucked a dude, it's all a blur. You set out, and now you're here, Ed Helms as shit.
This all started centuries ago. It begins with the wedding.
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