>>767627Vizsla scowls at your words and stomps off a small distance, hiding her face. The other factions weren't quite so affected by the Daughter's passing as you are, but the other Saviors cannot help but share in your feelings. Just a look at their distant, haunted expressions, tainted by a little sorrow, tells you as such.
"Quite," Doctor Galton says, trying to hide her own nervous grimace. "Now let's all concentrate, and we'll be able to bring back–"
But it seems that everyone's thoughts had already moved back to your missing allies, even before her declaration. For things have already begun to change, even though you yet stand at an Anchor.
A projectile streaks past your face, shrieking like a bullet. The others scatter as other projectiles fly about them, making for cover.
Only, in a strange moment of clarity, you manage to catch a glimpse of the near-miss shot in your peripherals. It is not a bullet, nor dart nor arrow, as the others may imagine.
It's… a plumbing gasket.
Another shot follows.
This time, as you involuntarily move to dodge it, you see that it is a carpenter's nail.
Dear reader, the reason that the late King of WRATH brought so many Anchors with him from WRATH to LIMBO was paranoia. For paranoia is a near cousin to WRATH, and follows in its kindred's steps. Paranoia begets jealousy, and envy. GROGAR half-imagined that his collection of Anchors, if left in WRATH, would be taken from him by the many other petty lords hiding elsewhere in WRATH, biding their time until they could dethrone him. Even if GROGAR could easily re-conquer them, the mere thought of HIS possessions being tainted by the touch of another was utterly unacceptable. Thus he took along this extra baggage, forcibly reasoning that he could weaponize them. Of course, this proved his undoing.
However, he was not alone in such reasoning. Lord TIRAC brought along an Anchor of his own– just the one. The King of VIOLENCE could prove to be a rather cool-headed tyrant at times.
Roof shingles. Chimneys. Copper wiring, magitech cores. Gutters, drainages. Marble, cobblestone, furniture, rugs, screws, fasteners, silverware siding portraits bricks windows plants concrete rebar soil grass blood sweat tears and–
All about you, the bits and pieces that go into building a habitation shoot by you, then freeze in the air, finding their proper place, waiting their companions.
Piece by piece, stone by stone, the Anchor brought to LIMBO by Lord TIRAC assembles itself.
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