The world of Terrasphere's a mighty big place. Disconcertingly so, for one who is used to such convenient means of travel such as airplanes, passenger trains, and cars going ten or fifteen over in the passing lane as a baseline.
Four years have passed in this fucking game--like, four actual, quantifiable years--and none of these magitechnologically advanced peoples rubbed two brain cells together and sparked an automotive revolution.
Madison hated the idea of saviorism. Easing travel woes shouldn't be on the shoulders of people like her. But holy shit, people. Scrape some creativity out from the bottom of jars of paste you're ham-fisting into your mouths, yeah?
Racing across the world on her ghostly horse, Madison was checking off names on her friends list one by one--the ones that logged back in, anyway. There weren't many who opted to. Or maybe the list was a little light to begin with. But a handful remained; and the gunslinger hoped that they'd all be found exactly where she last left them.
Lucia's little kingdom wasn't that hard to find. A little corner carved out of Western Brisshal. Madison's map still had the soft purple pin placed exactly where the camp had last been before the servers were shut down. It was only a couple days riding from the Falderen half; perhaps longer, if it weren't for her steed's undeath-powered endurance.
Her map told her she was only a tenth of a mile away. The last couple hours were spent lazily following several undead workers that the necromancer employed to help build the camp. Madison's fingers paused over her UI's keyboard; several last-minute niggling thoughts popping up in the corners of her mind, making her doubt herself.
She pushed them away, and pushed out the message to Lucia.
Mail
@Lucia Mierz
Four years have passed in this fucking game--like, four actual, quantifiable years--and none of these magitechnologically advanced peoples rubbed two brain cells together and sparked an automotive revolution.
Madison hated the idea of saviorism. Easing travel woes shouldn't be on the shoulders of people like her. But holy shit, people. Scrape some creativity out from the bottom of jars of paste you're ham-fisting into your mouths, yeah?
Racing across the world on her ghostly horse, Madison was checking off names on her friends list one by one--the ones that logged back in, anyway. There weren't many who opted to. Or maybe the list was a little light to begin with. But a handful remained; and the gunslinger hoped that they'd all be found exactly where she last left them.
Lucia's little kingdom wasn't that hard to find. A little corner carved out of Western Brisshal. Madison's map still had the soft purple pin placed exactly where the camp had last been before the servers were shut down. It was only a couple days riding from the Falderen half; perhaps longer, if it weren't for her steed's undeath-powered endurance.
Her map told her she was only a tenth of a mile away. The last couple hours were spent lazily following several undead workers that the necromancer employed to help build the camp. Madison's fingers paused over her UI's keyboard; several last-minute niggling thoughts popping up in the corners of her mind, making her doubt herself.
She pushed them away, and pushed out the message to Lucia.
Hey Lucia! Are you at your camp? I'm in the area. Mind if I swing by and say hello?
@Lucia Mierz