Dry, craggy rock threatens to trip you as it takes over for the polished marble in the Eldritch Arena from before… but every step you take is uneven… shaky! Like a vast, stony tightrope stretched across…

… Well, good question, actually. It takes you a moment to realize you’ve been holding your breath, and when you dare to sniff the air your nose is met with an oppressively-cold, dry sample… like pressing your nose up against an industrial-strength air conditioner!

Stranger still is the air around you–it stays still as you cautiously creep across the crags. Stagnant, even. In place of the smell of dead air, however, is a scent strikingly similar to MUSTARD–the tangy taste causing your nose to rankle in stunned shock!

Your foot slips on a loose pile of gravel. Sliding into something resembling the splits, a fresh grimace forms on your face as you try to stifle the yelp welling up inside your throat-

And then you hear it: an impossibly-deep rumbling noise somewhere between a bullfrog croak and a hiccup that reverberates across the vast abyss and sends an uncanny rattling through your bones!

T-TRIER?

You can’t see it, but you can sense it–a colossal entity drifting up through the murk towards your pithy little island like a monstrous sea jelly–the mustard scent now pungent enough to sting your nose and prick at your eyes!

Rising above you like a droning mountain peak, your observer looms over you in deathly quiet judgement long enough for you to realize your heart is banging against your chest…

“WE ARE THE GOD OF THIS REALM.”

Oh. OH. Woah, so… wait, so are they Trier, or-

“WE ARE NOT THE MAGE,” Booms the voice rattling around your skull, “WE SIMPLY ARE.”

Neat, well okay then! Well it hasn’t tried to eat or stop you from moving yet… what do?
>What are you doing here?
>Where’s Trier?
>What do you know about Teksouls?
>The Spicys? Know ‘em?
>Have you seen my pals?
>What’s godhood like?
>Where are we?
>ATTACK!
>LEAVE!
>Write-In!