Max would pause on a door through which the rest had gone, emerging a fair distance away, and look back at Basalah. "Well, you're looking more like something we'd normally kill on sight," he said. "Those tentacles are always a dead giveaway for demons. No worries about that, though. Also, you're talkin' without that staticky stuff from that voicebox. Bet the Threshold broke it, 'ey?" Giving Basalah a grin, Max would walk through the door and join the rest of the Chosen Few, who were currently a long way away; if one didn't want to travel the whole mile distance from one end of the vessel to another, the doors served as excellent shortcuts, provided that you remember where each door lead.
Eventually, they would reach the Cafetorium, where the window which occupied almost all of the outside wall provided a view of the Edge. As was mentioned before, the Edge seems to hold much less activity than the Outer Centre, instead providing a haunting picture of a cosmos leaning closer to cold, logical Reality than the spontaneously vibrant Fantasy that the crew lived on. Here, it was uncertain that anything lived in these gulfs, save the currently thin tendrils of a psychopathic near-omnipotent being that desires nothing but the extinction of Fantasy.
Seemingly unaware of all this existential terror, Max and the others would wander to the Cornucopia machine, where they fabricated various drinks before sitting down on one of the long tables, their backs to the window-wall. "It'll be a while before we reach land," said Fancy amiably. "Might as well stretch our legs and kick back for a bit, get to know each other a bit more."
"Yeh," said Adam, cradling a glass of milk, a textbook beverage for the calcium-based undead.
"Feel free to get a drink or something from the thingy," said Fancy. "If it does what John says it does, it should give you any drink you want."

Vragi caught up with the others just as Basalah was inquiring about her new look. Under the goggles, he screwed up his tiny eyes in concentration and peered at the Duchess. He wracked his brains for a moment or so as if struggling to grasp exactly what had changed and what that meant.

“You’ve…aged!” he concluded triumphantly, probably misunderstanding the new colour her coat had taken on. He beamed at everyone, apparently not seeing anything rude about the statement he had just made.

Waddling into the cafetorium with the rest of the party, the dwarf caught sight of the huge window. A mature or sensible adult would certainly recognize at least a sense of cosmic horror in such a situation. While he was technically an adult, Vragi was, for better or worse, neither of these things and so giddily bounded over to the wall.

“Ah, finally a view I can see!” he whispered, staring hungrily out into the space as his eyes glazed over under their glassy shields. He appeared to be lost in thought and only vaguely picked up the gist of the conversation going on. Shortly after he ambled over to the strange machine that was procuring drinks from seemingly nowhere, joining the back of the queue so he could gawp at the thing without holding anyone up. He then ambled up to the table, holding a tankard of something that frothed fiercely like some poisonous dragon’s bile (although it emitted a rather pleasant sweet scent).

“How long did it take you to learn those shortcuts? In the corridor. If you don’t mind me asking.” The dwarf inquired, after having briefly introduced himself to the Chosen Few. He still appeared mildly out of breath from the ordeal, as he had taken the direct route. He didn't admit that this had been so he could try and count all the doors on the way.

"Hah! Broke it? More like it fixed me!" Basalah began before looking down at her claws. "Well... not quite... but a hypothesis has been proven probable, that endurance and will are factors of ascension. Admittedly for a vermin shell, it has become more manageable, a stature, while still short is no less bigger and more complex than its default state. Nowhere near what is necessary to trigger a cascade event."

Her somewhat thoughtful tranquility would be disrupted, however, by a voice from behind.

“You’ve…aged!”

The raccoon's hairs bristled up her spine, her claws tightened into fists, and her entire body tensed up. "I'll have you know," she growled. "I'm neither a demon nor a hag!" There's a brief pause as her eyes shift around looking somewhat embarassed. "B-besides, I've grown fond of this vessel, and I won't have it b-be mocked."

Max would take a swig of his drink, a canned beverage labelled "Bloxy Cola", and swish it around his mouth as his considered the dwarf's question. Swallowing, he finally answered, "Well, we've been hanging around for a few days before the journey, to get the feel of the place. Apparently he didn't even bother to make a map for the ship, so we had to memorise each shortcut." He took another swig of his Cola. "Sometimes, you gotta learn quick to last as long as we have out there."
"The numberth on the doorth help too," contributed Jack, drinking a glass of water with an admirable attempt at preventing himself from spitting it out due to long-term gag training.
"Yeah, and that."
Despite their initial complaints, or at least the complaints of the Robloxian, the Few seemed quite at ease so far from home. Perhaps it was years of experience with the unknown, always on the move to worlds that had only few similar physical laws between them. They certainly had the air of people who have seen everything possible to be seen by mortal man and more.
"Tho, while we're waiting, wanna tell uth about where you guyth came from?" asked Jack. "Jutht to break the ithe a bit and get to know each other."
"Well yeah," said Fancy, a touch reproachfully. "That's pretty much the point of this chat, Jack. I already said. But yeah, where do you guys hail from?"

Vragi seemed to have offended Basalah - any reason that his comment could have been considered rude had clearly gone over his head before he had made the remark. “Ah...OK, noted!” he blurted, waving his hands, perhaps in apology or defense. What exactly this ‘ascension’ was that the raccoon was seeking he had no idea, but he thought he’d best avoid prying for now so as to not cause further insult.

He nodded as if making a mental note as the Robloxian answered his question. Learning the layout of the ship sounded a good challenge to him so he’d be sure to have a go when he got the chance. He was just taking a long, thoughtful swig of his beverage when one of the few inquired about the newcomers’ homes. Pushing his tankard to the side so it obscured only half of his face from everyone’s vision, he took it upon himself to go first.

“Oh, well my hometown Nidvell is very dark and stuffy and mostly underground. And there’s soot everywhere.” The dwarf said jovially. “We mostly trade in smithing, see, so it’s very much like one huge furnace. Most of the light comes from the lava streams and glowing algae in the water.”

Basalah rolled her eyes and decided to shrug off the dwarf's clear inability to catch on to social cues. Recent unpleasantness aside, she shouldn't let these matters bother her, she did after all recently reacquire the ability of speech, without a ridiculous voice synthesis device. Besides, something else had now taken precedence over a misstep with her pride, an inquiry: from where does she hail from?

As the dwarf finished, she supposed it was her turn to explain. It wasn't pleasant to recall things of her past, but there was no point to be so secretive now.

"Weeeeelllllll," she said with an odd fluctuation. She held her throat, looking a bit perplexed, coughing to clear it. "I come from the world of Tzel... ah, imagine a land blanketed in perpetual dusk, illuminated by the fauna and flora, and a gentle warmth that flows throughout. Now imagine the other side of this world, cold, desolate, and blanketed in darkness instead, where people who have descended from banished dissidents now live in perpetual turmoil. That is where I'm from. Believe it or not, I wasn't always like this, I was taller, eyes of jade, hair of emerald... a green torch in a dark world. I was... I waaaaasssss..." She began to trail off, looking at her clawed hands with a perplexed look. "Mother named me Basalah, courage, for nothing startled me... saaaaaid I held lots of promise for our people."

"As for me," Grimm's voice chimed in, as Basalah's eyes grew distant. Grimms walked in, adjusting his tie, apparently having had little trouble traversing the ship's oddly warped space. "From where I came originally? I really don't know, the world I grew up in was certainly not my native. The people that raised me, a nomadic lot, said I fell in from the sky, from 'Orion's armpit' they said, Betelgeuse, the red star. Betelgeuse Grimms, get it?" he continued, chuckling a bit as steam blasted out from the break in his armor around the neck. "I started young as an adventurer, a hero, though I admittedly did it for the thrill. You know, fighting monsters, averting disaster, smashing large stones with my head and flexing... lots of flexing... looking back on it, I was quite an.. hmmm... idiot. My wife found me incorrigible, until she tricked me into learning humility, getting me to admit that there were things I was just awful at. Like... almost everything involving not slaying monsters or smashing something... and er, reading. Anyways, I really don't know from where I originally came from, I've thankfully ruled out all sorts of aeons, daemons, angels, and gods. Closest I've come to in my hunt for knowledge is Fae, or something akin, but I am neither malign, nor pleasure in toying with the lives of others... at least, not usually."

"So, what, you think you'll find home out here somewhere in the tumor of the multiverse?" Basalah said, letting out a snicker.

"Well, that and when I fought a swamp witch, she said we both came from a place beyond the veil of stars, y'know, as she tried to gnaw off my head."

"Wh... what..? Basalah muttered, looking perplexed at the concept, imagining a green human hopelessly trying to chew through Grimm's hard shell.

"Er, she had absorbed many beasts and animals of the swamp, so she had amalgamated into a massive and horrible monstrous chimera... thing? Just to get an idea of what I was dealing with. Actually, maybe she wasn't that horrible... maybe it was the fact most of what I saw in the fight was endless rows of teeth. Anyways, she lost interest in our constant stalemate, thought I was the thing missing her being, found out she was my twin sister, er, liberal on the 'twin' part, and... and... well, here I am searching beyond the veil of stars."

"Your life is... weird, Basalah said.

"Yes... yes it is," he said, nodding in agreement.

Max regarded his Robloxian soda, turning the can this way and that, as he listened while the others listened more intently. While the dwarf's homeland was, typically, an underground smithy city, it was becoming more apparent about the oddity of the other two as they described their home; one split between light and dark, and the other... Well, it was unclear where Grimms hailed from, but the testimony of his twin sister certainly hinted towards someplace celestial, or, a favourite word between them when regarding anything beyond their worlds, eldritch.

Max would lean forward, resting his elbows on the table, as if to relay a riveting story. "Well, I come from this world that we call Robloxia. Mainly suburbs and cities, I don't think I've ever seen a blade of grass, considering there isn't any parks. Just miles and miles of tall, shiny buildings filled with Robloxians. To a man, we rarely leave our apartments; pretty much all the time, except for sleeping, we hook ourselves into these machines which connect to this big ol' server where you can create anything you want. "Powering Imagination", that's their motto. Of course, I don't use those machines as often, since I'm from a Builder caste; those are the guys who build those buildings. Dunno why, but I was made of much more stronger stuff than the others, could carry five I-beams without breaking a sweat. Nowadays, John would say it was probably the Creators leaving a mark on me as if to say 'this guy right here, he's gonna be the muscle of our little group when he's older', but I just think there was some sort of bug in wherever we were hatched or built that added too much muscle."

A few seconds of awkward silence would pass between the other Chosen Few before Max turned to his colleagues and rumbled, "Hey, don't get antsy or anything; I'm only stating it as it is. Anyone of you wanna talk about your homeworld next?"

Fancy would clear his throat. "Well, I dunno if I have that much to say about my world. I come from Squiggleville, just a regular place, although it doesn't have a third dimension as far as I remember. To be honest, it came as a shock when I was brought out of my world, seeing people going forwards and backwards as well as left and right and realising how shorthanded Squiggleville was in terms of spatial whatsits. It was all drawn as well, although not like pencil-and-paper drawn, I don't think, but... I dunno. I can't really describe it. It felt real to me, but when I saw the Imagiverse I realised that it was just... something out of some kid's sketchbook." His brow wrinkled, indeed like paper.

Glug-glug-glug. It was the sound of Jack pensively taking a swig of his water. Forcing himself to swallow, he said in that special bright tone one takes in an attempt to dispel awkwardness, "Well, I come from Toontown. It'th uthually a pretty happy plathe full of fun and practical joketh, eckthept when the Cogth are around. Their jutht thethe mechanical men in thuitth alwayth trying to thell you dethk toyth and thwindling you out of your jellybeanth. Bathically the only guyth that can put a Toon down, and I mean really down. They've got headquarterth in all four cornerth of Toontown which we regularly raid to try and thlow them down, but really, it'th what I've heard John call a "war of attrition". Other than that, it'th a nithe plathe."

The Chosen Few turned to Adam, who looked back with a momentarily blank expression. Then, finally realising what they were expecting, he said, "Oh, err. Well, me and John come from Earth- or, err, Anti-Earth, I fink it's called out in the Imagiverse. We lived in the 1890s and in a rich family. Our dad owned a bunch of factories and companies, and our mum... I guess, was just our mum. I remember her being very beautiful, although I can't remember the colour of her eyes for some reason; can't remember whether they were blue or green. Anyway, we also had another brother called Nick who was a bastard, according to John. Got into a lot of trouble when he was younger, and he did us even more trouble. Wrestling and slamming my head into the wall, for one thing. In the end, our dad sent us to New Orleans to find some girls to marry, cause that's what you do when you're old enough. Then Nick heard word about some fortune teller, brought John with him, next thing I knew, John was buried in a local graveyard and I got attacked by some shadowy figure in an alleyway that looked like Nick. Other than that, I don't know what to tell you."

This time, the silence was thick with terrible retrospection of Adam's summary. He was known to the group as being so emptyheaded that his mind was a vacuum, with only sparse sparks of thought flickering within. They had heard John's summary of their past, which was more filled with spit and venom when their third brother was mentioned, but Adam's blank and vague delivery seemed to make it much worse. As a man, they theorised if these beatings of Nick inflicted more than bruises.

As they stood silent, however, the volunteers may notice something outside the window. As they went deeper into the Edge, it seemed that the horizon held slightly more stars and nebulas and other cosmic constructs that mortals could not identify. It now seemed as if the stars were winking out, in a thick line, as if they were being obscured by something. Something vaguely serpentine but almost completely invisible, or rather, visible by the negative space it occupied. Somewhere at the end of this oblong blot in the sky, a red star flared.

Vragi's sharp ears pricked with interest at each crew member’s story. He was already aware that many worlds unlike his own existed within the imagiverse but had only departed on his travels a month or so previously – by his own record that is, who knows what temporal inconsistencies there might have been.

Unfortunately, tactless poor soul that he was, Vragi failed to fully appreciate the disturbing nuances in Adam's tale, though this did nothing to dull his curiosity.

The concept of a two-dimensional world especially fascinated him and as he stared out the window at the generous view before them he tried to picture what life would be like only being able to move in two directions. He was just pondering whether it would be easier to find one’s way, due to only having two directions, or harder because of some difficulty with vision, when something mildly off caught his attention.

“Ah, seems we’ve a new friend!” He said excitedly, pointing at the strange red light ahead.

Basalah blinked, thinking of what to say to the story, feeling compelled to at least give a comment. Guess this explains what killed them, and lead them to being skin and bones, sans the skin. There was annoying sting of empathy within her heart equivalent. The idea of a sibling being so callous was a bit... infuriating.

"Honestly? Your brother, this... Nick?" she began, squinting one of her haunting green eyes half-closed. "Long before it ever got to the point it did with you two? I'd have royally kicked his a-," she began before something red caught her attention, jerking her head to look at it, both eyes narrowed in an attempt to discern what it is.

"Well then, certainly looks like we'll be making another encounter soon," Grimms said calmly, casually pulling out a cigar from his pocket and attempting to light it. "What is the general percentage of amicable encounters around here, anyways?"

As one, the brows of the Chosen Few furrowed and each of them turned to look out of the window. The view hadn't apparently changed from their last inspection besides the different positions and constellation of stars and nebulas. One by one, they would stand up and walk towards the window.
"Out here?" said Max, responding to Grimms' inquiry. "Not too good with maths, but I'd say the chances are a million-to-one."
"That'th hopeful, Mackth," mumbled Jack.
It took them a good seven seconds to detect the invisible thing outside, but like the shape of a cloud seemingly turning into a whale or a naked woman, it revealed itself; a large shadow in space where stars should be, swimming through the cosmos, yes, like a serpent, or a sea-snake. If one strained their vision, there was a faint suggestion of spike-like bristles around what was likely the head of the thing. At the moment, it did not seem inclined to strike the vessel, although it was possibly pursuing a viable tactic of predators everywhere, which was follow its prey until it tires.
There was a moment around the head area, as if the almost non-existent thing was opening its maw, and the background noise of the vessel was almost completely drowned out by the peculiar anti-noise that forced the Few to cover their ears. As darkness was not the opposite of light, merely its absence, so was silence not the opposite of noise. There existed a noise that approached the soundwaves from the other direction, presenting itself instead as an almost oppressive silence, the true opposite of noise. The Chosen Few had heard of a tongueless bell on the Discworld which silenced the entire city it occupied as it tolled the silences.
This anti-noise, however improbable it may be, had an edge to it. It was as if one took the roar of a great sea monster and somehow inverted the soundwaves so that it went to the negative. The hull shuddered under its negative cry.
"--it," said Max, as the hum of the engine returned. He turned to the gramocon on the opposite wall of the Cornucopia and began to walk towards it before Fancy said, "Max, I don't think that's a two-way communication thing. He'll probably never hear you."
"Well, if I yelled in the corridor on this ship, he'd have less of a chance to even know I was yellin'," replied Max. "Help me up, we gotta tell John about this."

John consulted the radar on the control panel with unease. On either side of the central dot was a larger, pulsating dot. They were staying about half a mile's distance besides the spaceship, which meant that they were travelling parallel with the vessel. If they decided to veer towards his ship, it would get sandwiched.
What was strange was the dots weren't lighting up; they were darkened. On the criss-crossing green lines of the radar, they were only noticeable by where the lines were blotted out. He didn't even know that was possible on the radar. He suspected something similar to Narrative Causality was in play.
From the extendible funnel which lead into the gramocon piping system, there was a faint noise just barely noticeable over the electronic hum of the control panel, fading in and out, "...ohn, there's a big fucking shadow serpent outside......ike it's eyeing us up, you gotta get......right now!"
John rolled his eyes, or rather the pinpoint light which served as the pupil in each of his eye-sockets, and held the gramocon speaker to his mouth. "Max, there's one on either side of the ship," he answered, his voice echoing across the S.S Victoria. "And I'd suggest you stop trying to use the gramocons to vent your panic at me, I've got the means of knowing what's following us."
Putting back the speaker, he reached for the chadburn, a wheel-like device normally used to control the speed of sea vessels, and turned the handle to "Ahead, Full". After a while, the vessel would begin to pick up speed in an attempt to evade these invisible "shadow serpents".

Vragi shrugged in repose to Max’s calculation. “Well, it could be worse. At least a million and one are both real numbers.” If he’d meant to add anything it was cut short by the abrupt bombardment of silence. As the few covered their own ears Vragi followed suit, clutching his and wringing them like a pair of pointy wet socks. Amidst the confusion, Vragi could be seen mouthing what one would probably take as “fascinating!”, but for anyone knew he could have been saying “glass is jesting.”
Upon hearing the announcement that there were being pursued by two of the things, he shrugged. “Well, the more the merrier I suppose.”

He quickly checked what he had on him in terms of equipment in case of a turn for the worse. It seemed he’d left most of it back in the cabin but had both Knuse and Brudd on hand. It may have been worth mentioning that What’s a dwarf without an axe? Was one of his personal favourite phrases from back home.

It was a good thing he wasn’t planning on going back to grab anything else because firstly, he would have got himself either lost or distracted, and secondly, he would most likely have taken too long to be of any help. Not that any of the stuff he carried around would have done much good out in space. As the ship picked up speed the poor dwarf stumbled and was forced to grab a nearby table leg for balance.

Grimms stood still as the resonating roar of... anti-sound washed over them and dissipated. The color of his red flames had inverted and turned blue, as had the embers of his lit cigarette. As it passed, his color gradually returned. Externally, he seemed unmoved, unaffected, but internally he was moderately excited.

"Interesting, a creature naturally capable of emitting negative resonance," Grimms said, before taking a puff from his cigar as the trails of his eyes and smoke trailed away from him as the vessel accelerated into an escape.

Basalah held onto the flooring with her claws as the ship accelerated, staring out the porthole. "Keheheheh... it is said that great beasts guard great treasures. Makes one wonder what is hidden out here," she said, a tone of greedy intrigue as her voice became more coarse.

As the S.S Victoria gathers speed, its pursuers follow suite, weaving through the vacuum of space with terrible patience. The blue flame of the thrusters grows greater and brighter, drawing a trail of blue smoke behind it. In reaction, it seems that the invisible wyverns are putting more distance between them and the ship, as if wary of the flame. Unseen apparitions begin to cluster near the back of the ship in attempts at drawing existence from the Innovatium Engine's exhaust.
The S.S Victoria is not the first space vessel to attempt to traverse the uncharted and perilous Edge, and it surely won't be the last, especially if the vessel returns. Those few who returned, and those fewer who were still coherent, told of their hellish odyssey into the unknown, fending off gibbering aberrations that somehow climbed through the closed windows and evading what the more academic and fanciful have dubbed Dark Matter Wyrms, mighty serpents of negative existence, sea dragon-shaped holes in space-time with predator intent. Biographies of these few explorers have been illicitly published and circulated within esoteric societies across the Imagiverse, where their visions and hints were taken apart and reassembled into still vague but foreboding theories.
During the most harrowing times of their journey, the biographies of spacemen relayed a worrying phenomenon; when the unmade horrors of space were rapping on the doors of the cabins, when the strained moans of the ship were silenced by the roar of the Wyrms, and when the crew was a hair's breadth of unravelling into mutiny and chaos, it was possible to see faint, black, tentacle-like shapes out in space - only visible in the same way that a tired eye could see shapes behind its eyelid - slightly obscuring the stars. During those times, it was easy to believe those were the grasping tendrils of the Unmaker, feeling its way towards the Centre to snuff out the light of the Creators.

Accelerating, it seemed to John, did not improve matters much. The serpents were still on either side of the ship (although, aren't they a little further away than before?) and showed no sign of tiring. Granted, there was no air resistance in the void, but it was still a mystery to John in regards to their locomotion. Perhaps, on a later expedition when he's more accustomed to the Edge's dangers, he might examine these wyrms more closely.
A rattling beside him makes him turn. Another spherical compass, which was previously just limp and pointing downwards, was now shakily pointing in a direction that was just about in front of him. He had heard of worlds tucked into the knots and crannies of the Edge's space-time fabric, almost invisible to the naked eye before it is sucked into a hidden wormhole that acted as a gateway to these worlds. He had a device installed which would point in the direction of a nearby Edge-world, in the same fashion as his Centre-compass. That rattling arrow, to John, pointed in the direction of relative safety. With great care, he pointed his vessel towards the direction of the arrow.
Even as he reached for his horn, the space in front of him began to distort like a disturbed pond. "I have news that is ambiguously good and bad. I've found a world we can hide in, but I have no means of determining what it'll be like. My only hope is that there's land-"
There is a ripping noise, like a sheet of spacetime being torn. The S.S Victoria disappears, leaving two mildly annoyed serpents. They leave to find other prey.

Through a tear in space, the S.S. Victoria emerged, barely missing a strange small moon with a hole in its side that poured out a stream of water down into a cloudy mass, the vessel experiencing some turbulence. It was as if the vessel was pulled down into the flow, entering into an unknown atmosphere, engulfed and blinded by dark clouds on all sides. Piercing through it the vessel descended, the deeper they went, the brighter it became. Finally piercing the veil of clouds a bright flash of light went through all the windows, Basalah shielding her eyes from the brightness. The shaking finally abated, and a vibrant world opened up before the crew, a world unlike a typical planet, composed of islands adrift around a dark misty core, a massive white tree growing out from the depths holding some of them in its branches. Following the lunar waterfall the vessel was being carried towards one of the biggest upper islands, with a large lake in the middle of it fed by the water that they were apparently being carried by.

It became clear the closer they got that this island was inhabited, a cityscape brimming with life could be seen, but they were not being pulled towards that, but rather towards the center part of the lake, where a peculiar blue clock tower was, half submerged in the water, a clock tower they were currently on a collision course with.

"This is quite lovely... familiar somehow? But perhaps we should pull up?" Grimms said with only the slight hint of urgency.

As the vessel continued along its crash course for the strange structure, but as it nearly hit, a figure atop the tower stood on its very top and reached up, and the vessel slowed to a strangely peaceful stop, a rippling in the water going out from the tower's base, and a strange ringing sound going through the vessel. After the stop, the vessel was abruptly dropped to rest adrift in the lake with a splash. Basalah fell over, and even Grimms toppled over onto a resounding clunk.

From the clock tower, a bridge extended from under a door under the giant clock face to the S.S. Victoria, like the cuckoo of a clock.

"Urgh... heh, any landing you live from is a good landing, aye?" Grimms said with a chuckle, placing a hand on his knee to stabilize himself as he stood back to his feet. He looked out at the bridge. "Well, looks like they are practically rolling out th-" before he could finish his sentence, the door opened and a red carpet rolled out onto the bridge. "...literally rolling out the red carpet for us."

"Finally, some recognition," Basalah muttered, getting back onto her hind feet and dusting herself off. Looking out the window she braced her eyes with her arms once again. "Warm... bright..."

The grating noise of tortured machinery screeched through the spaceship as it was carried along by the lunar waterfall, its engine still unleashing its great blue flame. At the helm, John's hand leapt towards the chadburn, swinging the handle towards the "Slow" sign on the other side. For the duration of the ride, John would swing the wheel this way and that, attempting to escape the pull of the current. When it became clear this wasn't going to work, he resolved to keep the wheel steady. When he saw the half-submerged clocktower, however, he swung the chadburn handle towards "Full, Astern" and renewed his efforts to veer off the collision course.
The ship then slowed, apparently thanks to the efforts of the figure on top of the tower, and plummeted into the waters below. As it crashed into the lake, huge bodies of steam leapt from the undersides of the S.S Victoria, and there was a final metallic moan as the tortured guts of the ship decelerated and cooled down.
A moment of silence passed within the hull, punctuated only by the lowering pitch of the engine's hum. Then, a voice cried, "I can't thee! I can't thee! I think I've gone blind!"
Another, gruffer voice croaked, "Shut up, Jack."
In the bridge, a prone John gripped the edge of the control panel and laboriously lifted himself up. Looking out, he could see the clocktower, although his current position denied him the ability to tell the time. His sights still on the tower, he reached for the gramocon horn and said, "Land ho, ladies and gentlemen. You can make your way to the exit now." Dropping the horn into its slot, he turned and made his way out.
The ladder that served as the main entrance and exit to the vessel was built (as much as the term could be used when dealing with the alien geometries of the S.S Victoria) to be a mere 300 feet away from the bridge. As such, while the Chosen Few were guiding the volunteers through a series of doors that would provide them with the shortest route, John was already by the hatch. As he climbed the ladder, he allowed himself a brief contemplation on the natives' reception of his maiden vessel. How far were the inhabitants of this world in terms of technology? Were they staring wide-eyed at a strange, metallic ship that was somehow given the ability to sail through the skies, or were they simply examining the works of obsolete technology, having designed aerial craft of sleeker build and more efficient machinery? Resolving that these questions will be answered in due time, he spun the wheel of the hatch and left the spacious vessel.

Even after what must have been only a few hours in the S.S Victoria, and even countless more hours beforehand during its time in the Teslatorium, John still had to adjust to the fact that, while the spaceship was a mile long inside, it was still merely 150 feet in length on the outside. His waist still under the opening, he took in his surroundings, noting the buildings of alien (or perhaps familiar) design, a rather large detail he would have noticed while airborne had he not been as occupied by the threat of collision with the tower. Turning back to the tower, finally noticing the red-carpeted bridge leading into the building, he endeavoured to discern the figure at the top of the clocktower who helped them make a safe landing. "Good day!" he cried out with a wave, climbing out. A metallic bellow from behind cut him off as all the exhaust pipes at the stern of the vessel belched a mass of blue vapour that curled in unusual shapes until it dissipated.
The skeleton turned away from the noise and said, "Don't worry! That's just the engine letting off excess steam! We come in peace!" If there were onlookers viewing him from the side or behind him, they may notice that he had his double-barrelled shotgun strapped to his back, which only served to sully his claims.

“Ah, a shame.” Vragi muttered in mock disappointment. The dwarf, having playfully bid farewell to their new 'friends' (a term with which Vragi would often refer to friend and foe alike, much to the annoyance of those around him), took hold of a nearby table for balance as the ship emerged into a new world.

Vragi shielded his eyes against the light, blinding compared to the chaotic darkness they had escaped just moments ago. He waddled over to the window to take in the grand view. For a second, as he spotted the great tree at the centre of the land – or rather, lands - he mistook it for the Yggdrasil he was so familiar with, and thought they had somehow happened upon his own homeworld. He quickly realised this was incorrect.

Vragi had not yet had the delight of witnessing the strange phenomenon of airborne islands and wondered what was keeping the landmasses afloat; some type of magic, advanced technology or perhaps both? As far as the dwarf was concerned, these were more or less interchangeable and he rarely, if ever, attempted to differentiate between the two. He didn’t seem concerned about the fact that the ship was on what appeared to be an inescapable collision course with the tower in the lake. Truth be told, he probably hadn’t noticed.

He did, however, notice a sudden upward movement of the lovely vista he had been admiring, followed by what felt like a lack of gravity. It took Vragi maybe a second or so to put two and two together, at which point there was a large splash, the fundamental forces caught up and Vragi, who seemed to be floating merrily 2 meters in the air, was slammed into the floor, bounced once or twice, and after a short pause, slowly sat up, groaning and rubbing his bruised head.

“Ah... perhaps not if it gives you a migraine...” he responded to Grimms' comment on the landing.

Still in a daze, Vragi vaguely heard instructions for leaving the vessel and allowed himself to be guided toward the entrance, quite unaware that he had left his helmet behind, rolling aimlessly on the floor of the cafetorium.

The figure atop the the tower sunk quickly within the building disappearing from sight, likely some form of elevator contraption or chute. Almost immediately after this, the figure emerged at the other end of the red carpet bridge, out from the doorway to greet the most abrupt visitors of his... abode. A real dapper dandy this one was, dressed fancy from neck to toe, wearing a black suit, red tie tucked neatly, black dress pants, shiny black dress shoes, carrying a black cane with a crow head carved into its handle, white gloves covered his hands, and yet tall and spindly was he, he had to bow to walk through his own door. As he faced them, courteously still rising from his bow, it was clear he was no ordinary man, had his stature not given that away yet, his face was akin to a bird, witch a beak-like curved nose, angry-looking feathery eyebrows, and piercing large red-to-yellow eyes, feathers rust-red and white, hair slicked back into a slope and silvery, giving the impression he was rather advanced in his years.

He looked them over briefly, his eyes looked like they were scrutinizing every detail of his visitors, though that may just be because they are so large and piercing anyways. He then cleared his throat, fished through his coat to glance at a paper, before making a gesture towards the group. He began to speak boldly in an unknown tongue, only to note some confusion. He cleared his throat and started again.

"Welcome, travelers from beyond the veil, to the humble island of Lunalake! I am the governor or this piece of land, Abdown is the name, and I will be acting ambassador for this land, foreign to you. Before you in this direction is Lunalake City, which-" he said in announcement, holding his hands out back towards the other side of the lake, a large city of variable colorful houses, big and small, with a rather eccentric pattern, or lack of pattern to them. They could still be defined as housing, at the very least, and by technological level and general aesthetic seemed late Victorian. What seemed out of place, however, is that even from this distance, it was clear there had been some small battle, breaks in the streets, pieces of roofing blown off, a still steaming crater in the city square. He furrowed his brow, breaking from his rehearsed cordiality. "-well, is still very much intact. A bit of an unfortunate misunderstanding that I can assure ended without tragedy."

"Right," Basalah said, suspiciously squinting. "First off, how do you know we came from beyond the veil and are not just travelers from another part of this world, and why are you being so... nice... to armed aliens? This isn't one of those ploys to get outsiders to do random quests to solve the problems the natives are too lazy to do?"

"First off, this craft of yours literally came out of a hole in the sky, a craft of make and design that even here is uncharacteristic, running on what I presume to be a fuel definable as the physical manifestation of thoughts and dreams, which, while, is not at all an unfamiliar concept to us Memorians, the usage of devices explicitly to manipulate it, is. Furthermore, this implies you are beings, or at least there are beings among you that are not innately capable of producing these effects. Not to brag, or put you down in any way, of course, because by ability alone, few of us can pierce the veil, so I applaud your feat!"

"I-," Basalah began, finding herself without words.

"Secondly, I'd rather our problems be solved by us, without dragging outsiders into it, as that would be rather rude, and well... needlessly dangerous... as well as likely resulting in bad reviews to our tourism department, which is barely existent to begin with," he continued, adjusting his tie. "Anyone want tea or coffee? Crumpets perhaps? I'm sure you are all exhausted from your trip, and I'd be a damn bad host not to offer, especially with a lady in my midst," he finished, motioning to the inside of his tower before heading inside and descending within.

"This... is all so strangely familiar to me," Grimms said, getting a good glance at everything as he got upon and walked across the cuckoo bridge towards the door.

"La- hmph, didn't ask for- I'll show you a... you... ugh..." Basalah muttered incoherently with her crackling voice, arms crossed and puffed up in proud agitation, flustered and confused shifting eyes about for anything to say. At last she exhales, looking defeated. "Ffffff... fine!" She then followed suite.

As he saw what he had to assume was the occupant of this clock tower, John dusted off his jacket in an attempt to make himself more presentable while the rest of his crew emerged. The amount of space on top of the vessel allowed the group to spread around behind John, the Chosen Few taking the front as they watched the bird-like man approach them. Their expressions showed a considerable lack of fear or surprise from the figure's acutely avian appearance, seemingly so used to oddity that it has become mundane to them.
The man, introducing himself as Abdown, then formally welcomed the outsiders (with help from a piece of paper, likely, thought John with suspicion, a speech he had rehearsed for this very occasion) to his land. As he gestured to the cityscape, John clearly approved of an erratic architectural design that nevertheless brought him comfort for its temporal familiarity, although his smile soon faded as he took in the destruction that spoke to him of a terrorist attack. He then listened to Abdown's answers to Basalah's interrogation, eventually staring at the man for having accurately described the vessel's power source when he had only just seen it. He willingly accepted that the "Memorians" were familiar with the fantastical, because there was simply no other reason he could have gotten it so accurately.
John would bow in thanks for Abdown's brief congratulation on 'piercing the veil', and would have stated his thanks in word had the man not then continued on, break adventuring customs by refusing to ask for assistance from the outsiders since it would be rude, which was understandable. The aristocratic skeleton would lighten up at the sound of tea and crumpets. "That would certainly be appreciated, at least from my part," he said, glancing at his comrades, who weren't at home with tea but found the opportunity to unwind after the perilous journey inviting enough. With silent agreement, the Chosen Few would follow the Memorian governor down the red carpet.
As he descended, John would hear a whispered conversation behind him, unheard by Abdown;
"I may have theen too much thymbolic imagery during our time in the Thentre," whispered Jack, "but I can't help but notice that that guy'th a bird and he liveth in a cuckoo clock tower. You know what I mean, right?"
"Certainly," muttered Max. "To be honest, I'm surprised he didn't come out attached to a spring."
"This place sure is odd," whispered Fancy. "But it sure beats floating around in the Edge."
"Just you wait till those monsters come crawling out of the shadows," murmured Max darkly.
"Can't wait ter have some of them crumpets, at any rate," said Adam, effectively ending the secretive chatter.
"You had much tea back where you were from, Adam?" said Jack.
"Yeah," said Adam bluntly. "We was posh, remember?"
"Forget I athked, then," shrugged Jack.

Vragi followed the others out onto the bridge as the stranger approached them. He scratched his hair, which caused him to realize he’d forgot his helmet. He shrugged his shoulders - he could find it later, probably.

Vragi was finding it hard to follow the exchange, not because it was boring but because he was peering intently at the bridge on which they stood, trying very hard to discern what materials it might consist of, that is if they were like anything he was familiar with. Myriad questions were, as usual, flooding through the dwarf’s mind.

Multitasking was not a strength of Vragi’s, and so this unfortunately had the effect of him losing track of the conversation while he stared at the construct. He vaguely caught something about being welcome and something about ambassadors and tourism. To him this meant that they weren’t about to be brutally massacred and so he continued to zone out, now turning his attention to the city across the lake to gaze at the assortment of coloured buildings. Aside from being quite pretty in his opinion, the architectural structures in this world seemed fascinating to Vragi, coming in so many different and loud colours. Of course he forgot to consider the possibility of the buildings being, say, painted, and immediately his thoughts turned toward the possibilities of the countless different building materials used in this realm, and all the strange methods and techniques he imagined might be used by its inhabitants.

In fact he was so lost in his own strange daydream that he realized the group had begun moving. Snapping back to reality (for lack of a better word) he recalled something about being invited in for tea and crumpets.

“Tea and crumpets? That sounds fantastic!” he blurted out to no-one in particular before leaning toward the few and whispering as discreetly as he could manage;

“Psst, what’s ‘Tee and Crumb-Pots’?”

"Tea is a form of drink made from boiling water and steeping in the leaves of- you seriously don't know what tea is!? Having you been living under a rock y- Oh... right," Basalah said, giving time to ponder her words, realizing she is practically talking to a caveman of a more literal sense. She had taken a moment to assess the intellect of her comrades in more scrutinizing depth. For the most part it seemed that, besides the giant and one of the skeleton brothers... John... the others seemed average, more or less, with a few sparks in between. She rubbed her chin as she entered the surprisingly roomy elevator, a fancy one with a Victorian flair, blue with eloquent designs etched into the walls, the control panel was brass, fitted with a series of buttons. On the buttons there were no numbers, rather, some form of symbols. The lack of a strong female presence also functions in my favor of asserting my own, she thought. Though my current state makes that a... considerable obstacle.

"Well, down we go then," Abdown said as they all entered the elevator, placing his arms behind his back. He then pushed a button on the panel, prompting the doors to close with a clank, and, with a shake, it began to descend. It became apparent that the elevator also had an open view out the door, giving a free look out into the shaft for some reason. Through unseen speakers the sound of eloquent violin music could be heard softly playing. After a while of descent, they could see fanciful long hallway after another passing by the door, architecture that should be impossible to fit within the constraints of a tower. After about the fifth, the lights in the elevator flickered before going out entirely, and pitch black took the entirety. The speakers crackled, as something massive passed by the elevator. Basalah, fearless, looked out the door. The elevator was descending into what would be only described as an impossible space within the rings of a massive brass Armillary sphere, tracking the rotation of this world's islands around a core, the moon above that, and beyond that, something more complex and strange, bodies beyond visible space with strange markings etched within, blocked out by a rotating curved sheet representing the veil, the lettering glowing different colors on these rings with other series of smaller spheres carried within them.

"We had never considered before the first encounter the potentiality of infinite permutations beyond our sphere, more beautiful, or infinitely more horrible," he said this, as the rings began to pass by the door in a faster motion, the blur of them generating an image within their glowing symbols of a brilliantly colorful green-and-blue planet, then something ripping through its sky, a form shooting out like a comet, striking the moon taking off a chunk from its side then plunging into the planet, blanketing it in void and scattering pieces of land into the air. The image blanks out as they seem to enter back into a relatively normal shaft again, the music returning to normal and the lights flickering back on. The elevator descended into something akin to an eloquent spacious lobby, a series of stairs curving up into upper rooms, red carpeting with intricate designs in them, above them a crystal chandelier that jingled ever so softly, and before... before them was a table, at first appearing as ivory seemed instead a white wood grown into an eloquent design, likewise with the chairs with red cushions. On this rather large table was a pot of tea, cups, and some crumpets in plates already prepared with care, along with a fine assortment of marmalades to compliment. "Feel free to help y-"

"MINE!" Basalah suddenly shrieked, breaching her collected demeanor into a wild frenzy, lunging at the table and scarfing down on the crumpets like a wild animal.

"-ourselves," he finished, stroking his chin. "There's plenty, so no worries. Quite the... appetite she has."

"Appetites like that were not uncommon with the impoverished," Grimms said somewhat starkly. "Then again, she's also growing, so maybe it is that, anyways, my gratitude for your hospitality," he continued, his tone turning back to the more familiar warm cordiality, placing a hand on his chest and bowing to their host before making his way to the table. With a strange level of care, his massive fingers plucked up a knife and with patient care spread a seemingly strawberry flavored jam on it, before consuming it within his flaming jaws. He then, with equal finesse, took a cup, filled with with tea, and, pinky out, drank it. "Ah, magnificent blend."

The journey into the Memorian governor's domain proved fascinating to all parties, including John. The decadent and large elevator with the symbolled control panel; The see-through doors; the elevator passing through a vast, rotating brass contraption made of rotating rings and spheres within an immeasurable space; the brief images they witnessed manifest from the glowing symbols far away, of a planet not unalike the world that the skeletal brothers left behind, seemingly shattered by its own device. The image was considerably strange to the Chosen Few, and only John could guess at its significance - perhaps a brief history lesson on this world's sundering? Nevertheless, the words of Abdown made John smile slightly; so the Memorians knew of the Imagiverse outside. He doubted they liked the view they got, this deep into the Edge.
Then the doors opened to a similarly decadent room furnished with an ivory dining table and accompanying chairs that seemed to have been grown rather than carved, populated by an assortment of teapots, cups and plates, the latter of which were already laden with crumpets and marmalades. The crew stared in awe of the luxurious sight, which would have fitted only the finest cream of Victorian society, and were only snapped out of their reverie as Basalah leapt onto the table and devoured the crumpets like a starved rodent. On the Memorian governor's invitation, they took their seats, the skeletal brothers sat next to each other while the others were more spread out across the table, but not so much that they would have to yell to talk amongst themselves.
Rubbing his hands together enthusiastically, John procured a cup and pot and began to pour himself and Adam the Briton's beverage. "Aah," sighed John, "Nothing like a cuppa to unwind from the journey." When the plates were restocked with fresh crumpets, he reached out and placed one on his plate, as well as taking a jar of jam and applying a spread to his confectionery. "I must say, Abdown, you keep a fine abode. I don't think even my house is as glamorous as yours, although I must say it's been a while since we've dusted our home."
Directly to his right, Adam was grasping at the cup with an expression of sheer concentration as he tried to remember the customs of drinking tea. Which finger was it that you had to stick out? At a whim, he stuck out a finger at random and was about to take a sip when he saw Grimms on the other side of the table with his pinky out. Adam looked down at his cup, where he had unfortunately stuck out his middle finger, and quickly corrected himself before anyone saw. Looking around the table, he saw Max on the opposite side to his left, who didn't even bother with the handle and was holding the entire cup as if it were a mug of coffee. To his right, Jack was having difficulty getting his gloved fingers through the handle before deciding to just pinch the handle between four fingers exempting the pinky. A similar situation was occurring with Fancy, sitting opposite to Jack, except that his hand was just one slab of fingerless white with a thumb on the side, so he slotted that through the handle as he gripped the cup to drink.
John had also noted the mishaps of his fellow men, despairing at their lack of table etiquette, and elected to ignore them as he continued to talk to Abdown, wherever he was situated. "You mentioned that you had seen what was outside your world, or at least became aware of what was outside. What was your method of seeing "through the veil", if you don't mind me asking? Was it a typical telescope, or something similar?"

Vragi, despite his disbelief that tea and crumpets were not something to do with letters and collecting leftover bread, nevertheless followed the others into the elevator. A contraption the smith still found mysterious despite having used them several times before, the lift seemed to take them through a rather marvellous display of what he guessed was some type of cosmos.

As they disembarked Vragi was forced to flatten himself against the wall so he wouldn’t be in the way as Basalah charged toward the table. Judging from their host’s refined but - surprised, the dwarf supposed - reaction, interrupting before diving at the food and consuming said food as rapidly as physically possible was probably not considered appropriate behaviour at large. A shame, too, he thought, as it wasn’t far off from what he was used to back home. Grimms seemed to possess a greater understanding of whatever etiquette was required in this sort of situation and Vragi very deliberately sat on the opposite side of the table in order to observe and imitate, with little success, the manner in which to partake of this ritual. He tried to make himself feel better by watching some of the other attempts, although this didn’t seem to help so he decided he would be content with blissful ignorance for the time being.

Vragi confidently stirred a spoonful of marmalade into his tea while he listened in on the conversation.

"You are most courteous, though I admit I may have cheated some with my powers," Abdown said, in response to John complimenting his estranged household. He stifled back a laugh as he observed the others, and John's own reaction to them. When he heard the more refined skeleton brother's question, he froze and put down his cup. "We dream," he said, which would be cryptic, had it not been stated so matter-of-fact. "We dream, we see visions, we possess a kind of sight that sees beyond this world, and into countless others. They are like to us a reel that plays within our subconscious mind, and in our youngest self, our first dream becomes the foundation of our being. My first vision was of clocks, of constructs, of theoretical concepts, and architecture. I built this tower, never before seeing one in person. Though, the interior is also a bit... non-euclidean, as you've seen."

"Hm, I too have visions from time-to-time," Grimms said, rubbing his forehead.

"You should, even under that shell of yours I can tell at least part of you hails from this world," Abdown answered.

"You... you can just say that with certainty..?" Grimms said, the giant's tone almost trembling for once. "But I... with due respect, this is not the world I grew up in, and not the one I raised my children."

"Well," Abdown began, his eyes closing as he nodded his head. "When the Silence took this world, many were displaced by its anomalous existence forcing itself in, the world you call home may have been the most receptive, and you as a still forming infant was transported there," Abdown said. "I'd be surprised if you were the only one who ended up there."

"I... I may not have been," Grimms said softly, looking into his cup, a chuckle. "Well... that explains the third eye on my kids, I was worried I did something wrong."

"You don't have..? My, how peculiar!" Abdown said with a spark of curiosity.

"So, is she also a Memorian?" Grimms asked, motioning towards Basalah.

"Her? My, no, but there is certainly nothing wrong with what she is either! But... there is an emerald flame, one that is ambitious and hungry, that could give endless warmth... or bring everything to ash."

"What do you mean by that..?" Basalah said, a suspicious tone in her voice.

"That you have beautiful eyes," Abdown said, sipping his tea again.

"I-," Basalah squeaked, her eyes widened, and face left blank.

John was taking a sip of his cup when his question was answered, and it remained to his lips for a few seconds before he remembered to put it down. The answer was strange, yet so simple. It occurred to him how easy it must have been, travelling the expanses of Fantasy, to encounter a thing that he had once seen in his own dreams. However, in this case, this was not mere coincidence for the Memorians, but part of some innate psychic ability.

And not only a gift of clairvoyance, it seemed as Abdown continued, but the determinant of their core existence. Well, that explains this fellow's fascination with clockwork, even if he probably didn't know how all the gears were supposed to work. The puzzle pieces fitting together in John's mind began to hint at a picture; of a world built around the dreams of its inhabitants, where the drifting Ideas said to govern the existence of every individual entity were possibly rooting themselves into the minds of Memoria's inhabitants. The thought of a world deriving its concepts and structure from the worlds around it reminded him of the parasite universes that latched onto other dimensions to siphon off time and existence from them, although in this case, it was simply a case of passive imitation and not active bloodletting.

"It is a fine tower, nevertheless," John said. "I cannot begin to list the benefits that could come from incorporating such architecture into our world, should we achieve the means of doing so. I have, however, heard of arguments against the use of the term "non-Euclidean" for spatial phenomenon of this type, as non-Euclidean simply refers to the geometry of spheres and the like, and that such geometry would only be a side-effect of alien geometries that we don't understand. I, on the other hand, tend to ignore such arguments until they can provide an adequate alternative term to describe it."

"Isn't 'eldritch' the word we use for shit like that, John?" said Max.

"Well, apparently, that term, while somewhat appropriate, carries a negative connotation and wouldn't fit into any factual reports for such phenomenon." John takes another sip of his tea as he says this.

"Figures," grunts Max in reply, taking a confectionary from one of the plates and engulfing it in one bite.

A few seconds of silence passes between the Chosen Few, some still processing the ambassador's answer, until finally a voice says, "Uh, guyth, I fink I got my fingerth thtuck in the handle. Can thomeone help?"
"Hold on a sec!" That came from Fancy, who was already standing up from his seat to go and assist his Toon comrade.

Vragi nodded in agreement with John’s statement on the tower. It was certainly like nothing the dwarf had encountered prior.

“If you don’t mind me asking, can something like that be done?” He inquired, “If this tower was thought or willed into existence from some kind of ability – please excuse me if I’ve misinterpreted – is it possible it might have properties unique to its own existence? Most scholars I’ve met would probably give up straightaway.”

By his tone of voice and the way he leaned slightly over the table, it was clear that Vragi was asking out of curiosity rather than doubt. He had no idea how or even if it were possible to imitate such a construct, but his mind was racing at the thought of all the possibilities, not to mention the challenge.

As he finished his question Vragi took a sip of his 'concoction' , enjoying its texture and sweet citrus taste. It was at this point that he realised that the others, at least those who understood this custom better than he did, had spread their sweet orange paste onto the bread with holes. A look of realisation crossed his face as this epiphany washed over him and he glanced uneasily at his drink, wondering if anyone had noticed and if he should try and salvage his marmalade.