Snippet #2735984

The band would watch Vargas positively leap from his chair and leave the bar. Definitely the sort of person who would take himself out to do good. The Chosen Few did it because they didn't have much of a choice.
It always puzzled the speculative sort how the Chosen Few came to be, or why they were Chosen. It seemed to John that the Creators pointed their celestial fingers in a random direction and picked the mortal below it. Each Chosen One were visited by an odd being known only as the Recruiter, who gave them a hearty handshake and welcome to the world of heroism, much to their complete bafflement. Descriptions of the Recruiter differed between the five; Max described him as a Robloxian in a black suit and sunglasses, Jack described him as a Toon dog in yellow trousers, a jacket and was smoking a cigar, Fancy described him as a jodhphured stick figure with a bushy moustache, and the Skelecoot brothers, between the two, described him as a skeletal gentleman in a top hat and the attire of a Victorian lawyer. Ever since the group relayed their descriptions to each other, there has been a fog of fearful mystery surrounding the Recruiter. Alas, they have been Chosen and that meant that if they didn't agree with the position, they could complain to the Creators, a situation that neither of them wanted.
Picking up their belongings, they followed Vargas out of the bar. "Right," said John. "Where's our next destination?"
The portal has grown now. More creatures were crawling out of the dimensional hole and were building on it, dragging a spire outwards, building walls around it, scratching symbols onto the walls that neither of them knew what they do but were told to scratch in anyway. The foothold in Agni was strengthening and the scent of the Chosen Few was the strongest in the mass of buildings miles away, a beacon of glowing yellow in a sea of pale scents.