[SEASON 2] The Stalkers RPG - Main Action and Team Status [ENDED... FOR NOW]

[yELve aRUzA]

search (56a) Floors 1-10 <UNSEARCHED>

C̨̛̮̱̐ͦ͗̔̎ͨ͒̔͠L̴̸ͭ̓ͣ͐̃͑̓̽͗͏̤͔͇̠̻͙E̢͖̪̦̲̘͉͎̠̍̆̓̋ͧ́͟ ̼A̽ͣ̾͞͏͏͚͉̲̫R̻̣̥͉̫̪͇ͭ͜ͅL̨̲͇͈͇̂̎̏̍͌ͥ̄̚̕͟Y̒ͭ̿́̃̌͌̍͟͏ ̭͔̫̪̰̞̰̕ͅ ̡̣̮̅̏ͪͭ̃͝y͊̓͝҉̲̣̬̼̝͓̣̥o̪͓̪͍͉̓͋ͤͭuͧͤ̓ͯ̂̒ͯͅ ̪̖̅̄̃͗͌ͥ̔͘w̎̽̅̓͞͏̧͍̰͇͚̙̙͈̻ẻ̤͙͂̚r̸͈͊̀ê̴͚͈̙͖ͮͪ̀͐n͋ ̢͎͍̊ͭ̌͌ͯͣ̚͞'̶̛̺͆ͨ̈́̀t̷̨̯̞̞̤̹͑ͣ̉̀̇̐̿͌͌͟ ̘̼̹͎̣ͧ̇́́̉͝͠p̵͖̤͎̜̯̯͓ͥ̓̒̆̉̐̈́̀a̡̛̫̤̗̪͖̱͚̙ͫ̽̀y̷̪̙̐̏͢ ̠͙͍ï̶̹̱̐̈́͢ṉ̨͙̘̬͆̌ͣͪ̕gͩ̋̑̾̀͏̵͔̰̜̞̞ ̐͐҉̴̳̗̘̩̖͈̤̟͡a̟̳̮̥̩̐͗ͤ̓ͦ̅͒ͪ͜t͕̞ͫ̓͗̆̾͞t̶̪̜͔̹̊͂̋̾ͤ̕͝ ̟e̬̟ͤ̽̆̉̒ͭͤ͑n̶͗̒̂͘҉͙̜̹̠̺̺̪t̼͚̟̋̏̇ͭ͒̀̇i̵͉̝̺̭͔̖ͫ͗̌̇͟ ̥̖̖o̶͙͇͖ͩͩ̅̍̚ņ̰͇͚͎̠̠͕̆ͩ̽ͤ̅́͠.̴̟͖̬̞̦̎ͬ̈́

No, you see, this is just how it is. Because it doesn't matter if you're waking up at 3am screaming like a ç̴̷͍͕̦̬͇̙ͣ̉̽͑̉̑̏͂͡a̸̶̢ͭ̇̇̍̑͆ͪ͌̌͒ͥ̿͑͆̄͋̂҉̞̣̦̘͖̣̞͕͡ ̻̪̜̱̠̼̗̤͓s̸̡̱̙͖̝͓̠̖͇̬͍̞̤̃ͮ̈̐ͬͪ̍ͮ̀̚͟t̀͂̔ͧͪ̂̄ͫ͆̔͂̊̅̚ ̷̴̸̢̮̣̘̻̬͕͓̤͎͚̖̠̩͒̋ͮ͞ͅr̵̨͎͓̩̞̗̘̤̩̻͗ͨͮͦͤͦ͌̈͡͞a͋ͥ̂ͮ̚ ̵̡͖̭̘͈̤̳̹ͦͪ̃͛̓̚͘t̨̧̜̩̪̙̪̻̬͉̣͈͔͑̏͑͗̀ͩ͐ͮͪ̒ͭeͬ̃̍̿̒ͮ̄̆ ̴̵̝̜͔̠͋̏͛ͭ̚ͅd̵̻͇͇̤̟̙̼̪̝̆̓̽̔̄̎ͯ͋ͫ́̚̚͡͝ infant. You're special. A special snowflake. You're special because rules don't ṃ̛̥͍̭͎̯͈̹̹̟́̓̒̐ͫ̾̍̔̀́͜͟atter and whoever keeps REMINDING you of them needs to just take the invite to crawl Ő̡̹̝͖̲̖͇̟̜ͯͪ̑̃̽̈́̽̉̾͒̐̾̅̄̌́͘U̢̧̙̯̩̖͓̖̖̮̖ͨ̀̌ͮ̓͌̄ͦ́ͣ ̝̼̙̦̦̼̬͈T̶͈̪͈̬͔̦̹̻̤͚͉͂̈ͣ̾ͫ̋ͫ̈́ͤ̎̄̿̄ͭ͜͝͠ ̸̨̝̝̼͖͈͇̝͖͖̞̎̋͊̊ͣ͗͌ͪ̾ͩ̄̉͐ͧ́ͫ͘O̐̊ͮ̄̎͛̒̎͋ͩͫͭ̃̆ͫ̔͊̂̀͝ ̖̺̗̼̗̠͓̝̹̞ͅḞͥͨ͗ͪͭ͒҉̨̤͖̟̪̱̺̤̬͈ ͂̅̒̀͆ͯͯͦ̊͛ͣ͆̏҉̨̜̫̞̹͉̘͙̖̠̙̀Ẏ̸̨̧͚̫̲̪͙̲̠̒̔ͪͫ̒̆̿̆̀̚̕ͅ O̻̜̞͓̬̫̫̼̭͚̝͖͎͓̮͓̜̪͗̒͐̔́́U͛̑̌̊ͣ̉͆̽̐ͤ̊ͦͣ҉̸̛҉͎̘̦̳̼̖̻ ̤̫̻̗̠R̴̨̛̥̝̲̤̗̝̣ͣͪ̄̑̽̃͑̈́͆ͮ̍̊͐̍̍ͣ̔ ̢͕̩̬̰̮̦͚̠̳̥̖̱̺̝̞̪̩̟̭̓ͪ̊ͬͣͩ͢͠A̴̿ͧͫ̔҉̨̛̬͖̮͖̤̙N̊͐̅ͮ̃͌ ̴̸̧̡̹͈̦̻͕̥͙͔̳͓̟͚͇̻̠̣̱͂ͅU̴̖̮͔̪͕̹̜̤̩̠͉̐̉̋̀͆̀̔̔͆̀͑͂ͮͮ ̼S̵̔́ͭ͐̓ͦͭ͐͐̃͋̉̚҉̴͇͓̙̹͉̮̫̖̭̩̣̞͈̕ and leave you alone. You special, special snowflake, you. Because this goes on for years like the same ì̛̘̬̖͇̬͉̟͝n̢̗̠̞à̺͉̩̫̹̬̣̻̤͞n̪̙̫̞͎̯͎̝e҉̮͔́͝ͅ ̧̼̤͔͈̗̮̼͟m̹̟̠͓̬̦̰̪̕͞e̸̡̺̱͕̬͟r̻̭̜̻̹̟͔̙̳̕͜r̳̠͙̠͕̣̗y͏ ̲̜͙̮̪-̸̹̹͍̮͞͠g̵̗̬͢o͇-̡̧̛̱̹̰͓͙̺̙ŗ̹̖̤͚̘͞o͔̮̝̱̪͓͝u̗̦̞͓̤̫͞ͅņ̛̭ḑ̣̺̼͝ that you insist on riding and riding with your beautiful ṃ̛̥͍̭͎̯͈̹̹̟́̓̒̐ͫ̾̍̔̀́͜͟agic pony and all the hate and angst in the world just flutters away like deranged soulless butterfly that doesn't know a̷̴̴̡̢̤̣̬̘̰̰̪̙n̷͘͏̴҉͉̖̗̭̱̬̤͓̩̯ỳ̧̗̭̗̫͈͎̳̳͔͉͓͚͕̲̼͜t ̶̢͎̫̳̲̞̦̮h͏̦̻̹͖̺̰̹͓͎͍͎͝ì͘͏̪̖̙̜̹ń̴͚͕͇̞̭̮͚̝g̝̞͓̥̀͞ ̠͖̞̲̣̥͔̠.̷͚͚͔͇̫̫͚̭͖͜͡

You like it here. It's pitiful. The graffiti all over the ṗ̷̹̫̹͉̩̳̥̐ͭ̓̍ͥ̄̆̈́̎̑̆̌̑̉͗̀̚̕e̢͍̐̍̍ͩ̎̅́͗̇ͭ̋̾̈ͤ̽ͨͮ͜͝ ̰͓̲̱̹̺͕̩̬͉̗̪̜͎̠̜ȩ̲̙͇̻̱͚̐̉̏̈̔ͦͩͦ̈͛̎́̚͟͡͠l̡̛̏ͭ̾̔ͬ̏͌ ̴̧̝̲̝i̶̧̗̣͔̭̲̗̥͎͖͉̥̱͚̰̙̇ͫ͋̋ͮ̾̌̑̓̍̄̈́̂ͥ̈̇͜n͔͈̼̒ͣ̏̇͞͠ ͕̞g͒̔̈̎̀̏̿ͥ̆ͧ̓̚҉̫̜̼̟̗̥ ̴̻̤͍͚͕͎̝̼͔͓͚̩͕͙̉ͪ͆ẉ̷̨̯͇̖̣̬̫̜̱̝̝͛́ͦ̑ͮ̓̓́̌ͨ͛̍̑ͬ͑͠͡a ̢̺͈̰̻̠͕̰̭̪̥͎ͥ́̏ͭ͐̊̿͟͝͡l̛̰̬̙̲͈̫̟̻̬͓̎ͬ̋̈́̈̀͜lͩ͆̇͒̊̐̿ ̡̪͕̤͕̟̱͖͕̂̈́ͨͯͥͮ̓̒̃͞s̉͆͂͋ͮ̍̇͊̇̔ͤ͌̓҉̸͍̖̩͎̳͖̘ probably would have had ṃ̛̥͍̭͎̯͈̹̹̟́̓̒̐ͫ̾̍̔̀́͜͟ore to say if it wasn't scrawled there by some druggie prophet pretending and pretending and pretending and pretending that maybe she, he, it, or them weren't the brain-diseased druggie that maybe had a chance at being something more than nothing. It's better than nō̧̩̗͈͈̝̻̹͖̺̩̬̞̜͎̝ͮ͋́͗͛͂͋ͯ͗ͭͪ̈́̓̈͋̀̚thing. But you wouldn't know because it wasn't your mind on display here. It wasn't your picture. Your song was just ṡ̶͚͉̗̬͉̜̦̺͚̘̙͚̭̃́͆̈͛ͣ̒̎̇͢ͅc̷̢̤͔̯̦̠̳̹̗̐͗ͬͣ͆͋̆̌̚͢͝͡ ̠̦̤͙͚̪r̷̶̻̦͇̱̮̥̓ͥ̿̈́͐̓͒̄͆̒̍͋ͦͨ̔͞e͂ͧ̈͆̑ͥ͂͂̚͏̴̡̺͔̱̰̞̀ ̬͙̫̗̰̦̦̮͉̩a̶ͦ̎̈́̐͛͑͌ͥ̉͟͏͏̗͙͓͍̘̦̙̥̖͕̤̩̯͓̦̹͓̺̯͡m͒̀ͯ̋́ ̧̱̝͇̣̖̓͑̍̔ͭ̓͋i̸̴ͭ̎̔ͬ̂̓̂ͫ̀͛ͯ͗̚҉̫̫̮͖̞̹̞͖̪͈̩͈̥̞͠ͅn͐̀̊ ̡̛̩̦̲̲̠͓͙̮͚̬̝̯͍̠̟͙͘͝ͅg̵̾̓̆̑ͪ͗̊̎̏͋ͥ̎̒͐̋̃̽̂ͪ̕҉̨̖̦͈͖̫ ̼͍ in the background and you were too busy just prancing on the pony that when it all fell apart, you thought of dialing it in the number and getting a price check on what it was ṃ̛̥͍̭͎̯͈̹̹̟́̓̒̐ͫ̾̍̔̀́͜͟eant to be to lose yourself in t̍ͬ͏͙̳̮̰͇̦h̸̫̥̱͚̤ͥ̈́e̼̳͚͇̯̬͕̟̩ͣ͂ͫͦ͗͌͊̔͟͢͞ ͎̜̉ͣ͂͂͊̆ͅp̨̧̲̞͔̪ͬ̌̿̏̍̓͒̐͝i̜̦͈̙̔ͨ͛̓͐͟͝ȇ̻͙́ͨ́͛͂͊͘c̋ ̷̡̐̄͆͛͏̹̰̯̤̖̼̰̹̻e̷̖̳̟ͭ̌ͤ̚͜ś̿͊ͫ͋̎ͬ̌҉̨̪.ͨ̅̍̑̚͢͢ ͖͕̟̯

Apartment 1. You could have sworn you lived here, but it's just a ṃ̛̥͍̭͎̯͈̹̹̟́̓̒̐ͫ̾̍̔̀́͜͟yth. You've been here before. Paper on the walls, a phone by the bed, your brain cigarettes on the floor, and the pieces of history you've left ō̧̩̗͈͈̝̻̹͖̺̩̬̞̜͎̝ͮ͋́͗͛͂͋ͯ͗ͭͪ̈́̓̈͋̀̚n the bathroom floor since August 2002 but that's just voices in the background coṃ̛̥͍̭͎̯͈̹̹̟́̓̒̐ͫ̾̍̔̀́͜͟plaining like they always do about the things you said you'd do years ago. They've been T̽͋̒̂̒ͧͣ̓҉̺͈̳̱͚̬̲̖̦A̸ͧ͢͏̬̱̱͕L̫͈͈ͣ̌̈́Ḳ̗̗̪̪̉͒̿̌͊̀̈́ͅ ̩͓͎İ̶͈̦̝̪̠̈̄ͤ̾N͈̫̠̣͖̉ͨGͭ̋ͣ͛̕҉̺̫̪̮̖͈̘
the entire time and quite frankly, it means nothing to your pony. It means nothing to yō̧̩̗͈͈̝̻̹͖̺̩̬̞̜͎̝ͮ͋́͗͛͂͋ͯ͗ͭͪ̈́̓̈͋̀̚u. It's your bed and breakfast. It's your own dishwasher. If they didn't like the performance, they could always, you know, S̄ͨ͌̅̈͘͡H̛̽̅͊̓̽̃ͦ̓ͣ́U̸͋̎̅̇͂̍̎͒̀Tͣ̓ͫ͊ͮ̇̋̓ ̷̈́̑͗̌͋ͬ̆T́̈ͩ̐̄ͮ̑ͥ͜͢Hͯ́͟҉E̎͑̋̿̿̇͠͡I̅͒̈́ͮ̈̉͋̾͊͡R̿ ͫ̋̀͡ ̛̋ͯ̑̎̌P͌ͧ̍͏̛I̶̢ͨ̃ͧ̄͌̈͊S̅̔̌ͬS̅̿ͨ̅I͛ͣ̈́ͣ́͌͜͢N̨͋̄ͧGͩͤ̏ ͞͡ ̋͊̀̂ͧ̓ͮ͒̚͘M̈́͆̍ͤ̾ͧO͌̿͠Ű̡̡̅ͣ͟T̵ͨ̓ͬͭ̅Ḧ́Sͮ̈͗̓ͭ̇̽̚ ̀͘͟ ̷́̈́̆̔͘A̷̅͛ͣͯͦ̌͗͠҉N͑ͤ͋͘͜͝D̷ͥͧ̅͝ ̵̀̎ͩ̇̏̚͘G̈́͐͑̾̒̕O̿̇̊ ̿̑͝F̸̊̓͑̒̒ͥ̊͠Ỉ͆̐̆͗̅͊͋̀͜͝Ė̴͊̚͟ ̷ͦ̊ͨ͒̓̅̊̍Ỉ͌ͫ̋ͥ̈́ͭͬ͠N̓͑ͧ̏ͤ̍ͥ̆ ̈́̔ͮ͒̉̃͑͢A̧̓̋̆ ̵̐̇̉̐̈̊͆D̿̈́̇̇̐ͨͦ͑͞I̸͋ͧ͌ͬ̊͌̏R̢ͤ͊Eͯ̓̄ͩ̓ͫͭ̂͠ ̧͗͌͆̍͝Ô̐̎ͫ̈́̚̕͞͝R͊ͮͪ̌̏͘ ̢̛̓Aͭ̊̽̄̃̐ͭ͊́̚͜͞N̸ͮͬ̍̇̑̚D̂ͯ͝ ̊̈͗͜Ü̢ͨ͊͟P̢ͪͫ̊ͥ͟Ŕ̨ͫͯ̄ͧ̒ͫ̈́̏͜Ȁ̷̽̈́́N̒ͭ̀̾̾̃͐ͯ͡X̾́̈́ͪ ͗ͭͯ͂͠͞E̛̋ͪ͘͢N̴ͩ̉̇T̨͐͌̍ͯ̉Ă̂́̅Lͯ̀͞U̷̓̇̏ͦ͂̇R͌͒̑̈́ͬ͐͂̚ ͑͟͝K̸̂̋̾ͯͦȨ͂ͩ̈̈́ͮ͌̄͡N̎̊ͨͣ̒͒ͪ̍͟͢͝S͂̐ͩ̚D̍͂͗̀͗̋ͣ́͝Aͩ̊ ̵̊L͑̂ͩ͐͟ ͑̽̽͡D̸ͬ̒́I͛̃͋͗ͧ̊E̅ͦ̃̿̉̿ ͧ̿ͣ̃ͦ͋̉͒͢Dͦ̑̎͏̵̢Î̾̐̎̇͟͟E̸ͯ̚ ̋̓̌͒ͤ҉D̆̾ͨͪ͊̏͏͡Į̢̢̿͒̓̏̒͗͒̚È̷̴̡̒̃̇ ͂͗ͪ̉ͯ͢D̶̨̆ͭͫͮ͌̒I̵ͨͪ͒ͦ̎̏ͯ́̇E̓ͥ̒̊ͫͪ͋͢ ͫ̇̑ͭ̒҉D͛ͦ҉Ī̇̓E͑̾̈̈́̌̃̂͛́.ͧ̍̑́͘

tHE song insists on plAYING again but you're getting a bit tired of it. It's time to turn off the book on this one and move on. You look around and you could have sworn the pieces of this afterṃ̛̥͍̭͎̯͈̹̹̟́̓̒̐ͫ̾̍̔̀́͜͟ath told you a story about two girls and the magical hat man they ran off with and never came home past five o' clock but that just speaks volumes about the parables and the crafts you've been up to. That was the story you heard over breakfast. It wrote a wō̧̩̗͈͈̝̻̹͖̺̩̬̞̜͎̝ͮ͋́͗͛͂͋ͯ͗ͭͪ̈́̓̈͋̀̚rd on the ṃ̛̥͍̭͎̯͈̹̹̟́̓̒̐ͫ̾̍̔̀́͜͟orning cup of coffee and you've been thinking about it ever since June 42nd but that's just peaches and creaṃ̛̥͍̭͎̯͈̹̹̟́̓̒̐ͫ̾̍̔̀́͜͟ to the carrion. They told your story but they weren't satisfied with the results. They want their check but you were too confused with the script and how to even direct the circus yō̧̩̗͈͈̝̻̹͖̺̩̬̞̜͎̝ͮ͋́͗͛͂͋ͯ͗ͭͪ̈́̓̈͋̀̚u decided to self appoint yourself as ringleader for. It's just scribbles.

The SWORD! Of course. It was in the ŕ̘̝̥̳̙͔̲ͣͤͦͪ́̃ͭ͐ͨ́́a̳͎̗̹͓̮̘̭̰̝͖̝͓͈̍͒̉ͫ͋͒͐ͧ̅ͧͩ̈́̀̚̚ ̝̖̺͖ď̷̛̗͙̱̥̫̰̊ͦ̐͒ͯ̏̐̓̅̏ͫ̈͛ͣ̚͡i̯͉̘̪̪̫ͦͯͫ͌ͣ͊͟͜a͗̐͒͂ ̵̇̉ͦ͆̽̽̓̌ͪ̽̔̂̅҉͏̶̧͉̜͙̩̳̱̗̰̱̺̦͎t̡̥̝̯͑̑͆͌̈͒̔̉̃ͮ̄̔͜͢͠ ̰̣̖͎ö̴̸̺̣͔̘͚̞̯̟͖͇̝̞̩́́ͫ̀̿͆͌͑͢r̵̶̢̞̫̣̲͈̄̾ͨ̏ͫ̓͘ͅ ̠̳̜ just where you left it. Silly you. As soon as you caress it, it takes you so, so SO FAR AWAY and you feel just so lovely and alō̧̩̗͈͈̝̻̹͖̺̩̬̞̜͎̝ͮ͋́͗͛͂͋ͯ͗ͭͪ̈́̓̈͋̀̚ne like it's ApoCalyPSE ChrISTmaS and you're the only one that survived because you just happened to be hiding under the bed like you usually care. NOW YOU TAKE CARE OF THAT SWORD, KATZU. Because I've seen what you look like when you're eating and that's my leverage. It's disgusting. It made me hate the sun because I couldn't get that sight out of m̵̨̙͕̹̣͔̯̥ͨͬ̌ͦͤ̚̚͘ŷ̢̨͖͍͍̂̊̃ͪ͆ͬ͆͌ ̨͕̥ͨ͐̒̓ͭͣ̀͡m̧̻̳ͯͧͅi̷͉̟̭̱͓̎̋͜n̯͋d̶͍̺̝̟̟̲ͭ̽̓ͮ̉͜͞ ͚ for days like I was swimming in the urine of gō̧̩̗͈͈̝̻̹͖̺̩̬̞̜͎̝ͮ͋́͗͛͂͋ͯ͗ͭͪ̈́̓̈͋̀̚ds. Like a pacemaker taking a break to stop and smell the roses. The ashes. The rashes. The ahrosehesashesrosshes. It's terminal and even with cheṃ̛̥͍̭͎̯͈̹̹̟́̓̒̐ͫ̾̍̔̀́͜͟mo, we suspect only seven ṃ̛̥͍̭͎̯͈̹̹̟́̓̒̐ͫ̾̍̔̀́͜͟ore ṃ̛̥͍̭͎̯͈̹̹̟́̓̒̐ͫ̾̍̔̀́͜͟onths. That's your natural 1.

KAͫ̿ͨ͊ͧ̎͑ͨ̃͆̔ͭ̆͑ͩ͠͏̸͍͇̼͔̘̳̥͎̝͈͚̖̠̭̙͔̙Tzu, CONgratULAͫ̿ͨ͊ͧ̎͑ͨ̃͆̔ͭ̆͑ͩ͠͏̸͍͇̼͔̘̳̥͎̝͈͚̖̠̭̙͔̙tIONS , YOU've̸̜̫͉̣͈̹̺̻͙̍̾͛͛͑͐ͯ̃͆͋ͯ̿ͣ̾͋ͩ̚̕͟͢ Take̸̜̫͉̣͈̹̺̻͙̍̾͛͛͑͐ͯ̃͆͋ͯ̿ͣ̾͋ͩ̚̕͟͢n 2 POints OF Daṃ̛̥͍̭͎̯͈̹̹̟́̓̒̐ͫ̾̍̔̀́͜͟Age tO sAͫ̿ͨ͊ͧ̎͑ͨ̃͆̔ͭ̆͑ͩ͠͏̸͍͇̼͔̘̳̥͎̝͈͚̖̠̭̙͔̙NiTY.

KATZU WAS REWARDED WITH THE b̵̸̺̯͙͓͖̯̞͔̯̤̪̳̥͓̭̮̯̓͛͊ͬ̉͋͛ͫ́̆̾̌͋͒̔ͥ̀̚͢erse̍̾͛͛͑͐ͯ ̸̜̫͉̣͈̹̺̻͙̃͆͋ͯ̿ͣ̾͋ͩ̚̕͟͢rk STATE.

You could have swō̧̩̗͈͈̝̻̹͖̺̩̬̞̜͎̝ͮ͋́͗͛͂͋ͯ͗ͭͪ̈́̓̈͋̀̚rn this door was supposed to take you to Pallet Town but it's not. You're taking the tools with you. That's how Vinnie the Virus wants it.

You deserve better.

I would be saying that, but you missed bedtime. No bage̸̜̫͉̣͈̹̺̻͙̍̾͛͛͑͐ͯ̃͆͋ͯ̿ͣ̾͋ͩ̚̕͟͢l for you. That's a ze̸̜̫͉̣͈̹̺̻͙̍̾͛͛͑͐ͯ̃͆͋ͯ̿ͣ̾͋ͩ̚̕͟͢ro. That's your personal monster.

Item: False Door: {The Listening: X=34²/f=7} No, The scrawl paper, the be̸̜̫͉̣͈̹̺̻͙̍̾͛͛͑͐ͯ̃͆͋ͯ̿ͣ̾͋ͩ̚̕͟͢ckoning, No, Nō̧̩̗͈͈̝̻̹͖̺̩̬̞̜͎̝ͮ͋́͗͛͂͋ͯ͗ͭͪ̈́̓̈͋̀̚, No, the [FORSAKEN SWORD] #Infernal Presence# (Deals Two damage to Sanity) was added ḑ̝̟̯͉̤͍̳͈̈́̌̇ͯ̕͟͡i̠̼̰͉̟̥͕̤̋͗̑̊͢͢͝v͆͗ͤ̎̿̿ͧ̏̎͏̮̣͙̫̣͝ ̬̲͈̦̥i͐̽̓̂͋ͤ̐͌̈́̃ͯͣͮ̓ͮ̆͜҉̀͏̷̲̠̹͕͕̞̳̘̘͖͍v̑̓͒ͥͧ͂͒͗ͭͭͯ ̶̷̜̯̗̯̱̥̠͎̯̟̣̪͓̗͚̜͙͎̓ͧi̴͍̟̥̥͈͔̩̣̺̇̈̂̏̿ͭ̂́v̂͆͂͌̈́̃̾ͫ ̶̡̡͉̜̥̯̺̗͙̰̣̲ͅį̯̳̣̗͚͙͙̫̲̺̤̘̙͚͓̪̙̬̓̅̌͗ͭͥ̈́̏͋̎̀ͪ͡ͅv̚ ̢̛͚̟̠̭̩̅ͣ͌͑̋͐̊͂ͥͭ̉̎ͫ̌̒ͣ́̕̕i̵̢̢͔͚̝̙̓ͤ̓̌̏̈́̈̎͒ͯ̍ͧ̏͊̏́ ̯d̙̭̜͍̪̟̺͔̫̭̟̝͙͙̯͚̳ͨ̌ͧͪ̅̋̚̕͠ͅe̶̓͂̆ͬͨͥͫ̌̐̓̌ͣ̉̄̂̓̈́ͣͭ ̛͠͠҉̪̞̫̥͚̞̜̞̙͉͙͔͎̱͔ͅd̵̢̛̞͍̭̩̮͙̥̭̹͖͓̯͙́͛ͥ̎̏̍ͫͮ̉̂ͨ͗̀ ̹̯̪ into No Team No Inve̸̜̫͉̣͈̹̺̻͙̍̾͛͛͑͐ͯ̃͆͋ͯ̿ͣ̾͋ͩ̚̕͟͢ntory No Life No this is Game Over for the Pͫ͒̋̄̏ͤ̿̓̇͆̈́̌̉ͥ͂̋͜҉͎̪̫̖̬̰̝̰̫̦͖͖̻̹̟̖̝̦̫L̵̷̛̬̭̱ͮ͌́̎ͥ ̼̟̼͚͈̦̬̻̟̮̥͓ͅA̅ͮͯͪ̈͋͆͑͑̈́͋̂̏̑͂̈́͘͝͏̺̪̘̤͈̼͚̝̟̮͇̗̤̘̺̙̯ ̗̲Y̨̛͛̾͑ͯ̌̽ͮ̈̏̀ͮ̊ͯ͜͏̰̘̠̲̖̫̠̰̗͕̺͘E̿̾͆ͤ̐̏̓̃ͣ̊ͬ̅̔̊͂̃̒ ̗̱̘̦̟̦̖̀̀͜͜ͅŖ̛͍͇̺̙̗͚̺̗̞͋̆͑ͦ̌ͤ͗̎ͤ͐̑̒̚Š̴̨̫̽̏ͭͬ̑͛ͯ͛ ̟̳̼̫͔̭̟̞̙̰̟̫̖̘

This hallway is whe̸̜̫͉̣͈̹̺̻͙̍̾͛͛͑͐ͯ̃͆͋ͯ̿ͣ̾͋ͩ̚̕͟͢re you had the operation 573 years ago today. It's where you left that bad news brain behind and just d̷̸̶̡̛̳̠̺͔̈̈́̆̇̊̍͊ecided to e̸̜̫͉̣͈̹̺̻͙̍̾͛͛͑͐ͯ̃͆͋ͯ̿ͣ̾͋ͩ̚̕͟͢mbrace the new you. Like you could just take a funne̸̜̫͉̣͈̹̺̻͙̍̾͛͛͑͐ͯ̃͆͋ͯ̿ͣ̾͋ͩ̚̕͟͢l and make yourself as fat as a planet or publish your d̷̸̶̡̛̳̠̺͔̈̈́̆̇̊̍͊iscoveries about the new patch of grass you decided to propose̸̜̫͉̣͈̹̺̻͙̍̾͛͛͑͐ͯ̃͆͋ͯ̿ͣ̾͋ͩ̚̕͟͢ to and bear many, many grassy children with. Those brainchildren. Those delinquents. ţ̴̴͖̙̦̝̙̬̠͋ͬ̈́ͮ̑ͤẻ̸̶̍̌̐ͫ̿̌̃̾͒͑̆͑͐ͦͫ͞͏̝͉̪̪̥̟̫̭͕̘̬̪ ̪̭͖̹̱̲͓r̢̒͌͗ͨͧ̑ͨ͊́҉̰͔̪̪̼r̵̝̟̲̹̬͚ͪ̏̆ͥ̆̉ͭͩ̾̈́̑̀̎͑̏̐͡͞ ̺̪̩̝̘̠͎̬̳̖ǫ̻̲̯̭̗̼̘͌͛̈́ͧ̍͢rͬ̍ͮͤͣ̾͏̭̠͔̱̪̤̫̰̗͘aͧͪ̀̅ͣ̆ ̣̦̪̩̲͉̯̩͖̪͔̳̝͎̱͚̜͎̐ͪͪͪͫ̉͋́͜n̶̵̮̥͙̰̞̳̯͇̗̈͑ͨͦͧͪͦ̽͒ͧ͜ ̤͓͕͈͉͙̻͖g̨̑ͧ͂̅̾̈ͯ͐̑̄͐̐͛̀ͦ͏͖̤̱̺̻ͅe̡ͤ̊̋̏̿͡҉̲̬͍̺͉͜sͮ͛ ̷̷̛̟̝͙̦̤̩̮͓͖ͥ̽̈́̍̃̀ǫ͖̳̺͉̳̗̩̓ͧ͆̇͂̽ͯ̀̊͛́ͬ͟͡͠f̀͒͐̒̉ͩ̚ ̧̧̛̘͎̞̹̲͇̭͎̫͍̥̪̬͇̪ͭͣ̀̽̇ͫ̂͑͛̆͊͡ͅw̷̉ͩ͛ͭ́͑͌ͫ̐̀ͯͭ̓̽͜͢͜ ̷̥̜͈̯̗̖͕̲͈̰̙̙͍̳͕̣̰u̸̯̬̜͔̪̙̳̪̟͇̬̜̩̜̿ͧ̂̏̓͗ͤͩ̉̎͊̀͘͞t̓ ̡̇͊ͮ͆ͨ́ͪ̚͢͏̭̟̣̮̕i̴̢̧̼̘͚͚̩͎͍͕͍̱͆̆̃̀͐̔̔̈ͫ͗͗̆̀̉̀̓̓̆͊͘ ͚͍͚̦̠͕͕s͉̙̱͕͙̗̲͎̠͕̦̙̭̒͒͑ͪ̏ͯͩ̄ͦ͋ͦ́͞ͅͅn̖ͤ̄ͬͣ̐̋ͧ͑͒́̕͝ ̺̜̱̩͈̘̭tͣ̽̈ͬ̏ͨͬ̎͡͏̻̮̺̤̙̳̼̼̘̳̀͝i̴̸̧͓̞̪̼̭̫̤̺̭̦͒͋͌̀͘t ̧̺̖̝͎͔̟͈̣͎̖̤̅ͣͦ́͌̒ͤ͜͠͝͡n̸͌͊ͫ͠͏̶̤̹̦̲̙̯̞͇̹̹̼̼̭̠̩͝o͌̚ ̧̩̮̺̯͉̣̹̗̙̲͙̪̯̖ͧͮ̅̀ͭ̈́͟͠t̸̤̣̮̗̠̺̩̬͂͒̊ͧͧ̐̈́ͭ͒͌ͮ̈́ͪ͋̀͢͞ ͈͚̟͍̰̬͕h̷̴̖̼̞͓͎̉̏ͪͨͧ͊ͤͣ̾̃͆̊̂ͪͣ̚̕͡ị̱̜͎̹̎̽̉̂̉̀̊̆ͭ́͟ ̟̜̹̥̰͖̠͖̲̱̻n̵̛̫̣̹̞̤͎͙͉͎̙̙̥͍̄̾ͥ̾ͦ̑̚͢ġ̋̑̋̂̅ͫͤ̂ͦͨ͝͝͏ ̱̪͈͚̞͇͚̩̮̘̤̠͟

But you're not giving up! We're going to try this again with the musical chorus you spe̸̜̫͉̣͈̹̺̻͙̍̾͛͛͑͐ͯ̃͆͋ͯ̿ͣ̾͋ͩ̚̕͟͢nt all of nap time organizing because you're a bad, bad conductor and the world deserves to know about it. This is you on Broad̷̸̶̡̛̳̠̺͔̈̈́̆̇̊̍͊way failing at your best moment, missing the five̸̜̫͉̣͈̹̺̻͙̍̾͛͛͑͐ͯ̃͆͋ͯ̿ͣ̾͋ͩ̚̕͟͢-point shot at the buzzer because the Terrible̸̜̫͉̣͈̹̺̻͙̍̾͛͛͑͐ͯ̃͆͋ͯ̿ͣ̾͋ͩ̚̕͟͢ Toucannon you owe back taxes to lost his butter cutter and now everyone̸̜̫͉̣͈̹̺̻͙̍̾͛͛͑͐ͯ̃͆͋ͯ̿ͣ̾͋ͩ̚̕͟͢ in the movie theater has to pay for it. That's what not being fair is all about. That's what buying fresh oranges at the farme̸̜̫͉̣͈̹̺̻͙̍̾͛͛͑͐ͯ̃͆͋ͯ̿ͣ̾͋ͩ̚̕͟͢rs market looks like when you're trying to pay by debit card and they only take cash. That's blind̷̸̶̡̛̳̠̺͔̈̈́̆̇̊̍͊ justice. That's what the train to Toronto takes after 11pm and you're the last passenger. You're the reason for the extra hours. Shame on you, Katzu. Shame on you. Shame̸̜̫͉̣͈̹̺̻͙̍̾͛͛͑͐ͯ̃͆͋ͯ̿ͣ̾͋ͩ̚̕͟͢ on you. Ś̶̜͍̋̒̄͞ͅẖ̸̢̝̯̝̘͚͎̘̰̩̗̱͚̻̾̀ͦ̈́͂͒̑ͥͧͤͬ̌̍̏͞ͅȧͩ͛ͫ̈̽ ͌͌̽͗̄ͥ̎̈ͧ҉̧̹̗͙̼͓͙̬͕͔͖̮͙̹̗͙̭̦̪͖͠͞M̴͆ͮ͗͌̓̐̊͒̓͊̋͋̔̔̾ͮ ̫͍̹̣̯͎͚̫̗E̶̡͍̼̦̤͙̖̞͉͇̭̥̯̯̟͐̏̑̄ͦ̆̈́̾̋̎̀̽͛ͤ͗ͭ̌͜ ̸̨̨͖̭͙̪͎̱͙̼͚̖̫̺̺͕̳͍̳̯̮̍͛̓̄̀͜o͍̺ͣͭ̿̏ͯ̿ͧ̍̄ͯͣ̿̅́̚̚̚͟͞ ̣͚N̷̘̻̪̱͚͓̳̝̭̦͓͈̞̤̞̰̜̗̊̂ͣ̌̀̌̈́̍̽ͩ̏ͩ̕ ̠̠̲̰̼̻̳̜̫̱͐̿ͩ̀̇͒̇̈̎̊͐̇ͭͭͭ͗́́̚͡Y̶̴͈͚͙̿ͥͥ̐̓̔̎̈͊̇̈͟͡ͅ ̲ȏ̢ͫ̓ͤͦ̉̎ͯ͊̊̔ͥͫ̉̄̒́ͩ̑҉̵̡͍̻͈̲̟̝̤͖͡U̡ͩ̂̓̓̃̓́͆͆̽͝͏̠̙ ̩̺̣̺͙.̈̉̄ͭ̌̉̇ͬͨ̒ͩͪ̿͡͏͖̣͍̙͢

But she's cheering you on, Katzu. Mother Goose̸̜̫͉̣͈̹̺̻͙̍̾͛͛͑͐ͯ̃͆͋ͯ̿ͣ̾͋ͩ̚̕͟͢ has a LOT riding on this bet and it's a d̷̸̶̡̛̳̠̺͔̈̈́̆̇̊̍͊ay at the races for you. It's showtime. That's what the children want. They've been w̧̰̭̠̭̙͕̟ͅą͘͏͕̘̯ì̛̺͕̜̲͘t̛̹̪̘̻͚͍̣̕ͅì̝̝͔̘̯n̸̸̠͓͡g ̴̛̩̮̠̬̺͍̗̤ͅ ͚̙̯̤̣̳̦s̛̤̭ḭ͖̟͙̮̜̜́n̺͍͖̥͇̰̮͇̯͡͞c̴̴̘̻̣̥̠̻͡e̷̷̴̬͇̦̭ ͎̫͕ͅ ̴͠҉͈̠̣͓̩͙͍̪F̜͍͎͙̺͎̗̲r̷̸̨̲̪̰̲͇i͏͠͏̱̦͔̖ḑ̵͏̱̥͎a̵̹͇̮͟ ̬͍͈͇͉y͝͏̤̥̜͓̩ and they don't want the rainchecks anymore. It's time to continue and insert another quarter, because this game isn't going to play itself. But you could̷̸̶̡̛̳̠̺͔̈̈́̆̇̊̍͊ try asking tomorrow if the receptionist is still around̷̸̶̡̛̳̠̺͔̈̈́̆̇̊̍͊.

Katzu, i̧̜̼̮̥̱̳͍͘t̢̮͎̤̖̻͡'̵̵͍s̷͓̖͠ ̘͚͔̞̫͜͡b҉̡̗̝̘̣̮͇͕͔̹e̛͕͍͉̲̫̟̣ͅͅe̵̶̳͖͢n̘̲̤̞̖̣͡ ͈̲̪̜̬͇̀͠͠ͅf̡͠͏̙͇͙̝̦͍u̵҉͕̬̞̭͇̯̯͙͖n̷͇͟͝, but I'm a busy piper and I need better reasons to stay here. Ciao. I'm going to leave this in mommy's hands. She'll take you to the special place. Oh, she'll come̸̜̫͉̣͈̹̺̻͙̍̾͛͛͑͐ͯ̃͆͋ͯ̿ͣ̾͋ͩ̚̕͟͢. She's rid̷̸̶̡̛̳̠̺͔̈̈́̆̇̊̍͊ing a headless puppy dog and singing songs! It's the same scribble moment you drew yesterday on the walls but you've been here since the Candy Wall Collapse and you're wishing it was the summer of 2006 again. You had the fun of a lifetime then. It'll come. You've waited̷̸̶̡̛̳̠̺͔̈̈́̆̇̊̍͊ all apocalypse for it. That re̸̜̫͉̣͈̹̺̻͙̍̾͛͛͑͐ͯ̃͆͋ͯ̿ͣ̾͋ͩ̚̕͟͢minds you. The stars were the best part. If only the burial wasn't the thing that spoiled it all.

You shiver but it'll be okay. The stork is taking you back where all the newborn babies come from. They'll rearrange your bod̷̸̶̡̛̳̠̺͔̈̈́̆̇̊̍͊y to be the way you're supposed to be. You keep your hands to yourself and it'll be okay. A fresh puzzle̸̜̫͉̣͈̹̺̻͙̍̾͛͛͑͐ͯ̃͆͋ͯ̿ͣ̾͋ͩ̚̕͟͢. You'll love it! It sings like it never did̷̸̶̡̛̳̠̺͔̈̈́̆̇̊̍͊ before.

Katzu has been abducted by the Stalkers.

Katzu the Sneasel (M: Dark/Ice)

Health: 5/5
Sanity: 0/4 BERSERK
Perk: First Aid | Learned Abilities: Escort/Protect
Failed Assassinations: 0/2