The wilderness between the nodes is a dark, windy, fearful place.

A place where you would rather not walk alone.

Where the monsters of the nodegel come to face you and make you earn your bullshit. Where no cow is innocent. Where everything2 is dark and not so well lit.

A wanderer needs a friend, here. One with power and of name; of thunder and of flame, to hold the wolfish tide at bay. To preserve; and at end of day be faithful to the hand that binds and guides it forth from time to time.

Power to cool. Power to kill. Power restrained, until the crappy node(r) looms.


Hear its song? Far off in the inky depths?


The Node .45.

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