looks like an endless void. Nothing but shadows as far as the eye can see.

You groan and sit up. Your groan catches the attention of three others in the same predicament as you. They’re familiar somehow…

The first, a pious man, wearing the cloth of the church with long golden hair, on his knees praying. Father Gruyère.

The second, a Bulbous lord, judging by his clothes. He seems to be crying pitifully behind the priest. Lord Rattingus of Pule.

The third, a lanky fellow, wearing a leather hat with tattered and torn clothes, a red revolutionary sash tightly tied around his waist.

“I’m not supposed to be here! Don’t you know who I am?!” Rattingus cries and stands.

Lester and Gruyère look at each other and back to Rattingus, not a clue who the stranger is. The lord scoffs and stands straighter.

“Well I am Sir Rattingus of Pule, of course! Though some call me ‘lord, lady, viscount, duke, duchess, king, queen, knight, of Pule’.”

Lester chuckles and bows dramatically, speaking in a mocking and shrill voice.

“Oh! The piss lord of shit mountain!” He approaches the man slowly.

“While you were in your ivory feckin’ towers, me and my comrades, were in the streets! Fighting for our lives!!” Rattingus stumbles away and falls on his back. Lester hisses and walks back to the priest, his arms crossed.

“Goddamn Aristorats, eh?”

The father gasps loudly and walks between the two.

“Well I can see why you’re here!” He says to Lester.

“And I know why you’re here…” He says to Rattingus.

The argument is interrupted by you, letting out a soft and nervous.

“H-Hello…?” The three snap around and look at you, shouting together.

”WHAT?!”