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and the stains coming from my blood

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You are the one who knows.


You’ve known for eons. You’ve known since before the war and the heroes and the game, and when you board your ship, you know what you must do. The key that is your birthright must accompany you. Your entourage cannot. They must begin the new carapacian kingdom.


When you finally locate the egg station, you know where you’re going, and you know who will await you upon your arrival. You remember one fondly, having given her your ring so long ago. She was a brave girl, and you can’t wait to see how she has grown.The other two will be of the dark kingdom, but the lines between Dersite and Prospitian have long since been erased by the harshness of the vast desert that is now the Earth. You’d found several Dersites eking out a living in the wastes alongside your own subjects, and several had helped you, albeit with varying levels of enthusiasm.


You know, of course, that you will abdicate your position to the Parcel Mistress when you arrive. Your time as a ruler has passed, and in any case you tire of the responsibility. You will be content with holding the knowledge, and allowing your new queen to use it as she sees fit.


You know that you will find your lover there, having waited out eons in what must have seemed like a matter of seconds. You know that he will be overjoyed to see you, and you him. What you don’t know is how little time you’ll have with him before -




There is enough time to wish that you had known.




You are the one who enforces.


You never aspired to much back on Derse. You were content to make sure the rules were followed, and an orderly society kept in line. The laws were there for a reason, you figured, and it would be an honor to enforce them. You’ve always liked justice, and you make it your civic duty to ensure that all citizens can sleep safely in their beds at night.


When you find yourself in the Veil, sleeping Hero accompanying you, you’re forced to make your first true sacrifice to ensure the safety of a citizen. You think, then, that you’ve done well, and proven yourself a credit to the Association of Authority Regulators.


Shortly thereafter, you’re deposited on Earth, and it takes almost a full month before you’re ready to admit that you’re probably last member of the Association alive. You have trouble taking up residence in the Frog Temple, but your sense of self-preservation eventually overpowers your revulsion, and you need a place to store the munitions you’ve excavated from the sand.


You're heavily disinclined to trust PM and WV when they first show up within your crime scene, trespassers that they are, but Can Town is a second chance, and you will be damned if you’ll let a civilization go forth and prosper without a proper military.


When you learn you have to rig the stations, you couldn’t be happier, given their flagrant illegality. Then the Slayer appears, and you start to detonate.


You remember WV, and hesitate.


You have about a millisecond in which to hope that you have done your best to enforce the law.




You are the one who delivers.


You share your compatriots’ lust for the wonders of civilization. You adore civilization, all of you do, its justice and camaraderie and knowledge, but your passion has always been communication. You love the mail with your heart and soul, and when you get the job of Parcel Mistress, you nearly sing with joy.


The first time you’re unsure of your duties is upon Derse, confronting the Archagent. You know you must recover the package, and no Dersites can stop you, technically, but rumors of the dark kingdom flouting the Ancient Laws abound on Prospit, and you don’t stop shaking until you’re well clear of the purple spires. Your journey rapidly spirals out of control, and when you’re assaulted by the Hegemonic Brute, you decide you’re done with fear.


Killing the Brute, meeting the slayer, delivering the package to the Heir - these events flash by, and your journey continues into the deserts of Earth. Finding the exiles in the wastes affects you more than you realize. You hadn’t been aware of how lonely you’d gotten, and before you know it, you’re closer friends with these two than anyone in the postal service.


Then your queen appears, and you learn it’s your job to deliver justice upon the Slayer and rule the new kingdom. You’re not sure you want this, but if WV can put on the ring and become your hero, you’ll be satisfied. He’d make a good hero.


But the corpses in the Slayer’s wake leave no one to put the ring on but you. As the power of the Sun suffuses you, you vow to deliver vengeance.




You are the one who unites.


You were content on your farm, really. All you’d ever wanted to do was grow delicious greenery, and then eat said greenery. But kings wait for no carapace, and so you stand before the flaming wreckage, and decide that this needs to be stopped.


You unite the soldiers easily. You’re a gifted speaker, and your declarations of democracy and the rights of carapace appeal to the rank and file. Your army grows by the day, first fifty, then a hundred, then six hundred, and soon you lead an army that numbers well into the thousands. You march on the Black King, and you assert that your voices will be heard.


The Unholy Tantrum that is the Sovereign Slayer rips your dreams to shreds, and leaves you standing alone in the blood and corpses.


The truce you broker between AR and PM is the first in a long time, but the words are familiar regardless. The alliance is uneasy at first, but then AR cracks a joke, and PM giggles, and you smile. It’s nice to have friends again.


You never fully understand the chaos that is the Critical Moment - one second, you’re trapped within the station, and the next, the Slayer is here again. There is a searing pain in your gut, and you remember little else until waking up on the meteor.


The meteor is nice enough, and you make new friends to replace your old. Dave and Terezi are as enthusiastic about Can Town as you are, and Rose seems to be, too, in her own little way.


But you do miss the friends you united in the desert so long ago.




Vagabond, Mendicant, Renegade, Questant, the half-gone apostles of civilization. WV hopes. PM doesn’t.