The long night has come, and the blood moon hangs overhead.
Hoarse whispers flow through the street corners, while brass steam engines spew blood mist.
Your brain sings, your eyes chant.
Your skin cracks, and lumps of flesh rise beneath it.
In the gray mist, a wall of flesh that has devoured thousands of corpses wails day and night.
"Don’t cry. Our players don’t bite. They just want to play with you."
The lonely scheming game designer, the number-one player, savior of the Misty Continent, leader of the Thirteen Saints, friend to the Twelve True Gods, King of the Pioneers, the "Just One," gatekeeper of the Fourth Calamity, the uncrowned god, the great and kindly Annan offered his reassurance.
