FEED SWAP: Introducing UNEND - a new audio adventure within the Midst Cosmos

Hi, friend. It's your inner child calling. And they want Churros. A new toy. And a new adventure. Or maybe five? With the bestest besties on Earth. Find your moment at Walt Disney World Resort. Hey everyone, Vince here. In this special feed swap, we are sharing the first episode of Un-End, an epic audio adventure taking place within the midst cosmos. If you're looking for a new audio adventure filled with cosmic exploration and strange reality-bending encounters, look no further than Un-End. Un-End focuses on a supernatural ship and a remarkable crew set forth on an expedition to explore the highest heights, deepest deaths, and furthest reaches of the known cosmos. But their journey is fraught with peril as they discover truths and realities far stranger than any of them could have imagined. Un-End is a standalone series that takes place in the midst cosmos, which is a surreal, sigh fantasy setting that is home to other podcast series such as Moonward, a midst role-playing story, and of course, midst. As a special treat, we're showing you the first episode of Un-End right now. If you like what you hear, new episodes of Un-End release every Wednesday on your preferred podcast app or through the midst podcast YouTube. If you want to receive episodes two weeks early and uninterrupted by ads and gain access to the lore-expanding bonus content, join Beacon at Beacon.tv or become a member of MIST.CO. Enjoy the show. Okay, so imagine this. A vast, jet-black ocean of cosmic darkness spans before you. Ink-dark waves of liquid fog stretch in every direction, horizon to horizon, rolling with a language sheen, kind of like that drifting film that forms between oil and water where they meet. A bright, iridescent sky shines above, glimmering with harsh, prismatic light. There is no sun, just brilliant sky, and jagged white crystals, large and small, float among unlythic clouds like weightless shards of broken glass. A limitless expanse above, the on, an endless ocean below, the fold. Are the on and the fold actually endless? No one knows. Not yet. There, floating half-submerged in a liquid fold around red desert world, a spherical planetoid rolling slowly, glacially in the sea. We realize this might be hard to imagine. Picture a pumpkin or something, a drift in a tranquil ocean, bobbing gently, half-submerged, half-exposed, turning slowly. But this pumpkin is an entire desert world, and this ocean is made of impossible liquid darkness. See? You're doing great. Welcome to the cosmos. We fly fast, soaring over the fold, traveling miles every moment. Down, down we go, diving into that ocean of ink-dark fog. It's not actually liquid at all. It almost feels like nothing. We dip just below the surface toward the submerged underside of the planetoid. There, shrouded in darkness. Let's take a closer look. Let the gravity pull you in. On the surface of the planetoid, dimly visible in the darkness, a spectacular desert landscape. We fly past red stone arches looming suddenly out of the shadow. Cribs and canyons, the glimmer of civilization, romance, train tracks, farms, little tenors, vibrant plant life, outlandish succulents, and neon lichens spilling everywhere, flickering and pulsing with multi-colored bioluminescence. A surreal alien desert of vermilion crags and cliffs and critters and cacti. And there, a stunning red stone mountain, on and around which there sprawls. A city. We're inside a hat shop. Opened for business about six minutes ago. It's dark. It's early. It's getting close to unrise. It's quiet and calm in here. It smells like juniper, like felt. The air is still and warm, wafting with a suspended, foggy darkness that hangs around us. A shadowy haze. The door opens. The first customer of the day steps inside. A cloaked figure, quiet and slight, dressed head to toe in a long black cape. Carrying a modest, dingy suitcase in one hand. They look peaceful, unbothered, eyes half-lidded. They seem serene, but aware. They glide slowly between hat displays, placidly examining headwear. Hello, can I help you find anything? This is Sohelia, the hat maker, asking this from behind a table where she's sewing a feathered fascinator by the gently pulsing light of a fold-safe lamp. I've got a 25% off sale on flat caps right now. I need to buy a hat. The visitor whispers. What was that? I need to buy a hat. They say, again, maybe 1% louder. Did you say you need to buy a hat? I can't hear you real well. Yes, I did. I need to buy a hat. Oh, good. Well, you're in the right place. Anything in particular you're thinking about. The figure turns their slow, littered gaze to Sohelia. No. This traveler has never seen an unrise before. Today will be their very first, and they're told it's going to be bright and it's going to be... Well, it's something you need a big hat for, so they say simply, it needs to be big. Oh, of course. Well, come, step right over here, my dear. We've got several choices on offer. The dark figure glides quietly across the room, eyes turning between top hats, bowler hats, flat caps, to some large, broad-brimmed articles that Sohelia here is indicating. How about this one, darling? She says picking out the biggest, shadiest hat she has in her inventory. The broadest brimmed. Sohelia's practiced hands lift it off of the mannequin and pop it instantly onto the newcomer's head. They put down their suitcase and step in front of a mirror. They stare at their reflection emotionlessly as though looking at a stranger. How does that feel? Fine. They don't seem... Well, who knows? They don't really seem to feel much of any way about that hat. It seems to work. They look fine, they look cool. Well, if that'll do the trick, I'll get that rung up for ya. Will you need a box? No. Say again, sorry. The figure shakes their head, almost imperceptibly whispering some more. No box. Alrighty then. Sohelia says struggling to keep the rapport fresh and lively and casual. Are you here for the big day? Yes. Great. Wow. Well, there's no reason to sustain this business transaction any longer than necessary. Sohelia is noodling with her cash register here. Sohelia would perhaps like the visitor to leave. The visitor would perhaps like to leave as well. They have some business to attend to. There's a meeting they have to get to. It would be best overall for the scene if the visitor were to leave now. Interchange takes place in exchange of a small amount of money for a... Large amount of hat. Business ain't it great. And with that transaction concluded, Sohelia whips a receipt into the stranger's hand or in the direction of the stranger's hand. Would you care for a paper receipt? The stranger is clearly about to say no, as they have been saying to most things this morning so far already. But they pause instead and to the surprise of Sohelia, into the surprise of all of us here listening, says instead in fact, Alright. Wow. Wow. Innovative. What will they do next? What shocking decision will they make? And the caped, hatted figure takes possession of the bill of sale from Sohelia. And with a sort of limp gesture, it says for the first time, Thank you very much. And with that, they turn in a swooping fashion and begin to quietly, mysteriously glide toward the door. Enjoy the celebration. Sohelia bids them farewell. And hold on to that receipt. That date will go down in history, mock my words. And with a detached nod to Sohelia, the figure's black, gloved hand grasps the door knob and they exit the shop. Out into the city they go. A bustling scene of progress and industry and human endeavor surrounding them in this pre-dawn hour, as they exit the hat shop onto the main street, a busy avenue winding up the spine of the city's hill. A tight formation of fold-mercables soar by overhead, hurrying to descend out of the fog shrouded night and more in the nearby shipyard before unrise. The caped traveler is on the move up main street. Suitcase in one hand, hat on head. It is quite a hat. Stunning. Stylish. And they are a rather short stature, which is making them look even smaller in comparison to the large hat. They take in every detail of the city scene with that detached, lidded, slightly weird gaze. Alley's and boulevards sprawling around them as they walk, thronging crowds surging up and down the main track. It's a busy morning here in the city today. In the dark, gently pulsating lamp posts cast their fluctuating glow onto all the chaotic procession of traffic. Various bocking vehicles, beasts of burden, zippy little personal scooters. Street vendors are setting up their stands and hocking their wares, chevron-shaped trinkets on chains, commemorative spoons, and sizzling skewers of meat and cactus. This place, not so very long ago, just a little rough and tumble frontier town, is now a bustling metropolis to rival any of the most famous cities in the cosmos. Stationary Hill. The first, biggest, and depending on who you ask, best city on midst. Strange cacti, sprout from crevices between dusty paving stones. Odd grasshopper things, sproing in the word as the camped figure moves quietly by. People everywhere on the go, voices murmuring, excitedly, anticipation high for launch day. So says the banner, going up now, being pulled taut over the street by a few fellers struggling with ropes and pulleys. Launch day. Two big words in dramatic letters, set against a chevron-shaped sigil. There's that sigil again. Chevrons, everybody, what does it all mean? In addition to countless folks who live right here on midst, there are also people from all over the cosmos. Visitors from cities high in the on, the barrens deep in the fold. Quite a few of the latter exhibiting unique properties. A carpenter covered in opalescent scars. A sailor bouncing along five feet in the air with every step. A woman whose left leg is an entire nether man. They both wave at the caped traveler in passing. Howdy. Happy launch day. The caped traveler nods to the woman and her leg in passing. The city itself is shot through with elements of uncanny surrealism as well. It's not just the people. Not all buildings here look quite, how shall we say this, normal exactly? What is normal here? Here, a hotel with strangely fractal-like windows. There, shining in the lamp light, an entire street made of porcelain. Here, a narrow creek, water suspended in mid-air, burbling weightlessly above wooden trellises winding down the main street, winding down the spine of the desert hill. All kinds of weird stuff like this, just existing. All may be a little unusual for you, but not unusual to anyone here on midst. Unless they're from the on and they've never seen fold-related stuff before. All these features, all these unusual spectacles, that's just how things have been here for quite a while. These things happen in the fold sometimes. Here, just off of the main drag, stand several colonnades encircling a lush, bioluminescent park, standing starkly there against the fluorescence of a copse of vibrant mushrooms, a cluster of three black cloaked mothers with tall, horned mantis-like headdresses. Their hands are gloved, their faces veiled, and they're chatting quietly with each other. The caped traveler approaches, and one of those dark entities standing there in the park, his horns, wide and flat, kind of like a hammerhead shark, looks up from his conversation at the approaching traveler. I see you have obtained a giant hat. It gives you a certain distinction. He turns to his shrouded compatriots and continues, The granddaughter here has just arrived from our deep synovium, and I must take them now to check in at the ship. I may not see either of you before we launch, so I wish to thank you all for your contributions to the expedition. Mother Misapprehension, Mother Calamity, I will see you when we return. Please give my best to the grandmother. Many people in the street turn abruptly to watch this exchange because holy cow, that person is loud. He's just got one of those voices that carries. Farewell, Mother Artifice. Murmur is one of the other mothers. It's kind of hard to tell which one. Then, to the suitcase carrying new arrival, may you reach your realization with clarity, granddaughter, that we may meet again as mothers all. Yes, well, sad Mother Misapprehension. Mooms, Mother Artifice, hammerheaded mantle nodding, to the loo. And with that, he turns away, sweeping up his smaller cloaked companion in stride with him, and they make their way together toward a streetcar stop nearby. How were your travels? Did you have a good journey? You seem to be doing well for someone who has never traveled very much before. And traveling light, I would add. And traveling alone. The granddaughter blinks slowly under the broad brim of their hat. The streetcar is approaching sort of like a double-decker bus. But with legs. Lots of them. You know how these things are. It clatters slowly at the street, approaching as Mother Artifice and the granddaughter stand, waiting. My journey from the deep snowbeam was quite long and slow, but... It's a bit difficult to make out what you're saying in this boisterous atmosphere. Let us take our seats on the top of the streetcar where it may be easier to converse, and to gain a pleasant view of the surroundings. What a great idea. The streetcar clatters to a stop here at the intersection of the main street and this porcelain-like side road. The mood aboard the streetcar is strangely party-like for the early hour. It's both a form of public transit and also on this particular morning kind of like a tour bus. To your left, you'll see the street of porcelain, one of the vestiges of the famous moonfall terror that affected the city 30 traversals ago. The streetcar, clearly packed full of tourists, mostly not locals, gasped appropriately. Mother Artifice and the granddaughter together take a seat on the upper deck of the double-decker streetcar. Despite the lack of room, the other passengers readily make space for them without being asked. The granddaughter holding their suitcase, gingerly, in their hands, tilting their head to give some freedom of movement to their extremely wide brim, which they keep banging on things. They are unaccustomed to such headgears as new. It's sort of like a built-in personal space bubble, which is an unexpected perk. The streetcar lurches into motion, winding its way up stationery hills main drag. Buildings press in close around the streetcar as it makes its way along, winding beneath an elevated train track. The street level is barely the beginning of the stationery hill experience. The city continues up, above, building on itself bit by bit. A medley of shops and restaurants and homes all stacked on top of each other, jockeying for room. Crooked roofs intersecting chimneys and balconies and windows and fire escape stairs squeezed in wherever they'll fit, creating a chaotic makeshift skyline. Red stone and shingles and cactus fiber paneling, vine-covered bricks, a teetering verticality of patchwork facades, a harmonious mismatch of architectural styles from all over the cosmos, combining to create something uniquely stationarian. A city built atop an older town, built atop an even older village. A desert frontier settlement become a desert frontier metropolis. To your right you can see the fractal district, houses repeating the same floor plan over and over again, turned just by notches. Mother Artifice ignoring the tour guide turns back to the granddaughter. It is fortuitous that you became granddaughter when you did, and that out of all the mothers in our order, you would be assigned to me to supervise the completion of your toodledge during this very singular happening. Artifice gestures broadly to the city, to all the pre-launch activity, to the excited hustle and bustle around them. This is all pretty unusual. No granddaughter in the history of our order has had the opportunity to conclude their training, meet their realization, and become a mother while crewing in expedition to the limits of the cosmos. I certainly did not. When I was granddaughter long ago myself, I was sitting in my room at the synobium, where I had consumed supper 20 minutes previously, and then while taking my mid-afternoon ease in my tranquil chambers, realization transpired abruptly. The mother turns his black veiled face to peer closely at the granddaughter beside him on the trolley. The horned countenance looms in the foggy dimness of the morning. Many unknowns await you, as they await us all on this journey, but your expedition really lies within. Are you ready? Yes. The granddaughter whispers without hesitation. I am. Then the final test awaits you. You must employ all you have learned in your years as a daughter before. Now, as granddaughter, it is your singular purpose to remain receptive to realization. When realization occurs, your narrow experience will collapse fundamentally into an ineffable realness of being. Realization is coming, and when it reveals itself to you, you must recognize it and you must embrace it. It will not be subtle or unclear. The granddaughter listens calmly, eyes lidded, tranquilly receptive as the trolley crawls up the city street. I am ready. I am going to be watchful always. Mother, Artifice, nods approvingly. You must be. Do not turn away when realization appears before you, as it soon in time shall do. Do not fear going beyond. Go there and do not turn back when the opportunity presents itself. I would hate to see you falter and learn the grave consequences for failure, but I'm sure you'll do just great. You're going to make an excellent mother. The granddaughter's ears are ringing with the sound of Mother Artifice's voice. And with the dinging sound of the trolley as it comes to a stop here at an intersection beside Patricia's bread and breakfast. The tour guide booms. You can't miss this, folks. This is one of the most beloved dining establishments in Stationary Hill. You've got to try the bread. Mother Artifice has already got the idea, standing from his seat. Let's get off at Patricia's here. I nearly forgot that daughters and even granddaughters still eat food, so let's get you a flavorful and nourishing breakfast with haste. When you're on track to meet your realization, you never know which meal will be your last, so be sure to savor every piece of cuisine you occasion to consume. And with that, they disembark. Back down into the red dust of the streets, suitcase in hand, the granddaughter once more on foot, gazing about them from under the brim of their prominent hat, still unflappably calm, as ever, unusually chill. You know what place is not chill, though? Patricia's bread and breakfast. There's a line out the door. There are people queuing up inside. You can see smiling faces beaming over bakery cases within. You know those really popular breakfast places? The wait is always insane. Even this early in the morning, pre-dawn. People are ready for their bread, ready for their breakfast. It is, of course, launch day. But while they want to have their bread in hand by the time the great unveiling takes place, Artifice and the granddaughter get in line. This is excellent. The line is moving quite quickly. Therefore, we should be able to acquire your breakfast with speed. The person in front of them in line, recognizing Mother Artifice's unmissable voice, turns around. A handsome, kempt, professorial man turns to face Mother Artifice and the granddaughter. A dark brown lock of hair has untidily flopped over his forehead, and he distractedly rakes it back into flawless position. A smile emerges from the close crop of his beard, as with a practiced bow of the head, he says, good morning, or close to it. Mother Artifice waves a gloved hand in jaunty salute. Ah, yes, good morning. How serendipitous an encounter. I've just collected the granddaughter here and was shortly to come locate you to check them in. The professorial fellow shifts a stack of documents into the waiting hands of a compatriot standing off to one side. And I'm very pleased to meet you, granddaughter. And you can just call me Merlin. I'm here representing Bernhardt and Gottle. What do you do? Murmur is the granddaughter peering up at Merlin from underneath the broad brim of their hat. Our work on the expedition would not have been possible without Mr. Vot's unparalleled cosmological expertise. He has been supremely invaluable to the development of the ship, and we are very fortunate to have him on the crew. My goodness, what a pleasure. I had no idea we'd be meeting here like this. Just a moment, please. Merlin slides out of a tan trench coat which he, with a practiced hand, flips and lays over the waiting arms of a colleague. A man stands next to Merlin. You may be wondering why we paused like that. He's not like a normal man. He's sort of different from the other boys. He's built different. Merlin beckons invitingly to the granddaughter. This is a perfect opportunity. I would also like to introduce you to the Bocular Man. The person hearing his name turns to look at Merlin. Hello. The man is, well, he's not a normal man. He's a Bocular one. There are many Bocular things in this cosmos, but as far as men are concerned, he's the only one. He's a little more square looking than the other people around him, and his knees bend backwards instead of forwards. A rigid faceplate displays an expression of friendly curiosity, carefully carved to look that way. Where skin would be on a normal man, well-sanded wood and well-polished brass gleam instead, moving smoothly beneath some simple white canvas clothes. A tunic in pants, crisp and luminous in the dark of the fold. The granddaughter eyes him with just the same litted, chill gaze, no emotion, no thought. Is there even anyone home who can say? Bocular technology isn't unusual, of course, but it is somewhat odd for it to come in this humanoid-shaped package. No matter how many times I encounter him, I am each and every time astounded by the ingenuity of his craftsmanship. The Bocular Man is a triumph of creation. Hello. I am the Bocular Man. I can do things a person can. What is clearly a recording of Merlin's voice emanates from the center of the Bocular Man's chassis from his chest area, generally. Merlin smiles proudly. This has been my little pet project for the last several months, but I'm so excited that you get to not only meet each other here and now, but also we can all get a bit of coffee and get the morning started off right. This group is attracting more than a few stares from the other people in line. The Bocular Man drinks coffee. Oh no, but I do, Merlin says, with a twinkle in his almost teal eye. Do you? The Grandard doesn't seem to know if they drink coffee or not. They shrug. I suppose I could. With the diet that you have been accustomed to, the unexpected addition of caffeine might be startling for you. Well, there's only one way to find out there next in line. Top of the morning to you, Merlin, are you having your regular today or do you need something a little stronger for lunch? Absolutely. Let's make it a double shot today. Don't forget everything comes with a free side of bread. Yes, thank you. Thank you. We'll take another basket of bread for the table. Why not? Oh, actually, we'll take it to go. We've got places to be. Nothing for you, though, I assume the longer says to Mother Artifist. You sell nothing that is of use to me. However, my associate here requires sustenance. Bread, perhaps? Offers the shopkeeper. Whatever is most nutritionally dense. Well, we'll just get you the freshest bread out of the oven. How's that? That sounds great. As so breakfasted within moments in a jiffy, Merlin, the granddaughter and not Mother Artifist, and nor the popular man, for he also does not drink coffee or eat bread, are breakfasted. It is given unto them and they purchase it and make their move into the thronging streets, which are now, if possible, somehow even busier. The mounting excitement made palpable by the ribbons, by the banners, the tapestries being flung from balconies, from windows around. The traffic seems to be getting more concentrated as they get closer to the top of the hill. Merlin sets the box of Patricia's bread into the waiting and attentive arms of the popular man before turning to the granddaughter. So is this your first time on MIST? It is. Why, that's excellent. It's a fascinating place. Incredible city. Here, Stationary Hill, obviously, but not only the city, the entire islet 30 years ago, something tremendous went down and really put MIST on the map. The Moonfall event, of course, and the search, the recovery, all of the events leading to today. A melodious horn in the street behind them announces the arrival of a carriage. Pedestrians parting, moving aside, making way. And rolling up alongside them is a magnificent carriage made of ebony coral, adorned with a United Baranese crest piled high with matching luggage strapped down, drawn by four bioluminescent beasts that seem to be a cross between reindeer and those really ornamental seeds. It attracts a lot of attention. A lot of people stare, a lot of people bongle. There's a squeal from inside the curtain window of the carriage. Oh, stop here, stop here, please. The carriage comes to stop the sea slug reindeer coming up short, eye stocks turning, antlers turning. The door bursts open, and in a froth of lace and silk and petticoats, a pretty young woman spills out, wearing a dress with a short but voluminous skirt that kind of makes her look like a man. Look, something like jellyfish. Her skin is of a mint green color. Her hair a cotton candy pink. Well, it's a little bit hard to tell exactly what color her hair is because in the darkness of the fold, it's pulsing with variable patterns of multicolored light glowing down the strands of hair like fiber optic cable. It also floats and wafts in the gentle breeze of the fold almost as if she were underwater. Freckles across her face and arms also flicker gently with that same pretty light. She takes them all in with eyes of that same luminous pink color as her hair. Oh my gosh. Are you Professor Vaught and Mother Artifice? Hello, what's your name? She says bustling over to the granddaughter. With the hair, the dress, the bioluminescence, the overall effect is a bit like the fairy tale princess of a magical underwater kingdom, which isn't that far off the mark from the actual truth. The granddaughter is unflappably chill as usual, but is this just a twin? Just a little flicker of surprise? It's not every day you meet a magical underwater princess. The young woman turns behind and waves the carriage on. Just take it up to the top of the hill, please. I'll meet you up there. I'm going to walk the rest of the way. I'll let you stay in the carriage. Be good. There's a brief glimpse of some luxurious yellow fur as the newcomer carefully closes the door on some little critter she has in there. A pet? Before turning back to the others with a bright elated smile. Hi, hi. I'm sorry. I'm so excited if you can't tell. I'm Cleofy Gilmuth. I'm the envoy from the barony of Ebonrief, but it sounds so formal when you say it like that. I can't believe the day is finally here. What a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Cleofy Gilmuth. Please just call me Cleo. Cleo, a pleasure, Merlin says. The pleasure is all mine. You would not believe how long it takes to get here from Ebonrief. I had to set out months in advance and I still barely made it in time. Isn't it funny how excited I am to get off one ship just to get straight on to another? But you can't really compare the ship to a regular old folk merciful, now can you? I've been having dreams about the ship for months. Can we walk together? Would that be okay? Absolutely. They stroll toward the top of the town, the dimness here in the early pre-dawn darkness, the liquid inky fog clinging to the top of the town as they ascend. They pass by a cool, classy, mysterious edifice painted glossy black, its twisting, surreal architecture making it look like something out of a dream. Fluctuating, fold-safe lanterns in rich, jewel tones decorate the facade. Stained glass swirls in large ornate windows like melted wax that solidify mid-drip. Composed of beautiful gilt letters that reflect all the hues of these multicolored lamps, a sign proclaims Sasukeas, an illuminated apostrophe flickers on and off. That's a great spot, Merlin says emphatically. Much beloved by the locals, best cocktails I've ever tasted, plus live music, it's a pity we don't have time to stop in right now. Cleo sighs yearningly, eyeing it as they walk by. It seems like the kind of place that would normally be closed at this hour. It's clearly a night time place, a place for romantic dates and moody late night hangouts and cool shows. But now, in all the excitement of launch day, it is open like everything else the windows glow invitingly, and strains of sultry jazz can be heard from within. Whatever launch day is, it seems to have brought together people from all walks of life, from all over the cosmos, collaborating together on this great, momentous, historical effort. People all here in the streets whispering, pointing, pointing to Merlin, pointing to Mother Artifice, pointing to Cleofy. None of them specifically pointed to the Grand Order, though. Mermored whispers, is it them? Are they part of the crew? Cleofy is babbling excitedly, so I've never actually been to the Un before? I guess I'm technically still not in the Un, but you know, it's getting close. Neither has the Grand Daughter, for that matter. Oh, really? Oh my gosh, that makes me feel so much better, to have like an Un Buddy? We can be Un Buddies. Cleofy links her arm through the Grand Daughter's caped elbow, chumily. The Grand Daughter's eyes momentarily flickering, going a tiny bit wider than usual, then back to being very normal and very chill. I brought a pair of Unglasses, but I can let you borrow them if you want. I kind of want to see it for the first time without any, you know, I just want to see it the way it really is, even if it's too bright for me. Well, you haven't got long to wait. Oh my gosh. Here it comes. Let's see if we can catch it here from the top of the hill for those of you who are as yet unfamiliar with the phenomenon. I was so afraid I was going to be late, you know, it's really coming up soon. I'm getting goosebumps all over my body, and indeed the bioluminescence covering Cleofy's skin seems to flicker and speed up almost in time with her excitement. A large crowd is gathering here towards the top of the hill. Our comrades now approaching the very pinnacle, the very summit of the Desert Hill upon which the city stands. Everyone here is waiting, everyone here is restless, everybody looking up, up into the dark foggy night above. There's something up there, something they cannot yet see, something everyone is waiting for. Cleo breathes in sharply. Is it just me or is the fold starting to feel a little bit weird, like thinner? Is that normal? And it is not just Cleo who feels it. The group comes to a stop here towards the very top of the town just in time for day. The night-like darkness, the humid haze of the fold here in Stationary Hill is beginning to thin. And then, just like that, it's not dark anymore. With glaring abruptness, the night is gone. Instant, un-light. A bright, not quite white light. Radiating, un-presently, glaringly from the cosmic reaches above. As a vast curtain of unearthly liquid fog darkness glides back from the city. As it does every morning. Brilliant bright colors, a sail the assembled crowd, eye watering in their vividness, pastel and neon hues of Vermillion County standing out against the distant horizon. Striations of gold, hazel, bright blue beaming forth from metamorphic pillars and arches of desert sandstone. As the fold withdraws, it exposes the tip of the eponymous hill, like the stem of an orange rising from a pool of ink crested by a huge lattice tower. Kind of like a huge radio mast, if you're looking for a real-world comparison. From which a long cable stretches off into the retreating darkness of the fold, anchored to another islet somewhere in its depths. A very unusual tree grows beside the tower, made of clear glass, hollow and shiny, as though a row of pneumatic tubes once got the idea to merge together and become a living plant. In fact, that's exactly what happened. Funny story about that, maybe some other time. It's sparkling branches entwine through the latticework of the tower, festooned with berries of black and white. Scenic, as all this may be, this isn't even what we're here to look at. The vista here at the top of Stationary Hill doesn't hold a candle to what looms above. The swelling murmur rises from everyone. This is what launch day is all about. This is what everyone has come to Stationary Hill to see. Cleofy gasps in delight. The granddaughter's spaced out gaze gets a little less spaced out, a little more astonished, just a little. Even Merlin grins at the arresting beauty of it. It never gets old. Hovering, suspended silently above the city, moored in dry dock at the apex of the tower, hangs a towering black crystal shard. Its surface, a mirror-like prism, refracting the bright landscape and teeming city in its darkly reflective depths. A huge obsidian arrowhead, looming on high above Stationary Hill, like an angular, chevron-shaped, iridescent crescent moon. Its knife-like prow aimed toward the horizon, toward the unknown, ready to fly. The ship. The granddaughter shivers. Cleofy boggles, blinking away tears, squinting through the glare of the unlight. Truly a singular spectacle, yells Mother Artifice. Merlin gestures grandly to the hanging shard. Ah, a perfect day to test the limits of reality. Wouldn't you agree? Thanks for listening. You can catch an end every Wednesday, right here on Apple Podcasts. If you're looking to dive deeper into the story, subscribe to this podcast through Apple Podcasts and receive episodes two weeks early and ad-free. To stay up to date on what's next in the cosmos, sign up for our newsletter on Midsd.co or find us on social media at Midsd Podcast. The war is over and both sides lost. Kingdoms were reduced to cinders and armies scattered like bones in the dust. Now the survivors claw to what's left of a broken world. Praying the darkness chooses someone else tonight, but in the shadow dark, the darkness always wins. This is old-school adventuring at its most cruel. Your torch ticks down in real time and when that flame dies, something else rises to finish the job. This is a brutal rules-light nightmare with a story that emerges organically based on the decisions that the characters make. This is what it felt like to play RPGs in the 80s and man, it is so good to be back. Join the Glass Cannon podcast as we plunge into the shadow dark every Thursday night at 8pm Eastern on youtube.com slash the Glass Cannon with the podcast version dropping the next day. See what everybody's talking about and join us in the dark. The show that jump-started all of our love for True Crime. I'm Ellen Marsh. And I'm Joey Taranto. And we host I Think Not, a True Crime comedy podcast covering some of the wildest stories from your favorite True Crime campy TV shows all the way to Unsolved Mysteries. Baby, you will laugh, you will cry, you'll think about True Crime in a whole new way, and you'll also ask yourself, who gave these people mics? New episodes of I Think Not are released every Wednesday with bonus episodes out every Thursday on Patreon. And every Monday you can listen to our True Crime rundown where we go over the top True Crime headlines of the week. So come and join us wherever you listen to your podcasts.