A massive, pale orc stood in Tycondrius' path.
His eyes glowed eerily underneath the hood of his dark and ragged robes.
He reeked of death.
And despite the implications, Tycon was always pleased to see him.
He clasped the gentle-orc's outstretched arm at the wrist.
"Brother-Hades, tell me, have I died again?"
"Gray area," the orc replied. "So this is a pocket dimension between-- uh... a few places."
So Tycon had indeed passed through a ⌈Gate⌋ as he surmised...
"What would the Gatekeeper General have to say on the matter?"
"Oh, he'd make you brush your teeth through your asshole," Hades grinned.
...What did that even mean?
Ultimately, though, the notion was unimportant.
"Did you lobby for the changes I requested?" Tycon asked.
"No, dude," the orc replied indignantly, "It's barely been a f*cking sun. The office isn't even open right now."
