The Sketch Rift: The Eternal Crusade

An Interloping Interloper

At a moment's notice, Thrush's statement remained incomplete as he was suddenly whisked away by a sinister figure slightly taller than himself. Currently, he was feeling a bitter cold gripping him, making him shiver. Simultaneously, he was feeling a cold bitterness gripping him, making him shiver. He had far too many questions than could possibly be answered. Where was Isabel? How had Wandes overtaken Old Kiwi's City? Who had... just teleported him onto one of the icy peaks of Dead Rock, where an ancient flag remained planted in the dead of night as a crescent moon was visible shining overhead?

Thrush had inspected this distinct area from afar -- that is, far below in altitude on a lower part of the mountain, particularly in the course of the decisive Battle of Mount Rock during the war, which oversaw the defeat of Arkonnus's army. His memory of those events had clearly faded some -- he still recalled Porter, Retna, Arkonnus, and something about a "snobbish, lava-headed rat" -- but at least he could maintain more recollection of this event than that of the pre-Meinhaym days. However, when Porter compelled the Articulian Storm to swallow much of Mount Rock whole, what remained was Dead Rock, a hollow husk consisting primarily of a ring of stalagmite-esque pillars, reaching into the sky, the tallest of which he was currently located. The Interloper's feathers stood on end, as he stumbled to the ground from the impact, leaning on his arms for support in the transition from such a teeming region to such a remote (and frigid) one.

Indeed, this instant transportation was hardly Thrush's doing. He turned after a few moments to find that the figure who had carried him here stood before him, but this clearly was not the figure he had remotely expected to do so. He, too, was an Interloper, with a curved beak, small feathers coating his arms and legs, and two cracked vulture-esque feet -- something didn't quite seem correct here.

"But I thought you were dead," Thrush gasped to Synthor, the reinvigorated prisoner of Articulus who apparently had seen the light of day since. "I... I'm sorry about Martin."

"I, too, feel deep regret surrounding my treatment of him," Synthor lent Thrush a jacket of the exact variant he had used when departing for Hemingway's home so long ago, much to his thankfulness. "He was like a son to me."

"I thought he was your son," Thrush's memory remained cloudy. "But why did you bring me here? Where have you been? Who is Wandes? And have you seen a short Un-Character girl with red hair and..."

"Quiet down, quiet down," Synthor cooed somewhat authentically. "I have also been a constant target of the Neo-Pollosians, as rude as they go. Thrush -- no, Soal -- there was a reason Articulus sought me more than other Interlopers as well. This term may be unfamiliar to you, but I am a Half-Character."

"This explains a lot," Thrush's eyes darted around for additional signs. "So you've been to the real worl  -- Genesis Stories?"

"It was... mildly dangerous," Synthor's own memories were traumatic in a very real sense. "Articulus recognized it within me and targeted it. But, unbeknownst to many, I survived the struggle."

"And you still refuse to tell me my purpose here, however?" Thrush attempted to bite his lip, but having merely a beak, this may have been futile. "Answers are my current priority."

"Seemingly overnight since you left," Synthor folded his arms, "the Great Sea has become a police state, now that the threatening Neo-Pollosians, led by Oroy Wandes, are campaigning to take back decades, maybe centuries, of social progress. But that's only the least of it, which you will not want to stay to hear."

"I'm in something of a hurry anyway," Thrush harrumphed, taking a moment to brush off the icy particles already accumulating on the jacket, "looking for my lost sister. Have you seen her?"

"I would suggest searching in another world entirely," Synthor proposed. "If she had been here, the Neo-Pollosians' so-called Catalyst title would belong to someone else. You are very welcome for my help." This hypothesis made Thrush shiver before suddenly bringing to mind something very thought-provoking and alarming, for little reason. On 9101, all of the Sketches would supposedly be destroyed. So what would happen to this Sketch World? Would it already have been destroyed, and had Thrush aborted a catastrophe by bringing it back in time? Or would it vanish only when the Master Bringer themselves experienced it?

"I'm sure there's other, more existential unrest building as well, is there?" Thrush considered that this would be the prime opportunity to ask, Synthor being a Half-Character whom he could consult regarding this.

"Well, the population is really very uptight about what they call the Writer's Fluke, whose innocent-sounding name actually hides something much greater. There's some legend that long ago, a Writer Hand in the Armorillion went insane and wrote a prophecy of the ultimate cataclysm: that on the date of September First in under a year from now (which aligns with the date in the Genesis Stories and all other ambiguous dimensions), the entire universal system of the Armorillion will break down, destroying all four Eras in their entirety in a fiery apocalypse. I am personally a great skeptic of this unfounded rumor, but my fear remains genuine for its effects on the public."

Thrush was stunned. Would this truly be the fate of all of the Sketches? He now remembered the destruction of Halmaven by the Time-Bound Thief, who tore it apart into dozens of pieces. It must be a fate even worse on the Sketches' 9101, the Writer's Fluke.

"I don't want to scare you, Synthor -- you've been through enough in your lifetime -- but you don't know a thing about it."

"Well, I wish never to know at all," the Half-Character Interloper exhaled deeply, as the Un-Character Interloper did the same. "And I will never spread the truths among the kiwis that their world isn't real, and that with a single command, it could all be erased." Synthor placed his feathery hands on Thrush's shoulders. "Soal, Isabel is not here, and you know it. Your role at this time is to avenge the wrongdoing that Oroy Wandes has done to my colleague and us all, in all worlds. Should you not decipher this correctly, then it is of little value to anyone."

"Huh?" Thrush had no time to 'decipher' almost any of those words before Synthor curled into an electric blue bubble that sailed into the starlight. Within a minute, Thrush realized that his jacket belonged to Thrush, before shrugging and riding upwards in his own blue bubble.