Honestly, Ben, we love you, but if you do that or pull that shit again, we're going to put you in the car and make you record outside.

Frienship is forever.

Friendship never ends.

It doesn't matter what time you're in.

You're still a dragon brand.

A fucking dragon's brand.

From the cradle to the grave, the lives of those poor wretched of New Island are lead lives of quiet desperation, yearning against the yoke of an unforgiving master who rules on high in a dark citadel that the people called never.

What name he once had has been lost for centuries.

Now he is simply known as the controller.

On high he watches, on high he passes judgment,

and on high he demands ever-escalating quantities of that stuff of life

that the mages call raw ether,

extracted from a people assumed broken until now.

For in New Islander, the scent of revolution is in the air.

Impossibly, the gods are returned and have reunited, well, let's be honest,

reunited three of the four churches of the land, unifying their leadership

towards a terrible, singular purpose, the elimination of the controller and the liberation

of these lands. Now, in the shadow brokerage of Ignatius Bum, a covenant has been formed.

The philgites lend their power to open a path through the stoneways to never.

The bastinets are ready with an assist, for it is their high priestess who has been captured

within the citadel. But their job for now is here on the ground, rallying the faithful. It will be up

to you. Philge, Bobby, Frizo, Baston, Lion Shield Banknote and Edward Horatio Piss to do the impossible.

...