The Lounge of the Adventurer – lots of randomness with sprinkles made of comedy and a filling of our finest quality spite

For years on end, we traveled. Not to locations mundane and boring such as the tropical island resorts of South Xylvania or the cold banks of the Insonian ski slopes. We traveled through the battered wastelands of Corlu, dodging the rain storms that plagued the land. We shared tea on the street cafes of Parlie in East Breklanoy, dodging the Geheimpolizei while making sure that we would not, could not, and absolutely will not be caught as Permiteric citizens. We braved the hostile jungles of Akkathnium – as close as one could get to aliens without biological differences! – all the while sharing food and gifts with the native people.

The thrill. She always loved the thrill, and I was along for the ride.

But then, there were the moments where we sat, shoulder to shoulder, in a rickety junk taking us from the Archipelagic Sea to the Far Southeast. There were the moments in the cold south of Sebiros where we tried (and failed!) to share the food. (Honestly speaking, what’s up with those Sebbies?) There were those moments where we stared at each other, back home for just a moment, sharing candlelight dinner in Orlan.

“Am I enough?”

“Of course. Of course you are.” Of course I was.

In the end, it was never, ever, absolutely not enough.

In the end, I was never, ever, absolutely not enough.

So, here I am now, standing on the edge of the Armarian-Sibertarian border, a moment frozen in time, where we said goodbye.