"Look, the directions are simple; go down that way, and turn left on Thursday." -- Anon Guest
Navigation is difficult in realms where time is nonlinear. In the fractured temporal core of Lymnaal, directions are almost meaningless as well. One can walk away from a point, steps never wavering, and meet oneself coming the other way. There are places bordered by red paint. It is wise never to set a foot there.
Yet people still operate in this broken place. People are stubborn like that. Since time has no meaning, consequence can precede action. Familial relationships turn to those who nurture, rather than those who make, and directions anywhere are four-dimensional. Technology grows, as technology always does. The way to get anywhere is a wrist-mounted calendar and compass combo. Watches have no use in Lymnaal. Between one step and the next, it could be dinnertime, teatime, bedtime, or three in the morning, when nothing good ever occurs.
This is where there is only one state of being, and that is: Lost. Nevertheless, there are nodes of clarity. Entire volumes of space that are in one place and time simultaneously. It is there that pockets of civilisation spring up. Here, in a city called Thursday the 13th, Ykkaan has arrived.
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