Derp was just a ball with a face until it rolled through a cracked ley-line and came out glowing.
Now every coin on the road hums a tenth as loud as a rune, every rock is apparently worth
punching, and eighty increasingly offended locals, a headless horseman, a goblin pyromancer,
a dustclaw chieftain, an actual Fel Gigachad, would each like a word about the shortcuts being
rolled through their territory. Nobody has explained what the runes are evidence of. The road
doesn't stop to clarify. Recruit an equally unbothered roster of rolling companions, a goose in
a business tie, an ascended capybara, a hamster mid-snack, and keep going. There is no
finish line. There is only further.
