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Light in dark places.
Just a witch, a newt and a reverend on a picnic.
Some years, it takes a while for the post-pancakeday-rage to ease off again.
That time we tried to build a bridge to the mainland.
The wheel of fate, powered by dustcats...
And for breakfast, we will be having crunchy sealife.
Wyrdlings are always welcome here.
we know how to party.
Sometimes all you can do is put a skull over your skull and shout at the sea.
Being the night soil man is a gentle, honourable profession.