Everything whips by at high speed, around and around and around in biiiig big circles. It's too fast, it's way too fast, but the tiny guy in the speeding shoe can't stop it. He hasn't been able to stop it for so long and now he's going to die here in this—this rock home under the school.
It's hard to pick out many details as the muscheron test pilot shoots past. He can hear water trickling nearby, but he can't find it and doesn't know if maybe he should find it. There's sun, and even though there's some kind of flowers and grass and maybe even some bugs here, it definitely can't be real sun all the way down down down here. Four doors zip by every few minutes, one of them glowing brightly with big big very big words written over the top. The muscheron can only make out the one that says "grow". Ohhhhh what a confusing room!! Why does it exist??
The shoe's pop-out wheel rumbles along a dirt path, narrowly avoiding a maple seed. It's the eighth time this muscheron has passed by this exact maple seed, and if he doesn't stop it, there's going to be a ninth, tenth, eleventh, and just however high numbers go amount of times. Oh no, oh no. He puts his hands on either side of his mushroom head in dismay.
"Z'kay, z'kay," breathes the muscheron. He's been in this shoe for so long (how long? will he ever know? will he ever touch stationary ground again??), he has to know how to handle a little crisis.
Ducking down into the shoe, the toadstool fairy grabs hold of something solid and round tucked into the shoe, and he tugs on it. Oh, that's stuck good. He yanks, he twists, he puuuuuuulls so hard until it breaks free, and the muscheron scrambles to keep a hold on his prize: a bright yellow yo-yo.
Okay. Okay. Deep breath. The muscheron looks behind him, to the grass and flowers and mud, grabs the string and tosses the yo-yo out.
The toy clatters along the ground, skipping past a couple rocks that could have been helpful and a mud puddle that might have slowed things down, and catches on a clump of grass. The muscheron holds on tight, arms stretching back, back, back behind him, string pulled taut.
A moth flits over and lands right on his nose, and everything stops, from the movement of the shoe to the trickle of the waterfall. Everything except the flutter of wings and some kind of... chirping? somewhere in this expansive cave.
MEMORY: Getting Sorted
[CRITERIA: defeat NPC]
Everything whips by at high speed, around and around and around in biiiig big circles. It's too fast, it's way too fast, but the tiny guy in the speeding shoe can't stop it. He hasn't been able to stop it for so long and now he's going to die here in this—this rock home under the school.
It's hard to pick out many details as the muscheron test pilot shoots past. He can hear water trickling nearby, but he can't find it and doesn't know if maybe he should find it. There's sun, and even though there's some kind of flowers and grass and maybe even some bugs here, it definitely can't be real sun all the way down down down here. Four doors zip by every few minutes, one of them glowing brightly with big big very big words written over the top. The muscheron can only make out the one that says "grow". Ohhhhh what a confusing room!! Why does it exist??
The shoe's pop-out wheel rumbles along a dirt path, narrowly avoiding a maple seed. It's the eighth time this muscheron has passed by this exact maple seed, and if he doesn't stop it, there's going to be a ninth, tenth, eleventh, and just however high numbers go amount of times. Oh no, oh no. He puts his hands on either side of his mushroom head in dismay.
"Z'kay, z'kay," breathes the muscheron. He's been in this shoe for so long (how long? will he ever know? will he ever touch stationary ground again??), he has to know how to handle a little crisis.
Ducking down into the shoe, the toadstool fairy grabs hold of something solid and round tucked into the shoe, and he tugs on it. Oh, that's stuck good. He yanks, he twists, he puuuuuuulls so hard until it breaks free, and the muscheron scrambles to keep a hold on his prize: a bright yellow yo-yo.
Okay. Okay. Deep breath. The muscheron looks behind him, to the grass and flowers and mud, grabs the string and tosses the yo-yo out.
The toy clatters along the ground, skipping past a couple rocks that could have been helpful and a mud puddle that might have slowed things down, and catches on a clump of grass. The muscheron holds on tight, arms stretching back, back, back behind him, string pulled taut.
A moth flits over and lands right on his nose, and everything stops, from the movement of the shoe to the trickle of the waterfall. Everything except the flutter of wings and some kind of... chirping? somewhere in this expansive cave.