C-TWT-007
Barista: Ichabod Ramses
Date: Feb-2-2020
Receipt: C-TWT-007
Subject: Witches
Well, we made camp. Or... somethin' close enough to call it that. Don’t seem like ██████ believes in proper nighttime. Just keeps hangin’ there in that dreamy sorta amethyst haze, like dusk got drunk and forgot how to leave. Bit strange, but I ain’t complainin’. It’s a soft kind of quiet. The kind that don’t ask too many questions. The kind that ain’t too oppressive.
We decided to pitch on up just outside Gross’ ████████ Grove. Closer than comfort, but far enough that no one’s gotta sleep with those twisted ████████ breathin’ down their necks. Nasty sort. Pretty sure we all agreed, unspoken like, that a forest full o’ snake-shaped regrets and scorned would-be lovers ain't what you'd call restful scenery, even with the dreamlike sky.
Zach’s been doin’ what he can to give us an estimate of the terrain ahead of us for tomorrow. He figures it’ll take us about half a ████████ Day to reach the center of Tír Glas, give or take the unknown twists and turns of the Otherworld. Which, frankly, could turn this little day trip into weeks or months if we ain’t careful. And we ain’t sure how that translates in ██████ terms. Could be minutes, could be hours, hell could be a year if we zig when we shoulda zagged.
We might not even be able to turn back once we start this journey.
Well, fire’s lit, Kyle’s bullyin’ folks into hydratin’ again, and Daichi’s pretendin’ he ain’t already dozin’ off against a moss-covered rock with a tipple in hand—er, tail. It’s not the worst place we could’ve made camp. I’ve had much worse times off in ████████, that’s for sure. Least this here campsite smells better than the time I was holed up in a sulphur canyon out in ██████████ dealin’ with operation ██████████ and that ████████████████. Nasty piece of work that smelled like ███████ and ███ left out in the sun and boiled for all it was worth.
I digress.
Here’s hopin’ Ériu’s more help than trouble and the journey ahead is smooth, swift, san pran souf.
Decaffeinate Receipt
“First sulfur, then charcoal, lastly saltpeter.”
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