Meta Wars / Season 2a /

Prologue / Code Red / The Merchant and the Mod

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#SEASON 2 - EPISODE 1 - Prologue / Code Red / The Merchant and the Mod

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[Once again, like an ode, we must start with a question, and just like before I'm not gonna. I'm going to go on and on about how this series has pressed a matter so closely to me. That many of my friends and nearly family here are not so well. You may add that that's not my prerogative, but how would I help, how could I sit idly by in a mess and not attempt to pick up what was left around me? Then I asked myself, as a poet does, how do I help them without cause to alarm? Well, this is how, through narrative and fun. If for a second I can give someone just a moment to forget their worries and let go, then my mission is accomplished. I can't come through the internet and hold you, or hug you, or consol you like I've wanted, but this is what I can give. I can give a world to you. Some of my friends I've added... I've learned that they've become something I'm not. Unable to leave their house, unable to cope with the world around, disabled physically or mentally, and there's the thing I can't fix, but damn it, my friends deserve to go on adventures too. I love you. I love you all. Thank you.](https://www.reddit.com/r/StarVStheForcesofEvil/comments/9nxxk9/3g2_meta_wars_direct/)

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On a proud corner in recesses of the internet, a community thrived. Some would say that it was small enough to understand their motives, some would tell you that their presence didn't matter at all. No one was truly right and no one was truly wrong. The only truth in this matter was that they did exist and their existence was something. Some knew others, and some met few, but it never mattered because the community grew and grew. There was respect, intent, direct cause for argument; there was so much more and some didn't care for the long-winded analysis of a person they hardly saw. These are the stories of that little corner of a much bigger part in the whole of this world. Good luck, my adventurers.

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The lone wanderer trotted through the gritty, sandy terrain. He was lonely, but he didn't mind. He was thinking of a handful of users he'd joked with before his excursion.

AmeriFreedom laughed.

BlackoutAviation said he was insane.

Pyrocrat simply smiled.

He hated this, but it wasn't as if there was any other path he could take, any other way he could have followed, any other creek he could have wandered. No, for the first time in his life that he wished so dearly that he could have a choice in a matter, the universe closed him off from any decisions, leaving him poor, but not destitute. Filthy would be an easier word.

[But, of course*,](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0uMWbZj-gWg) that was simply the way it was. The way it had been for the past 150 years.

The wanderer grimaced. Had it really been that long? It had seemed just yesterday that Johnny Joestar, the greatest of the Lurker Lords, almost overthrew the Shipping Nations singlehandedly.

He took another step, as he wiped the sweat off his foot, dusting off the sand ever so slightly. The wanderer wished that he had better sandals. But that was one ironic thing that always remained consistent throughout the wanderer's long life. His footwear was always poor; his feet never took a moment to rest, whether the task be ruling a realm or trading shitposts. Good shoes would wear down, as they always did.

His trades took expertise, and expertise required decent footwear. It had been so long since he was able to trade freely with the nations on his travels; it had been so long since Alpharius made him a spy for the Starco Nation.