WELCOME TO

THIS IS A TRUE STORY

Jump into the various story strands below or click the button to read about the project…

(When time isn’t linear & all realities exist…)

VARIOUS

Some extra projects which are part of these story worlds

SAGAWORLD

What happens when you ask some of the best artists in the world to make work inspired by THE ENDLING SAGA

GLOSSARY

There are lots of names & terms & stuff. Get to know them here.

MERCH

Your coffee is extra strong when you drink it out of something with Leonard’s face on it.

COLLECT

Available pieces to collect digitally on the primary market…

UNLOCKABLES

The magic of web3 - if you own any of these as token-bound content, you can access exclusive extras here.

ACID COLA

It’s MELT in the MOUTH!

I live in a region of the High Wail called The Souse y’see, the only child of a decent pair who work the same as every other here - catching fish and building and a bit of farming and any other fucking thing to scrab a life together. High Wail is wet and grey and cold, and The Souse is the wet, grey, cold part of it. We who live here like to think we counter the weather with friendliness, but like all people the friendliness is only a mask, thick as cobweb. Truth is I’m a good lad with a good life. I want for nothing, I’m loved and I have Talent with magiq, or so I’m told. My name is Doran SonLogan, I live in Enon Derris in the rain-sodden Souse of High Wail and I might well die here. But I’m starting to get thoughts of changing that fate, even though to do so tilts heaven (if you believe the shyte you’re fed without smelling it first.) But here, hang the Dead Gods I’m prattling on about my own life! I guess that’s what happens when your mind tells you back the story of yourself.

I live in a region of the High Wail called The Souse y’see, the only child of a decent pair who work the same as every other here - catching fish and building and a bit of farming and any other fucking thing to scrab a life together. High Wail is wet and grey and cold, and The Souse is the wet, grey, cold part of it. We who live here like to think we counter the weather with friendliness, but like all people the friendliness is only a mask, thick as cobweb. Truth is I’m a good lad with a good life. I want for nothing, I’m loved and I have Talent with magiq, or so I’m told. My name is Doran SonLogan, I live in Enon Derris in the rain-sodden Souse of High Wail and I might well die here. But I’m starting to get thoughts of changing that fate, even though to do so tilts heaven (if you believe the shyte you’re fed without smelling it first.) But here, hang the Dead Gods I’m prattling on about my own life! I guess that’s what happens when your mind tells you back the story of yourself.

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