Words of the Constant
It's all used up.
Oops.
There's wind in them there willows.
No more tubes.
It may have some alchemical uses.
Safety before dapperness.
Remnants of an extinct civilization.
The fire learned how to burn it down.
I can't believe I forgot how to build those things.
Flames have swallowed it whole.
It unlocks recipes of middling utility.
Research complete.
This is where I do my own personal research.
That was its final act.
Quite a dapper machine.
Presto change-o! Ahem... old habit.
No one will be using that any longer.
I'm not above using this.
There's a story behind that...
I'm not sure I really want to give this up.
Brutish grotesquerie.
I myself will carve this roast beast.
The redbird comes from the fire lands.
Silence, bird!
You're new.
Nothing up my sleeve...
Is this the robot's doing?
Better them than me.
It's a rock.
Hmmm. Now what do I do with them?
I banished these guys down here for a reason.
It is fruitless and useless now.
Well that's a shame.
It's ill.
I think it's sick or something.
It labors to make my dinner.
What use are you to me if you don't have fruit?
It resembles Woodie, does it not?
I'd rather not shatter my teeth on that.
It's ripe enough to eat now.
It looks almost appetizing.
How off-putting. It's grown a sprout.
I could get a chip of ice off the old block.
It's just a puddle.
It's just a puddle.
The top of this lava pit has cooled into a fine crust.
The fires are cooling.
It's hot.
It looks harmless.
"Moon" rock.