Things had been pretty placid in Haven of late. With the recent economy boom and flux of immigrants to our fair land, it seemed that the future was brighter than ever. Craving a bit of excitement, I decided to venture into the clockworks as I'd done regularly in the past. Now, I was vaguely aware of the reports circulating about a mysterious "lag" creature creeping about Cradle. Apparently the being had the power to trap knights outside of space-time in an otherworldly limbo of sorts. A grizzly fate indeed, if there was any truth to the accounts. However, most of them consisted of little more than erratically punctuated rhetorical questions, along the lines of "WHY!!!!" or even "Why..." So in all, I wasn't as concerned as I could have been.

Initially, my run was fairly mundane. After progressing through a devlite metropolis and picking up a few souvenirs for the nonexistent wife and kids, I found myself in a blazing hot amphitheater. They say that where there's smoke there's fire, and truth be told this place was quite toasty. Thankfully, the Glacius I had on hand froze to the occasion and quickly took out the surrounding Red Rovers. Dispelling the timeless adage that ice guys finish last, my subzero sword had made this stage a breeze thus far. Little did I know that in a few moments my situation (and consequently, life) was about to be flipped, as if vertically mirrored (or colloquially, turned "upside-down.")

So a vicious lot of greavers spawn. Not wanting to deal with their nasty dispositions or potent bites, I began hacking and slashing away. Soon only one of the feisty little guys was left. Before we could duke it out though, the world around us seems to slow to a crawl. A surreal, lethargic feeling overwhelmed me to the point where I may have passed out... I'm unsure. All I know is that seconds (or perhaps eons) later I found myself back in the arena staring down my leathery-winged adversary. Here's a visual I've captured of the scene:

http://img801.imageshack.us/img801/6989/unledpjt.png

Something wasn't quite right though. The air felt incredibly dense and it difficult to move about. Things were far worse for the greaver, who could barely muster the energy to hover in place. My reaction to his inability to engage in battle can be seen below:

http://img560.imageshack.us/img560/4087/unled1grf.png

In all, the situation was highly disturbing. The horror that this "lag" both existed and had warped a monster and I to a parallel realm mirroring our last-beheld environment was beginning to set in. My weapons were still functional, but neither them nor the greaver were capable of inflicting any damage in this strange pocket dimension. I assume matter is less solid here than on Cradle, as both of us can pass through each other like phantoms while somehow maintaining our molecular structures.

There wasn't any indication that I'd be freed from this curious place in the near future. Attempting to pass time, I engaged in a dialogue with the greaver:

http://img215.imageshack.us/img215/9260/unled2kw.png

And that, my friends, is when the fair maiden of enlightenment smacked me upside the head with her information-imbuing wooden mallet. That tiny, asterisk preceded squeak was no mere rodent-esque noise. No, that high-pitched peep was a word, from which are made languages. This creature, whose brethren we had destroyed en masse without so much as a thought to their cognitive capacity, was attempting to communicate with me! "Its audible emission was in direct response to personal inquiry," I thought to myself with assurance. From that point on I vowed to make every effort to comprehend the greaver's tongue and improve the relationships between our kinds.

Decades passed, and by this time I was fluent in greaverspeak. My statuesque companion (who was named Bruce, as our chats over the years had revealed) told me much about his people's customs and history with the Spiral Knights. It seems that long ago his ancestors produced a situational comedy called "Leave it to Greaver" which alienated the knights due to its sheer awfulness. Enraged by what they perceived as cultural insensitivity, all greaverkind abandoned their former visions of an planet-wide egalitarian society and dedicated their lives to killing unwitting explorers on lower-tier battle arenas. Thankfully, Bruce was a pretty cool guy and talking about things was very therapeutic for him. We had formed a solid friendship and learned a lot about each other (I even confided my favorite flavor of pie to him, which is rare among compatriots.)

Here's a few more shots of us lollygagging about during our confinement. We did a lot of absurd things to stay sane in-between bonding.

http://img862.imageshack.us/img862/193/unled3ao.png

http://img101.imageshack.us/img101/6892/unled4hi.png

Just then, something ineffably extraordinary happened and I found myself back in Haven. Remarkably, the time that had passed in that cosmic purgatory was tantamount to minutes back on Cradle. I had amassed half a lifetime's worth of knowledge concerning greavers almost instantaneously! As I looked around, overjoyed to have returned home from such a ghastly experience, my heart sank. Bruce was gone. Presumably he was sent back to the clockworks, though the thought that he's still trapped in that arena continues to haunt me. All I know is that the wisdom and lingual gift he had bestowed me was now inconsequential, as was our companionship...

In closing, I would like to say that whenever I journey into the clockworks and am confronted by greavers, I'll think of you Bruce. Maybe someday we can find each other again. I believe there can be peace on Cradle as your forefathers desired and fondly hope that my fellow knights will pursue it along with me.

Take care, dear friend. May knight and greaverkind be reconciled someday.