Your name is OMBELL DEUPAT. A soft wind blows fragrant petals from a nearby hornskinned fruit tree. It is late for such a tree to be blossoming, a sign of poor frost earlier in the sweep, and of poor harvests a few perigees from now. It is near the time of sweep when, long, long, truly long ago, a troll that supposedly shared your sign and castename was taken by mob to an ancient stunted sapling and put to death for her hand in the subjugation of their lands to the newly forming ruthless authority that in your day, traverses the very stars that supposedly guided said ancestor's gloved claws. You yourself are somewhat skeptical of these claims, for you live now at the very base of the hemospectrum, keenly aware of your own lack of IMPORTANCE despite the strange dreams that tug your pusherstrings to believe the contrary. You often choose to ignore the grim realities of your hatching with work, or with dedicated practice to the TELEPATHIC ARTS with which your caste is gifted. A member of the Imperial Courieradicator Corps, you pride yourself on swift deliveries of news, deployments, and parcels, though you take special interest in the delivery of quadmail of the particularly pitch persuasion. Your trolltag is caliginousCalix to showcase your preference for the same quadrant, and you type with ♤ somewhat fl♤t ♤ffect to m♤tch. You have just completed your deliveries for the day. What will you do? OMBELL: Open Chittr ==>