The Chaotic-Neutral Mid-Afternoon Archers Who Arch at Tea-Time


You're not sure you believe what you see when you walk into this courtyard; there's a vast pit in the middle of the room that appears to be full of... words. Huge words made of solid letters, in which a bunch of hunters are drowning, moaning for help.

"Ah, the Chaotic Midwives," Stopheles purrs, amused by his pet name for the team. "They insisted on their ridiculously long parody team name, and I felt this was an appropriately ironic way for them to spend the rest of time."

"You know, five days ago, one of the team members had the nerve to ask us to put fewer words in the tank," says Blackwell, rolling his eyes.

"We graciously lessened the number of words, but we increased the quantity of letters per word as compensation," giggles Blancwell, smirking.

"Irony is a specialty of ours," Stopheles says with pride, shaking Amittai Axelrod off his ankle before Amittai disappears under a wave of RECTIONs and BABEWYNERYs. Studying the pool, the contents don't seem to be distributed as randomly as you'd think. In fact, you think you can read some coherent English in the words, though there sure are a lot of them...