story

Spam in the place that I work, ham and pork.

Weird Al began to regret his life of crime

He picked up his wrathcordian and prepared to leave the Gelatin Conglomerate, but he knew it wouldn't be easy.

And then he stopped. Everything.
BAD END

The golem named Ordinos opened his clay mouth. The air was breathable. His blank face swung back and forth, taking in the jagged steps, now overgrown with native vegetation. Ordinos strode forth, his eyeless, noseless mask of a face drinking in the empty corridors of the ruins. From time to time, a blue sun shone through gaps in the masonry. Ordinos occasionally passed through a chamber of unknown purpose, marking it in his running cartographical array. Once he was done mapping out the ruins and surrounding environs, he returned to the chamber where he had started. He stepped onto the obsidian circle, the light of the codex-rift illuminating the dark room with a warm maroon glow. At the heart of the glowing fissure in the air, there floated a leatherbound book of exceeding thickness. Ordinos touched the plane-glyph on the cover, and returned to his maker.

Ordinos appeared before his familiar cluttered home. The confined walls and piles of clutter surrounding the returner rift made his hulking frame feel constrained. Ordinos missed the open sky where he stood moments ago. The feeling passed.
"Sit, Ordi." The maker's voice. Ordinos complied and a stack of tomes toppled near him, presenting his creator. He was withered with age, a back stooped over as if the ground were tugging at his head. A makeshift mechanism laid in his throat, humming and whirring as he breathed, the synthetic overtones haunting his frail voice. The maker began his personal work, scouring his prized explorer, collecting dirt, dust, moss and other vegetation and collecting them in numerous jars. A warm sine tone reverberated through he room as he plucked a beetle of sorts from the crevices of Ordinos's toes.
"Report, Ordi. What did you find?"

The blank pane of Ordinos's face projected the ruins in lines of blue light, with red motes marking the places of interest. Ordinos spoke, the clay of his mouth clinking when he formed consonants.
"Plane 60Gimel 3Samech is a habitable world. The rift opens into one of ten chambers of unusual content, with twenty-two passages connecting them. The complex suffers moderate structural damage, including holes to the outside and pervasive vegetation. It is unclear how the plants continue to survive in the rooms that admit no light. A temperate forest extends from the complex for two parasas in every direction. There are no other signs of habitation. Extensive reconnaissance is recommended."
The old man frowned.
"That sounds like Cepher-based cosmology. Your first priority is to find any other sites of previous codex-rifts. Ordi, depart."
As the golem passed through the rift, his maker cast his eyes upon the oldest and largest jar that yet remained. It held a small, self-contained forest ecosystem composed of specimens that were all that he had left of his world of origin. They would be crucial in the labor of winnowing down the planes that lay on the path home. Still, there was much to do before he could end his exile. Much of his power had wasted away, so far from the thaumic fields that gave magic life in the Etz Hachayim planes.

Ordinos's earliest memories, those which came before being sealed into a form of clay, are muddled and difficult to recall. There is a sense of vastness, though it is unclear whether he dwelt in a vast place, or was part of something vast himself. It is only natural, therefore, that Ordinos keenly felt the boundaries of things. This is not to say that he felt trapped in his body, but rather that when he sensed another form, his sense of vastness was impinged upon.
Thus when Ordinos returned to the darkened chamber, he proceeded on the most direct path outside. He continued through the forest, collating observations, trying to determine the nearest codex-rift site. If it was nearby, the slight difference in magical potentials between the linked planes would show up as a dim beacon to his senses.If the rift was not nearby, which seemed to be the case, it would be difficult to find it, and doubly so for rifts that have closed.
Ordinos emerged from the forest, the violet sky turning a sea green around the setting sun behind him. His face gazed out over a mountain side, an ocean extending from the horizon to the shore far below, where the tides clawed at the mountain. In the advancing darkness, Ordinos perceived a web of lights far beneath the water. With that goal in mind, he made his careful, halting way down the mountain.

Fred the stickman stood in an endless expanse of white. There was no ground or sky, just unformed nothingness.
Then the Maker's Pencil drew a companion. She had a triangle bottom, and her stick legs were pleasingly parallel. Fred turned his circle face to her and said,
"Text bubbles look kinda wrong for this sort of thing."
That... came out wrong. She replied,
"Comic Sans it is."