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Region And You! (A Tongue-Firmly-Lodged-Through-Cheek Description Of Regional Chat)


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I am bored, and I wield keyboard, coffee and cigarettes! Fear me and my prose of a most purplish shade!

(companion piece to https://forums.warframe.com/index.php?/topic/307446-trading-and-you-a-tongue-in-cheek-and-rather-unflattering-description-of-the-trading-chat/#entry3483492)


Long post warning!


Tipsy, somewhat battered, half-deaf from the shouting and now proud owner of many, many objects you did not consider necessary until a really impassioned speech from a very friendly trader (and several bottles of something that may or may not have been used to embalm corpses at some point) changed your mind, you stumble out of the bar and quickly realize that you have no idea where in the Void you are.


Looking around, you spot a group making its way down the street to a large, brightly lit open area, and decide that you might as well follow.


On your way there, you pass a large sign, painted, marked and riddled with what seem to be bullet holes. You manage to make out the words with some effort.


“Welcome to Region! Enjoy your stay!”


Well, that doesn’t sound too bad, does it?, you think to yourself.


Oh, you poor, poor thing.


Region turns out to be even more crowded than Trading, a veritable sea of bodies moving to and fro, and while the conversations can now actually be qualified as English, making yourself heard over the din proves nigh impossible.


You choose to instead sit down in one of the many available benches, and greet your erstwhile seatmates with a polite nod. Introductions are made, pleasantries exchanged and soon you’re engaged in a particularly engrossing story involving the wretched Alad V and the little Kubrow that could. You're having a wonderful time with your companions, watching the crowd and laughing at the poor souls ejected from Region by a man with a startling resemblance to the bouncer back at the bar.


And then he appears.


Coalescing out of seemingly nowhere, he looms over the bench, staring at your group with wide, slightly unfocused eyes. His mouth slackens open, and with a raspy, deeply unsettling voice he asks:


“wer do i get nurodes?”


A beat later, after you figure out what he meant, you glance down at your holographic display to confirm that indeed no, the UI has not changed in the last hour and yes, it still does show where the acquisition of certain resources is possible.


Still, helping costs you nothing, and as you ready yourself to answer him you spot out of the corner of your eye your seatmates gesticulating wildly in various negative fashions. Your hesitation does not go unnoticed by the interloper, who leans closer until he is almost pinning you against the bench, and screams:




Panicked, you blurt out an answer that seems to mollify the stranger, who  slithers away promptly; however your relief is short-lived when you realize that several dozen similar creatures are now staring at you with hungry eyes.


At your companions insistence you decide to abandon the bench, and narrowly avoid the incoming mob with some fancy footwork, eventually relocating to a somewhat less crowded section of Region.


After some relieved chuckles and nervous glances towards the last known position of the pursuers, conversation begins once more, first in drops, then a trickle, and finally a flow of inane yet fascinating topics, starting with favorite weaponry, moving to memorable conclaves, passing through worst survival experiences and eventually ending up on which Warframe possesses the better behind.


“Why, Valkyr, obviously!”, you cry, your good humor making your voice louder than you intended.


Your companions turn to you, expressions of abject horror on their faces, but they go unheeded; your attention is more focused on the fact that every single conversation in Region has stopped.


The silence, as they say, is deafening, and as yards upon yards of heads turn your way, you feel that you might implode under the weight of thousands of stares.


The crowd moves as one, not so much charging you as flowing torrentially in your direction, countless arguments about the best butts merging into a single unholy howl that makes your heart batter against your ribcage.


You and your group turn tail and run, with you leading the escape, suddenly extremely satisfied with the purchase of a maxed Rush.


One of your numbers falls behind and is consumed by the tide of bodies; another collapses, bleeding from the ears, and is too ingested.


Your companions are whittled down one by one until only you remain, still running, chest heaving, muscles on the verge of locking up, when all at once the crowd stops in their tracks, howling silenced, gazes directed up into the sky, eyes gleaming with an almost holy fervor.


Even though you try to resist, your gaze, too, is pulled to the firmament, and what you see leaves you awestruck.


It is glorious, enthralling, indescribable.


There, shining like blood between the stars, is that seldom seen but often discussed thing that goes by the name of Redtext.


Enmity forgotten, the crowd accepts you back into their fold, and your voice joins theirs in an earsplitting cheer for the Redtext.



Region is mostly people talking/fighting fervently about random stuff (and Warframe derrières!) and answering different iterations of the same stupid questions even though they should know better by now, and Redtext is an almost religious experience.

Edited by DeadlySurgeon
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