The command line blinked. Once. Twice.
And in the middle of their half-eaten stew sat a small, ticking wooden frog. Its brass eyes rotated once, twice. Its clockwork mouth opened.
The rogue's hand became porcelain.
The rogue reached for her dagger. The frog's gaze snapped to her.
And the DM looked down at their keyboard to see the words they had not typed: ran gm command
Then the world tore .
" Ran gm command, " it said. " Create piece. " The command line blinked
> Are you still controlling this story, or is it controlling you?