Plot Master

By the time the last Player reached the tenth floor landing, there was little room to spare. Packed like sardines, more than a few tried (unsuccessfully) to enter the locked door. The handle was jiggled, and bodies were thrown against the sturdy wood, but the door would not budge. What did budge, however, was the floor beneath the Players' feet. Without warning, the landing gave way, unceremoniously dumping the players into a wide chute of sorts. They tumbled for a few seconds, then after a brief free-fall, landed atop an enormous, square slab. The surface was mirror-smooth, save for a few sca

In the heat of a rebellion, you'd think the Imperial Palace would be better guarded. While fires burned, civilians chanted, and crowds pressed against every inch of the circular wall, the Central Tower stood pristine and untouched. It speared majestically toward the heavens, a white arrow piercing a black veil of smog and storm clouds. A handful of guards drifted across the lawn like little black ants, mostly unsure of what they should be doing. Their comrades stood dutifully at the gates, or if they were brave enough, dove into the sea of angry bodies. Some had the noble goal of bringing orde

#on plot master in lieu of missing wuotan login. Perhaps this was why the couple was last. Macradon, in his explanation, recounted and pointed out the very things in his life that had brought him joy, satisfaction, and security. Surely, anything else would just be icing on the cake -- and in addition, what company he must have kept himself and his wife busy with, to meet such an important figure at a late hour! Wuotan couldn't help but chuckle as the man flounded around for an item to display. Ready to perform some magic. And then a different one appeared. "Something that would

Mother nature sure had a dark sense of humor. As if she could understand the turmoil taking place on the twenty-sixth floor, the skies began to darken. Black clouds mingled with thick smoke, shadows crashing into shadows above a city burning with light. Great gusts of wind whipped out of nowhere, battering the side of the airship. Ropes snapped like cracked whips, and the sails, now pregnant with air, propelled the airship forward at a new, neck-breaking pace. Somewhere off in the distance, thunder rumbled ominously. Now hurdling toward the Central Tower, the vessel shot like a bull

Ladonian Skyport officer Lakton Crowse could not stop pacing. Back and forth, back and forth, the man's boots carved a metaphorical trench in the metal dock. At each end, just before he turned around, he peered over the side of the walkway. Below, the city seemed to shimmer like a mirage on a hot day. Flashes of firelight permeated the blanket of black smoke, the red and orange hues sending panic lancing through him. Even several stories up, Lakton could hear the shouts and the sirens. Somewhere, amid the chaos and confusion, was a little girl with his brown hair and her mother's smile. Lakton

Like zombies in a horror film, the NPCs fell on the Imperial Palace. Their bodies pressed together, seeming to form a single entity that surged against the stone walls and sturdy gates. Guards dressed in heavy armor, and adorned with the royal crest of Ladonia, stood just out of the crowd's reach. Occasionally, they swiped their blades toward hands or weapons that plunged through the iron bars, but beyond that, they did very little. The central tower was the most well-protected location in the city, meant to withstand attacks from well-armed, well-trained enemy soldiers. This unruly mob of dir

The Ladonian Rebellion It seemed to happen all at once. That was, of course, intentional. Those involved in the plot had carefully positioned themselves throughout the city, so when they finally cried out, their voices would envelope the entire city. Their chants would reach every single person, striking fear into the nobles who cowered in their ivory towers. More importantly, they would seek out those who had spent their lives in the shadows - the commoners, the refugees, the forgotten, and the discarded. Like moths to a flame, they would be led into the light of a new day, the dawn

"Don't you?!" A flash of anger crossed false Melody's face, vanishing as suddenly as it had manifest, and replaced by an instant regret. "Melody is going to die. Nothing will prevent it now. Others have learned who she is and what she's inherited, whether she wanted it or not." The mob seemed genuinely conflicted. "I was charged with delivering her the quest, but something went... wrong. A flood of darkness interfered. It swallowed everything - by which I mean the whole of the world." The girl blanched as her words fell from her mouth, eyes becoming distant and filled with terro

"i didn't ask for your life story," “No. No, of course you didn’t.” The mob seemed wounded by NIGHT's tone, let alone the possible implications of the harshness of her retort. Gemini were accustomed to mistrust and hostility, but this one was in the unfamiliar headspace of requiring a savior. Exhaling made her realize that she’d been holding her breath to see whether the player would accept her crafting. Now to the crux. This was the tricky part, and relied upon good nature and a moral compass that had been assumed, based on limited evidence. “Rare skills, like the Shadowed Pa

"Melody," the creature spat out, then groaned, as if mere utterance of the brand burned a soul it shouldn't possibly possess. "Or, that's this particular prey's name." Looking into the contents of her mug, sheer disgust blemished what to others would appear as a picture of sweet, youthful innocence. Contrasted against her sopping blond curls and dainty digits clenched around a comically oversized tankard, the entire image seemed 'off', but so did everything else about this evening's venture. "We don't get such things. Our identities are borrowed, even if only for fleeting moments. Oh

Pursed lips followed by a sigh of relief released as the slightest puff of visible breath in the cold, relentless rain. The sky was full of tears tonight, and the stars had turned away. A small marble fell into her hand and sputtered to life with dim blue light - a glow stone. It wasn’t much, but might save them both a twisted ankle or the awkward disgust of stepping on a fattened rat. Taking the lead, the maiden turned her back to NIGHT and tried to pull the paltry thing she called a cloak farther over her head for shelter. It offered little more than before. A glance was spared to see

“Whuh… what?” The small figure blinked, her smooth, delicate brow suddenly cross with confusion, either masterfully delivered or actually genuine. “N-no… you misunderstand,” she stammered water flooding down the front of her face, running in rivulets to drip off her nose and lips, or pooling in her folds of a hastily-tied cloak that failed to service its wearer. If she stood still long enough, maybe it would drown her, sparing NIGHT from her inconvenient request? “I am a Gemini,” she admitted, with strangely little hesitation and a disturbingly hefty dose of self-awareness. “But I am

The gentle press and clatter of stone on stone beneath slow-moving footfalls broke against the darkness. The figure moved, its arms by its sides, without any evidence of weapon or malicious intent. A cloak draped over her slight shoulders was too large and eagerly sought to swallow her frail form. The wind whistled through nearby streets setting off shrill shrieks like banshees sweeping out the gutters. Something drew NIGHT’s attention - a fleeting bit of movement at the edge of her peripheral vision. Were they not alone? Her gaze had drifted but an instant. It had been enough -

Few lights remained twinkling in the south quarter at such a late hour. Those that did were sparse and often served as safe harbour for lost souls with no other place to stay, offering pale solace against the terrors of the night. Even safe zones have their dangers. Bounded by a low, circular stone wall, roughly two feet high and the same across, the jet garden occupied the central space in an otherwise unremarkable plaza away from the main roads and paths of travel. The surrounding area was largely residential, dominated by tightly packed traditional Japanese minka, adapted to various

It was early evening, leaning towards twilight. The sun raced at its celestial pace towards an artificial horizon that was hard to see from the tightly packed streets of the Town of Beginnings. Darkness and the taint of long shadows had already swept over the city. Most of the NPCs were already closing up their shops, making ready to switch to their overnight activities. For some, that meant nothing more than vanishing until Cardinal called them back from nothingness to tend to their appointed tasks. The lucky few had homes or haunts to frequent. A handful were tasked to keep their shops