Plot Master

Without clicking locks or grinding gears, it was difficult to tell that the puzzle had been solved. Instead, a sudden downward pressure descended on the Players. The force did not knock them down, nor root them in place. Instead, it simply gave the indication of movement and direction - up.

The entire compartment rose, carrying the lucky few higher up the tower. With no windows or electronics, the Players had no way to determine just how far they climbed. Minutes passed, then suddenly, the ceiling overhead retracted. The stone compass continued to rise, lifting the Players from the elevator, and into what had always been their final destination.

The tower room soared twenty feet into the air. Long, thin windows striped the stone walls, reaching from floor to near ceiling. The light that permeated the smoke and storms outside bathed the room in an eerie gray, and stood in stark contrast to the flickering candles in their silver holders. A shelf lined with books stood on one side of the room, beside a desk strewn with papers. On the other, a metal contraption hulked like a hunch-backed creature.

From it, a voice rose.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?”

Though at first it appeared the voice belonged to the machine, a young man quickly stepped out from behind it. His hair stood up in pink tufts, as if he’d run his fingers through it over and over, and his golden eyes flashed. Once he’d surveyed the Players, the anger left his expression. “I can tell from a glance that you’re not my father’s men. I suppose that makes us allies of sorts.” He gave a hurried, tight-lipped smile. “My name is Lamont, and I am the son of the Grand Imperator.” As his smile became a grimace, he added, “Which is not a fact I am especially fond of sharing.”

“I am not proud of my father, nor am I in support of the decisions he has made regarding the Galtean nation.” So saying, the prince turned away from the Players to resume his tinkering. “My concerns, as expected, were not well received. So, recognizing that I could not help from the palace, I sought out the leaders of the fledgling Galtean resistance. I wasn’t entirely sure how I might lend aid, but I wished to try. Then, I found out about this.” He paused to motion to the enormous machine. “This is the original Scather, gifted to my father by the Lords of Fate. It caused the destruction of Galtea, and given the opportunity, my father will use it to eradicate the resistance as well.” Lamont disappeared around the Scather, but his voice carried in the spacious room. “He saw that the Scather be locked at the top of the tower, protected by three challenges of his own design.” Disgust dripped from every word as Lamont said, “Apparently, my father believed no one in his dominion capable of working as a team, operating under pressure, or paying close enough attention to solve a rudimentary puzzle.”

When the machine began to hum, and the air grew heavy with power, Lamont’s tone lifted with excitement. “I’ve some skill with magic, and quite the hand with technology, so I’ve taken it upon myself to destroy this weapon for good. And I believe that I’ve finally-”

Everything seemed to shift. Static electricity buzzed around them, lifting the hair from skin suddenly prickled with goosebumps. Each breath was drawn with more difficulty. Though a strange sensation to explain, the Players felt a small tug at their core. Like a moth drawn to a flame. 

“Something’s wrong.”

Lamont leaped out from behind the Scather, his wide eyes vibrant against his pale skin. “It’s activated,” he explained quickly. “It’s searching for power. It’s drawing it in. Can’t you feel it?” 

He turned a quick circle, scanning the room before he turned back to the Players. Though it seemed impossible, he grew even paler as the elevator began to descend again. “We must go," he declared. "It isn’t safe here. They're coming for the Scather, and-”

Before he could finish his sentence, he threw up both hands, and engulfed them all in blinding white light. When it finally faded away, they found themselves standing in an alley, miles from the tower where they had just stood. He had taken them back to Outer Ladonia, where it had all begun mere hours before.

“There’s still much to be done,” Lamont muttered. "I can't be sure that I successfully altered the Scather, so we must take defensive action." He plunged his hands deep into the pockets of his pants, then drew out tiny vials of swirling silver liquid. He shoved them at the Players. "Take these, for now. I'd planned to take them myself, to keep my energy up as I worked, but I've no use for them now." He strode a few paces away, then called over his shoulder, "Should you be ready to help, I will call on you when it is time. This isn’t over.” Without another word, the prince of Ladonia disappeared into the crowd.

The story will continue soon.

A circular piece of the star-studded sky simply lifted away, revealing yet another hole for the Players to squeeze through. It was likely that none of them had expected the "tower climb" to be quite so literal, but once more, they were required to shimmy through one tight space and into another. This time, however, instead of the wriggling bodies of NPCs, they left behind the carnage of a rapidly-shrinking room.

Fire leapt from the hearth to tear hungrily at the discarded books, orange-red flames reaching like shimmering fingers. As the south wall swept the furniture closer, the ornate chairs and blood-red upholstery were swallowed up in the heat and the blaze. As Players scrambled to safety, many found themselves atop the enormous desk, which had positioned itself directly below the escape route. With a bit of teamwork, and a lot of speed, Players might make it out alive.

Once the final individual had fled, the hatch could be closed on the burning wreckage. It fell back into place to reveal an intricately formed compass rose, each stone painstakingly placed. It filled the entire floor of the tiny space, even smaller than the room they had left behind. The cylindrical room held nothing else - no furniture, no books, no doorway. The ceiling hung just over six feet above, requiring that the taller Players duck their heads. With very little room to move, and no evident exit, it became clear that those trapped inside the claustrophobia-inducing chamber would need to get creative.

Aside from the compass rose, the only décor was in the four carvings in the stone walls. To the north, a compass rose similar to the one Players stood upon. To the east, a sun. To the south, a flower. And to the west, a simple animal head with wide antlers. Below each was a small circular dial, with four numbers written along the outer edges - 1, 2, 3, 4. The small arrow carved on the dial pointed downward, away from all the numbers. It seemed that in order to select an option, the Player would need to move the dial to the number, then press it inward. It would take a strong will, a sturdy pushing finger, and at least four Players to successfully escape.

Round Seven: The Great Escape
Solve the puzzle.

The change was very subtle.

The first clue came in the floor candelabra, when it tipped forward, and crashed with a clatter of wrought iron on stone. Chunks of white wax scattered like oily snow across the red, flower-covered carpet. While it was easy enough to assume someone had simply bumped into the piece of furniture, no one could quite remember a Player standing there at the time. The same could be said for the opposite end of the room, where a high-backed chair and footrest both shifted on their ornately carved feet.

Had the change been more dramatic, perhaps the Players might have been given more warning. But by the time the second key had turned in it's lock, there were far fewer flowers visible on the wallpaper. The north wall, with it's enormous desk and magic-soaked stained-glass windows, loomed a bit larger than it had before. The south wall, now with a jumble of pillows at its base, did as well. And with each passing moment, they grew closer still.

Round Six ½: The Room Where it Happens
Find the last two keys and get them in the locks before you're crushed by the two closing walls.
Complete the round six mechanical challenge.

Amid the panicked cries of NPCs, the final Player climbed through the hole in the ceiling. From fifty feet up, the men and women of the Ladonian Rebellion seemed to melt together, their bodies forming a single, hellish creature. Only after they had begun to file out did the design on the tipped slab's surface come into view. Etched into the gleaming gold was a sun, akin to something one might find carved into a Mayan temple. With only seconds to glimpse the strange symbol, the hatch slammed closed entirely on its own.

The Players found themselves in a room that could not have been more different from what they had left. The cozy study stood in sharp contrast to the massive, dark cavern. The walls pressed in closer, built in a way to hide the tower's enormous size. Light shone through stained glass windows, a kaleidoscope of color that danced across a massive oak desk. The sunlight, impossible in the middle of the windowless upper tower, filled the small space with comfort and warmth. Equally impossible was the fire, which crackled away merrily in the hearth. It gave off no smoke, produced no soot, and seemed to simply dance along the edge of pristine logs. 

Shelves lined the wall opposite the fireplace, crammed with books and dust-catchers of various shapes and sizes. Overstuffed arm chairs, plump pillows, and wooden chests lobbied for space in the crowded room. Flowers climbed the wallpaper, and bloomed across the ornate rug in the center of the study. Ten feet overhead, in a small alcove painted like the night sky, four empty locks stood ringed by a full moon.

Round Six: All Is Not Lost
Locate the four missing keys, and use them in the locks in the ceiling.
Roll an even number on the LD to locate a key. Use a post action to put the key in the lock.

When Razwell had designed this prison, he had never imagined a scene such as this.

Bodies spilling from the tenth floor shoot, piling atop each other to create the most literal of human pyramids. Cries for freedom, for justice, for revolution, still filled the space, as did groans and grunts from pinched skin, crushed toes, and boots to faces. A bit like zombies clambering for brains, NPCs and Players alike scrambled for the dangling rope ladder. When it became evident that the way forward held no place for NPCs, anxious murmuring joined the cacophony. As men and women began to push and shove, one individual found himself spat out of the crowd. Stumbling over his thick-soled work boots, he tumbled backward, and slammed hard into the nearby rock wall. To his surprise, the jagged surface gave way, and he fell further still, spilling out onto shining white marble.

When Razwell had designed this prison, he had assumed he would never traverse the slab himself. But on the off-chance he found himself locked inside, he built himself an escape route.
 

Round Five (B): Pyramid
Climb the broken slab and the pile of NPCs to access the rope ladder, then exit through the hatch.
Post before 11:59 PM EST on Saturday, December 4th.

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 scattered runes and etchings. It gleamed like gold in the dim light, which filtered through a hole some fifty feet above. Dangling from that square opening was a rope ladder, which came to rest about six feet above the center of the slab.

If the escape hatch above was Heaven, the pit below was Hell. Also fifty feet away, the stone floor held nothing soft to cushion the inevitable falls. It did, however, offer a crudely made set of stairs, wrapping around the outer edge of the square chamber. The walls of the room extended far past the bounds of the slab, but Players who ascended the stairs could reach a platform just below the chute's opening. While venturing back up it would prove impossible (and largely pointless), a well-timed jump could land Players back on the slab for a second (or third) attempt at reaching the ladder.

Would the Players manage to find their balance through teamwork, careful planning, and perfect execution?

North Corner: 0/50
East Corner: 0/50
South Corner: 0/50
West Corner: 0/50

Round Five: Tightrope
Keep all four corners of the slab even. Get everyone up the dangling rope ladder.
Roll at least 50 LD for each corner, and succeed in keeping each within 10 LD of the others.

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 order to the chaos, but most found themselves simply following orders. Orders passed down from the Grand Imperator himself, who had locked himself, his wife, and their three sons away in their private chambers. "Deal with it," Razwell had commanded of his top officials, "or I'll be forced to take matters into my own hands."

While his best soldiers guarded his bedroom, all others had been sent out to "deal with" the rebellion. The result? An empty castle, guarded only by a skeleton crew at the main entrances. Were someone crafty enough to cross the vast lawns unscathed, gaining access to the tower would be child's play. Perhaps more difficult, of course, would be locating the grand stairway amid the building's many twisting, turning hallways. Ten stories up, adventurers would find only a landing, a painting of a magnificent white stag, and a locked door. 
 

Round Four: Have Fun Storming the Castle
Gain access to the tower, find the central staircase, and reach the top landing.
Roll a cumulative LD 150.

^{#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 benefit more than just be would be my banner. One more charge for it to be a saving grace whenever we were to be up against a tough enemy would be my greatest wish."

Oh, had Wuotan the foresight to see what grandeur the Imperial Topaz would bring to his people having this wish granted. The corners of his lips turned upwards, a smile hardly seen through his beard, but joy and pride, warm, nonetheless. An open palm with collected, wrinkled fingers. "Here, let me hold onto it for a bit."

Banner passed between hands, and at the father's touch, a surge of light enveloped the standard; between the parties involved, gusts of wind stirred the ground around them, and within seconds the glow and show faded. There was a newfound sheen to the metal of the banner, as Wuotan passed it back to Macradon with a nod.

"May it serve you well in the future."

He gave Kairi a glance, a smile and a bow. "I'm afraid that's as much time I have for Aincrad this season," he admitted, a tad bashful, eyes narrowing in reminiscence. "Merry Christmas to the young couple, and a Happy, upcoming New Year."

The man turned around to leave. Against the darkness, he was a grey figure, light and purpose in his strides. Had the players been patient, they would've seen him walk a distance before fading, ephemeral, into aether.

Nothing but the passing of a cloud of stardust remained.

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 bullet through the steadily chilling air. Its bow remained dutifully pointed toward their destination, but as the Imperial Palace quickly grew larger, it became less of an approaching goal, and more of an impending threat. Though perhaps no one had noticed, not a single Player's icon had turned orange despite the blatant act of thievery. In fact, between the stolen airship, the lifted whip, and the slaughtered guards, the system really should have flagged the Players as unsavory. Why hadn't it? And perhaps the more pertinent question - what other trusted rules might be broken in the safe-zone city of Ladonia?

Round Three ½: Defying Gravity
Land the airship at the base of the Central Tower.
You do know how, right?
Complete the round three mechanical challenge.
 

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 could think of nothing else as he he turned on his heel for the umpteenth time, and executed another pass across the entrance. Beyond him, a handful of airships hovered, tethered by thick ropes. Gangplanks connected the central dock to the decks of the ships as they sat waiting for their crews to return. Said crews, the Skyport Authority had reason to believe, were in the process of smuggling goods illegally in and out of Ladonia. For that reason, Officer Crowse had been assigned watch duty, with the expectation that he would report the return of any potential pirates. Initially, it had seemed like an exciting job. Now, all he wanted to do was check on his family.

Finally, the leash binding him to his post simply snapped. He had been the perfect employee, never missing a day, never asking questions, never saying no. But this time, the word no was the only thing he could think of, pounding in his head to the beat of his heart. No, he would not continue to watch the suspicious ships. No, he would not feel guilty for his decision. No, there was no way that Letty and her mother were in any danger. No, he would absolutely make it on time. He refused to imagine a life without them in it. All obligations to the Ladonian Skyport Authority were forgotten as the man focused on what truly mattered - the only two people in the world that he loved.

As Lakton sprinted for the stairs, a flurry of movement caught his attention. A group of oddly dressed individuals thundered by him, some outfitted in heavy armor, others in robes of flashy colors. Is that what pirates look like? he thought idly as he descended the steps, but he never paused to look back.
 

Round Three: He's a Pirate
"Borrow" an airship, and fly it toward the Central Tower.
Complete three tasks simultaneously: navigate, power the ship, and search for supplies.
Roll at least 100 LD for each task, and succeed in keeping each within 10 LD of the others.
Double posting is not allowed. Please be mindful of other participants, and give everyone an opportunity to contribute.
The round will end when the requirements are met.

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 dirty peasants and pitiful refugees would pose no threat whatsoever. For this reason, Grand Imperator Razwell did not fear for his life. Instead, he feared for his seat of power, and the hold he had on the city. He had worked too hard, and paid too dearly, to let a bunch of illiterate commoners ruin everything for him.

It is unclear who first let slip the Imperator's plan. Perhaps one of the many spies relayed the information, or a guard spoke a bit too loudly. Or maybe the great minds behind the rebellion simply saw it coming. But when the warships began to mobilize, drifting down from their perches atop Ladonian Skyport, the barricades were already in place. The many soldiers stationed throughout the city found their journey to the skyport first hindered, then halted altogether. Aside from scaling the tall buildings, fighting their way over the barricades, or convincing the right rebels, their mission seemed impossible. The skeleton crew who resided within the skyport could only man a handful of the military ships, but they soon glided over the city like great black sharks. As all eyes turned to the skies, now clouded with suffocating black smoke, dozens of private and commercial airships stood forgotten on the skyport's lower decks. Were any skyrat pirates, or clever Players, able to secure one of these vehicles, the entire city would be their playground.
 

Round Two: The World Turned Upsidedown
Reach Ladonian Skyport by any means necessary.
Collect a combined LD score of 125. Note the group's total, along with your roll, at the bottom of the post.
Double posting is not allowed. Please be mindful of other participants, and give everyone an opportunity to contribute.
The round will end when the requirement is met.

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 of a new era. 

Soon, Grand Imperator Razwell III and his three spoiled sons would pay for what they did to Galtea. They, along with everyone like them, would have everything torn away from them. They would be reduced to nothing, forced to live among the trash and the sewer rats. Really, it was more than they deserved.

In moments, barricades appeared in the city's chokepoints, alien masses of broken barrels, overturned carts, and mismatched furniture. Black smoke spiraled into the air from various small fires; some were planned, though most were accidental. Flags declaring the Galtean crest unfurled from windows, and even those who had never set foot in the ruined nation joined the sea of bodies steadily marching toward the Central Tower. Their voices, raised in protest, rose and fell like the ocean in a storm.

While the true king reclaimed his throne, his subjects would take back their city.

Overview

Round One: Do You Hear the People Sing?
Navigate the chaotic streets to reach the walls surrounding the the Central Tower.
There is no mechanical challenge in play at this time.
All Players may make no more than three posts.
The round will end on Wednesday November 10th at 1 AM EST.


 

"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 terror, staring at an abandoned mug still steaming upon the counter.  Reaching for it, a metal clink rang out against the ceramic from a ring upon the gemini's finger.  She was married?  The emotions were far too real.  Were it not for her cursor and own admissions, it would be possible to think this creature to be just another random player.  Doubts festered.

"You need to kill her," her voice cracked and choked, confusion resting upon the gemini's face as if she wondered why.  "Soon.  Before one of the others does.  If they were to gain access to her 'gift', they could ravage the whole of Aincrad with it."  Reluctance lingered between them.  "And, it's the only way that I can ever know peace and freedom again.  Failing that, at this point, I'd settle for oblivion."

Fresh droplets joined that scattered pattern on the polished surface of the bar, the rest having been cast offs of rain from their entrance.  Melody, wracked by an un-tempered mashup of unfamiliar emotions, gripped the mug with such force that it creaked in her slender-fingered grasp.  Her jaw clenched and trembled simultaneously while shame and wrath forced her to turn her face away from NIGHT.  She seemed as angry with herself as with her circumstances, and having to drag another into this mess had only made it worse.

"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 Path, can only be held by a single person at a time.  It is both a gift, and a curse.”  Pain flinched across her eyes as she revealed the latter. A hint of something seen earlier, returned.  Slender digits fidget as she speaks, pinching each other harshly as her stress and anxiety visibly increase.  Strands of wetted blond get tangled upon and soon her hands are bound by a web of her own designs.

“When such a skill is lost, specifically by neglect, a process is triggered to select a new bearer.  It’s a rather random thing, apparently.”  Chewing on her lip, the mob struggled to maintain her momentum.  Doubts settled over her, wondering whether she could follow through with this, or should.  So carefully crafted were her mannerisms.  So… real. 

The same traits, under the glare of a sickly yellow marker, carried her words and actions firmly into the uncanny valley.  They felt wrong, yet somehow still genuine and true.  What was its game? When would the other shoe fall, and what intentions did it hold?  Doubts.  So many doubts.

“Melody has the very best and worst of luck, it seems.  She won the lottery, and could lose everything because of it.”

"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, but they are blissful while they last!"  A long draught interrupted the girl's griping, as a trail of dark, viscous liquid languidly ran from the corner of still-cold lips, completely ignored as a chill and shudder shivered up her spine.  Words and voice clashed with clear tones of conjoined, bitter lust and misery. 

"We are creatures of change, by nature.  To remain trapped in a single form for so long.  It's... torture, of a kind."  A sudden turn on her stool sprayed a fan of droplets across the floors, some reaching NIGHT's fleshly dried outerwear.  Realization had only just dawned.  "How is it yours has not gone mad?!"  The look in her eyes made it clear that whatever predicament had befallen this mob had taken some sort of toll.  Could mobs even experience such imbalance?  Were they not simply fulfilling pre-programmed parameters?  Could this one be different, or was it just another part of Cardinal's incessant probing?

"Melody," she repeated, sneering, "fell to the dark waters during the storm.  We hunted each other throughout that wretched rain.  And it plagues me still!"  Slamming the flagon on the bar, or just dropping it due to weight, the contents sloshed and spilled slightly as the girl shook a frilly fist at the door through which they had entered.  Lighting taunted her through the window, accompanied by the low rumble of mocking thunder.  Pursing her lips, defeat bled fleeting defiance from her tiny form.  No amount of rage would release her from her fate.  Releasing her drink instead, she pressed the ball of her far hand against her forehead, stress and strain visible as she squeezed her eyes shut in a vain attempt to purge herself of her dilemma.

"Have you ever heard of The Shadowed Path?"

The term fell like a stone, fracturing the space between them with a magnitude measured in silence.

"I'm going to take that as a 'yes'."  Azure orbs re-opened and set their weary gaze upon the player seated before them.  "And you likely also know that such talents are passed on by the death of the bearer."  False Melody's voice grew ever more faint as she spoke, as if mere whisper was enough to set loose a flight of rabid PKer ninjas from the rafters to slay them both for daring to speak of such things aloud.  "There are other ways, but... oh, right,"  she blinked and slid something that hadn't been there before along the bar.  "Details, dear lady.  Details."  Coming to a stop with the slightest bump into the player's elbow, she recognized the image instantly, though it carried a twist. 

"The rules must still be followed."

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 that she was followed, then footsteps echoed on slick cobblestones washed clean of the day’s refuse.  Too much here was mystery, and worthy of lingering on edge.

Warmth and light spilled out from the doorway as she opened it, drowning out the feeble stone’s efforts and compelling the guide to return it to her pocket.  Trails of water ran off her drenched uniform and skin, marring the prints of her shoes upon the wood plank floor.  Ruts had been worn in the sections nearest the threshold, stained by years of mud and other substances.

“Hey!  I just mopped that!”

A coin flung with diminutive fury beaned the barkeep right between the eyes, eliciting a yelp and battery of feeble apologies.  Two warm drinks were swiftly shunted their way by means of recompense.  Something brown and steaming inside smelled decent, but the appearance was suspiciously distasteful.

“Time to turn in for the Night,” the girl hissed through clenched teeth, her double meaning lost upon their host.  The rest found purchase and he vanished behind another door, rattling keys suggesting that he’d locked himself in.  No one else was present.  

The room itself was small and sparsely furnished.  A trio of lanterns hanging from the exposed beams and rafter above provided modestly shadowed ambience.  There was little ornamentation.  Four rickety wooden stools struggling to pretend to purpose huddled up against a bar with more holes, dents and notches than clean or solid surfaces.  It was stained so many different shades that its grain was lost and species of origin impossible to discern.  A pile of broken chairs and tables lay piled in the corner, behind a small rickety sign that someone had pinned to the wall reading ‘under renovations.’  Evidently, this was a frequent enough occurrence that the sign itself was reusable and could be spun around between events.  It bore hints of spilled drinks and gravy as proof.  The ramifications of an earlier brawl were clearly not yet remediated.

“Please,” the mob said, gesturing to one stool as she claimed another, struggling a bit to hop up to the proper height.

***

[Please make a Stealth Detection check upon entering the space and include it in your post]

“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 bound to another whose form I wear like a skin, and bear as a curse.”  Colour drained from her face as she spoke, her voice and eyes torn by some as-yet unspoken misery.  

“I chose this place to make you feel safe!”  Pleading.  Desperation.  A virtual panic set to the voice of a young woman, barely more than a child by appearance, and yet also Cardinal’s agent.  NIGHT would know the dangers and the system’s talent for deception.  It had rules, but not moral boundaries.  The girl moved to grab NIGHT's arm by instinct, but stopped herself almost instantly.  Terror clouded her dimmed blue eyes, brought on by the prospect that she might scare her would-be savior off through overly rash action.  Her hands fell limply by her side once more, fidgeting with the sopping wet frills on the cuffs of her outfit.

Clearing her throat, she made the attempt to restore some semblance of vanity and composure.  It made a sound like thunder rattling across the plaza amidst the ongoing storm.  Even the girl was surprised and distraught by its reverberant echoes clattering all about.  For a moment, the player felt as if the mob, too, might fear being overheard by its master.

“It won’t matter where we go.”  

Flesh turning grey with cold and warbling lips closing towards purple, it was obvious that they could not remain, yet much had yet to be explained.

“Come, please, if you will?  There is a pl… pl… place nearby where we can talk.”  A dainty,  finger, wracked by wrinkled from wetness, pointed to a house down a distant tavern down one of the adjoining side streets.  No one would be there at this hour, save some lonely, dozing barkeep fulfilling a program’s obligations.

“I can explain, b… b… but… it’s c… c...complicated.  Please.  Hear me out.”  Begging.  Fidgeting fingers now clutching those same frills.  NIGHT had seen the same look in the eyes of players who could no longer bear the stresses and struggles of the game.  It never ended well for them. 

Lightning flashed overhead.  A rumble of true thunder followed and a fresh gust of wind urged them along with the subtlety of a mountain falling onto your face.  Was she sobbing?!  The rain obscured any trace, yet her shoulders heaved and fell, partly missed during the storm's angry outcry.  Maybe it was just the cold?  Either way, it made no sense to be standing here any longer than was necessary.

"P...p..please!"

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 - the duration of a flick of an eye.  The young stranger stood barely two feet away from her now, slight shorter but of similar build.  It was hard to be sure when comparing the frills and puffery of a maid's dress against a track suit.  How had the stones gone silent at her passing?  Their surface shimmered, still, beneath the increasingly heavy waves of precipitation that threatened to turn into a torrent.

Desperate.  Anguished.  Those were the words leaping to mind as NIGHT gazed into the girl’s sallow eyes.  They looked like they should be blue and full of life, but something had drained their tone.  It was like looking at a colour photocopy of a colour photocopy, multiplied ad infinitum.  Stretched thin.  Haggard.  Bags belied the youth that should have been evident.  All of it could be false.

“I just want my freedom.”  

Rivulets streamed down her face, marred by stray hairs of gold fallen out of place and convention.  Her master would surely not approved, based on the manner of her dress alone.  

“Please,” she begged, lips warbling as they turned slowly from red to purple towards blue.  “I need you to help me die.”
 

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 degrees to suit their occupants.  All were dark and shuttered, serving only as background to the slow drizzle of rain that fell as NIGHT approached. 

The garden itself was aptly named, composed of black stones, most rounded smooth and raked into unruly patterns.  Rain accentuated a stark contrast of dim lights shimmering on their slick surfaces and seeming to move like waves as the viewer's perspective changed.  Mid-sized, concave and elongated slabs served as bowls that slowly filled with water while several larger, dark lumps stood taller, like idle monoliths in a raging tempest at sea.  The entire scene seemed unsettled, despite being completely still.

“You came.”

No source revealed itself, but the voice sounded small, feminine, and relieved?

“You’re the only one I know to have treated us with this special degree of mercy.  Some spare us.  Others slay us outright.  All of them just want the prize.  But you…”

One of the dark lumps nearest the garden’s centre unfurled to become a slender young woman with long blonde hair paired in tails at her back.  Her clothes were those of a servant, and overly elaborate for the neighbourhood, yet also all too familiar to SAO’s source lore.  In the monochromatic darkness of the scene, the slowly spinning yellow crystal over her head stood out like a glaring beacon.  Wide eyes gazed upon NIGHT with desperate hope while also withered with the anguish of unspoken torment and desperation.

“…you kept one of us by your side.”

***

(Note: This area is considered to be in dim light.  ACC penalties apply, unless mitigated against by Night Vision, Glow Stone, etc.)

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 open over later hours, serving nocturnal clientele, or perhaps as a nod to SAO’s future expansion plans to other time zones.  Prayers were sparingly offered that it had never been given the chance.  Rarely were there deviations from the established patterns.  Rarely.

A small figure lingered in the abandoned streets of one residential area, on the eastern side of town - the dawn side.  A grin flashed over lips unseen beneath its hooded features, cloaked as much by clothing as the absence of light.  Purple turned to indigo, overhead, then the first stars struggled back into existence. The metaphor seemed apt. Day had ended, marking the hour for bumpy things to play, and tonight’s would be a most interesting game.  

A knock on the door.  Two nearly-silent taps followed by a louder and unmistakable third rap.  A note scrawled in broken font on a loose leaf of perfectly square velum.  The figure vanished upon delivery, as if it had never existed.

@NIGHT

Nothing happened as the ink-black bird soared through the open window. Only once the familiar's master moved to follow did the room come alive. Nearly every weapon in the vicinity suddenly sprang to life, jetting across the open space as if held by invisible hands. They collected in front of the window, a mismatch of dangerous tools, barring Itzal's exit. While he may be tempted to barge through, the blades would surely hack him to pieces. 

Once more, the silent soldiers brought their longswords to their chest plates, the sonorous sound again filling the air. Though they did not attack, the gesture warned that they would not hesitate to do so. In fact, when their weapons lowered once more, the suits of armor bent at the knees and settled into mirrored ready stances. 

A sudden cold settled like snow over the room. As the temperature plunged, a strange feeling of finality accompanied it. Though no words were spoken, aloud, or in Itzal's head, the heavy weight in the air seemed to make this single point clear.

There would be no escape until the guardians were defeated.

While you can roll for a temporary escape from the <<Suits of Armor>>, you may not continue the quest until they are defeated.

As Itzal landed in the room with all the practiced grace of an expert assassin, he did not make a single sound. Of course, the silence was altogether wasted, as the room stood empty. Aged stone walls closed in on all sides, a rugged contrast to the smooth floor. Though dust covered the tile, as it did everything in the abandoned guild hall, it was apparent that great care had gone into laying the pieces in complicated patterns. Mid-afternoon sunlight spilled through the two windows, one of which stood broken, before splashing across that ornate surface. The rays also found the various weapons that lined the space, burning along the edges of swords, and glimmering off dangerous-looking war hammers. Even the occasional shield reflected the sun back toward Itzal like some sort of makeshift spotlight. The Player had unknowingly exploded onto a stage, and despite all evidence to the contrary, he was not alone.

With a clink of metal on metal, two suits of armor detached themselves from the wall. In unison, they slammed the hilts of their longswords against their chest plates in invitation, the clang impossibly loud, even in the airy room. Then they widened their stance, sinking into a ready position. While the enemies' movement gave the impression that they watched Itzal intently, there were no eyes to do any watching. In fact, no bodies filled the heavy armor at all.

You find yourself in the Storage Vault. You have now entered combat.

Quote

<<Suit of Armor>> (2)
HP: 400/400 | MIT: 50 | DMG: 75 | EVA: -1 | ACC: 1
<<Block>>: If <<Suit of Armor>> rolls MD 1, they skip their next turn but their MIT is doubled.
<<Slam>>: On an MD 10, <<Suit of Armor>> inflicts +25 DMG and lowers the player's ACC by 1.

Those crimson eyes went to slits as FearX studied Itzal for a beat of silence. Though anger still rode high on his cheeks, it was evident in his stance that doubt also plagued him. After a few more seconds, he emitted a soft tch. "I don't really care why we're here," he informed Itzal matter-of-factly. In truth, he very much did, and the mystery of it all still nagged at him. But to admit that to the other man would be to admit a weakness. What kind of man just woke up in an unfamiliar place with no memory of how he got there? That sort of thing was reserved for idiot frat boys after a night of keg stands, not capable men like himself. So the Player shrugged carelessly, then raked his fingers through his sandy hair. "I'll just go," he decided. "I had things to do today, anyway."

His boots echoed in the massive space, each thud coming with an eerie finality, like the pounding of a judge's gavel. However, a few steps from the closed hall door, he hesitated. A flashy exit might have been the easiest way to mask his fears, because the uncertainty of the situation undoubtedly unnerved him. But he and Itzal had a history, and however tense it had been, FearX could show at least some level of respect. So he lifted one hand, waved it half-heartedly, and called over his shoulder. "Good luck with... whatever."

Then, even as the man went to push on the door, it swung open from the opposite side. Long, muscled arms reached through the opening, first circling the Player, then dragging him backwards. In the instant before the door closed, two things were visible: a swirling black cloak, and the flash of an orange cursor.

The door is locked. You may attempt to break it down (with the next Plot Master post determining your success), or travel to a different room.

The mansion sprawled endlessly. Or, at least, that was how it felt to the Player as he wandered the winding corridors, the expansive rooms. His boots echoed dramatically on each step as he descended a staircase, ascended another. Concern for his safety still weighed on his mind, but it had been pushed to a backburner as wonder overtook him. Despite the darkness, the musty air, the dust, the place was incredible. That wonder gave way to a nagging sense of unease as he found himself in a dazzling room of gold and marble. The fanged beasts that snarled from the ceiling seemed oddly familiar to him. Why was that? Had he seen this place before? How could he have?

Shrugging to himself, the man pushed through the heavy double doors, emerging into yet another hallway. No matter how exquisite his surroundings might be, he still had to find a way out. Plus, there was still the matter of determining how he had ended up there. Aincrad blocked the effects of alcohol, so it wasn't as if he had gotten himself drunk and wandered somewhere foreign before blacking out. Drugs? Color rose into the Player's cheeks, a hot, unbridled fury as he leaped to the most plausible conclusion. He had been drugged, and dumped in this empty, seemingly abandoned palace. Was this some kind of joke?

Fueled by his newly-found rage, the man stormed to the end of the hallway and surged through the double doors. As he emerged into the grand foyer, all of that anger speared into the figure he found standing there. 

"You!" FearX shouted, betrayal burning in his eyes right along with the mad. "What did you do? Why did you bring me here?"

Quote

To: @Bahr

Uhhh, I'm at home. Why? Am I supposed to be somewhere?

- Lessa

The response came only a moment later, as the very confused sender wasted no time asking for answers. Caught entirely off-guard by his message, Lessa had checked her front porch, thinking maybe Bahr waited there. She had no way of knowing that he stood before the Forgotten King's lair, or about the invitation that she had supposedly sent. The message had never appeared in her "sent" folder, and for good measure, it conveniently disappeared from Bahr's inbox.

One floor below Manderley, a small river snaked silently between enormous stands of stalagmites. Even in the cavernous space, with it's high, pitched ceilings, the slowly moving water made no sound as it slithered into a dark, narrow passage. It was as if even the sound of a babbling brook might be too pleasant for a hell-hole like this. Fungi clung to the slick walls, glowing an eerie, iridescent blue across the uneven terrain. In a sense, they shown like spotlights on a stage, ushering in the next act. But it was not the towering Time King that emerged, wielding it's enormous sword, and striking terror into all who opposed him.

Instead, the other man cut a far less imposing figure as he emerged from the shadows, and picked his way closer. He stood a few inches shorter than Bahr, though his heavy gear made for a bulkier silhouette. Red eyes, while somewhat alarming in color, shone with warmth and compassion. That same warmth burned in the man's smile, and shimmered in his sandy blonde hair and his gilded armor. In fact, the individual's entire body seemed to glow faintly with a light of his own making. No cursor hovered over his head, and an inspection would reveal a complete lack of information. Of course, no introduction was necessary.

Zayne lifted a hand in greeting. "Hey Bahr."