Plot Master

Within time, the Galtean rebellion had pushed their way into the Dreadnought Ifrit. Through the hole created in the hull of the ship, Koga and his team's airship had pushed through, delivering them inside. Of course, the portions of their ship that hadn't been aligned with the hole were decimated at the hard exterior of the Ifrit. Only through sheer luck had the people inside managed to survive. Shrapnel and destroyed equipment would litter where they had crashed into. The hole crafted by a player was now filled as the ship that had crashed through it served as a cork to close it up. Through t

An arm wrapped tight around her neck to pull her back, just as her assassin plunged the blade against the momentum for greater effect. Had she not taken steps to heal herself, these wounds might have been fatal. But NIGHT was made of sterner stuff. Flush with a sense of power at having survived to claim her prize, despite the odds, the victor thought to rid herself of the only remaining witness with a swift demonstration. It didn't work. Even with advantages, in any MMO, the numbers still govern. This whelp was no match for the track suit, let alone the woman wearing it. Something about

A glimmer of recognition flickered behind False Melody's mask, wracked by instinct and anguish, and bent on murder as the only outlet she could fathom. It was their nature to kill that which they imitated, yet this one had reversed its polarity. Conflict between wants and needs revealed: paradox and tragedy coexisting in the moment. The invulnerable was made into its opposite with the sound of a subtle gasp. The last drawn breath of a player's broken soul shattering in the background. Release from purgatory to oblivion achieved, at long last. The gemini fell to its knees, limbs st

Years of practice paid dividends as NIGHT's Cardinal-assigned form fell into line and obeyed carefully honed reflexes, executing her will with optimal efficiency. Orgoth's Legacy flared with righteous indignation, parting the rain and very clouds alike. Its swing summoned rays of inner starlight to bear, if only for an instant. Metal met simulated flesh and cleaved clear through the hostage taker's chest leaving a long linear gash with such force that her target impacted the far wall, leaving her imprint in the stone. Time slowed as NIGHT absorbed the consequences of her action. The urge

"STAY BACK! WHATEVER THE ACTUAL FUCK YOU ARE!" A bizarre scene exposed. NIGHT slowed to a stop, concealed by the fractured fragments of rubblestone walls still standing after False Melody burst through them like a tank chasing a mouse. Orange shards from recently expired players still dripped from the gemini's improvised weapon - a kitchen knife with three names on the Monument of Life now assigned to its credit. Torrential rain fell straight down all around them, as if the wind had chosen to hold its breath while matters were settled. Beyond the broken edge of the farm house there

Airships one after another took into the sky, taking advantage of the brief ceasefire that followed Gabrandr's display. Galteans and players alike banded together in ships and began to board Ladonia's fleet. It wouldn't take long for the Ladonians to recover from their confusion. They would begin to take fire on the approaching ships that remained airborne, knocking a few from the sky. The smaller transportation ships were unequipped for combat and upon taking a single shot they would fall in fall in flame, their crew lost. Aboard the enemy ships, alarms would begin to blare to alert the Lado

When had they come so close to the city's outer walls? Even in the depths of some thematically overbearing storm, the while stone of the Town of Beginning's barrier structure seemed to gleam with a friendly and comforting demeanor, only slightly diminished under the weather's pall. Purpose and circumstance layered on another, darker skin, especially as NIGHT caught the barest vestige of a mob maid's outfit flicker over the battlements with lightning speed. As hard as NIGHT pushed, even with all her system enhanced prowess and agility, it was a struggle just to keep the barest hints of

A look of pity would show on his face as he looked upon the cowering masses. Most of them were Ladonians, terrified of something going on within their home. They needed to find out what was going on. Suddenly, the ground would shake from an impact above. A look of worry rested on the King's face. The green-haired healer spoke out to him and the former floor boss would divert his attention to him for a moment. "Not much for a plan right now. We need to find out what is going on above. These civilians wouldn't look in such a sorry shape if nothing was happening. A revolution may have been sparke

A blur of motion, impossibly fast and pressing the limits of what the eye could even follow as a blade flashed into existence and whirled from hand against hand. The false Melody had produced a dagger from nowhere and sought to stab herself through the centre of her other appendage, flattened against the bar. They were in a safe zone. Nothing should have happened, though the thought occurred that self-injury might bypass such restrictions. Who would test such a limit? Hadn't countless souls been lost in the days and weeks after Kayaba's announcement. Who knew how, for them all? But the

Defying Destiny ♫ It seemed to happen all at once. Successful in their attack on the castle grounds, the Galteans and a number of lower-class Ladonians had secured much of the enemy territory. The Revolutionists managed to storm the castle and almost take out Grand Imperator Razwell III himself, but were unable to prevent the King from managing to escape. Moments later, one of Ladonia's main infantry forces entered the city. A fleet of Imperial airships loomed high overhead, discharging marines in smaller crafts to help reclaim and secure the palace below. Outnumbered and outclasse

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 elevat

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 ch

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

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 di

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 s

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