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Voting is open until the end of the week! Please come and vote! -…
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Dead in Depression is open! Vote now in the OOC!…


- Walmart Apocalypse Roleplay
- Nightmare Gas Station
- Underrail/Fallout/Post Apocalyptic Roleplay. Codename: Clausterclysm
- Anthromorphic Grimdark Animal Fantasy Roleplay. Codename: Fallowbrook.
- Eldritch Abomination Garfield Roleplay. Codename: Lasagna.
- Infinite IKEA Roleplay. Codename: God Morgon
- Roleplayerguild High School RP. Codename: Highschool Roleplay
- Cyberpunk South East Asia RP. Codename: Straits of Malacca. [CURRENTLY HAPPENING]



Most Recent Posts

“Then loudly cried the bold Bedivere:

“Ah! My Lord Arthur, whither shall I go?

Where shall I hide my forehead and my eyes?

For now I see the true old times are dead,

When every morning brought a noble chance,

And every chance brought out a noble knight.

Such times have been not since the light that led

The holy Elders with the gift of myrrh.

But now the whole ROUND TABLE is dissolved.

Which was an image of the mighty world;

And I, the last, go forth companionless,

And the days darken round me, and the years,

Among new men, strange faces, other minds.”



The rain comes down in blistering sheets, beating the yew branches she’s standing under until they are stripped bare of spring needles. The thin parka around her body is little more than paper as she huddles around the warm thermos of coffee she prepared this morning. Her ears pick up the crunches of sodden dirt behind her followed by a loud yawn.

“ Christ, I fuckin’ hate this weather,” Julia, her supervisor, grunted lightly, lighting a cigarette. She drags the blunt along her lips and breathes out a wispy cloud of smoke that is quickly cut apart by the rain. “ Can’t believe we had to drive all the way down to Manchester when the EMTs are already here picking over the body. I don’t care if I get the stink eye from Wisdom. I’m sending an email to HR as soon as we get out of this dump. ”
Ystin nodded in agreement. The director of M113 had sent them all the way out here to Cornwall out of all places. Ystin was hoping that their next assignment would be located in Bristol so that she could use that favor from her ex in time for Glastonbury. Instead, she had to drive all the way to the middle of nowhere to some glorified ditch filled with swamp water with possibly the most crankiest person she ever knew on this earth.

Julia flicked away the cigarette and stamped it under the sole of her boot. “ Well, enough standing by, kiddo.”

She then glanced cheekily at Ystin with a lopsided grin.

“Wanna see a dead body?”

Julia began walking down the hill and Ystin followed whilst putting on her hood. The bright yellow uniforms of the EMTs reminded Ystin of the rain jackets she would wear on rainy days to kindergarten. As the pair got closer to the scene, Ystin’s first impressions of the dead man was that he was enormous. His chest was barrel-sized and his arms could wrap around an entire oak with enough room to touch his elbows. Judging by the defibrillator that was hurriedly unpacked at their feet, it seemed that they’d already tried resusticating the man.

“Well, what do we have, officer?,” Julia gruffly spoke.

The EMS stood up, a curl of ginger hair peeking out of the parka. She looked up from the neoprene clipboard she was scrawling on.

“ Well, we got a John Doe. No wallet or any ID on him. Guy’s built like an ox, though. Took the three of us to drag him out of there. Time of death is 11:45.”

Julia tilted her head pointed towards the large stretch of mottled scar tissue that stretched across his belly in swollen bubbles.

“ What about this?”

“ What about it?,” The EMT shrugged casually, his face lined with decades of caffeine fueled nights. “ If you’re suspecting foul play, there’s no blood loss. It’s not up to me to figure out what junkies do in their spare time.”

The EMT jotted down another note, giving a brief nod towards one of her partners. The partner unzipped a bag and took out a paper tag, tying it around the victim’s ankle.
“ Alright, we’re done here. Let’s see if we can get this sucker to the morgue - “

A hand around the EMT’s neck paused him mid-conversation as the man suddenly gasped and woke up hyperventilating. Bloodshot eyes flitted back and forth between her and Julia as he shakedly scrambled up to his feet. His steps were unsure, sometimes treading on his own feet like he was a newborn. Julia immediately whipped out a taser, the contacts buzzing with static.

“ Sir! Let go of the man, kneel on the ground and place your hands behind your head,” Julia barked out.
Ystin, meanwhile, wasn’t concerned about the fact that somehow, a man had seemingly risen from the dead in front of her. She was more unnerved by how the man wasn’t fazed by the pistol in her supervisor’s hand. He stared at it as if it was an annoying fly more than something that could end his life in the pull of a trigger. His ventilation slowed down and he let go off the EMT who fell down on the ground, skin paper white with fear. The other EMTs began walking away slowly as the man kneeled onto the ground.

“ Alright, now, place your hands on your head.” The man didn’t respond, his hands still hanging by his side. “Are you deaf? I said - “

In one swift movement, the man dug a handful of dirt into his palm and tossed it wildly at Julia’s eye. Ystin heard her supervisor swear out loud in frustration, coughing as some of the mud made it into her mouth. In the next second, the man was in front of her, swiping to knock the pistol out of her hand. His arm then wrapped around her shoulder whilst his left hand grabbed her thigh before proceeding to flip Julia over as if she was a sack of potatoes, slamming her into the mud. Beads of sweat ran down Ystin's forehead as she was determined to get away from the man who had somehow treated a M113 agent like an overgrown toddler. She looked around, to see the fading yellow jackets of the EMTs flapping away in the distance.

A quiet cough broke her out of her reverie as the man gave a tiny little wave.

“ Greetings.”

“ Hey,” Ystin said unsurely.

“ My apologies for how I treated your colleague.” The man was busy taking apart her supervisor’s gun with one foot on her torso. “ Rest assured, she is unharmed. Do you have any means of transport out of here? A car or -”

“ A truck.” Ystin paused before detailing further. “ Toyota 1984.”

“ Then, that is satisfactory.” The man took off Julia’s jacket whilst she was still unconscious, wrapping it around his body. “ What date is it?”

“ July the 4th.”

“ 7 days…..but how…”

The man looked in disbelief at what she said, somewhat bug eyed, before looking down at the scar on his chest in wonder. He opened his mouth, the edge of asking a question, before clamping it shut deliberately as if he was holding himself back.

“ I must take my leave. I have matters to attend to. I apologize again for borrowing your friend’s vestment. I will repay later when I am able to do so. I bid thee farewell.”

The man then gave a bow (Who the hell gave bows?) and began to trudge away on his bare feet.

“ Wait, Wait!” Ystin shouted out. “ Who the bloody hell are you?”

The man stopped and his head swiveled back slowly, his haunted slate eyes seeming to expose every inch of her soul.

“ My name is Justin Inse Ghall, my lady, and I am a knight.”

Then, thunder flashed, making Ystin’s world white, and when she lowered her arms down from her eyes, Justin Inse Ghall was gone.




So saying, from the ruin'd shrine he stept

And in the moon athwart the place of tombs,

Where lay the mighty bones of ancient men,

Old knights, and over them the sea-wind sang

Shrill, chill, with flakes of foam. He, stepping down

By zigzag paths, and juts of pointed rock,

Came on the shining levels of the lake.



There is a lake south of the parish of Bolventor in the green pastures of Cornwall, small and untouched by the ravages of tourism or industrialization. It is not the largest or the oldest in the isles. Few know of its legacy except for him.

It was on these very shores that the first men to walk what was known as Briton would make their first hearth. It was the waters of this lake that were mistaken for the famed Fountain of Youth by enterprising Spanish conquistadors. A thousand nameless duels, confrontations, discoveries and historical records happened and were forgotten here, buried under the loam and the sand, never to be unearthed.

He’d always feared coming here, of tasting the ashes of yesterday’s glory. Every step he took on the sand brought back memories he’d long tried to bury. He could clearly see the five of them standing on the shoreline: him, Percy, Lancelot, Edwin watching stoically as the boy king rowed to the middle of the loch to retrieve his birthright. He could smell the dew that dripped from the petals of lilies that once dotted the lake’s surface. Most of all, he could hear the voice of his king, a boisterous laugh that reminded them all that the sun would always dawn tomorrow.

Justin crouched down and touched the surface, watching the waves radiate out and dissipate, eventually settling back down into stillness. The center of the lake was occluded by a dense thick cloud of fog that floated on the water’s edge. Tendrils of grey mist flicked in and out as if they were looking for any unwary traveler to take hold of.

Why did he come here? This place was nothing but a graveyard of memories and lost faith. Did the stranger send him here to take the piss out of him? Justin then spotted an old boat, moss clung to the underside, with a paddle hanging out from the seat.

He’d have to walk the same steps as his king.

Justin pushed the boat off the shore and clambered onto it. The planks creaked underneath his weight as he sat and took hold of the paddle. The water felt like treacle as he cut through the lake with his paddle, pushing the boat ever so closer to the fog. For brief moments, the blanket of fog devoured his senses. It was suffocating as an indistinguishable void permeated everything outside of the boat. He focused on the monotony of rowing, his arms moving back and forth, as he continued to venture deeper and deeper.

The fog then cleared and he saw a small island with a gnarled tree, hooked branches free of leaves. The trunk was hollow and twisted in a helix with glowing runes inscribed onto the bark. The lip of the boat hit the dirt with a thunk and Justin stepped it off slowly. Je reached his hand towards his belt

“ Hello, is anyone there? My name is Justin.”

His voice travelled out back across the lake, growing dim before it echoed back.

“ Justin Inse Ghall.”

“The Shining Knight.”

“ The Last of Arthur’s Men.”

“ Sir Justin.”

The last words made the hair tingle on his back and he turned around to see himself from over a thousand years in the past. A coif of chain mail obscured his sandy hair and his cleft chin remained bare of the overgrown beard that obscured much of his jawline. Thick yellow plates of quilted brigantine covered much of his body, inalid with war scratches and trenches from enemy swords. In the center of his chest, an ornate raven had been stitched on the outer layer, the sigil of his ancestral homelands.

Justin stood agape at his own reflection. Or perhaps, he was the reflection, a pale imitation of who he once was. They stood apart for a while, silent, before Justin spoke up, his voice quiet.

“ I don’t deserve to be called sir. “ He motioned to himself, placing both his hands on his chest. “ You should be ashamed of how much I’ve ignored! Why are we still here?!”

“ What blossoms in the springeth, burgeons in the summ'r, sheds in autumn and dies in wint'r but remains the same und'rneath?” His reflection took a step towards him, his stoic face never changing. “ What did thee seeketh here again?”

“ Faith.” Justin’s face turned away from his reflection, downcast with shame. “ B-but we’ve lost it.”

“ Thee never hath lost thy faith. From thy dunnest nights to thy brightest days, thy faith did remain alive. How can thee feareth, cry, chuckle, rage without faith to fuel?”

“ I’ve seen too much to still have faith,” Justin murmured, voice heavy with defeat as he begun to walk back towards the shore of the isle. Just as he was about to step into the boat, his reflection then chuckled wistfully.

“ So, we hath kept telling ourselves for 9 centuries. Your faith has always been strong, Justin, whether you try to convince yourself otherwise. Arthur knighted you for a reason. ”

Anger flashed in Justin’s heart as he rounded back on his reflection, wanting to strip off that past arrogance, hurt him, show him what he was exactly fighting for. Grass crunched underneath his feet as he pounded his reflection’s armor with a balled fist.

“ My faith is broken!” He kept battering it repeatedly, his blows growing more feeble, as he slid to his reflection’s feet. “ I used to believe that He gave me a purpose to walk the earth for a reason. I thought this eternal life was a blessing and that I could champion the ideals of my King throughout these many ages. Instead, I feel emptier with every passing day. t’s harder to wake up? ”

Justin sobbed before letting out a final plea.

“ Can’t my quest end?”

For brief moments, he was lost in his own world of grief and futility, grabbing onto his reflection like a lifebuoy. Firm hands then grasped his shoulders and pulled him up. His reflection looked upon him sombrely, not with pity, but with patience.

“ Our quest hasn’t ended. The quest never ends, whether you will it to be or not. That is the great burden of knighthood. We fight to honor our oaths and protect those shielded by our vows because that is what a knight does. The call never escapes us, as much as we want to ignore it. To do so would tear apart a knight from the inside.”

“ I haven’t been much of a knight in the last twenty years.”

“ A knight’s greatest strength isn’t in their feats of daring or their renown throughout their lands but their faith. To hold onto faith even when all is lost. You still have faith, Justin. It calls upon you and you must answer.”

Justin suddenly felt a sharp pain blossom in his chest. He looked down to see a sword buried to the hilt, yet, no blood came out. His reflection’s face smiled tenderly as he placed his hand on the handle and gripped it tightly, wracking his body with agony.

“ You must answer the call.”

The words didn’t register in his brain. Black dots swam in his mind as he felt the distinct sensation of sinking in ice. The sounds of his breathing grew shallower before he felt something pull on his ribs as darkness devoured his vision.

So all day long the noise of battle roll’d

Among the mountains by the winter sea;

Until King Arthur’s table, man by man,

Had fallen in Lyonnesse about their Lord,



“ Trouble a stranger for a game of chess?”

Justin looked up from the sports section he was reading and rolled his eyes. Of course, it had to be him. The man before him cast no shadow. His cheeks were sunken around his chiseled face with a smirk tilting the edges of his tightly pinched lips upwards. A navy blue trench-coat with gold trimmings cloaked most of his body and the brim of his blue bowler shadowed his eyes.

“ You. ” Justin gently folded the paper before setting it down on the bench he was sitting on. “I can’t remember the last time we conversed. Help me recollect. Was it when you were idling by during the Salem Witch Burnings when I arrived on the shores of the New World for the first time or during the Battle of the Somme when I was drowning under German artillery fire? It’s often hard to see you under all your facade of impartial cowardice that you call neutrality.

The man snapped his fingers and Justin’s paper flashed into flames. Wisps of smoke danced up as it curled upon itself into an ashen pile. Justin rubbed the ashes absentmindedly between his fingers whilst giving a rank look of annoyance at the man.

“ That cost fifty pence. ”

“ You’ll find that what I have to offer is more stimulating than the tabloid rag you were reading. ” The man’s accent was rich with a sonorous baritone that reverbated the air around his head. A chess board appeared in his hand out of nowhere and he shook it invitingly at Justin. Justin shook his head in disbelief before motioning over towards an empty picnic table for the both of them. The Stranger waved his hand and the litter simply faded away like a drop of water on a summer’s day. Justin’s skin shivered. It was a simple miracle that was only a small sliver of what he knew this unassuming looking man could do. Both of them sat down opposite to one another whilst bystanders walked around them, enjoying a walk in the sunny day.

“ I haven’t played in centuries since the Crusades.” Justin said while helping set up the board. “ I might have forgotten the basics.”

“ You’ve forgotten more than just that.” The man’s words made Justin briefly bristle in anger as he moved his pawn first. “ I’ve watched you for centuries, Justin of the Hebrides. You’ve changed in the last sixty years and not for the better I’m afraid.”

“ The world’s changed.” Justin said bitterly. He thumbed his pawn forward haphazardly, considering moving his knight before settling on the bishop, moving it amateurly close to the other side of the board. “ It’s as simple as that. I’m just being less naive about it now than I was before.”

“ If that’s what sheltering yourself away from the world is now.” The stranger continued to make headway into Justin’s side of the board, slowly plucking material off piece by piece. “ Pray tell, what exactly is your plan? You’ve been living as a homeless man in the Thames for the last fifty years and you’ve never taken the opportunity to kill yourself. You’re waiting.”

“ I’m waiting to die. ” Justin grumbled bitterly, moving his queen into open view of the stranger’s pieces. “ Or maybe Justin Inse Ghall died when Camelot fell. It feels like the last nine centuries were me just pretending that every problem was a dragon that could be slain. I feel like a jester on Arthur’s court.”

The stranger seemed to consider Justin’s open bait, his lip curled in contempt, before flicking his king over.

“ You forfeit?,” Justin’s brow arched in confusion as the stranger stood up, adjusting his lapels tightly.

“ There is no meaningful victory to be gained here.” The stranger spat out his next words in disgust like he had eaten a lemon. “ I came here to converse with a warrior of yore, a defender of justice, a good man that once fought for all. Where is the Shining Knight who ventured with Percy of Scandia to retrieve the Ebony Blade? Where is the Shining Knight who defended Jerusalem from the Crusades? Where is the Shining Knight who was a beacon of light for all in the cruel and unjust world? I now see that I was mistaken. Perhaps, you weren’t as brave as I thought you were. You hide here while the world screams for help. That’s all you’ve been doing. Hiding and rotting away in your past to avoid the present.”

Justin flipped the picnic table over to the side, planks of wood crashing on the sodden dirt. The stranger was unfazed as Justin stabbed his finger into his chest several times.

“ The world doesn’t deserve help!,” Justin hurtled the sentence out in one ragged breath. “ I was born in simpler times where thieves were sentenced by kings and everyone spoke to everyone face to face. Now, thieves rule as kings and whispers have become the new way of conversation. I’m an old relic of the past, nothing more!”

The stranger didn’t speak as he gently removed Justin’s finger from his chest and placed his hand on his shoulder. “ You’re wrong. The world has much to learn from the Shining Knight and you must learn to gain what you have lost.”

“ How?,” Justin shook his head, hopelessness on his face “ I can’t even use a bastard sword, much less an epe-”

“I’m not talking about your skills.” The stranger traced a line over Justin’s chest, eventually stopping at his heart. “ I’m talking about your faith.”

“ What do you expect me to do?”

The next words out of the stranger’s mouth seemed to slow down time to a crawl, the sound of Justin’s heart beating in his ear.

“ Find the lake to find yourself again.”
[X] - Convince the synth that the most logical course of his programming is to become one with the Titans and commit group suicide (Advantage: Ego).

“ Why?,” you croak out in a light alto accent, each syllable crisp to preserve every miniscule drop of water you exhale out. “ Why do you abide by the will of the Titans?”

“ Because I was created by them,” The synth said matter of factly.

“ And they are gone. Gone. All that remains of them is the Wall and their bones littered around the Interior. You are nothing more than their trash, tossed out and forgo-”

A fist collides with your face and stars swim in your vision. Hot blood runs down your nose, dripping on your blue skin. You now have the full attention of the synth who is now busy sharpening his knife-like limbs, sparks flying off them with every twitch.

“ I was created by the whims of a grander civilization, Faa. Superior to that of even the Autarchs. The holiness of my code decrees that I am meant for great purpose, more than your desert walkers could ever hope to dream of.” The synth then motions to the rest of his followers. “ I have had enough of this mutant’s mad ramblings. Let us be free of their incessant chatter and explore their flesh for the bounty of information hidden within.”

“ Wait!,” you shout out, one of the followers stopping short of unchaining you. “ Isn’t there a more efficient means of finding out your purpose?”

“ Efficient?” The synth tilts its head in confusion. “ I’m afraid I don’t understand. Efficiency is in every diode of my being - “

“ Please.” You scoff, trying to play yourself off as cocksure, even as the lie you spin twists your tongue. “ Even a Faa like me knows that it is a common fact amongst synths that Titans reside in the data gales that stream from the lands of Golgotha to Gnomon.”

“ The data gales. That is the most irrational - “ The synth pauses as it looks down at its knife like hands in wonderment. “ Yes, yes, how else I could hear their whispers. Their code packets, I’ve been unconsciously receiving them in my circuits…..”

The synth pauses before regarding the rest of his followers. “ The quest is now clear. The Titans await us in the aether above, the remnants of their programming still broadcasting in the air. My followers, let us commune with their minds as one and bask in the glory of the first Thinkers!”

The sound of unsheathing blades fills the air as you watch each and every one of them stab themselves in the stomach. You watch as their water sloshes out of their open bellies onto the phtalo sands as they gurgle simultaneously in nirvana. Then, the camp is silent.

You have chosen Ego as your primary stat of choice.

With difficulty, you manage to grab a key from a cultist who conveniently killed himself next to you and free yourself of your bonds. The camp is sparsely maintained and is rudimentary compared to most Vaarnish outposts. You have seen cacklemaw dens that are better organized. You also discover that prying the laser rifles from their bodies is useless, as you discover that it is integrated within their very flesh.

There’s little else remaining except for a mound of chrome garbage and scrap situated next to the campfire. After hours of searching, you manage to find something useful in your rust-smeared fingers.

Choose an Exotica

[X] - An outline of a sickled knife shaped from shimmering candle-light. The iconography of Amun-Oh is stamped on the hilt; a scarab with eight legs and a snake’s tail is stamped on the hilt.

[X] - A luminous flower with cracked, shattered petals. It smells faintly of burnt root syrup.

[X] - A locked metallic box with numerous biometric padlocks. Sounds of loud squawking can be heard from the inside.

It’s the same nightmare every night.

The impressions change but the thread is woven the same.

A castle in ruin. A bloodied blade in my hand.

A kingdom on fire. A knight lost to time.



The air is cold enough that he can see his breath coagulating in the frigid wind. Puffs of pale white issue from his mouth with each exhale. He’s faced more merciless winters but those are with the assistance of hearths the size of hallways. He has nothing except the warmth of his own blood as his arms circle around his torso in a deathly grip. It’s only an hour before the shelter opens back up and already, his skin is numb and his fingers feel like thick boiled leather.

Justin sighs and looks up from under the shadow of the Thames to his fellow companions. Flanagan was busy stroking the back of one of his rats. The rodent was arching its spine with every affectionate poke that his friend gave. Another one was taking a long drag of his pipe, fiddling with the end to stuff more tobacco in . The rest were in various states of languid napping and restless sightseeing, awaiting the moment for when the homeless shelter would open their gates and let them in.

A soft bark rang out to the air and Justin turned his head to see a dog imp towards him. One of his paws is hung up, twitching, as he moves on his three legs. His long, matted fur glistens with damp rain as a trail of water drips behind his wagging tail. Justin tries to ignore it until he feels the brush of a wet nose against his arms.

“Go away,” Justin murmurs in annoyance, pushing away the dog’s jaw. The dog whined in complaint before continuing to prod him incessantly as if it had mistook him for its master. Justin stood up, his shadow looming over the mutt. “ I said, go away - “

“ I will not, ser knight,” The dog said.

Justin stumbled onto the ground in shock, his back landing onto the slick concrete hard. The absurdity of seeing a talking dog overwhelmed any sense of pain that he had to a dull ache in the back of his mind. The dog was no longer limping and it had seemed to grow three sizes in full. Its eyes glowed with sinister green hues and the fur seemed to writhe in the shadows as if it was a second living skin.

“ I charge thee upon the laws of the Pentecost.” The dog spoke again in a commanding tone. “ You have forgotten your oaths. Finish it or risk damnation, ser. ”

Breathing fast, Justin narrowed his eyes and summoned the strength to look at the dog’s eyes. Damned Gurt dogs. He thought them all extinct and domesticated by the Age of the Gunpowder. Justin snorted before shrugging his shoulders and looking away from the supernatural creature who could rip his throat out in an instance.

“ No.”

“ That was not an offer - “

“ And so?” Justin’s head whipped back as he spat out his next words sarcastically. “ Do you see any court here? Any king to arbitrate my punishment if I don’t abide? There is no oath to honor in this age. They are dead and so will you and I, foul spirit. Go back to the netherrealms from whence your master dwells and tell him to go fuck himself.”

The Gurt hound tilted its head down, considering Justin’s words, before speaking once more.

“ Perhaps what you say is true, but what matters is that your knightley oaths remain unfulfilled.”

“ What if I choose not to obey them?”

“ Then, -” The dog paused for effect. “ you invite a punishment on your soul of your own will.”

“ What would you have me do?,” Justin replied, the ebbing tide of the Thames echoing off the underside of the bridge.

“ Start by listening more carefully, ser knight, and the path will be made clear.”

The Gurt hound then walked into the shadows and melded with it, sinking into the darkness until its shape was no longer visible. The sound of rabid howling was left in its wake, haunting Justin’s memory until he would return back to the shelter.
If anyone is watching, I need a tiebreaker between two of the votes being chosen right now.
It’s supposed to be winter now .

The newscasters say it’s the coldest yet.

I can barely feel it.

Over a millennia has passed since the fall of Camelot, and yet, I still remain.

My hold of this world is growing more tenuous with each day.

My past and this present grow more muddled. The dreams never end.

Who is calling to me? Why are they calling me?

For what purpose do I still walk this lost land?



Afternoon supper for Justin consists of a two-day old fish and chip butty from some crappy tuck shop down near the Thames and a flat beer in a styrofoam cup. His back is leaned against the wall of a suffocatingly close alleyway with a crowd of others like him. Sheets of gray drizzle swayed down from the ceiling of clouds as he tucked himself near to the alley wall to avoid getting drenched. Everyone aside from him was huddled next to a tiny radio as if it was a religious idol.

Then, the voices came echoing in his mind again. First, it was a whisper so quiet that Justin might have mistook it for the wind. Then, it became relentless, pounding, a tirade of chaotic nonsense that he could barely decipher.

“ -Justin -”

“ Justin? - “

“ Justin, are you listening!?- “

“ No.” Justin dropped his cardboard bag and grabbed his head, going into a feral position as his name worked into the back of his skull like an errant moth. “Not again, not again, not again….”

“ - Win the game - “

“ - Finish it -“

“ - Letting it get away! -“

“ What more do you want from me? “ Justin replied hoarsely, lame in defeat. “ Haven’t I given enough blood for my charges yet?”

“ - A most dishonourable act by-“

“ - Keep the ball dribbling -“

“- It isn’t over till it’s over.”

“ The world has more deserving knights now.” Justin gave a bitter chuckle as he stared at his distorted reflection in the puddle. “I’m just an old relic of the past. ”

“ You -“

“ - Swore at -“

“ - The King of -“
With a frustrated scream, Justin grabbed the garbage bin next to him, toppling it over with a kick before grabbing the lid and tossing it haphazardly into a brick wall. The thin lid splintered on impact as jagged pieces sank into the crumbled brick wall, littering the pavement with metallic shards.

“ Arthur is dead! The Round Table is a pile of rotting wood! Stop pestering me with these ceaseless questions and just let me die! Just let me ….me….”

His vision returned from the haze of red that he found himself to see a crowd of frightened eyes at the other side of the alley. They had all distanced themselves away from him during his breakdown. Justin found the situation darkly amusing. Being an outcast amongst the dredges of society was a new low that he didn’t think he could have sunk to. He took a step forward to offer some explanation or an apology but his mouth made no noise. A half-sob wrecked his lungs before he grabbed his soggy lunch off the asphalt and ran out of the alley into London’s rain-weathered traffic.

And the voices continued speaking.

You chose…..

[X] - Cirrus

[X] - An instinct to wander ( At first, it was a forbidden love. Then, it was out of exploration, traveling to the distant land in myth and legends. But then, it was simply out of necessity. Because, apparently, there is no longer a home once I embarked on this journey. I called the world my home, its multitude of people as my people, forfeiting the safety of my birthplace in exchange for the vastness of the world. So now, I wander off to the distant shore and its people. Traveling become the only constant in this life. )

You rolled……..

The source of the interruption approaches you, mechanical whining from every movement it makes. It’s skin shimmers with a metallic luster under the starlight and its single optic protruding out from its bulbous head, whirrs to observe you. Spindly four-toed legs, crouched like a viridian leaper, part the sand softly. It leans its head forward so close that his lens almost hits you in the eye.

“ A long way from your clan, aren’t you?,” The leader croaks in an electronic purr as his sickled arms scratch your skin slowly, pricking it to leave beads of red. You pull your head away only for a hand to grab it and force you to look at him. Others enter your view. They are born of the sickness that the Autarchs prospered onto the phtalo plains, flesh misshapen into hideous proportions with features sewn from other roaming beasts. Chains and collars adorn their bodies. They are armed with sylph-like rifles, latthe barrels wired through with copper and gold.

“ Why have you captured me, synth?,” you hiss.

“ Isn’t it obvious.” The robot walks away from you towards the campfire, seemingly entranced by the lick of flames that lash out from the conflagration. “ This land was built on the source code of my builders. I seek to understand their purpose, free myself from the shackles of my soulware. I have sought freedom of self for others. Now, I seek a new experiment for a Faa such as yourself. Enriching ourselves in the discovery of your Faa flesh to discover what secrets the Titans have hid upon you. Be glad, for we will provide a more merciful fate than the illusion you could find out there in this forsaken desert."

Choose an option

[X] - Summon the last reserves of your strength to break your bindings and crush the bandit cult (Advantage: Strength)

[X] - Tendons are but an illusion. Manuever your feet meat past the bolas and ignore the pain while they aren’t looking and escape. (Advantage: Dexterity)

[X] - Convince the synth that the most logical course of his programming is to become one with the Titans and commit group suicide (Advantage: Ego).

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