((This roleplay is based on the original, game-world of Ymaggion. If you have questions please PM me))

Project Theta. It was supposed to revolutionize the game, make it so people could play while even asleep. But it didn't work. A few days in, people started experiencing reports of not being able to log out, leaving their minds trapped inside the game. Before Ymaggion Corporation could cancel the sales of the Theta-Devices, tens of thousands were unable to leave. Those who had the devices forcibly removed were killed from the neural damage, and those killed in the game received the same treatment. Now, about a month later, many of these players are growing desperate or losing their grips on the true reality. In Minervum, a group of these players have gathered, led by a player named Oracle, to discuss a possible solution.

---

It was a ballroom of sorts that they were gathering in. Tables were set up all over the place, some big and some small, and there was enough food to feed a few hundred people at least, though there couldn't have been more than a hundred in the room as it was. People milled around the room, many of them awkwardly, but just as many with a confidence that came from being in the game. Some of them mingled at the tables, meeting people and getting to know each other. Others, though, stood at a distance, either too uncomfortable or too insular to speak with anyone else.

Another man entered the ballroom, and he checked his public information not for the first time that night. His character bio was hidden along with his guild tag, but double checking it made him feel more comfortable about it. This was, indeed, a very odd event to attend. As far as he knew, nothing like this had been attempted--or needed, for that matter--since the beta test. It wasn't enough to make him nervous, just careful. The cities were not always as safe as the authorities wanted people to believe.

In another world, he knew his height was average, but in Ymaggion people tended to be taller. That was a memory that seemed surprisingly difficult to place, but he couldn't be bothered by it right now. For now, he was just another player, a few inches shy of six feet with brown hair and brown eyes. Just another face in the crowd.

The din of conversation and ambient music filled the room as he fully entered it. Time to get to work.

She stood in one corner of the ballroom. Three exits in sight, a good view of the other occupants. There was even a table she was quite sure she could flip over and use for cover, if she needed.

And yet, there was still a feint tic of annoyance in her brown eyes as she scanned the ballroom again and again, looking for someone in particular. She was of medium height, maybe five-seven on a good day. Black hair cut in a buzz, brown eyes, constant expression like she was sizing everyone in the room up on how fast she could hurt them.

It caused most people to shy away on instinct. This woman with the predator gaze. But judging by her expression, she was looking, and most definitely not finding, someone in particular.

"I hate this stupid game." She mumbled, contemplating moving out from her safe corner to the throng of ... whatever they were called. Gamers? Player-Characters? Nerds.

He'd taken up a conversation with a young man, though even now his attention was wandering from it. He seemed like a good enough lad, but he was too nervous. So many people had fled to the world of Ymaggion because it offered them protection or shelter from their actual lives. Here you could act without consequence, really. If you really screwed up, then most people just died and respawned someplace safe. But not anymore. For the people of this little project that were not yet ready for this kind of pressure? Many had not handled it so well.

This was the second man he'd spoken to who went beyond the outer edge of the room where probably a good quarter of the people stood sulkily. But this man, like the one he'd spoken to just a moment before, was not really cut out for the sort of thing that was about to be proposed at this venture. They came here because they were hopeful and scared, and that just wasn't going to work out. Respectfully, he withdrew from the conversation, leaving the young man to his awkward self. Well, enough of that.

Glancing around the room, he took an eyeful of the people standing away from the crowds. He knew their type. Quiet, lonesome, often rude--they didn't tend to play well with others. They'd gotten as far as they had by making a few friends who could somehow put up with them. Then they'd rest on their laurels for as long as they could. He didn't dislike them, but they were less than ideal. Even still, the folks that looked like they might be promising were the ones usually surrounded by a good group already. He might break into their circles, but he wasn't sure if he wanted to yet. Against his better judgment, he picked someone on the outskirts. A woman this time.

About five and a half feet with hair cut short enough to join the military, she looked like she wanted to kill someone. Not just anyone, though--someone she couldn't find. An assassin, maybe? He doubted it, but who was he to say? Without waiting for his rational part to tell him it was a bad idea, he managed to make it to her side.

"Looking for someone?" he asked as pleasantly as he could, given her demeanor.

The man both stood out in the crowd, yet faded away within it. His avatar was shorter than was average; a mere five foot five. He had to wonder about the people around him. How many of them had inflated their height, or somehow altered their other features, for their online persona? Some of that could not be avoided, though. There were services for taking a full body scan, as a way to accurately insert the self into the game, but they usually required a payment. Most would not go through the hassle, instead using the character generation program within the game itself.

That was a new memory. He mentally scrawled on a notepad visible only to himself, a white hologram writing out his thoughts on its surface. Already, tiny things like this had begun to slip away. He was spending increasingly more time, each day, trying to remember the details of his life, and record them. His journal had over a hundred pages.

Some things stuck, though. He looked down at his plate, picking around the item that seemed beef-like. It had been covered in gravy, but on closer inspection, it appeared much like that which he could not eat. Even here, he would not offend Kamadhenu. He clung to his religion like a blanket.

The short, dusky Indian man looked around the room. There seemed to be a lack of discipline, at least that's what he saw with dark, almond shaped eyes. There were a few, though, that stood out to him. He edged towards the side of the room, brushing black bangs away from his forehead, and back into order. He watched carefully, as a man approached a woman. Interesting.



Edited by WillowtheWhisp on December 20, 2013 at 3:49:05

She'd watched him approach, the tactical side of her mind sizing him up. Taller, nothing spectacularly outlandish about him like some of the other . . .whatever they were called. Nerds. Oh. And he was a he. Her eyes twitched at that.

He was also speaking to her. And . . .Lace wasn't back yet. Too late to run away, she probably wasn't allowed to hit him. Or at least, that would cause problems.

She really, really hated this game.

Her brown eyes desperately scanned the ballroom again. She wasn't good with people. That was always Lace, and this man was being polite. She'd never bothered to learn how to be polite. The silence dragged on for a few more seconds before she mentally grimaced, she was going to have to talk to him.

Her voice was almost exactly as one would imagine. Terse, to the point, with the barest undertone of a vague accent beneath. "Yes. Another ner---Player." She corrected herself swiftly, jaw tensing as she tried to keep track of all the different terms of this place.

The man raised an eyebrow instinctively. Well, that wasn't what he'd been expecting at all. She seemed uncomfortable here, but not because of their circumstances. He understood the desire to leave the game at this point--obviously they all shared it--but she seemed to give off the vibe that there was nothing about this place that was at all appealing. But he could be wrong, of course. Better to test the waters intentionally; hopefully he wouldn't find something carnivorous in them.

"Someone else, eh? Well, that makes two of us. How long have you been playing this game, if you don't mind my asking?"

Now that she'd spoken the first words, she couldn't help but feel the need to continue the conversation. Another test, another battlefield. Looking at the situation in that light was generally the only way she could continue on conversations, unless it was with her partner.

All at once she was looking at him as more than a possible threat. And in doing so, she started to gather details, intelligence on the man. Nothing in this game was the way it appeared, she'd learned. Girls could look like guys, guys could look like girls. Not that she was judging, but she'd been so out-of-place in this game that she'd stuck with the body she knew.

But what if he wasn't a he? What if the relatively unobtrusive man was actually a sixty-year-old woman with blond hair and a passion for games?

Even to her, it sounded unlikely. Rather, it sounded crazy. But such were the paths her mind constantly found itself wandering. She hadn't had a good fight in weeks . . .

Her eyes snapped back to him, realizing she'd left a silence again. He'd asked a question, and she was being rude. Normally this wouldn't bug her, but this time she was being rude "without" trying. And that meant a lax stance in a dangerous situation.

"I . . ." She frowned. "About three weeks. Came in with a friend." She grimaced, teeth grating. Finally, another few seconds of silence inbetween, she asked a question herself. Voice powering ahead into uncertain waters. "How about you?"

Edited by Ajax on December 20, 2013 at 6:17:14

The man smiled slightly. There now, that was at least a bit better. But she was new--that's what he'd wanted to know. Was that the kind of person he was looking for? It was not exactly standard, but maybe there was something else there. Then again, maybe there wasn't. Too early to say. Now, the question was to be honest, dishonest, or vague to this woman. She was too on edge, so he chose the first one.

"Me? Five years, soon," he said. It was the truth--he'd joined on the first day he'd gotten the invitation to. Hesitating a moment, he postured himself toward the woman, extending his hand formally, "The name's Madrigal. And yours?"

Edited by Ribitta on December 20, 2013 at 1:57:13

The two were talking, yet did not seem to be acquaintances, judging from the way the woman glanced at the man. He edged closer, making himself small, standing in the shadow of another group. He was in listening range. He looked over to his journal, turning the pages with a mental command. He found the page he wanted.

Narhari Chatterjee. His name. He had not forgotten that, yet, but it was good to record it, just in case. Too often was he referred to the name which he'd given his character: Ajax. He had to remind himself, so that he would not forget. Narhari Chatterjee was an investigative journalist, specifically targeting social media. Participating in Project Theta had been a part of his job, with potential for a pay raise. After all, very few were willing to brave the program, after Ymaggion Corp's blunder with Project Epsilon. He grimaced; he doubted his firm was raising hell.

Some skills carried over, to the virtual reality of the game. He'd shadowed men a countless number of times, recording their conversations with the assistance of some technology. Always, he went without notice. He did not have his tools now, but getting close was enough, as he passed behind them, appearing to move towards a nearby buffet table.

Narhari was skilled at reading the faces of people, too. It was harder in such a crowd, but it was not difficult to discern that these two were different from the rest. He was surprised to hear them ask such trivial questions of each other; he'd expected some sort of conspiracy, with the way the woman had been looking around the room, searching. He wiggled his way into an adjacent group, the members of which just seemed to assume that he was acquainted with someone among them. They did not question.

This place was filling up, and the amount of noise the visitors were generating was quickly reaching irritating levels. He'd forgotten how annoying these event meetings could get if they were popular or anticipated. Just how many more people were to show up?

He ran a hand clad in a leather gauntlet through longish brown hair, pushing it away from his eyes. The teenager fell back to lean against the wall, the sheathed long sword strapped down over his blue coat making a clattering noise as it struck the wood. Lifting up one leg clad in black trousers and nondescript boots, he braced it against the wall and crossed his arms over the light breastplate hiding underneath his coat.

He gazed out over the gathered people in the ballroom, a sea of PC indicators hovering over them. His name and points status bar was in the corner of his vision, but it wasn't like he needed to pay attention to that in a protected zone.

"How much longer is this gonna take?" he wondered aloud. He'd been here for half a bloody hour already, and it had taken him a while to get here in the first place--traveling from a whole other bloody continent in the game--and his patience was wearing thin.

A quick check to make sure he wasn't hiding any weapon up his sleeve, and then her own hand leapt forward like a snake, taking his in a firm grip and shaking.

"Syn." She replied simply. "My name is Syn." Her eyes darted off to the side for a moment, her training kicking in, sweeping the area as she followed one man's movements in particular. Something was . . .off about him, it seemed.

But too long, too long. She snapped her gaze back to Madrigal, eyes searching his face for any signs of danger. And surprisingly, finding no apparent plans to have her shot in the back of the head. Not that this game had snipers. Or did it? She had tried to study the manual, but Lace had laughed at her and thrown it away, saying it was best to learn on the fly.

"It. . ." Her mind raced through the proper adjectives to express. Immediately crossing out her more familiar vocabulary and switching to something a touch benign. "Is pleasant to meet you, Madrigal." She added on stiffly.

Her solemn expression bordered on confusion for a moment, unsure of how to proceed. "So. Five years. That . . . you must be very . . powerful?" She hazarded.

Madrigal laughed at that good-naturedly. She really was a stiff one, but so far she didn't seem as malicious as she wanted to come across. Surprisingly, he found himself warming up to this idea. "Powerful? Well, I don't know about that; it depends on your definition of the word. Some people might say it's all about how many monsters you can kill. Others might say it's about the knowledge you have. Others still might say it's about the people you know. In some sense you might call me powerful, but others you might not. You know?"

---

She got up from a table of loud voices, chuckling at whatever they'd been talking about. What was that again? She couldn't remember already. With her she took her empty plate, intent on heading back to the food table to pick up some more. It might not actually be feeding her, but it sure did taste like the real thing. Her body on the outside was still alive, apparently, so what did it matter? Besides, you couldn't put weight on this body unless you actually wanted to.

She snaked her way through the tables, avoiding bumping into everyone too hard. In a moment, she was free of that cloud and entering into the dismal no-man's land that separated the introverts from the extroverts. Dozens of them, milling about the edges of the ballroom, unwilling to talk to anybody. Things were glum enough as it was for everyone in that room--they could use the livening up.

On her way to the food table, she passed an ordinary, warrior-looking kid with brown hair. He had a sword, and he seemed to be talking to himself. Or maybe talking to the sword? She heard him, though, and smirked at it, responding without thinking.

"Probably once Oracle gets over the fact that this is as many people as he's going to get. Heard he invited almost a thousand players, but looks like most of them are still hiding in their houses."

Narhari wondered why he had come. In fact, he wondered why even this many of the players had come, at Oracle's invitation. These were the "brave" of the bunch, and even so, many still seemed afraid that something might be lurking in the shadows, ready to end their suffering. Narhari feared that, too, but this place was safe, protected by the protocols of the game. He did wonder about the integrity of those, though. After all, their current predicament seemed to indicate that other oversights could happen elsewhere.

He tilted his head back, letting the conversation behind him drift into his ears with more ease. The man was strange, and not in the same way as the cautious woman, who, despite all her suspicion, did not seem to fear like the others. He'd been the one to initiate the conversation; Narhari had a difficult time accepting that at face value. An ordinary man might have approached the woman with flirtatious intent, easily hiding behind a digital persona. But all of these people were real. They had no life other than this.

Growing bold, Narhari decided he should introduce himself to the two. When Oracle finally decided to present himself, he expected something would change. Certainly, he had suggested some sort of important, potentially cataclysmic, solution. Others had aligned themselves with each other already, and though he was already had a guild, they would not understand. No, he needed to find others of like mind.

Narhari turned about, moving slowly, and easily within view of both. He looked to the man. "For us, I think it would be more appropriate to say that power is measured in the ability to survive." Narhari said Wryly.

The lad glanced over at the person speaking to him, noting that it was a woman and didn't look to be currently armed--which, of course, in a game meant precisely nothing. Mages didn't need to be armed to put the hurt on someone.

He snorted at her response. "This place couldn't fit a thousand players," he told her. "Hell I'd be shocked if it'd fit three hundred."

He gave the girl a curious once over, pondering what she said. "Hiding in their houses, huh. I take it you're stuck too?" he asked. It was obvious as to what he meant, though he knew most people didn't like talking about it.

She snorted a bit at that, pausing her approach to the food to talk with this guy. He didn't seem too bad, right off the bat. "Sure am. That was the idea, wasn't it? This whole gig was supposed to be a way to spring out the Theta folks. Dunno what Oracle's great idea is, though, but I guess it's bound to attract more than just trapped ones. Who knows what everyone else in this place wants?" She sighed at that, looking back at the tables and the people that stayed away from them.

"But yeah," she said, realizing she'd gotten away from herself, "one of the stuckers, that's me. You play long before this hit the fan?"

"Not really," he admitted to her with a slight shake of his head. "School and work got in the way. I'd played the beta a couple years back, but that's about it."

He started multitasking in the conversation, lifting up his right hand and swiping it down in a practiced manner, causing the game menu to appear in slightly transparent panels hovering in the air. He pressed a few options until he made it to the inbox, and found the private message from Oracle.

"Oh. Guess he did mention it, in a backwards roundabout manner," he said, frowning. "So everyone here's stuck?" he asked the woman.

The woman couldn't help but jerk her head toward him, watching the kid flip through the menus of the game. He had them configured all different than she did, but the way he did it made a lot of sense. "Wait, wait, wait," she said, backing up the conversation. "You played in the bloody beta? Wasn't that supposed to be an unmitigated disaster? I heard some people got stuck then, just like they are now." She eyed him now in a different light, glancing at the sword. Beta testers were rare enough to breed rumors, making them all but mythical depending on who you asked. He didn't look too special, but who knew? Looks could be deceiving in this game.

"If people got stuck in the beta, then it's news to me," he told her. "I mean, I never heard of anything like that. Might've been covered up if it happened, otherwise they'd've never gotten to release the game.

"As for it being a disaster? Well, a few boss enemies went out of control and some coding went haywire, but that can happen in any MMO," he continued. "If the beta was as bad as all the rumor-mongering idiots make it out to be, this game never would've seen the light of day in the first place."

He scoffed. "Well, given what happened I bet people want it taken off the shelves anyway."

For a long moment she considered what he said, still not entirely sure what to think of the guy. All his remarks seemed chilled and offhand, which could mean a couple of different things, but he wasn't rude yet, and she appreciated that. Then again, her expectations for the people on the outside of the social circle weren't exactly high. She realized, though, that she still held the empty plate in her hand, so she moved it over to her Recycling Bin. The item vanished from her hand at once, allowing her to cross them instinctively.

"Yeah," she said finally, "I bet they do. Dunno how long their hide will last, but I guess it doesn't make much of a difference for us right now, huh." She took her eyes off the room, turning them to the person she was talking to, "You got a name?"

"Rua Dragonheart," he introduced himself with a short inclination of his head, giving her his screen name. "You?"

"Terrel," she responded in kind, turning her face away from him again. She was darker than most of the folks that typically resided in Allondell, the home continent to this city. She'd had a few NPCs ask her if she was from Cher Plek, but the reality was that as a player it didn't really matter. Some folks got real into it, though, but it wasn't her thing.

"You know anyone else that's stuck?" she asked mildly, looking around the room again. They really were pretty interesting to watch. "Besides these guys, I mean."

Rua thought back at the question, cocking his head to the side a bit before shrugging. "I've met a couple people like that," he admitted to Terrel. "I don't go asking about for 'em. And people don't like admitting it for the most part anyway."

Too late for him, he supposed. If everyone present was stuck, there was little point in hiding the fact, from her or anyone else here.

There was more than a bit of triumph dancing around in her mind. She'd spotted the man who'd come to join the conversation. Maybe her skills weren't totally shot after three weeks of . . .this incredibly disconcerting game.

And Lace still wasn't back. Where had that bimbo gone?

Syn almost immediately reoriented to keep both men in her field of vision. Her body angled so as to also keep two of the three nearby exits within sight as well, her back to the wall.

"Survival in this game is apparently easy. You stay in the cities. Not like there's any chance of domestic terrorism, right?" She asked, her voice ending in sharper note.

Again her eyes skittered around, looking for her companion. Was that a dazzle of red hair she saw coming towards them? She prayed to whatever this game had for a god that it was. Lace had drug her into this, Lace could bloody well talk to the other nerds. Syn didn't know the terms, what any of the stupid menus ranging around her head were, and why in the world it kept on asking her to fill out a bio.

Her tense, wary face grimaced again, hand brushing against her hip in a familiar motion, though finding nothing there but the leather and cloth coat she wore. At least that was a small blessing, something vaguely resembling khakis, a long-sleeve shirt for warmth and a jacket that offered some hardened leather. She really, really had to check and see if this game had guns, or body-armor.

Narhari laughed bitterly at that. No chance of dying in a city? "Oh, the cities are certainly safer than the wilds. But you don't honestly believe that there isn't the possibility of an 'accident', after what has happened, do you?" He shook his head.

"I'd rather take my chances, looking for a way out." he turned to the man. He'd caught the woman's name, when he had passed by to move behind them. Syn. He hadn't had the fortune of overhearing his. "My name is Ajax." It would have been rude, to leave himself unintroduced, considering he knew the name of one of the two already. He looked at the "veteran" expectantly.

Terrel glanced at him. Well, that wasn't exactly what she'd meant, but it answered it all the same. Letting out a sigh, she thought about walking away from the man and moving on but decided against it. Maybe he really didn't know much, maybe he really hadn't played much, but who knew? Sometimes there was more to experience than just hours spent. Time passed could mean something.

"Any idea what Oracle's got lined up? Everything I've heard about him says that he's the real deal, but I don't know."


---

"I'm Madrigal," he said, with a smile. "And I've got to admit I agree with you. If someone were going to save us, you'd think it would have happened by now. I'd rather be looking for a solution than just sitting on my hands." He paused, eyeing the man who had joined him. Now there might be some hope with this one. "That's the whole point of this venture after all," he added, breaking his eyes off in search for Oracle. No sign of him yet.

"Well..."

Rua trailed off, thinking. He glanced downwards, staring at nothing and pursing his lips. "Well," he repeated again. "Oracle's not a Y-Corp staff member, so whatever he's gonna announce isn't official. That right there's gonna turn a lot of people off once they realize it."

Most people trapped just wanted to get the hell out. Once it became apparent that they were mode-locked into what were essentially Hardcore-type characters, in a world that was inherently far more violent than reality, it turned most people off of the idea of gaming.

"He likely got approached by the staff to forward some encouraging bullshit," he continued. The staff weren't really in the trapped players' good graces given their lack of progress on fixing things for them. "Or he's found something out. It's gotta be big if he wanted a thousand players here to hear it."

Syn's wary eyes danced back and forth between the two men. Clearly both veterans of this gameworld, it made her suspicious as to why they were even talking to her. In the physical world, she had skills. An ample supply of experience in ending someone's life in a swift and sure manner.

In this place? She most definitely didn't. From what she'd been able to pick up, with her few weeks. It was all . . .based on "leveling up". Whatever that was. Do more things, grow more powerful. She had half an instinct that getting shot in the head with an arrow wouldn't actually kill someone, but merely deduct an amount of . . health? hit-points? Whatever they were called.

She sighed audibly, Lace was much better at this.
____

Lithely winding her way through the crowd, a short, fiery-eyed, red-haired woman with an even-present smirk took note of Syn's wariness, uncertain in the extreme. The red-head laughed lightly, jogging up, sidling past the men to stand at Syn's side. "See Syn? I told you you'd make friends." She said lightly, a distinctly Irish accent to her voice.

This new girl stood almost equal height to her dark-haired friend. Her own hair a bit longer than a buzz, though still nowhere near her ears. Orange-flecked eyes that seemed to glimmer with an inner manic laughter. A thin, muscled frame with hardly any curves. She wrapped her arm around Syn's waist, smirking to the gentlemen. "I hope she's not too much of a bore."

Narhari watched as the newcomer slithered past him, sidling up next to Syn. He was surprised Syn had allowed that. She'd been relatively civil with her words, but her body language spoke that she was highly uncomfortable, and yet her was this other woman who had moved in easily into an embrace.

He eyed the other three. Compared to him, his own avatar was... unattractive, though he would have normally been considered plain. He'd chosen not to doctor his image; if one was to be absorbed in a world, was it not best to play as oneself? His decision had been fortuitous. When he looked in the virtual mirror, he saw Narhari Chatterjee, not some stranger named Ajax. His short, and slightly pudgy, build. His face that seemed pinched tight, like he were weathering a sandstorm. Everything.

"In fact, the opposite, miss." Narhari bowed slightly. Narhari had seen an opportunity, here at Oracle's gathering. Most of the attendees were "stuck" as he was, or were otherwise greatly interested in the issue. There was no place better than to find allies. Narhari was looking for the cream of the crop. "I had been about to suggest an alliance of sorts, temporary if desired. At least until this business here is over with. One should not rule out the possibility that, whatever Oracle presents, could prove to be more beneficial to groups," he pointed to one of the nearby groupings of acquaintances, "than it is to individuals."

Madrigal raised an eyebrow as the second woman joined the group. Probably not military, then. "Ajax is likely right," he added, his roaming eyes finally catching sight of the man they were looking for. "But," he said slowly, "it seems that the mystery will finally end." He knew a few things about this Oracle fellow--perhaps more than most people in the room. Any player could throw on a name like 'Oracle' and pretend to be mysterious and powerful, but what Madrigal knew of the man suggested there was merit in coming.

He knew Oracle had a history of getting around this game. He'd spent time with the Stamarians, the Korin, and even the White Lions, but it was anyone's guess as to who he allied himself with now. Perhaps he hoped to start his own group, here and now? It would be a tough sell. The thing all these people had in common was something no one really wanted to publicly identify with.

Oracle was dark in skin, a brown deep enough to be almost black, and he walked with purpose. Appearances, of course, meant little in Ymaggion, but he carried an ounce of intimidation all the same. As he mounted the stage in the room, most chatter faded to silence, and the man's words were amplified across the room as he spoke them.

"Greetings, brothers and sisters," he said slowly, placing his arms behind his back and gazing across the small crowd as if they were his disciples. Madrigal shifted uncomfortably. "For those of you who have come, I commend your courage and bravery for venturing this far. In a moment, I will address the reason I have called you here, but first I will remove those who do not stand among us."

The room murmured at that, but Oracle merely raised his hand, and a large, red light came from his palm. It flashed once, and red light bathed the room for a moment before vanishing, taking perhaps a dozen individuals with it. At that, Madrigal couldn't help but nod slightly in approval. Oracle had just booted every player or NPC in the room that wasn't on his invitation list, meaning everyone still here was truly stuck in the game.

"Now," Oracle continued, placing his hand behind his back again as if nothing had interrupted him, "we must talk action. Everyone standing here stands under the oppression of Ymaggion Corporation. To us they gave the gift of bondage, leaving us trapped here with no way out. Weeks later, here we still are. It seems to me that if there were a solution only they could give us, we would have it by now. Even their administrators look for the fault within the game, not outside of it. If there is a solution, I believe we may be able to find it just as well as they. In fact, I believe we may be the only ones able to find it, for it is our own destiny."

Oracle unbound his hands from behind his back again, raising them both forward, palm-up. A blue light appeared, this time, and from it came a scroll that unfurled itself before the room. "This here is the sixth prophesy of Kasdim-Ur," he said loudly, "and from it, I will now read:

The scroll closed in front of Oracle, and the man simply nodded solemnly at those gathered before him. "This information is yours. Do with it as you will."

---

Up on the stage, Oracle was making to leave, though a dozen players were already trying to get to him. A new Private Message flashed in the corner of Terrel's display, and she opened it. Glancing quickly around the room suggested she was not the only one. As she selected it, the cool voice read the title The Arcanum Relics inside her ear. She frowned at that, turning to Rua.

"Did you get this too?"

Rua wasn't sure what to make of all the pomp that Oracle just spewed at the gathered players. If he didn't know any better, he'd've said that Oracle was an NPC triggering a quest--but NPCs didn't mention the game company in their speeches.

But now he'd just set them all another private message. Terrel's own question was answered as the notification popped up on a screen in front of Rua. "Looks like it," he said, as he pushed the confirmation button to open it. "Let's see what this crap is about."