You see a mechanical flip clock turn over from 7:59 to 8:00 PM.
Beneath the enchanting yet eerie confines of an abandoned theme park, amidst the sterile steel walls of a peculiar palace, a contradiction unfolds. The cold, clinical hues of science clash and meld with the vibrant, rebellious colors of adolescence. Crooked band posters hang near framed mathematical proofs, their sharp colors challenging the stark grey walls. An ancient gaming console lies in a quiet corner, surrounded by beakers and tangled wires, a testament to the equilibrium that exists here. One wall shimmers with what appear to be holograms, displaying various settings from verdant meadows to starlit skies, as if mimicking the outside world. A small, personal library boasts a collection of science fiction and fantasy comics, sitting alongside numerous sketchbooks filled with doodles and dreams.
Scientific and fantastical equipment litter the space, from towering computers with blinking lights and humming servers to mystical artifacts glimmering with latent magic. Embedded in one wall is an enormous, bulky computer screen made of glass and tan-colored aluminum panels. Its life has long since expired. The letters "C.A.S.S.I" are barely visible across the top, and the screen is marred by a network of cracks. Graffiti written with a chisel-tip marker covers the panels and extends onto the walls in all directions. On a bedside table, the numbers on the clock flip to a new time.
Scientific and fantastical equipment litter the space, from towering computers with blinking lights and humming servers to mystical artifacts glimmering with latent magic. Embedded in one wall is an enormous, bulky computer screen made of glass and tan-colored aluminum panels. Its life has long since expired. The letters "C.A.S.S.I" are barely visible across the top, and the screen is marred by a network of cracks. Graffiti written with a chisel-tip marker covers the panels and extends onto the walls in all directions. On a bedside table, the numbers on the clock flip to a new time.
...8:01...
This was Miranda's sanctuary. Her fortress. A place where the lines between the ordinary and extraordinary, between childhood and the world beyond, are beautifully blurred. At the heart of it all, an open journal sits like a tiny unassuming oracle. Handwriting in more brightly colored marker hold tales of a world at the edge of a monumental moment.
You are able to read the words on the page.
"In a quiet corner of the universe, where the mundane dances with the miraculous, there exists a planet perched between wakefulness and lucid dreams. This is MUNDANIA. A realm where ideas are reality’s heartbeat. On good days, I can pretend it's all okay, that I can still make sense of a world that's so horribly cracked and twisted. I tinker with my spells, rewrite code, fine-tune the stories I’ve folded into each other. I tell myself I’m holding everything together. But these dreams, potent and vital, are gradually waning. It's the silence of anticipation, of held breath before the coaster's plunge. It's been years, but every day feels like I am back where this all started. Still learning to control these abilities with the help of Dr. Caine -my mentor, my friend, my stand-in dad."
You are able to read the words on the page.
"In a quiet corner of the universe, where the mundane dances with the miraculous, there exists a planet perched between wakefulness and lucid dreams. This is MUNDANIA. A realm where ideas are reality’s heartbeat. On good days, I can pretend it's all okay, that I can still make sense of a world that's so horribly cracked and twisted. I tinker with my spells, rewrite code, fine-tune the stories I’ve folded into each other. I tell myself I’m holding everything together. But these dreams, potent and vital, are gradually waning. It's the silence of anticipation, of held breath before the coaster's plunge. It's been years, but every day feels like I am back where this all started. Still learning to control these abilities with the help of Dr. Caine -my mentor, my friend, my stand-in dad."
...8:02...
"The DREAMWALKERS, heroes of the Dreaming, stand at the ready. A path of danger lies ahead of them, but their hearts are brave and determined. I just hope it's enough. The destiny of my world is in their hands now. I see glimpses of them. Matthew, the family man, always with a kind smile on his face. Parker, the London mage, a whirlwind of power and passion. James, who doesn’t know it yet, but he's got starlight running through his veins. And so many others who have come and gone in this story. I’ve seen snippets of their lives, their importance - but to what end?
I never should have been dealing with reality fractures or anomalies. I'm supposed to be arguing about Duran Duran with Jessica and Michael, playing duck hunt with Clyde, making mixtapes with Donald and trying to keep up with his crazy new theories about space-time. That’s who I am. That’s who I want to be."
I never should have been dealing with reality fractures or anomalies. I'm supposed to be arguing about Duran Duran with Jessica and Michael, playing duck hunt with Clyde, making mixtapes with Donald and trying to keep up with his crazy new theories about space-time. That’s who I am. That’s who I want to be."
...8:03...
"But all that seems so far away now. Cassy, my friend - she was my link to the past. But now shes gone. Someone smashed her, just like the glass that separates my world from the real one. Each crack, each mark of graffiti on the walls, feels like a reflection of me, of the fractures that have made their way into my soul.
I'm so tired.
The clock keeps ticking away, and I can feel the final countdown approaching. One more level to beat, one more boss to face, but I’ve used up all my extra lives.
Knock, knock."
I'm so tired.
The clock keeps ticking away, and I can feel the final countdown approaching. One more level to beat, one more boss to face, but I’ve used up all my extra lives.
Knock, knock."
...8:04...
As you read the last line, there is a harsh, metallic knock at the fortress wall that pulls your attention from the journal. A voice resonates in the sterile air, its monotonous timbre a stark contrast to the youthful chaos of Miranda's sanctuary.
...8:05.
"Miranda," the voice, unmistakably Caliban's, booms in the quiet room. The sharp, rhythmic knocks on the wall underscore his words, "it's Cal. Can I come into the fortress?"~
You see the crown jewel of the Avalon Ascendancy, the city Uthelion appear within your vision.
Your view descends into the crowded street and makes its way to the shoreline of a vast central sea.
A man named Garan worked steadily in the nocturnal glow of Uthelion's harbor, the endless constellations of the realms overhead illuminating the otherwise dim dockyards. A floating orb of daylight followed him, casting long shadows across a cobblestone pier piled with crates. Like an unwavering tempo in a symphony, he moved with purpose and strength, his calloused hands guiding ropes and pulleys as he hauled cargo onto a nearby ship. The vessel looked like an old sailing galleon, but that was the only similarity. Its sails were veils of ethereal canvas designed to catch magical waves of force, and the hull was reinforced to withstand the unformed dreaming. Even the crates were enchanted to make them light enough for Garan to lift twice their number. This dance of labor and magic was second nature to him, a ritual honed by years spent adapting to the Dreaming.
An unexpected voice broke his rhythm, "Garan, my friend, you're all muscle and no enigma, or maybe that is the mystery," it chided. Landon, a more seasoned dockhand, leaned against a pile of luminescent crates, an amused smirk adorning his lined face.
Garan grunted a response, heaving a hefty crate onto the spectral ship with an extra burst of exertion. "In a place like this, Landon, I'd rather keep my feet on solid ground than my head in the clouds."
"But what if the clouds hold secrets?" Landon countered, his voice tense, "like where a person has come from, when they've seamingly appeared out of thin air."
Before Garan could respond, a figure emerged from the gloaming. He was an elderly man whose age was at odds with his steadfast gaze and the sureness of his stride. His hair was the color of moonlight, a matching goatee accentuating his distinguished features. This was a man well past his hundredth year, yet still vital, still brimming with purpose.
"Meet Medicus Thorn," Landon introduced, his voice carrying a note of reverence. "A Praetor of the Ashir Order."
Medicus nodded, a small, intrigued smile playing at his lips as he studied Garan. "I wonder, lad, have you ever been beyond the constellations?" He gestured up to the stars, and his voice was soft, yet it carried a weight.
A moment's silence followed. Then, Medicus dropped a question into the still air. "Garan was it? Have you ever heard of the Mobius Society?"~
A man named Garan worked steadily in the nocturnal glow of Uthelion's harbor, the endless constellations of the realms overhead illuminating the otherwise dim dockyards. A floating orb of daylight followed him, casting long shadows across a cobblestone pier piled with crates. Like an unwavering tempo in a symphony, he moved with purpose and strength, his calloused hands guiding ropes and pulleys as he hauled cargo onto a nearby ship. The vessel looked like an old sailing galleon, but that was the only similarity. Its sails were veils of ethereal canvas designed to catch magical waves of force, and the hull was reinforced to withstand the unformed dreaming. Even the crates were enchanted to make them light enough for Garan to lift twice their number. This dance of labor and magic was second nature to him, a ritual honed by years spent adapting to the Dreaming.
An unexpected voice broke his rhythm, "Garan, my friend, you're all muscle and no enigma, or maybe that is the mystery," it chided. Landon, a more seasoned dockhand, leaned against a pile of luminescent crates, an amused smirk adorning his lined face.
Garan grunted a response, heaving a hefty crate onto the spectral ship with an extra burst of exertion. "In a place like this, Landon, I'd rather keep my feet on solid ground than my head in the clouds."
"But what if the clouds hold secrets?" Landon countered, his voice tense, "like where a person has come from, when they've seamingly appeared out of thin air."
Before Garan could respond, a figure emerged from the gloaming. He was an elderly man whose age was at odds with his steadfast gaze and the sureness of his stride. His hair was the color of moonlight, a matching goatee accentuating his distinguished features. This was a man well past his hundredth year, yet still vital, still brimming with purpose.
"Meet Medicus Thorn," Landon introduced, his voice carrying a note of reverence. "A Praetor of the Ashir Order."
Medicus nodded, a small, intrigued smile playing at his lips as he studied Garan. "I wonder, lad, have you ever been beyond the constellations?" He gestured up to the stars, and his voice was soft, yet it carried a weight.
A moment's silence followed. Then, Medicus dropped a question into the still air. "Garan was it? Have you ever heard of the Mobius Society?"~
A lazy puff of smoke hovers in the dimly lit ambience of a room filled with retro blacklight posters, comfy beanbag chairs, and a vintage 90's radio station console.
Narrator: "In the not too distant future, right here in our bustling metropolis, an underground radio station, WKBD, hums to life..."
Quick shots of our main characters: two amiable amigos named Ziggy and Bingo. They exchange a friendly fist bump, then lean into the radio console, mics at the ready.
Narrator: "Enter Ziggy and Bingo, two mellow DJs whose schedules are as relaxed as their dress codes."
A shot of the station door slamming shut and a hefty lock being secured.
Narrator: "Caught in a debt to their grumpy station manager, Mr. Mondo, they're now confined to the station until every penny is paid back."
Shot of Mr. Mondo pointing to a large debt board, contrasted with our heroes giving a carefree shrug.
Narrator: "Armed with nothing but their sharp wit, an endless supply of snacks, and the loyal feedback of their radio listeners, they're embarking on a hilarious journey across the channels."
Shots of a red hotline phone and fan letters spilling out of a mail chute.
Narrator: "So join Ziggy and Bingo on 'Buddy Cinema Soundwaves'. Tune in, sync up your TV, and prepare to laugh like never before. They're watching and riffing on them all, so you don't have to!"
Cuts to the show's title as the theme song reaches a crescendo, then fades into the first scene of the episode.~
Quick shots of our main characters: two amiable amigos named Ziggy and Bingo. They exchange a friendly fist bump, then lean into the radio console, mics at the ready.
Narrator: "Enter Ziggy and Bingo, two mellow DJs whose schedules are as relaxed as their dress codes."
A shot of the station door slamming shut and a hefty lock being secured.
Narrator: "Caught in a debt to their grumpy station manager, Mr. Mondo, they're now confined to the station until every penny is paid back."
Shot of Mr. Mondo pointing to a large debt board, contrasted with our heroes giving a carefree shrug.
Narrator: "Armed with nothing but their sharp wit, an endless supply of snacks, and the loyal feedback of their radio listeners, they're embarking on a hilarious journey across the channels."
Shots of a red hotline phone and fan letters spilling out of a mail chute.
Narrator: "So join Ziggy and Bingo on 'Buddy Cinema Soundwaves'. Tune in, sync up your TV, and prepare to laugh like never before. They're watching and riffing on them all, so you don't have to!"
Cuts to the show's title as the theme song reaches a crescendo, then fades into the first scene of the episode.~
On the Streets of Uthelion, miles from the docks, you see a second meeting of secrets unfold.
Uthelion buzzed with life, even as the moon claimed the sky. Against this lively backdrop, two figures had a quiet rendezvous, hidden within the city's ever-present shadows. One was dressed up like an Uthelion Guard, his hard exterior occasionally disrupted by ghostly purple tendrils that marked him as a Nightwalker. The second figure was nondescript, ordinary to any passersby. His identity was tucked away under a cloak of shadows, the same telltale tendrils flickering across his skin.
They stood beneath the dim light of a street lamp, their voices low, barely registering against the distant sounds of laughter and merriment from a nearby tavern. "Dalor," the man in civilian clothing spoke up. His voice was soft, blending seamlessly with the city's nocturnal hum. "Any news?"
Dalor gave a slight shake of his head. "Still no sign of the seer. But there's something else. We've heard the Hope is on its way. And we've got a Dreamwalker, maybe even two, who have strayed from their pack."
The news hung in the air, adding a new layer of complexity to their mission. They'd only heard whispers of the seer's existence in Uthelion, and now there were isolated Dreamwalkers to consider.
"We stick to the plan," the other Nightwalker responded, the edge in his voice cutting through the tension. "Find the seer and keep tabs on these Dreamwalkers."
Then, just like that, they dissolved back into the ebb and flow of Uthelion's nightlife, their resolve echoing in the city's silent tales. The game was far from over. They had a job to do, and they were going to see it through. The hunt was on.~
They stood beneath the dim light of a street lamp, their voices low, barely registering against the distant sounds of laughter and merriment from a nearby tavern. "Dalor," the man in civilian clothing spoke up. His voice was soft, blending seamlessly with the city's nocturnal hum. "Any news?"
Dalor gave a slight shake of his head. "Still no sign of the seer. But there's something else. We've heard the Hope is on its way. And we've got a Dreamwalker, maybe even two, who have strayed from their pack."
The news hung in the air, adding a new layer of complexity to their mission. They'd only heard whispers of the seer's existence in Uthelion, and now there were isolated Dreamwalkers to consider.
"We stick to the plan," the other Nightwalker responded, the edge in his voice cutting through the tension. "Find the seer and keep tabs on these Dreamwalkers."
Then, just like that, they dissolved back into the ebb and flow of Uthelion's nightlife, their resolve echoing in the city's silent tales. The game was far from over. They had a job to do, and they were going to see it through. The hunt was on.~
Your vision shifts to a deep jungle island situated near a vast and distant sea.
Under a moonless night, a battalion of Ellerusian guards, well-disciplined and freshly equipped, quietly moved towards their target: a suspicious camp nestled in a narrow valley between jagged cliff faces. Captain Erenor, a grizzled veteran of countless battles, took point, signaling for his men to spread out, their weapons at the ready. The camp itself was poorly lit and eerily silent. The makeshift structures huddled together as if they were conspiring in whispers, revealing nothing. The fluttering sails of an airship stood out, the silhouette barely visible in the darkness, an ominous warning of the raiders they were about to confront.
With a single, swift motion, Erenor signaled the advance. Hearts pounded in rhythm with the echo of boots against the rocky ground. Each guard mentally prepared for the chaos of combat, the storm before the calm.
But the storm never came.
As they infiltrated the camp, they found it seemingly abandoned. The tents were empty, the fires cold, no sign of the raucous brigands that were promised. A sense of unease filled the air. Something was off.
Too late, Erenor realized the truth. "It's a trap!" he began, but his warning was cut short by the ground shaking beneath their feet.
Hidden devices sprung to life. A deafening rumble echoed throughout the valley as the earth split, swallowing several of the guards. Crossbow bolts sprung from hidden recesses, and tripwires set off explosives, scattering the rest in a whirlwind of chaos and confusion.
In the relative safety of the shadows, the brigands silently observed. Their meticulously planned traps had sprung to life flawlessly. Their leader, a grizzled dwarf, smirked with satisfaction. Where his arm should have been, a formidable harpoon gun was mounted—a grim symbol of his fierce resolve. Its imposing silhouette gleamed under the sparse light of another explosion.
"We'll make our retreat, lads," he ordered in a low growl, turning his gaze to the ship's silhouette. "Let 'em chew on this for a bit."
The brigands retreated without a trace, leaving behind a devastated Ellerusian force and a camp littered with clever traps. They would not know who had bested them this night, only that they had underestimated their foe. For this was not just a group of brigands, this was something more... a powerful alliance concealed within the cloak of the Dreaming.~
With a single, swift motion, Erenor signaled the advance. Hearts pounded in rhythm with the echo of boots against the rocky ground. Each guard mentally prepared for the chaos of combat, the storm before the calm.
But the storm never came.
As they infiltrated the camp, they found it seemingly abandoned. The tents were empty, the fires cold, no sign of the raucous brigands that were promised. A sense of unease filled the air. Something was off.
Too late, Erenor realized the truth. "It's a trap!" he began, but his warning was cut short by the ground shaking beneath their feet.
Hidden devices sprung to life. A deafening rumble echoed throughout the valley as the earth split, swallowing several of the guards. Crossbow bolts sprung from hidden recesses, and tripwires set off explosives, scattering the rest in a whirlwind of chaos and confusion.
In the relative safety of the shadows, the brigands silently observed. Their meticulously planned traps had sprung to life flawlessly. Their leader, a grizzled dwarf, smirked with satisfaction. Where his arm should have been, a formidable harpoon gun was mounted—a grim symbol of his fierce resolve. Its imposing silhouette gleamed under the sparse light of another explosion.
"We'll make our retreat, lads," he ordered in a low growl, turning his gaze to the ship's silhouette. "Let 'em chew on this for a bit."
The brigands retreated without a trace, leaving behind a devastated Ellerusian force and a camp littered with clever traps. They would not know who had bested them this night, only that they had underestimated their foe. For this was not just a group of brigands, this was something more... a powerful alliance concealed within the cloak of the Dreaming.~
