Z
Zigathon
Guest
Your eyes fly open. You realize you are not alone. Others are waking up around you. You feel as though you may have been drugged. Your mind is a blank canvas. Your memories are like a washed out watercolor painting. Faded and out of focus.
There are seven of you in a square room that is roughly twenty feet around. The walls are made of stone. There doesn't appear to be a door. There certainly aren't any windows. The room is dimly lit by some kind of glowing orb in the center of the ceiling, which is well out of reach.
You sit up, sore from lying on the stone floor for an undetermined amount of time. The others are doing the same.
In the center of the room are nine objects. Seven of which are backpacks. There are words written on them. One bears your name. They are situated around a pillar. The pillar is perhaps four feet high and adorned with runes. Next to the pillar is a square box. One side of the box has a glass front. There is a row of buttons below the glass.
Groggily, you must decide what to do now...
There are seven of you in a square room that is roughly twenty feet around. The walls are made of stone. There doesn't appear to be a door. There certainly aren't any windows. The room is dimly lit by some kind of glowing orb in the center of the ceiling, which is well out of reach.
You sit up, sore from lying on the stone floor for an undetermined amount of time. The others are doing the same.
In the center of the room are nine objects. Seven of which are backpacks. There are words written on them. One bears your name. They are situated around a pillar. The pillar is perhaps four feet high and adorned with runes. Next to the pillar is a square box. One side of the box has a glass front. There is a row of buttons below the glass.
Groggily, you must decide what to do now...