≫ GATEWAY ROLEPLAY'S PLANS FOR BUILD 41 ≪

  • On 08/10/2022, we made the jump to Build 41 to finish up What We Become Part II: What Remains!

    Everything written in our Build 41 FAQ posted 12/19/2021 still stands—Gateway Roleplay's applications will not be opening up again until What We Become Part II: What Remains concludes. Notes have been added to the FAQ to clarify this.

    We are still deep in the development stage of our next lore and need more time to make it as great as we possibly can for you all. We also don't want to cut short a lore that's been running for nearly a year and a half for the few players that have stuck it out with us.

    We don't have an ETA on when we'll be finished with What We Become Part II: What Remains. Stay tuned for the announcement on our next lore! If you join our Discord, you'll be notified as soon as our announcement drops.

    We're also looking for new admins! If you're interested in joining the team, don't hesitate to send in an application here. All new admins will be added to the team once our current lore has concluded.

    Thanks for your understanding!!

"Those are some funny words, Magic Man!"

Anonymous

Guest
Long, long, long time ago... In a past, now very distant, in the old days when Monroe has not yet been discovered. A travelling, road-weary Texas finds himself in a shanty town built around a salt mine in a bayou. If salt had a smell, it'd be all over this place and it's friendly, nearly-blind citizens.

...Which would be an improvement, really.

Never being one to pass an opportunity for trade and gossip, Texas finds little trade that doesn't involve salt in some way.

With the trade option now being less of a priority, he finds himself wandering the various shacks of the exquisite settlement before him.
It didn't take too long for him to find a big shack, the type of shack that has more meaning than the other, much smaller shacks.

A dormitory of sorts!

Someone has set up shop in their dorm room. A sign on the door says "Magic Mike Mike the Magician: He'll divine answers to all your questions!"


Texas peeks inside. Heavy curtains line the walls that are otherwise full of crudely drawn pictures of monsters, expensive submarines and well-endowed women. In the middle of the room is a round table with a couple of empty bottles of Europan moonshine and a crystal ball. A man wearing thick glasses and a sloppily tied turban is sitting behind the table. He squints and motions him to take a seat. "I'm Mike," he croaks. "5 silver to ask me anything."

His years on the road has taught him valuable lessons about bandits and such but he has never encountered a charlatan before.

Like any other young man, thirsty for knowledge, he obliges the magician. As Texas rummages through his pockets, he finds just that! 5 silver coins! Most definitely earned through hard-work and not stolen/looted from someone! He only has one chance to obtain infinite knowledge before he rides out of here.

And now, dear reader, what question should our beloved Texas ask?

A. "What's the meaning of life?"

Mike conjures up a bottle of booze. "Real original." He takes a swig. "There are a few schools of thought, but basically it boils down to this: Either you make life good for yourself or do good by others." He reaches over the table to offer Texas a drink and knocks down a few bottles in the process. They shatter on the floor. "Shit." Mike slumps down dejectedly. "There's no God," he mutters as he pushes himself up and starts for the cleaning closet. "Session's over."


"Oh, uh, alright."


B. "Is the rest of the world doing any better?"
Mike blinks. "What? I don't know. Probably? I can't really tell ya, I've never been there." He turns toward a bunk. "Hey Jimmy! Is the rest of the world doing any better?" A bundle of sheets stirs a bit. "Is the—? Fuck off Mike, I'm sleeping," it mumbles back. Mike scratches the back of his head. "See? No-one knows. However, believe or not, I used to have a pen pal a few years back from, uh... What was it, Europe, I think? A real prolific writer. No wonder, you ought to get a lot of writing done with twelve fingers. Wonder what happened to him." He chuckles and flashes his rotting teeth. "Probably ran outta bottles 'n paper, eh?"


"Um, I, uh, I mean... I guess."


C. "What's up with the dead people coming back from, erm, the- the dead?"
"Oh, this is a good one." Mike leans back in his chair. It squeaks in protest. "The legend has it that a butcher shop got some shifty supplies delivered to 'em from somewhere near Florida. Once people started buying and eating, they started gettin' the shivers 'n the spasms. Turns out the cattle-farmer who delivered the meat was feedin' the livestock to each other! And then once it was their turn, they got shipped off to the market. And the people who ate the meat went crazy and, well, here we are," He picks his nose and pensively inspects his findings. "Ever since, Florida has been deemed the number one enemy of mankind. The city's now completely abandoned. Only those who partake willingly in the vile horrors of man-eating live there."


"Really?" Texas asks, enthralled.

He flicks the booger off. "No. But that's all I got."

"...I want my money back."
 
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