What are the Plotblades?

I'm glad you asked! The Plotblades are fragments of an ancient entity slain in ages long lost**** by the combined efforts of almost every Narrator in TLT. But Plot was, as you may have guessed, an entity of immense power. And Narrators, as powerful as they may have been, were unable to completely destroy him. Instead, they merely splintered him apart, destroying his consciousness^ and forming the Plotblades.

The most powerful^* Plotblade is Vengeance. This Plotblade, currently wielded by Platypus, holds its power not because Vengeance was naturally an important part of Plot, but because of Plot's intense desire for Vengeance against the Narrators who killed him. But don't worry about that, it will surely never be relevant! Instead, let's talk about what Plotblades can do!

Plotblades are made up of Plot's essence, and as such, hold near-total power over the aspect of Plot they are aligned with. Theoretically, a Plotblade exists for each and every different plot trope. Examples include: Happily Ever After, a Plotblade wielded by the Priest, used by him to help others attain the happiness that was so cruelly stolen from him. (Oh wait. Forget I said that. Spoilers.) This Plot'blade' takes the form of a huge book, which, I have it on good authority, contains every Happy Ending ever written in TLT. Another Plotblade is Conflict, held currently by the ex-Narrator Sequence. This Plotblade allows its wielder to fight evenly with any opponent, no matter how powerful they may be.

These Plotblades are only two examples, and there are many more. You get the point though. Plotblades are based on plot tropes and give powers related to those tropes. Now, let's get into the really juicy stuff. How might you, a prospective Author itching for a cool thematic power up for one of your characters, or a character itching for said thematic power up, get your hands on one of these Blades?

Well, it's (relatively) easy! There are a couple ways, but the basic idea is that you have to align to the Plotblade's intent somewhat. The more core the Plotblade, the more important and necessary that becomes (with a few exceptions).

How do you do this? For one, you could try to take a Plotblade from a character who already has one. This won't be easy, but so long as their Author allows it, it is possible. You'll probably have to get them to agree to a contest of some sort to prove your superior worthiness.

Another, more common method of claiming a Plotblade is by going on a quest related to the Plotblade's intent. For example, if you wanted to claim the Plotblade of Forging, you could apprentice under the Dreamsmith. These quests aren't always strictly related to the Plotblade's intent, but hey, it's kind of cool to stick with a theme, right?

This last method is only for Authors, I'm afraid. If you really want a character to have a Plotblade, but don't have time to make them go on a quest, then I've got good news! You can just give them one! My Author's done it, Platypus did it, and plenty more Authors have taken this path. Just make sure there's some explanation for how such a Blade came into their possession, and that it's well-suited for them. An example from my Author is the Priest. He was made specifically with the idea of Happily Ever After in mind, hence his wedding-centered profession (and dark backstory, but that's a story for another day).

Well, that about sums it up! Hopefully this guide was helpful, so get on out there and claim the Plotblade of your dreams! 

Until next time, I'll be wandering the endless world of the afterlife.

Yours truly,

The brave adventurer

*Absolutely not.

**Mostly, although the lore has evolved over the many pages since the concept of Plot's blade first germinated.

***Subjectively.

****Page 2254, to be exact. Back when ancients like yours truly still wandered the lands of the living.

^Mostly.

^*Well, in most circumstances. Plotblades aren't necessarily always about 'power'. Even 'weak' Plotblades hold near-total mastery over their respective domains. But this one is actually more powerful than the rest, and if wielded by a competent user, is able to exert limited influence over the rest of the Plotblades.

Malevolence approached the dark cave with characteristic confidence. He wore a black lab coat, Mordite Blade strapped to his waist. His violet eyes gleamed with anticipation as he called out.

"Are you there? I seek th-"

"I know why you are here." The voice, filled with aggression, seemed to speak from all directions at once. Before Malevolence could reply, the cave's mouth moved, shadows within twisting into knife-like teeth as it careened forwards, swallowing the young villain whole.

--

Malevolence stood in a plane of endless shifting mists. Faces form out of the darkness all around him, some unfamiliar, others terrifyingly so. One shape, with the features of Malan, formed from the shadows and spoke in Omen's voice.

"You would seek the Dreamsmith? You, a villain of the highest caliber?"

Malevolence shivered, staring into the face of a villain dead by his betrayal. "I... Yes. I know that other villains have sought out the Dreamsmith and been rewarded. Rebus, Ivisyre. While Desolation was turned away, the other more recent examples prove his desire to forge a weapon for anyone he believes can benefit from it."

Omen stared at Malevolence through the accusing eyes of a dead man. "Very well. But know this: Your trial will not be easy. And the Dreamsmith will not make a weapon merely for destruction, even if you do survive."

Malevolence hesitated. This was a gamble, perhaps a greater gamble than any he'd taken so far. To put himself into the hands of Omen, into the hands of the Dreamsmith... But it was necessary. The return of the Witherlord was imminent. The Antagonist was running free.

"This is no time for easy trials." Malevolence's confidence seemed to push back the shifting smoke, dispel the images of the dead. "I will face this trial, and overcome it. I need an edge for what is to come."

"Very well." Murmured Omen. And all went black.

--

Malevolence stood in a room that had long been seared into his memory. Before him sat a room full of children. Beside him stood a teacher. At first glance, it was an ordinary classroom. On second glance, discrepancies began to pop up. The teacher's face was covered in scars, an eyepatch covering one eye. The remaining eye that scanned the classroom held none of the care or respect that might be expected of a teacher. Instead, it held nothing but loathing and scorn for the children.

The children. Yes, that was where the differences were most apparent. The children looked to be about twelve or thirteen years old, and they did not fidget. They did not glance toward the door longingly, nor were there any conspiratorial whispers passed along the rows. The children sat at perfect attention, eyes shifting suspiciously around the room, towards their teacher, and towards their fellows.

"Ah." Malevolence whispered softly. "The School of Evil. I should have known you would bring me here. And, if I remember correctly, this is..." He scanned the classroom more carefully. "Ah, there he is." One boy was not scanning the classroom for suspicious behavior. One boy was staring at Malevolence with pleading violet eyes. A younger Malevolence, with hair not white but brown, sat before him.

"Well do I remember this day." Malevolence murmured. "Not everyone at the School was a student from infancy, as I was. Indeed, some were even child heroes before being captured and twisted into villains. I trusted one of those, fool that I was, with my plans to escape. This... was my reward." He opened his mouth to speak the words that would condemn his younger self to weeks of punishment. Not simply torture, no, not yet. He would be beaten, but not too severely. It would not do to stunt the growth of a prospective student. The teachers would declare him weak, holding onto ideals of Good. He would be reassigned to remedial classes, forced to work to exhaustion and beyond. He would eat nothing but maggot-filled bread and water for weeks on end. Nutritious, due to the genetically modified strain of maggot, but revolting. But worst of all was ostracization of the other students. None of them would come near Malevolence or even speak with him, save to insult or demean him. It would not do to be seen having empathy for the downtrodden. Indeed, the cruelty of the students, desperate to please their teachers, was far worse than any punishment they could have meted out.

"Well?" Prompted the teacher. "Speak, Inhumanity. You told me you had something to say."

Malevolence hesitated. He was in the position of Inhumanity, the student who had betrayed him. Perhaps-

Omen's voice interrupted his thoughts. "I thought you should see this through another's eyes. Look, Malevolence, and see the truth behind this child's betrayal."

--

He was in another place. A darkened room, strapped to a chair, with two teachers standing above him, a bright light shining into his eyes. "Hello Inhumanity. We heard you've been plotting escape."

"I have not!" The voice came from Malevolence's lips, a voice not his own. "And my name is not Inhumanity! My name is Eric!"

The teachers laughed dryly. "Is that so? Then what, pray tell, is this?"

The bright light dimmed, revealing a screen. A camera recording, by the look of things. It showed Malevolence and Inhumanity, lying down on their beds in a dark room. Malevolence had a tiny device plugged into an outlet on the wall, and he typed into it frantically. Eventually, he glanced at the ceiling, then smiled. He turned to Inhumanity and spoke in a hushed voice. “I think that does it. The cameras are disabled. Now I can tell you about my plan.”

The recording cut off, light returning to near-blinding intensity. The two teachers leaned in close. “Do you still deny your involvement? Or will you listen to what we have to say? If you listen well, you might just escape punishment.”

Malevolence felt a desperate spark of hope swell within his chest. Again, Inhumanity’s voice spoke through Malevolence’s lips.

“What… What do you want me to do?”

The teachers looked at one another and grinned. They began to speak, but the words faded, as did the blinding light.

All faded to darkness.

--

Malevolence stood again in the place of shifting shadows. Omen stood before him, this time taking Inhumanity’s shape.

“Do you understand now, Malevolence?”

Malevolence stood still, his mind reeling with implications.

“I… do. I… should have believed. That is how they operate. The teachers… they saw an opportunity to crush an aspiring hero, and perhaps to motivate a promising young villain with hatred.” He looked at Omen, eyes narrowing. “I see the trial now. You want me to see this, one of my foundational moments as a villain, and realize that the boy I have hated for so long was just as much a victim as I was. You want me to acknowledge that I too would have betrayed myself, in Inhumanity’s position.”

Instead of responding, Omen merely waved a hand. Shadows lengthened, and all went black.

--

Omen was back in the classroom, seeing the world through Inhumanity’s eyes. This time, he felt Inhumanity’s emotions too. Guilt, crushing guilt, flooded through him. But stronger than the guilt was the fear. The fear of punishment, the fear that he would simply be killed, too much trouble to rehabilitate. Hating himself for it, Malevolence raised his hand and pointed at younger self. The horror spreading across that face as he opened his mouth and spoke, condemning that child, himself, to a horrible fate, was too much too bear. Malevolence squeezed his eyes shut.

--

Malevolence stood before Omen in the place of shadows. A simple wooden door stood before him. This time, Omen was in his native form, one with the shadows and the smoke. “You have passed your trial.” Said he. “Through this door, the Dreamsmith is w-

“No.”

Omen froze. “…What?”

“No. I have not passed my trial.” Malevolence’s face was twisted with emotion. He stepped forward, thrust a hand into Omen’s form. “You think I am evil because of what was done to me? You think I cannot see the truth of this world, that good really does exist? You are wrong!” The shadows seemed to wrap around Malevolence as he ranted, almost like a suit of armor.  “You do not know me! You want to know why I seek evil? I WILL SHOW YOU!” Darkness rippled, a device in Malevolence’s palm activating, drawing upon Omen’s power and Malevolence’s memory.

Blackness enveloped them.

--

Omen and Malevolence stood in what looked like an ordinary doctor’s clinic. Malevolence looked younger than he was in reality, but not by much. He was perhaps seventeen years of age. Beyond the difference in years, there was a difference in how Malevolence walked, in his bearing. He was less confident, more angry. He walked with a quick step to the reception desk and spoke in a falsely cheerful voice. “Hello! I’m here for my 3 o’clock appointment. My name is Ven G. Ance.”

The vision shifted, accelerating events. Malevolence waited inside an examining room, tapping his foot on the floor. Eventually, the door opened and an old man entered. He wore a doctor’s coat, a pair of spectacles, and a kindly smile. That smile vanished as soon as the door was closed, replaced by a villainous smirk.

“So.” He said in a voice colder than ice. “The escapee in the flesh. You think I’m not ready for you? Please. “Ven G. Ance”. Standards must be dropping if idiots like you are escaping my school.” He raised his voice. “Protocol alpha.”

As the evil doctor laughed maniacally, mechanical arms shot from the walls… then grabbed him. He gasped in shock and pain as the arms forced him to his knees before Malevolence, who stood up, a sneer building on his face.

“I hacked your system before I ever stepped foot in this building.” Malevolence gloated. “Now, will you beg for your life? Perhaps if you do, I will make this quick.”

The old man struggled briefly, then stopped. Then he looked Malevolence in the face and laughed. “Beg? Please. I am content with my legacy. Hundreds, even thousands of lives ruined by me! You may kill me, but every graduate from my school, every villain inspired and created by me will continue my work.” He continued laughing, even as he was ripped apart by the arms.

Malevolence turned to Omen, body and demeanor shifting into his present-day self. “I killed Inhumanity first, you know. He begged for his life. Told me he’d never meant to hurt me, told me he’d been forced to by the teachers. I didn’t believe him. But now… Yes, now I see.” He forced his mouth into a twisted grin. “You want to know why I seek evil? The answer is simple. In evil, there is freedom. When I have achieved my goal, I will be able to laugh, no matter my fate.”

Omen hovered silently. The device on Malevolence’s hand cracked, then dissolved into nothing.

“You are a fool. You could have been lost in this world forever if that device had not worked properly. However… the trial has still been passed. Step through the door, and speak to the Dreamsmith.”

Omen gestured angrily, and the doorway reappeared.

Malevolence stepped through the doorway without further comment.

--

Malevolence stepped into the Dreamsmith’s workshop. The wooden floorboards creaked beneath his feet as he walked across the dimly lit room, approaching the forge and anvil where the Dreamsmith waited.

The Dreamsmith stood at the villain’s approach, blazing eyes contemplative. “Hello Malevolence. What sort of weapon shall I make for you?”

Malevolence reached down to his side and drew his Mordite blade. He levelled this weapon at the Dreamsmith, then set it down on the anvil. “I acquired this blade during a brief alliance with some particularly dangerous rabbits. However… I am mortal, and despite my technology, lack the ability to use this blade properly. I understand that you are capable of manipulating the soul more expertly than any? Well, my soul is rather ordinary, in terms of power. So I wish you instead to bond my soul to that Blade, allowing me to safely tap into some of the destructive powers of the Mordite.”

The Dreamsmith blinked. “You want me to bond a Mordite blade to your soul? Safely? That is…” He cocked his head. Yes, it was a near impossible task. But perhaps… Inspiration struck, and The Dreamsmith nodded. “Very well. I shall do as you ask.”

And so the Dreamsmith set to work.

He closed his eyes, examining Malevolence’s soul carefully. He found that for once, Malevolence had told the truth. His soul was twisted and warped by evil, and there were some odd residues from the various powers the villain had meddled with, but there was nothing within Malevolence which the Dreamsmith could forge into a weapon worthy of its own ambition. Eyes still closed, the Dreamsmith looked down at the Mordite sword before him, seeing clearly the cruel power contained within. Corruptive power, eager to destroy. The Dreamsmith felt an ache in his shoulder just looking at the terrible blade, but opened his eyes and raised his hammer nonetheless.

First, the weapon’s form. The blade before the Dreamsmith already had a form, but he did not find it particularly suited to Malevolence. So instead, he looked up at Malevolence once again. To his eyes, the twisted soul within seemed to resemble… yes. The Dreamsmith brought his hammer down upon the Mordite, sending a *CRACK* of power through the room. His hammer rebounded, nearly ripping itself from the smith’s grasp. The Dreamsmith grunted, readjusting his hammer and gathering his strength, burning eyes flaring with intense heat. He struck again, then again, then again, hammer burning with a red heat matching that of his eyes. The blade resisted. reality rejecting the touch of a dream, but the Dreamsmith was relentless. Each blow of his hammer poured more power into the blade, ordering it to change to his liking. Soon, the Mordite began to glow with a dark light, cracks forming along its surface. The Dreamsmith struck one final blow, and the sword shattered, deadly Mordite shards shooting out in all directions.

The Dreamsmith held up a hand and the shards froze in midair, several merely inches from skewering the watching Malevolence. He made a fist, and the shards coalesced, fusing together to form a dagger. The shards fit together well enough to make a point, but the jagged edges and gaps formed together in such a way to create barbs that would make removing the dagger near impossible.

Satisfied with the Form of the dagger, the Dreamsmith moved to his next task. The weapon’s power. This task was both simple and terribly dangerous. For the blade already had power, a terrible, corruptive power of darkness. To bond such a blade to Malevolence’s soul would doom him to a pitiable fate, a slow descent into darkness. But the Dreamsmith had just the tool for such a job. He reached down and pulled forth a four-pointed medallion, holding it over the dagger. He thought of Platypus, the chimeric being of many powers. And so, he reached within the dagger’s soul and, ever so carefully, commanded it to change. A small, delicate change. A shifting of alignments at the core of the blade’s being, a tiny instability in the blade’s essence. Carefully, gently, he pulled a strand of power from that core, a single weak point by which the dagger’s essence could be transformed.

Lastly, the name. The Dreamsmith reached into Malevolence’s soul, placing the strand of power from the dagger there. The name would be a link between the villain’s soul and the dagger’s power, a seal upon the dagger, making it immutable to any influence save that imbued by the shape and essence of Malevolence’s soul. “This dagger,” The Dreamsmith said solemnly, “is changeable. Just as your soul is changeable, just as your path is changeable. So too, the name shall be changeable. To change this blade, , you need only change yourself.” He looked directly into Malevolence’s violet eyes. Eyes that burned with evil zeal. “And Malevolence, you can change yourself. I will not try to convince you of it, but there will come a time when you question, when you have a chance to be other than evil. When that time comes, remember my words. Remember this blade.” The Dreamsmith reached out, pressing the sword into Malevolence’s hands. “I name this blade ‘Cowardice’. For it is the blade of a coward, of a man who hides from pain, a man whose greatness is based on deception and backstabbing.” At his words, the connection was completed. Cowardice and Malevolence became one.

Malevolence examined Cowardice, feeling power flood into him. He looked back towards the Dreamsmith. “I can’t dismiss it.”

The Dreamsmith shrugged. “You wanted it to be safe. Where do you think that Mordite would go if you dismissed it? It can’t safely be stored within your soul, like my other blades that can be dismissed.”

Malevolence nodded in acceptance, expression inscrutable. Thank you, Dreamsmith. I will put this Blade to good use.” He turned and walked out of the workshop, lab coat tails billowing out behind him.

The Dreamsmith watched Malevolence go with a somber expression. Did I he wondered, do the right thing? The Dreamsmith had made many weapons, but, for once, he feared how this one would be used.

His eyes shifted towards a darkened corner of the workshop. “I know you are there. How you got in here without Omen noticing you, I have no idea. But I know why you are here.”

Slowly, hesitantly, the traveler stepped out of the darkness.

To Be Continued

Endings

“You could have helped them.” I accused Eof as we walked away from the mostly ruined town. Eof had teleported us directly back there, which was appreciated. Galbus had been in no condition to travel. He’d emerged from his stupor just long enough to tell the family of his betrothed about what had happened before slumping back into the bottomless depths of despair. “You could have warned the town, gotten me to help them earlier. Or you could have teleported me and Galbus straight to the enemy. You could even have rescued the townspeople yourself!”

Eof walked in silence for a moment. “You’re right.” He finally said. “I could have saved them. But should I have?” His words struck a tense chord within me. “Of course you should have!” I snapped. “Don’t start spouting some nonsense about the story being more important than their lives!” Eof snorted. “I won’t.” He said simply. “It’s understandable why the thought would come to your mind, but I do care about those people. I speak of choices. For all my power, I cannot be everywhere.” He sighed. “I once tried to gain the power I would need to prevent all suffering. You know how that turned out. Now I do what I can. I still have a plan, but I hold myself back. I do not seek omnipotence to complement my omniscience, no matter how much it hurts to see the evils I cannot prevent.” He waved a hand, and in a moment we were standing back in my workshop. “I abide by the constraints of the Authors. But I do help where I can. When it is necessary. This is why I have come to you.” I set down my pack, hanging my sword back on its mount on the wall. “Alright. What is it you want me to do? You mentioned something about fixing my mistakes? Changing my ending? And saving the Thread, of course. What do you see in the future that’s so terrible?”

“It is not what I see that is terrible. It is what I do not see.” Eof closed his eyes and exhaled. “The future is clouded from my sight. I see that great danger looms. But I cannot see what that danger is.” He shrugged, looking far too calm for a god who’d just admitted to mortality. If Eof’s vision could be clouded… “How?” My voice did not shake, but it felt as though it should have. “How is it possible? I thought you had a plan. Even when I was a Narrator, I couldn’t break free of it.” Eof shook his head. “My memories have been altered. I cannot say for how long, but I think…” He paused. “No, I hope that it was me who did it.” I blinked. “Erase your own memory? Why would you do that?” He merely shrugged. “Because I saw that it was the only way to achieve the best outcome. But still, I… worry. If it was someone else who did this to me… even if it was me, this action rankles of the man I used to be. The man who would do anything for his plan.” His brow furrowed, and he drummed his fingers on his leg. “Regardless. I have seen a great threat to the Thread. It is coming, and I can see only a few, limited things about it. One of those is that you will be involved.” He looked at me grimly. “I see many possibilities around you. You might help prevent the darkness, or you may usher in its coming. You may die, or you may live. Even if you do die, you may still play a part in the coming events. So I have come to give you what advice I can. To help you find the right path. Will you accept my advice?” I hesitated. Was this all some manipulation? Was his story about clouded vision just a lie to make me accept his help? My fingers drummed on my leg as I stared deeply into Eof’s iridescent eyes. They glowed with power. They were mysterious, all-knowing, unknowable. But also… uncertain. Perhaps even afraid. No. This is not a lie. “I will listen to what you have to say.” I sat down in a chair and gestured for him to do the say. “What is it you want me to do?”

He sat down as well, eyes alight. “You once fought the Witherlord. You were closer to slaying him than any in recent memory.”  I frowned. “Yes. I… hesitated. Allowed time for the binding to fail. It was over in a heartbeat. The Mordite blade I was using to fight him melted away at his command, leaving me with no way to kill him.” Eof nodded. “One of the reasons the Witherlord is so fearsome is his control over every weapon capable of killing him.” He said softly. “The end of the Luxsprites was also the end of Luxite, the only material besides Mordite that could threaten his life. Until recently.” I frowned. What was he tal-my breath caught in my throat. “The Plotblades?” Eof nodded again. “Most would be helpful against his power, but there is one that could bring about his end.” My eyes widened. “Endings?” With a weapon like that… I could face the Witherlord and defeat him once and for all. I could defeat any threat to the Thread. “You know where Endings is?” I asked eagerly. Eof leaned towards me, eyes pulsing with light. Then he nodded once more.

There once was a man who met darkness, upon a shadowy road.

This man feared not the darkness. For he was a man of mighty feats, heroic and bold.

The dark feared not the man. No room was there in its heart for fear, so full of lies untold.

The man cried out his challenge, raised his staff to fight. And the darkness fell before him, his power split the night.

As the man did stand in victory and the sun from skies unfold. It was then the darkness spoke in a voice all chill and cold.

“You truly are one with great might, to defeat the power of my night.”

The hero then did err, pride he allowed his face to wear.

“Indeed. No darkness shall ever make me flee.”

At this the shadow swelled with glee, saw a chance at victory.

And so the true battle began.

So the shadow begged the man,

Not for its life but for the chance to give him greater power

So that with glory and honor all would shower.

For a moment the man considered,

An instant he wavered,

And then he saw the trap.

With a burst of power he banished the darkness,

With bravery he destroyed it.

But too late was he. Too slow to see.

For ever after, that darkness dwelt in his heart.

I rolled back over and attempted to rise again, then thought better of it as my vision darkened. “Wise wizard, I bring you a message from the great Narrator Nameless.” I said hoarsely. The wizard may have raised an eyebrow, but I was hardly in a position to see it. “Nameless? The great Narrator? He sent you?” The wizard’s voice was dripping with condescension. “Indeed!” I said in what was meant to be a cheerful, confident tone. “He warns you to release your prisoners and scourge the land no longer. If you continue in your evil ways, he will have no choice but to…” The wizard was laughing. I paused, confused. This was… not how I had expected my ‘news’ to be received. “Nameless is dead.” Said the wizard. “And even if he was not, why should I fear him? Even with the aid of the Enullers, even with a Mordite blade capable of slaying the Witherlord, even with the Witherlord bound almost entirely by the Skeins he failed. Why should I fear someone so pathetic?”

Muttering something impolite under my breath I shoved myself up onto my knees, ignoring the darkness that pressed in around the edges of my vision. “I think you’ll find that Nameless is far fr-” A sound rang through the underground labyrinth. A horrible sound, a sound beyond the power of words to describe. The sound of a heart breaking.

The wizard sneered at me, clueless as to the horror I had just experienced. “That Nameless is what? A failure? A weakling overthrown by his own avatar?” His sneer widened. “Oh yes, I know that it was Moniker that did him in. Vengeance for what he did to her, no doubt.” I opened my mouth, trying to find some way to rebuke his words but… it was just too much. It was then that Galbus entered the room. His eyes were those of a man hanging on to a cliffside by a handful of grass, and death was behind them. The guards moved to intercept him and were too slow. He cut through three men in an eyeblink, True Love slashing through weapon, armor, and flesh alike with no more difficulty than the air of the chamber. The wizard raised his staff, mouth opening in the words of a spell, but his staff was split in two before he could utter a syllable.

Galbus held his Blade a hair’s breadth from the dark wizard’s throat. He leaned in, three words tearing themselves from his lips. “Where. Is. She.” The wizard gulped, frozen in place. “I-I don’t know who you’re speaking of. Who are you looking for?” True Love moved closer still to the man’s throat. “My betrothed. Your men took her last night. My Blade should have led me to her, but all it could find was a room filled with ash. Tell me where you’ve hidden her and I might let you live.” Galbus’s voice shook with barely contained emotion, but True Love’s point never quivered. “Please.” The wizard begged. “Please, I did not know she was so important to you!” He tried to back away, but Galbus moved forward, forcing him against the wall of the room. “Where. Is. She.” The wizard whimpered, eyes fixed on Galbus’s half-crazed stare. “Dead.” He finally whispered. “I… did not need so many subjects for my experiments as I thought. Ordered the men to kill the extra and burn their bodies. Please, I will do anything. Do not kill me.”

His plea fell on deaf ears. Galbus sank to the floor, and this time I not only heard but saw his heart break. I can honestly say that in all my life, only once before that day and never after have I seen anything near to matching the pain I saw in his eyes. The glow of True Love’s ruby winked out, dead as its master’s beating heart.

The wizard stared at Galbus, then slowly slid along the wall past him. As he realized the man was too stricken with sorrow to kill him, the wizard’s sneer returned. “Weak.” He laughed. “So weak. Why care for the worthless lives of others? Nothing truly matters except for power.” He went to gesture to his men, to have them kill the helpless, grieving man on the floor, then stopped. He looked down at his chest in surprise, staring at the knife embedded to the hilt just where a normal person would have had their heart. He looked back up, took a step towards me, then fell dead to the floor. I looked down at my hand, which held a second knife ready to throw. Shaking myself, I leapt from the floor and threw the knife at the guard that held my sword.

I sat beside a pile of corpses, wiping the blood clean from my sword. In the other room, Galbus sat alone as silent and still as a corpse. I stared at the blood staining the rag I was using. A blade can kill and harm without remorse, but neglect to clean the blood away and before long that blade will be rusted and useless. A pitiful, worthless thing, to be hated and despised by all.

“What would you give to undo your mistakes?” The voice came from the darkness of the corridor. A pair of glowing eyes appeared in it. “What would you do to change the Ending you have been given?” Into the flickering torchlight of the chamber stepped Eof. “What is he who was once Nameless willing to risk so that this Thread will be safe?”

I tore my eyes away from the man’s rapier. “What’s the matter?” I asked. His reply was slow in coming, as he was very out of breath. “Are you the brave adventurer? They say you’re a great hero. Please, will you help me? They took her. I have to get her back. I have to!” Before the words were finished coming out of his mouth, I was strapping on my own sword, a dull thing in comparison to his. “Who was taken? By whom? Where did they take her?” I barked. The young man looked relieved, but he answered quickly. “My betrothed. Armed men attacked our town last night. I don’t know why. They killed some, took others.” He looked down, clearly trying not to cry. “We… we were supposed to be married today.” I put a hand on his shoulder, searching for words that would comfort him. “We’ll get her back. Do you know where they took her?” The young man shook his head but placed his right hand on his magnificent rapier. “No, but True Love will lead me to her.” I frowned, not understanding this at first. Then it dawned on me. “That’s a Plotblade?” I asked in awe. Long had I searched for a Plotblade suitable for me, and never had I been able to claim one. Although I had to admit that I was quite happy with the way my adventure into Onyx’s realm had turned out. “Nevermind. That’s not important now. Time is of the essence!” With that, we both dashed out the door.

We sought the man’s beloved long into the day. Soon I found myself wishing for Moni’s ability to travel, but every time I thought about calling for a break, a glance at my companion’s face renewed my resolve to continue. Finally, we came to a stop atop a hill overlooking what looked like a small outpost guarded by a squad of men with halberds. “She’s inside. Beneath the outpost.” The young man moved as if to crest the hill, but I caught his arm. “No. We need to make a plan and rest for a bit. If we rush in there now, we’ll be more likely to get your betrothed killed than save her.” The man gripped his rapier hilt tightly but nodded. “What’s the plan?” He asked. I turned to consider the base. “I’m thinking about it.” Perhaps… yes, that should work. “What’s your name?” I asked as the gears in my brain spun as quickly as they could. The young man frowned. “Galbus.” I nodded. “A good name. Anyways, I’ve got a plan. I’ll go down there and distract all the guards while you sneak in and rescue your beloved. Sound good?” Galbus nodded slowly, but he looked confused. “You’ll distract them?” He said questioningly. “How?” In response, I drew my sword and charged down the hill.

Job location: the World of Dreams (not Tel'Aran'Rhiod)

Compensation: One free chat with the Dreamsmith (non-transferable)

Who may be considered: Anyone with an imagination

Job description: With facilitation from Omen, design and carry out trials for prospective Dreamsmith seekers. Trials must be character-growth inducing, imaginative, and difficult. Trials will preferably be tailored to the character of the seeker.

How to apply: Reach out to Omen on TLT, or for Authors who don't wish to tell their characters beforehand, reply to this job posting directly in the comments below.

Contact information: Omen on TLT, phone number: 92592986186531546874154 Email: #Ilovetrials@fakeemails.com Address: random caves on TLT.

Step 0: Who the heck is the Dreamsmith?

Omen didn't think this necessary to explain, but I for one think that knowing a little bit about the person you're looking is kind of important. The Dreamsmith is an enigmatic figure and, unfortunately, there's not much I can say. But what little I can is this: The Dreamsmith lives in the World of Dreams (also known as the afterlife, for those of you unfamiliar with ancient lore). Whether he is a dead guy like me or some spirit born from dreams, who can say? But whatever his origin, the Dreamsmith is certainly a master at his craft. More on that later, but for now the important bit is that he's a smith. He'll make you a weapon (or not, in some cases) and then he'll send you on your way. In what cases will he not make you a weapon? Well, I can't speak to every individual case, but the one time he didn't, it was because the entity who came to him was already a great threat to the thread, very evil, and probably didn't need the help.

Step 1: Make certain of your resolve

The path to the Dreamsmith is not for the faint of heart. Before beginning your quest, steel yourself for all that might follow.

Yeah, this step is obvious. Not much to say here. Be prepared for a quest before you go on a quest.

Step 2: Search for Omen

The path to me is the path to the Dreamsmith. Search, and I will be found.

For those of you who are still confused, I'm in the same boat. Fortunately I've done a ton of research into this Omen guy and I think I've figured out what he means. Basically, some effect stemming from his connection to both the World of Dreams and TLT allows him to sense when people are searching for the Dreamsmith and subtly alter things so that they'll end up wherever he is. Now, you could skip this step with some help from a Narrator, but that's up to you (and perhaps your Narrator friends).

Step 3: The Trial

Any who seek the Dreamsmith must be tested. I, Omen will administer that test with my unique talents. As all who seek the Dreamsmith are unique, so too shall their trials be unique.

Needs a little more detail here, which I find surprising since this is the part of the process that he's the most picky about. Also due to my research, I can tell you that Omen creates trials by pulling you partway into the World of Dreams. He has total control over the trials (and no, they're not real. But you might have a hard time remembering that while you're in one) and tries his best to tailor them to you so that you'll have to grow in order to overcome them. So if you want to help him out, be sure to display some character flaws on your quest.

Step 4: The Dreamsmith

With trials passed and the Dreamsmith found, ask for the weapon you desire. The Dreamsmith shall forge it from your own soul.

Ah, the fun part! First off, as previously mentioned the Dreamsmith resides in the World of Dreams. Omen might be the only being in the Thread that can safely allow you to meet him, with emphasis on the safely part. Due to his nature as a resident in the WoD, the Dreamsmith is unable to make you a real weapon with any of the fancy materials that he keeps in his shop. Lucky for you, he can use something even more exotic: your soul! (don't worry, it's a completely safe process. No one's died yet) The Dreamsmith will do his best to forge your soul into a weapon, tool, etc. that will be useful to you on your personal character arc! Also, he charges nothing!

"Alright everyone, thanks for reading! I hope this encourages you to seek out the Dreamsmith and get a sick weapon out of the deal! (hey, maybe I should seek him out sometime. Stay tuned for part 2: How to Seek the Dreamsmith if You're Already Dead)"

PS: Just so everyone knows, I'm really enjoying the afterlife and am definitely not plotting an epic return to TLT as we speak. No need to prep the confetti cannons)

PPS: Sorry, forgot to include this at first but I'm editing it in now. Some people might be interested to know whether they can visit the Dreamsmith more than once, or what they should do if they fail the trial. The good news is: Yes! You can visit the Dreamsmith more than once, just be aware that he might not make you another weapon. And you can try again if you fail the trial, as long as you can convince Omen to let you.

Platypus's reply came quickly, voice made crackly by poor connection. "I'm almost there, but bad news. Moni's research turned up a blank. This guy's done absolutely nothing to me, so Vengeance isn't going to have what it takes to break through that armor until his Destroying or Obliterating Machine does a lot of damage." Unintelligible cursed, brushing sweat from his brow as lasers chipped away at the boulder he was hiding behind. "Well, you might still have a chance. Some of my shots have gotten through his armor, and they're not particularly powerful compared to your weapons." Platypus's reply was quick and short. "Got it. I'm here."

Platypus hit the ground in the middle of the robots, sending them flying like Plot before pineapples. Vengeance glowed in one hand, and a shining sword that for legal reasons may or may not have been a true Luxblade in the other. "N.E.G.A.T.I.V.E.! I have fought Nameless and survived. Do you really think you can beat me? Surrender now, dismantle your machine, and I will spare you."

N.E.G.A.T.I.V.E. laughed even harder as his D.o.O.M. machine fired up in the background. "Who needs to beat you when I can simply outlast you? The D.o.O.M. machine is linked to Plot's armor as well, so don't think you can destroy it without defeating me first! Robots, attack!"

*cue extended fight scene that lasts for thirty pages involving giant robots, lasers, plot manipulation, and epic screaming noises*

Platypus landed on the ground, exhaustion etched into every aspect of his being. "I can't *huff* beat him. That armor really is indestructible when he's not boasting about it being so. And the D.o.O.M. machine spits out those robots endlessly. Unintelligible, how long do we have left?" Unintelligible paused from the task of sending endless waves of bullets toward the similarly endless waves of robots to glance down at his Destruction or Obliteration Machine Scanning/Detecting Apparatus Yellow (It was painted yellow) "Only a few minutes until full power is achieved! Storms Platypus, is there nothing you can do?" 

Platypus clenched his teeth. "I can't get through that armor! Once he was too tired to keep gloating, it was all just a stalemate. At least he lacks the offensive power to really damage me, but... blast it!"

A cold wind blew in from the west, and Omen was there. "I see that the two of you are in need of help. Worry not. I shall deal with this evil one." N.E.G.A.T.I.V.E., done crawling out of the crater that Platypus had blasted him into, had begun laughing in an out-of-breath sort of way. "You're doomed! In mere moments, this Thread will have a new master. Soon, I will RU-what is that?!" 

Omen advanced towards N.E.G.A.T.I.V.E., laser blasts from the robots simply passing through him as though he did not exist. He swelled up in front of the terrified evil genius, forming into a insectoid monster straight out of a nightmare. "Hello, evil one. It is time to go." Before N.E.G.A.T.I.V.E could do more than sputter Omen pressed a segmented hand to his chest and wreathed him in black smoke. A moment later, N.E.G.A.T.I.V.E. was gone.

Unintelligible's jaw hung open for a moment. "You... killed him? That easily? But how?" Omen, shrinking down to his normal size and becoming slightly less terrifying, shook his head. "He is not dead. I have sent him to a trial in the... well, you could say that he is in a dream. If he does not overcome the pride that weakens his Armor in time, he will be trapped there forever." Unintelligible frowned. "But... isn't that dangerous? What if he finishes the trial?"

Omen broke apart into a fog, swirling in thought. "Well, he would go to the Dreamsmith of course."

"And the Dreamsmith would deal with him?"

"Of course the Dreamsmith would-ah, he has finished his trial-the Dreamsmith will deal with him."

Unintelligible relaxed. "That's good. I thought for a moment... but no, thank you Omen."

Platypus raised a hand. "How exactly will the Dreamsmith deal with N.E.G.A.T.I.V.E.? I couldn't kill him even when he was prideful. Does he have some powerful weapons?"

"The Dreamsmith will deal with him as he always does. By looking into his soul and forging from it what the supplicant needs. In this case, I suspect it will be a weapon of great power, capable of helping N.E.G.A.T.I.V.E. on his path to total domination."

Platypus and Unintelligible stared at Omen in horror. "But... why?"

Before Omen could answer, N.E.G.A.T.I.V.E. reappeared, clutching an Axe wreathed in shadows and looking much more reserved. As Unintelligible's D.o.O.M.S.D.A.Y. hit zero, he smiled. "Now Platypus, where were we?"

THE END