John watched him, the one referred to as Muse, as he gave a swift, though limited, explanation that it had something to do with Roleplayer Guild, but changed it to the same question John had just asked. John sighed and thought for a moment. "The most I can say is that this is - well, I suppose was is more appropriate now - a roleplay of mine." He paused, inhaling deeply. "It's gone," he said bluntly. "This entire town is broken and destroyed. The Puppets who lived here are dead, not one of them lived I bet." John felt the tears building up. "This was a part of me," he whispered. He gestured back down the hall. "Even my character is dead." He clutched his die for comfort. "I'm dead here."

John sighed, on the verge of tears. Shaking his head, he turned to the shelves that had once held dozens, maybe hundreds of books and pieces of literature. He stared at what broken mess remained. Some broken books lay on the ground, while speed pages ghosted amongst the shelves. He turned again and say against a sturdy shelf, ruling his die between his fingers. "Perhaps you should see for yourself. Maybe you can understand this better than I."