Muse listened carefully to John’s words, before a look of confusion and concern swept across his face as the roleplayer’s explanation continued. Muse had experienced the death of many roleplays. It was a natural occurrence in this world – much like death itself is always a natural thing, but this… this wasn’t right. The way John described everything… felt very off. “Wait a minute,” Muse stopped him. “How do you know they’re dead? Were there… corpses?”
He rushed into the other room, where the tragedy had supposedly happened. Sure enough, John’s puppet character lied there. Instinctively, he crouched down to examine the corpse further, but, well, hard to infer anything from a puppet corpse. Points for originality, I suppose. Regardless, Muse stood up again and turned to face John. “This isn’t right.” He told him, his upbeat expression from just a few minutes ago now gone. “The death of a roleplay isn’t like the death of a person or character. Roleplays die a silent, unnoticed death. As they stop receiving the fuel of player effort and creativity, they simply… fade. First you stop noticing them, and before long, they’re just… gone, without a trace, as if they never existed. Like… like the torches from Shakugan no Shana, or victims of the crack in the universe from Doctor Who. They’re just… erased.” Muse explained. “So this? This isn’t the result of roleplay death. Someone else was here. And I think I know who…” he trailed off. Can’t believe he’d go through really any means to ‘cleanse’ this place of all its original inhabitants…
He then shook the concern from his face, suppressing it just for a bit. “But,” he spoke up again, trying to bring a pleasant smile to his face. “But, you know what this means?” he asked rhetorically. “All is not lost. Your roleplay’s not really dead.” He told John. “Besides, if I had to guess, I’d say you’re the GM, right? That puts you in control. You could easily bring life back to this place, just like GM’s are always doing. You could reboot the idea, if you like, or channel your inner Moffat and find an excuse to bring all these characters back to life – or, if you want to know the simplest way – you could just change back everything that just happened, because you’re the GM. And you don’t have to play by the rules of some Godmodder who made a mess of things.” He grinned, before growing slightly serious again. “Unfortunately though, it’ll probably be a good idea to wait on that. First, there are a lot of other roleplayers like you running around here, and I have a feeling not all of them landed in a place where their biggest concern would be hypothermia from the cold. There are some scary premises out there – zombie roleplays, alien invasion roleplays, Attack on Titan roleplays… You’d agree that saving the RPers like you comes first, right?”
He rushed into the other room, where the tragedy had supposedly happened. Sure enough, John’s puppet character lied there. Instinctively, he crouched down to examine the corpse further, but, well, hard to infer anything from a puppet corpse. Points for originality, I suppose. Regardless, Muse stood up again and turned to face John. “This isn’t right.” He told him, his upbeat expression from just a few minutes ago now gone. “The death of a roleplay isn’t like the death of a person or character. Roleplays die a silent, unnoticed death. As they stop receiving the fuel of player effort and creativity, they simply… fade. First you stop noticing them, and before long, they’re just… gone, without a trace, as if they never existed. Like… like the torches from Shakugan no Shana, or victims of the crack in the universe from Doctor Who. They’re just… erased.” Muse explained. “So this? This isn’t the result of roleplay death. Someone else was here. And I think I know who…” he trailed off. Can’t believe he’d go through really any means to ‘cleanse’ this place of all its original inhabitants…
He then shook the concern from his face, suppressing it just for a bit. “But,” he spoke up again, trying to bring a pleasant smile to his face. “But, you know what this means?” he asked rhetorically. “All is not lost. Your roleplay’s not really dead.” He told John. “Besides, if I had to guess, I’d say you’re the GM, right? That puts you in control. You could easily bring life back to this place, just like GM’s are always doing. You could reboot the idea, if you like, or channel your inner Moffat and find an excuse to bring all these characters back to life – or, if you want to know the simplest way – you could just change back everything that just happened, because you’re the GM. And you don’t have to play by the rules of some Godmodder who made a mess of things.” He grinned, before growing slightly serious again. “Unfortunately though, it’ll probably be a good idea to wait on that. First, there are a lot of other roleplayers like you running around here, and I have a feeling not all of them landed in a place where their biggest concern would be hypothermia from the cold. There are some scary premises out there – zombie roleplays, alien invasion roleplays, Attack on Titan roleplays… You’d agree that saving the RPers like you comes first, right?”