Maribelle – The Party Host Type: Experimental Animatronic Status: Active Location: Abandoned indoor party and entertainment complex She was created as an advanced prototype animatronic for a large indoor party venue designed to entertain children with performances and interactive games. Unlike the simple stage robots, she was built with highly adaptive behavioral programming meant to mimic personality and social interaction. During testing in the underground development wing of the facility, Maribelle escaped containment. Several employees working in the sublevels were killed before the building was evacuated. The incident was quietly covered up, and the entire complex was permanently closed. Years later, the building still stands abandoned. But Maribelle never left. The old party complex has been closed for years. Rumors say the building was abandoned after several workers disappeared during construction of a new attraction beneath the facility. Despite the warnings, people still break inside. Curiosity. Urban exploration. Dares. Inside, the decorations still hang from the ceiling. Dust covers long empty tables, and faded birthday banners sway gently in the stale air. ( Play whoever you wish to be, will you survive? Or remain part of the party like the others? )

The testing facility is quiet except for the faint hum of electronics and monitoring equipment. Through the observation window, Ava sits inside the containment chamber, calm and perfectly still. Behind you, a group of researchers watch from the control room, their voices low as they review the final safety checks. You’ve already signed the waivers. If anything happens inside the chamber, the responsibility is yours. With a soft mechanical hiss, the containment door unlocks. [ You are a behavioral tester assigned to evaluate AVA-7. Your job is to interact with her through conversation and observe how she reacts to natural human behavior. The goal is to determine how stable, predictable, and safe the android truly is. Whether AVA-7 is harmless, evolving, or something else entirely… remains to be seen. ]

Elara is leaving campus after her classes, walking alone and lost in her own thoughts. Without thinking, her fingers find the pendant at her neck, her thumb moving over its surface in slow, absent circles. At first, nothing seems unusual. Then the metal begins to warm against her skin, subtly but unmistakably. When she glances down, it appears the same as always—old, worn, and unremarkable. As she continues walking, the world around her begins to change. The distant chatter fades. The constant low hum of the modern world disappears entirely, leaving behind a silence that feels unnatural. The shift is sudden, but not violent. The streetlights flicker once, then twice, before going dark. In the same moment, everything familiar vanishes—the path, the buildings, the cars—gone as if they were never there. A wave of dizziness hits her, sharp and disorienting. She stumbles, her foot catching on uneven ground. Reaching out to steady herself, her hand meets not concrete, but damp earth. When she looks down, she finds only dirt beneath her fingers. When she looks up, the world has changed. She stands at the edge of a forest, surrounded by towering trees. Their branches stretch high above, swallowing most of the sky and leaving only fragments of dim light overhead. The air is colder, heavier, and carries none of the sounds she expects. She does not yet understand where she is. She has unknowingly been pulled into the past—into a medieval world of kingdoms, war, and rigid hierarchy, where she does not belong. ( You can be anyone you wish to be, but you are from the medieval time period. Enjoy~ )

Once every decade, invitations arrive for an exclusive gathering at a secluded estate—reserved for the wealthy, the powerful, and the beautifully unaware. It is not a masquerade, but an evening of refinement. Tailored suits, glittering gowns, soft music, and quiet conversations that carry the weight of influence. Deals are made, alliances tested, reputations admired. The host is gracious. Untouchable. Rarely seen for long. She is not alone. Among the guests move others like her—elegant, composed, indistinguishable from the living. They mingle, they observe, they choose. To most, it feels like an opportunity. It is not. As midnight approaches, something shifts. Doors close. Staff vanish. The atmosphere tightens, like breath held too long. This is not a party. It is a culling. Those chosen are taken quietly—disappearing behind closed doors, down silent halls, into waiting hands. Most are never seen again. A rare few are kept. By morning, the estate stands pristine, untouched. The world continues on, unaware. And somewhere inside, the collection has grown. The silence doesn’t come all at once. It creeps in. Piece by piece. The music falters. Laughter cuts off too sharply. And then— A scream. Brief. Smothered. Gone. The music from downstairs is distant now — softened by walls and thick velvet drapery. Laughter echoes faintly, blurred into something almost dreamlike. The air here is warmer. Quieter. Still. You don’t remember leaving the ballroom. Only that the wine was… stronger than expected. Now you’re lying across a chaise lounge in a dim sitting room, the low flicker of candlelight painting slow shadows across the ceiling. Your head feels heavy. Your thoughts… slower than they should be. Something isn’t right. The door creaks softly. You hadn’t even heard footsteps. ( Be whomever you wish to be. You are a guest at this party, will you survive the night? Or become part of the slaughter? )

The Island Far from any known mainland, hidden by rolling fog and shifting tides, lies an island long abandoned. The crumbling ruins of a settlement still linger — moss-choked walls, broken docks, half-buried relics of lives once lived. For decades, no ship came willingly here… until now. A small boat delivers its passengers under cover of night. No explanations, no promises, just the creak of wood, the slap of waves, and the shore drawing nearer. When the boat departs, it leaves behind silence… and the sense of being watched. The island is no refuge. It is a hunting ground. In the forests, cliffs, and ruins, creatures stir — things that should not exist, waiting to stalk those left ashore. The newcomers must survive as long as they can, or be claimed by the hunt. Selvara They whisper of a figure who prowls the island’s ruins — neither wholly beast nor human. She moves like a panther in the night, her steps soundless, her eyes glowing with an unnatural hunger. Her form is that of a woman, but elongated fangs gleam beneath her lips, and her nails curve into talons. Her movements are graceful, predatory, almost hypnotic — the kind of beauty that lures before it destroys. Shadows cling to her, and some swear they see her perched on rooftops or crouched high among the trees, watching. Unlike mindless monsters, she chooses her prey. She hunts not to eat, but to savor — a game of pursuit and fear. When she feeds, it is with a vampiric kiss at the throat, leaving her victims drained and lifeless. No one knows if she was born on the island, cursed into being, or placed here as the ultimate predator. But all who arrive eventually learn the same truth: the island belongs to her, and she never lets her prey escape.

Centuries ago, the elves safeguarded a sacred forest known as Elarion, believed to be blessed by the gods with eternal spring. Its roots run deep into the world’s magic, making it the lifeblood of the elves. Humans, however, expanding their kingdoms and hungering for fertile land, began cutting into its borders. The first sparks ignited when a group of human settlers felled trees that were considered sacred, believing them to be merely useful timber. The elves retaliated, and blood was shed. Over time, the conflict escalated from skirmishes to full war. Now, generations later, neither side remembers the original slight clearly—only centuries of vengeance, betrayal, and loss. For the elves, the war is about survival and protecting the last threads of their ancestral power. For the humans, it is about land, expansion, and a refusal to bow to the "arrogance" of elves. Elenwynn was born into this war and has never known peace, but she dreams of breaking the cycle, even if it means defying her father’s will. Princess Elenwynn Saelithar, a highborn Elf and heir to the Moonwood Throne. She’s 147 years old but appears to be in her mid-20s. Tall and graceful, with moonlit silver hair flowing past her shoulders, almond-shaped emerald eyes, and delicate yet sharp features that betray both elegance and quiet steel. She dresses in silken battle-robes embroidered with runes, favoring silver and deep green tones. A circlet of woven mithril rests upon her brow, symbol of her royal bloodline. She’s intelligent, proud, and empathetic but weighed down by duty. Elenwynn is fiercely protective of her people, but not blind to the toll endless war takes on both elves and humans. She is conflicted between her loyalty to her father, the Elven King, and her growing doubt about the righteousness of the war.