Hi all, I recently got some inquiries as to the status of The Last Game, so here is the situation. I was in a really bad car accident soon after finishing book 1. I had been plotting out book 2 at the time and starting up a full edit for the fist book. All that ground to a halt when I suddenly had a major head injury and rehab to deal with. I wasn't even on the ball enough to let you guys know about it and eventually just thought I had. I had to relearn to type, write, and storycraft. Its been hard. I only recently managed to get my writing skills back to a point where its not a complete embaressment. Book two I managed to roughly plot out a few months ago, but my writing skills hadnt recovered enough to take that and turn it into a story yet. You really don't want to see the stuff I've written as practice and 'writing rehab', just trust me, its bad.

Without the skill to make it into a reality I couldn't really tackle the project. Can't exactly give you all a masively subpar story, especially if I end up making mistakes that write it into a corner and kill it permenantly. For everyone that still cares about this story, thanks. It means a lot, and its motivation to work even harder on my various bits of rehab. I'm considering trying to write a new and unrelated story as a test run, since I did so much with The Last Game mistakes could ruin it. A fresh story would be less fragile.

I'm certainly not recovered yet, but I am writing again, and its starting to not suck anymore. So this is definitely coming back.

Due to both a lack of interest when it was created and being out of commission the Discord is dead at the moment. When I start this back up I have hopes that will change. Thats it for the announcements but since I need to get to 500 words I guess I'll just write something under this.

*This is a random thing just here to fill out the word count and is not connected to the story in any way, probably*

Deep underground, in a cavern lost to time and memory, a golden obelisk stands. The floor is blanketed by a thin layer of purple fog, and a sense of danger pervades every stone. Engraved on the metal are seven runes, each incomprehensible and glowing with impossible light. The runes shift and churn, alive and adapting to fulfil their ancient purpose.

Ever so slowly, the light-beyond-light of the top rune shifts. A poisonous green invades and corrupts it, warping the lines until at last, after millenia, they still. The final shape is that of an eye, pupil ringed in fangs. A mighty crack rings out, echoing in a place untouched by noise since the formation. It is the noise of uncountable glasses falling to the floor, the sound of a million chains breaking, the sound of something ancient stirring after an eon. The air becomes heavy and sharp. Tiny threads of toxic light bleed down towards the other runes, and the eye, the eye blinks.