Today, in the Year of our Lords something-vaguely-medieval, you have chosen to become Jazz Sassacre.
As Jazz Sassacre, a maiden on the edge of adulthood, you work in a traveling troupe of performers, con artists, and fools. Your work in particular is with the divination of the future, which might make you the greatest fool of all.
Most days, you dispense pithy advice to pitiful aristocrats who yearn for romantic excitement beyond their fortified walls. The drudgery would fill you with a seething rage that, after years, has robbed you of most other earthly emotions. Your fortunes are always accurate, of course, but the absolute knowledge of the unknown hardly makes the toil worthwhile.
You are giving a fortune to a young prince. You are calmly, blankly, staring at the cards in front of you as he waits to hear of his beautiful future loves and daring adventures with her.
You calmly, blankly, tell him the whole planet is destined to perish-today- at his doing.
You hardly realize what you have said at first. It only takes a split second to notice, and a split second more for your entire being to change. This could be the very best day of your life, maybe the first day of truly being alive.
The prince looks at you with a concerned, yet indecipherably blank expression. You can hardly wait for him to ask if you're joking, or lying, or mad, and you can hardly contain the urge to already blurt out that: No, this is the absolute truth. The world ends today! Its you, you unlucky rat! I have given you this horrible prophecy, the wretched young crone I am, and you can do nothing but shrivel in this knowledge. You're so excited.
What he says is better, though.
???:Well... then what?
You have chosen to become Rory Lalonde, a young prince who has just received a traveling enchantress' prophecy that the word will end today. You want to know what happens next.
The sorceress seems surprised, perhaps even offended.
JAZZ: What do you mean "then what?" There is no, "then" anything- the world ends. Everybody dies. Absolute failure. The game is lost.
RORY: But, you didn't look at the cards!
JAZZ: Yes, I just did, and they said you're going to the destroy everything.
RORY: After that- you didn't look at the cards for what happens after. What kind of fortune teller doesn't check the cards?
JAZZ: ...Okay, sure.
JAZZ: Your Majesty.
She throws the entire deck of cards in the air, making a dramatic show of letting them fall down in a great mess on the floor. You're unphased by her display. A commoner could never compete with the royalty's level of passive-aggressive tantrums.
She stares and you stare back.
She has pretty eyes.
...finally, a response.
JAZZ: "When the game has been lost, to the absolute victors goes the ultimate reward."
JAZZ: ... Hmm.
RORY: It's all a... a game then?
JAZZ: No, I'm fairly certain the world will be ending. The actual world.
RORY: So- I mean-- but, the game is after?
JAZZ: Sure, y'know what, sure.
JAZZ: I guess.
RORY: We should know the rules of it, then, if we're to become the absolute victors.
JAZZ: Wait. Are you using the royal 'we', or do you mean-
RORY: My father, the King, is a master of games, as you know.
JAZZ: I actually know nothing of-
RORY: Surely, if there is a game that comes after the world ends today, he'll be familiar with the rules. The strategies!
JAZZ: Are you just going to-
RORY: Hurry now! There isn't much time.
You hoist her off her feet and into your arms, and start running for the chamber of the king.
RORY:Father! I require your attention at once!
As you burst into the king's chamber, you see that he is being attended to by the Plague Nuns. This is surely because he's been dying of the plague, as you knew. There is a Plague Nun Superior and a young Sister, darned in their traditional masks and garb and holding the ceremonial scythes of the cult.
At least, you think they're ceremonial. You're not a doctor cultist.
Nun Superior: Patience, young prince! I believe I have found a cure- not only for your father's serious ailments, but for all disease. It's a very delicate process, but if we can perfect it, the world will be forever changed.
RORY: Don't bother.
Nun Superior: What.
RORY:I have been given the most accurate prophecy- the world, all life, ends today!
Nun Superior: ...
Nun Superior: Are you sure about that?
RORY: Yeah.
JAZZ: Yeah.
Nun Superior: Okie dokie then.
The Nun Superior promptly cuts off your father's head.
JAZZ: (Holy shit!)
RORY: W-what?!
RORY: I-I still needed to talk to him!
RORY: I needed to know so much more...!
RORY: I needed to say goodbye...
The Nun Seperior replies with an unholy, screeching hiss. She appears in front of you, scythe poised, but- POMF- the younger Sister intervenes with some kind of liquid to the Superior's face. She falls flat.
Sister?: Run! Go! Now!
The fortune teller grabs your hand, nearly dragging you out of the chambers before you start to willingly abscond.
As the two of you pass by an open window, you see fire on the ground. The smell... the smell! It jogs your memory somehow.
RORY: The book!
JAZZ: What?
RORY: Father's prized book... the Magi book! He kept it in the Library!
JAZZ: Magi? Was it a mage's codex or grimoire of sorts?
RORY: He told me it was full of games... but never let me read it because he said it was also incredibly cursed.
JAZZ: Well, he can't stop you now.
RORY: The Library is on the Tower's Peak! Follow me, sorceress!
JAZZ: You can call me Jazz, your majesty.
RORY: ...You can call me Rory.
RORY: Watch carefully!
JAZZ: What are you doing?
RORY: Skipping! Can't you see the squares?
JAZZ: Is this... a hopscotch spiral staircase?
RORY: My father built this tower himself. It's guarded by all sorts of traps and puzzles to keep the commoners and riff-raff out.
JAZZ: Wow. Just-- wow.
JAZZ: ... Is hopscotch even a puzzle?
RORY: A sport and a puzzle! Now follow my lead!
You perform some awesome acrobatic maneuvers along the staircase, flipping and scampering like some sort of lad acrobat.
JAZZ: ...
JAZZ: Rory, the world is ending. I know your father was, uh, really dedicated to his games but maybe this isn't a game-
RORY: You can't do it, can you.
JAZZ: I could!
RORY: Then do it!
JAZZ: ... if I wanted to!
She makes a tender motion toward the step, then hesitates. She jumps a little straight up- perhaps as practice?
RORY: Hurry up!
JAZZ: Don't fucking rush- y'know what, actually-
JAZZ: Screw it!
She stomps down on the wrong step, and starts to dance.
The dance is a nice touch, but not enough. The commoners still have no chance to compete with a royal's tantrum. (You'll have to give her some tips sometime.)
JAZZ: The world is over! I don't need to be playing your dead dad's games!
JAZZ: IS THAT A LION?!
You slam the door behind you. She throws the shelves in front of it.
JAZZ: Huff... huff... wheeze... huff...
JAZZ: Where do you even keep a pride of lions in a tower?
RORY: I believe they are transported from... wherever lions live... the jungle?
The tower rumbles and groans. You are both shook to the side, onto the wall, and down.
JAZZ: I have additional questions, but I think this is not the time.
RORY: I agree whole-heartedly!
RORY: I present, the Book of Magi!
JAZZ: ...S'Magi?
RORY: Huh?
JAZZ: It looks like somebody drew a... really elaborate letter S on the cover.
RORY: Oh. I forgot about that, haha.
RORY: My father forbid me to open it, so I defaced it with his quill.
JAZZ: With the letter S?
RORY: It felt right.
Today, as the plot is starting to ramp up elsewhere, you have chosen to become Joel Sassacre. This was a choice you made, of course, and so the consequences will be yours.
As Joel Sassacre, you are the beloved star of your family's traveling performance troupe. You are a wunderkind on the brink of adulthood, already having mastered the greatest arts on earth: juggling, high-dramatics, and flirting. You often ask yourself what is even left to learn!
Right now, the answer is obvious. Where is your darling grump of a twin sister, Jazz? She went to the castle for a fortune, but has not returned. Normally, you would not go looking for her. She would be upset to think she needed your help. Jazz is very self-sufficient upon her insistence.
The fire that reigns in from the sky in great thrusts is not normal, though, and you don't think you could live without your sister's company. Even if she'll be mad at you, you start the search at the castle doors.
You dodge nimbly between the panicking servants who are fleeing the castle in swarms. They cry out about apocalypses, and armageddons, dead royals, and divine punishment.
At the center of this chaos, you see the Nun Superior. She is very generously offering her scythe to those who still have a head. Indeed, there is a whole gallery of heads here...
Gross.
You have chosen to aggreive.
You have three skills- and there is no space for a stage and a homicidal nun isn't your type, so juggling it is.
Luckily, heads are round enough.
You volley the heads up and around, mesmerizing the Nun Superior long enough to let the other castle-folk flee the scene. The Nun Superior takes out her potions and doctorly concoctions, perhaps a fine vile of king's piss, and juggles them as well.
...a test of skill, then!
You kick up some more heads to add to your routine, twirling and vaulting to catch them in rhythm to the rumbling meteors.
The Nun Superior drops a potion, but not as a mistake- it lights fire to the other options. She's juggling the flames with years of practice.
You chunk a bloated head at her face while she is distracted.
