End of an Old Era (Prologue)

It has been two weeks since what the Players has dubbed "The Apocalypse".

In Big Apple, adventurers loiter the streets like corpses. Save for shallow breathing, they lie there with a glazed and dull expression.

A fortnight ago, the guilds and factions have stockpiled whatever resources available in the server, hoarding it all away from the public.

One would be lucky to even find a bread crust.

Gold values had inflated to improbable levels and the term "Player-Killer" have been murmured like that of a server-wide boogeyman.

Most lay defeated and lifeless, hoping for something to whisk them away from the deafening monotony.

As the hunger pangs rear its ugly head, a flyer flutters by on the riverside breeze.

It reads, "Soup Kitchen at the former site of the Big Apple Idol Pageant. Located between Broadway and Sixth Avenue."

Despite the gaudy text and colors, you feel a sense of hope brushing through your heart and stomach.

With that, you make your way towards Downtown.

Cliff's body gnawed at him. He hadn't eaten in two days, never mind eaten 'well' in the past week. If you could call it well. The damn food had no flavor! Every edible substance tasted like water and felt like mashed potatoes. He cursed to himself.

The Bard had gotten by without a guild since  the Apocalypse thanks to his subclass, Courier. After only a few short hours in the new prison, a merchant offered him a Courier quest he'd never received before. More followed. People of the Land were kind enough to offer some food for delivering messages to and from friends, family, and business partners. The Landers, he thought, were just as baffled as he was at the turn of events. Which was baffling to him. They can think? Aren't they just NPCs? There was little time to ponder, however. Tensions between the Landers and Adventurers began to build, placing mistrust in the middle of Cliff and clients, and these job offers dwindled. His only source of sustenance ceased to exist.

"It's too good to be true." The slim man spoke cynically, tossing the flyer back into the wind. "It has to be."

He shook himself and sighed. The world was getting to him. It wasn't like Cliff to think in such a negative manner. Maybe there is someone with good intentions. Maybe not. He wouldn't know if he didn't go. Besides, even if it's some sick trap, doing something is better than doing nothing. Fastening his ten gallon hat, the cowboy set off.

Royoko's body growled angrily at him. It has been how many days sense he last ate, 3 or 4 days? He fights against his stomach wanting to eat something, anything. He looks down to the ground.

What's worse is that his subclass, the chef being useless sense the "Apocalypse" Happened. He felt left out from all the action and was left to rot, or something like that. After counting whatever gold he had left in his pockets, he looked up and found a flyer flying around. It attracted his attention and so he walks towards it. He made the slightest grin as it spoke of a possible meal.

"A soup kitchen ... maybe I'll find someone from, blah who am I kidding?"

He begins to walk towards where the flyer had indicated but he shortly stops at a shade. His armor baking him from the inside out by now. His spear weighing him down like there was a metal cross on his back while moving across a wild wasteland.

Sitting by a bridge a male figure wearing a brown hood looked down holding his stomach. He hadn't eaten for an long time and the hunger in him has started to reemerge. Ever since the event known as the Apocalypse things didn't go well for him. Although he was fortunate enough to have stored some food provided by the People of the Land for his work, it wasn't enough to live through. Knowing that the Guilds have stored plenty of supplies for themselves made him somewhat disappointed in them, although he knew it would have happened either way which was one of the reasons why he never liked them in the first place, it was every men for themselves.

He sighed softly regretting about becoming a solo player. The only thing that was keeping his spirit from dampening was his goal to become "Number 1". He then straightened his black hair and stood up preparing to find some sustenance when a flyer landed on his feet. He calmly picked it up and examined it more closely. His eyes narrowed at what fate had for him. He looked around seeing nothing out of the ordinary then he looked back at the flyer and spoke softly.

"I don't know why, but I guess I can start my search over there"

Placing the flyer into his inventory he quietly headed towards his destination while making sure he'd cover up his trail so that no one would follow him. Despite having suspicions over the fact that there is a chance to get some good food he shrugged it off as he had nothing to lose at this point. After all he still has a goal to finish and he intends to get it done.

Two weeks since that day brought what people called the apocalypse, two weeks since people began having their troubles finding something decently edible. On top of that, anyone not in a guild wouldn’t be able to buy any decent food without paying with their limbs, some even giving their equipment just for a loaf of bread.

A gurgling sound came from Drugo’s stomach, it had been a few days since he had anything to eat at all, and no one wanted to spend money to get sigils on their body when they had more important things to worry about. His gold funds were running low, so there was no way he could get a decent meal without doing some quests. The gurgling became louder, and Dru began walking through a town that he would have never recognized if not for the mini map. He had done many trades here, as it was a good meeting point for anyone being just about anywhere.

As he continued walking, he stepped on a piece of paper. Shrugging it off, he continued walking thinking that it would fly off once he picked up his foot, however that wasn’t the case. Picking his leg up he noticed that it was a flyer stating that there was a soup kitchen near the Big Apple Idol Pageant, though he wasn’t entirely sure where Broadway and Sixth Avenue were in there. A sigh of relief expelled from his mouth and pulled a 180, making his way toward the Big Apple. Finally, a hint of hope exposed itself and gave Dru’s spirit the boost it needed to survive just a bit longer.