The Atlas was written like a riddle.

That’s what I concluded. That’s not to say that it rhymed or played tricks, but it was clear that the writers who had contributed to it knew there were penalties for making things too simple or obvious. The book was larger than any I had ever read, with hundreds upon hundreds of full pages in its bindings with pictures and hand-drawn charts, but it might have only contained a hundred straightforward and direct sentences.

My Rescue trope, for instance, forced enemies to come to my team’s base and try to kill us instead of us going to them. It set the win condition as “Survive the Night”. As I looked up the definition of Survive the Night, this was what I found:

Survive the Night: the basic idea is to keep those baddies at bay until something called 'sunrise.' Now, don't go thinking 'sunrise' is always the morning light peeking over the hills - it could be all sorts of important time-based happenings in the game (clouds covering the full moon, anyone?), but that you’ll have to figure out as you go. Most times, it’s exactly like it sounds, which makes all the other times all the more dangerous. As for 'night,' well, it usually means the time when the moon's up, but sometimes it could be more like a tough spot or a rough patch in the story. Fighting off the bad guys doesn't mean you gotta steer clear of them entirely as Carousel is apt to dislike; how you handle that is kind of up to you as long as the story satisfies. Most times, it looks like keeping the main characters out of trouble is what gets you the win, but there are other times when that might not be the whole story.

From the sound of it, the authors of the Atlas never wanted readers to rely on its contents so much that they got blindsided when Carousel mixed things up. I could appreciate that, but it sure would have been nice to get a more predictable ruleset.

I flipped to the section on the storyline Post-Traumatic. As I did, I heard Antoine and Kimberly still chatting. Antoine was trying his best to portray an optimistic and steel-nerved hero for Kimberly. She tried her best not to notice when it got difficult for him.

In the distant yard, Bobby was playing with the remaining dogs that had been in the storyline. His character was their owner and they treated him like he was their master. He almost looked like he enjoyed himself as he played tug-of-war with a large hound. The dogs all knew commands and were very well-trained.

Title: Post-Traumatic

Omen: A roller rink that flickers in and out of time, leaving a pit when it disappears.

Location: Pit Boulevard entrance.

Ideal Scouting Archetypes: Antiquarian, Researcher-Scholar, Occultist-Psychic

And that was it.

No free scouting information. No idea of the level range. Nothing else. It was going to be a difficult road ahead to get them back. I wasn’t going to stop until I had it all figured out. I knew other things. My Coming To A Theater Near You trope had given me lots of information. I knew the story involved time travel and mutilation. I knew an amulet was involved. I also knew about a book.

“The Town of Carousel: Horrific Events Through the Ages,” I said aloud. I hadn’t let myself forget. I knew the book was a useful tool. I had a hunch that if I could find a copy, it might give us an advantage in the storyline. That meant a trip to the library or any number of shops around Carousel. Whatever it took, I would do it.

“Anything useful?” Kimberly asked.

I had been lost in thought and hadn’t heard her arrive.

“Not as much as I would like,” I said.

“You’ll figure it out,” she said. “Antoine is wondering if he could use your sleeping trope. Just for a quick nap.”

“Oh,” I said. “I thought he still had it.”

“Well, he says it disappeared.”

I reached into my pocket and there it was. I pulled the ticket titled Out Like A Light and handed it over.

“He’s just tired,” she said sheepishly.

I nodded. And smiled back.

She disappeared around the side of the porch. I closed the Atlas and took a break.

I looked over the Now Playing section of the red wallpaper. I hadn’t yet looked up what all of those descriptions meant next to the storylines we had played, but most sounded like common sense. I would have to do that later. Antoine wasn’t the only one who needed sleep.

I awoke to the sound of knuckles rapping on one of the white support columns on the porch.

My first reaction was fear. A million possibilities moved through my head in a second and none of them were good. I looked over to the source of the sound.

It wasn’t the Speirs brothers.

It wasn’t an NPC, a Paragon, or otherwise.

Standing on the porch with their bags packed, were a man and a woman. The man had sandy hair that went everywhere. He wore a tie-dye shirt and cargo shorts. The woman wore a red jacket and black jeans. She had long black hair that she had up in a messy bun.

They were in their early twenties or so.

My eyes widened as I looked at them on the red wallpaper.

They were players.

“Never mind,” the man said, “He’s alive.”

The man’s poster featured him dressed as a clown leaning against a train. The axe murderer was hidden underneath the train waiting to strike.

Isaac Hughes is The Comedian, it read.

Her poster showed her with her eyes closed in deep concentration sitting in a chair around a circular table. A window was behind her. The axe murderer reflected in the glass.

Cassandra Hughes is The Psychic.

They were both at Plot Armor 11. They were brand new.

I just stared. New players already? That felt… early.

“Hello?” the woman asked cautiously.

“Sup?” I answered slowly.

“Oh,” she said. “Sorry to bother you. We’re looking for our brother Andrew, Andrew Hughes.” She pulled a piece of paper out of her pocket. “He wrote us a letter. Told us to meet him here,” she pointed up at the bed and breakfast. “Do we have the right place?”

I wasn’t prepared for this.

“Just a second,” I said. I raised my voice, “Guys,” I yelled as loudly as I could without freaking out the new players. “Guys. Antoine, Kimberly, Dina!”

It didn’t take long for them to arrive. Antoine had woken up and was carrying his bat. When they rounded the corner and saw me, they were confused. When they saw the new players, they were even more confused.

Antoine immediately tried to take control of the situation.

“Hey, you all,” he said smoothly, throwing his bat back out of sight. “You new to town?”

“Yeah,” the woman said. “We’re here for the Centennial. Our older brother got us jobs. He works at,” she glanced at the letter in her hands, “Hallowed Heart Hospital. They’re doing a booth or something. He needed some help. We were supposed to meet him or someone else here that will tak—”

“Is this a haunted house?” her brother interrupted. He pointed at the boarded-up windows. “It looks like a haunted house.”

“A haunted house?” Antoine asked.

“For the Centennial. It’s a horror thing, right?” Isaac asked.

“Oh, right. It’s kind of a haunted house, yeah,” Antoine said.

Isaac nodded. “Most haunted houses get the looks right. So rarely do they capture the smell of death this accurately.”

His sister nudged him in the ribs with her elbow.

“Are any of you the people who are supposed to bring us into town?” she asked.

Antoine looked over at me.

“Yeah,” I said. “We’ll go with you.”

“What did you say your brother’s name was?” Kimberly asked.

“Andrew Hughes,” Isaac answered with a grin. “Dr. Andrew Hughes, actually. He’s the smart one. I’m the good-looking one. And Cassie’s the girl.”

“Shut up,” Cassandra said under her breath kicking her heel back into his shin. She turned back to us. "If you can help us find him, that would be great."

He laughed at her reaction.

“Just a second,” I said as Antoine, Kimberly, Bobby, Dina and I huddled around the side of the house.

“What do we do?” Bobby asked.

“Was Andrew Hughes one of the vets?” I asked.

“Did you talk to anyone when we were at Dyer’s Lodge?” Kimberly asked.

“I talked to you guys,” I said.

“No,” Antoine said. “There was no Andrew Hughes. He might have arrived a while back. We don’t know how long they were waiting to be brought here.”

He had a point. Dina hadn’t arrived in Carousel until ten years after she turned down the road to get here.

“So, we need to find a way to ask them what year it is,” I said. “Not that it’s a priority. Their brother is definitely dead regardless.”

“We could ask who they voted for in the last election,” Dina suggested.

“That’s not exactly the best ice breaker depending on what the answer is,” Antoine said.

“Why are there new players here already?” Bobby asked. “I thought we were supposed to do this alone?”

“Reinforcements?” Antoine suggested.

That could have been it. The Insider must have brought them in on purpose. Their letter told them to come to the bed and breakfast specifically.

“First thing,” I said, “We need to get them up to speed… How do we do that?”

We all looked at each other. This would be tough.

How exactly were we supposed to keep new players calm? It turned out that Valerie had used Team Leader tropes on us to keep us compliant. We didn’t have any of those.

.

.

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Welcome to Carousel, newbies.

Isaac Hughes the Comedian had the following tropes equipped when he arrived at the bed and breakfast:

If he’s still cracking jokes…

Type: Healing

Archetype: Comedian

Aspect: Jokester

Stat Used: Moxie

…he’s probably not that hurt. In the wreckage of unknown terror, the heroes stumble on the body of a fallen comrade. The sadness cannot last for long, because before even asking what happened, their fallen friend fires off a sarcastic or silly remark. Instantly, sorrow changes to laughter or annoyance, but either way, relief comes with it.

With this trope equipped, the player will be able to heal some of the damage that they have taken if they make a joke, quip, or perform some physical humor the next time they are On-Screen after the scene where they are injured. It works better if the character has already established themselves as comic relief.

With good execution and the right circumstances, the player will be able to heal allies who have suffered the same injury at substantially the same time (i.e. surviving an explosion or falling from a great height).

If the Player’s injuries are extensive and known to the audience, the healing effect of this trope diminishes greatly.

Who says death isn’t a laughing matter?