In the darkness of night, a small group of men huddled around a campfire to keep warm. The scouts dressed in hard leather and hooded cloaks, the usual armor for a patrol party around their kingdom. The oldest among them, a hardened veteran scarred by a long life out on the field of battle, told of legends and myths as the younger men ate.  

"A long time ago, Heros of great Virtues used to roam the land, fighting for the early empires and battling the forces of evil and the corrupt forces of the Pantheons. They ranged from mighty paladins of justice to mages of great knowledge and wisdom. They locked the Pantheons away in the heavens, freeing the world from their corrupt influence and plans. Under their guidance, the warring kingdoms united against the darker races that followed the plagued the land. After that, the great Heroes slowly disappeared from the world. No longer needed, they left this world for greater challenges, or so the story goes."

The older man looked among the young faces, never having known the power of a great hero before. Most of them were just children, never having seen the actual life of a soldier. "It has been thousands of years since the great heroes have left this plane, but some kings still claim their lineage from these powerful legends. Many great minds have tried to unlock the secrets to their power; all have died without the knowledge they seek." 

The older man peered out into the dark woods. "Many of the common people think we need those Heroes again, spoiled nobles always waging war like it’s a game, ancient powers returning, creatures made of pure nightmares wandering the lands. We can only hope that the universe hears our prayers." The men went back to eating in silence; the only sound was that of the wind blowing through the trees in the night.

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A monstrous giant of a man sat at a cluttered computer desk. A multitude of screens, the only light shining in the darkness of the small room, illuminating the front of his beautiful face, sculpted to perfection as if manufactured for a mannequin. He sat hunched over at the keyboard built for his large frame, each screen covering something different yet connected. A World Map overview, various monster sheets from a classic tabletop game, character sheets of various nobles and important NPCs. Finally, strangely enough, the latest episode of a popular daytime Spanish novella. This behemoth of a man was busy typing away on line after line of coding full of alien hieroglyphics, getting ready for his next expansion.

That last expansion was a real blast; this one was going to continue the story. The date of release was near, and crunch time was always like this. Late nights always wore on his stamina. He reached for another energy drink; the can dwarfed by his massive hand. After draining it, he tossed the empty onto a pile of the many soldiers already laid waste to his gluttonous thirst. 

Crunch time was always the worst for his waistline; he should go to the gym once this the task at hand was done. He had to make sure nothing went wrong with the story or gameplay. Nothing like a horrible glitch that might cost someone their fun. If these players were anything like the last ones, they might affect all the worlds they touch. Not just their world, so gotta get it right! What's another twenty or so cans, who needed sleep. Sleep was for those without deadlines!

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On another plane of existence, powers were already in motion to return heroes to the world. The list for beta players was complete, and the emails had been sent. Soon eight lucky participants will become Heroes or Villains, impacting the world toward peace or destruction, a roll of the dice on what they would become.

 “Welcome to the world of Midgard!"