[Writathon Nov. 2024 Participant] No one knows how they get here, they just walk in from the mists. No one knows where they were before, save for bits and pieces of their language and personality. No one knows *why* they are here, except for the one, singular, purpose they are given. To take Trials. Equipment Trials to gain items, both mundane and powerful. Technique Trials to gain skills, turning what would be years of practice into days or hours. Refreshment Trials to replace the need for food and water, neither of which are exactly in high supply in this desolate place. And not least, and definitely not last... Rank Up Trials, which bring you to strange places that seem somehow... half-finished. Though, if they were half-finished, what does that make this place? Quarter-finished? Eighth? Regardless, I doubt anyone would come for the Trials alone. Problem is... people keep coming anyway. Every. Single. Day. They walk out of the mists in some kind of trance and then they are stuck here. For good, as far as we can tell. We've beaten back the mists, sure. That comes with its own problems, but that's a topic for another day. But for every inch of land we conquer, every item and skill we gain... it all comes from the Trials. So if you find yourself here, you may wonder where 'here' actually *is*. I certainly asked myself that question. And despite all my attempts at research, there's really only one answer I can give. This... is the World of the Trial-Takers. ------Found on a rickety old desk. Who takes a Trial for a desk, anyway? Some kinda historian guy, probably... bet he didn't make it past his Rank II Trial. [A/N: An experimental, sorta-kinda anthology about a 'blank slate' universe and the people who slowly build it up, piece by piece, Trial by Trial.]