So there they all were. Typing away on the Shadows of the Moon chat box; Oliver 'Twist' Reed, (also known on the board as Apocalyptic-V) was taking part in the latest debate. From what he could remember, it was on religion. Though as he had gotten a cup of tea from the kitchen, he'd fallen behind and become lost.
Checking the clock, it was nearly three a.m. and here each teenager was. Completely tired (that was the reason for tea, coffee for others, or some other supplement), and drained from the day. A long day of, what else: Typing.
And roleplaying, they could never forget that. Slowly, Reed started to slump in his chair, leaning back while talking to his friends. Slowly, so slowly, his eyes started to close. And he was lost to the world.
Literally.
The next morning his parents had issued a search party, they couldn't tell where their son was. Friends were being called. Nobody knew where he was, and nobody had heard from him. Even his ex girlfriend and best friend hadn't had a word from him.
And the same thing was happening to every member of Shadows.
Because nobody knew that his last words were to friends who couldn't even hear his voice. And the only one that was lucky enough to had heard his voice, and be closest to him? Well, they were also missing.
And they were all together.
They had woken up in a forest, a large clearing. Reed blinked groggily at the sun, and had heard a bird of sorts chirping in the distance. "Shut the fuck up!" He yelled, and yawned and covered his eyes with his arm. His mom would be in soon to wake him up. Or his stepmom. Whichever. The bird almost screeched. "I said, shut up!" And with that he sat up.
Staring around, he noticed he wasn't in his bedroom. No wonder the ground was itchy and grassy. Wait a second- what?
He couldn't believe where he was. Who had taken him here. Around him, he noticed other teenagers waking up. Some groaning in pain, or in fatigue. "All right!" he said, "Which one of you fuckers brought me here?" In front of him, he noticed something odd.
A silver hilt, with a golden trigger. It was curved, almost like a pistol would be, but more smooth. As if it was also the hilt of a blade. There were two holes at the end, the barrel he guessed. One was large. The other was a little smaller. On the end, were his thumb would be if it was a fencing sabre, a switch. It was like nothing he had ever seen before. Almost as if it came from some other world.
How little he knew.
As he reached out for it, just to inspect it, his fingers touched the cold, slightly warm metal. The metal was smooth, cool because of the nature of the thing but warm because of the suns rays. As soon as he grasped it, nothing but white light burned through his vision.
"Ah!" He heard, the bed was soft. Extremely soft. "You're up," as Reed propped himself upright, he noticed the hilt he had was on a nightstand next to him. The room was extremely dark. No lights were on and the windows were shut. He noticed the room must have belonged to a mansion. "Where am I?" He asked, looking around the room.
His eyes adjusted to the lighting and he saw a man. Short groomed black hair, hazel grey eyes. And a longcoat, looking English, 18th century, black with white rims. Underneath, a vest with a dress shirt and finally a sage shemagh around his lower jaw. White gloves came to clap against each other. "I was wondering when you were going to wake,"
"You didn't answer me. Where am I?"
"Thornhill."
"Excuse me?" To Reed's knowledge, no place on Earth was called Thornhill.
"Thornhill, near the town of Thorncrest."
"...Okay. And what's Thorncrest?"
"Thorncrest is a town," the man replied. "Thornhill is the forest near it. You are in Thornhill forest, in Dead Manor."
"Dead Manor?"
"Yes." The man's accent sounded slightly like a near-lost Scottish accent. Maybe East end of Edinburgh. Though... It was different. "I am Kenneth Fawkes. This is my manor. I found you in the forest, you were being searched by Hyenas."
"Hyenas?"
"Also called Lycans, yes." Reed laid his head back. He didn't know who this man was. "Lycans..."
"Like you, actually. Except more beastly. Nasty little buggers."
"Like me?"
"A Chronicaller, yes." The man- Fawkes -seemed extremely polite.
"Are there any others?"
"Yes, other teenagers. I took you all in."
"And you said I'm a Chronicaller....?"
"Yes."
"And what does this mean?" Reed asked. He looked to Fawkes curiously. Fawkes sounded surprised as he spoke.
"My dear boy... You're meant to stop the war."
"... I'm going to go to sleep, and this will be over." Reed replied, and tried his best to get to sleep. Annoyed to find when he woke up, he was still there.
Wherever there was.