Campaign 01, Session 01

The sky is not the sky. Or rather, it is not your sky, the same one you saw all the days of your life, though it looks much the same.

Tonight, it is a dark purple streaked with lighter shades of gray: little ribbons of clouds strewn about like pasta noodles stuck to the ceiling. You can't help but stare because among the clouds are names, four of them, written in brilliant colors and large, curling script, as if God took a Magic Marker to the sky. Your name is there, along with the names of the three strangers sitting beside you.

You've been here for two days now, huddled in the remains of an abandoned base camp in the middle of pine trees and a rolling, sloping terrain. In the distance, framed against a cluster of large hills, a train carves its way along a winding track, puffing plumes of colored smoke that occasionally burst and sparkle, like the thing uses fireworks for fuel. You've watched it pass by three times now, announcing its presence with playful hoots that feel at odds with the gravity of your situation. You have no food besides a meager ration of granola bars you found in a discarded backpack and no idea where you are, or who you're with. You would have left earlier, but the four of you have been unable to move since you arrived here by way of twisting, spacetime-contorting wormhole. You've been stricken with a strange sort of sickness that is just now abating.

Just in time, too. Over a rise and just out of view, you hear voices. You can't make out what they're saying. They're accompanied by the tell-tale blue strobe of police lights that arrived moments before your names were scrawled in the sky.

A sudden grinding sound cuts through the air, and you jerk your head over to see the train coming to a halt.

You've got a few options:

1) Head toward the flashing police lights, 2) head towards the train, 3) retreat deeper into the forest, or 4) stay put.