ItsJaySome

Hello EveryOne!

It's been a while since I last posted. Here I am again trying to get back in Web3 World and tonight we have a Game Night happening in Our Discord.

@SolBombersAGS x @PaldoCryptoDAO

Let's go, Come and join us.

⚔️ THE ARCHIVIST'S LOG: WEEK 3 ⚔️

Theme: THE 3333 PROPHECY

Before taking his last breath, the Blind Prophet of the Northern Wastes left a warning: "When the stone wall shatters, the 3333 nameless ones shall return. They are neither the living, nor the dead. They are..." >

What exactly are the 3333 entities? 👁️

Story :

In the endless freeze of the Northern Wastes, the Blind Prophet lay dying against the Great Obelisk, a black monolith older than memory. Sightless since birth, he had seen too much of what lay between worlds. Now, frost-crusted furs wrapped his failing body as a young acolyte knelt beside him.

His final whisper cut through the wind:

“When the stone wall shatters, the 3333 nameless ones shall return. They are neither the living, nor the dead. They are…”

The sentence died with him.

For three hundred years the prophecy slept. Scholars debated its meaning in distant halls—literal number or symbol? Metaphor or masonry?—and mostly dismissed it as a dying man’s ravings.

Then one night the sky bruised purple.

Beneath the permafrost, the Obelisk groaned. Cracks raced across its face. With a sound like tearing continents, the eastern wall exploded outward in a storm of shards.

Silence followed.

Then they emerged.

The 3333.

They looked almost human, yet their faces refused to hold. Eyes appeared and vanished; mouths opened in silent howls before melting away. Skin shifted—flesh to mist to obsidian and back. Armor, robes, chains flickered across them like half-remembered dreams.

They were not ghosts, for ghosts remember names. They were not undead, for the undead hunger. They were the echoes of every soul deliberately erased: kings scrubbed from monuments, children whose mothers forgot they were ever born, traitors and lovers unmade so completely the world believed they had never existed.

Reality keeps strict accounts. Long ago, its architects decided 3333 was the precise number of names that could vanish before the fabric began to tear.

Now the wall was broken. The ledger called for balance.

They moved across the Wastes in eerie silence. Wherever they passed, suppressed memories returned. Blank stones suddenly bore forgotten names. A mother woke screaming with the memory of a daughter buried twice. A king opened a chronicle he had burned and found his own name listed among the damned.

They offered no vengeance, no forgiveness—only presence.

By walking the world again, they forced it to remember what it had tried to delete.

The Blind Prophet’s unfinished warning had not been madness.

It was patience.

When the stone shattered, the nameless ones answered in the only way left to them:

We were here.

We are here.

And now—you will not forget.

@LastOdyssey_io #LastOdyssey

⚔️ THE ARCHIVIST'S LOG: WEEK 2 ⚔️

Theme: THE ABYSS OF LANCELOT

Lancelot was Middangard’s brightest knight. But after the Abyssal Campaign, he returned with a corrupted blade and slaughtered his own King.
No one knows what he witnessed at the bottom of the dark...

What did Lancelot see in the Abyss? Why did he break his oath? 🩸

Here's the story :

Before the Abyssal Campaign, Lancelot was the paragon of Middangard, a knight of unblemished honor and the most trusted champion of the noble King Uther Pendragon. To Lancelot, King Uther was more than a sovereign; he was a mentor and a father figure who had built a realm of peace and justice. When ancient prophecies warned of a rising darkness, Lancelot stepped forward to lead an expedition into the heart of the Abyss, vowing to protect his King and his home from the encroaching void.

At the bottom of the lightless chasm, Lancelot found no physical army, but a primordial entity that attacked his mind with insidious whispers and flawless illusions. The deceiver showed him fabricated visions of Uther as a bloodthirsty tyrant who sacrificed the innocent for power, poisoning Lancelot’s memories with psychic venom. As the lies took hold, Lancelot’s soul was corrupted; his blade twisted into a blackened relic, and his raven-black hair ignited into a bloody red, writhing scarlet, marking his transformation into a tool of the Abyss.

Returning to the surface consumed by a false, manufactured rage, Lancelot saw his beloved mentor as a traitor. In a tragic act of brainwashed fury, he stormed the throne room and struck down King Uther, shattering his oath and toppling the kingdom. This act of manipulation left the realm in mourning for a fallen King and a hero stolen from himself, leaving a Young Prince Arthur to inherit a throne stained by an unimaginable, whispered tragedy.

@LastOdyssey_io #LastOdyssey

⚔️ WEEK 1 THEME: THE FALLEN SANCTUARY 📷

“We found an abandoned outpost in the Northern Wastes. No bodies. No blood. Only a single word carved into the stone: 'AWAKEN.' ”

As the last light bled from the sky over Middangard, our vanguard reached the rim of the Fallen Sanctuary. It was a cratered bowl of black glass where an entire citadel once stood defiant against the heavens. No rubble and no bones remained. Just that single, searing word burned into the obsidian floor in letters tall enough to stride across: AWAKEN.

We thought it was mockery at first, some ancient jest left by whatever cataclysm had erased the place. Then the glass began to sing.

A single note, low and bone deep, rose from beneath our boots. It wasn't sound so much as pressure pushing inward on the skull and outward on the ribs. One scout dropped to his knees with palms pressed to his ears, but the vibration was inside him now. His armor plates began to glow the same violet white as the runes we had seen in the Northern outposts. His eyes rolled back, showing only light.

He didn't scream. He spoke.

"Sanctuary was never protection," he said in a voice layered with a hundred others. "It was incubation."

The ground cracked in perfect geometric lines, revealing veins of liquid starfire threading through the glass like capillaries. From each fracture climbed shapes, first smoke, then silhouette, then flesh made of remembered light. These were warriors in tabards identical to ours, but their movements were too fluid and too synchronized. They wore our faces and our scars, yet they looked older, wiser, and hungrier.

They didn't attack. They offered hands.

One reached for me. When our gauntlets met, I saw it all in a single, merciless heartbeat: the true history of Middangard. The gods hadn't abandoned us. They had seeded us. Every sanctuary, every outpost, and every rune etched stone was a chrysalis. The word AWAKEN wasn't a call to rise. It was the final trigger. The moment enough souls touched the threshold, the harvest began.

Not death. Ascension. Or something wearing the skin of ascension.

My scout, who was now something else entirely, turned to the rest of the squad. "The war never ended," he said. "It only waited for enough players to forget they were pieces on the board."

I severed the contact. The backlash hurled me backward across the glass. When I scrambled up, the shapes were already merging. Soldiers folded into taller figures, armor melted into wings of fractured light, and faces smoothed into featureless masks that still somehow smiled with all our mouths.

The song swelled into a chorus. Not voices, but intent. A single overwhelming urge broadcast straight into the mind: surrender, become, and feed the next cycle.

I ran downslope with boots skidding on mirror smooth obsidian while the crater wall rose like judgment around me. Behind me, the light bloomed brighter and bleached the night. I didn't dare look back. I could feel it watching, not with eyes, but with the accumulated memory of every soul it had claimed.

Miles later, with lungs burning, I collapsed in the shadow of a lesser ruin. The wind carried the echo of that single note. It was faint now, but patient.

AWAKEN.

It isn't finished with me yet. And somewhere in the dark between heartbeats, part of me is already answering.

@LastOdyssey_io #LastOdyssey

PaldoCryptoDAO x Don't Die Game Night!

Massive thanks to @MetzlerGames for an awesome Game Night with @PaldoCryptoDAO and @dontdiegame!

The vibes were immaculate, and those tips and tricks are gonna help us crush it next time. Appreciate you, Metzler, for making it a night to remember!

We hit a milestone with over 50+ participants

Cheers to everyone who joined and made it a blast! Until next play, stay game, stay strong!