I teach you the Metanthro. Man is something that shall be overcome. What have you done to overcome him? All beings so far have created something beyond themselves: and you want to be the ebb of that great tide, and would rather go back to the beast than overcome man? What is the ape to man? A laughing-stock or a painful embarrassment. And just the same shall man be to the Metanthro: a laughing-stock or a painful embarrassment. Man is a rope stretched between the animal and the Metanthro - a rope over an abyss. What is great in man is that he is a bridge and not a goal: what is lovable in man is that he is an over-going and a going under. Behold, I am a herald of the lightning, and a heavy drop out of the cloud: the lightning, however, is the Metanthro. It is time for man to set himself a goal. It is time for man to plant the germ of his highest hope.

Behold! I show you the last man.

"Defence of our way of life is the greatest cause."

The young woman spoke these words with mindless repetitiveness. For her, it was better than permitting her mind to acknowledge the bizarre reality that had touched down mere moments ago. She hastened through the corridor, unable or perhaps unwilling to comprehend the message she was about to deliver. That evening was one of historic making; she was certain of it. She stopped at the last door in the corridor and rapped urgently upon it. In her anxiety, she hopped from one foot to the other impatiently.

"Paris? Paris!"

Eventually, a voice sleepily moaned from within, "No more for me…"

Done with waiting, the young woman bashed open the door, splitting the rusted deadbolt in two pieces as the door rebounded off the wall. She hurried to the side of the large bed in the room and knelt down, hissing, "Paris, wake up!"

The frame of some creature, buried under some half dozen blankets, rolled around in the spacious bed and growled at her. In her state of mind, panicked as it already was, she initially feared that the bedspread had become sentient and was now about to prey on her for food. When a human hand emerged from somewhere under this heap of bedding, her instincts came to the fore and she began ruthlessly beating it until all that was left was the form of a young man, her pathetic little brother, entangled in sheets and blankets.

“Paris, didn’t you hear me? Wake up!” she snapped, shaking him firmly until his eyes opened. He glanced at his sister and muttered, “Scones.” One more firm shake, and he said, “What do you want, Sister?”

“Throw on some attire fitting for a meeting, Paris. Father wants you forthwith in the councillor’s chambers.”

Paris rolled out of bed with histrionic disgust. He resigned himself to his obligation and stumbled to his wardrobe to don some acceptable clothing while his sister stood outside his bedroom door, tapping her foot. When he staggered out of his room, he glanced at his sister and said, “I want to go back to sleep.”

“Oh no you don’t!” she insisted, purposefully grabbing his arm and yanking him along. Paris suspected she would not have cared if she pulled his arm clean off his body. Despite this, when the two arrived at the councillor’s chambers, Paris was asleep, having nodded off somewhere in the middle of this unhappy force-march and errantly engaged in sleepwalking. He was jolted awake with a hard smack to the face.

As his eyes opened, so did the doors to the chambers. Paris felt his sister let go of his arm and she curtseyed to the assembled men in the room before swiftly disappearing. Paris's father rumbled, “Now that we are all convened, I would hear your thoughts, Kendrick.”

An aged man wearing white robes was to the right of Paris’s father. He waved a hand in the air and remarked, “I strongly suggest we send a team of scouts to investigate the situation before we decide on our next course of action.”

“What an odd proposal, coming from you,” said the man beside him. He was wearing a suit of armour. “You usually suggest diplomacy and legates of all kinds to engage in these matters. Reconnoitring is my forte, not yours.”

Kendrick turned and gave this speaker a hollow stare. “What do you want me to tell you, Sir Leonard? I have a terrible suspicion speaking to my better instincts in this matter.”

“If it’s all the same to you,” another interlocutor chimed in, “I say we wait and let whatever might come to us actually come to us. For all we know, we might just be looking at a big, pretty rock that landed at our door, but with no one on it.”

“Don’t be absurd,” Kendrick said. “The appearance of this place is eerily similar to the description provided by ancient lore. No, this must be the place of which the legends spoke.”

“That’s all just myth and superstition,” huffed another speaker irritably. “You priestly types peddle in that kind of garbage anyway, and everything is an omen or a portent or a sign of something apocalyptic about to happen.”

“Enough!” raged a ringing voice that silenced the chatter and woke Paris. Everyone turned to this speaker, and Kendrick apologetically said, “Crown Prince Raymond, I have a feeling you wish to express your thoughts to us.”

Paris looked up at his older brother attentively. Raymond laid the palms of his hands on the table and, with an unwavering voice and a steady gaze, declared, “Bickering will not solve this matter. At present, it is not even clear that we have a problem before us, but our behaviour would rapidly escalate this matter into a problem. Let us not seek trouble when it does not seek us.”

“I have come to a decision,” said another voice as Paris’s eyelids sagged. Sir Leonard asked, “Sire, what would you have us do?”

“In all my years as king, we have never encountered anything of this kind. The most learned man on the subject sits just beside me. Kendrick is well-versed in the old legends and stories, and it is only sensible that his advice should be taken.”

“King Connor, your decision-making skills are peerless,” Kendrick praised. Paris heard Sir Leonard respond with an audible, “Humph.”

“It is settled,” spoke Connor, stroking his white beard. Kendrick jumped in, “Sire, if I may make a brief suggestion, I believe that our finest men should be quick to the scene. I volunteer myself, and also nominate Sir Leonard, Sir Martin, Prince Raymond, you, and…”

"Prince Paris?" someone suggested. All eyes in the room turned to the dozing prince. Kendrick coughed and remarked, "It is best he remain here with the Queen and Princess."

General murmurs of assent followed. When Paris awoke, the room was clear. He figured his job was done and he got up to wander back to his room. On his way, Paris glanced out of one of the narrow castle windows and saw something peculiar in the night sky: a curious green glow on the horizon.

"I wonder what that is..."

Several people standing in the courtyard were staring at the same phenomenon and wondering the same thing.

OOC: I figured I'd try my hand at running an RP.

As you may have guessed, the primary setting is mediaeval. However, this will not always be the case. I don't want to give too much away, but there will be a shift that will allow others to join or add more characters, in a radically different setting from the High Middle Ages; keep that in mind.

Magic use is perfectly fine within reason. Furries are acceptable, but be warned that they occupy the absolute lowest rung of the social strata. They are more likely to be ostracised, ignored, or attacked in extreme circumstances. Humans are the dominant species.

You may introduce your characters as meeting Paris inside or as one of the curious onlookers in the courtyard. Go forth and enjoy.