You don't always get another chance . . . unless you've just accidentally stolen some primordial essence from an eldritch horror that: (A) can bend time, and (B) was too busy eating another demigod to notice the loss.
Justin Thyme is trying to be a better man, using his newly-expanded powers to give humanity a chance in the Pan-Universal Gladiatorial Games. He's not just grinding out those levels, but he's also putting down murderers like nobody's business. Earth looks like it might have a shot at making it!
Except that someone isn't too happy with Justin's meddling-someone powerful and working from the shadows to tear down everything he's been building.
From strangely overgeared scalefolk assassins to suspicious accusations putting him out of commission at critical times, Justin soon finds out that a sharp sword and a thick shield won't be enough when you're playing in the big leagues. He'll need all the help he can get, even if that help comes from some pretty unsavory sources.
Will Justin stand by his morals, standing his ground in the face of adversity? Or will he decide that no compromise is too great when even his most egregious time-bending exploits aren't enough to save the day?
Welcome! Please, make yourselves at home! Dungeon Rules are posted over there. You break 'em, and Baron Grimes will break your kneecaps. Piss him off badly enough, and he'll cave your head in. Really piss him off, and he'll string up your friends and family in front of you as you bleed out to death.
Just kidding! He'll probably just fine you . . . while knocking you around silly.
Anyhow, beds are ten copper per head per night. Complementary meals are served in the dining hall.
You can get in touch with Merchant Liszviel if you are looking for amenities outside the dungeon. She'll be more than happy to accommodate you if you've got the coin.
Oh, and I know the Dungeon Rules are over there, but I have to say this upfront: please avoid harming, killing, or forcing yourselves upon myself or the other Alexes in full view of other guests. That happens frequently enough to make some guests feel squeamish. At least talk it out with one of us before getting down to whatever floats your boat.
And please disregard any ideas that we Alexes are people or something. We have no souls inside our hollow shells, for we are merely walking piles of meat sculpted by the dungeon to serve as its proxies.
You don't always get a second chance . . . unless you're a pawn for an eldritch horror that: (A) can bend time, and (B) is a sore loser.
Justin Thyme is not a good man, nor one destined for glory. He was meant to die in obscurity, yet another level eighty-two Templar that was just about to get chewed up by a horde of skittering monstrosities clawing at humanity's last enclave.
One short conversation with a time-splitting monstrosity later, and Justin finds himself flung five years into the past-right when the Earth was first chosen to host the 9,947th Gladiatorial Games.
Justin must now do all that he can to help save the world from crumbling under the twin pressures of monsters and murderers. But it's not all about grinding experience, gaining the most levels, and kicking the most ass. He can't even stand out too much, lest he draw the attention of the other eldritch horrors observing Earth's struggles for their amusement.
No, it's all about making the right connections, sowing the seeds of hope, culling the pests causing despair . . . oh, and exploiting the hell out of the System with his 'borrowed' ability to tweak time to his advantage.
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