Post by probablyok on Sept 7, 2017 12:57:32 GMT -6
Dear New Visitor,
Welcome to what is now a ghost town. It's halls echo with emptiness and there is a thick layer of dust on everything in sight. It's only inhabitants are the rats scurrying on the floors and the vines growing in through the windows. There are large holes in the walls caused by what looks not like explosions, but more like large human hands. A flag sits planted in the ground in the courtyard for an army that does not seem of this world. Empty application papers litter the floor near the office. As you enter the office, you see older applications lying in an open cabinet, with either a large, green approved stamp on them or a red, angry rejected one. There are many applications littering the main desk. Some seem new and fresh, while others seem older and decayed. On the desk is a folder, decayed with age but its contents somehow magically fresh. Inside is the tale of this school, an institution which stood for years before a great war came, started by a force pouring from a dimensional rift. The war was long and arduous, and many lives were lost, but eventually, peace came. Friendships either strengthened or lost, and each student went their own way, each going on to a prosperous future which have been meticulously archived by this unseen writer. The school may be a ruin, but the survivors, the ones strong enough to fight and save everything they hold dear, came out victorious.
Leave this school behind. All of its stories are told. At least for now.
This is not a failed site, but a site of strife and victory.
This site is dead.
Welcome to what is now a ghost town. It's halls echo with emptiness and there is a thick layer of dust on everything in sight. It's only inhabitants are the rats scurrying on the floors and the vines growing in through the windows. There are large holes in the walls caused by what looks not like explosions, but more like large human hands. A flag sits planted in the ground in the courtyard for an army that does not seem of this world. Empty application papers litter the floor near the office. As you enter the office, you see older applications lying in an open cabinet, with either a large, green approved stamp on them or a red, angry rejected one. There are many applications littering the main desk. Some seem new and fresh, while others seem older and decayed. On the desk is a folder, decayed with age but its contents somehow magically fresh. Inside is the tale of this school, an institution which stood for years before a great war came, started by a force pouring from a dimensional rift. The war was long and arduous, and many lives were lost, but eventually, peace came. Friendships either strengthened or lost, and each student went their own way, each going on to a prosperous future which have been meticulously archived by this unseen writer. The school may be a ruin, but the survivors, the ones strong enough to fight and save everything they hold dear, came out victorious.
Leave this school behind. All of its stories are told. At least for now.
This is not a failed site, but a site of strife and victory.
This site is dead.