Echo's home has been broken into and trashed. The culprits? Some of her "friends" from roleplay. A "friend" named Josh. A "friend" named Tristan. Even Rictor threw a few bricks through the windows. Then there were people named Ash ... and Nikola ... and Ourus ... and many others whose names I could place here if I wanted to review the text -- they all helped. And when they were all finished, Echo herself lit the fire that gutted the place.

Echo's home is closed. Echo, the character, has been murdered, by a "friend." I, Marcia, do not have the heart to catch up on her chronicles just now. I don't even have the heart to roleplay.

People, I really have tried. I've spent more hours than I can count putting together RP biographies, trying to make all the graphics and text and music just right for each person. I tried to set an example of good, honest, fair roleplaying. I didn't always succeed at that, but I tried. And yet my "friends" decided that because of one marginal move which didn't suit them -- I'm not a roleplayer at all. They could have said, "You're a good roleplayer, but that move was illegal" to James and me. But no. They said, "The room has voted you two are bunnies." As if it is just that easy to trash everything a roleplayer has ever done. Just make one wrong move. Presto, you're garbage.

"Learn to roleplay," Josh said to me. Can someone tell me what it is I've been doing all this time?

If you want to see what Echo's Home used to look like, click here (leads back to the Foyer) and feel free to wander around.

Background by The Cyberspace Inn