All around you, the world suddenly shifts and changes—becoming flat, flat, flat. There is the rustling sound of paper, and a rushing whoosh as the trees fan around you. The sky above is revealed in swirling patterns of blue. A bright yellow cut-out sun dangles from a string, spinning idly, and fluffy clouds spring up from tabs on the blue canvas. The ground underfoot is made of bright little blocks of green, and cheerful two-dimensional cabins are layered between bright, flat trees.
The storybook world unfolds further to reveal a single, enormous tree, bearing the fruit of . . . of many, many trees—apples, oranges, grapes, even the occasional pineapple. There is a white canvas along the tree's trunk: as your team approaches, words begin to zoom across it, ink blossoming out from within, to form the following (not-quite-complete) paragraph:
Once upon a time, a __________ called into the storybook many __________ who would help her restore the world, fighting against the __________ that crept and consumed. These __________ would guide the __________ that came after them, to play in the __________'s games and __________ all of __________.
It was a __________ day when the __________ arrived, to brighten and bring __________ to the world. For this world knew only __________ and __________, creatures that crept in the __________ and __________. All stories must have both __________ and __________, after all.
As the __________ and __________ settled in to Aather, so did the Personae begin to be __________ from the pages of their stories. But all was not well—with the seeds of change came __________. Whose world was this, really? Why were the heroes here? Where were their __________, and their memories, and why could they not __________? Why should they __________ and be __________ in what was not their fight?
__________ grew around __________, and __________ around __________, a thorn intending to branch away from __________'s way, to restore Aather in her own regard, by __________ . . . but the __________ of a __________ is not always the same as it's __________. Around __________ was woven the power to hold the story in balance. But what is to happen if __________ begins to __________. . .?
There is what __________, and what cannot be __________. How far have we __________ from the __________? What __________ have been __________?
Round 1 - Beauty’s Forest
The storybook world unfolds further to reveal a single, enormous tree, bearing the fruit of . . . of many, many trees—apples, oranges, grapes, even the occasional pineapple. There is a white canvas along the tree's trunk: as your team approaches, words begin to zoom across it, ink blossoming out from within, to form the following (not-quite-complete) paragraph: