In the middle of town, a massive body leans awkwardly against a stone well. Its wooden musculature groans as it shrinks in the afternoon heat. The iron casing seems barely able to hold everything together, and the eyes are dull and sunken. As the wind blows, the well’s moldering bucket taps against the head. A tattered cape, once dyed a rich maroon, flaps open to reveal symbols carved by dozens of hands, strewn up and down its wooden limbs.

A man stands over the body, the first footsteps to grace this main street in decades. He leans over the wood-and-metal work, and says, “This should get ‘im going.”

He flips an iron switch, splattered with rust, below the metallic left shoulder blade.

All at once, rays of sunlight pierce Designation TR8c’s eyes, and years of memories flood his circuits.

He remembers Governor Ander slotting his last gear into place and the warm glow of her hands as she gave him his spark of life. He remembers training in the city guard, where he excelled at the physical and mental requirements, but never quite earned the trust of his peers. On his fingertips, he feels the heft of the satin maroon cape and the roughness of the spotty copper emblem he earned after making his first contraband bust.

He feels the dull ache of the spot where the local kid threw a rock at him the first time. He didn’t understand the child’s anger then, and he still can’t quite reconcile it. He hears the clank of his manacles closing on the child’s slim wrists. The jail cell where he threw the child smelled so strongly of rot that even TR8c couldn’t stand being in that building for longer than he needed to be.

Then – a flash of fire and iron. He sees the townsfolk forcing their way into the mansion – his home – to remove Governor Ander. His chest tightens with these tinges of emotion, still present, but dulled. His wooden flesh whimpers as it constricts.

“Take the robot too!" someone screams as his vision begins to swim. When his sight returns, he sees nauseated faces ringing the hall and blood dying his hands a deep purple. A mob of men and women drag him to the floor.

He remembers his arms and legs being hogtied. He remembers his head cracking the threshold of the governor's chambers. He remembers the muted thud of being thrown into dirt. He remembers the searing pain of blades sinking into his side. He remembers sandstorms and blizzards and tornadoes and the laughter of curious children and the pecking of curious birds. He remembers a blur of night and day, week and month, year and decade.

The sunlight no longer burns his eyes. They return to a pallid blue and white. He looks up to see an older man holding a glowing book, face full of joy. The man waits for TR8c to speak.

“Hello. I’m Designation TR8c, but you can call me Tracey. How can I help ya?”

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The party continues on Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, and Tumblr! On our Patreon page, you can unlock exclusive bonus content like cut scenes, bloopers, character backstories, player blog posts, Dungeons & Dragons game tips, and so much more. Have stories or questions for the next Afterparty? Email hello@jointhepartypod.com or contact us on our website!

Join the Party is produced by Eric Silver, Brandon Grugle, Amanda McLoughlin, and Michael Fische. Special thanks to our creative consultants Connor McLoughlin, Julia Schifini and Heddy Hunt.

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Join the Party is a collaborative storytelling and roleplaying podcast. That means four friends create a story together, chapter by chapter, that everyone from seasoned players to true beginners can enjoy. Where else can you get adventure, intrigue, magic, drama, and lots of high fives all in one place? Right here.

After each episode we sit down for the Afterparty, where we break down our game and answer your questions about how to play Dungeons & Dragons and other roleplaying games at home. It’s a party, and you’re invited!