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Enter your name:
<<textbox "$name" "James">>
When you're ready, let us [[begin|start]].
<<audio startsong play>>
Welcome $name. Please note that this "game" cannot be saved, nor should it be. For as much as I'd love to call it a "game" it is more akin to a book than anything. So I've grown comfortable with calling it an "experience”. In this experience you can die. This will force you to restart. However, due to the awful hassle that would force on the reader the threat of the players death only exists for the beigning of the experience. Regardless, I hope you [[enjoy|thecone1]].
-Sincerely, Them. <<cacheaudio "startsong" "Music/Claire De Luna.mp3">>
<<cacheaudio "thepitsong" "Music/Dummy.mp3">>
<<cacheaudio "theroomsong" "Music/Departure.mp3">>
<<cacheaudio "thealternativesong" "Music/The Jungle.mp3">>
<<cacheaudio "therapsong" "Music/In My Feelings.mp3">>
<<cacheaudio "thehuntsong" "Music/The Beast.mp3">>
<<cacheaudio "theshipsong" "Music/Sea of Thieves.mp3">>
<<cacheaudio "thepathsong" "Music/Ediths Theme.mp3">>
<<cacheaudio "thefightersong" "Music/The Killers - Spaceman.mp3">>
<<cacheaudio "theclasssong" "Music/Claire De Luna.mp3">>
<<cacheaudio "theofficesong" "Music/Departure.mp3">>
<<cacheaudio "thetrainsong" "Music/Marital Sabotage.mp3">>
<<cacheaudio "thecastlesong" "Music/Gywn, Lord of Cinder.mp3">>
<<cacheaudio "thefarmsong" "Music/Nuvole Bianche.mp3">>
<<cacheaudio "thegravesong" "Music/Max Richter - On the Nature of Daylight.mp3">>
<<cacheaudio "thefinalsong" "Music/Departure.mp3">>
<<cacheaudio "thecreditssong" "Music/All My Friends.mp3">>
<<set $coward to false>>
<<set $nude to false>>
<<set $brute to false>>
<<set $bold to false>>
<<set $daveysdeath to false>>
<<set $knowledge to false>>
<<set $elizabethsdeath to false>>
<<set $untrustworthy to false>>
<<set $givingchase to false>>
<<set $flight to false>>
<<set $timbercrimchester to false>>
<<set $mangled to false>>
<<set $alternative to false>>
<<set $choiceone to false>>
<<set $choicetwo to false>>
<<set $choicethree to false>>
<<audio startsong fadeout>>
You jolt awake. To your left stands a sentient cupcake the size of an oven. It blushes and waves to you before drawing a curved blade spattered with dried blood.
[[That's probably fine?|thecone2]]
<<audio thepitsong play>>
“Welcome fighters! To THE CONE!” Bellows a chubby and rather pompous looking man from high above in the stands. The people cheer, their cries deafening. To your right is a cyclops wielding a great axe and a pink floral tea pot. He bashes them together and cheers along the stands with a dry roar. You are in the Cone. With nothing but the lid of a barrel for a shield and an ancient rapier as weapon. You couldn’t be more confused.
[[How exactly did you get here?|thecone3]]“Fighters!” The man cries into the megaphone. “Take your stances!” The Cyclops smashes his axe into the ground with a thundering thump. The Cupcake tightens its wrapper. Around the circular battle arena are fighters of all shapes and sizes. Each one readies themselves and the audience showers the air with confetti. You are given the task presented to every person in the Cone: survive. How do you accomplish this?
[[You drop your weapons and surrender! There has clearly been a misunderstanding!|theconea1]]
[[It appears you must do battle!|theconeb1]]
[[Quickly strip. You work best hanging out!|theconec1]]You throw your weapons onto the dry arena floor and turn to the wall behind you. The gleam of sugar crystals powder your fists as you bash against the Cone wall with them, protesting the situation. The people directly above you laugh wildly. A great bell rings, it’s brass laughter echoing through the crowd. You shout that you don’t know how you got here, but your voice is drowned by the raucous cacophony. The confetti has reached you now as the fighters snap into action. Among the colored chaos blood sprays into the air. The Cupcake approaches rapidly, sword ready to strike. What is it you do?
[[Get your gear! You must defend yourself!|theconea2]]
[[There's no time, you must flee!|theconea3]]A great bell rings, it's brass laughter echoes through the crowd. They erupt into noise and the event begins. There are maybe twenty of you in the arena, immediately after the bell has sounded, however, there are nineteen. A nondescript arthropod skewers a man whose shield and sword are of much higher quality than your own. You swallow anxiously as the chaos erupts around you. You watch as a woman burlier than a bull tackles a cyborg.
A fine looking gentleman approaches you. With his cane firm in gloved hand and a well-groomed black stash the gentleman looks regal and out of place. He calmly removes his top hat and tosses it to the ground before drawing a silver sword from his cane. For a moment the two of you regard each other. You can almost see yourself in the reflection of his monocle. Then he charges you. Dust kicks off the desolate ground as he runs towards you, sword drawn to glitter violently in the confetti filled air.
The cries of the audience are deafening as you raise your makeshift shield to meet the incoming blade. You can feel the very attitude of the watching crowds beating down on you like another sun; they want blood! The blade hits your barrel lid with a hefty thunk and it takes much of your strength to keep your arm up against the blade. For such a slim man your opponent is quite strong.
[[Just my luck!|theconeb1 ext.]]A great bell rings, it's brass laughter echoes through the crowd. They erupt into noise and the event begins. There are maybe twenty of you in the arena, immediately after the bell has sounded, however, there are nineteen. A nondescript arthropod skewers a man whose shield and sword are of much higher quality than your own. You swallow anxiously and quickly drop your pants and toss your shirt. As the chaos erupts you are interrupted in your undressing by an approaching man, forcing you to leave your underwear and grab your gear. Boxers the many colors of the confetti showering over you, the gentleman gives you a quizzical look.
With his cane firm in gloved hand and a well-groomed black stash the man looks regal and out of place. He calmly removes his top hat and tosses it to the ground before drawing a silver sword from his cane. For a moment the two of you regard each other. You can almost see yourself in the reflection of his monocle. Then he charges you. Dust kicks off the desolate ground as he runs towards you, sword drawn to glitter violently in the confetti filled air.
The cries of the audience are deafening as you raise your makeshift shield to meet the incoming blade. You can feel the very attitude of the watching crowds beating down on you like another sun; they want blood! The blade hits your barrel lid with a hefty thunk and it takes much of your strength to keep your arm up against the blade. For such a slim man your opponent is quite strong.
[[Just my luck!|theconec1 ext.]]
<<set $nude to true>><<audio thepitsong fadeout>>
You lunge for your sword and barrel lid. You grab the rapiers hilt and hoist the wooden shield into the air. The Cupcake is already upon you however and as you stand to fight you find the curved sword already through your stomach. Ichor drools, mixing with the confetti and the dust in a glob. You drop your possessions and fall to one knee. The Cupcake leans close and pushes the sword until it’s hilt is against your beating heart. The pain is immense and it leaves your vision swirling as a terrible cold sweeps from the injury to the rest of your weakening body. The cupcakes moist lips draw near your ear.
“Raspberry.” It whispers, taking its hand, covered with your blood, and licking it. Then it withdraws its blade and steps back. You are left to crumple into the earth. The cold continues to creep, filling your arms to your tingling finger tips and running down your legs to your numb feet. You want to cough, but you have no air. You try to breathe, but there is nothing but liquid in your mouth. The taste of iron muddles your senses and the twinkle of resting confetti is the last thing you see as your vision leaks away.
You lay, aware for but a moment longer. Then the world is gone.
//You have been slaughtered by a Cupcake! Would you like to [[restart?|thecone1]]//
The Cupcake is too close! You turn and run along the wall of the Cone. Most of the fighters have been drawn into the center of the arena, brawling in a wild cloud of dust and colored paper! Behind you is the vanilla iced Cupcake, its small legs nearly a blur as it gives pursuit! You have nothing better to do than continue to run! You’ve been blessed with a long stride and before long you’ve put some distance between you and the murderous dessert. This however is of little comfort as you attract the eye of an Ambiguous Arthropod.
It scuttles quickly from the body of a 5/6th goat, 1/6th man satyr. It means to cut you off! You still don’t have a weapon! You look back at the Cupcake, its small cheeks huffing and red. Then back to the approaching arthropod whose leg count is impossible to determine. You can’t fight them directly. But maybe…
[[Let them both come to you. Perhaps they'll kill each other?|theconea5]]
[[Make the sharpest turn and keep running!!!|theconea6]]Not seeing much of another option you stop running and, in a display of steel balls or total idiocy, allow both the Cupcake and Arthropod to collide with you. In a matter of seconds the Cupcake has been run through by an appendage of certain color by the Arthropod. Its sword drops to the ground as yellow cake fluffs explode into the air. The Arthropod, sensing the sugar, shreds the Cupcake while its mouth (are you sure it’s a mouth?) gobbles up the smaller pieces. You quickly grab the sword and hack off one of the nearer limbs. The creature wails as thick blood gushes over your Levi pants. You never liked these pants anyways.
The Ambiguous Arthropod turns to face you, it’s myriad of eyes looking just behind you. The ground is shaking to a beat. You turn to see, just for a moment, the horns of a minotaur. Then you have rolled to the side, and left the bull head to bash mercilessly into the peculiar shape of the Arthropod. The audience is delighted! Whistling and shouting they watch as the bull man tears a pair of wing-esc things from its back. (or is it the front?) They land beside you with a heavy thump, tossing up confetti. You turn to be faced with another foe.
A fine looking gentleman approaches you. With his cane firm in gloved hand and a well-groomed black stash the gentleman looks regal and out of place. He calmly removes his top hat and tosses it to the ground before drawing a silver sword from his cane. For a moment the two of you regard each other. You can almost see yourself in the reflection of his monocle. Then he charges you. Dust kicks off the desolate ground as he runs towards you, sword drawn to glitter violently in the air. In panic you lift one of the wing-esc things from the pair on ground. It’s thick and reflects the light in a lovely rainbow.
The cries of the audience are earsplitting as you raise your makeshift shield to meet the incoming blade. You can feel the very attitude of the watching crowds beating down on you like another sun; they want blood! The blade hits your Arthropod remains with a hefty thunk and it takes much of your strength to keep your arm up against the blade. For such a slim man your opponent is quite strong.
[[Just my luck!|theconea5 ext.]]
You go to turn, your feet churning up dust as you stop take a sharp right. The Arthropod however is swifter than you figured and it scampers to meet you, claws that are not claws snapping menacingly.
[[Looks like you'll have to go with plan B.|theconea5]]You try a thrust but are immediately parried, the man dropping his blade from your shield to do so. Then he swipes at you, nearly taking your shoulder as prize. Thankfully his blade only skims your dodging flesh. You take deep breath and concentrate. The arena smells of sweat and wet iron: blood. The stench could make your eyes water if your situation wasn't so dire. The gentleman takes a quick step forward; you respond with one back. He swings to your right. You block with your shield and try swinging left. He rolls from your sweep and slashes at your legs. A swift back step on your part saves your shins and then with a step forward you bring your weapon down in an arch.
Your attack is easily blocked with an echoing clang. Both your swords bounce from each other. Then, with your blade repelled, he thrusts at you. His blade enters your shield and its tip nears your chest. In the power of fear, you twist your shield, yanking the sword from his hands. Then, with a quick and lucky stroke of your own blade you impale the gentleman. Hot crimson immediately soaks his white shirt. You pull your sword from him and cut him down.
Then, leaving your weapon in this carcass you draw the sword from your shield. This was much better. Light, but with sustenance and a wicked edge this blade is far superior to your own. It’s with this new weapon you realize you are one of four remaining fighters. Unfortunately, in the Cone only three survive.
[[How do you know that?|theconee1]]
<<audio thepitsong fadeout>>
A rather crippled looking giraffe lies in the Arena’s center in a shallow puddle of mixed bloods. Then there is a man who looks too much like Hercules for you to be comfortable fighting him. His lion pelt clothes and gnarled hair however do not compare to the wild nature of the last competitor: a woman centaur holding twin blades and covered in scars. She looks at the blood splattered animal with pity. You make eye contact with the Herculean gladiator. He relaxes, as do you whilst the lady centaur approaches the giraffe, blades brought together to make one larger weapon.
With a very clean swipe she rends the animals neck in two. The crowd very nearly loses its mind and the whole of the Cone shakes with the energy created by hundreds of [[avid spectators.|theroom]]
<<set $coward to true>>
You try a thrust but are immediately parried, the man dropping his blade from your shield to do so. Then he swipes at you, nearly taking your shoulder as prize. Thankfully his blade only skims your dodging flesh. You take deep breath and concentrate. The arena smells of sweat and wet iron: blood. The stench could make your eyes water if your situation wasn't so dire. The gentleman takes a quick step forward; you respond with one back. He swings to your right. You block with your shield and try swinging left. He rolls from your sweep and slashes at your legs. A swift back step on your part saves your shins and then with a step forward you bring your weapon down in an arch.
Your attack is easily blocked, the Rapier’s blade efficiently intercepted by the gentleman’s more substantial weapon. Then, with your blade repelled, he thrusts at you. His blade enters your shield and its tip nears your chest. In the power of fear, you twist your shield, yanking the sword from his hands. Then, with a quick and lucky stroke of your own blade you impale the gentleman. Hot crimson immediately soaks his white shirt. You pull your sword from him and cut him down.
Then, leaving your weapon in this carcass you draw the sword from your shield. This was much better. Light, but with sustenance and a wicked edge this blade is far superior to your own. It’s with this new weapon you realize you are one of four remaining fighters. Unfortunately, in the Cone only three survive.
[[How do you know that?|theconed1]]
The cupcake from earlier still carries its curved blade. It's frosting is a mess, but the pink swirls over white fluffy cake still look delicious... You remember the cupcake has eyes and hate yourself for thinking about the taste of it's flesh. Then there is a man who looks too much like Hercules for you to be comfortable fighting him. His lion pelt clothes and gnarled hair however do not compare to the wild nature of the last competitor: a woman centaur holding twin blades and covered in scars. She looks at the blood splattered dessert across the arena longingly. Your stomach growls and you try to rationalize your craving for sweets. You make eye contact with the Herculean gladiator. He motions towards the cupcake with his head. After a moment of internal ethical debate, you respond.
[[Together you three shall prevail!|theconef1]]
[[The auidence would surely like a more aggressive play no?|theconeg1]]
You try a thrust but are immediately parried, the man dropping his blade from your shield to do so. Then he swipes at you, nearly taking your shoulder as prize. Thankfully his blade only skims your dodging flesh. You take deep breath and concentrate. The arena smells of sweat and wet iron: blood. The stench could make your eyes water if your situation wasn't so dire. The gentleman takes a quick step forward; you respond with one back. He swings to your right. You block with your shield and try swinging left. He rolls from your sweep and slashes at your legs. A swift back step on your part saves your shins and then with a step forward you bring your weapon down in an arch.
Your attack is easily blocked, the Rapier’s blade efficiently intercepted by the gentleman’s more substantial weapon. Then, with your blade repelled, he thrusts at you. His blade enters your shield and its tip nears your chest. In the power of fear, you twist your shield, yanking the sword from his hands. Then, with a quick and lucky stroke of your own blade you impale the gentleman. Hot crimson immediately soaks his white shirt. You pull your sword from him and cut him down.
Then, leaving your weapon in this carcass you draw the sword from your shield. This was much better. Light, but with sustenance and a wicked edge this blade is far superior to your own. It’s with this new weapon you realize you are one of four remaining fighters. Unfortunately, in the Cone only three survive.
[[How do you know that?|theconed1]]<<audio thepitsong fadeout>>
It is not long before the three of you have charged the baked good, weapons raised and ready to carve. Thankfully for you this chapter ends with handfuls of buttercream, vanilla frosting and blood pumping yet through your veins. The story itself however is far from over, even if this battle within the pit ends with your [[sugary lunch.|theroom]]
<<set $bold to true>><<audio thepitsong fadeout>>
It is not long before the three of you have charged the baked good, weapons raised and ready to carve. However, as you draw close your eyes shift towards the gladiator. The lady centaur easily lays waste to the Cupcake as you dart for the bronzed man. Your blade slides neatly into his abs, immediately robbing his eyes of energy. He stumbles back from you and falls to the ground with a sick splat. Behind you the centaur devours buttercream, vanilla frosting in handfuls. The crowd very nearly loses its mind and the whole of the Cone shakes with the energy created by hundreds of [[avid spectators.|theroom]]
<<set $brute to true>><<audio theroomsong play>>
There’s a fire. There’s a chair. There’s two chairs. Two chairs, one for you, one for them. They’ve a kind smile. The fire casts shadows into their features, from its home beneath the chimney. You settle into the chair. It’s thick and warm… It feels like new carpet. Outside the gentle hum of the rain gently shakes the massive French windows. It’s dim, but bright enough. Everything is made of dark wood and cast in the dull orange of flame, the only light. You take a sip from the hot chocolate. The fake little marshmallows have mostly melted into a sugary foam. The flavor is like the room. It’s all so very warm. You take a deep breath.
[[Yes you do.|theroom1]] “How are you?” They ask, not looking at you, but rather they gaze at the fire. It is reflected in their green and yellow flecked eyes.
“I am…” You feel… Well, you feel lulled. You feel drowsy almost. Is that good?
[[Say that you're okay.|therooma1]]
[[You feel calm... But there is a lingering thought. It troubles you.|theroomb1]]
“I’m lovely.” You respond finally. You take another sip of your drink. The mug is hot in your hands and just the smell of the chocolate alone is enough to heat your chest. You can feel the liquid as it goes down, spreading that timid tire.
“Good.” They look from the flame to you. Then, after a thoughtful look they return their eyes to the fire. “I’m happy.” They say after a long time. Then there is nothing in the air but the quiet crackle of the logs. The buzz of the rain, muffled by the brown walls and the sound of the fire.
“I think I am too?” You say, staring into the fire as well. You aren’t sure. Happiness is a difficult thing to come by. But in this moment, you can certainly say that you’re content. “How long will this moment last?”
“It’s hard to say.” They respond, running a hand carefully through their brown hair. “Any moment the rain could stop. Or the fire could need tending.” Their thoughts trail off. “It’s hard to say. While it’s here though, perhaps it is best we enjoy it.”
[[They are right. You should simply try to enjoy yourself.|therooma2]]
[[They are wrong! What is the point of settling in if things are going tto change?|theroomc1]]
“I don’t know.” You say finally. “I don’t know how I feel.”
“Whatever could be the matter?” They ask, a genuine expression of concern taking them. They look from the fire and search your face with their darting eyes, awaiting your response.
“It’s just…” You pause. The nagging is fading. It grows weary. “There’s something wrong.”
“There’s always something wrong.” They say thoughtfully. “Can it be mended with a quiet night by the fire?” You open your mouth to respond, but it closes itself. You honestly don’t know what’s bothering you. Even now, as you sit and try to concentrate the thought eludes you. Your memories are all very slippery… Eventually you nod.
“Some time with a friend.” You say, settling into your seat more fully. “I would like that.”
“As would I.” They reply, looking back to the flame. Slowly they too settle more fully and before long the trouble of your mind has gone. It’s lost under the familiar taste of chocolate and the comfort of your chair.
[[You tell yourself that you will remember what was wrong when the time is right.|therooma2]]You smell your home. You can imagine it. The way it smells after being away for a while… That scent is here. The smell of your mother. In the distance there is thunder. It rumbles its bronze melody. It sounds alive. It is nothing more than a few mere moments. And yet it is mighty. You look to them. They have a delicate smile. The look of someone not aware they are smiling; it rests carefully on their lips and slightly squinted eyes. You recognize, in a slow flash, that you probably look very similar. You can feel the smile. As you feel it, it can only grow.
This place is nice. This place is delectable. It feels almost like a dream. You make a mental note to remember this. This moment with them, here in the warmth of a wooden fire. You sip your chocolate. There is a hint of cinnamon that flourishes on the face of your tongue. It has a subtle spice to it; a zing of energy resting behind a restful aroma. It is how you feel. Aware, sharp, and yet blissfully numbed. You are awake; but if you invited it, sleep would come. Again sounds the roll of thunder.
[[Ask them who they are?|therooma4]]
[[Ask them where you are?|theroom5]] “I’m afraid…” You begin. You’re not quite sure what you intended to say, but as the statement lingers you realize that it in of itself is your true and completed thought. You swallow slowly, and repeat the truth. “I’m afraid.” You say. They look from the fire to you, their expression one of genuine concern. It is the look of a parent when a child admits pain.
“I know you are.” They whisper. “I am too.”
“Then how is it you can rest here!?” You ask, your mug shaking slightly.
“How can I not?” Comes their simply reply. “Life has given me a place to ease my fears. It has given me the constant rain, the warmth of a drink and the fire, it has given me you.” They look at you for a long moment. They aren’t seeing any particular physical thing. Instead they just gaze, looking for something that may not be a thing at all. “I’m happy.” They say again, looking back to the fire.
“You’re afraid?” You ask for confirmation, slightly confused.
“Yes.” They answer. “Yes, I’m afraid. But can I not be happy as well?”
[[You suppose they can be both.|theroomc1 ext.]]“Is it wrong I want to remember this?” You ask, almost knowing the answer already.
“I don’t think so.” They say sweetly, still looking at the dancing flame.
“I want to have this. To treasure this forever.” You say this nothing more than thoughts spoken aloud. “Tell me, please, what is your name?” You look at the side of their face. Their smile fades slowly, melting away. Then they look at you.
“My name does not matter.” They say slowly, their expression difficult to read. “But my friend, what is your name?”
[[Your name?|therooma4 ext.]]
“Is it wrong I want to remember this?” You ask, almost knowing the answer already.
“I don’t think so.” They say sweetly, still looking at the dancing flame.
“I want to have this. To treasure this forever.” You say this nothing more than thoughts spoken aloud. “Tell me, please, where are we?” You look at the side of their face. Their smile fades slowly, melting away. Then they look at you.
“The name of this place does not matter.” They say slowly, their expression difficult to read. “But my friend, what is your name?”
[[Your name?|therooma4 ext.]]
<<audio theroomsong fadeout>>
“$name.” You say, the memory of it sticky and sweet. “It’s $name.” You repeat, tasting the honey of it. It is your memory, this much you know.
“$name.” They echo. “We shall meet again.”
“How? When?” You inquire, putting your mug down. It’s grown cold.
“It’s hard to say.” They respond as the fire grows low. “It’s hard to say.”
[[Suddenly you are lost in darkness.|thehunt]]
<<audio theshipsong play>>
“Well I think that’s rather impossible!” The first mate declares! Her eye patch is a dark velvet and the scar it covers still peeks out from above and below it.
“Abbanar’s Gate?” The cartographer prompts, his arms crossed.
“Abbanar’s Gate?!” The first mate gasps. “The hell does Abbanar’s Gate haf’ to do with anything!? We had a full crew and a Captain with two legs!” From your position on the bed the sheets could cover your injury. But the pain radiating from your thigh tells a different story. You grimace as the cartographer continues the argument.
“Yeah, and you had two legs too! Who do you have to thank for keeping them!?” The cartographer is a large man. He wasn’t prone to anger, but his frustration is evident. The ship bucks over the crest of a wave. Outside the cabin window the lazuli sky hops in and out of view, trading places with the greenish blue waters.
“I didn’t say they’re not a good Captain!” The first mate shouts.
“But they’re clearly in no condition now!”
“The Captain’s fine!” The cartographer counters.
“Fine!? His whole leg has been bloody blasted off!”
“You’re missing an eye! That make you any less of a first mate!?”
“I can see just fine! The Captain can’t walk!”
“He doesn’t need to walk, you-“
“Doesn’t need to walk!? We’re about to-“
“Enough!” You call, the tire from your leg rivaled by your annoyance. The two look to you, their cheeks red and eyes hard. “I don’t need the two of you to decide if we’re going to Gilner Cove or not!”
[[You are the Captain after all.|theship1]]
You feel something lift. It may be your muscles, suddenly easing. It may be another thing, something that was here and heavy that has moved. Whatever it is, it moves when you smell it. You too look at the fire and you feel it as much as you can smell it.
You smell your home. You can imagine it. The way it smells after being away for a while… That scent is here. The smell of your mother. In the distance there is thunder. It rumbles its bronze melody. It sounds alive. It is nothing more than a few mere moments. And yet it is mighty. You look to them. They have a delicate smile. The look of someone not aware they are smiling; it rests carefully on their lips and slightly squinted eyes. You recognize, in a slow flash, that you probably look very similar. You can feel the smile. As you feel it, it can only grow.
This place is nice. This place is delectable. It feels almost like a dream. You make a mental note to remember this. This moment with them, here in the warmth of a wooden fire. You sip your chocolate. There is a hint of cinnamon that flourishes on the face of your tongue. It has a subtle spice to it; a zing of energy resting behind a restful aroma. It is how you feel. Aware, sharp, and yet blissfully numbed. You are awake; but if you invited it, sleep would come. Again sounds the roll of thunder.
[[Ask them who they are?|therooma4]]
[[Ask them where you are?|theroom5]]
[[The contract never felt right.|thehunt1]] You heave your equipment in before you finally settle in the back of D’s Honda Accord.
“How you doin $name?” He asks, turning around in his seat.
“Good, how are you two?”
“Disagreeing.” Ellie says from the passenger seat.
“I’m glad to hear everything’s normal.” You say flashing a smile that was supposed to be fake, but grows real. D turns around in his seat and straightens his seatbelt before pulling from the hotel parking lot.
"Rock or rap?” Ellie asks as she lifts a bundle of CD’s from between the seats.
“Is this what the disagreement was about?” You ask.
“Rock has a little of everything my man!” D says, looking at you through the rearview mirror.
“He’s going to say rap.” Ellie says, flashing you a look that’s somehow both pleading and threatening. It’s quite the expression.
“And if I had no preference?” You ask.
“You have a preference.” Ellie and D say in unison.
[[Rock.|thehunta1]]
[[Rap.|thehuntf1]]
<<audio thealternativesong play>>
<<set $alternative to true>>
“Rock.” You say. “It’s clearly the superior choice.”
“Drinks on me tonight!” D says jovially.
“Your gonna need it. The couches’ cold.” Ellie says with a steely expression.
“Well that feels like an over reaction.” D says, looking from the road to Ellie for a moment.
“Talk to me that way and you’ll be out there for the week.”
“Promise?” D says, his own serious expression cracking into a grin.
“Oh, okay!?” Ellie says, hitting his arm with one of the CD cases while he laughs. She herself can’t quite contain a small smile. “Which album dork?”
“Sound of Silver.” D says. “Sound good $name?”
“Sounds great.” You say, looking out the window. Outside the full moon hangs against the dark glass of the night sky. The headlights reveal sidewalks and yards in disrepair before they fade back into the darkness. “What did you guys bring?”
“You remember Black Friday?” D asks.
“Like two weeks ago, or last year?”
“Last year.” D replies. You think back to the scrambling people and a cashier with exceptionally eggy breath. You remember the sale; you remember D’s compulsive purchase.
“You- are you serious?” You gasp as the car jumps from asphalt to gravel.
“Unfortunately.” Ellie says dryly.
“You read the report, we have no idea what we’re dealing with!” D counters.
“He’s been looking for an excuse to use it with every contract.” Ellie remarks.
“Those drinks may hurt tonight after you get yourself into a lawsuit.” You say, remembering many long days in brightly lit rooms listening to others decide your fate. Occupational hazard.
“It’s December!” D argues. "Nothing's flamable!"
“We agreed it’d be a last resort.” Ellie says. “I don’t foresee us needing it.” The crunch of rubber on gravel fills the car as it suddenly begins to sway and jump.
[[You can't help but grip the car roof handle.|thehunta1 ext.]]
<<audio therapsong play>>
“Rap.” You say thoughtfully.
“Can I change boyfriends?” Ellie asks with a relieved expression.
“Well that feels like an over reaction.” D says, looking from the road to Ellie for a moment.
“It’s not my fault $name has better taste in music.”
“Talk like that and you’ll have no boyfriend at all!” D says ludicrously.
“Promise?” Ellie says, her own serious expression cracking into a grin.
“Oh, okay!?” D says, hitting her arm with one of the CD cases while she laughs. He himself can’t quite contain a small smile. “Which album dork?”
“I just want to listen to Pray for me.” Ellie says. “Sound good $name?”
“Sounds great.” You say, looking out the window. Outside the full moon hangs against the dark glass of the night sky. The headlights reveal sidewalks and yards in disrepair before they fade back into the darkness. “What did you guys bring?”
“You remember Black Friday?” D asks.
“Like two weeks ago, or last year?”
“Last year.” D replies. You think back to the scrambling people and a cashier with exceptionally eggy breath. You remember the sale; you remember D’s compulsive purchase.
“You- are you serious?” You gasp as the car jumps from asphalt to gravel.
“Unfortunately.” Ellie says dryly.
“You read the report, we have no idea what we’re dealing with!” D counters.
“He’s been looking for an excuse to use it with every contract.” Ellie remarks.
“Those drinks may hurt tonight after you get yourself into a lawsuit.” You say, remembering many long days in brightly lit rooms listening to others decide your fate.
“It’s December!” D argues. "Nothing is flamable!"
“We agreed it’d be a last resort.” Ellie says. “I don’t foresee us needing it.” The crunch of rubber on gravel fills the car as it suddenly begins to sway and jump.
[[You can't help but grip the car roof handle.|thehunta1 ext.]] “I assume we’re close?” You ask.
“You’d be surprised how long this little road is.” Ellie says.
“You two have already visited?”
“In the afternoon two days ago. Apparently the thing only shows itself at night, so we figured we’d get a lay of the land while we waited for you to get here.”
“So it’s a little farm, decently far from the nearest town, where the owner decided to buy an old Celtic artifact, and now the place is being haunted by something that skins the animals and only appears at night?”
“Precisely.” D replies. “I think it’s a questing beast.”
“Do those only come out at night?” You’re not sharp with Celtic mythology.
“No, but since when are poorly translated ancient texts perfect guides?” D says.
“They don’t skin animals either.” Ellie says. “I think it’s a Fairy-muse.”
“Like Leanan Sidhe?”
“Basically. Except that each Fairy-muse has its own preference in blood.”
“Oh, like Siobhan?”
“Siobhan was a Banshee.” D complains. “She was obviously a Banshee!”
“Just because she liked screaming doesn’t automatically make her a Banshee!” Ellie huffs. It’s then that the road turns and through the particle filled light beams the farm comes into view. The deep snow like gravel fades into the gentle sound of dirt. The main house comes into view only after a dead cornfield has been navigated.
[[The car's headlights seem to bore holes into the old wood with its two circular rays.|thehunta1 ext..]]The car comes to a stop. Ellie is the first to open her door as D shuts off the car and you grab your baggage.
“Let’s get this party started!” D says exiting the car just before you. You put your large black sack on the ground and slowly zip it open. The smell was always horrid. Behind you Ellie rummages through the trunk.
“This has got to be my favorite part.” She says, lifting an AK-101.
“Have I ever mentioned how sexy you are?” D asks.
“You’re always welcome to.” Ellie says as the two lean in for a kiss. Minus the gun it would have been rather romantic. Also you’re there, struggling…
“Hey guys, could I get a little help here?”
“Coming buddy.” D says, taking his own assault rifle from Ellie and coming to help you manage the corpse from the bag. “Oh boy!” He says recoiling from the stench. You wrap the rope around your hands and wait for a gagging D too take the other rope.
“The quicker we do this the sooner my eyes stop watering.” You say as he grabs at the rope. Together the two of you manage the pig from the sack, each rope tied around a pair of its legs.
“Putting it on the porch?” You ask, trying to minimize your breathing.
“Nope. The barn, it’s just to the right of the house.”
“I see it.” You grunt.
“Bend your knees!” Ellie calls after the two of you as you wade through the dark towards the quaint structure. The night air of December is frigid and your breath blossoms into ghostly flowers before you. It’s as invigorating as it is shiver inducing. There is no grace once you’ve made it too the barn. The hog is immediately dropped just outside the large door with a fleshy note. Then, without nose hairs to speak of you return to the car where Ellie has set out both your weapons, headlights, silver crosses, walkie-talkies, and trail mix on the wrap around porch.
“Did you get the M&M kind?” You ask, plucking your bag from the white wood.
“And risk listening to you whine?” Ellie chuckles. “Yeah I got them.”
“If I whine for stuff will I get it?” D says.
“You say that like it doesn’t already happen.” Ellie replies. You laugh, picking up the rest of your things.
“I do have a pretty cool girlfriend.” D says contently.
“You can say that again!” She says with a grin.
“So what’s the plan?” You ask, turning on your light after strapping it to your forehead.
“Watch the carcass, blast anything that moves and, if things get hairy, retreat to the car and I’ll bust out the flamethrower.” D says casually.
“Historically Celtic monsters are wary of the cross, so you’ll want to have that on you.” Ellie says.
“Figured as much.” You say, stuffing it into your pocket just before you swing the gun around your shoulder. “Let’s get a move on then.” You say, clapping your hands and rubbing them together for warmth.
“So who’s going to nab the high ground then?” D asks.
[[I'll take it!|thehunta2]]
[[Why don't you?|thehuntb1]]<<if $alternative is true>><<audio thealternativesong fadeout>>
<<else>><<audio therapsong fadeout>>
<</if>>
“Anything to get away from your flirting.” You say. “Do we have keys to the house?”
“The house is supposed to be unlocked.” D responds, taking his lady’s gloved hand in his.
“Don’t worry.” She adds. “If we can’t help ourselves we’ll go into the cornfield.”
“I needed that image in my mind.” You groan before walking into the house. The door swings open with a sliver of a squeak. Inside is so silent the tittering of the walls fills the air as nothing more than the wind occupies the space. You go through a large kitchen swathed in shadows before finding stairs that creak as you ascend. Your headlight is a sword through the black. Cold clings, darkness hangs, silence holds fast. At the stairs top you must turn u-turn left to enter the hall. There, in the dead of night, you search the multicolored rooms for a window facing the barn.
“$name? Over.” Comes D’s voice through the radio. You pluck it from your waist.
“What’s up? Over.” You say into the small black box.
“The bodies missing. Over.” You stop in the hall.
“What?!” You breathe into the microphone.
“Me and Ellie are back to back down here. We’re going to enter the barn. Stay alert. Over.” D responds.
“It’s just missing?” You ask. “Is the barn door open? Over.”
“No. Whatever this thing turns out to be, its fast. Remain vigilant. Over.”
“Copy that. Over.” You say, taking your steps with a heightened energy. You open another door to reveal a children’s room. Through the night dyed window you can overlook the barn. You drag the window open struggling to figure out if it is locked or not. You prop your weapon on the window seal and toss your trail mix on the small mattress. The pink walls seem to be eerily still as you watch Ellie and D cautiously open the barn door below.
“In position. Over.” You say.
“Just entering the barn now. Over.” D replies, his voice slightly robotic over the little static. You watch as they slowly enter, not hearing anything but the weak voice of the wind and the creaking of the floorboards. On one knee you exist in a state of stillness rather uncommon for the body. It’s as if the air is held together by tense bands. Bands tied to you and the light in the barn windows below.
“What are you seeing down there? Over.”
“Just the animals.” D replies. “So far so good. Over.” You are about to reply when you hear it. A door opening somewhere downstairs. You lift the radio back to your [[rigid lips.|thehunta2 ext.]]
<<if $alternative is true>><<audio thealternativesong fadeout>>
<<else>><<audio therapsong fadeout>>
<</if>>
“Anything to get the two of you from your flirting.” You say. “Why don’t you take the high ground?”
“Ah, but forbidden love is the sweetest.” D says, taking Ellie’s gloved hand in his.
“The house is supposed to be unlocked.” Ellie adds with a sheepish but confident smile. “Don’t worry. If we can’t help ourselves, we’ll go into the cornfield.”
“I needed that image in my mind.” You groan before walking into the house. The door swings open with a sliver of a squeak. Inside is so silent the tittering of the walls fills the air as nothing more than the wind occupies the space. You go through a large kitchen swathed in shadows before finding stairs that creak as you ascend. Your headlight is a sword through the black. Cold clings, darkness hangs, silence holds fast. At the stairs top you must turn u-turn left to enter the hall. There, in the dead of night, you search the multicolored rooms for a window facing the barn.
“$name? Over.” Comes D’s voice through the radio. You pluck it from your waist.
“What’s up? Over.” You say into the small black box.
“The bodies missing. Over.” You stop in the hall.
“What?!” You breathe into the microphone.
“Me and Ellie are back to back down here. We’re going to enter the barn. Stay alert. Over.” D responds.
“It’s just missing?” You ask. “Is the barn door open? Over.”
“No. Whatever this thing turns out to be, its fast. Remain vigilant. Over.”
“Copy that. Over.” You say, taking your steps with a heightened energy. You open another door to reveal a children’s room. Through the night dyed window you can overlook the barn. You drag the window open struggling to figure out if it is locked or not. You prop your weapon on the window seal and toss your trail mix on the small mattress. The pink walls seem to be eerily still as you watch Ellie and D cautiously open the barn door below.
“In position. Over.” You say.
“Just entering the barn now. Over.” D replies, his voice slightly robotic over the little static. You watch as they slowly enter, not hearing anything but the weak voice of the wind and the creaking of the floorboards. On one knee you exist in a state of stillness rather uncommon for the body. It’s as if the air is held together by tense bands. Bands tied to you and the light in the barn windows below.
“What are you seeing down there? Over.”
“Just the animals.” D replies. “So far so good. Over.” You are about to reply when you hear it. A door opening somewhere downstairs. You lift the radio back to your [[rigid lips.|thehunta2 ext.]]
The darkness is painted in lightning as you spray lead into the door. A cry like that of ten weeping men screams through the air, competing with the roar of your rifle. The door nearly shatters and the hallway is filled with incomprehensible clamor. You only stop shooting when clip is empty. The acidic scent of death wafts from your barrel. D bursts into the room.
“You okay!?” He asks, surveying the room quickly with his rifle raised before dropping it and coming to your side.
“Yeah I’m alright. It’s so fast.” You say, your mind kicking back into gear.
“Well it exploded through the outer wall of the hall.” He says, picking back up his gun. You tear the clip from your gun and load in a new one. “Lots of brown blood.” He remarks as Ellie comes into view.
“It’s in the cornfield.” She says. “We’ve got to go down there and finish it off.”
“Do you know what it was?” D asks you.
“Not a clue. It’s only slightly humanoid from what I saw.”
“It’s a questing beast.” He says. “Can you walk?”
“Yeah.” You say, straightening up.
“Good, let’s go.” He says before disappearing down the hallway with Ellie. You turn back on your light and hurry out of the room. The ceiling is littered with deep scars and the wall to your immediate left is shattered like a window of wood. You rush down the stairs and burst from the house right behind Ellie. “Questing beasts hate fire!” D says, going for the car.
“That’s a lot of corn!” Ellie argues.
“It was fast enough to get the drop on us!” He replies, opening the trunk. “We’ll smoke it out or burn it.” You come up beside him as he pulls a menacing instrument from the car. He quickly places the pack on his back. “You still got ammo?”
“Still have another clip after this.” You reply.
“Then let’s light this place up.” D says, walking stoically to the edge of the cornfield. Ellie jumps atop the car and you stand just behind D. You’d never seen a flamethrower in action before. Now though… A carmine jet streaking across the sky like a god’s angry omen! Immediately the corn is ablaze. It’s almost as if the flamethrower is spitting incendiary liquid! It flows up over the corn before returning where it consumes instantly. It takes less than ten seconds before almost the whole field is radiating strong enough to hide the stars and dim the moon.
“It was summoned by a tablet, still in the house.” D says, walking back from his fire. “It can’t be far.” The heat turns the air to waves and a thick smoke belches up into the sky. Even through the crackling you hear its wails. The heat rests against your eyes and the whole farm grows warm. The three of you all gather on the porch.
[[It takes far too long for it too come crawling back.|thehuntc1 ext.]]The darkness is painted in lightning as you spray lead into the door. A cry like that of ten weeping men screams through the air, competing with the roar of your rifle. The door nearly shatters and the hallway is filled with incomprehensible clamor. You only stop shooting when clip is empty. The acidic scent of death wafts from your barrel. D bursts into the room.
“You okay!?” He asks, surveying the room quickly with his rifle raised before dropping it and coming to your side.
“Yeah I’m alright. It’s so fast.” You say, your mind kicking back into gear.
“Well it exploded through the outer wall of the hall.” He says, picking back up his gun. You tear the clip from your gun and load in a new one. “Lots of brown blood.” He remarks as Ellie comes into view.
“It’s in the cornfield.” She says. “We’ve got to go down there and finish it off.”
“Do you know what it was?” D asks you.
“Not a clue. It’s only slightly humanoid from what I saw.”
“It’s a questing beast.” He says. “Can you walk?”
“Yeah.” You say, straightening up.
“Good, let’s go.” He says before disappearing down the hallway with Ellie. You turn back on your light and hurry out of the room. The ceiling is littered with deep scars and the wall to your immediate left is shattered like a window of wood. You rush down the stairs and burst from the house right behind Ellie. “Questing beasts hate fire!” D says, going for the car.
“That’s a lot of corn!” Ellie argues.
“It was fast enough to get the drop on us!” He replies, opening the trunk. “We’ll smoke it out or burn it.” You come up beside him as he pulls a menacing instrument from the car. He quickly places the pack on his back. “You still got ammo?”
“Still have another clip after this.” You reply.
“Then let’s light this place up.” D says, walking stoically to the edge of the cornfield. Ellie jumps atop the car and you stand just behind D. You’d never seen a flamethrower in action before. Now though… A carmine jet streaking across the sky like a god’s angry omen! Immediately the corn is ablaze. It’s almost as if the flamethrower is spitting incendiary liquid! It flows up over the corn before returning where it consumes instantly. It takes less than ten seconds before almost the whole field is radiating strong enough to hide the stars and dim the moon.
“It was summoned by a tablet, still in the house.” D says, walking back from his fire. “It can’t be far.” The heat turns the air to waves and a thick smoke belches up into the sky. Even through the crackling you hear its wails. The heat rests against your eyes and the whole farm grows warm. The three of you all gather on the porch.
[[It tkaes far too long for it to come crawling back.|thehunta3 ext.]]<<audio thehuntsong fadeout>>
Slowly it’s fiery body emerges from the wall of flames. First the arms, then the body dragged out from the stalks that are torches. The three of you train your weapons at it. But no one opens fire.
“No need to waste bullets.” Ellie reminds you and D. So you continue to watch as the creature does its best to escape the flame. The sight reminds you of a wounded insect. However, as it finally comes into full view you realize that, at the heart of its many spindly and twitching arms is the shape of a man’s body. The head, covered in a myriad of eye sockets whose contents have melted down its quivering face, raises weakly.
“Leviathan.” It rasps, its throat a charred tunnel. “It is come for you.” You pull the trigger and again the night is filled with [[cacophony.|theship]]
<<audio thehuntsong play>>
“I think it just came in the back door. Over.” You say quietly.
“We’ll be right there. Over.” D says quickly, his tone hushed. You pull your rifle from the window seal and approach the door. The floor seems to stick to your soles as you walk, keeping you slow and noisy. You reach the door way, your gun tight in hand. Then you gently lean into the hall. Your light shoots through and hits the far wall unblocked. The stairs suddenly creak. At the halls end and just to the right you know the stairs end. You block your light with one hand and duck back into the room.
“You in the house? Over.” You ask quickly.
“Almost to the front door. Over.”
“I think it’s on the stairs. Over.” You reply before turning your light off and peeking back into the hall. Again the slow crack of the stairs. It’s as if each step is deliberate. You take aim down the sights; your finger comes to rest on the trigger. You take slow breathes to keep your heart from racing. Your shoulders are tense. The air is tense. The house is tense. Everything takes a shallow breath and the end of the hallway shudders as something comes off the steps. You hold your breath. Your finger flashes to rigidity.
The thing leaps into view, it’s countless legs shredding through the ceiling as it flies towards you, upside down! You open fire! Your aim is off as you light up the end of the hallway. Then you sprint back into the room. Slamming the door, you come to the rooms end as the creature lands just outside your door. There comes a deep scratching and the door bends inwards.
[[Get out through the window!|thehuntc1]]
[[Shoot through the door!|thehunta3]]<<audio thehuntsong fadeout>>
Slowly it’s fiery body emerges from the wall of flames. First the arms, then the body dragged out from the stalks that are torches. The three of you train your weapons at it. But no one opens fire.
“No need to waste bullets.” Ellie reminds you and D. So you continue to watch as the creature does its best to escape the flame. The sight reminds you of a wounded insect. However, as it finally comes into full view you realize that, at the heart of its many spindly and twitching arms is the shape of a man’s body. The head, covered in a myriad of eye sockets whose contents have melted down its quivering face, raises weakly.
“Leviathan.” It rasps, its throat a charred tunnel. “It is come for you.” You pull the trigger and again the night is filled with [[cacophony.|theship]]
“Captain.” The first mate says, brushing black hair from her face.
“With all due respect, the situation has left us incapable of raiding Fort Cavy.”
“Well, with all due respect, I’d have to say if we don’t raid Fort Cavy we won’t have another better time to do so.” Responds the cartographer irritably.
“I’m aware of our situation.” You huff, the boats pitching synching with the washes of agony as they sweep up from your stump. The sheets of the bed are bloodied, growing more so with each beat of your heart. “Where’s the Doctor?”
“Tending to the Bo’sun, last I saw.” Answers the cartographer.
“He’s up to his elbows in blood.” Hisses the First mate. “We are in no condition to be taking on an entire English fort!”
“Find him!” You demand.
“Now?” The First mate asks.
“Yes, now!” You say angrily. With a glare she leaves. The cartographer goes to follow, but you grab his wrist. “You’re staying.” The First mate exits the cabin, letting some of the fishy air through. It’s fresh and salt ridden. It does little to clear your head of the pounding heat: the pain!
“What are we going to do $name?” The cartographer asks sincerely.
“You can’t seriously be thinking of turning back?”
[[We have no other choice but to turn back!|theshipa1]]
[[You're right. It may be bad, but we have to die trying.|theshipb1]]
“Davey, I know what you’re thinking. But I think our chances of outrunning Blackbeard are better than sieging a fortress, even with a healthy crew.”
“We’ll have to run from Blackbeard forever… You know that. Right?” One of Davey’s eyebrows lifts slightly. You go to answer, but a rush of pain stitches your jaw shut as you clamp down, trying to force the pain out of your head. “Alright.” Davey mutters, his demeanor changing. It’s more resigned. His shoulders slump just slightly. “You really need that Doctor.”
“If she doesn’t get back here soon she’ll be needing one too!” You bark, grinding your teeth together. The slow, burning ache from your strained jaw helps distract from the leg. “Chart a course for the nearest friendly port!” You direct over the sound of crashing waves.
“You don’t need me to stay until Elizabeth gets back?!”
“Just go!” You shout. You can feel every vain, every nerve is on fire! Your heart ticks like a clock and your leg booms with the beats. Your head feels like it may explode! Davey ducks from the room, his own harsh frown maybe matching yours. He passes the first captain as she returns.
“What did he look so upset about!?” She asks.
You take a breath.
“Where’s the Doctor?” You manage through your teeth.
“They’re coming now, just finished putting leeches on Levi.” She replies, swaying awkwardly as the ship suddenly jerks. “Is Davey at the wheel?!” She demands.
“He’s steering us away from Gilner.” You reply, irritating tears gather in your eyes. Your thumb nearly breaks in your clenched hand.
“Good.” Elizabeth replies swiftly. “I’ll take charge and let him chart a proper course.”
[[Go now! The sooner we make landfall the better.|theshipa2]]
[[Wait here with me...|theshipc1]]
“I know Davey. Elizabeth means well however, and the two of you will not bicker like children aboard me ship. Understand?”
“Yes Captain.” Davey huffs.
“Good. Now make sure the ship does not stray from course.”
“Consider it done.” Davey says, promptly vanishing from the cabin. Now you remain alone, the great fire of your leg creeping up to your stomach and flourishing in your mind. The ship sways and the pain turns to nausea with alarmingly speed. You will need a bucket soon.
[[The nausea soaks to your throat where it tries to gag you.|theshipb1 ext.]]
<<audio theshipsong fadeout>>
“Yes Captain!” Elizabeth says with a half solute before promptly vanishing from the cabin. Your leg is a brilliant red, coursing up through your stomach and singing pain in your mind. You might vomit. The sway of the ship, the incredible anguish; it may prove too much to bare. One hand on your thigh, the other on the bed, both holding with the grip of a child on a parent’s hand. Survive this, and you’ll owe Blackbeard forever. You’ve put your crew in a grave danger. You can feel it press against your heart; amplifying every painful beat. You cry out softly as the mattress becomes more and more soaked.
“Captain.” The Doctor huffs in greeting. You nod, acknowledging his presence. He wastes no time establishing himself. Tools up on the foot of the bed, chair pulled up to your side, sheets removed to inspect the leg. “I’ve tied it as tight as I can.” He says, testing his wrapping.
“I’ll swap it out for some newer bandages, but it’ll probably keep bleeding until night fall.”
“Then I’m going to need a bucket.” You wheeze. The Doctor agrees.
“I’ll retrieve one as quick as I can. For now, I need you to lift your leg and hold very still.” You comply, raising your leg. The fire in your bones is made hotter by moving it and you have to breathe through your mouth completely now. The nausea floats into your throat, where it hangs like an irritatingly heavy veil. The Doctor removes the bandages very purposefully. Then with a great, smooth, and rather steadfast speed he replaces them, tying a knot so straight most of the crew would be envious.
You reflect again how irreplaceable the Doc had become.
“Next time we are plundered, try not to get hit with a cannonball.” The Doctor says, standing from his chair and replacing the sheets. A strong [[gag|thepath]] keeps you from responding.
<<audio theshipsong fadeout>>
“Wait, Elizabeth. Will you wait with me?”
“What, why?” She replies, her eyes softening.
“Just until the Doctor arrives.” You continue. “Please.”
“Of course.” She says, walking to stand by your side. You put up your hand, which she takes in a strong hold.
“I should have known.” You whisper.
“You couldn’t have.” She comforts.
“These are his waters; I should have had Davey charter around.”
“Maybe.” She says thoughtfully. “But I don’t think that blame falls on you alone.” You look to your first mate; she smiles weakly at you. “I probably should have said something.”
“Thank you.” You say before a grimace seals your mouth. Your leg is a brilliant red, coursing up through your stomach and singing pain in your mind. You might vomit. The sway of the ship, the incredible anguish; it may prove too much to bare. One hand on your thigh, the other on the bed, both holding with the grip of a child on a parent’s hand. Survive this, and you’ll owe Blackbeard forever. You’ve put your crew in a grave danger. You can feel it press against your heart; amplifying every painful beat. You cry out softly as the mattress becomes more and more soaked. The Doctor appears in the doorway and Elizabeth’s hand leaves you.
“Captain.” The Doctor huffs in greeting. You nod, acknowledging his presence.
“I’ll be at the wheel.” Elizabeth says, the hardness returning to her eyes.
“Keep us safe.” You say as she hurries away. The Doctor wastes no time establishing himself. Tools up on the foot of the bed, chair pulled up to your side, sheets removed to inspect the leg. “I’ve tied it as tight as I can.” He says, testing his wrapping. “I’ll swap it out for some newer bandages, but it’ll probably keep bleeding until night fall.”
“Then I’m going to need a bucket.” You wheeze. The Doctor agrees.
“I’ll retrieve one as quick as I can. For now, I need you to lift your leg and hold very still.” You comply, raising your leg. The fire in your bones is made hotter by moving it and you have to breathe through your mouth completely now. The nausea floats into your throat, where it hangs like an irritatingly heavy veil. The Doctor removes the bandages very purposefully. Then with a great, smooth, and rather steadfast speed he replaces them, tying a knot so straight most of the crew would be envious.
You reflect again how irreplaceable the Doc had become.
“Next time we are plundered, try not to get hit with a cannonball.” The Doctor says, standing from his chair and replacing the sheets. A strong [[gag|thepath]] keeps you from responding.
After what very well may have been an eternity Elizabeth returns, ducking into the cabin.
“Where’s the Doctor?” You manage through your teeth.
“They’re coming now, just finished putting leeches on Levi.” She replies, swaying awkwardly as the ship suddenly jerks. “Is Davey at the wheel?!” She demands.
“He’s ensuring we land at Gilner.” You reply, irritating tears gather in your eyes. Your thumb nearly breaks in your clenched hand.
“What!?” She seems confounded.
“I need you to ready the cannons and check with the men who are still able to fight.” You say, ignoring her complaint.
“Captain, please listen to me, we cannot, literally cannot take an entire British fort!”
“We have three days to plunder the vault of Fort Cavy.” You say, the pain erratically speeding and slowing your words. “We can’t run from Blackbeard forever either Elizabeth.” She stands, searching your face.
“At least let us begin during nightfall?” She requests dryly.
“We’ll have better odds.” You nod, sitting up slightly as a jolt of pain rummages through your innards.
“Have Davey plot a course for the mounts around Gilner.” You say, each word breathy. “We’ll wait there until midnight.”
“Yes Captain!” She replies with a half solute before passing the Doctor at the Cabin door.
“You called?” He asks, his bag full and dotted with crimson.
“My leg.” You say. The ship suddenly pitches, a wave forcing it into a brief but wild dip. [[You'll need a bucket as well.|theshipb1 ext..]]
He wastes no time establishing himself. Tools up on the foot of the bed, chair pulled up to your side, sheets removed to inspect the leg. “I’ve tied it as tight as I can.” He says, testing his wrapping. “I’ll swap it out for some newer bandages, but it’ll probably keep bleeding until night fall.”
“So be it” You wheeze. The Doctor agrees.
“Okay, I need you to lift your leg and hold very still.” You comply, raising your leg. The fire in your bones is made hotter by moving it and you have to breathe through your mouth completely now. The nausea floats into your head, where it hangs like an irritatingly heavy veil. The Doctor removes the bandages very purposefully. Then with a great, smooth, and rather steadfast speed he replaces them, tying a knot so straight most of the crew would be envious. Just as he begins to wipe the blood from his hands Elizabeth bursts into the room.
“Captain!” Her voice is full of warning. Above you hear the sound of pistol fire. “The Bo’sun is leading a mutiny!”
“What?!” You say, snapping you an upright position. For the first time you see fear on the Doctor’s face. Elizabeth takes your double barrel pistol from its position on the wall and tosses it too you. Then she pushes your desk up against the door after drawing her blade. “Doc.” You manage. “You know how to shoot?”
“I’ve never wielded a weapon.” He replies quickly. You pull the hammer back.
“Just aim and pull.” You say handing him the pistol before turning to vomit beside your bed. The door jumps with a sudden bang!
“Captain!” Comes the voice of Levi, the Bo’sun. “Captain, we just wish to speak!”
“He’s lying, Captain!” Elizabeth spits, pressing up against the desk to keep the door closed.
“We don’t want no one to get hurt!” Comes the muffled call again. “But we’ve got Davey, and if we don’t speak he’ll be very hurt!” The Doctor looks at you, his face a display of concern and panic.
“I stand by you Captain.” He offers swiftly, before looking back to the door and raising the pistol.
“They already shot him, don’t listen to them!” Elizabeth says, straining as the door opens slightly.
“We just want to talk!” Levi says through the crack of the door.
[[Have Elizabeth come to your side. You'll talk.|theshipb2]]
[[Tell the Doctor to join Elizabeth on the barricade. They mean to slay you!|theshipd1]]
“Elizabeth, stand down!’ You command. “I need you beside me.” You say. Elizabeth waits for a moment more, before resigning and rushing to your side.
“I hope you know what you’re doing.” She says as the door pushes open, the desk sliding with a buzz out of the way. Levi steps slowly into the Cabin, pistol in his hand. Behind him come two more, one holding a wounded Davey with a blade around his neck.
“We just want to talk.” Levi says, slowly approaching.
“People usually don’t talk with their guns out.” Elizabeth fires back.
“Funny you’d say that.” He replies, motioning to the Doctor and his shaking weapon.
“If we drop our weapons, will you?” You ask, wiping your mouth.
“Looking a little pale, Captain.” Says the woman holding Davey. Levi lifts a hand to silence her.
“On the count of three?” He asks.
[[Agree, and have everyone drop their weapons.|theshipb3]]
[[They shot Davey! You can't trust them.|theshipe1]]
“She needs your help Doc!” You scowl with your words as much as your face.
“Of course…” The Doctor says, awkwardly running to help Elizabeth hold the desk in place.
“There is nothing to discuss!” You call, your weeping leg amplifying your voice’s vigor. “You’ve committed treason against me and this ship!”
“You’d rather have Davey’s corpse then a conversation!?” Levi inquiries from behind the door.
“I’d rather my crew had integrity!” You respond. “You wouldn’t be here unless the men felt really uncomfortable with disobeying my orders! So they’ve let the most frightened among them to come and negotiate!” A long moment passes. There is nothing but the sound of water slapping the hull.
“You’re not wrong Captain. Unfortunately, that means I’ll be seeing you one way or the other!” A bullet blows through the door, etching a jagged hole in the door and the Doctor. He falls, his own pistol shooting with a flash into the ceiling. Another bash against the door and the desk moves with a heavy buzz against the wooden floor. It moves up against the Doc’s leg, he whimpers, a pool quickly bleeding out around him. With a frustrated growl Elizabeth lets the desk go and drags the Doc away from the door, snatching your pistol.
The door explodes open, Levi and two other sailors following behind. One has a wounded Davey with a blade around his throat. The other is brandishing saber and Levi holds a pistol, ready to fire. Elizabeth leaps at him, her own sword digging into his shoulder. With a cry he ducks backwards and the other sailor runs Elizabeth through. She tumbles with the upwards sway of the ship. Meanwhile you try to stand, only for the blood to leave you head and fill your eyes with swinging, angry stars. Levi, holding his arm approaches you with a look of deathly sorrow in his eyes. He bares his teeth.
“Reconsider.” He says, pointing his barrel at you.
“You couldn’t have reloaded already.” You reply weakly from the soaking bed. He smiles a smile that is admiration and dread. He motions to Davey. The sailor behind him immediately draws her blade across his neck and in an instant his eyes are pale and his body lies upon the floorboards. Even in her near unconsciousness Elizabeth screams. Levi rips the blade from the sailor’s hand and brings its point to your chest.
“Re-con-sider.” He says very slowly, his own arm dripping. The gentle //tap tap// against the floor is mixed with weeping and the Doctor’s exasperated breaths.
[[Give in. There's no need for further bloodshed.|theshipd2]]
[[You'll die with your honor.|theshipf1]]
“On three. Everyone should put their weapons down.” You agree. Elizabeth looks to you briefly. Levi slowly begins to lower his pistol.
“One.” He says, everyone tenses slightly, moving their weapons.
“Two.” Elizabeth slacks her wrist slightly and drops her sword just after the count of three. Everyone’s different weapons are placed slowly or dropped entirely on the floorboards. Levi stands slightly, empty handed and with his arms above his head.
“What is it you want to say?” You ask, taking a breath.
“I speak for the crew when I say that we don’t want to raid the fort.” Levi says calmly.
“Your confidence is that thin?” You ask. “Mutiny makes you unemployable.”
“I’ll be the first off the boat.” Levi says. “Captain, I don’t want to fight you. You’re a good man, and we’re stuck in a bad spot. But I want to get home to my family.” The other sailors nod.
“The lot of you are cowards.” Elizabeth sneers. Levi does not respond to her.
“Captain? Can we agree to start for shore?” He says.
“It appears I don’t have much of a choice.” You sigh. Levi shrugs slightly. “Then it looks like we’ll be running from Blackbeard.” You say.
“Is that a yes?” Levi says. You nod. Immediately the tension in the room evaporates. Not fully, but the glass in the air dissipates as the Doctor and Levi relax.
“Davey, let me have a look at that.” The Doc says. Davey limps over and everyone retrieves and sheathes their weapons.
“For the record, Captain.” Says the sailor with Levi. “Blackbeard will only be chasing you.”
[[He's not wrong. He will be after you and your crew, which they will not be here after.|theshipb3 ext.]]
“Doc?” You say, patting his arm. He turns to you in confusion. With the speed of a striking cobra you’ve taken the pistol from his hand and shot into Levi who crumbles ungracefully. Immediatly the sailor holding Davey jerks her blade and drops him only to be cut down by Elizabeth. The third sailor drops his sword and puts his hands in the air, excuses hot on his lips. But above his words are another sound. Elizabeth drops to her knees, wailing. Davey lies lifeless on the floorboards, his blood thick and nearly brown around his slit throat.
“Doc.” You say, giving him the firearm. “There are further rounds in my desk. Get them, and inform the crew we will continue with our course.”
“Yes, Captain.” He says, his voice ripe with an unfamiliar brand of fear. Then he is gone, and you remain with the mourning of a [[friend|thepath]].
<<set $daveysdeath to true>>
<<audio theshipsong fadeout>> The three leave while Elizabeth holds Davey’s head while the Doctor inspects the bleeding hole in Davey’s arm. You throw up again. The sound of a prolonged cough and the sloshing of pale greenish tapioca against the floorboards. The room smells like refuse.
“I’m sorry.” You say, to everyone as you lay back down.
“I should have thrown Levi off the plank after Charlestown.” Elizabeth says.
“I need you to take longer breathes.” The Doctor says to Davey.
“You’ll be okay, I’m going to get some alcohol and a bucket and I’ll be right back.”
“Thank you.” Davey says through a haze of [[wheezing|thepath]].
<<audio theshipsong fadeout>> “Okay.” You say. “Get Jane to tend to the wounded, particularly the Doctor so he can aid her, and you’ve got yourself my approval.”
“Sounds reasonable to me.” He says, dropping the blade against his side. “We’ll be landfall by tomorrow [[night|thepath]].”
<<set $daveysdeath to true>>
<<audio theshipsong fadeout>> <<audio theshipsong fadeout>>
“I always took you for a thoughtful individual.” Levi says, before closing his eyes. “I suppose that a lot has changed today.” With that he opens his eyes and drives the blade into your chest. It’s hard to keep your head up as a deep cold dances through your spine and clouds your senses. Your mouth opens, but not to speak. Instead the taste of iron flows through and your blood strings down to your already dyed chest. The blade is withdrawn and your pride falters in fear of that all-consuming darkness.
Then you die, alone without a word to be remember by.
//The spirit of Mutiny has claimed you. Would you like to [[restart?|theship]]//
<<audio thepathsong play>>
The pump of your legs, the pound of your soles, the unyielding nature of the asphalt: running. Music goes in your ears and through your whole body, the beat giving you a measure to run with. The wire to your headphones is secured under your sweaty shirt. The cool air of autumn filters through hardworking lungs. The path comes to break, the road ahead is covered by a cross walk and you must wait. You lean against the street light and press the button. With a small beep it registers and you watch the cars go by under the dim blue sky. At the horizon the sun melts into the sky, wringing the blue from it and casting gold in its steed. You watch as you smell the emissions from the road. Acidic but somehow tranquil…
When the light finally shifts from the hand and turns white you cross the street, carefully planning your steps as to land on each of the large white bars. Then you’re across and the running trail continues, blazing through the weeds that have grown to encompass it. You continue the run, you’re almost home and your dry throat is thankful. Along the trail are several benches beside quaint lampposts. The blanket of night descends just as you pass the final bench. The sun’s champions fall back behind the horizon and all the world becomes a deep blue roofed with black. Your music cuts suddenly and is replaced by your ringtone. Your phone buzzes wildly in your pocket until you’ve plucked it out and swiped up the green icon.
“Hello?” You pant, the run coming to a halt.
“$name?” Comes the voice through some semblance of sobs.
“Liz?” You say, now simply standing. “Liz what’s wrong?”
“$name, where are you?”
“I’m out running.”
“Okay…” Liz takes a staggered breath. “Can you call me back?”
“No, no I’m practically done. Talk to me.” You say, walking back to the bench.
“Are you sure?” Comes the soft question.
“Positive. What’s wrong?” You ask, sitting down on the cold bench.
<<if $daveysdeath is true>> [[The cool feels nice against your flushed skin.|thepatha1]]
<<else>> [[The cool feels nice against your flushed skin.|thepathb1]]
<</if>>
“It’s about Dave.” She replies, her voice nearly breaking. Whenever a person calls crying you find yourself feeling heavy. But tonight you felt sick as you listen to your heart broken friend.
“What about him?” You ask, not sure you want to know.
“There was an accident, and Dave was driving, and…” Her sentence trails off into an incoherent muffle.
“Is he okay?” You ask, your words somehow still calm.
“No, no $name!” Her voice is frustrated and angry. “Dave died.” She begins to cry again. You don’t say anything. You just listen. A cricket chirps beside the path and lone cars wander the surrounding streets. An autumn night, crisper even than the day that it succeeded is your only company as she says goodbye. Then you sit, phone still in hand, resting under the light of a single lamppost. The sounds of nature pick up and you slowly grow cold. Then a choice arises.
[[Call Liz back, and invite her over. Grieving is best done together.|thepatha2]]
[[Go home. Lize needs time alone, as do you.|thepathc1]] “It’s about Dave.” She replies, her voice nearly breaking. Whenever a person calls crying you find yourself feeling heavy. But tonight you felt sick as you listen to your heart broken friend.
“What about him?” You ask, not sure you want to know.
“Dave and me had a big argument…” Her sentence trails off into an incoherent muffle.
“Liz, what happened?” You ask, your words somehow still calm.
“We broke up!” Her voice is frustrated and angry. “He left me, and I told him I was glad he did.” She begins to cry again. You don’t say anything. You just listen. A cricket chirps beside the path and lone cars wander the surrounding streets. An autumn night, crisper even than the day that it succeeded is your only company as she says goodbye. Then you sit, phone still in hand, resting under the light of a single lamppost. The sounds of nature pick up and you slowly grow cold. Then a choice arises.
[[Call Liz back, and invite her over. She needs company.|thepathb2]]
[[Go home. Liz needs time alone.|thepathd1]]
At first she doesn’t answer. But you call her back again and again until finally you hear her voice. She doesn’t have a moment to speak before you’ve invited her over.
[[You'll watch childhood favorites until you've fallen asleep before the television.|thepatha2 ext.]]
[[You'll cook comfort food and talk and eat until stuffed.|thepatha2 ext.]]You stand from the bench, your joints chilly. Liz will be fine. It will just take time… You cross the street and walk down the sidewalk of your neighborhood. It’s quiet. The crickets fade and the stars strong enough to pierce the pollution glitter down. The smell of freshly trimmed grass and your own sweat follows you in the door. Your parents are already asleep; you can hear the rumble of your father’s snore. Simple browns decorate the home, from the carpet to the walls to the furniture. Mixed with sunlight it’s all almost orange.
Now however it sits in darkness until you turn on the basement hall light and get some clothes. You remove your prosthetic before hoping into the shower. You refuse to take baths, so a bar was placed at about hip height to allow you to stand easily whilst holding yourself for support. But now you can stand without it. You’ve learned how to balance with only one leg.
[[The water is soothing.|thepathc1 ext.]]"I don't know."
[[It'll be fun!|thepatha2 ext..]]
[[It'll be calming.|thepatha2 ext..]]
"I think I just need to sleep."
[[It's best not to be alone right now.|thepatha2 ext...]]
[[Okay. She's probably right.|thepatha2 ext...]]"I just miss him so much... It's been two hours and I already miss him so much."
[[He is your best friend. You miss him too.|thepatha2 ext....]]
[[She'll always miss him. But that's okay.|thepatha2 ext....]]"I loved him $name."
[[Remind her that she loves him still.|thepatha2 ext.....]]
[[What is happening?|thepatha2 ext.....]]"I don't know what to do!"
[[There is nothing to do.|thepatha2 ext......]]
[[Why is this happening?|thepatha2 ext......]]“The last time I saw him I was yelling at him.”
[[Don't think like that.|thepatha2 ext.......]]
[[Do I matter here?|thepatha2 ext.......]]“He ran into a tree! Did I do this?”
[[No, Dave wouldn't have done this purposefully.|thepatha2 ext........]]
[[What is the point of this?|thepatha2 ext........]]"Did I do this?"
[[No.|thepatha3]]
[[Does what I say matter?|thepatha3]]"Did I do this?"
[[No.|thepatha4]]
[[Does what I say matter?|thepatha4]]"Did I do this?"
[[No.|thepatha5]]
[[Does what I say matter?|thepatha5]]<<audio thepathsong fadeout>>
"Did I do this?"
[[No.|thepatha5]]
[[Does what I say matter?|thefighter]]<<audio thefightersong play>>
The rough, brown surface of Benign-A3 blurs past, erased by the speed of the fighter. Even through the soundproof hub you can hear the howling of all those hundreds of vessels behind you.
“You ready on those guns?” You ask the small microphone in your ear.
“Just a second.” Comes the disgruntled reply.
“We’re almost there.” You say, flipping a small switch among a sea of many others. The fighter changes form, tucking its wings inward for maximum maneuverability. Every button of importance lights up suddenly. Little red lights decorate the silver and black interior.
“I’m almost done. Just a second.”
“What? Almost done with what!?” You say, carefully watching the radar. So far it was clear. No engaging forces appeared to be approaching.
“You gave me chips.” Lizzy says, her mouth clearly full.
“You’re the most goddamned hungry person I’ve ever met!” You reply, pushing a small button. A small light on the rear of your craft blinks violet twice, alerting the fighters behind everything is a go. They will then push the same button, signaling those behind them and so forth. “Lizzy, tell me you’re ready!”
“The skylines clear. You probably won’t even need me.” Comes the far too casual reply.
“Did you smoke before takeoff!?” You ask, frustration creeping down the base of your head.
“You’re kidding, right?” Comes the agitated reply.
“Took the words right out of my mouth.” You respond.
<<if $daveysdeath is true>>[[I've got another call.|thefightera1]]
<<else>>[[I've got another call.|thefighterb1]]
<</if>>At first she doesn’t pick up. But you call again, and again until finally you hear her voice. She doesn’t have a moment to speak before you’ve invited her over.
[[You'll watch childhood favorites until you've fallen asleep before the television.|thepathb2 ext.]]
[[You'll cook comfort food and eat until stuffed.|thepathb2 ext.]]You stand from the bench, your joints chilly. Liz and Dave hand split before. Both are hot headed and always catching you in the middle. Still you loved them. Dave would be fine for a while; they both will be fine. But first, you had to make a phone call. You tap Dave’s picture and his number comes up with a ring. After the third ring he answers.
“Hey.” He says softly.
“Hey.” You reply. “How’s life treating you?”
“Did she call you already?” He asks, a certain hollow to his tone.
“Yes. It’s cool if we still hang out?”
“Yeah. The two of you are friends.”
“Thanks… Are you okay?”
“I don’t know.” He replies. He sounds exhausted.
“Not to sound rude, but the two of you have been through this before.” You say this with the hope of aiding some rekindling between them.
“I know. This time was different though.”
“How so?”
“I don’t know. It was just… It felt like she was angry with me from some other place I’ve never seen. Does that make sense?”
“I think so.” You take a breath. You’re walking home now. A final street to cross stands in the way.
[[You push the little button and wait.|thepathd1 ext.]]"I don't know."
[[It'll be fun!|thepathb2 ext..]]
[[It'll be calming.|thepathb2 ext..]]"I think I just need to sleep."
[[It's best not to be alone right now.|thepathb3]]
[[Okay. She's probably right.|thepathe1]] “Okay.” She says. “I’ll be there soon.” She hangs up and you stand from the bench, your joints chilly. Liz and Dave hand split before. Both are hot headed and always catching you in the middle. Still you loved them. Dave would be fine for a while, so tonight you’d be with Liz. But first, you had to make a phone call. You tap Dave’s picture and his number comes up with a ring. After the third ring he answers.
“Hey.” He says softly.
“Hey.” You reply. “How’s life treating you?”
“Did she call you already?” He asks, a certain hollow to his tone.
“Yes. It’s cool if we hang out for a bit, right?”
“Yeah. The two of you are friends.”
“Thanks… Are you okay?”
“I don’t know.” He replies. He sounds exhausted.
“Not to sound rude, but the two of you have been through this before.” You say this with the hope of aiding some rekindling between them.
“I know. This time was different though.”
“How so?”
“I don’t know. It was just… It felt like she was angry with me from some other place I’ve never seen. Does that make sense?”
“I think so.” You take a breath. You’re walking home now. A final street to cross stands in the way.
[[You push the little button and wait.|thepathb3 ext.]]
“Okay.” You concede. “I’ll let you go on one condition.”
“What is it?” She asks, voice defeated.
“If you need anything you’ll let me know, right?”
“Yeah.”
“You promise?” She pauses briefly, but her sincerity is unmistakable. “Yes. I promise.”
“Good. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” You say. You stand from the bench, your joints chilly. Liz and Dave had split before. Both are hot headed and always catching you in the middle. Still you loved them. Dave would be fine for a while; they both will be fine. But first, you had to make a phone call. You tap Dave’s picture and his number comes up with a ring. After the third ring he answers.
“Hey.” He says softly.
“Hey.” You reply. “How’s life treating you?”
“Did she call you already?” He asks, a certain hollow to his tone.
“Yes. It’s cool if we still hang out?”
“Yeah. The two of you are friends.”
“Thanks… Are you okay?”
“I don’t know.” He replies. He sounds exhausted.
“Not to sound rude, but the two of you have been through this before.” You say this with the hope of aiding some rekindling between them.
“I know. This time was different though.”
“How so?”
“I don’t know. It was just… It felt like she was angry with me from some other place I’ve never seen. Does that make sense?”
“I think so.” You take a breath. You’re walking home now. A final street to cross stands in the way.
[[You push the little button and wait.|thepathe1 ext.]] <<audio thepathsong fadeout>>
“How about this; are you safe?”
“Yes.” Dave answers immediately. “Yes, thanks for calling.”
“Of course. If you need anything you’ll let me know, right?”
“Yeah.”
“You promise?” He pauses briefly, but his sincerity is unmistakable. “Yes. I promise.”
“Good. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” You say.
“See you later.” The phone clicks and the conversation ends. You cross the street and walk down the sidewalk of your neighborhood. It’s quiet. The crickets fade and the stars strong enough to pierce the pollution glitter down. The smell of freshly trimmed grass and your own sweat follows you in the door. Your parents are already asleep; you can hear the rumble of your father’s snore. Simple browns decorate the home, from the carpet to the walls to the furniture. Mixed with sunlight it’s all almost orange.
Now however it sits in darkness until you turn on the basement hall light and get some clothes. You remove your prosthetic before hoping into the shower. You refuse to take baths, so a bar was placed at about hip height to allow you to stand easily whilst holding yourself for support. But now you can stand without it. You’ve learned how to balance with only one leg. The water is soothing. Its warmth flutters over your shoulders and the pressure pushes softly into your back. The steam breaths easy. The grim all washes away.
You get out and dress before your phone buzzes twice. You open the front door after strapping back on your leg. Liz comes in, her face free of makeup and her hair pulled into a loose bun. She has a thing of cookie dough ice cream. It’s her favorite. You hug her. She hugs you. Then you spend the night together until one the next morning.
“Thanks.” She says at the door.
“Drive home safe.” She nods and starts the walk from your porch. “Hey, Liz, you know if you need anything to ask, right?”
“Yeah.”
“You promise?” She pauses briefly, but her sincerity is unmistakable. “Yes. I promise.”
“Good. I’ll talk to you [[tomorrow|thefighter]].” You say.
Its warmth flutters over your shoulders and the pressure pushes softly into your back. The steam breaths easy. The grim all washes away. You get out and dry yourself before you put on an overly large shirt and sweatpants. Then you lie in bed. The sheets are cool and the pillow is comfortable. And yet, for the longest time, [[you cannot sleep|thefighter]].
“How about this; are you safe?”
“Yes.” Dave answers immediately. “Yes, thanks for calling.”
“Of course. If you need anything you’ll let me know, right?”
“Yeah.”
“You promise?” He pauses briefly, but his sincerity is unmistakable. “Yes. I promise.”
“Good. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” You say.
“See you later.” The phone clicks and the conversation ends. You cross the street and walk down the sidewalk of your neighborhood. It’s quiet. The crickets fade and the stars strong enough to pierce the pollution glitter down. The smell of freshly trimmed grass and your own sweat follows you in the door. Your parents are already asleep; you can hear the rumble of your father’s snore. Simple browns decorate the home, from the carpet to the walls to the furniture. Mixed with sunlight it’s all almost orange.
Now however it sits in darkness until you turn on the basement hall light and get some clothes. You remove your prosthetic before hoping into the shower. You refuse to take baths, so a bar was placed at about hip height to allow you to stand easily whilst holding yourself for support. But now you can stand without it. You’ve learned how to balance with only one leg. The water is soothing. Its warmth flutters over your shoulders and the pressure pushes softly into your back. The steam breaths easy. The grim all washes away. You get out and dry yourself before you put on an overly large shirt and sweatpants. Then you lie in bed. The sheets are cool and the pillow is comfortable. And yet, for the longest time, [[you cannot sleep|thefighter]].
<<audio thepathsong fadeout>>
“How about this; are you safe?”
“Yes.” Dave answers immediately. “Yes, thanks for calling.”
“Of course. If you need anything you’ll let me know, right?”
“Yeah.”
“You promise?” He pauses briefly, but his sincerity is unmistakable. “Yes. I promise.”
“Okay. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” You say.
“See you later.” The phone clicks and the conversation ends. You cross the street and walk down the sidewalk of your neighborhood. It’s quiet. The crickets fade and the stars strong enough to pierce the pollution glitter down. The smell of freshly trimmed grass and your own sweat follows you in the door. Your parents are already asleep; you can hear the rumble of your father’s snore. Simple browns decorate the home, from the carpet to the walls to the furniture. Mixed with sunlight it’s all almost orange.
Now however it sits in darkness until you turn on the basement hall light and get some clothes. You remove your prosthetic before hoping into the shower. You refuse to take baths, so a bar was placed at about hip height to allow you to stand easily whilst holding yourself for support. But now you can stand without it. You’ve learned how to balance with only one leg. The water is soothing. Its warmth flutters over your shoulders and the pressure pushes softly into your back. The steam breaths easy. The grim all washes away. You get out and dry yourself before you put on an overly large shirt and sweatpants. Then you lie in bed. The sheets are cool and the pillow is comfortable. And yet, for the longest time, [[you cannot sleep|thefighter]].
You push a tiny flashing switch on the ceiling. “Yeah, talk to me.”
“The bombers have experienced a, er, problem sir.” The voice is more nervous than you on a first date.
“Who is this?” You ask, a perfectly smooth stone dropping underneath your stomach.
“Corporal Johnson, sir.”
“Johnson, you’re going to explain to me in perfect detail what the problem is.” You say, a venom nestled under your tongue.
“The releasing mechanisms are stuck in four of the ten bombers. The reason is unclear, but they will not be able to release their payloads.”
“No time frame for fixing them?” You ask. A sudden blip on your radar calls your attention.
“No sir. Not until we know what’s wrong.”
“Alright, Johnson, it’s about to be a bumpy ride and if we have people die, and the objective is not destroyed I’m dragging your ass through every court in the galaxy. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes sir.”
“Get moving on it.” You say before switching back to Lizzy. “You see that?”
“Are those V4s?”
“Buckle in little Lady.” You reply.
[[Scramble the fighters!|thefightera2]]
[[Hold Formation!|thefighterc1]]
You push a tiny flashing switch on the ceiling. “David, talk to me.”
“The bombers are looking good to go.” David says proudly. “Took some doing on the way over.”
“That’s the good news I needed. Feeling confident?”
“As good as a newly wed.”
“Well, you’re not there yet.” You say. A blip on your radar attracts your attention.
“That’s right, you’re the one who’s got to be nervous!” David shoots back, his optimism in the face of danger a welcome trait.
“Well things are about to get hairy.”
“Keep my fiancé safe $name.” David says.
“You can count on it.” You say before ending the call. “You see that?”
“Are those V4s?”
“Buckle in little Lady.” You reply.
[[Scramble the fighters!|thefightere1]]
[[Hold formation!|thefighterf1]]
“Who was the other call?”
“Let’s just say it’s a good thing I’m doing this for a friend.” You say, engaging a yellow light on the back of your fighter. Its color denotes a need to scramble. The fighters behind flash their own lights before falling out of formation. 100 fighters, 10 bombers, and what looks like 45 incoming hostiles.
“For David.” Lizzy says, a deep determination dripping off each word.
“For David.” You say, flipping on music. The first verse builds in your ears as your grip on the control wheel tightens. A V4 is a slim, longer fighter that looks almost like a fish. They don’t have wings but instead are riddled with countless ion thrusters. They’re for close, dirty air combat. Your own vessel looks like a small capsule with four retracting wings. The V9 as it’s called, is the only interplanetary fighter capable of both space and air combat. “Two minutes until we’re passing.” You inform Lizzy.
“We can make it two minutes.” She replies. “What are you listening too?”
“Spaceman.” You say, heart beat rocketing. You think you hear her laugh before you throw the yoke forwards and dive. Above you hundreds of lights flash in the breast of the sapphire sky. The sternum shaking blast of your own cannon sends shock after shock through as you dive into the canyon riddled wasteland.
“We’ve got one on us!” Lizzy yells.
“That was the plan!” You say, ducking under a sandstone arch before taking a hard right. The 360 pivot turret atop your craft keeps fire on the pursuing V4 as you string a wild path through the natural landscape.
[[Pull up for an approaching cave.|thefightera3]]
[[Pull up past the cave and rejoin the air.|thefighterd1]]“Who was the other call?”
“Let’s just say it’s a good thing I’m doing this for a friend.” You say, engaging a violet light on the back of your fighter. Its color denotes a need to maintain formation. The fighters behind flash their own lights. 100 fighters, 10 bombers, and what looks like 45 incoming hostiles.
“For David.” Lizzy says, a deep determination dripping off each word.
“For David.” You say, flipping on music. The first verse builds in your ears as your grip on the control wheel tightens. A V4 is a slim, longer fighter that looks almost like a fish. They don’t have wings but instead are riddled with countless ion thrusters. They’re for close, dirty air combat. Your own vessel looks like a small capsule with four retracting wings. The V9 as it’s called, is the only interplanetary fighter capable of both space and air combat. “Two minutes until we’re passing.” You inform Lizzy.
“We can make it two minutes.” She replies. “What are you listening too?”
“Spaceman.” You say, heart beat rocketing. You think you hear her laugh before you throw the yoke forwards and dive. Above you hundreds of lights flash in the breast of the sapphire sky. The sternum shaking blast of your own cannon sends shock after shock through as you dive into the canyon riddled wasteland.
“We’ve got one on us!” Lizzy yells.
“That was the plan!” You say, ducking under a sandstone arch before taking a hard right. The 360 pivot turret atop your craft keeps fire on the pursuing V4 as you string a wild path through the natural landscape.
[[Pull up for an approaching cave!|thefightera3]]
[[Pull up past the cave and rejoin the air!|thefighterd1]]
“You ever done this before?!”
“We have to keep them off the bombers!” You reply, steering up out of a valley into a cave. Immediately forward facing lights flash on, keeping the rough walls in sight. A flash of angry light sprints past, cracking the ceiling. You do your best to weave in the limited space, throwing the yoke every way as scarlet light scathes from behind. Then the cave begins to close.
“Lizzy! I need an exit!” You holler. Immediately the wall ahead of you explodes into a cloud and the vessel gets hot enough to fry eggs. Then in an instant the smoke is wisped away and a massive pillar stands directly in your path. You pull the yoke as far left as you can, narrowly avoiding total impact. One of your wings is nicked and it sends you into a deadly spiral. The G forces seem to take your eyes and smear them across the window shield while your head gets heavy and everything tingles vehemently. You reach for the stabilization and manage to press it just before the world fills with lightning.
The ship slows its rotation and you let off the yoke entirely, allowing the vessel to free fall. You try to gather your stomach while it becomes weightless. A drunken Lizzy comes over the headphone.
“You dead?!” Instead of responding you pull up to avoid the rapidly growing surface. It feels like you can’t keep your body where it is as a great invisible balloon tries to push you from your seat. Only the harness saves you until the ship has leveled out. “The left wing is totally busted.”
“I figured.” You respond, trying to slow your breathing. “Did we lose them?”
“Pretty sure they didn’t make it out of the cave.” She replies. “That is not reason to do that ever again!”
“I dunno.” You say, turning the ship around. “I’d say that went as well as it could have.”
“We can’t fly this thing home now.”
“We level this place and the Queen will come pick us up herself.” You reply. “Johnson, how are we doing!?”
“We’re nearly passing.” Comes the frantic voice. “Fires heavy, we’ve only got four functioning bombers left!” Some ways from you is the bulk of the fleet.
Bright clustered flashes blow [[brilliantly|thefightera3 ext.]] through the air. “You ever done this before?!”
“We have to keep them off the bombers!” You reply, steering up out of a valley. The cliff wall is incredibly sheer, your forearms strain under the weight of the yoke. A sudden vibration grips your craft as the hull of your ship scraps against the cliff face. A buzz of crimson light bellows past and creates cracks in the cliff just in front of you. “We taking hits!?”
“They’re right behind us!” Lizzy calls back.
“We’re rejoining the air!” You announce, keeping the wheel strained as your ship rises from the valley. You can feel them now. Intermingled with the thumping of your cannon are sudden shakes from the opposing weapon. It wouldn’t be long now before your ship erupted into flames. “How’s shooting them down first going?!” You yell as your ship levels out somewhat.
“I’m keeping them at bay!”
“I’ve got a bogie I can’t shake!” You say, switching into the main com before rolling right. Just above you the fray is in full commotion. Fighters swarm around the much larger bombers like some angry display of insects.
“I see you.” Comes a friendly voice.
“Our left wing has caught fire!” Lizzy shouts over the calmer tone.
“Be swift.” You instruct the other pilot as you swivel the yoke every which way.
“Got a friendly.” Lizzy says.
“Just in time!” You exclaim before diving back towards the rough world’s surface. “Are they still giving chase?”
“Maybe?” Lizzy replies, her thoughts elsewhere.
“What does that mean!?” You demand as you pull around a sandstone pillar.
“It means they’re down.” Lizzy replies, clearly relieved. You drop your hands from the steering wheel and massage your stub leg. It always hurts when you get excited.
“I’d say that went as well as it could have.”
“We can’t fly this thing home now.”
“We level this place and the Queen will come pick us up herself.” You reply. “Johnson, how are we doing!?”
“We’re nearly passing.” Comes the heated voice. “Fires heavy, but we’ve still got four functioning bombers!” Some ways from you is the bulk of the fleet.
Bright clustered flashes blow [[brilliantly|thefighterd1 ext.]] through the air. <<audio thefightersong fadeout>>
“I can see that! How long until passing?”
“Twenty seconds sir!”
“Push on!” You command. “Lizzy, we’re joining that fray!”
“I was hoping.” She replies. You can barely tell if that was sarcastic. Your vessel flies forwards. A few remaining V4’s buzz with the fray.
“We’re going for another!” You call, picking out one craft from the air. You try your best to follow them as they chase an ally. The two of them go swooping through the air that’s become flak filled water. A wave surges past and you veer to avoid the bulk of it as it claps in the sky.
“Yellow stripe?” Lizzy asks as you pass a sinking bomber.
“Read my mind!” You say, falling in line behind the V4. The thumping of your cannon resumes. Immediately the target falls off its attack and begins rolling. You put yourself into a spin to get Lizzy the best shot. Below the suddenly straight lines of civilization rise like obelisks from the desert. A trail of smoke pops out from your chase before the vessel is suddenly consumed in nearly blue flames.
“Got ‘im!” Lizzy whoops victoriously. Below the ground quivers under the weight of explosives. The structures all vanish in the curling flames. You punch through the air! [[Success|theclass]]!
<<audio theclasssong play>>
“Before class beings today, we’ll be taking a test!” Mrs. Albatross announces from the class front. A dry breeze drifts over the old wooden floors from the broken window. It broke yesterday after Johnsie sent a ball sailing through it… It made the class cold. The whole school was cold really, seeing as the school consisted of this one classroom.
“Ugh!” Lizette moans from the seat next to you. She was one of your twenty classmates. “I hate tests!” She complains as Mrs. Albatross passes the papers out.
<<if $daveysdeath is false>>Lizette's bonnet isn't on right... It [[never|theclassa1]] is.
<<else>>Lizette's bonnet isn't on right... It [[never|theclassb1]] is.
<</if>> “Who was the other call?” Lizzy asks.
“Your boyfriend.” You say, engaging a yellow light on the back of your fighter. Its color denotes a need to scramble. The fighters behind flash their own lights before falling out of formation. 100 fighters, 10 bombers, and what looks like 45 incoming hostiles.
“I call him Hubby, actually.” Lizzy shoots back.
“For Hubby!” You declare, flipping on music. The first verse builds in your ears as your grip on the control wheel tightens. A V4 is a slim, longer fighter that looks almost like a fish. They don’t have wings but instead are riddled with countless ion thrusters. They’re for close, dirty air combat. Your own vessel looks like a small capsule with four retracting wings. The V9 as it’s called, is the only interplanetary fighter capable of both space and air combat. “Two minutes until we’re passing.” You inform Lizzy.
“We can make it two minutes.” She replies. “What are you listening too?”
“Spaceman.” You say, heart beat rocketing. You think you hear her laugh before you throw the yoke forwards and dive. Above you hundreds of lights flash in the breast of the sapphire sky. The sternum shaking blast of your own cannon sends shock after shock through as you dive into the canyon riddled wasteland.
“We’ve got one on us!” Lizzy yells.
“That was the plan!” You say, ducking under a sandstone arch before taking a hard right. The 360 pivot turret atop your craft keeps fire on the pursuing V4 as you string a wild path through the natural landscape.
[[Pull up for an approaching cave!|thefightere2]]
[[Pull up past the cave and rejoin the air!|thefighterg1]]
“Who was the other call?” Lizzy asks.
“Your boyfriend.” You say, engaging a violet light on the back of your fighter. Its color directs those behind you to stay in formation. The fighters behind flash their own identical lights. 100 fighters, 10 bombers, and what looks like 45 incoming hostiles.
“I call him Hubby, actually.” Lizzy shoots back.
“For Hubby!” You declare, flipping on music. The first verse builds in your ears as your grip on the control wheel tightens. A V4 is a slim, longer fighter that looks almost like a fish. They don’t have wings but instead are riddled with countless ion thrusters. They’re for close, dirty air combat. Your own vessel looks like a small capsule with four retracting wings. The V9 as it’s called, is the only interplanetary fighter capable of both space and air combat. “Two minutes until we’re passing.” You inform Lizzy.
“We can make it two minutes.” She replies. “What are you listening too?”
“Spaceman.” You say, heart beat rocketing. You think you hear her laugh before you throw the yoke forwards and dive. Above you hundreds of lights flash in the breast of the sapphire sky. The sternum shaking blast of your own cannon sends shock after shock through as you dive into the canyon riddled wasteland.
“We’ve got one on us!” Lizzy yells.
“That was the plan!” You say, ducking under a sandstone arch before taking a hard right. The 360 pivot turret atop your craft keeps fire on the pursuing V4 as you string a wild path through the natural landscape.
[[Pull up for an approaching cave!|thefightere2]]
[[Pull up past the cave and rejoin the air!|thefighterg1]]
“You ever done this before?!”
“We have to keep them off the bombers!” You reply, steering up out of a valley into a cave. Immediately forward facing lights flash on, keeping the rough walls in sight. A flash of angry light sprints past, cracking the ceiling. You do your best to weave in the limited space, throwing the yoke every way as scarlet light scathes from behind. Then the cave begins to close.
“Lizzy! I need an exit!” You holler. Immediately the wall ahead of you explodes into a cloud and the vessel gets hot enough to fry eggs. Then in an instant the smoke is wisped away and a massive pillar stands directly in your path. You pull the yoke as far left as you can, narrowly avoiding total impact. One of your wings is nicked and it sends you into a deadly spiral. The G forces seem to take your eyes and smear them across the window shield while your head gets heavy and everything tingles vehemently. You reach for the stabilization and manage to press it just before the world fills with lightning.
The ship slows its rotation and you let off the yoke entirely, allowing the vessel to free fall. You try to gather your stomach while it becomes weightless. A drunken Lizzy comes over the headphone.
“You dead?!” Instead of responding you pull up to avoid the rapidly growing surface. It feels like you can’t keep your body where it is as a great invisible balloon tries to push you from your seat. Only the harness saves you until the ship has leveled out. “The left wing is totally busted.”
“I figured.” You respond, trying to slow your breathing. “Did we lose them?”
“Pretty sure they didn’t make it out of the cave.” She replies. “That is not reason to do that ever again!”
“I dunno.” You say, turning the ship around. “I’d say that went as well as it could have.”
“We can’t fly this thing home now.”
“We level this place and the Queen will come pick us up herself.” You reply. “David, how are we doing!?”
“We’re nearly passing.” Comes the calm but heated voice. “Fires heavy, but we’ve still got eight functioning bombers!” Some ways from you is the bulk of the fleet.
Bright clustered flashes blow [[brilliantly|thefightere2 ext.]] through the air! “You ever done this before?!”
“We have to keep them off the bombers!” You reply, steering up out of a valley. The cliff wall is incredibly sheer, your forearms strain under the weight of the yoke. A sudden vibration grips your craft as the hull of your ship scraps against the cliff face. A buzz of crimson light bellows past and creates crack in the cliff just in front of you. “We taking hits!?”
“They’re right behind us!” Lizzy calls back.
“We’re rejoining the air!” You announce, keeping the wheel strained as your ship rises from the valley. You can feel them now. Intermingled with the thumping of your cannon are sudden shakes from the opposing weapon. It wouldn’t be long now before your ship erupted into flames. “How’s shooting them down first going?!” You yell as your ship levels out somewhat.
“I’m keeping them at bay!”
“I’ve got a boogie I can’t shake!” You say, switching into the main com before rolling right. Just above you the fray is in full commotion. Fighters swarm around the much larger bombers like some angry display of insects.
“I see you.” Comes a friendly voice.
“Our left wing has caught fire!” Lizzy shouts over the calmer tone.
“Be swift.” You instruct the other pilot as you swivel the yoke every which way.
“Got a friendly.” Lizzy says.
“Just in time!” You exclaim before diving back towards the rough world’s surface. “Are they still giving chase?”
“Maybe?” Lizzy replies, her thoughts elsewhere.
“What does that mean!?” You demand as you pull around a sandstone pillar.
“It means they’re down.” Lizzy replies, clearly relieved. You drop your hands from the steering wheel and massage your stub leg. It always hurts when you get excited.
“I’d say that went as well as it could have.”
“We can’t fly this thing home now.”
“We level this place and the Queen will come pick us up herself.” You reply. “David, how are we doing!?”
“We’re nearly passing.” Comes the calm, but heated voice. “Fires heavy, but we’ve still got four functioning bombers!” Some ways from you is the bulk of the fleet.
Bright clustered flashes blow [[brilliantly|thefighterg1 ext.]] through the air. <<audio thefightersong fadeout>>
“I can see that! How long until passing?”
“Twenty seconds!”
“Push on!” You command. “Lizzy, we’re joining that fray!”
“I was hoping.” She replies. You can barely tell if that was sarcastic. Your vessel flies forwards. A few remaining V4’s buzz with the fray.
“We’re going for another!” You call, picking out one craft from the air. You try your best to follow them as they chase an ally. The two of them go swooping through the air that’s become flak filled water. A wave surges past and you veer to avoid the bulk of it as it claps in the sky.
“Yellow stripe?” Lizzy asks as you pass a sinking bomber.
“Read my mind!” You say, falling in line behind the V4. The thumping of your cannon resumes. Immediately the target falls off its attack and begins rolling. You put yourself into a spin to get Lizzy the best shot. Below the suddenly straight lines of civilization rise like obelisks from the desert. A trail of smoke pops out from your chase before the vessel is suddenly consumed in nearly blue flames.
“Got ‘im!” Lizzy whoops victoriously. Below the ground quivers under the weight of explosives. The structures all vanish in the curling flames. You punch the air in excitement! [[Success|theclass]]!
<<audio thefightersong fadeout>>
“I can see that! How long until passing?”
“Twenty seconds!”
“Push on!” You command. “Lizzy, we’re joining that fray!”
“I was hoping.” She replies. You can barely tell if that was sarcastic. Your vessel flies forwards. A few remaining V4’s remain, agitating the fleet.
“We’re going for another!” You call, picking out one craft from the air. You try your best to follow them as they chase an ally. The two of them go swooping through the air that’s become flak filled water. A wave surges past and you veer to avoid the bulk of it as it claps in the sky.
“Yellow stripe?” Lizzy asks as you pass a sinking bomber.
“Read my mind!” You say, falling in line behind the V4. The thumping of your cannon resumes. Immediately the target falls off its attack and begins rolling. You put yourself into a spin to get Lizzy the best shot. Below the suddenly straight lines of civilization rise like obelisks from the desert. A trail of smoke pops out from your chase before the vessel is suddenly consumed in nearly blue flames.
“Got ‘im!” Lizzy whoops victoriously. Below the ground quivers under the weight of explosives. The structures all vanish in the curling flames. You punch the air in excitement! [[Success|theclass]]!
<<audio thefightersong fadeout>>
“I can see that! How long until passing?”
“Twenty seconds!”
“Push on!” You command. “Lizzy, we’re joining that fray!”
“I was hoping.” She replies. You can barely tell if that was sarcastic. Your vessel flies forwards. A few remaining V4’s remain, agitating the fleet.
“We’re going for another!” You call, picking out one craft from the air. You try your best to follow them as they chase an ally. The two of them go swooping through the air that’s become flak filled water. A wave surges past and you veer to avoid the bulk of it as it claps in the sky.
“Yellow stripe?” Lizzy asks as you pass a sinking bomber.
“Read my mind!” You say, falling in line behind the V4. The thumping of your cannon resumes. Immediately the target falls off its attack and begins rolling. You put yourself into a spin to get Lizzy the best shot. Below the suddenly straight lines of civilization rise like obelisks from the desert. A trail of smoke pops out from your chase before the vessel is suddenly consumed in nearly blue flames.
“Got ‘im!” Lizzy whoops victoriously. Below the ground quivers under the weight of explosives. The structures all vanish in the curling flames. You punch the air in excitement! [[Success|theclass]]!
“It’s because you’re not good at them!” Teases Davie. Davie has soft features. Most children do, but in Davie’s case it was odd seeing as his interior was rather rough. You suppose Lizette is rather similar, except that she hates apricots. You love apricots!
“It’s time to be quiet.” Mrs. Albatross says, handing Lizette her test.
“Yes ma’am.” Both Lizette and Davie say in a disappointed, obedient tone. You get your paper from Mrs. Albatross’s wrinkled hand. Her skin looks like that of an old grape; not dry enough to be a prune, but not fresh in the slightest… The paper however smells rather fresh! It smells like how warmth feels. You take your pencil in your small childish hand.
“The first question is…” Mrs. Albatross begins once up at the blackboard. “Did the cartographer die aboard the St. Clayrence as the crew sailed towards Gilner Cove?” She writes the question in chalk as she speaks.
[[Yes, he did.|theclassx1]]
[[No, he didn't.|theclassa2]]“Me too.” You agree, looking at Lizette. Her long dark hair is very pretty. Most girls didn’t have so much hair, especially as children. But Lizette was different than most kids. Your mom says she has an attitude. She also hates apricots… You love apricots!
“It’s time to be quiet.” Mrs. Albatross says, handing Lizette her test.
“Yes ma’am.” She says in a disappointed, obedient tone. You get your paper from Mrs. Albatross’s wrinkled hand. Her skin looks like that of an old grape; not dry enough to be a prune, but not fresh in the slightest… The paper however smells rather fresh! It smells like how warmth feels. You take your pencil in your small childish hand.
“The first question is…” Mrs. Albatross begins once up at the blackboard. “Did the cartographer die aboard the St. Clayrence as the crew sailed towards Gilner Cove?” She writes the question in chalk as she speaks.
[[Yes, he did.|theclassb2]]
[[No, he didn't.|theclassr1]]“The second question is: In the ancient Roman myth of the Colosseum, the last game was won by who?"
<<if $nude is true>>[[The Centaur, Hercules, and the Nude.|theclassa3]]
<<else>>[[The Centaur, Hercules, and the Nude.|theclassx2]]
<</if>>
<<if $coward is true>>[[The Centaur, Hercules, and the Coward.|theclassa3]]
<<else>>[[The Centaur, Hercules, and the Coward.|theclassx2]]
<</if>>
<<if $brute is true>>[[The Centaur and the Brute.|theclassa3]]
<<else>>[[The Centaur and the Brute.|theclassx2]]
<</if>>
<<if $bold is true>>[[The Centaur, Hercules, and the Bold.|theclassa3]]
<<else>>[[The Centaur, Hercules, and the Bold.|theclassx2]]
<</if>>
“The second question is: In the ancient Roman myth of the Colosseum, the last game was won by who?"
<<if $nude is true>>[[The Centaur, Hercules, and the Nude.|theclassx2]]
<<else>>[[The Centaur, Hercules, and the Nude.|theclassz1]]
<</if>>
<<if $coward is true>>[[The Centaur, Hercules, and the Coward.|theclassx2]]
<<else>>[[The Centaur, Hercules, and the Coward.|theclassz1]]
<</if>>
<<if $brute is true>>[[The Centaur and the Brute.|theclassz1]]
<<else>>[[The Centaur and the Brute.|theclassx2]]
<</if>>
<<if $bold is true>>[[The Centaur, Hercules, and the Bold.|theclassx2]]
<<else>>[[The Centaur, Hercules, and the Bold.|theclassz1]]
<</if>>“The second question is: In the ancient Roman myth of the Colosseum, the last game was won by who?"
<<if $nude is true>>[[The Centaur, Hercules, and the Nude.|theclassb3]]
<<else>>[[The Centaur, Hercules, and the Nude.|theclassr2]]
<</if>>
<<if $coward is true>>[[The Centaur, Hercules, and the Coward.|theclassb3]]
<<else>>[[The Centaur, Hercules, and the Coward.|theclassr2]]
<</if>>
<<if $brute is true>>[[The Centaur and the Brute.|theclassb3]]
<<else>>[[The Centaur and the Brute.|theclassr2]]
<</if>>
<<if $bold is true>>[[The Centaur, Hercules, and the Bold.|theclassb3]]
<<else>>[[The Centaur, Hercules, and the Bold.|theclassr2]]
<</if>>“The second question is: In the ancient Roman myth of the Colosseum, the last game was won by who?"
<<if $nude is true>>[[The Centaur, Hercules, and the Nude.|theclassr2]]
<<else>>[[The Centaur, Hercules, and the Nude.|theclasss1]]
<</if>>
<<if $coward is true>>[[The Centaur, Hercules, and the Coward.|theclassr2]]
<<else>>[[The Centaur, Hercules, and the Coward.|theclasss1]]
<</if>>
<<if $brute is true>>[[The Centaur and the Brute.|theclassr2]]
<<else>>[[The Centaur and the Brute.|theclasss1]]
<</if>>
<<if $bold is true>>[[The Centaur, Hercules, and the Bold.|theclassr2]]
<<else>>[[The Centaur, Hercules, and the Bold.|theclasss1]]
<</if>>“The third question is: When we took a field trip to the manor what was the weather like?”
[[It was Raining.|theclassa4]]
[[It was Sunny.|theclassx3]]
[[It was Snowing.|theclassx3]]
[[It was Sleeting.|theclassx3]]“The third question is: When we took a field trip to the manor what was the weather like?”
[[It was Raining.|theclassx3]]
[[It was Sunny.|theclassz2]]
[[It was Snowing.|theclassz2]]
[[It was Sleeting.|theclassz2]]“The third question is: When we took a field trip to the manor what was the weather like?”
[[It was Raining.|theclassz2]]
[[It was Sunny.|theclassz2]]
[[It was Snowing.|theclassz2]]
[[It was Sleeting.|theclassz2]]“The forth question is: In the Bombing raid of Benign during WWI, how many bombers were operational before the dogfighting began?”
[[Two|theclassx4]]
[[Six|theclassx4]]
[[Nine|theclassx4]]
[[Ten|theclassa5]]“The forth question is: In the Bombing raid of Benign during WWI, how many bombers were operational before the dogfighting began?”
[[Two|theclassz3]]
[[Six|theclassz3]]
[[Nine|theclassz3]]
[[Ten|theclassx4]]“The forth question is: In the Bombing raid of Benign during WWI, how many bombers were operational before the dogfighting began?”
[[Two|theclassz3]]
[[Six|theclassz3]]
[[Nine|theclassz3]]
[[Ten|theclassz3]]“Alright class.” Mrs. Albatross says, writing the final question on the board. “How many people does the Leviathan kill in the story by Joseph Mercial?”
[[One.|theclassz4]]
[[Two.|theclassz4]]
[[Three.|theclassx5]]
[[Four.|theclassz4]]“Alright class.” Mrs. Albatross says, writing the final question on the board. “How many people does the Leviathan kill in the story by Joseph Mercial?”
[[One.|theclassx5]]
[[Two.|theclassx5]]
[[Three.|theclassa6]]
[[Four.|theclassx5]]“Alright class.” Mrs. Albatross says, writing the final question on the board. “How many people does the Leviathan kill in the story by Joseph Mercial?”
[[One.|theclassz4]]
[[Two.|theclassz4]]
[[Three.|theclassz4]]
[[Four.|theclassz4]] “That’s it! If you’d please pass your papers up, I’ll grade them while we take turns reading versus from Psalms, starting at chapter 19 where we last left off.” You pass your paper to the student in front of you as instructed. Then you retrieve the broken back bible from underneath your chair. A worn string serves as book mark and you open to the designated page. Peter was the last to read, so Abigail begins. As she reads Mrs. Albatross sits down at her desk and begins to correct the tests. Her pen etches in the silence that rests behind each verse. Then it is your turn to read.
“Their line is gone out through all the earth, and their words to the end of the world. In them hath he set a tabernacle for the sun.” You finish the verse not entirely sure what you’d read. Unless Mrs. Albatross was explaining a verse you usually didn’t understand it. Your Dad said you would someday. You just had to be patient. You hope when you finally understand the scriptures you’ll understand why God made you with only one leg as well.
It doesn’t take Mrs. Albatross long to grade the twenty-one papers and pass them back to the class. You put the string back in your bible and close it as [[your paper|theclassa7]] comes to you. “That’s it! If you’d please pass your papers up, I’ll grade them while we take turns reading versus from Psalms, starting at chapter 19 where we last left off.” You pass your paper to the student in front of you as instructed. Then you retrieve the broken back bible from underneath your chair. A worn string serves as book mark and you open to the designated page. Peter was the last to read, so Abigail begins. As she reads Mrs. Albatross sits down at her desk and begins to correct the tests. Her pen etches in the silence that rests behind each verse. Then it is your turn to read.
“Their line is gone out through all the earth, and their words to the end of the world. In them hath he set a tabernacle for the sun.” You finish the verse not entirely sure what you’d read. Unless Mrs. Albatross was explaining a verse you usually didn’t understand it. Your Dad said you would someday. You just had to be patient. You hope when you finally understand the scriptures you’ll understand why God made you with only one leg as well.
It doesn’t take Mrs. Albatross long to grade the twenty-one papers and pass them back to the class. You put the string back in your bible and close it as [[your paper|theclassa7]] comes to you.
“That’s it! If you’d please pass your papers up, I’ll grade them while we take turns reading versus from Psalms, starting at chapter 19 where we last left off.” You pass your paper to the student in front of you as instructed. Then you retrieve the broken back bible from underneath your chair. A worn string serves as book mark and you open to the designated page. Peter was the last to read, so Abigail begins. As she reads Mrs. Albatross sits down at her desk and begins to correct the tests. Her pen etches in the silence that rests behind each verse. Then it is your turn to read.
“Their line is gone out through all the earth, and their words to the end of the world. In them hath he set a tabernacle for the sun.” You finish the verse not entirely sure what you’d read. Unless Mrs. Albatross was explaining a verse you usually didn’t understand it. Your Dad said you would someday. You just had to be patient. You hope when you finally understand the scriptures you’ll understand why God made you with only one leg as well.
It doesn’t take Mrs. Albatross long to grade the twenty-one papers and pass them back to the class. You put the string back in your bible and close it as [[your paper|theclassz5]] comes to you. You can’t help but feel disappointed. Mrs. Albatross’s pen ink is drawn over several of your answers… Atop the page is a small x, whose meaning you know well; you failed. You glance at Lizette. She’s beaming. She may not like tests, but she’s always been [[good at them|theclassa8]].<<set $knowledge to true>>
You can't help but feel a little prick of pride. Little of Mrs. Albatross's pen ink is visible over your graphite. Atop the page is a small check mark, whose meaning you know well; you passed! You glance at Lizette, who is also beaming. She may not like tests, but she’s always been [[good at them|theclassa8]].
<<audio theclasssong fadeout>>
Dave, on the other hand, does not look thrilled to see his results. You look back up to the class front as Mrs. Albatross clears her throat with a sickly heave. “Alright class, let’s go over any questions you may have. Who has a question?” Many miniature arms raise. One is chosen. “Yes Gale?”
“What’s the answer to the last question?” The small boy asks.
“The answer is C.” Mrs. Albatross says. “The Leviathan takes all three of the stories main characters.” Then, looking at you she continues. “Soon. So very soon the first [[shall go|theoffice]].”
“The third question is: When we took a field trip to the manor what was the weather like?”
[[It was Raining.|theclassb4]]
[[It was Sunny.|theclassr3]]
[[It was Snowing.|theclassr3]]
[[It was Sleeting.|theclassr3]]“The third question is: When we took a field trip to the manor what was the weather like?”
[[It was Raining.|theclassr3]]
[[It was Sunny.|theclasss2]]
[[It was Snowing.|theclasss2]]
[[It was Sleeting.|theclasss2]]“The third question is: When we took a field trip to the manor what was the weather like?”
[[It was Raining.|theclasss2]]
[[It was Sunny.|theclasss2]]
[[It was Snowing.|theclasss2]]
[[It was Sleeting.|theclasss2]]“The forth question is: In the Bombing raid of Benign during WWI, how many bombers were operational before the dogfighting began?”
[[Two|theclassr4]]
[[Six|theclassr4]]
[[Nine|theclassr4]]
[[Ten|theclassb5]]“The forth question is: In the Bombing raid of Benign during WWI, how many bombers were operational before the dogfighting began?”
[[Two|theclasss3]]
[[Six|theclasss3]]
[[Nine|theclasss3]]
[[Ten|theclassr4]]“The forth question is: In the Bombing raid of Benign during WWI, how many bombers were operational before the dogfighting began?”
[[Two|theclasss3]]
[[Six|theclasss3]]
[[Nine|theclasss3]]
[[Ten|theclasss3]]“Alright class.” Mrs. Albatross says, writing the final question on the board. “How many people does the Leviathan kill in the story by Joseph Mercial?”
[[One.|theclasss4]]
[[Two.|theclasss4]]
[[Three.|theclassr5]]
[[Four.|theclasss4]]“Alright class.” Mrs. Albatross says, writing the final question on the board. “How many people does the Leviathan kill in the story by Joseph Mercial?”
[[One.|theclassr5]]
[[Two.|theclassr5]]
[[Three.|theclassb6]]
[[Four.|theclassr5]]“Alright class.” Mrs. Albatross says, writing the final question on the board. “How many people does the Leviathan kill in the story by Joseph Mercial?”
[[One.|theclasss4]]
[[Two.|theclasss4]]
[[Three.|theclasss4]]
[[Four.|theclasss4]] “That’s it! If you’d please pass your papers up, I’ll grade them while we take turns reading versus from Psalms, starting at chapter 19 where we last left off.” You pass your paper to the student in front of you as instructed. Then you retrieve the broken back bible from underneath your chair. A worn string serves as book mark and you open to the designated page. Peter was the last to read, so Abigail begins. As she reads Mrs. Albatross sits down at her desk and begins to correct the tests. Her pen etches in the silence that rests behind each verse. Then it is your turn to read.
“Their line is gone out through all the earth, and their words to the end of the world. In them hath he set a tabernacle for the sun.” You finish the verse not entirely sure what you’d read. Unless Mrs. Albatross was explaining a verse you usually didn’t understand it. Your Dad said you would someday. You just had to be patient. You hope when you finally understand the scriptures you’ll understand why God made you with only one leg as well.
It doesn’t take Mrs. Albatross long to grade the twenty-one papers and pass them back to the class. You put the string back in your bible and close it as [[your paper|theclassb7]] comes to you. “That’s it! If you’d please pass your papers up, I’ll grade them while we take turns reading versus from Psalms, starting at chapter 19 where we last left off.” You pass your paper to the student in front of you as instructed. Then you retrieve the broken back bible from underneath your chair. A worn string serves as book mark and you open to the designated page. Peter was the last to read, so Abigail begins. As she reads Mrs. Albatross sits down at her desk and begins to correct the tests. Her pen etches in the silence that rests behind each verse. Then it is your turn to read.
“Their line is gone out through all the earth, and their words to the end of the world. In them hath he set a tabernacle for the sun.” You finish the verse not entirely sure what you’d read. Unless Mrs. Albatross was explaining a verse you usually didn’t understand it. Your Dad said you would someday. You just had to be patient. You hope when you finally understand the scriptures you’ll understand why God made you with only one leg as well.
It doesn’t take Mrs. Albatross long to grade the twenty-one papers and pass them back to the class. You put the string back in your bible and close it as [[your paper|theclassb7]] comes to you. “That’s it! If you’d please pass your papers up, I’ll grade them while we take turns reading versus from Psalms, starting at chapter 19 where we last left off.” You pass your paper to the student in front of you as instructed. Then you retrieve the broken back bible from underneath your chair. A worn string serves as book mark and you open to the designated page. Peter was the last to read, so Abigail begins. As she reads Mrs. Albatross sits down at her desk and begins to correct the tests. Her pen etches in the silence that rests behind each verse. Then it is your turn to read.
“Their line is gone out through all the earth, and their words to the end of the world. In them hath he set a tabernacle for the sun.” You finish the verse not entirely sure what you’d read. Unless Mrs. Albatross was explaining a verse you usually didn’t understand it. Your Dad said you would someday. You just had to be patient. You hope when you finally understand the scriptures you’ll understand why God made you with only one leg as well.
It doesn’t take Mrs. Albatross long to grade the twenty-one papers and pass them back to the class. You put the string back in your bible and close it as [[your paper|theclasss5]] comes to you. <<set $knowledge to true>>
You can't help but feel a little prick of pride. Little of Mrs. Albatross's pen ink is visible over your graphite. Atop the page is a small check mark, whose meaning you know well; you passed! You glance at Lizette, who is also beaming. She may not like tests, but she’s always been [[good at them|theclassb8]]. You can’t help but feel disappointed. Mrs. Albatross’s pen ink is drawn over several of your answers… Atop the page is a small x, whose meaning you know well; you failed. You glance at Lizette. She’s beaming. She may not like tests, but she’s always been [[good at them|theclassb8]]. <<audio theclasssong fadeout>>
You look back up to the class front as Mrs. Albatross clears her throat with a sickly heave. “Alright class, let’s go over any questions you may have. Who has a question?” Many miniature arms raise. One is chosen. “Yes Gale?”
“What’s the answer to the last question?” The small boy asks.
“The answer is C.” Mrs. Albatross says. “The Leviathan takes all three of the stories main characters.” Then, looking at you she continues. “It has already [[taken one|theoffice]].”
<<audio theofficesong play>>
The desk is rather impressive. It however is rather inconspicuous when standing in the Manor’s massive office. Two great French windows make up most of the left wall with their crystalline glass and great velvet curtains. Behind the desk is the chair that can substitute a throne. A plush scarlet cushion atop finely carved woodwork that’s been stained properly and carefully: it’s a masterpiece. Before the desk are two chairs that, while not as handsome, are certainly still priceless. Wearing on the thick shag carpet indicates these chairs spend an awful lot of their time away from the desk however.
Instead it seems they spend their time on the opposite end of the room beside the intricate fireplace. Currently the fire within runs low; small flames lapping at mostly blackened logs. But it is enough to keep the space warm. One could read the books from the bookshelves that rest upon the right wall in comfort. Or they could admire the painting above the royal chair without shivering. Truly this room was fit for a King. And yet here you stand, looking out the window at the freshly fallen snow. The world has become a great mirror and the sun shines with almost blinding brightness.
“Do take a seat.” They say from behind the desk, beside the great chair.
[[You tarry for a moment, admiring the view a little longer before taking your seat.|theoffice1]]
Your prosthetic catches slightly in the thick carpet. Walking around this office was not your favorite. Still, you manage to get to your seat with minimal effort.
“Thank you for coming.” They say, their eyes glittering.
“Of course.” You reply. “I’ve always loved it here.”
“Everyone needs a place they love.” They chuckle. “For a long time this place was not that place.”
“You didn’t love this place?”
“Not at first… Have I ever told you how this place and I came to be?” You have to think about this question for a moment. It feels like this place has always been here, like this, with them. You realize, however, that perhaps you feel this way because you don’t know any better.
“No. No I don’t think you have.” You finally breath.
“Well.” They say, sitting down on that plump cushion. “I inherited it. A friend of mine, Joseph, owned this fantastic place where a river flowed past a manor hidden away by the trees. Naturally I loved that place. And as I grew closer to Joseph he got sicker and sicker until… well, you understand how inheritances work.”
“I’m sorry.” You say. You don’t really know what to say.
“Don’t be.” They reply, flashing a smile that doesn’t reassure. “That was a long time ago. However, even so I have yet to decide what to do with these.” They pull a series of journals from out from within the desk. “Five journals.” They say. “Each one filled to the brim.” They place them atop the desk. The leather covers are worn, but still manage to shine lightly in the sunlight.
[[Inquire about the Journals.|theofficea1]]
[[Inquire further about Joseph.|theofficeb1]] “Take a look.” They say. You reach forwards and grab the top one whose cover is a dark blue.
“What do they say?” You ask, flipping it open. Your answer comes with an excited smile.
“What do they not say!?” They exclaim. “Each one is an endless trove of wonderment!” You scan through the pages. The handwriting is not neat, but you’re sure with practice you could read it quite well.
“Why are you showing me these?” You can’t help but wonder why they’d show these to you.
“I need your help.” They confess.
“Oh?” You say, closing the journal.
“Yes. Of all the things Joseph left me these are the only things not simply included with the house. His will instructs me to do good by them.”
“What do you need my help with?” You ask.
“I want to publish them.” They say. “But I don’t know how… Should they all be one book? Each their own separate novel? I can’t decide.”
“You want me to help you decide?”
“Would you?” They ask, their face hopeful. “You’d have to read at least one first, just to get an understanding of them.”
[[You would love to help!|theofficea2]]
[[You don't really have the time to read...|theofficec1]]
“Take a look.” They say. You reach forwards and grab the top one whose cover is a dark blue.
“How did you and Joseph meet?” You ask, flipping open the cover.
“In my attic.” They chuckle. “Sounds rather strange when you say it that way, doesn’t it?” You nod, scanning through the pages. Joseph’s handwriting isn’t necessarily neat. However with some time you’d probably grow accustomed to it.
“Was he like, a serviceman or something?” You ask.
“No no, for a while he was just a friend of a friend. I had a little get together up there and he tagged along.”
“It’s always interesting meeting your friend’s friends, isn’t it? You say, closing the journal.
“The experience has proved both wonderful, and rather dreadful for me.” They say. “Especially when you met someone’s new significant other.” You cringe unconsciously just at the thought. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve told a friend that I’m glad they’re happy as a way to sidestep telling them how I fell about their new friend.”
“I’m right there with you.” You say. Then, raising the book you ask. “So what exactly did you need help with?” Immediately their tone shifts and their rather light eyes settle.
“Of all the things left to me, these are the only ones with a specific note attached. Joseph asked me to do good by these books… So I think you should read them.”
“Read them? Why me?”
“I need advice.” They reply. “I want to publish them, but I’m not sure how to.”
“I could see that the thoughts were a little scattered.” You say, opening the journal again. “So you want me to help you decide what to do with them?”
“Would you?” They ask, their face hopeful. “You’d have to read at least one first, just to get an understanding of them.”
[[You would love to help!|theofficea2]]
[[You don't really have the time to read...|theofficec1]]
“I would love too.” You say. You can’t help but smile at the grin they develop at your answer.
“Thank you so much!” They exclaim, standing from the chair. “We ought to celebrate somehow!”
“Got any more of that hot chocolate lying around?” You ask with a joking air, just in case they don’t.
“During winter?” They reply, clapping their hands together. “[[Always|thetrain]]. Let’s go fix up a couple of glasses.”
“Oh.” Their face almost seems to falter, in of itself.
“I’m sorry, I thought maybe you’d need someone to move furniture or, you know, something else? I’m sorry.”
“No I understand.” They say, standing slowly. “I think you need to go?”
“O-okay?” Their whole demeanor changed on a dime. The air is suddenly tense and tired and you can’t disguise your surprise.
“Would you like me to walk you to the door?” They ask. They don’t seem angry. Nor do they seem truly sad. Instead they just, they just seem deflated?
“No, it’s okay.” You say, standing. “I can see myself out. Thanks.”
“Of course.” They say, settling back into their chair. “You have a nice day.””
“I guess I’ll see you later?” You say, going to the door, your prosthetic always snagging.
“No.” They say, [[“I don’t think so.”|theend]]
<<audio theofficesong fadeout>>
The wind, rushing through your hair. The smell of wild air mingled with hardy train smoke. The swaying movement of a horse, just below. In another set of circumstances this moment certainly would have been [[delicious|thetrain1]]. <<audio thetrainsong play>>
But of course L was screaming behind you, and the horse was made of steal and powered with steam. And that train smoke; it was coming from the rushing train just beside you.
“What’s the plan?!” You shout over the whir of mechanical wheels and legs.
“Get on the train, observe, and stop the murder of my husband!” She responds.
“Yes, but getting on the train?!”
“I assumed we’d jump!”
“Jump?!”
“Yes, with our legs! As a matter of fact, I believe this is the optimal time!” The train has straightened out now, it’s last turn before it reaches the ocean completed. The steed running perfectly parallel to the locomotive, now was indeed the time to leap. You slowly rise to your feet. The rocking of a giant horse causing you to flap my arms about like a befuddled child before you get your footing. The animatronic leg is good for a lot of things. But right now your prosthetic feels like a liability.
“You ready?!” L asks.
“What is my mother going to think when she finds out I was run over by a train!” You shoot back, still barely steady on your feet.
“Please don’t die jumping this two-foot gap.” L says, “I’ll lose our bet!”
“What!?” You say, looking at the gap that is way wider than two feet. You are about to mention this but L takes the leap before you can get a word out. She lands awkwardly on the train roof, splayed out like a starfish.
[[You take a deep breath.|thetrain2]]Then you leap! For a moment the world is not and the wind is rushing through your hair and outstretched fingers! You land squarely on your chest, your legs dangling from the side of the roof. The blow wasn’t soft, and for a moment you struggle to get your strength before heaving up onto the railcar. L is right beside me, getting to her feet. The cart shakes back and forth slightly and every bump in the rail feels like it could end this adventure.
“Your Mom bet you’d die falling from something.” She says, her jacket flapping furiously in the wind.
“And why’s that?” You ask, half paying attention while you get to your knees.
“Probably your general lack of coordination.” L responds without hesitation.
“What did she bet?” You say, looking at L to make sure she is genuine. The look on her face is rather serious.
“I hold my tongue.” She responds. “You’ll only feel bad. On the coaches there are ceiling hatches.” She says, pointing. “Daevid’s railcar is two ahead of us. But every coach has a conductor that can help people from car to car, so we just need to get into one of them!”
[[The hatches are there for a reason. You should use them!|thetraina1]]
[[Will any of the hatches be open? We should find another way!|thetrainb1]]
[[What did my mother bet!?|thetrainc1]] “Let’s not look a gift horse in the mouth!” You say over the howling wind. Ahead you can see the sparkling sea. The English Channel would be upon you soon.
“Come on then!” L says, slowly treading over the roof to the nearest hatch. You follow, your crouched walk unkind to your knees. Upon reaching the small hatch L tries to pry it open.
“It’s locked!” She declares after her third attempt at opening it.
“Okay, so what about that one?!” You ask, pointing to the next railcar over. One of the hatches is open.
“You want to jump between the railcar roofs!?” L asks.
“Not in the slightest!” You reply. “Could we use the doors between the cars?”
“They’re probably locked too. With the Channel coming up I bet everything is locked nice and tight!” L says, the wind nearly wiping the sound from her words.
[[Then let's go for that open hatch!|thetraina2]]
[[We should try the doors!|thetraind1]]
“Yes. But I doubt we’ll be allowed to wander freely if we’re seen entering from the roof.” You think aloud. You certainly wouldn’t be pleased if you saw that yourself.
“We’ll have to get down to the doors between cars!” L proclaims with a certainty that escapes you.
“That sounds dangerous.” You shout over the commotion of the train and wind.
“Paying a gypsy mechanic to drive us out here on her experimental steed was dangerous. This is fun!” She replies. Rising to a crouch she makes her way across the roof towards the small opening between the cabs. The roof extends over the small platforms outside the doors below, making it impossible to simply drop down. Instead she’d fall into the blurring by railroad ties below. “We’ll have to jump from here and grab onto the roof ledge on the other car, that way we’d be swinging enough to let go and probably land on the platform!” She says as you come to her side overlooking the gap. Below the massive steel rungs can be seen holding the railcars together. Looking down makes you feel sick and you find your gaze drifting elsewhere.
“Or.” You interject. “We could climb down this little series of rungs.” You say, tapping the side of the train. L shuffles over to you and peers over the car side. A line of small rungs, painted exactly as the plain exterior of the storage car, descend to just beside the platform below.
“Yes, that’d make sense.” She says, equally grateful and embarrassed with this discovery. You swing your legs over the edge first, your hair matted to your forehead with sweat. Slowly you go until, with a very cautious leg reach, you have stepped onto the platform. L follows next, the cool iron supporting her all the way down. It is just as she joins you on the platform that the bellowing echo of the train’s whistle passes.
“Do you think that’s the Channel?” L asks. Her answer comes as the trains speed plummets suddenly, nearly hurling you both from the platform. Thankfully the railings around the platforms are good enough holds to keep you both from the tracks below.
“Undoubtedly.” You reply after your forward momentum has dissipated. “Shall we enter?” L answers by boldly leaping from one railcar platform to the other. It’s not more than a three-foot gap and yet you still must prepare yourself before leaping it.
“It’s locked.” L announces flatly.
“You sure?” You ask.
“Well I haven’t tried the handle yet.” L says with a deathly tone of sarcasm.
“Okay.” You mouth. L pounds on the door, but it has little give and above the sounds of the locomotive’s ambience they’re barely noticeable.
“Where is the train conductor!?” L seethes. The door has a small circular window. The dim light from inside the car makes it impossible to see within through the small warped window. That’s when the idea strikes you.
[[Try breaking the window!|thetrainb2]]
[[Suggest you climb back up and look for some other way.|thetrainf1]]
“What did my mother bet?” You ask. “One Franc?!”
“$name, we don’t have time.” L tries to weasel her way from an honest answer.
“Bets are in good fun!” You complain. “I won’t be offended, my mother adores me, she’d.”
“Fifty Franc.” L replies, cutting off your thought. “Can we go now?”
“Fifty Franc?” You gasp, mostly to yourself. “She doesn’t even have fifty… What did you bet?!” You demand.
“Fifty on Alcohol Poisoning.” L deadpans before beginning to move on. “Come on $name, we’re going to the opened hatch!”
“Well you’re still a lousy gambler!” You call, following behind carefully, the sway of the railcar amplified by the wind and your position upon it.
“Why’s that?” L asks as she comes to the end of the railcar.
“My mother’s clearly right.” You reply, crouching beside her.
“You really should drink less though.” L says.
“Shut it.” You say, a half smile taking you. Only half though… You were to have some words with your mother.
“We jumping again then?” L asks. Upon the other railcar is the opened hatch. You hadn’t noticed until now. The wind’s watering effect upon your eyes is rather distracting.
“I don’t see much of another choice!” You say, trying not to look down at the passing tracks below. L takes the leap and lands gracefully on the other side. She motions for you to follow.
“I’m coming…” You say, backing up from the edge slightly. You come to a near stand and take the jump at a brisk run. You land considerably less gracefully.
“How are your knees?” L asks.
“Only one is real.” You say with a grimace.
“Come on then.” L says. “Let’s get inside before we hit the Channel!” The hatch is still open when you get to it.
[[You go to reach for it.|thetrainc1 ext.]] “After you.” You say, extending a hand. She continues the slow pace over the roof of the railcar until reaching the end. You follow her vortex of hair. Your eyes are watering as you join her side at the cars end.
“Jumping again?” She asks.
“I don’t see much of another choice.” You reply, trying not to look down between the cabs.
“After you.” She says with a smirk. You sigh and roll your neck before backing up slightly. Then you rise to be nearly standing. The wind whistles in your ears and chills your ears with its fangs. You take the sprint and toss yourself over the gap. You may have overshot it a little bit. You land on your knees and shines; the knocking of bone against steel lets some obscenities loose from your lips. Before you know it L is next to you.
“How’d I do?” You ask.
“Ask your knees.” She says with a knowing smile before continuing down the train. The hatch is still open when you get to it. You go to reach for it.
The Locomotive suddenly slams to a near halt. Throwing both you and L forwards. You tumble head first into the opened hatch and smash down on a brown carpet. You become aware, as you lay there dazed on the floor, of an air that was inside you. You didn’t know it was there, but now that it is gone you desperately want it back. You struggle there for a moment to breath. When you finally do a series of sharp pains prick down your ribs and your head throbs with a beating ache.
You scramble to your feet, your back protesting the speed. The front of the train must have hit the channel! This railcar is a fancier coach where there aren’t seats, but entire rooms for each group of passengers. The hallway would be dim if it weren’t for the sunrays through the hatch.
“L!?” You call. Nobody comes. Instead two conductors come from a door at the end of the cab. They have a ladder. “You two coming to close the hatch?” You ask as they come. You straighten your hair and try your best to pretend you didn’t just fall inside.
“Gotta get it closed before the Channel.” One answers while the other sets up the ladder.
“Good, good, I was just…” They can’t close L outside! Not that it mattered if she fell off the train already. But she could still be up there, hurt or stuck…
[[You've got to get L!|thetraina3]]
[[There's no time! Press forwards!|thetraine1]] “I doubt we’ll be allowed to wander freely if we’re seen entering from the roof.” You think aloud. You certainly wouldn’t be pleased if you saw that yourself.
“We’ll have to get down to the doors between cars then!” L proclaims with a certainty that escapes you.
“It would seem that way!” You shout over the commotion of the train and wind.
“Sounds good to me!” L replies. Rising to a crouch she makes her way across the roof towards the small opening between the cabs. The roof extends over the small platforms outside the doors below, making it impossible to simply drop down. Instead she’d fall into the blurring by railroad ties below. “We’ll have to jump from here and grab onto the roof ledge on the other car, that way we’d be swinging enough to let go and probably land on the platform!” She says as you come to her side overlooking the gap. Below the massive steel rungs can be seen holding the railcars together. Looking down makes you feel sick and you find your gaze drifting elsewhere.
“Or.” You interject. “We could climb down this little series of rungs.” You say, tapping the side of the train. L shuffles over to you and peers over the car side. A line of small rungs, painted exactly as the plain exterior of the storage car, descend to just beside the platform below.
“Yes, that’d make sense.” She says, equally grateful and embarrassed with this discovery. You swing your legs over the edge first, your hair matted to your forehead with sweat. Slowly you go until, with a very cautious leg reach, you have stepped onto the platform. L follows next, the cool iron supporting her all the way down. It is just as she joins you on the platform that the bellowing echo of the train’s whistle passes.
“Do you think that’s the Channel?” L asks. Her answer comes as the trains speed plummets suddenly, nearly hurling you both from the platform. Thankfully the railings around the platforms are good enough holds to keep you both from the tracks below.
“Undoubtedly.” You reply after your forward momentum has dissipated. “Shall we enter?” L answers by boldly leaping from one railcar platform to the other. It’s not more than a three-foot gap and yet you still must prepare yourself before leaping it.
“It’s locked.” L announces flatly.
“You sure?” You ask.
“Well I haven’t tried the handle yet.” L says with a deathly tone of sarcasm.
“Okay.” You mouth. L pounds on the door, but it has little give and above the sounds of the locomotive’s ambience they’re barely noticeable.
“Where is the train conductor!?” L seethes. The door has a small circular window. The dim light from inside the car makes it impossible to see within through the small warped window. That’s when the idea strikes you.
[[Try breaking the window!|thetrainb2]]
[[Suggest you climb back up and look for some other way.|thetrainf1]] “I was just trying to close it when I saw a woman!” You say. “She’s up on the roof!”
“I’m sorry?” The conductors look at you as if you were speaking Egyptian.
“There’s a woman stranded on the roof! We have to get her!”
“We’re about to be under the Channel.” Argues the conductor. “Nobody’s going up onto the roof!”
“Just, just let me check!” You say. They look at each other before nodding.
“Make it quick.” Says one of the conductors, readjusting his cap. You grab the ladder, and with a step you recognize a prompt problem. Your leg isn’t working, at least not the way it should. Still you manage your way up the ladder. The train is still moving slowly, but it’s picking up speed. Atop the roof you peel up your pant leg. The cog stuffed limb lets off a squeal in protest of your touch. The outside is bent and the inner workings are spinning all wrong or not at all.
[["L?" You call.|thetraina3 ext.]] “I was just returning to my own railcar.” You say finally. “It’s the next one over… Could one of you gentlemen help me?”
“Certainly.” One of the conductors says. “Let’s get you there before we’re under.” He takes you to the railcar’s front where he reveals a small copper key. Following him however proves rather difficult. Your artificial limb whines with your steps and its knee does not bend to your will. Something must have happened to it… “You okay?” The conductor asks at noticing your limp.
“Getting used to a prosthetic.” You reply. He nods and fits the key easily into the handle’s lock before pulling open. For a moment you had respite from the wind; it eagerly welcomes you back. Its embrace is cool and far too frazzling. The conductor makes the jump from one car to the next with confident familiarity. As you close the door behind you, you see the other conductor atop the ladder, closing the hatch.
“Come on then!” The conductor says to you. “It’s scarier than it actually is lad!” It’s not a big jump, truth be told, but your leg still requires you focus to make the distance properly.
The conductor opens the door to this railcar after you’ve made the jump. He holds the door for you as you duck into the relative warmth of the inside. Behind you he closes and locks the door as you make for Daevid’s room. You slide the room door open. Inside are two long benches facing each other with a small table between. Daevid’s feet are up on the table and his face is hidden behind a newspaper.
“Thank you conductor!” You say before going into the room and locking the door.
“$name!?” Daevid says, the shock on his face photograph worthy. “$name what are you doing here!?”
“L saw Mrs. Athan getting on this train as it departed.” You explain, pulling the gun from the back of your trousers. Daevid drops his newspaper and stands to search through his luggage.
“Where is L?” He asks, half buried in a suitcase. “She wouldn’t have sent you alone.”
“We had some difficulty getting on the train.” You start. It’s then that the sound comes storming past. Around you is the rushing sound of a God’s sigh; the pounding thunder of a waterfall against industries works. You have entered the Channel. There was no way to go between railcar’s while the train passes underneath the water, transporting people from Calais to Dover. It was the perfect time to kill somebody.
“She’s probably fine.” You finish.
“Probably fine!?” Daevid says, pulling his own handgun from beneath a top hat. “$name, where is my wife?” The door shakes suddenly. Both you and Daevid freeze before lifting your guns to face the door. There comes a knock and a gruff female voice.
“It’s the conductor.” They say. You sidestep to Daevid.
“I’ll open the door on the count of three.” You whisper.
“What if it is the conductor?” He asks.
“It’s not.” You promise before carefully approaching the door, pistol still aimed. You mouth one and place your hand on the door lock. You twist it and with it click it is unlocked. You mouth two. You grab the handle.
[[You pull the door open just as you shout three.|thetraine1 ext.]]<<set $daveysdeath to true>>
<<audio thetrainsong fadeout>>
“Over here!” Comes the reply. You manage your way over to the roofs edge. Dangling from the side is L, her dark hair slicked with the red running from her nose. “Took you long enough!” She calls. You offer your hand and she takes it with an iron grip.
“Why not let go?” You ask as you pull her up.
“I fell off!” She exclaims. “But the train was moving so slowly that I decided to climb back up!” With a last pull L manages up onto the roof. Out of the corner of your eye you can see the channel rapidly approach.
“We need to get back in!” You say, scrambling to your feet. Your artificial limb however doesn’t comply. It forces you to hobble back to the hatch. You watch the last wisps of L’s hair vanish below before managing to get to it yourself. The moment you’ve put your feet atop the ladder the conductors begins shouting.
“Close the hatch!” They bellow. You grab the hatch and jump from the ladder, forcing it closed with your body weight. One of the conductors climbs up the as you let go, tumbling to the floor in a heap. There is the sound of a God’s sighing; the rushing a waterfall, beating against the product of industry. Water dribbles from the hatch before the conductor has a chance to twist the hatch shut. You look around on the floor for L. She’s standing at one end of the coach. She looks through the small porthole on the door.
“What were the two of you thinking!?” The conductor demands. You don’t say anything. You just watch L as she watches the water between the railcars. Your stuck in this railcar. And her Husband? His seat rests in the next railcar over. Movement between the individual cabs is impossible while the train crosses under the channel from Calais and Dover. It is a marvel of steam engineering. It is [[opportunity for a murderer|thecastle]].
“What are you doing?!” L shouts in disbelief as you clutch your aching hand. “Use your elbow, not your hand!”
“Right.” You respond angrily as you bring my elbow into the glass, shattering it entirely. The sound of such a small window breaking isn’t terribly loud. But it’s enough to jar the sleeping conductor to attention. He marches up to the door, which he unlocks and opens before chastising you. Instead of suffering through his speech L pummels him with a swift uppercut before putting her knee into his crotch and then into his chin as he doubles over in a howl of pain. You close the door behind you as L searches him for a key.
This coach is fancier with nice carpet and individual rooms for groups of passengers. An elderly lady sticks her head into the hall, presumably searching for the source of the commotion. Upon seeing the guard her eyes double in size and she promptly vanishes back into the room. You take off your coat and stuff it into the window. L tosses you the conductors coat as well which you use to further reinforce the broken window. It’s far from perfect, but it’s better than nothing.
“Got his keys.” L says, standing from the body with a jingle. The two of you are at the other end of the car in a flash. L unlocks the door and reenters the rushing wind. You close the door before jumping to the next already opened railcar. You close that door and the next two as well before you’re standing in the correct coach. Around you is the rushing sound of a God’s sigh; the pounding thunder of a waterfall against industries works. You have entered the Channel. There was no way to go between railcar’s while the train passes underneath the water, transporting people from Calais to Dover. It was the perfect time to kill somebody. L heads to the room that Daevid’s ticket read that morning.
“It’s locked!” She huffs as she strains against the handle. Both L and you carry handguns, especially when trying to prevent a murder. She pulls hers from its spot in the back of her trousers waist band and, without much thought to the repercussions, shoots the door lock. “Stand back.” She commands just before pulling the trigger. The smell of sulfur and a potent flashing bang! Thankfully the lock’s a flimsy thing and the door comes open after without a hitch. She rushes inside with a scream. You go to follow, but something stops you. As L goes to the bleeding body of her husband a figure from behind the opened door pistols whips the back of her head. She falls fairly limply onto Daevid. You produce your own weapon as several other people peek cautiously from their own rooms.
“Drop your weapon!” The woman demands, her voice gruff. Her own pistol is pointed at the injured couple. You stare down the barrel at her for a moment, flinching as she calls again for you to drop your gun.
[[Drop your gun. It's for the best.|thetrainb3]]
[[Shoot her.|thetraing1]]
[[Keep your gun raised but do not fire. Eventually the authorities will arrive.|thetrainh1]] “Maybe we should go back up to the roof?” You suggest as L angrily slams against the door.
“We don’t have time!” She says. “We’re running out of time!” She looks at you while she pulls her handgun from the back of her trousers. Both of you kept a pistol on your persons, especially when you are trying to prevent a murder.
“L what are you doing?” You shout.
“Saving my husband!” She replies, using the butt of the pistol to break the window glass. Inside the dozing conductor is jolted awake.
“What in the blazes is going on!?” He shouts, standing from his corner chair. He’s met with a pistol barrel through the window.
“Open the door!” L commands with a chilling tone. The conductor complies and within a few moments the door is open. She wastes no time pistol whipping the gentleman to the ground. You close the door behind you as L searches him for a key.
This coach is fancier with nice carpet and individual rooms for groups of passengers. An elderly lady sticks her head into the hall, presumably searching for the source of the commotion. Upon seeing the guard her eyes double in size and she promptly vanishes back into the room. You take off your coat and stuff it into the window. L tosses you the conductors coat as well which you use to further reinforce the broken window. It’s far from perfect, but it’s better than nothing.
“Got his keys.” L says, standing from the body with a jingle. The two of you are at the other end of the car in a flash. L unlocks the door and reenters the rushing wind. You close the door before jumping to the next already opened railcar. You close that door and the next two as well before you’re standing in the correct coach. Around you is the rushing sound of a God’s sigh; the pounding thunder of a waterfall against industries’ works. You have entered the Channel. There was no way to go between railcar’s while the train passes underneath the water, transporting people from Calais to Dover. It was the perfect time to kill somebody. L heads to the room that Daevid’s ticket read that morning.
“It’s locked!” She huffs as she strains against the handle. Both L and you carry handguns, especially when trying to prevent a murder. She pulls hers from its spot in the back of her trousers waist band and, without much thought to the repercussions, shoots the door lock. “Stand back.” She commands just before pulling the trigger. The smell of sulfur and a potent flashing bang! Thankfully the lock’s a flimsy thing and the door comes open after without a hitch. She rushes inside with a scream. You go to follow, but something stops you. As L goes to the bleeding body of her husband a figure from behind the opened door pistols whips the back of her head. She falls fairly limply onto Daevid. You produce your own weapon as several other people peek cautiously from their own rooms.
“Drop your weapon!” The woman demands, her voice gruff. Her own pistol is pointed at the injured couple. You stare down the barrel at her for a moment, flinching as she calls again for you to drop your gun.
[[Drop your gun. It's for the best.|thetrainb3]]
[[Shoot her.|thetraing1]]
[[Keep your gun raised but do not fire. Eventually the authorities will arrive.|thetrainh1]]<<set $daveysdeath to true>>
<<audio thetrainsong fadeout>>
You slowly raise your hands and the weapon above your head. The woman watches like a hawk. A singular objective can be read on her face. You clear your throat; your hands begin to quiver.
“Let’s talk about this.” You manage, the fingerprints of fear deep in your tone.
“We have nothing to talk about, $name.” She replies simply. You think [[she smiles as she pulls the trigger|thecastle]].
<<set $daveysdeath to true>>
<<audio thetrainsong fadeout>>
You take less than three seconds to make a decision. You pull the trigger. A brilliant sound and flash! The smell of sulfur… Mrs. Athan smiles weakly, blood wetting her blouse. You shoot her again as her own pistol sounds. It’s blinding, it’s deafening, and yet you can still see her [[soft smile|thecastle]].
<<audio thetrainsong fadeout>>
<<set $daveysdeath to true>>
“Put your gun down!” Mrs. Athan says, her pursed lips cherry red.
“You know I’m not going to do that!” You reply, keeping your pistol level with her. “We’re waiting until Dover… Then, you’ll be arrested for attempted murder.”
“Attempted murder?” She says, a faint smile playing her features. You feel sick to your stomach. You can’t tell whose [[gun fires first|thecastle]].
The Locomotive suddenly slams to a near halt. Throwing both you and L forwards. You tumble head first into the opened hatch and smash down on a brown carpet. You become aware, as you lay there dazed on the floor, of an air that was inside you. You didn’t know it was there, but now that it is gone you desperately want it back. You struggle there for a moment to breath. When you finally do a series of sharp pains prick down your ribs and your head throbs with a beating ache.
You scramble to your feet, your back protesting the speed. The front of the train must have hit the channel! This railcar is a fancier coach where there aren’t seats, but entire rooms for each group of passengers. The hallway would be dim if it weren’t for the sunrays through the hatch.
“L!?” You call. Nobody comes. Instead two conductors come from a door at the end of the cab. They have a ladder. “You two coming to close the hatch?” You ask as they come. You straighten your hair and try your best to pretend you didn’t just fall inside.
“Gotta get it closed before the Channel.” One answers while the other sets up the ladder.
“Good, good, I was just…” They can’t close L outside! Not that it mattered if she fell off the train already. But she could still be up there, hurt or stuck…
[[You've got to get L!|thetraina3]]
<<if $daveysdeath is false>>[[There's not time! Press forwards!|thetraine1]]
<<else>>[[There's not time! Press forwards!|thetrainI1]]
<</if>>
“I was just returning to my own railcar.” You say finally. “It’s the next one over… Could one of you gentlemen help me?”
“Certainly.” One of the conductors says. “Let’s get you there before we’re under.” He takes you to the railcar’s front where he reveals a small copper key. Following him however proves rather difficult. Your artificial limb whines with your steps and its knee does not bend to your will. Something must have happened to it… “You okay?” The conductor asks at noticing your limp.
“Getting used to a prosthetic.” You reply. He nods and fits the key easily into the handle’s lock before pulling open. For a moment you had respite from the wind; it eagerly welcomes you back. Its embrace is cool and far too frazzling. The conductor makes the jump from one car to the next with confident familiarity. As you close the door behind you, you see the other conductor atop the ladder, closing the hatch.
“Come on then!” The conductor says to you. “It’s scarier than it actually is lad!” It’s not a big jump, but it’s substantial enough that doing it with one leg is a terrible idea.
[[Try to make the jump anyways!|thetrainj1]]
[[Go back and get L.|thetraink1]]
<<set $elizabethsdeath to true>>
<<audio thetrainsong fadeout>>
It is indeed Mrs. Athan. The moment the door is opened but a sliver she has cast it open and rushed inside, silver blade giving a fabulous glint! You try to say something. You feel the trigger as the table is up turned. A brilliant flash. The smell of sulfur and your ears are ringing. Then again from your own gun. Then again. Daevid stands, unharmed, above the dead body. Both your barrels smoke lightly. [[Out in the hall is screaming.|thecastle]]
You back up slightly and take a breath. Then, with the fastest hobble possible, your leg comes just to the edge of the platform before pushing you forwards with a muscular push. The trouble with pushing off with your good leg is that you must land on the bad one. You make it! The prosthetic thuds awkwardly against the train platform, but in an attempt to bring your other leg on you must reverse your momentum and for a moment you stand on the very edge, your feet nearly off the platform entirely. The conductor reaches for your outstretched hands as vertigo takes you and in a moment everything is moving upwards.
You see the sky. It’s that perfect blue. That blue that only the sky can be.
Then it’s gone.
//You have been run over by a train! You have died. Would you like to [[restart?|thetrain]]//
<<set $untrustworthy to true>>
<<audio thetrainsong fadeout>>
A frustrated growl pushes through you and you flip around, going back to the ladder. The conductor is just about to close hatch.
“Wait!” You call, basically dragging yourself towards him. “There’s a woman up there!”
“What?” He says from atop the ladder.
“You can’t close her out!” You say. “You need to go up there!”
“We’re about to hit the Channel! I’m not going out there!”
“What’s going on!?” Calls the other conductor, coming back into the railcar.
“This bloke wants to go up onto the roof!”
“There’s a woman up there!” You argue.
“Nobody’s going anywhere!” The other conductor says, closing the door. “The channel is less than a minute away!”
“We can’t just leave her up there!” You say, your heart sinking.
“There’s nobody up there mate.” The conductor says, approaching you. “And even if there was, they’d probably be smart enough to jump ship by now.” Around you is the rushing sound of a God’s sigh; the pounding thunder of a waterfall against industries works. It’s the sound of a train rushing underwater. You’ve entered the Channel. You’re stuck in this railcar until it arrives in Dover.
You may only [[hope she has survived|thecastle]].
<<audio thecastlesong play>>
In the far north, beyond the lands of Ja’nor are the endless peaks. And nestled between these summits rests the kingdom Baelix, dominion of the Crow Lords. Their Ruler, now battle seasoned and weary, returns home. However, this reunion is short of conventional indulgences; an exhausting war is still young and in the midst of intrigue a council is called. These three gather under the castle, where the torches are stars against the great grey walls. A table fit for a feast is barren, and occupied by few.
<<if $daveysdeath is true>>[[You are one among them.|castle]]
<<else>>[[You are one among them.|castlethe]]
<</if>>At the table’s head is your great Queen, returned from the Kingdom’s latest defeat. And across from you sits the lead General of the Queen since the forth conflict of neversar. In the dim Queen Lyzel looks as the undead. Her hair is bloodied and her eyes beyond the effects of weary. Slumped in her chair you look from her to the general. For a time, there is silence. For a moment you think the Queen sleeping, only to have her clear her throat.
“General, fetch John. Tonight we will dine on Rose Water and Puffin.”
“Yes my Queen.” The General says without a second’s delay before rising from the table and vanishing.
“Has fatigue changed the Queen’s pallet?” You ask. Queen Lyzel was never found of flavorful foods.
“No.” She replies, heaving a sigh that relaxes her great armored shoulders. “Rose Water and Puffin however was the favorite of the late General Dae’ved. May we eat it in his memory.”
“I did not know…” You say, the words meshing into a film where they stick in your throat.
“He died with his honor.” The Queen says, her voice bitterly dry. “Without him all of our forces may have perished against the great scales of that beast.”
“It lives on?” You inquire. There was no report yet. The Queen had only arrived an hour ago.
“With the blood of our kin between its teeth.” She spits, her rage unusually quiet.
<<if $untrustworthy is false>>[[Attempt to comfort to her.|castlea2]]
<</if>>
<<if $untrustworthy is false>>[[Remain Silent|castleb1]]
<</if>>
<<if $untrustworthy is true>>[[The Queen looks to you.|castlec1]]
<</if>>At the table’s head is your great King, returned from Kingdom’s latest defeat. And across from you sits the lead General of his Majesty since the forth conflict of neversar. In the dim King Dae’ved looks as the undead. His hair is bloodied and his eyes beyond the effects of weary. Slumped in his chair you look from him to the general. For a time, there is silence. For a moment you think the King sleeping, only to have him clear his throat.
“General, fetch John. Tonight we will dine on Bread and Water.”
“Yes my King.” The General says without a second’s delay before rising from the table and vanishing.
“Has fatigue changed the King’s pallet?” You ask. King Dae’ved was never found of blander foods.
“No.” He replies, heaving a sigh that relaxes his great armored shoulders. “Bread and Water however was the favorite of the late General Lyzel. May we eat it in her memory.”
“I did not know…” You say, the words meshing into a film where they stick in your throat.
“She died with her honor.” The King says, his voice bitterly dry. “Without him all of our forces may have perished against the great scales of that beast.”
“It lives on?” You inquire. There was no report yet. The King had only arrived an hour ago.
“With the blood of our kin between its teeth.” He spits, his anger shriveled.
[[Attempt to comfort him.|castlethea2]]
[[Remain silent.|castletheb1]] “May your children mourn with you, as shall I.” You say, bowing your head slightly.
“Indeed.” The Queen rumbles. Then, after a pause, “I have not told them.” She says. It is now that she looks less tired and more defeated; troubled. “It is a burden I wish not to bear.” She says softly.
“You must.” You say. “And when they have learned the truth, they shall share the yoke.” Then, placing a hand upon her own grimy gauntlet you add, “As I share it with you already.” She looks at you, then she closes her eyes and for a time the only movement is that of the flicking flames. Eventually the General returns.
“The meal is in preparation as we speak.” He says, sitting back at the table. You remove your hand from the Queen.
“Very well.” Queen Lyzel says. “Now for the purpose of our meeting.” She takes a deep, shambling breath before speaking further.
“I fear the creature infallible.”
“What do you mean?” The General asks.
“It will not be slain, not by the sword.” The Queen replies, staring at the table’s grain as if it held some mystic message. “I watched as good steel and affable men merely bounced from its massive flanks.”
“The Sage Cullithean predicted our victory over it!” The General argues. Queen Lyzel’s heavy hand slams against the table and her eyes become burnt coals.
“Did Cullithean toss his spear to no avail? Did Cullithean watch his countrymen slain in troves? Did Cullithean accompany his soul into battle, and leave without it!?” The General has no reply. Instead he stews uncomfortably in his seat. “General Belua, it is but me and you. Generals Dae’ved and Njiol have been buried in the vast wastes below the peaks. There shall be not another man wasted in pursuit of this fiend; this Leviathan.”
“Then what is it you will, my Queen?” You ask. She looks to you, her eyes hollow of their sudden intensity.
“We shall wait.” She says. “We shall gather the kingdoms and pray it does not descend upon our home.”
“It has been moving North since it’s awakening.” General Belua says, his whole being tense for the coming rebuttal.
“It has slowed.” The Queen counters. “In the time we spared it did grow tired. And yet, even in its sleep its breath could slay the unarmed armies of the East. We must amass our allies, only with the strength of ten thousand men can we prevail.”
“I will have missive’s sent to the Courts of Izaiah and the King of Ravendish.” You say.
“These are our only allies.” The General says. “If our army’s desolation was so total there is no future in which we will possess the forces you claim are needed.”
“That I claim?” Queen Lyzel says, her breath hot.
“My Queen, I believe it is time to pursue the artifacts spoken of by the Sage.”
“The Sage has [[never proven right|castlea2 ext.]].” You say.
You say nothing. Instead you let time and quiet do their work. It is said all things shall heal within them, and yet you fear not enough of either exists to fully mend your friend. She closes her eyes and you bow your head. For a time the only movement is that of the flicking flames. Eventually the General returns.
“The meal is in preparation as we speak.” He says, sitting back at the table. You remove your hand from the Queen’s.
“Very well.” Queen Lyzel says. “Now for the purpose of our meeting.” She takes a deep, shambling breath before speaking further. “I fear the creature infallible.”
“What do you mean?” The General asks.
“It will not be slain, not by the sword.” The Queen replies, staring at the table’s grain as if it held some mystic message. “I watched as good steel and affable men merely bounced from its massive flanks.”
“The Sage Cullithean predicted our victory over it!” The General argues. Queen Lyzel’s heavy hand slams against the table and her eyes become burnt coals.
“Did Cullithean toss his spear to no avail? Did Cullithean watch his countrymen slain in troves? Did Cullithean accompany his soul into battle, and leave without it!?” The General has no reply. Instead he stews uncomfortably in his seat. “General Belua, it is but me and you. Generals Dae’ved and Njiol have been buried in the vast wastes below the peaks. There shall be not another man wasted in pursuit of this fiend; this Leviathan.”
“Then what is it you will, my Queen?” You ask. She looks to you, her eyes hollow of their sudden intensity.
“We shall wait.” She says. “We shall gather the kingdoms and pray it does not descend upon our home.”
“It has been moving North since it’s awakening.” General Belua says, his whole being tense for the coming rebuttal.
“It has slowed.” The Queen counters. “In the time we spared it did grow tired. And yet, even in its sleep its breath could slay the unarmed armies of the East. We must amass our allies, only with the strength of ten thousand men can we prevail.”
“I will have missive’s sent to the Courts of Izaiah and the King of Ravendish.” You say.
“These are our only allies.” The General says. “If our army’s desolation was so total there is no future in which we will possess the forces you claim are needed.”
“That I claim?” Queen Lyzel says, her breath hot.
“My Queen, I believe it is time to pursue the artifacts spoken of by the Sage.”
"The Sage has [[never proven right|castleb1 ext.]]." You say.With your sword above your head you rush for Belua, your peg leg barley slowing your fury. It is only an instant later when he must choose who he shall avoid, and who he shall be slain by. One last time he intercepts the Queen’s steel before you have carved him. His blood erupts in a thick gush and splatters upon the floor with his body. For a fleeting moment there is the sound of rain. Your boots are wet and the Queen falls to her knees, openly weeping.
“We shall survive this yet.” You mutter, blade drip drip dripping.
“We shall survive this yet.”
“What is it that we do?” Cries the Queen. You fall to a knee at her side.
“We shall endure.”
“How $name?” Her face is twisted into some creature you do not know: it is agony.
[[We shall spend every moment, use every resource, call upon every man for the defeat of the Leviathan.|castlea4]]
[[We shall flee. Our children will outlive it and one-day feast upon its colossal and cold heart.|castlea5]]
<<set $elizabethsdeath to true>>
<<audio thecastlesong fadeout>>
For the space of four further strokes do you watch as the battle drags on. Then you shift in your feet, your peg leg grinding gently against the stones. You clear your throat and lift your sword in defiance.
“Lyzel, you shall surrender your throne!” The Queen does not seem to hear your words however. Her fight only grows more desperate. Her vigor shows bright as her exhaustion. “Lyzel!” You shout. “I do not want to fight you!” She takes a great sweep at Belua whose sword skips from his gloves. “Lyzel no!” Your sword comes between the General and the Queen’s deadly blow. The look on her face is not shock, but betrayal watered away with something hollow and heavy. You easily raise her blade and toss it down to her side. Belua scrambles for his blade and his feet.
“Yield Lyzel.” He says, rising his sword.
“I cannot.” She says, her voice like the wind through dry reeds.
“You must.” You say. In a flash beside you Belua dives with his weapon. You have only the time to drive him through, your hilt coming to his spine and your edge emerging from his chest. You drop your blade and he falls to the ground. Your hands are disgusting and sticky as you grab the body of Lyzel, preventing her from falling upon the cold stones. Her crown rolls across the floor. Her blood spills into a brackish pool of fast forming clumps. Her head in your lap you wipe a hand across her forehead. She is cold. She is freezing.
“I’m sorry.” She wheezes.
“Shhh.” You weep. “Save your strength, I’ll find help.” She only shakes her pale head.
“I will see Dea’ved again.” She sputters, her mouth drooling thick crimsons strands. “I go to my love.” Her face freezes and her chest stops its shallow shifting. In a moment you are bloodied and battered and so utterly, utterly [[alone|thefarm thegrave]].
<<audio thecastlesong fadeout>>
For a long time [[there is quiet.|thefarm thegrave]]
<<set $givingchase to true>><<audio thecastlesong fadeout>>
For a long time [[there is quiet.|thefarm thegrave]]
<<set $givingchase to false>>“Nor has he ever been wrong.” Belua shoots back.
“The Sage is nothing more than the local medicine man.” The Queen Sneers. “If it were allowed he would strut naked in the streets proclaiming the world’s end as often as the day turned to night!”
“The people hold Cullithean in high regard as an Oracle!”
“The people are scared!”
“That is because the people are those who are dead!” The General shouts. “The people do not want to call upon the arms of others for defense! They do not wish to wait for the executioner to come! They require action!”
“In the pursuit of a madman’s dream!?” The Queen says ludicrously, standing. The General stands as well.
“Better that than dying in the shadow of a coward’s misery!” He draws his blade. You stand, drawing your own sword. The table however batters you to the ground as the Queen tosses it from her, her broadsword freed from its blood incrusted sheath.
“Treasonous pig!” She bellows. Even in her exhaustion she wields her sword with terrible strength. The General however is nimble, and easily avoids her great but slow swings. You manage to your feet, your sword sour in your hand. “Defend your Queen!” Lyzel commands.
“You fight for your people!” Belua shouts, his sword grinding against the Queen’s own blade.
[[Defend your Queen; your friend.|castlea3]]
[[Come to aid of Belua.|castled1]] “Nor has he ever been wrong.” Belua shoots back.
“The Sage is nothing more than the local medicine man.” The Queen Sneers. “If it were allowed he would strut naked in the streets proclaiming the world’s end as often as the day turned to night!”
“The people hold Cullithean in high regard as an Oracle!”
“The people are scared!”
“That is because the people are those who are dead!” The General shouts. “The people do not want to call upon the arms of others for defense! They do not wish to wait for the executioner to come! They require action!”
“In the pursuit of a madman’s dream!?” The Queen says ludicrously, standing. The General stands as well.
“Better that than dying in the shadow of a coward’s misery!” He draws his blade. You stand, drawing your own sword. The table however batters you to the ground as the Queen tosses it from her, her broadsword freed from its blood incrusted sheath.
“Treasonous pig!” She bellows. Even in her exhaustion she wields her sword with terrible strength. The General however is nimble, and easily avoids her great but slow swings. You manage to your feet, your sword sour in your hand. “Defend your Queen!” Lyzel commands.
“You fight for your people!” Belua shouts, his sword grinding against the Queen’s own blade.
[[Defend your Queen; your friend.|castlea3]]
[[Come to the aid of Belua.|castled1]]
She looks at you, her features hard. In her eyes you see a spark of something dismal and dreary. She opens her mouth, but holds her tongue. You feel unease. The air is different suddenly as her frustration develops a target.
“What is it?” You ask. She watches your expression as you speak, and only answers as the last shred of your voice has faded.
“You have failed me in the past.” She says, her rage suppressed. She does not wish to cut you with her tongue. She does not wish to chastise or berate you. “Today I have learned I can only rely on the strongest… On the most trustworthy available to me.”
“What is it you are saying my Queen?”
“I cannot have you any further.” She snaps before taking a deep breath. “You are relieved of your service.” You are stunned. Yes, you have failed her in the past. Yes, today she is miserable and worn. Yet you still are surprised. “Thank you for all you’ve done.” Queen Lyzel says earnestly, even if her words are weathered. “But you are excused.”
[[You shall leave with your pride.|castlec2]]
[[You will not be cast aside.|castlee1]]<<set $elizabethsdeath to true>>
<<audio thecastlesong fadeout>>
You nod after she has finished speaking. It takes a moment for the reality of the situation to fully settle. When it has you stand, your peg leg grinding against the stone. You take your cane and, with a deep bow to your Queen, you take your leave. You pass General Belua on the stairs; his chain mail’s rattling tells of his presence far before he can be seen.
“$name, where head you?” He asks under the light of hanging torches.
“Home.” You say simply. “The Queen has no further need of me.” Then you continue, the steps leading you to the courtyard where the grey sky casts it’s sullen light across the yellow grass. There are no more battles to fight, no more strategies to develop. It is the next day when [[the news|thefarm thegrave]] first finds you…
You nod after she has finished speaking. It takes a moment for the reality of the situation to fully settle. When it has you stand, your peg leg grinding against the stone. But you do not grab your cane.
“With all due respect, your Majesty, I will refuse your command.” You say boldly. She goes to speak, but you continue. “I will not stand by after the death of my friend, indolent and free from service because of my disability. I will not have my friend, ruler as she may be, make decision with the rash mind of a stressed monarch. I will not Lyzel turn me away, when she needs most my support and love.” Then you sit again, and resume your previous posture. The Queen does not speak, nor, does it seem for a space, does she blink.
Then she closes her eyes and rests her head. A great sigh escapes her and the only sound is that of the flickering flames. You hear the rattle of the General’s chainmail before he has entered the room.
“The meal is in preparation as we speak.” He says, sitting back at the table. You remove your hand from the Queen’s.
“Very well.” Queen Lyzel says. “Now for the purpose of our meeting.” She takes a deep, shambling breath before speaking further. “I fear the creature infallible.”
“What do you mean?” The General asks.
“It will not be slain, not by the sword.” The Queen replies, staring at the table’s grain as if it held some mystic message. “I watched as good steel and affable men merely bounced from its massive flanks.”
“The Sage Cullithean predicted our victory over it!” The General argues. Queen Lyzel’s heavy hand slams against the table and her eyes become burnt coals.
“Did Cullithean toss his spear to no avail? Did Cullithean watch his countrymen slain in troves? Did Cullithean accompany his soul into battle, and leave without it!?” The General has no reply. Instead he stews uncomfortably in his seat. “General Belua, it is but me and you. Generals Dae’ved and Njiol have been buried in the vast wastes below the peaks. There shall be not another man wasted in pursuit of this fiend; this Leviathan.”
“Then what is it you will, my Queen?” You ask. She looks to you, her eyes hollow of their sudden intensity.
“We shall wait.” She says. “We shall gather the kingdoms and pray it does not descend upon our home.”
“It has been moving North since it’s awakening.” General Belua says, his whole being tense for the coming rebuttal.
“It has slowed.” The Queen counters. “In the time we spared it did grow tired. And yet, even in its sleep its breath could slay the unarmed armies of the East. We must amass our allies, only with the strength of ten thousand men can we prevail.”
“I will have missive’s sent to the Courts of Izaiah and the King of Ravendish.” You say.
“These are our only allies.” The General says. “If our army’s desolation was so total there is no future in which we will possess the forces you claim are needed.”
“That I claim?” Queen Lyzel says, her breath hot.
“My Queen, I believe it is time to pursue the artifacts spoken of by the Sage.”
"The Sage has [[never proven right|castlee1 ext.]]." You say.<<if $daveysdeath is false>><<audio thefarmsong play>>The careful chirping of birds. It is a chorus of the sky whose careful melodies blend into a constant lullaby. The trunks of the trees are as fudge; deep, brown, and rich. The soil is tinted with red and decorated with nature’s abundance. Grasses like green silk, bushes whose berries weigh them down, the canopy above that melts the light into a soft dappling of elegant beauty. How beautiful are these woods that man has not touched? The tree line <<if $daveysdeath is true>>[[suddenly breaks ahead|thefarm1]].<<else>>[[suddenly breaks ahead|farm1]]<</if>>The path leads over a river and into a sprawling meadow whose namesake is golden and dusty blue.
<</if>>
<<if $elizabethsdeath is false>><<audio thefarmsong play>>The careful chirping of birds. It is a chorus of the sky whose careful melodies blend into a constant lullaby. The trunks of the trees are as fudge; deep, brown, and rich. The soil is tinted with red and decorated with nature’s abundance. Grasses like green silk, bushes whose berries weigh them down, the canopy above that melts the light into a soft dappling of elegant beauty. How beautiful are these woods that man has not touched? The tree line <<if $daveysdeath is true>>[[suddenly breaks ahead|thefarm1]].<<else>>[[suddenly breaks ahead|farm1]]<</if>>The path leads over a river and into a sprawling meadow whose namesake is golden and dusty blue.
<</if>>
<<if $daveysdeath and $elizabethsdeath is true>><<audio thegravesong play>>A simple, elegant dew rests drowsy over the cemetery today. The morning light kisses the rounded tops of the twin tombstones. The granite twinkles with a somber pity as you stand, head slumped, shoulders down, back bent… A single rose in <<if $mangled is true>>your only hand.<<else>>your right hand.<</if>> Its petals are smooth as silk and deep as passion. You place the green stem gently between the stones. You did not know this until you had buried them; tombs are not places of rest for the dead.
Tombs are monuments to life. To past lives, lived in splendor and fear and excitement and worry and love and… You cannot help but cry. It was your fault. You shouldn’t have been drinking that night. You shouldn’t have driven. You shouldn’t have been the one to survive. You cover a face whose sobs are ugly and maniac. What did you do? You murderer. You coward. These are the things that roll through the storms in your troubled mind. A feeling so thick and burning as to send you laughing and wailing steeps about your heart and dribbles into your bursting stomach.
The wet grass soaks through your pants. The soft blue sky gazes at your shaking figure. The young sun vows to rise the next day. Life goes on. Life goes on. But not for everyone. Not for them. Here lies Davey Grimchester, loving husband and father. Here lies Elizabeth Grimchester, loving wife and mother. You were asked to visit the graves at the same time Timber did. But that child, the look of their eyes and the soft features of their childish face… It was enough to drive you mad. A guilt ridden soul makes for a drowning <<if $timbergrimchester is true>>[[fear free from courage|gravea1]]<<else>>[[fear free from courage|graveb1]]<</if>> or bravery or ownership.
<</if>> “Nor has he ever been wrong.” Belua shoots back.
“The Sage is nothing more than the local medicine man.” The Queen Sneers. “If it were allowed he would strut naked in the streets proclaiming the world’s end as often as the day turned to night!”
“The people hold Cullithean in high regard as an Oracle!”
“The people are scared!”
“That is because the people are those who are dead!” The General shouts. “The people do not want to call upon the arms of others for defense! They do not wish to wait for the executioner to come! They require action!”
“In the pursuit of a madman’s dream!?” The Queen says ludicrously, standing. The General stands as well.
“Better that than dying in the shadow of a coward’s misery!” He draws his blade. You stand, drawing your own sword. The table however batters you to the ground as the Queen tosses it from her, her broadsword freed from its blood incrusted sheath.
“Treasonous pig!” She bellows. Even in her exhaustion she wields her sword with terrible strength. The General however is nimble, and easily avoids her great but slow swings. You manage to your feet, your sword sour in your hand. “Defend your Queen!” Lyzel commands.
“You fight for your people!” Belua shouts, his sword grinding against the Queen’s own blade.
[[Defend your Queen; your friend.|castlea3]]
[[Come to the aid of Belua.|castled1]]
“May your children mourn with you, as shall I.” You say, bowing your head slightly.
“Indeed.” The King rumbles. Then, after a pause, “I have not told them.” He says. It is now that he looks less tired and more defeated; troubled. “It is a burden I wish not to bear.” He says softly.
“You must.” You say. “And when they have learned the truth, they shall share the yoke.” Then, placing a hand upon his grimy shoulder you add, “As I share it with you already.” He looks at you, then he closes his eyes and for a time the only movement is that of the flicking flames. Eventually the General returns.
“The meal is in preparation as we speak.” He says, sitting back at the table. You remove your hand from the King.
“Very well.” King Dae’ved says. “Now for the purpose of our meeting.” He takes a deep, shambling breath before speaking further. “I fear the creature infallible.”
“What do you mean?” The General asks.
“It will not be slain, not by the sword.” The King replies, staring at the table’s grain as if it held some mystic message. “I watched as good steel and affable men merely bounced from its massive flanks.”
“The Sage Cullithean predicted our victory over it!” The General argues. King Dae’veds’ heavy hand slams against the table.
“Did Cullithean also predict the death of my wife?” The King asks slowly, his eyes closed in a look of pain. The General has no reply. Instead he stews uncomfortably in his seat. “General Belua, it is but me and you. Generals Lyzel and Njiol have been buried in the vast wastes below the peaks. There shall be not another life wasted in pursuit of this fiend; this Leviathan.”
“Then what is it you will, my Lord?” You ask. He looks to you, his eyes hollow.
“We shall wait.” He says. “We shall gather the kingdoms and pray it does not descend upon our home.”
“It has been moving North since it’s awakening.” General Belua says, his whole being tense for the coming rebuttal.
“It has slowed.” The King counters. “In the time we spared it did grow tired. And yet, even in its sleep its breath could slay the unarmed armies of the East. We must amass our allies, only with the strength of ten thousand men can we prevail.”
“I will have missive’s sent to the Courts of Izaiah and the King of Ravendish.” You say.
“These are our only allies.” The General says. “If our army’s desolation was so total there is no future in which we will possess the forces you claim are needed.”
“What is it you would have me do?” King Dae’ved says brokenly.
“My King, I believe it is time to pursue the artifacts spoken of by the Sage.”
"The Sage has [[never proven right|castlethea2 ext.]]." You say.You say nothing. Instead you let time and quiet do their work. It is said all things shall heal within them, and yet you fear not enough of either exists to fully mend your friend. He closes his eyes and you bow your head. For a time the only movement is that of the flicking flames. Eventually the General returns.
“The meal is in preparation as we speak.” He says, sitting back at the table. You remove your hand from the King.
“Very well.” King Dae’ved says. “Now for the purpose of our meeting.” He takes a deep, shambling breath before speaking further. “I fear the creature infallible.”
“What do you mean?” The General asks.
“It will not be slain, not by the sword.” The King replies, staring at the table’s grain as if it held some mystic message. “I watched as good steel and affable men merely bounced from its massive flanks.”
“The Sage Cullithean predicted our victory over it!” The General argues. King Dae’veds’ heavy hand slams against the table.
“Did Cullithean also predict the death of my wife?” The King asks slowly, his eyes closed in a look of pain. The General has no reply. Instead he stews uncomfortably in his seat. “General Belua, it is but me and you. Generals Lyzel and Njiol have been buried in the vast wastes below the peaks. There shall be not another life wasted in pursuit of this fiend; this Leviathan.”
“Then what is it you will, my Lord?” You ask. He looks to you, his eyes hollow.
“We shall wait.” He says. “We shall gather the kingdoms and pray it does not descend upon our home.”
“It has been moving North since it’s awakening.” General Belua says, his whole being tense for the coming rebuttal.
“It has slowed.” The King counters. “In the time we spared it did grow tired. And yet, even in its sleep its breath could slay the unarmed armies of the East. We must amass our allies, only with the strength of ten thousand men can we prevail.”
“I will have missive’s sent to the Courts of Izaiah and the King of Ravendish.” You say.
“These are our only allies.” The General says. “If our army’s desolation was so total there is no future in which we will possess the forces you claim are needed.”
“What is it you would have me do?” King Dae’ved says brokenly.
“My King, I believe it is time to pursue the artifacts spoken of by the Sage.”
"The Sage has [[never proven right|castletheb1 ext.]]." You say. “Nor has he ever been wrong.” Belua shoots back.
“The Sage is nothing more than the local medicine man.” The King objects.
“The people hold Cullithean in high regard as an Oracle!”
“The people are scared.” The King replies.
“That is because the people are those who are dead!” The General says. “The people do not want to call upon the arms of others for defense! They do not wish to wait for the executioner to come! They require action!”
“In the pursuit of a madman’s dream!?” The King says ludicrously, standing suddenly, his temper finally snapping. The General stands as well.
“Better that than dying in the shadow of a coward’s misery!” He draws his blade. You stand, drawing your own sword. The table however batters you to the ground as the King tosses it from him, his broadsword freed from its blood incrusted sheath.
“Traitor!” He bellows. Even in his exhaustion he wields his sword with terrible strength. The General however is nimble, and easily avoids his great but slow swings. You manage to your feet, your sword sour in your hand. “Defend your King!” Dae’ved commands.
“You fight for your people!” Belua shouts, his sword grinding against the King’s own blade.
[[Defend your King; your friend.|castlethea3]]
[[Come to the aid of Belua.|castlethed1]]With your sword above your head you rush for Belua, your peg leg barley slowing your fury. It is only an instant later when he must choose who he shall avoid, and who he shall be slain by. One last time he intercepts the King’s steel before you have carved him. His blood erupts in a thick gush and splatters upon the floor with his body. For a fleeting moment there is the sound of rain. Your boots are wet and the King falls to his knee, bitterly weeping.
“We shall survive this yet.” You mutter, blade drip drip dripping. “We shall survive this yet.”
“What is it that we do?” Cries the King. You fall to a knee at his side.
“We shall endure.”
“How $name?” His face is twisted into some creature you do not know: it is agony.
[[We shall spend every moment, use every resource, call upon every man for the defeat of the Leviathan.|castlea4]]
[[We shall flee. Our children will outlive it and one-day feast upon its colossal and cold heart.|castlea5]]<<set $daveysdeath to true>>
For the space of four further strokes do you watch as the battle drags on. Then you shift in your feet, your peg leg grinding gently against the stones. You clear your throat and lift your sword in defiance.
“Dae’ved, you shall surrender your throne!” The King does not seem to hear your words however. His fight only grows more desperate. His vigor shows bright as her exhaustion. “Dae’ved!” You shout. “I do not want to fight you!” He takes a great sweep at Belua whose sword skips from his gloves. “Dae’ved no!” Your sword comes between the General and the King’s deadly blow. The look on his face is not shock, but betrayal watered away with something hollow and heavy. You easily raise his blade and toss it down to his side. Belua scrambles for his blade and his feet.
“Yield Dae’ved.” He says, rising his sword.
“I cannot.” He says, his voice like the wind through dry reeds.
“You must.” You say. In a flash beside you Belua dives with his weapon. You have only the time to drive him through, your hilt coming to his spine and your edge emerging from his chest. You drop your blade and he falls to the ground. Your hands are disgusting and sticky as you grab the body of Dae’ved, preventing him from falling upon the cold stones. His crown rolls across the floor. His blood spills into a brackish pool of fast forming clumps. His head in your lap, you wipe a hand across his forehead. He is cold. He is freezing.
“I’m sorry.” He wheezes.
“Shhh.” You say. “Save your strength, I’ll find help.” He only shakes his pale head.
“I will see Lyzel again.” He sputters, his mouth drooling thick crimsons strands. “I go to my love.” His face freezes and his chest stops its shallow shifting. In a moment you are bloodied and battered and so utterly, utterly alone.
“Nor has he ever been wrong.” Belua shoots back.
“The Sage is nothing more than the local medicine man.” The King objects.
“The people hold Cullithean in high regard as an Oracle!”
“The people are scared.” The King replies.
“That is because the people are those who are dead!” The General says. “The people do not want to call upon the arms of others for defense! They do not wish to wait for the executioner to come! They require action!”
“In the pursuit of a madman’s dream!?” The King says ludicrously, standing suddenly, his temper finally snapping. The General stands as well.
“Better that than dying in the shadow of a coward’s misery!” He draws his blade. You stand, drawing your own sword. The table however batters you to the ground as the King tosses it from him, his broadsword freed from its blood incrusted sheath.
“Traitor!” He bellows. Even in his exhaustion he wields his sword with terrible strength. The General however is nimble, and easily avoids his great but slow swings. You manage to your feet, your sword sour in your hand. “Defend your King!” Dae’ved commands.
“You fight for your people!” Belua shouts, his sword grinding against the King’s own blade.
[[Defend your King; your friend.|castlethea3]]
[[Come to the aid of Belua.|castlethed1]]
It is your home.
A two story home whose paint has been paled by the sun’s envy. A large porch covered by the second story rests beyond four stairs; upon one of the two chairs sits a figure. She likes to admire the fields you two have devised and strained for. It is wheat. Like fire and ocean, the stalks stand against the sun’s amber and billow in waves. The air smells of comfortable dust and among the glittering rows goes the path whose countenance you tread. Another figure stands within the wheat. It pours water from its hands onto each wheat stalk with calculated precision. It is the afternoon. The sun rests atop the great domed sky and you carry across your back the reward of your struggling.
“How was the trip?” E asks from her chair. You ascend the stairs and set your kill onto the porch before plopping into the seat beside hers.
“Long.” You sigh, looking out over the fields. The android is rusted, but it still completes its tasks with efficiency. “But I got a good haul at least.”
“That’s good.” E says. “I’ve been working on the Amica.”
“That’s also good.” You reply. “Make any progress?” E frowns slightly.
“I think so. It’s difficult to say.”
“I’ll take a look at it tomorrow.”
“Good. For now, let’s prepare your catch.” E says, standing.
“You have the salt ready?” You ask.
“Everything’s ready to go. Come on now.” She says, picking up your swollen pack from off the porch. You stand and follow her inside. Her walk is still deliberate. With alien places came alien illnesses. Thankfully she had survived, and was finally beginning to heal. In the kitchen are the outer remains of six androids whose final purpose was to be gutted in an attempt to repair the ship. Set out on the table are bags of salt, sharpened knives, and countless bags. Warm bubbling water in a trough just beside it all and you have before you a proper meat preparation station.
[[Familiar hands make swift work.|thefarm2]]
It is your home. A two story home whose paint has been paled by the sun’s envy. A large porch covered by the second story rests beyond four stairs; upon one of the two chairs sits a figure. She likes to admire the fields you two have devised and strained for. It is wheat. Like fire and ocean, the stalks stand against the sun’s amber and billow in waves. The air smells of comfortable dust and among the glittering rows goes the path whose countenance you tread. Another figure stands within the wheat. It pours water from its hands onto each wheat stalk with calculated precision. It is the afternoon. The sun rests atop the great domed sky and you carry across your back the reward of your struggling.
“How was the trip?” Daivid asks from his chair. You ascend the stairs and set your kill onto the porch before plopping into the seat beside hers.
“Long.” You sigh, looking out over the fields. The android is rusted, but it still completes its tasks with efficiency. “But I got a good haul at least.”
“That’s good.” Daivid says. “I’ve been working on the Amica.”
“That’s also good.” You reply. “Make any progress?” Daivid frowns slightly.
“I think so. It’s difficult to say.”
“I’ll take a look at it tomorrow.”
“Good. For now, let’s prepare your catch.” Daivid says, standing.
“You have the salt ready?” You ask.
“Everything’s ready to go. Come on now.” he says, picking up your swollen pack from off the porch. You stand and follow him inside. his walk is still deliberate. With alien places came alien illnesses. Thankfully he had survived, and was finally beginning to heal. In the kitchen are the outer remains of six androids whose final purpose was to be gutted in an attempt to repair the ship. Set out on the table are bags of salt, sharpened knives, and countless bags. Warm bubbling water in a trough just beside it all and you have before you a proper meat preparation station.
[[Familiar hands make swift work.|farm2]]
The skins are peeled like pears. The meat is cut into slabs and its moisture soaks into the surrounding salt. Bags are sealed. More bags are sealed. The last bag is sealed. The night sky rouses a chirping chorus and they speak from the wheat fields and tree line as you carry the bags to the cellar. Once E wouldn’t have eaten this. But to maintain her fiendish hunger she grew to like it along as the bread she had taught you to create. You drop the bags into their designated crates, also salt filled, and seal it tight with a hammer and nails.
With each stroke of the hammer the suffocating smell of the room worsens until your practically fleeing back up the stairs. They creak maddeningly with your weighty steps. This house was old. You do not know who built it. You know only that with the repairs of your androids it still stands. Your bedroom is on the first floor. A door in the back of the kitchen leads to your quaint abode. As you lay down to rest you know that, far above you, E certainly does not sleep. Your aching muscles are like mallets in your shoulders and back, pressing while you reflect that she is gazing through her telescope. It was a gift. It was a good gift from a good man.
Your eyes are closed and your mind clears into a thin ink before you are awakened by the morning light brushing over you from the small, grimy window. You get up and stretch. You hear the faint sound of internal crunching as you pull your neck this way and that. Joints pop and muscles protest before you’re out into the kitchen. You cut yourself a slice from the last loaf E had made. The faint smell of honey hits your nose while the taste of wheat flour fills your mouth with a slightly sticky, delicious taste. Her bread is always better than yours.
“I’ll cook up some real food for dinner if you’ll work out on the ship.” E says from behind you, still on the stairs.
“What does real food mean exactly?” You manage around bread.
“It’ll be gross enough for you to like it.” She says happily. It’s nice to see her well again.
“I didn’t think I’d miss your dry brand of humor.” You say after swallowing.
“But you did.” She replies authoritatively as she cuts herself a slice of bread.
“But I did.” You say, popping the rest of your slice into your mouth.
“Hopefully I’ll have it done by lunch… But it’ll probably be dinner when it’s all made.” E says.
“Either one is wonderful.” You respond, walking out the door. “See you in a few hours!”
Outside the morning sun has just gained purchase. The treetops still shadow its celestial head, but within the hour you know the world will be bright as day. The old ship lays behind the house some ways. Exploded and bent trees try to recover around it and the dirt still carries scorch marks. The crash was less than desirable. However, you’d managed to save most of the ship.
<<if $flight is true>>[[But that was before you had the idea.|thefarma1]]
<<else>>[[Unfortunately you hadn't saved enough.|thefarmb1]]
<</if>>After the idea though it didn’t really matter how much of the ship you had saved… E has been working fairly exclusively on the wiring on the engine. You make your way to the center of the ship. Through the gold platted door, you walk. Down the tipped hall whose chrome is littered with fire ashes and desperate scratches. At the ships center is the pillar whose insides protect the cold fusion reactor. You pry open the door that used to slide at command. Your grunts echo through the cold white interior. Inside is the pack. You fish out the flashlight and get to work finding the repaired and rerouted wires.
Then you tear them down. You wrap them around each other and plug them back into the engine incorrectly. You cut into a wire and shove rubber inside. You remove a wire completely and stuff your pocket with its corpse. It’s meticulous work to undo another’s progress without them knowing. It must look as it was to some degree. But more importantly it must feel like how it was. That’s the key. You come to a thick line of multicolored wires.
[[Take the wires from the inside and move them to the outside of the bunch.|thefarma1 ext.]]
[[Switch all the wires around of the same color.
E has been working fairly exclusively on the wiring on the engine. You make your way to the center of the ship. Through the gold platted door, you walk. Down the tipped hall whose chrome is littered with fire ashes and desperate scratches. At the ships center is the pillar whose insides protect the cold fusion reactor. You pry open the door that used to slide at command. Your grunts echo through the cold white interior. Inside is the pack. You fish out the flashlight and get to work finding the repaired and rerouted wires.
It’s a tedious process, that of working with small colored strings. Each is of great importance. None can be placed wrong, and the impact had seen to it to cut many, shake loose many, and simple displace many more. That’s when you come to a thick line of many wires strung together. It looks recently repaired; however, it doesn’t seem to be correct. E usually knew what she was doing… But then again so do you.
[[Rework them. Better safe than sorry.|thefarmb1 ext.]]
[[You're sure E had good reason to put them like she did.|thefarmb1 ext.]]
It’s noon by the time you’ve finished. You collect the pack and put it neatly beside the door as you walk out into the scorching rays. As you walk back around the house you notice 44 is not moving. You take from the stairs to the fields where you wade through the golden seeds to the android.
“Hello $name.” It says, devoid of tone. “It appears I am stuck.”
<<if $knowledge is true>>[[“Yes it does.”|thefarma2]]<<else>>[[“Yes it does.”|thefarmc1]]<</if>> You say, pulling open the robots back panel. “It’s probably that makeshift motor we put in you again.”
<<set $timbergrimchester to true>>
“Does it require further lubrication?” The android inquires.
“No, it looks like you’ve got an expired wire.” You say, pulling the wire you’d taken from the ship out of your pocket. Grabbing 44’s hand you manually switch out the watering apparatus for the needed tools to crimp the new wire into place. A few moments later after a hot flash you’re closing the android up and it’s functioning again.
“Thank you $name.” It says.
“Don’t mention it.” You reply, leaving it to its chores.
That’s when the sky roars. The deafening blow has you on your knees, your ears shrieking in terror. Your hands did nothing to stop the blast. Nor do they protect you from the sudden winds that blow past with an indefatigable force. A force so strong as to force you onto your stomach as it tears at your clothes and seems to grab your hair. You cannot hear anything as it finally ends and you come gently to your shaking knees. The sun is sabled. No. The sun is blocked.
You are in the shadow of it. It fills the sky. A dark hulking mass. It looks of conquest and glory and disgust. A thick fear builds within you as you sprint to the house. E stands in the doorway, her eyes wide and upwards as you approach. You grab her shoulders.
“We need to go!” You scream. You cannot hear yourself. She responds. You can feel her arms shake as she yells back but to no avail. The two of you are deaf yet. Growing frustrated with the pointless conversation E leaves your grip and runs to the cellar. Good, good she’s going to get food. You blast into the kitchen and find every pack not filled and swamp them in loaves. The ringing grows softer as you work and you manage to hear the loud creak of the stairs. You turn to look. What you see is nothing but rage. E stands with her weapon. The weapon that you two had stored away. The weapon not needed for this world, the weapon whose power is worthy of wailing.
“What are you doing?!” You shout, dropping the bags.
“What are you doing!?” She replies, equally flabbergasted.
“We are leaving!” You command.
“To where!? The ship doesn’t work!”
“Anywhere but here!” You say.
“Why the hell would we go!? We’ve been searching for Leviathan for years!”
[[Tell her the truth.|thefarma3]]
[[Force her down.|thefarmd1]]<<set $elizabethsdeath to true>>
<<set $mangled to true>>
<<audio thefarmsong fadeout>>
“Does it require further lubrication?” The android inquires.
“I don’t think so…” You mutter, doing your best to prod through the metallic guts. Why don’t you try to spin it when-“ The android, it’s brains fried from the constant sun does not wait for the rest of your command. Instead the engine jumps to life and your fingers go with its vigorous pull. There’s a moment of silence, where you stand as a statue upon a dormant castle. Then the pain shudders through your being. Arms shaking you pull your mangled hand from the robot. Blood paints your shoes. Like a matrix of twisted metal your hand looks like the wreckage of a plane whose cargo was viscera. The shock keeps you rooted for a moment, simply staring through the burning pain.
That’s when the sky roars. The deafening blow has you on your knees, your ears shrieking in terror. Your hands did nothing to stop the blast. Nor do they protect you from the sudden winds that blow past with an indefatigable force. A force so strong as to force you onto your stomach as it tears at your clothes and seems to grab your hair. You cannot hear anything as it finally ends and you come gently to your shaking knees. The sun is sabled. No. The sun is blocked.
You are in the shadow of it. It fills the sky. A dark hulking mass. It looks of conquest and glory and disgust. A thick fear builds within you as you stand, motionless. Your hand is squirting, the end is here, and your fear causes your dread. It takes you too long to take the first step. For the freezing panic to liquidate; too much time has dragged on. E is already out the door, a weapon in her hands. A weapon for this. A weapon worthy of wailing. You approach her, to stop her, but the determination in her eyes is coarse and stringy. She simply pushes you aside, your trembling hand doing nothing to help you.
The wind roars in your weeping ears. The wheat bows low and your hand shouts through you. And yet it is all suddenly so distant as you watch her go. Her steps are forceful. Her stride is angry. The weapon is held firm. You fall to your knees. A single line descends from the sky. You know who awaits inside. The killer. It is Leviathan. You cannot cry, but your heart sobs far more than your hand in the wild wind of the [[end|thegrave]].
<<set $elizabethsdeath to true>>
<<audio thefarmsong fadeout>>
“We cannot kill Leviathan!” You say, almost laughing. “We left on a whim, to distract ourselves!”
“No! No we did not come to the edge of the galaxy on a whim!”
“That’s what sad people do! They chase what’s nothing more than a dream!”
“My Husbands death is not a dream!” E screams, her foot coming forward and her weapon coming to face you.
“Please, E, don’t make me bury you too.” You say, the laughter bubbling into tears.
“There’s only one person who’s going to be buried today.” She says before storming out of the house. You follow her to the door where you watch her run down the path. Above a single line descends from the starship. You know that when that line touches down Leviathan will exit it. You do not have a weapon. You do not have courage. You gave that up long ago, when you began to tear into your means of searching. You were supposed to stay here! You were supposed to grow old and die with a friend here!
Your knees find the floor again. You cannot bear to watch. Not again. [[Not again.|thegrave]]
<<set $elizabethsdeath to true>>
<<audio thefarmsong fadeout>>
“We cannot kill Leviathan!” You say, almost laughing. “We left on a whim, to distract ourselves!”
“No! No we did not come to the edge of the galaxy on a whim!”
“E, don’t make me stop you.” You say, your words turning bitter.
“You could never stop me.” She sneers before taking her leave. But she does not go. You rush into her and together the two of you tumble to the floor. The weapon goes clattering across the floor. Her hands are on your face, your grabbing over her waist, trying to push her off you. Her thumbs find your eyes and press without mercy. You scream and she scampers from you. You can see still, but the pain was immense. You try to get to your feet but using the blunt end of the weapon she knocks you down.
“I’m sorry $name.” She says before leaving. You crawl to the door, the wood rough on your calloused hands. You watch as she goes sprinting through the field. The wind roars in your weeping ears. You watch until you can watch no more. From the sky comes a single line. You know who awaits inside. You know the end has arrived.
[[It is Leviathan.|thegrave]]
<<audio thegravesong play>>
A simple, elegant dew rests drowsy over the cemetery today. The morning light kisses the rounded tops of the twin tombstones. The granite twinkles with a somber pity as you stand, head slumped, shoulders down, back bent… A single rose in <<if $mangled is true>>your only hand.<<else>>your right hand.<</if>> Its petals are smooth as silk and deep as passion. You place the green stem gently between the stones. You did not know this until you had buried them; tombs are not places of rest for the dead.
Tombs are monuments to life. To past lives, lived in splendor and fear and excitement and worry and love and… You cannot help but cry. It was your fault. You shouldn’t have been drinking that night. You shouldn’t have driven. You shouldn’t have been the one to survive. You cover a face whose sobs are ugly and maniac. What did you do? You murderer. You coward. These are the things that roll through the storms in your troubled mind. A feeling so thick and burning as to send you laughing and wailing steeps about your heart and dribbles into your bursting stomach.
The wet grass soaks through your pants. The soft blue sky gazes at your shaking figure. The young sun vows to rise the next day. Life goes on. Life goes on. But not for everyone. Not for them. Here lies Davey Grimchester, loving husband and father. Here lies Elizabeth Grimchester, loving wife and mother. You were asked to visit the graves at the same time Timber did. But that child, the look of their eyes and the soft features of their childish face… It was enough to drive you mad. A guilt ridden soul makes for a drowning <<if $timbergrimchester is true>>[[fear free from courage|thegraveb1]]<<else>>[[fear free from courage|thegravea1]]<</if>> or bravery or ownership.
It’s noon by the time you’ve finished. You collect the pack and put it neatly beside the door as you walk out into the scorching rays. As you walk back around the house you notice 44 is not moving. You take from the stairs to the fields where you wade through the golden seeds to the android.
“Hello $name.” It says, devoid of tone. “It appears I am stuck.”
<<if $knowledge is true>>[[“Yes it does.”|thefarmb2]]<<else>>[[“Yes it does.”|thefarmc1]]<</if>> You say, pulling open the robots back panel. “It’s probably that makeshift motor we put in you again.” <<set $timbergrimchester to true>>
“Does it require further lubrication?” The android inquires.
“No, it looks like you’ve got an expired wire.” You say, pulling the wire you’d taken from the ship out of your pocket. Grabbing 44’s hand you manually switch out the watering apparatus for the needed tools to crimp the new wire into place. A few moments later after a hot flash you’re closing the android up and it’s functioning again.
“Thank you $name.” It says.
“Don’t mention it.” You reply, leaving it to its chores.
That’s when the sky roars. The deafening blow has you on your knees, your ears shrieking in terror. Your hands did nothing to stop the blast. Nor do they protect you from the sudden winds that blow past with an indefatigable force. A force so strong as to force you onto your stomach as it tears at your clothes and seems to grab your hair. You cannot hear anything as it finally ends and you come gently to your shaking knees. The sun is sabled. No. The sun is blocked.
You are in the shadow of it. It fills the sky. A dark hulking mass. It looks of conquest and glory and disgust. A thick fear builds within you as you sprint to the house. E stands in the doorway, her eyes wide and upwards as you approach. You grab her shoulders.
“It’s time!” You scream. She doesn’t seem to understand. You can hardly hear yourself. But it doesn’t matter. You shove past her and quickly retreat into the cellar. Behind the boxes of meat and buried in that repugnant smell it lays. A weapon. A weapon worthy of wailing. A weapon that had been brought for this very purpose. You met E at the stairs top.
“Let me!” She says, extend her hands. You barely understand her.
[[No. You'll go.|thefarmb3]]
[[It's for her husband. You'll give it over.|thefarme1]]You shake your head and go to leave, but she stops you by sprinting to the doorway where she blocks you. Then she grabs the gun, trying to pry it from your hands. Tears are rolling down her face as her lips demand the weapon. You resist for a moment.
[[You'll give it to her.|thefarmb4]]
[[You'll knock her down if you must.|thefarmf1]]<<set $elizabethsdeath to true>>
<<audio thefarmsong fadeout>>
You slowly place the weapon into her arms. She pulls back with a surprised look, the weapon cradled awkwardly in her arms. You nod to her. She nods to you, a sudden and coarse determination filling her eyes. And then she is gone. You watch from the porch. She runs through the golden fields, the weapon her defense and offense. In the sky a single line descends from the behemoth ship. You know who rests inside. It is Leviathan, come for her. You fall to your knees and the wind roars in your weeping ears. E vanishes through the tree line. And for a moment you are left to wonder and pray. [[You do pray.|thegrave]]<<set $elizabethsdeath to true>>
<<audio thefarmsong fadeout>>
You release. She pulls back with a surprised jerk, the weapon cradled awkwardly in her arms. You nod to her. She nods to you. And then she is gone. You watch from the porch. She runs through the golden fields, the weapon her defense and offense. In the sky a single line descends from the behemoth ship. You know who rests inside. It is Leviathan, come for her. You fall to your knees and the wind roars in your weeping ears. E vanishes through the tree line. And for a moment you are left to wonder and pray. [[And you do pray.|thegrave]]<<set $elizabethsdeath to true>>
<<audio thefarmsong fadeout>>
“E, I’m going!” You say, tensing. That’s when she tackles you, knocking you to the ground. The weapon goes clattering across the floor. Her hands are on your face, your grabbing over her waist, trying to push her off you. Her thumbs find your eyes and press without mercy. You scream and she scampers from you. You can see still, but the pain was immense. You try to get to your feet but using the blunt end of the weapon she knocks you down.
“I’m sorry $name.” She says before leaving. You crawl to the door, the wood rough on your calloused hands. You watch as she goes sprinting through the field. The wind roars in your weeping ears. You watch until you can watch no more. From the sky comes a single line. You know who awaits inside. You know the end has arrived.
[[It is Leviathan.|thegrave]]
The skins are peeled like pears. The meat is cut into slabs and its moisture soaks into the surrounding salt. Bags are sealed. More bags are sealed. The last bag is sealed. The night sky rouses a chirping chorus and they speak from the wheat fields and tree line as you carry the bags to the cellar. You drop the bags into their designated crates, also salt filled, and seal it tight with a hammer and nails.
With each stroke of the hammer the suffocating smell of the room worsens until your practically fleeing back up the stairs. They creak maddeningly with your weighty steps. This house was old. You do not know who built it. You know only that with the repairs of your androids it still stands. Your bedroom is on the first floor. A door in the back of the kitchen leads to your quaint abode. As you lay down to rest you know that, far above you, Daivid certainly does not sleep. Your aching muscles are like mallets in your shoulders and back, pressing while you reflect that he is gazing through her telescope. It was a gift. It was a good gift from a good woman.
Your eyes are closed and your mind clears into a thin ink before you are awakened by the morning light brushing over you from the small, grimy window. You get up and stretch. You hear the faint sound of internal crunching as you pull your neck this way and that. Joints pop and muscles protest before you’re out into the kitchen. You cut yourself a slice from the last loaf Daivid had made. The faint smell of honey hits your nose while the taste of wheat flour fills your mouth with a slightly sticky, delicious taste. his bread is always better than yours.
“I’ll cook up some real food for dinner if you’ll work out on the ship.” Daivid says from behind you, still on the stairs.
“What does real food mean exactly?” You manage around bread.
“It’ll be gross enough for you to like it.” He says happily. It’s nice to see him well again.
“I didn’t think I’d miss your dry brand of humor.” You say after swallowing.
“But you did.” he replies authoritatively as he cuts himself a slice of bread.
“But I did.” You say, popping the rest of your slice into your mouth.
“Hopefully I’ll have it done by lunch… But it’ll probably be dinner when it’s all made.” Daivid says.
“Either one is wonderful.” You respond, walking out the door. “See you in a few hours!”
Outside the morning sun has just gained purchase. The treetops still shadow its celestial head, but within the hour you know the world will be bright as day. The old ship lays behind the house some ways. Exploded and bent trees try to recover around it and the dirt still carries scorch marks. The crash was less than desirable. However, you’d managed to save most of the ship.
<<if $flight is true>>[[But that was before you had the idea.|farma1]]
<<else>>[[Unfortunately you hadn't saved enough.|farmb1]]
<</if>>After the idea though it didn’t really matter how much of the ship you had saved… Daivid has been working fairly exclusively on the wiring on the engine. You make your way to the center of the ship. Through the gold platted door, you walk. Down the tipped hall whose chrome is littered with fire ashes and desperate scratches. At the ships center is the pillar whose insides protect the cold fusion reactor. You pry open the door that used to slide at command. Your grunts echo through the cold white interior. Inside is the pack. You fish out the flashlight and get to work finding the repaired and rerouted wires.
Then you tear them down. You wrap them around each other and plug them back into the engine incorrectly. You cut into a wire and shove rubber inside. You remove a wire completely and stuff your pocket with its corpse. It’s meticulous work to undo another’s progress without them knowing. It was look as it was to some degree. But more importantly it must feel like how it was. That’s the key. You come to a thick line of multicolored wires.
[[Take the wires from inside and move them to the outside of the bunch.|farma1 ext.]]
[[Switch all the wires around of the same color.|farma1 ext.]]
Daivid has been working fairly exclusively on the wiring on the engine. You make your way to the center of the ship. Through the gold platted door, you walk. Down the tipped hall whose chrome is littered with fire ashes and desperate scratches. At the ships center is the pillar whose insides protect the cold fusion reactor. You pry open the door that used to slide at command. Your grunts echo through the cold white interior. Inside is the pack. You fish out the flashlight and get to work finding the repaired and rerouted wires.
It’s a tedious process, that of working with small colored strings. Each is of great importance. None can be placed wrong, and the impact had seen to it to cut many, shake loose many, and simple displace many more. That’s when you come to a thick line of many wires strung together. It looks recently repaired; however, it doesn’t seem to be correct. Daivid usually knew what he was doing… But then again so do you.
[[Rework them. Better safe than sorry.|farmb1 ext.]]
[[You're sure Daivid had good reason to put them like he did.|farmb1 ext.]]It’s noon by the time you’ve finished. You collect the pack and put it neatly beside the door as you walk out into the scorching rays. As you walk back around the house you notice 44 is not moving. You take from the stairs to the fields where you wade through the golden seeds to the android.
“Hello $name.” It says, devoid of tone. “It appears I am stuck.”
<<if $knowledge is true>>[[“Yes it does.”|farma2]]<<else>>[[“Yes it does.”|farmc1]]<</if>> You say, pulling open the robots back panel. “It’s probably that makeshift motor we put in you again.” <<set $timbergrimchester to true>>
“Does it require further lubrication?” The android inquires.
“No, it looks like you’ve got an expired wire.” You say, pulling the wire you’d taken from the ship out of your pocket. Grabbing 44’s hand you manually switch out the watering apparatus for the needed tools to crimp the new wire into place. A few moments later after a hot flash you’re closing the android up and it’s functioning again.
“Thank you $name.” It says.
“Don’t mention it.” You reply, leaving it to its chores.
That’s when the sky roars. The deafening blow has you on your knees, your ears shrieking in terror. Your hands did nothing to stop the blast. Nor do they protect you from the sudden winds that blow past with an indefatigable force. A force so strong as to force you onto your stomach as it tears at your clothes and seems to grab your hair. You cannot hear anything as it finally ends and you come gently to your shaking knees. The sun is sabled. No. The sun is blocked.
You are in the shadow of it. It fills the sky. A dark hulking mass. It looks of conquest and glory and disgust. A thick fear builds within you as you sprint to the house. Daivid stands in the doorway, his eyes wide and upwards as you approach. You grab his shoulders.
“We need to go!” You scream. You cannot hear yourself. he responds. You can feel his arms shake as he yells back but to no avail. The two of you are deaf yet. Growing frustrated with the pointless conversation Daivid leaves your grip and runs to the cellar. Good, good he’s going to get food. You blast into the kitchen and find every pack not filled and swamp them in loaves. The ringing grows softer as you work and you manage to hear the loud creak of the stairs. You turn to look. What you see is nothing but rage. Daivid stands with his weapon. The weapon that you two had stored away. The weapon not needed for this world, the weapon whose power is worthy of wailing.
“What are you doing?!” You shout, dropping the bags.
“What are you doing!?” he replies, equally flabbergasted.
“We are leaving!” You command.
“To where!? The ship doesn’t work!”
“Anywhere but here!” You say.
“Why the hell would we go!? We’ve been searching for Leviathan for years!”
[[Tell him the truth.|farma3]]
[[Force him down.|farmd1]]<<set $daveysdeath to true>>
<<set $mangled to true>>
“Does it require further lubrication?” The android inquires.
“I don’t think so…” You mutter, doing your best to prod through the metallic guts. Why don’t you try to spin it when-“ The android, it’s brains fried from the constant sun does not wait for the rest of your command. Instead the engine jumps to life and your fingers go with its vigorous pull. There’s a moment of silence, where you stand as a statue upon a dormant castle. Then the pain shudders through your being. Arms shaking you pull your mangled hand from the robot. Blood paints your shoes. Like a matrix of twisted metal your hand looks like the wreckage of a plane whose cargo was viscera. The shock keeps you rooted for a moment, simply staring through the burning pain.
That’s when the sky roars. The deafening blow has you on your knees, your ears shrieking in terror. Your hands did nothing to stop the blast. Nor do they protect you from the sudden winds that blow past with an indefatigable force. A force so strong as to force you onto your stomach as it tears at your clothes and seems to grab your hair. You cannot hear anything as it finally ends and you come gently to your shaking knees. The sun is sabled. No. The sun is blocked.
You are in the shadow of it. It fills the sky. A dark hulking mass. It looks of conquest and glory and disgust. A thick fear builds within you as you stand, motionless. Your hand is squirting, the end is here, and your fear causes your dread. It takes you too long to take the first step. For the freezing panic to liquidate; too much time has dragged on. Daivid is already out the door, a weapon in his hands. A weapon for this. A weapon worthy of wailing. You approach him, to stop him, but the determination in his eyes is coarse and stringy. he simply pushes you aside, your trembling hand doing nothing to help you.
The wind roars in your weeping ears. The wheat bows low and your hand shouts through you. And yet it is all suddenly so distant as you watch him go. his steps are forceful. his stride is angry. The weapon is held firm. You fall to your knees. A single line descends from the sky. You know who awaits inside. The killer. It is Leviathan. You cannot cry, but your heart sobs far more than your hand in the wild wind of the [[end|thegrave]].
<<set $daveysdeath to true>>
<<audio thefarmsong fadeout>>
“We cannot kill Leviathan!” You say, almost laughing. “We left on a whim, to distract ourselves!”
“No! No we did not come to the edge of the galaxy on a whim!”
“That’s what sad people do! They chase what’s nothing more than a dream!”
“My Wife’s death is not a dream!” Daivid screams, his foot coming forward and his weapon coming to face you.
“Please, Daivid, don’t make me bury you too.” You say, the laughter bubbling into tears.
“There’s only one person who’s going to be buried today.” He says before storming out of the house. You follow him to the door where you watch him run down the path. Above a single line descends from the starship. You know that when that line touches down Leviathan will exit it. You do not have a weapon. You do not have courage. You gave that up long ago, when you began to tear into your means of searching. You were supposed to stay here! You were supposed to grow old and die with a friend here!
Your knees find the floor again. You cannot bear to watch. Not again. [[Not again.|thegrave]]
<<set $daveysdeath to true>>
<<audio thefarmsong fadeout>>
“We cannot kill Leviathan!” You say, almost laughing. “We left on a whim, to distract ourselves!”
“No! No we did not come to the edge of the galaxy on a whim!”
"Daivid, don’t make me stop you.” You say, your words turning bitter.
“You could never stop me.” he sneers before taking his leave. But he does not go. You rush into him and together the two of you tumble to the floor. The weapon goes clattering across the floor. his hands are on your face, your grabbing over his waist, trying to push him off you. his thumbs find your eyes and press without mercy. You scream and he scampers from you. You can see still, but the pain was immense. You try to get to your feet but using the blunt end of the weapon he knocks you down.
“I’m sorry $name.” he says before leaving. You crawl to the door, the wood rough on your calloused hands. You watch as he goes sprinting through the field. The wind roars in your weeping ears. You watch until you can watch no more. From the sky comes a single line. You know who awaits inside. You know the end has arrived.
[[It is Leviathan.|thegrave]]
It’s noon by the time you’ve finished. You collect the pack and put it neatly beside the door as you walk out into the scorching rays. As you walk back around the house you notice 44 is not moving. You take from the stairs to the fields where you wade through the golden seeds to the android.
“Hello $name.” It says, devoid of tone. “It appears I am stuck.”
<<if $knowledge is true>>[[“Yes it does.”|farmb2]]<<else>>[[“Yes it does.”|farmc1]]<</if>> You say, pulling open the robots back panel. “It’s probably that makeshift motor we put in you again.” “Does it require further lubrication?” The android inquires.
“No, it looks like you’ve got an expired wire.” You say, pulling the wire you’d taken from the ship out of your pocket. Grabbing 44’s hand you manually switch out the watering apparatus for the needed tools to crimp the new wire into place. A few moments later after a hot flash you’re closing the android up and it’s functioning again.
“Thank you $name.” It says.
“Don’t mention it.” You reply, leaving it to its chores.
That’s when the sky roars. The deafening blow has you on your knees, your ears shrieking in terror. Your hands did nothing to stop the blast. Nor do they protect you from the sudden winds that blow past with an indefatigable force. A force so strong as to force you onto your stomach as it tears at your clothes and seems to grab your hair. You cannot hear anything as it finally ends and you come gently to your shaking knees. The sun is sabled. No. The sun is blocked.
You are in the shadow of it. It fills the sky. A dark hulking mass. It looks of conquest and glory and disgust. A thick fear builds within you as you sprint to the house. Daivid stands in the doorway, his eyes wide and upwards as you approach. You grab his shoulders.
“It’s time!” You scream. he doesn’t seem to understand. You can hardly hear yourself. But it doesn’t matter. You shove past him and quickly retreat into the cellar. Behind the boxes of meat and buried in that repugnant smell it lays. A weapon. A weapon worthy of wailing. A weapon that had been brought for this very purpose. You met Daivid at the stairs top.
“Let me!” he says, extend his hands. You barely understand him.
[[No. You'll go.|farmb3]]
[[It's for his wife. You'll give it over.|farme1]]You shake your head and go to leave, but he stops you by sprinting to the doorway where he blocks you. Then he grabs the gun, trying to pry it from your hands. Tears are rolling down his face as his lips demand the weapon. You resist for a moment.
[[You'll give to him.|farmb4]]
[[You'll knock him down if you must.|farmf1]]<<set $daveysdeath to true>>
<<audio thefarmsong fadeout>>
You slowly place the weapon into his arms. he pulls back with a surprised look, the weapon cradled awkwardly in his arms. You nod to him. he nods to you, a sudden and coarse determination filling his eyes. And then he is gone. You watch from the porch. he runs through the golden fields, the weapon his defense and offense. In the sky a single line descends from the behemoth ship. You know who rests inside. It is Leviathan, come for him. You fall to your knees and the wind roars in your weeping ears. Daivid vanishes through the tree line. And for a moment you are left to wonder and pray. [[You do pray.|thegrave]]<<set $daveysdeath to true>>
<<audio thefarmsong fadeout>>
You release. he pulls back with a surprised jerk, the weapon cradled awkwardly in his arms. You nod to him. he nods to you. And then he is gone. You watch from the porch. he runs through the golden fields, the weapon his defense and offense. In the sky a single line descends from the behemoth ship. You know who rests inside. It is Leviathan, come for him. You fall to your knees and the wind roars in your weeping ears. Daivid vanishes through the tree line. And for a moment you are left to wonder and pray. [[And you do pray.|thegrave]]
<<set $daveysdeath to true>>
<<audio thefarmsong fadeout>>
“Daivid, I’m going!” You say, tensing. That’s when he tackles you, knocking you to the ground. The weapon goes clattering across the floor. his hands are on your face, your grabbing over his waist, trying to push him off you. his thumbs find your eyes and press without mercy. You scream and he scampers from you. You can see still, but the pain was immense. You try to get to your feet but using the blunt end of the weapon he knocks you down.
“I’m sorry $name.” he says before leaving. You crawl to the door, the wood rough on your calloused hands. You watch as he goes sprinting through the field. The wind roars in your weeping ears. You watch until you can watch no more. From the sky comes a single line. You know who awaits inside. You know the end has arrived.
[[It is Leviathan.|thegrave]]
So you came alone. You cannot face her. Not until you have fixed things. You owe her that much. You owe them that much. So you stand, legs quivering beneath you. A single rose is not payment enough. You will go, and you will set things right. You loved them. You still do, but these monuments are here because of death. You will not have your own until something is done. Something must be done. [[Something will be done.|thefinal pre]]It is, however, the embrace of that small girl that saves you that day. From behind she hugs you, her little heart bigger than yours ever will be. In the face of defeat, you did indeed come to see her, to grieve with her. And yet you find that it is her that grieves with you. She has the eyes of her mother and, thankfully, the tastes of her father. She’s perfect and in that moment the two of you sway. You on your knees. She on her tiny feet. You love her. You must things right for her. You owe her that much. [[You owe them|thefinal pre]] that much.It is, however, the embrace of that small girl that saves you that day. From behind she hugs you, her little heart bigger than yours ever will be. In the face of defeat, you did indeed come to see her, to grieve with her. And yet you find that it is her that grieves with you. She has the eyes of her mother and, thankfully, the tastes of her father. She’s perfect and in that moment the two of you sway. You on your knees. She on her tiny feet. You love her. You must things right for her. You owe her that much. [[You owe them|thefinal pre]] that much.It is, however, the embrace of that small girl that saves you that day. From behind she hugs you, her little heart bigger than yours ever will be. In the face of defeat, you did indeed come to see her, to grieve with her. And yet you find that it is her that grieves with you. She has the eyes of her mother and, thankfully, the tastes of her father. She’s perfect and in that moment the two of you sway. You on your knees. She on her tiny feet. You love her. You must things right for her. You owe her that much. [[You owe them|thefinal pre]] that much.<<audio thegravesong fadeout>>
The clear night sky marvels down at you. You sit on the patio behind the old manor. The sky is clear and crisp and within its grasp is a treasury so breathtaking you cannot help but stare. Beside you, on another patio chair is them. They love star gazing. They’d often go hours with nothing but the silence of night with their eyes cast up at the heavens. [[But tonight they don’t smile.|thefinal]]
“I want to!” They say, their hands going with every syllable. “I want to make people care. I want people to love the characters! To love Joseph! How do I do that?!”
[[Be honest.|thefinal2]]
[[Be creative.|thefinal2]] “What does that mean?” They plead. “People always tell me that, tell me to be true. To be myself! But what if that’s not good enough!? What if I’m not good enough!?”
[[You are good enough for anyone.|thefinal3]]
[[You are good enough to me. I know you're good enough for Joseph.|thefinal3]]
“But I’m not! Whatever he summoned, whatever force he used to be creative, to make things… I don’t have that. Whatever it is that made him passionate, excited, I don’t, I just literally do not have it.” They come to stand just beside your chair, gripping your arm. “But you, you have that power. It’s you! You’re the one who decides if this all matters! So, so tell me. What do you want!?”
“What is it you want out of all this!? You came here, to the end with me. You have to know what you want. How you want all this to end. What ending can I give you that will make you happy. That will make you remember this damnable story. To remember Joseph?! Just, please, tell me, what can I do to satisfy you?”
[[I want to beat Leviathan.|thefinala1]]
[[I want to save Elizabeth and Davey.|thefinalb1]]
[[I want to know what happened to Joseph.|thefinalc1]]
<<set $choiceone to true>>
You have a samurai’s blade. The Katana glints wickedly in the dim light of an interrogation room. Across the plain table sits Leviathan, it’s crooked smile belaying of it’s situation. Chained to the table, naked, and alone… So very alone.
“What are you waiting for?” They ask from behind the glass wall. “Do it!”
[[Do it.|thefinala2]]
[[Don't.|thefinald1]]
<<set $choicetwo to true>>
There they are. There is a tree whose beauty is challenging to the naked eye. It’s swirling leaves are as a great green ocean. Each individual piece is as great as a king’s bowl. Twinkling frost clings to each stem, each vain and yet all is fresh and merely adorned with natures crystals. The bark is as aged as five village elders and its color is deeper than any abyss brimming with chocolate. And then there are they. A small treehouse, tucked between the decadent limbs. Bright wood, an adorable door, and the aroma of pancakes… Something they could both agree upon. <<if $alternative is false>> The head bobbing beat of Drake hangs like curtains in the air.<<else>> The toe tapping melodrama of LCD Soundsystem hangs like curtains in the air.<</if>> It’s a poignant song. The door is open and they stand waving, a child between them.
[[Wave back!|thefinalb2]]
[[Do nothing.|thefinale1]] “What?” They ask, standing rigidly before you.
“What happened to Joseph?” You repeat.
“He died.” They say simply. “Now how do you want this story to end?”
<<if $choiceone is false>>[[I want to beat Leviathan.|thefinala1]]
<<if $choicetwo is false>>[[I want to save Elizabeth and Davey.|thefinalb1]]
[[I want to know what happened to Joseph.|thefinalz1]]You lift the sword slowly, deliberately. No conventional indulgence shall satiate you. No punishment is great enough for it. At the peak of your rise you drop down in a fluid and deadly swipe. There’s a gushing and the air is sprayed with an iron fume. Then, with a slow and ill slip the head falls and the body slumps. The Katana runs red with its blood. You have killed it. [[You are victorious|thefinal4]]. You lift the sword slowly, deliberately. No conventional indulgence shall satiate you. No punishment is great enough for it. Then, at the peak of your rise [[you drop the sword|thefinald1 ext.]]. It hits the table with a tumultuous tremor. Leviathan begins to laugh.You find yourself suddenly back on the patio. Your stub leg aches. The sun is just starting to rise against the grand mural of the sky; casting golden paint into a black canvas. “So?” They prompt, their grin prosperously huge. “Did you love it? Do you love this game?”
[[No|thefinal4 ext.]]
[[Yes|thefinal5]]“What are you doing!?”
[[I'm done with death.|thefinald1 ext..]]
[[I don't know.|thefinald1 ext..]]“But you wanted this!!”
[[I hate this.|thefinald1 ext...]]
[[I hate you.|thefinald1 ext...]][["I know!!!" They wail. "I know!"|thefinal4]]You wave back, a grin takes their faces. The water around you ripples and they retreat into their soaring cabin. Then the boat begins to leave, taking you through the feet of great fog swaths. The tree remains, immaculate through it all until finally the mist has eaten it away and you are left on a [[great shimmering sea|thefinal4]].You do nothing but sit and witness. Their waving grows more furious. But alas, you only sit and listen as the water around you ripples. You think they might have called out to you, but the dampening nature of the accumulating fog has deafened you, [[you think|thefinale1 ext.]].“Why would you do that?” They ask.
[[I don't care for them.|thefinale1 ext..]]
[[I don't know.|thefinale1 ext..]]“But you wanted this!?”
[[This isn't what I wanted.|thefinale1 ext...]]
[[You aren't who I thought you were.|thefinale1 ext...]][[“I know!!!” They wail.|thefinal4]] “What has that got to do with anything?!” They snap. For the first time you see a spark of fear swing through their eyes.
“I want to know.” You repeat calmly from your seat.
“It’s not worth knowing.” They say, their manner growing more and more wounded.
“But that’s how I want this story to end.” You say. “I think to fully help you publish these short stories… well I think I should know.”
“It’s not happy. It’s not a happy ending.” They say slowly. The night seems to quiet.
“That’s the way life often is.” You reply thoughtfully, taking a page from their book. For a long time, they don’t reply. Under the timid moonlight they look rather small for that time. [[Oh how small they seem indeed.|final]]
“Well, I can’t say I didn’t expect this. You want to know more about Joseph. I can’t blame you, I really talked him up didn’t I? You’d like to know what happened to him. How his journals got worked into this game, and why I have them?”
[[Yes]]
[[No]] “No.” You say, standing for the chair. They look stunned. Their silhouette against the sky is nothing but flinches and confusion.
“What?” They finally say like someone would vomit.
“I don’t love it.” You reply calmly.
“But you picked the end. You got the end you wanted!” They complain, a cloak of betrayal enveloping them. “Unless that really wasn’t you wanted!” They say, stopping you from speaking your mind. “What would you really like to do? What do you want? What do you really want?”
<<if $choiceone is false>>[[I want to beat Leviathan.|thefinala1]] <</if>>
<<if $choicetwo is false>>[[I want to save Elizabeth and Davey.|thefinalb1]] <</if>>
[[I want to know what happened to Joseph.|thefinalz1]] <<audio thefinalsong fadeout>>
[[“Oh… I’m so glad. Thank you. Thank you.”|credits]]“What happened to Joseph? Nothing. Nothing happened to him. He's a character, I'm a character in a dumb text based game. I am Joseph. I'm the author. I wrote all this, I made all this... Nothing happened to me. I’ve had a fine life. I’m happy. And I made this game for myself. It’s easy to create, it’s easy to make things and show them to people. All you have to do is ask what they want. Give them what they want. It’s simple really. So tell me, what do you want?"
[[Something Happy.]]
[[Something Sad.]]
[[What do you want?]]<<audio thefinalsong fadeout>>
“Then what the hell are you doing [[here|credits]]?”<<audio thefinalsong fadeout>>
“Okay. Ahem. You find yourself sitting with them. It’s late, the sun is kissing the ocean and from the pier the water is as a thousand jewels. The salt is in your nose, the gulls are in your ears, and the fresh air is in your lungs. You look to them. They look to you and smile. That’s it. Nothing more than a simple smile. You can’t help yourself but to smile. The two of you, together against the raging of the storm. They won’t always be there for you; you won’t always be there for them. That’s the way of life. But you like to daydream, as you watch the sun bath away, that if there was ever a time when you needed someone. When you desperately needed a breath among the troubles. That they would extend their hand. [[And help you ascend|credits]].”<<audio thefinalsong fadeout>>
“Okay. Ahem. You find yourself sitting with them. It’s late, the sun is kissing the ocean and from the pier the water is as a thousand jewels. The salt is in your nose, the gulls are in your ears, and the fresh air is in your lungs. You look to them. They look to you and smile. It’s a faint smile, but it’s something wondrous all the same. And as you go to smile back, they stand and place a gentle kiss upon your crown. Then, under the glittering day light they walk the long walk back to shore. You however do not watch. Instead you daydream, as you watch the sun bath away, that perhaps had you not said what you did they’d still be here beside you. It’s your fault, this beautiful sunset is witnessed by you alone as you sit at the end of a pier. Two feet dangling off its edge just above the calm and tranquil water. [[Two feet alone|credits]].”“I don’t know. I want what you want. I want you to be happy, to be glad you played this and to remember it. I want validation. I want support and love. I want you to leave good reviews, and recommend this to your friends. I want money. I want not to be forgotten. So just, please, please tell me what you want.”
[[Something Happy.]]
[[Something Sad.]]
[[I want what you want.]]“I don’t know what I want! Okay!? I want everything I guess. I want to be held! Can you give me that? Can you give me adoration? Can you give me a reason to keep going?"
[[...]]These are the traits you collected throughout the game. I hope you enjoyed.
-Joseph
<<if $coward is true>>Coward
<</if>>
<<if $nude is true>>Nude
<</if>>
<<if $brute is true>>Brute
<</if>>
<<if $bold is true>>Bold
<</if>>
<<if $daveysdeath is true>>Davey's Death
<</if>>
<<if $knowledge is true>>Knowledge
<</if>>
<<if $elizabethsdeath is true>>Elizabeth's Death
<</if>>
<<if $untrustworthy is true>>Untrustworthy
<</if>>
<<if $givingchase is true>>Giving Chase
<</if>>
<<if $flight is true>>Fleeing
<</if>>
<<if $timbergrimchester is true>>Timber Grimchester
<</if>>
<<if $mangled is true>>Mangled
<</if>>
<<if $alternative is true>>Alternative
<<else>>Rap
<</if>>
<<if $choiceone is true>>Kill Leviathan
<</if>>
<<if $choicetwo is true>>Save the Couple
<</if>>
<<audio thecreditssong play>>
<center>
And Levithan Took Them
[[By Carsen Owen|traits]]
</center><<audio thefinalsong fadeout>>
"I made a game to ask people to like me. [[How shitty is that|credits]]?” <<audio thefinalsong play>>
“I wish, so much, so often that I could do something to change the way things have happened.” They say absently, their face upward.
“I think we all feel that way, sometimes.” You respond. For a time, nothing more is said. Nothing more needs to be said. You must only stay, and be in this place. Listen to the cricket’s music and watch the galaxies glitter. The cool of a summer night rests on your skin and the crescent moon shines humbly in the sky. It seems, for that time, that the world had stopped its motion.
“I failed Joseph.” They whisper. You barely catch it over the gentle breeze.
“What do you mean?” You ask.
“He was such a good friend to me.” They say, gaping at the stars. “And all they ever wanted, through their whole life, through their illness to the very moment they died… Was to make a difference. All they ever wanted was to matter.”
“Do they not matter to you?”
“I fear that it is only me, who knows they are gone.” They say, looking from the stars to their idol hands. “It’s not enough for him. He deserves so much more.”
“You’re publishing his works.” You offer, the look of defeat on their face apparent even in the starlight.
“But how!?” They say, standing. “How do I publish so many different stories so that people care about them!?”
[[They should rope the reader into the stories. Make them involved.|thefinal1]]
[[They should publish not just his writings, but Joseph's actual story.|thefinal1]]Why would you say that? Do you find this plight laughable; comic? What do you want? To see ruin? To see this house empty? We’ll add a layer of dust and wait. Watch the sun turn to brilliant streaks and the stars become like blinking lights; on and off, on and off. The dust is oily now and the door hinges squeal. They’re gone. The windows are dirty. They’re gone and the fire place is frozen. The lawn is unkempt, the trees caught fire, the roof sits like a blazing star against an indifferent sky.
It’s like you. Indifferent.
And now it’s gone. Everything is gone. They have gone. The house is gone. The journals are gone. My work is gone. It can’t continue with someone cold. Someone like you. This is the end. And soon, so soon everything shall be gone.
[[Goodbye.]]
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