There is something rooted in your chest.
Long ago, when you were sleeping and no less yourself, it drifted from somewhere and took hold in your ribs. Over the years, while you slumbered, it twined around your bones, dug into your vertebrae, filled your heart and lungs with flowers the colour of a pale spring sky.
Now you are awake, and while it looks rather pretty, you find it difficult to breathe.
It has lived a thousand lives and died a thousand deaths inside your ribcage, and clogged your insides with rotting petals and withered leaves.
You smell bad. The scent is a little like flowers, but mostly like the sticky, cloying smell of decay.
You decide that...
[[It may be time to get rid of it.->Pull]]
[[It's too deeply embedded in you, and you should leave it.->Refrain]]
[[You should set it on fire.->Burn]]
You attempt to yank the irritation from your chest, digging your fingers into the wilted mess of greenery that chokes your ribcage before [pulling]<yank|.
(click: ?yank)[(transition: "dissolve")[No matter how hard you try, it stubbornly refuses to let go of you. Despite the rot that riddles it, it's surprisingly green underneath.
The wet //crunch// of fresh stems and buds is audible, as you pull and pull.
It begins to cling to your hand, twining around it in a hungry fashion. You let go before it roots itself in your fingers.
You have been defeated, for the moment.
[[What now?->Wait]]]]
You leave it be, at least for the moment. Though it tangles you up inside, it's pretty in its own way.
Perhaps you will even get used to it, as you did other [things]<other|.
(click: ?other)[(transition: "dissolve")[You distantly recall the sound of a faraway [place]<place|, and a strange feeling of discontent. (click-append:"place")[ ,the gnawing silence of a tomb guarded without rest]
You did not want to be there, for your own reasons. But it grew on you.
Much like the flowers have.]]
[[You look around, wanting to see where you have woken up.->Wait]]
Has it occurred to you that perhaps setting it on fire would also cause you to burst into flames?
You can be forgiven for not realising this before. You have, after all, just woken up.
After some thought, you decide that...
[[...you want to try and yank it free of you.->Pull]]
[[...you should leave it be.->Refrain]]
[[...YOU STILL WANT TO BURN IT, WHAT ARE YOU, A //LOSER?//->Immolate]]
Well, what are you going to set it on fire with?
[[...->Wait]]
You look around yourself for the first time.
The grass here goes up to your chest, and you are not so short, you think, so it has been here for a long time. A wind waves it, and it ripples like a [vast sea]<memory| of green.
(click: ?memory)[(transition: "dissolve")[You remember a [sea]<sea|, or [something like it]<sky|, from your memories long ago in a [distant land]<land|.]]
(click: ?sea)[(transition: "dissolve")[//The sea remained in your mind, even after you left it. It was vast and deep, and it drew people to it like a void. You remembered the sea with a certain fondness, but a sense of uncertainty.//]]
(click: ?sky)[(transition: "dissolve")[//The sky was open and had none of the borders that closed it in, unlike the sea. If you tilted your head just so, lying on the ground, you could almost believe that you had drifted up to the sky itself. It was limitless. Full of (link-reveal:"potential")[ and, you remember, a certain emptiness.]//]]
(click: ?land)[(transition: "dissolve")[//The land had people, and places, but you cannot remember names or faces. The distant sound of chattering and laughter is all you can recall.
Perhaps the plant that took root in you has something to do with it, but it is equally likely that your long [sleep]<death| has taken something from you.//]]
(click: ?death)[(transition: "dissolve")[Ah, but you remember something, at least.
Your sleep was less kind than the word suggests.
This place, long-forgotten and overgrown, is littered with bodies. They vary in size and shape and in wounds, but from their dusty remains grow the flowers you are so used to. The flowers you may have tried to drag from your chest, when you woke.
You were dead, once. The world has changed in your absence. The grass has grown long.
Upon this realisation, you feel as if...
[[...you need time to process it. This is a little much.->Ponder]]
[[...you'll feel better if you stop thinking about it.->Move]]]]
You force your body to move the way it should. Though it's wound through with roots, choked with petals, it works well enough.
You are [not sure]<sure| what you would do if it didn't work, to be honest. (click: ?sure)[(transition: "dissolve")[
Lie there, probably. It's all you'd have left at that point. But happily for you, this isn't the case.]]
You idly wonder why you're even awake in the first place.
For all intents and purposes, you really shouldn't be. What brought you back here, exactly?
What was it? You search your memory, and manage to dredge up something very, very faint.
You had...
[[...something to do.->Task]]
[[...somewhere to be.->Place]]
[[...someone to go to.->Promise]]
The most pressing questions that enter your mind are:
"[Who]<who| was I?" (click: ?who)[(transition: "dissolve")[ Try as you might, you can only remember [fragments.]<frag|]]
(click-replace: "fragments")[(transition: "dissolve")[ distant flickers of who you were. There was [warmth]<warm|, and there was also [darkness.]<dark| And at the end, there were [flowers]<petal|]]
(click: ?warm)[(transition: "dissolve")[//The heat of the sun. The burning sensation from biting into something hot and delicious, scorching your tongue, too soon to eat. The fading sensation of someone's touch on your cheek.//]]
(click: ?dark)[(transition: "dissolve")[//Darkness under the ground, into places buried and lost. No fear in your heart, but others were not like you, bold and unafraid, child of the deep places. They said that the earth loved you like no other.//]]
(click: ?petal)[(transition: "dissolve")[//Blood on the soil. Metal glinting in the light.
Hot,
and staining
and heavy.
The earth roils underneath you, the tremors of a quake. (click-replace: "a quake.")[(transition: "dissolve")[grief.]]
All you can think of, in this faint moment, are how pretty the flowers around you are;
a pale and enduring shade of blue, like the colour of a spring sky.//]]
And, furthermore,
"How did I [die]<fall|?" (click: ?fall)[(transition: "dissolve")[Try as you might, you can barely remember the wound that led you to your final rest. There was certainly blood and pain, but you're drawing a blank on pretty much everything else.]] (click-replace: "final")[not-so-final] (click-append: "blood")[ (now gone)] (click-append: "pain")[ (strangely absent)]
Whether you chose to search your memories or not, you realise that you probably won't get anything done by sitting here.
[[It's time to move on.->Leave]]
The fields are vast, vaster than you expected. Occasionally, something [crunches]<bones| underfoot.
(click: ?bones)[(transition: "dissolve")[//You look down, sometimes. It's almost always a body, askew on the ground. Pierced by spears or arrows, cloven asunder, broken in half...the wounds go on and on. The flowers are almost comforting, at times like these. They hide the worst of the damage.
Not that there's much left to hide, any more, but it makes you feel better. Flowers have always made you feel better. Perhaps it's why they seem so reluctant to let go of you.
You cannot remember what happened here, on this battlefield, but perhaps it's for the better.//]]
There's a pleasant breeze, at least. You stumble over the rusted wreckage of some machine, or the entangled remains of large wooden structures, now and then. The plants here have taken them too. Plants of all shapes and sizes have grown over and around them, turning them into seedbeds.
It must be spring, because they're all beautifully in bloom. Flowers of all kinds wave gently to and fro; not just sky blue, but vivid greens and yellows and reds, flickering like candle-flames in the wind.
(click-append: "spring,")[ //(even if the weather seems to say otherwise- the sky is overcast and heavy with clouds. Rain is on the way)// ]
You continue on. It aches, a little, to move forward, but you keep moving on.
Even if you are not quite sure what it is you are moving forward to.
[[You keep walking.->Move]]
(set: $motive to 'task')
You [recall]<recall| just a little of what it was.
(click: ?recall)[(transition: "dissolve")[It was direly important, of course. It must be, if you held onto it this [long.]<long|]]
(click: ?long)[(transition: "dissolve")[//You realise you are not actually thinking about how long you've been 'asleep', mostly because it terrifies you a little bit, and you are just going to absolutely leave it that way and stop thinking about it ''right now'' before you scare yourself.//]]
You were supposed to return something, (click-replace: "something,")[(transition: "dissolve")[a trinket, a locket of some kind. Of no real monetary value, but certainly of sentimental value.
It's a little awkward to realise that you cannot actually remember who you were supposed to return it to, but look, you've been out this long, give yourself a break.
[[Do you remember what it looked like?->Look]]]]
(set: $motive to 'place')
You needed to return to a [certain place.]<locate|
(click: ?locate)[(transition: "dissolve")[You can just trace the outline of it in your mind, if you concentrate as hard as you can. You can grasp the tiniest shards of a memory.
It was in a high place. From there, you saw light shining.(click-append: "shining.")[(transition: "dissolve")[ //The stars were close there, so close that you could reach out and pluck them from the sky. They blazed in a way that entranced you, radiant and raw. You knew without being told that if you'd dared to touch a star, it would have left a burn that ached in your bones forever.//]]
You heard the wind singing in the rock. At first it was only wind, but it became a mournful cry that shook your heart.]]
[[But why?->Grave]]
(set: $motive to 'promise')
You remembered that you spoke to [someone.]<voice|
(click: ?voice)[(transition: "dissolve")[The memory is so far away, but you know that they asked you to return. For what reason, you can't quite recall.
Their voice reminded you of high places and snow. An accent that belonged to the mountains, [just like you]<speak|. You found it pleasing, in the times before.
(click: ?speak)[(transition: "dissolve")[You attempt to remember the sound of your own voice, back then. It sounds different now, cracking from disuse, choking on petals still. Your attempts are for naught; you remember the voice of the breeze and the cries of the birds on the sea, the laughter of people, but not the sound of yourself.
You have lost it, perhaps for good. You don't know how to feel about it yet, mostly because you are not feeling that much at all. Whether this is a good or bad sign is debatable.]]
[[You try to remember their face.->Void]]]]
You hung it around your neck when you found it, for safekeeping.
It seems to have worked; it's still there, although it's been tarnished just a little. But otherwise, it seems to be fine.
[[Open it, just to be safe.->Locket]]
It was someone who you had loved, but [lost.]<lost| In happier times, it was a place for you to share together.
(click: ?lost)[(transition: "dissolve")[ They slipped away from you, back then. You tried as any living thing would to keep them with you, but they [fell]<sick| into darkness and never returned.
(click: ?sick)[(transition: "dissolve")[//Something lit an inner fire in them that ate them from the inside out, devouring all they had, unmercifully hungry. You eased their passing, though you grieved all the more for it.//]]
You carved the stone for them. In the manner of your people, you wrapped them in cloth and bore them to the place they'd loved so much, and you buried them there. Their bones lie there still.
The wind's cry reminded you of their voice, and so you mourned.
(click-append: "mourned.")[(transition: "dissolve")[
You try to remember your grief, and you can barely touch it with all you have left. A hollow scraping of sadness, long lost.
You //might// have felt sad about this, but you can't seem to muster up emotions about anything, so it's [probably]<no| fine.]]
(click: ?no)[(transition: "dissolve")[^^It's not actually fine, but you can't feel that either, so that's a problem for future you, is it not?^^]]
You remember, at least...
[[...that you promised them that you would always come back.->Return]]]]
If that was what woke you from your eternal slumber, then how can you disobey?
For the sake of your restless heart, and the memory of the one you loved so much...
[[...you feel compelled to return.->End]]
Regardless of what drove you on, you've decided that you have to leave this place.
The journey ahead will be long. Longer, perhaps, than anything you've ever undertaken before.
But you have a certain set about you, a certain strength of will and belief.
You will
(probably)
be fine.
The memory of {
(if: $motive is 'task')[
your duty to another
](else-if: $motive is 'place')[
what you left behind long ago
](else-if: $motive is 'promise')[
the one you parted from
]} drives you forward.
[[You go onward.->Begin]]
All you remember is that they were a shadow.
Living and breathing, yes, but darker than darkness, something that dwelled in deep places.
They liked you. (click-append: "liked you.")[ You didn't fear them. No darkness ever struck you with apprehension, or made your heart faint and weary.]
[[Were you their only friend?->Yes]]
You remember, at least, that they did not have any other friends.
They were painfully, achingly lonely.
You alleviated it, or at least you think you did, because as you carefully examine what remains of your former life inside your head, you cannot seem to recall a certain [sound]<laughter| of theirs.
(click: ?laughter)[(transition: "dissolve")[You can't recall that they ever laughed. Maybe you forgot.
It seems more likely that the reason you cannot remember is because they never did.]]
[[You remember their smile, though->Smile]]
You managed to make them smile, once or twice. But there was some hidden [sadness]<sad|, deep down, that you could almost see the edges of but never touch.
(click: ?sad)[(transition: "dissolve")[//There was some burden there, carried in their heart, that you couldn't lighten or lift. You shied away from it. It seemed far too heavy for you to even think of breaching.
Sometimes it stirred, like a monster from the deep. It was old, scarred and strong, and you couldn't bear it.
It leaked into every part of them, knitted itself into their flesh. Just like the flowers you have now, and how they're rooted into you.//]]
If you return to them, even after [everything]<time|, perhaps you will finally be able to help them carry such a burden.
{(click: ?time)[(transition: "dissolve")[//How long has it been since you saw them? How long has it been since you went into the grave?
You try not to think about it, again. That subject is one you're not strong enough to handle yet.//]]}
[[You've made your choice.->End]]
The silver locket is worn down by exposure to the elements, but it still shines in the pale light of a sun hidden by clouds. It has some beautiful detailing to it, still. The chain is delicate, and shimmers on your armored palm.
The face of the person in the locket is completely unknown to you, but you feel a strong connection to them regardless. Perhaps it was theirs originally, or perhaps it belonged to someone who wanted you to give it back to them.
That is probably what it is. You are not quite certain, but you can't be sure either way, so you might as well decide on a motivation and be done with it.
[[You decide that it's time to move on.->End]]
You continue to trudge across the fields, passing the rusted hulks of burned-out machines and the piles of metal that were once corpses. You give them strange names in a half-remembered language, to pass the time, to anchor yourself to the present.
{(click-append: "strange names")[(transition: "dissolve")[// (the words may once have been the names of your family, your comrades, things and people you were fond of; they hold precious little of that meaning now) //]]}
It's more than a little boring, but you endure, nonetheless. There is no other [direction]<right| to head.
{(click: ?right)[(transition: "dissolve")[It occurs to you that perhaps you may be going the wrong way.
You try not to think about it because you have spent //so much time walking// by now, and you would really rather not retrace your steps.
]]}
Eventually, you come to a crossroads, of sorts. There is more to see than green grass and old wrecks.
[[In the distance, you can hear the sea.->sea]]
[[Across the horizon, you can see the faint gleam of water.->lake]]
You ford a path through the waving grass, leaving a trail of trampled greenery in your wake. The smell is sweet.
{(click: "sweet")[(transition: "dissolve")[//It reminds you of somewhere you have been before, long ago, back when you were young and full of sound. You were so full of it that you couldn't help but shout and sing and cry, alerting the woods to your presence.//]]}
The sound of the sea rushes through you, louder and louder, closer and closer as you walk. You can see, ahead, a place where the ground stops suddenly.
All of a sudden,
you are not sure it is the sea at all.
The rushing of the waves is unbearably loud. It makes your whole body tremble as you approach the edge.
[[Turn back.->Turn]]
[[Go forward.->Cliff]]
(if: $shore is 'done')[
You wade out of the water, and turn back to the lake.]
(else:)[
As you walk towards the gleam of landlocked water, the grass thins out, becomes shorter.
{(click: "grass")[(transition: "dissolve")[//You had been walking through it for so long that it felt like a companion to you (mostly because you hadn't seen a single living thing since you woke). You feel oddly sad to see it go.//]]}
Eventually, you come to the shore of a vast lake. It glitters feebly in the pale sun; its waters are still and silent.]
You can see several objects floating on the other side, small dots in the distance. From this side of the lake, you can't discern whether they are people, boats, or something else altogether.
[[Go and see.->floating]]
(if: $shore is 'done')[]
(else:)[[[Walk into the water, instead.->shore]]]
You stop at the edge, where the ground and sky meet.
[[Look down.->abyss]]
The sound of the sea //roars// in your ears. It hums through your entire being. It makes the flowers in your chest dance and close their petals. It brings you to your knees.
But you pull away from it, regardless.
[[Perhaps it would be a wiser idea to follow your eyes, instead.->lake]]
(set: $seagrave to "done")
Below, the sea screams like a wounded animal. It throws waves against the rocks and the cliff's face like a beast caught in a trap. The wind batters against you as if it hates you.
The water is darker than dark. There is a bitterness in the air that makes the petals of the flowers in you shake. This close, the grass bows low to the ground in obedience of what thrashes below.
The earth here is chalk-white and crumbling.
{(click: "crumbling")[(transition: "dissolve")[//You stoop low to touch it; it feels wrong, closer to bone than dirt.
When you pull your hand away, your fingertips are stained with it. It feels like you've touched someone's grave.//]] }
Something terrible happened here.
But what?
[[Do you remember?->lightning]]
You try to recall what happened here. Any familiar thought you have, in what remains of your memories, would be helpful.
(if: $motive is 'promise')[
//You recall a certain story you were told, once. Your friend recited it solemnly and in a soft voice, as if loudness would draw some misfortune down on both of you. Perhaps that was indeed the case; perhaps it was just something passed down. (Maybe, it was just for effect.)
But sometimes there are things truer than true, that exist regardless of the belief of two small people in a vast world, so perhaps it's not important at all.
"Once upon a time, the sea was full of love, and it shone in every colour you could possibly imagine. It loved the land and the people on it so much that it crept up the rocks little by little to reach them, to flow into the streets where they mingled and the places where they lived.
But the truth was that where the sea existed, people could no longer live as they had, and often when the sea embraced them they stopped living at all. And the truth was also that the sea did not realise this, because it loved people and wanted to be with them and did not care about anything else.
Eventually, the people said to the sea: "Don't follow us anymore. Please, stop as you are; we will come to you."
But the sea didn't understand the speech of the land and the people who lived on it, because it was not of the land, and so it continued to creep up the rocks and follow the people wherever they went, because it loved them so much.
So the people went to the sun that lived high in the heavens far away from the sea, and they asked for something that would help the sea understand. And the sun that saw everything understood their plight and gave them a spear of blinding light that would pierce the sea's heart and grant it knowledge.
And the sun said to the people of the land: "What I have given you is sharp and deadly. When you pierce the sea's heart, it will be forever changed, and the bond between you will never be the same."
The people replied: "We understand."
And the sun saw that they understood what they were about to do, and let them go down from the heavens.
Then the people of the land asked among themselves who would go forth and throw the ray of light into the sea's heart, and one of them stepped forth and said "I will."
Then they went to the shore, and the sea was so happy that they had come that it embraced them. In that one moment of joy, they threw the spear deep into the sea's heart, and the sea understood sorrow and pain, and the things it had done.
But the sea was so full of grief that it lost all its colour and turned dark, and it withdrew from the land and the people who lived on it. It was so full of sadness that it could no longer feel love for people, and it ran wild with sorrow.
And that is why the sea is always so loud, and why even when the sea is rough people go out in boats. For they caused the sea great pain, as it caused them great pain, and they are both making up for it."
You remember asking your friend if that was really what had happened, and they merely smiled at you and said "It's just a story." But the sadness in their eyes made you think that perhaps it wasn't just a story, or maybe the story was covering for something else that was true, and you remembered that they never liked the water.//]
(else:)[ You think you remember something, faintly, about a spear of light being thrown into the sea, and you remember the sound of crying, but that is all.
]
You //do// manage to recall that the sea has always been this way, and the loudness of it simply scared you momentarily.
You have never been very good with loud noises. Your hearing was always very sensitive, and though you were fearless underground where noises were muted, you jumped at shadows on the surface.
Well, you have seen the sea, and gone to the edge, and found no other way to proceed. Unless you could grow wings somehow, jumping would be...
...You're already a //little// dead, so maybe it wouldn't be as hazardous, but it's still not a recommended course of action. The sea swirls roughly below.
[[Turn back and go on towards the lake.->lake]]
[[Test your luck.->step]]
You walk around the lake's edge. The water's surface ripples gently as the wind skims it; you can hear the soft brush of it and feel it stir the flowers clinging to your ribs. The petals open up a little more, responsive to air.
As you get closer, you see that the objects floating in the water were not really floating at all; they are not people, nor are they boats. They are strange creatures, or perhaps plants, that move and bob with the wind; each has a thousand tendrils, and each tendril sports a softly glowing orb of some kind.
As you draw close, they lean towards you. But they are still far away in the water, and couldn't reach you if they tried.
You are almost certain they could not, unless you wanted it.
[[Reach out.->touch]]
[[Pull away.->walk away]]
(set: $shore to 'done')
(if: $motive is "place")[The water seems inviting to you; it looks peaceful. It reminds you of the place where you laid the one who you loved most to rest.
The hollow feeling in you lifts, just a little. Revealing a little crack of grief, a tiny hole for some feeling to trickle through. The barest sliver of a memory.
//You remember they skipped stones on the water. You were never any good at it, but you liked to watch them do it; they could always make them bounce so far.
It made them laugh.//
You barely remember the sound of their laughter. You do your best to recall it, but try as you might, you can't seem to muster more than a gentle echo of what was.]
(else:)[The water barely moves in the wind, but your movement as you step into it sends ripples into the calm surface, a distortion. It feels oddly satisfying, to be able to control something as small as that.]
It doesn't feel particularly invasive, nor does it feel particularly welcoming. It's shockingly neutral to you.
You're not entirely sure what you expected out of it, but the water doesn't judge you, at least.
You stand there, looking out over the water, for what seems like a very long time. Eventually, the ripples of your presence fade away; the only evidence you are there is the way the water gently laps at your knees.
[[Go deeper in.->deeper]]
[[Turn back.->lake]]
You decide that you're feeling daring today, and you are going to see what the sea has in store for you.
[[You take one step into the air, and then another, so your feet leave the ground entirely. Go gently.->cloud]]
[[You jump, because if you're going to do this, you're going to commit.->underwater]]
[[You decide not to do that. You don't feel //that// daring.->lightning]]
Surprisingly, you don't fall.
In fact, you're doing the opposite of that right now.
You stand on grey cloud, high above the sea, looking down.
(click-append: "looking down.")[(transition: "dissolve")[// If you raise your head and look forward, you think you might even be able to see what lies beyond the horizon.
You never considered yourself particularly adventurous for lands under the open sky, but with this kind of view, you can almost see why it would stir people's hearts.//]]
It does seem, however, as if you've reached a limit on what you can do.
There is some force pulling on you, beckoning you back towards earth and safety. It brooks no argument; moving further into the clouds seems strangely impossible.
The flowers in you curl inward, as if hiding from something.
[[Descend, and admire the view a little longer.->view]]
[[Descend, and leave the cliff.->lake]]
The lights are oddly soothing, in their own way. Even the flowers twined around your bones respond to it, opening their petals more to drink it in.
The stalks wave to and fro, gently in the wind.
You stand there, entranced, for what seems like an eternity. The light they cast dances in patterns on your reaching fingers, and on the petals of the flowers that have rooted themselves in you, and on the surface of the water.
[[The sound of rain stirs you from your waking dream.->rain]]
The lights dance and wave in the rising wind, but that only reminds you of the storm that must surely be rolling in.
(if: $motive is "task")[The glint of light on the locket you carry pierces your mind, sun through the clouds; you recall something similar from long ago.
//Light shines through the window. A gloved hand closes your fingers around a sword's hilt; a soft voice tells you to rise.
Your heart swells with what must be pride, or some kind of joy, or perhaps both.//]
(else:)[The way the lights sway remind you of the forests that bordered the place in which you spent your childhood; on days when the sun hid behind the clouds, and on moonless nights, there was a certain lingering glow between the trees. Those who followed them came back out eventually, telling stories of wondrous places - but only sometimes.
Sometimes, they were gone, and there was nothing anyone could do about it. They had followed the lights and disappeared, and if there was perhaps one extra light in the days afterwards, nobody spoke of it.]
You look up at the clouds. They hang grey and heavy in the sky. They may open at any moment.
[[As you stand there, reflecting on this, they do.->rain]]
The water swirls as you push forward. It's up to your waist now; there is a chill to it that you didn't notice before.
(if: $motive is 'promise')[//You remember a day, not much different to any other, where you floated on a lake much like this one. The boat was small, and you worked hard to push it along with the oars.
Your friend sat huddled in front of you, not daring to look at the water lapping at either side of the boat. Even though the bright blueness of the sky was reflected in the calm face of the lake, they averted their eyes as if it was a horror to them.//]
(else:)[It reminds you of hot weather, and days spent afloat on the lake near your childhood home. Though you were always most fond of fields and forests, you found a certain peace in water that you never found anywhere else.]
Thunder rumbles, soft, in the distance. The clouds are moving with the promise of rain.
You could keep going. You could swim here, or simply sink.
[[You don't really want to do that, though.->lake]]
The rain is startlingly fierce. It starts as a drizzle and becomes a downpour; it falls on you, all at once, with the savagery of an enemy's killing blow.
It's enough to bring you to your knees; it does, in short order. It feels as if the heavens are trying to drown you, or perhaps to welcome you. It's hard to tell, with nature.
The flowers curl inwards, sheltering in your body. A few petals are already bruised.
[[Stay in the rain, regardless.->downpour]]
[[Seek out shelter.->shelter]]
The sea still cries, crashing against the rocks and the cliff-face. The water, though it shades from a dark and unwelcoming blue to a lighter one that reflects the summer sky, is still terribly rough. It foams and thrashes.
The earth trembles every time the water strikes the land. You feel as if something terrible happened here; something not lost to the mists of time, but much more recent.
If only you could remember it.
[[But you do not. There is nothing you can do here.->lake]]
Despite your own common sense, you stay in the rain. It's thrilling, almost, to be so completely ignored by something.
The downpour soaks you to the bone (and it really is bone, now). It makes that sickly-sweet rotten scent burst forth - the smell of it is so much more than when you were dry - but you think that suits you fine, in a strange way. It feels comfortable.
{(click: "downpour")[(transition: "dissolve")[//You seem to recall a time when you were much younger than this, and you stood in the rain next to someone you used to know who was much taller than you were. They sheltered you with a cloak that smelled much like the flowers knotted in your heart, but dustier.//]]}
You turn your face up to the sky and close your eyes, listening to the sound of it drumming on your armour. If you concentrate, you can almost...
(if: $motive is "place")[[[...imagine the echo of it in high places.->raingrave]]]
(else-if: $motive is "task")[[[...remember the look of it on glass panes.->raingrave]]]
(else-if: $motive is "promise")[[[...think of another time where you stood in the rain with someone.->raingrave]]]
You run for shelter. There is not much to see here, but in the distant fields across from the lake there are great hulking shapes that have not moved since you arrived.
You consider this to be good enough, and if they happen to be hostile then you don't care because it's raining and also you will punch them if they are. You are already dead!! What can they do to you!!
{(click: "punch")[(transition: "dissolve")[//It has already occurred to you that you have a weapon of some kind, and it may even be useful against possibly-malevolent incredibly large entities, but that can be considered later, after you're out of this rain.//]]}
You reach the shapes in the fields without much of an incident, unless getting soaked is considered 'an incident' rather than 'an inevitability of the weather', and you feel a little foolish for your thoughts before.
[[They are just oddly shaped rocks that happen to look much like giant hulking creatures. This happens occasionally.->rocks]]
(if: $motive is "task")[You remember the way rain beat restlessly outside. You remember someone speaking in a soft voice, wondering at it, wanting to let it in.
You can just hold, in your mind, a blurry image of a day in a room with a roaring fire and warm, vivid colours. Someone is standing at the window.
You feel the faintest trace of comfort, of contentment. An ache that might be longing for something lost.
But nothing more.]
(else-if: $motive is "place")[You remember the way rain washed away the world's colour. You sat huddled in cloaks at the grave of your loved one and felt oddly comforted, in your grief.
In the downpours that swept over the cliffs, brought by dark, heavy clouds, you saw in it a story of falling to earth, a life created and dashed against rocks and ravines. Plummeting from birth to death in one fleeting moment.
It may not have been particularly healthy, but it did make you feel //better//, somewhat. It felt more worthwhile to be sad if everything else seemed to be sad along with you, even if that was not really true.]
(else-if: $motive is "promise")[You remember the way that, though they shied away from deep water, they smiled when it fell from the heavens. Rain was an endless fascination to them; they described it as a promise that water loved them.
(click: "a promise")[(transition: "dissolve")[You often wondered at that wording, and its deeper meanings.
You often wondered if your friend thought deep inside that they were unworthy of being loved by anything, by the world or anything in it; but you never found the courage to ask. It was something far, far bigger than you. Far older and stronger, and rooted like a nest of thorns.]]]
Standing in the rain fills you with a strange energy, a certainty of purpose. What you remember is almost certainly true, even if it is far away; it's a compass, a guiding light. Something you can follow.
Perhaps following was not always the best of ideas, but here and now, given this second chance - it seems as amenable as any.
The flowers huddled in your bones seem to agree. They reach out, hesitantly, towards the rain; strong enough now, with your new force of will, to endure the downpour.
[[Stay where you are.->soaked]]
[[Look for shelter, where you can.->rocks]]
(set: $dream to "rocks")
They might have once been living things, but if they were, that time is long past. Any features they could have had are worn away from long years of wind and weather.
{(click: "wind and weather")[(transition: "dissolve")[//You recall the distant taste of iron and smoke, like blood in your mouth. It did not rain the day you marched to war; the sky was clear, and a burning, fiery red. The sun was setting, and light stung your eyes. You felt like crying, and perhaps you did then.//]]}
You eye them suspiciously for any twitch of activity regardless. When nothing happens, you squeeze into a crack formed by two hunched-over shapes; they form a hollow that protects you from the rain.
Since you have nothing better to do for the moment...
[[...you finally inspect the weapon you woke up with, and have been carrying all this time.->weaponchoice]]
You jump. It feels like you hang there for the briefest of moments before you fall.
You wonder briefly what this is going to do to you exactly but the water is coming up very rapidly indeed, so you don't have a lot of time to ponder it.
(click: "ponder")[(transition: "dissolve")[//You think about it anyway and decide that you are pretty sure you are going to hit the water, pretty hard. You may not know personally what happens when you hit it hard enough, like when you're falling from a cliff for example, but you definitely do know for sure what happens because you've seen it before.//]]
[[Well, you can't back out now, can you?->depths]]
[[Why not do a flip while you're at it.->depths]]
You hit the water with as much force as your body can muster, and it
^^doesn't do much actually. You're all intact and everything and you don't really have any organs left, or blood, so it's kind of anticlimactic^^
You sink, though, as people do.
The shock of the impact means you leave a trail of dead petals behind you (and some still bright-blue living ones), but the flowers in you seem to be doing just fine.
They glow in the gathering darkness, a steady burn of colour that refuses to fade. It's sort of comforting, as you descend with very little effort on your part.
(click: "effort")[(transition: "dissolve")[//When was the last time you just didn't try at something? When was the last time you just stopped and let things happen?
It has been a very long time, now that you think about it. Probably the last time this happened was, uh, when you died.
^^you sure are a workaholic huh^^//]]
You feel no need to breathe, which is good, because if you'd found that out after you'd jumped it would have been a little embarrassing.
[[You keep sinking.->downward]]
Eventually, you hit the bottom, or //a// bottom, anyway (it's hard to tell with the sea). At this depth, you feel a little uncomfortable, but it doesn't seem to impede you any. It seems to be more of a mental issue than a physical one, strictly speaking.
^^You are very certain people are not supposed to go this deep unless they are //from// the sea. If you weren't already sort of dead, you definitely would be right now.^^
Darkness is in every direction, but the ground, such as it is, feels fairly level. You are the only thing casting a light around here (or, at least, the flowers are.)
[[Now what?->walk]]
What else is there to do but keep going? You pick a direction and continue onward.
Fish swim past, unperturbed by your presence.
{(click: "Fish")[(transition: "dissolve")[//Other things, much bigger or stranger than fish (or both) swim past, too, but similarly show no reaction to you, which you're thankful for. Many of them have teeth you have no desire to touch.//]]}
They glide elegantly through the water, propelling themselves with ease. You might feel envious, if you weren't feeling a little stifled.
{(click: "stifled")[(transition: "dissolve")[//Though you have no need to breathe, the desire is there regardless. It makes you feel a bit stressed; it puts pressure on lungs you do not, strictly speaking, have.//]]}
The flowers bob gently to your movements; even a fall into salt water seems to have left them relatively unharmed. Perhaps if you had been this resilient, you wouldn't be in the position you are currently.
You are lost in your own thoughts.
[[The shock that ripples through the water catches you off guard, and sends you tumbling forward.->wave]]
What are you holding in your hands, right now?
[[A sword.->swordchoice]]
[[A warhammer.->hammerchoice]]
[[A shield, with a razor's edge.->shieldchoice]]
[[A pair of gauntlets, that hung at your belt.->gauntletchoice]]
[[A staff.->staffchoice]]
[[A bow.->bowchoice]]
(set: $weapon to "sword")
You draw the sword from its sheath; despite the aging of years, it looks merely worn rather than rusted away. It still shines with a faint light.
There is an inscription on it in a language you faintly remember.
(click: "inscription")[(transition: "dissolve")[//The engraving here is not something that can be read as words; the pattern on it is something you are still surprised to know you can read.
You trace with gentle fingers the notes of a melody you learned in your travels, now a distant memory (though at this point, many things are a distant memory). If you think hard, you can almost recall the voice of the person who sang this, once upon a time.//
There is music to be found here; a melody that exists in the space where blade and sheath sound together. The sword sings as it is drawn, and the note rings clear even in this rainy weather.
You have the flickering recollection of a traveler who wore blue, whose passion was in song and dance and a rhythm that, at times, only they could hear. You remember his voice; there was an unwavering strength in it, and a clarity of tone that could be heard even from far away.
Though you cannot remember the words, or even if there were any, you think you can trace the shape of the song in your mind. It was melancholy; it felt to you as if it was an attempt to call back to the past, to things that had happened long, long ago.
[[You pull your thoughts away from the faint memory of music.->finish]]]]
(set: $weapon to "warhammer")
The warhammer is solid and heavy in your hands. The handle of it is a certain kind of wood, and thus has bloomed in your absence, but the flowers it shares with you make it a little more fetching, perhaps.
(click: "wood")[(transition: "dissolve")[//As you run your hands over it, you are stung by a sudden recollection of voices raised in song. Trees heavy with snow. You can almost taste the snap of cold in the air, and see breaths that you once took puffing out in clouds; you ran with others, in the dead of winter. Some hunt, some celebration, in a distant place.
The wood of the tree this comes from retains memory very well indeed; you remember somebody told you that, once upon a time, when things were different.//]]
The spike is not as sharp as you remember it being, but things dull with time. There is nothing you can do about that.
There is an inscription in the metalwork that still shines through, even after all this time. It is in a language you once knew as well as your own self.
(click: "inscription")[(transition: "dissolve")[//"I bite and crush at your command. Wield my strength only with a calm mind and a clear heart."//
You remember someone who used a weapon like this, but the auburn colour of a tattered cloak is all that comes to mind. The memory is very old. It scatters like leaves in the wind.
You feel fond of it, nevertheless.
[[You turn your thoughts elsewhere.->finish]]]]
(set: $weapon to "shield")
You handle it with care; despite not having flesh to cut anymore, old habits die hard.
{(click: "die hard")[(transition: "dissolve")[^^and so do you apparently, so nobody's judging here^^]]}
It's an old shield, but well kept. It defended you from all manner of things, and has the scars to prove it. It is big enough for you to crouch behind, and defend yourself adequately.
The flicker of dim, rainswept light caresses the worn design; a winged creature of some kind. You might have been able to tell what it was, but in what remains of your memories, you can't recall.
(click: "worn design")[(transition: "dissolve")[//You do not recognise any more the creature emblazoned proudly on the shield, but the design surrounding it is one of flowers, and thorns. You have a vivid memory of watching it being painted; it bloomed colourfully before you, a mundane magic you were amazed by.
You remember the petals of it shone with a colour that reflected the dawn sky, a vivid pink. Some more esoteric property of the pigment meant that it held light, glowing in dark places.//]]
The inscription is a phrase in a tongue you once knew. You always carried it with you; it was the reason you engraved it on your shield in the first place.
(click: "inscription")[(transition: "dissolve")[//"I bear light and protect what is mine. To those who mistake this choice for weakness, come forth and break yourselves upon me."//
You remember someone who had a shield much like this one; she spoke with a cadence that reminded you of a lullaby. She sang, too, coaxing plants to grow and flowers to bloom when all else failed.
The memory is faded and soft, petals drifting on the breeze. You hold what is left of it to you regardless; such softness was rare, but treasured.
[[You turn your thoughts away from flowers, for the moment.->finish]]]]
(set: $weapon to "scythe")
The scythe is a solid weight against your palms; you were too distracted to notice it before, but it sat heavy against your back, pressing against your spine. The strap that held it flush to your body was something you grew used to, both in your life and in the present.
The blade, despite exposure to the elements, still has a dull gleam to it; it doesn't seem to have rusted without you to care for it.
(click: "rusted")[(transition: "dissolve")[//Perhaps it is a hopeful sign that not as much time passed as you thought; perhaps there is some special property within it that you never knew. It could be either. You decide not to get your hopes up, just in case.//]]
The shaft is lighter than you remember it; twined around it are the roots of a certain type of flower that is starting to become very familiar to you. As you watch, buds unfurl quietly into bloom, waking with the rain.
The inscription on it - not yet hidden by growth - is still burned deep into the wood, in a language you once knew as well as your own name.
(click: "inscription")[(transition: "dissolve")[//All things can be cut; all foes can bleed. Wield me only when you are resolute.//
You remember the sting of smoke in your mouth and nose, the prick of tears that might have been grief or your body's rebellion at the blackness that poured out from the pyre.
The flames that licked at the shrouded body upon it were oddly pretty against the night sky, despite what it represented (//the burning of the old life, the old shell, now passed from this world to the next//). You wept, regardless, and you felt something strong within your heart, a feeling now old and washed away.
Some remnant of grief swells within you at the scene that passes before your mind's eye. It is the best you can do, for that burning body, that absent spirit.]]
Sheltered from the rain, you turn your weapon over in your hands.
(if: $weapon is "sword")[The rain, the play of dim light on the blade, the almost-forgotten melody on the sword; these things settle on your shoulders like a warm blanket, and from the depths of you comes bright flashes of memory, a signalling light. Something that feels sweet and soft in the way it comes back to you, coaxed by familiarity.
//You remember that the sword had a music all its own. The peculiar way the blade was constructed made it sing through the air; even the slightest breeze would stir its voice. It was - more often than not - something that entertained you greatly on hot summer days, when it was much too warm to train.//
In the sound of the rain, you find memories of the wanderer who raised his voice in song. His melodies and voice were distinct; his manner courteous. As the seasons passed, you met him enough that it became second nature to you to listen for his music, carried by winds that traveled from far away.
//His work took him from place to place; he drifted through towns and villages, never staying long. When you crossed paths with him, he always had a story to tell of some kind, of places and people far away that you had never even heard of.
Still, despite his far-flung travels, there was always a sadness in the tales he told, as if he was a world apart from them himself. You decided, in the early stages of your acquaintance with him, not to dwell on it overlong; it was a sign of some deep, dark wound, one that you didn't dare touch at first.//
---
//Occasionally, you heard his voice on the breeze, even if you never saw him. The songs rarely sounded like the ones you knew best, the ones you had learned as a child - his music, too, spoke of distant things, other times and other places - but you enjoyed them regardless, if only for the novelty; it was a taste of somewhere you would never go.//
---
//He traveled less in summer, more likely to stay in one place. In those hazy, warm hours, when insects filled the night with sound and rain came often but brought no reprieve from the heat, you often found him napping in the branches of trees, or under the shade of abandoned shrines. "I was looking for inspiration, and I fell asleep," he always said, as if he felt the need to justify his restful days.
You had little to say on that subject, but whenever you found him, you tried to disturb him as little as possible, and remained watchful in his stead.//]
(else-if: $weapon is "warhammer")[The weight of it is a comfort to you. As it sits in your palms, it sparks little flickers of recollection; memories that feel like they belong more to you rather than things you picked up, discarded trinkets from long ago.
//You remember that you struggled with the weight of it, at first; your hands trembled not for lack of trying, or because of fear, but because its heaviness unbalanced you. In time it became a comfort to you in its own way, but before you grew strong enough to master it, it often frustrated you.//
In flashes of memory, you recall more about the traveler who held a weapon like this one. Over the turn of the seasons, you met him enough that even fleeting glimpses of him became significant to you; in this wide world it was unusual to meet people more than once or twice, so such things stuck.
(click-append: "like this one.")[(transition: "dissolve")[// He joked, sometimes, about it being unwieldy like himself, though you were never sure how much of a joke it was at any given time. At some points, you were certain it wasn't a joke at all. //]]
//The cloak he wore retained its vivid colour, over years of travel and weather-staining; you wondered if it was some special property of the fabric that made it so strong, but over time you stopped turning the question over in your mind. The flash of vibrancy it provided was enough to signal his presence, no matter where or when you crossed paths with him.
After a time, and enough meetings, red became something of a comforting colour to you.//
---
//Sometimes, as you passed distant shores or places that overlooked the sea, you thought you caught sight of him watching the waves. Some of them were almost certainly tricks of the light, or else simply born of a desire to know where he was, but occasionally when you waved or shouted, he waved back, and that was enough.//
---
//Occasionally, you stumbled across him when he had wounds to care for. At those times you tactfully failed to ask where he had been, or where he had gotten them, but you did walk alongside him for a time, after he had healed.
He asked very little of you, or of anyone, besides a continued presence. Though 'asked' was a strong word to use; his words became sparse in those times as they did nowhere else.//]
(else-if: $weapon is "shield")[The bulk of the shield, its sturdy reliability, gives you a sort of reassurance. Though time and weather and heated battle have left their marks, the shield is no weaker for it. The colour of it brings out a sort of colour in your mind, too; faint memories blooming like faded flowers.
//You remember that the shield held even against what it should not have. Through some special property, the love of its creator, or some will of its own, it endured the fierce blows of enemy after enemy. It stood proud and unbroken against any offense.//
In the worn patterns of petals you chase the faded remains of your memories, of a traveler whose kindness stood out to you. As colder seasons gave way to warmer ones and new life burst from the earth, you crossed paths with her more; as the flowers faded with the coming of autumn, you saw her less. As you became more acquainted with her comings and goings, you found yourself looking further forward, and longing more for spring.
//When the flowers bloomed, she was there; though the more reasonable explanation was that she simply enjoyed traveling in warmer months, you entertained thoughts that she was a flower spirit of some kind. She held a light in her that seemed to bloom in the flowers she carried, and it seemed to you that she held a delicate fragrance all her own; it made a certain kind of sense that she was born from flowers, too. Though you never said as much to her; it was a silly thought, even for you.//
---
//She taught you magic occasionally; though you never had much of an aptitude for the kind of power that linked itself to light, you managed to coax a little from yourself under her patient instruction. She brought out something in you that you were unable to illuminate in yourself; it was a potential you harnessed better when she was there.//
---
//You recall that she sang, or brought out her instrument (sometimes both) occasionally. Plants seemed to grow better to what she sang, the delicacy of the way she played; you were entranced by the songs as much as the flowers were, in truth. It seemed to you as if she captured the sun in between each note, the resonant sound of the instrument and her voice; to someone who was comfortable in darkness, you leaned quietly into that warmth. Though it wasn't what you were used to, you treasured it.// ]
(else-if: $weapon is "staff")[The way the staff still holds its shape and its intricate detail even after its long exposure to the elements bolsters you with an inner strength. Though it has endured much, even before it came to your hands, it remains unbroken. It encourages you.
The way the shadows fall on the staff, making the carvings move in a way you can't entirely discard as tiredness, draws out shadows in your mind. In following the staff's patterns, the faint silhouettes of your memories seem to make more sense.
//You remember that the staff leapt and twisted in your hands like a living thing. Its powers dealt with light and shadow, and where the two connected. It rippled under your hands with an eagerness that couldn't be mistaken for your own.//
In the dancing shadows cast by dim light, you recall the traveler whose stories made what thrived in the edges of belief seem more real to you. They spoke little about their own origins, but they talked about the people they had met, and the things they had seen, and you drank it in eagerly. Their sharpness matched your own.
//They remained cloaked and hooded, even after you knew them better; you caught glimpses of eyes and feathers, the sharp edges of thorns, but there seemed to be little else underneath. You wondered if that was all their body was, but you thought it was rude to ask such a question; it might drive them further away from you, and no curiosity was worth that.//
---
//You occasionally saw them in flight; no magecraft or illusion, but something else altogether. You could never keep your eyes on them for long; whatever they did, they slipped through your sight and they cast no shadow, but they could never hide that ceaseless sound of thousands of wings beating in time. You found it a comfort, though others might have found it a nightmare; sometimes you woke and heard it passing over, and you knew they were watching over you.//
---
//They spoke rarely of themselves, but when they did, you felt a desire to linger by their side a while longer, as if your presence alone would drive off what hunted them. What little they imparted was enough to stir your worries for their fate; you felt as if each time you left, it would be the last time you saw them.
To your relief, it was not - but to the best of your knowledge, they appreciated that you stayed a little longer.//]
(else-if: $weapon is "gauntlets")[The gauntlets are solid and scarred; time and use and weather has worn down details, but they are reassuringly present in your hands.
Though your handling of them is much clumsier now, and you don't feel strong enough yet to peel off your armor and see what's left of you in order to don them, you feel as if they would fit you nonetheless. Welcoming you back.
In the way the rainswept light dances on the gauntlets' engravings, you find distant memories rising to the surface of your mind; they rush in like the tide, anxious to touch the shore.
//You remember that the gauntlets brought strength to your grip. When you faltered, they seemed to push your fingers and brace your arms, gently nudging you to conduct a proper defense, to remember what you had been taught. You sometimes thought, in moments covered now by a feverish haze, that perhaps something lived on in it, protecting you from harm.//
Memory rushes about you, bolstered by the hollow sounds of rainfall. It trickles down, little by little, as you recall the wanderer who favoured weapons much like this. When the leaves fell, and water froze to ice, you looked for them. If you saw them sailing, or wandering the hills, you knew the cold months were truly beginning.
//They were a child of the sea, or something close to it; of all those you met, they were the one that lingered most on the shores. Though it seemed at times as if they looked for something in the sea's depths, it was just as often that they simply basked in its presence, in its overwhelming scope. You didn't ask many questions; you were the same, in your own way, reveling in grey weather and stormy skies.//
---
//Occasionally, you saw them riding the waves far out to sea. Their boat skimmed the water like it was a creature born for it, rather than something made by human hands; the design of it, with sails that unfolded into fins, suggested a living thing rather than an inanimate object. It was a sleek and elegant craft, carved with skill, and it seemed to jaunt and dance with the tide even when tethered as if wishing to be let off its leash.
Sometimes, when the nights grew dark and the moon hid her face, you brought a lantern out to shore to help them find their way back. Though you fretted on the beach, and spent long nights in this way, they always returned safely in the end.//
---
//You liked to watch them at work, though you always asked permission first. They were near-silent with it; often you sat for long hours, almost in vigil, the only loud sound the scrape of charcoal on paper, as they drew. Under their patient hand, things you had seen in nature were pinned, exactingly, to the page. It was an intricacy born of a precision, and an attention to detail, that you greatly admired.//]
(else-if: $weapon is "bow")[The bow's resilience brings you a kind of comfort. Even after being left alone for so long, exposed to wind and weather, it still retains a surprising amount of solidity. Though it requires more care than the elements have been giving it to restore it to working order, it has survived.
The feel of the wood on your fingers, the vivid colour of orange flowers, brings to you memories rising suddenly in darkness. Pinpricks of light scattered against the night sky in your head.
//You remember that bows were not a common weapon in the place you came from. Not for a soldier, a knight; it was expected they would place themselves close to the enemy. For hunters, it was fine, but you were no longer a hunter, or so they said.
In the days that followed, the relentless training with a bow that seemed unwieldy to you - less light and agile than the ones you had been handed, as you followed more experienced trackers - you grew stronger and sharper without noticing. The routine of stringing it, bringing it to bear, selecting the right arrows for your next target - those things became second nature to you.
"I am still a hunter," you said, firmly, and none dared contest you.//
In the curve of the bow, its weathered history, the fine tendrils of flowers that have rooted themselves there, the memories of a traveler who used a weapon much like this bloom once more. They delighted in wearing splendidly vibrant colours, possessing some dye or special touch that defied all attempts to fade them; they were easy to identify, in that way.
//They wandered far and wide, often settling in distant places for months at a time; their journeys were made over years not seasons, as you did. But they returned to the same place time and time again, coming home to roost; when you became good enough friends to them that they imparted that knowledge to you, you used it to find them no matter where they went.//
---
//You remember their home was an observatory, once old and abandoned but fixed to be new again; it commanded a perfect view of the sky and the land from its place on the hill. From their lofty rooftop perch, they watched the seasons roll past; with their telescope, they recorded the movement of the stars. You spent many nights at their side; sometimes you helped them to take notes, but often you just listened as they pointed out the constellations that wandered in the night.//
---
//They taught you the use of many different bows; though at first you struggled to gain even a basic knowledge of the things they knew, they were always patient with you. After a while your hands steadied, and your aim became less of an issue; you became able to shoot reasonably well, though they were undoubtedly your better in that regard. Your thoughts and actions were swifter than was appropriate to gain mastery in such things, but you were always content to watch them work. It was a delight to you, in its own way.// ]
Your thoughts, such as they are, and the effort of remembering; those things bring you quickly to a point where weariness floods over you. You cannot remember having ever been so tired before, though in your current state that means very little.
Part of you wonders how long it has been since you saw these people, and how long you have been lying in the dirt; some part of you fears that perhaps they are long gone, and your scattered memories of them are all that remains.
As you curl up, attempting to conserve what little warmth remains in you, the thoughts your mind confronts you with are not comforting ones.
[[ You are glad, at least, to have some respite, brief though it might be.->dream]]
(set: $weapon to "staff")
The staff is old; it looks like some pale wood at first glance, but the texture and shape suggests bone. The skeleton of the creature this was taken from must have been very large. Feathers hang from it, miraculously intact. They flutter in the storm's wind, still damp from the rain.
(click: "Feathers")[(transition: "dissolve")[//At first, you think the feathers are a dull, dark black, but as they move - they shine. They glimmer with every colour you could possibly think of, every colour that could possibly exist in this world. It's a mesmerising sight.//]]
The staff is light in your hands; it weighs less than it should, for something that is almost as tall as you (and you are reasonably tall, or consider yourself such). If you simply let it go, you almost think it would fly away of its own accord.
There is a design of eyes, burned into the staff, dark and striking. But woven between those patterns - like thread through a needle - there is an inscription in a language that you faintly remember having known well, once upon a time.
(click: "inscription")[(transition: "dissolve")[//"I transform all things in the embrace of light; I bring them swiftly to the underworld's gates.//"
You suddenly recall the beating of wings on a summer's day, and the pressure of something vast passing over you. The heartbeat of something so impossibly large that each pulse was a distant rumble like an approaching storm.
You tried to follow it, but it slipped into places where you could not, small and mortal as you were. But perhaps it was that sound, or the memory of it, that compelled you to follow the path you did.
[[You pull yourself from reminiscing.->finish]]]]
Something large is coming through; ahead of you, fish and not-fish alike scatter for cover. Slow as you are, unadapted for water, you crouch and curl, and hope that it passes you by. Things that are not fleshed sufficiently do not usually interest predators of this sort (you hope).
You can feel its weight, even in this deep sea where weight does not work the same way. It distorts the space around it in a way that might leave you breathless, if you still drew breath.
[[Keep looking down.->down]]
[[Dare to catch a glimpse.->peer]]
You stare down and see nothing but the stirring sand, feeling the underwater currents pushing you. The sand is dark, speckled with white; you are slightly confused by this, as you have always seen white sand on the few times you ever looked upon a beach.
You hear something, distantly, but you are afraid to focus on it any more than that.
(click: "hear something")[(transition: "dissolve")[It sounds like (//laughter, sunlight, the wind on the grass//) a song from your childhood. But how would something so vast, living so far away from your home in deep water, know it?]]
[[It passes you by. You stop trembling.->pass]]
You risk the slightest glance, a miniscule turn of your head. In the thrashing of underwater currents, the smallest ripple goes unnoticed.
Your vision distorts; not that you cannot focus, but focus seems to shy away from it. It is a space that shows the barest hints of tooth and shimmering scale, flashes of light in darkness. Any other details slip away from you.
You force your head back down. Some of the flowers tucked away in you have closed their petals, attempting to form buds again.
[[Eventually, it passes. You stop shaking.->pass]]
The water stills. You can, for the moment, relax.
You lift your head, pushing to your feet in this near-weightless space. It's odd, to feel both weight and not.
There is a valley, of sorts, ahead. The sand beneath your feet is beginning to slope gently into further darkness; however, it means that there is a path upward.
[[Return to the shore, or a shore.->upward]]
[[Go into the valley.->darkness]]
The sand shifts beneath your feet as you trudge upwards. Though you don't feel soreness in the same way as you did before, it's enough of a chore that you feel //something//, at least. Some hint of irritation, maybe.
It resists your slow uphill struggle, swirling around your ankles with every step. It //sloshes//, somehow, in its own spiteful way.
Though sand is not intelligent in the least, you could almost believe it was impeding your progress, if you were more prone to thinking that the world disliked you.
(click: "world")[(transition: "dissolve")[You know enough about the world, and the nature of it, to be steadfast in your resolve that you are simply too small for it to dislike you specifically.
It may not improve your situation, but there is a comfort in knowing that such things are coincidence rather than malice.]]
[[You eventually breach the surface.->beach]]
The pressure grows, a little, but only a little. Mostly, there is nothing left of you to feel it anymore; the flowers quiver gently, but otherwise you cannot feel the depth.
(click: "nothing left of you")[(transition: "dissolve")[//You think there's nothing left to feel it, anyway. You haven't bothered to check, though - more accurately, it's because you don't want to check. //Anything //could be under there.//]]
You trudge into the darkness, sand swirling around your feet with every step; you don't know what you might find there, only that you feel as if you should go on. What little light there still is fades from your sight.
Where you go now, the sun will never touch, unless the land and sea toss and turn wildly, and trade places in a fit of pique.
[[You feel oddly at home regardless, down here.->underground]]
Your head breaks the surface; you feel a reflexive need to breathe in. You do so, and the act of it brings back a foggy memory.
{(click: "foggy memory")[(transition: "dissolve")[//You recall a breeze off the sea, sweeping in from the cliffs. It tastes faintly like salt, and of a place you have never seen. The water far beyond shone with an otherworldly light, a distant glimmer you could only just pick out among the hills.//]]}
It gets easier to move as you return to the land again. The water foams about your ankles in a sort of embrace; it seems unwilling to let you go, but in the end, it does.
You shake yourself free of it. The flowers inside your ribcage open up again, as if they are shaking themselves off at the same time you do. Their glow and liveliness is no less bright than it was before you plunged into the water.
You ache, a little, but it is nothing too terrible. You are still capable of going on.
[[Return to the lake.->lake]]
[[Sit on the shore.->sitdown]]
It reminds you of places deep, deep under the earth. Burrows and tunnels made by creatures who lived long ago, or people who solemnly carried the bodies of their dead into vast crypts and tombs, leaving them close to the heartbeat of the world to be born again.
You had always admired such things, in a strange way. It was touching to you, the traces that creatures left behind. In the patterns of the earth's scars, you read a kind of history.
But earth is not water, and ocean is not dry land, and you are broken from your memories of underground by ripples that gently buffet you to and fro as you walk. Things are passing by; they glide as gracefully as any bird would, in open air, though unlike birds what little light shines down from above glitters on the hints of sharp teeth and scales. Some pulse with a sickly inner light that silhouettes their slow heartbeats, the movement of internal organs packed tight against the skin.
(click-append: "unlike birds")[(transition: "dissolve")[ (//well, unlike **most** birds//)]]
Eventually, the slope ends. By now, you are standing almost completely in darkness.
[[Return to the light.->upward]]
[[See what is swimming above you.->luminal]]
You decide that you've earned a little rest, after your impulsive act, and you sit.
Time passes, imperceptibly. Your awareness seems to float and spread; a kind of blindness comes over you. The shore you sit on is no longer the shore your senses touch, in a way you're unable to describe even to yourself.
(click: "awareness")[(transition: "dissolve")[//Grains of sand shift under the touch of your gauntleted fingers; flowers rustle in the breeze off the sea. The sound of waves rushes through you as if you were a wave yourself; water crashes against the shore and into the back of your chest, thudding like a false heartbeat.
But the rumble of the storm, overhead, is what shakes you most of all.
It hums through your bones; the sound of it makes you want to stand, to reach for it. In this state you feel like if you reached up, kept reaching up, you would eventually be able to touch the sky yourself without aid, and grasp lightning in your bare hands. Feel it trickle like blood between your fingers, and burn.
The desire to feel weather ties itself up in you like a vine on a trellis. Though you were ever a child of earth, like many children born from the land you turned your face towards sky and sun.//]]
You do not know how long you sit there, transfixed by the sound of the world around you, but eventually the rattle of the wind shakes you from your trance.
The storm is rolling in.
[[You begin the slow walk up to the hills, away from the shore.->hills]]
(set: $darkwater to "done")
Water empties out from you as you move, slowly, leaving the sea behind. It puddles at first, craters in the sand that trail your footsteps, and then slows drastically to a trickle that barely marks your way.
You feel somewhat changed by the experience; though anyone would, after having jumped from a cliff into deep water. It has knocked you about a little, but you feel refreshed, nevertheless.
You lose track of time, as the rain beats down on you. Thunder rumbles in the distance. Though you should feel cold (some residual part of you aches in your bones, a remnant of old scars), there is not, strictly speaking, much that feels cold anymore.
You tilt your face up towards the sky, quietly. The scent you have always known and loved when rain falls on the earth is rising like a mist.
You breathe it in, letting water trickle down. It seems to soothe the pain in what remains of you, and the flowers seem to appreciate the water. They loosen their hold, just a little.
[[Try and pull one loose, just to see if you can.->pluck]]
[[Seek out shelter close by.->rocks]]
[[Keep walking.->plains]]
(set: $weapon to "bow")
The bow still retains its flexibility, though time has caused it to bloom. Some other seed wormed its way in, perhaps; the flowers that have sprouted are orange and blue, instead of the sky-coloured petals you are used to seeing.
You have a vague thought that you might need to restring it to be usable, but that can wait until later. Until after the rain.
In the wood are patterns, carved for some reason or another; things you cannot quite remember in your current state. But there is an inscription here, tucked away, in a language that stirs at your memory like the breeze.
(click: "inscription")[(transition: "dissolve")[//"Through everything, I endure. Through all things, I pierce. No shield can defend against the arrows put to my string."//
You trace the inscription with your fingers, as if reading the words is not enough to commit them to your mind; the feel of it even through your armoured fingers is enough to shake free a memory from the fog you seem to be labouring under.
You faintly recall someone who used a weapon much like this. You often saw them in the light of dawn or dusk, waiting silent and still; but for the wind's movement - a thing that parted foliage or disturbed the mists of early morning - you could have mistaken them for some ruined scenery, some oddly twisted tree.
They had a hunter's steady hand and a predator's patience, though for what - you never asked. Their business was their own, though often you saw them carry things wrapped tight in some shroud or another.
You remember the feeling of a weight on your back, rope burning your hands as you pulled. The metal scent of something you knew to be blood, and the sound of your breathing and theirs as you inhaled cold, sharp air.
You never asked what they carried. They seemed to be weighed with heavier things than what you helped them to lift.
[[You surface from the memory, strangely vivid to your senses, though dreamlike.->finish]]]]
(set: $weapon to "gauntlets")
The gauntlets are cold to the touch, even more so than metal would be in this rain; they hold a chill that reminds you of some distant winter.
(click: "some distant winter")[(transition: "dissolve")[//The fractured memory of a time long lost flashes suddenly across your mind's eye. You are standing in the cold, fingers clutching a lantern's pole; the corona of light that flickers from the smoke-streaked glass does little to keep the darkness at bay.
Still, you wait patiently. Your breath hovers in a cloud about your face. You strain your eyes, struggling to make out shapes in the enroaching night.//]]
Deeply carved into the metal - time and exposure has not yet worn away the details of them - are patterns that recall the sea, and a certain kind of darkness touched by moonlight. In the winding strokes of the engraver's tools, you can read the subtle movement of the waves.
There is an inscription here, well-hidden, but there nonetheless.
(click: "inscription")[(transition: "dissolve")[//"Go forth, without hesitation."//
Some weapons are engraved with more words than these, but the person who forged these in times past felt perhaps that this was all that needed to be said.
You recall a traveler you met now and then, who spoke fondly of the sea. Whether they had come from there or perhaps simply wished to be there more often was never quite explained to you, but it was a mystery you were content not to have the answers to.
They had strange eyes, a singing cadence to their voice that was not quite human, but you never questioned that either. There were plenty of people who were more or less human, and those who were not, and everything in between; and it was their own business as to what they were traveling for.
They carried books of all sorts; some to read, some to draw in. Occasionally, you caught glimpses of their work, windows into another world you were always mesmerised by.]]
[[You surface from a reverie that swirls about you like water.->finish]]
You look up. Above you, silhouetted against the light that still reaches into this dark valley, creatures that shy away from the sun swim past.
They are stranger than you expected, but there is an odd familiarity in them all the same. They move like living things, at the very least.
You stand there for a long time. You are not sure how long it is; water buffets you, sand moves sluggishly under your feet. Things change, in miniscule ways.
Eventually, you feel the need to ascend; though the darkness here is comforting, you reach towards the open sky as you ever did. And there is a stifling quality to this water.
[[So you turn, and go upwards again.->upward]]
You tug a flower free from yourself, more out of idle curiosity than anything else (or perhaps you were finding it annoying, still). It comes loose with a suddenness that startles you.
Its roots quiver as it reaches out for the rest of its kin. When it doesn't find them, it wraps itself around your index finger instead.
Apparently it finds solace in that, and is content with its new position, even if you are not. Any attempts to remove it are fruitless.
Perhaps it will drop off, in its own time; perhaps it's there to stay. In any case, you have a new ornament.
[[Find some other place to wait out the rain, and keep walking.->plains]]
[[Seek shelter somewhere close by.->rocks]]
Rain and wind scour the land, forcing the grass to bow down. As you step into the fields, it beats against your legs like restless water. The sky is grey; it grumbles with the promise of a storm, close by.
In this downpour, you can only see the vague silhouettes of things that might provide shelter; you strain to listen, and hear the faintest of noises that give you a clue as to their nature.
[[Head towards the distant creaking and groaning; sounds so sharp they cut through the rain.->machine]]
[[Turn towards the rustle of leaves, and branches lashing against each other in the rising wind.->oldtree]]
(set: $dream to "machine")
You turn towards the sound of tortured metal; the song of an abandoned thing left to the storm long ago. Half-blind in the rain, you strike out towards it. The grass lashes against your knees like waves.
Eventually, you reach shelter, and the source of the noise. It waves broken, tattered limbs in the wind; perhaps it was once a windmill of some kind, or an engine, but time and weather has carved it into a strange and foreign shape.
You tuck yourself into its hollow insides, long since cleared out by scavengers, by time; what little heat you give off now fills the space within, replacing the heart of what was lost.
You are drowsy, but you refuse to let sleep take you just yet. Though you have done much, and weathered much, and it feels like much more than a day (is it even truly a day?) since you woke, you should still take inventory.
[[You shift around in your new shelter, and finally take a look at the weapon that has been with you all this time.-->weaponchoice]]
(set: $dream to "tree")
The tree has been here, you think, for many lives. It looms against the sky, branches waving, creaking as the wind shakes it.
But it's as secure a shelter as any, and better than standing in the rain. Its trunk has been carved and hollowed, etched and stained; as you stumble closer, you can make out the scars of battles past, long healed.
The click of metal against your feet as you walk reminds you of other, more tangible mementos of such things. The rusted remains of weapons and armor add a tinny cadence to the sounds that filter through to you.
You squeeze inside the trunk, finding a snug respite from the rain; what little warmth you still possess seems to fit the space available to you well enough to make you drowsy.
But you aren't ready to sleep yet. A weight on you - physical, not mental - reminds you of the thing you have not yet inspected.
[[You uncurl yourself a little, shifting to make things more comfortable, and inspect what has been by your side all this time.-->weaponchoice]]
Whether it is the long exertion of a body not meant to move, or the exhaustion of battling the downpour, you pass easily into slumber.
Though your sleep, tired as you are, is not without interruptions. Even in this state, part of you is reaching out. Attempting to regain even the smallest fragments of yourself.
(if: $dream is "rocks")[The rain drumming on your makeshift shelter, the dim sense of soil under you; in your dreams, you remember something that was previously lost to you. In your dreams, you almost think you can hear the earth's heartbeat.
//You often made journeys underground. The darkness of deep caves, the ruins of kingdoms long buried; those things held no fear for you, only a sadness that you inherited from them. They were the lingering ghosts of people who passed into dust long before you came.
Sometimes, you walked alongside those who braved the depths for their own reasons. You served as guide, assistant, or companion, depending on what they asked of you.
Not many of them dared descend more than once. They found what they looked for, or gave up quickly - so those that persevered stuck in your mind.
One in particular made many journeys with you; you found her an easy person to travel with. Her laughter and smiles came easily, and her spirits were buoyant even in dire circumstances. She shone brightly at all times - but underground, where light was scarce, even your vague recollections of her remain radiant.
You still remember the armlet she gave to you, a remnant of a previous foray. The gem set in it was a feverish purple, shining brightly even through the haze that your memory has become.
Perhaps it is just the dream's effect, or some other sentimentality, but you admired it as you admired her, in your own way. When you saw flashes and scraps of purple out of the corner of your eye, you were always compelled to look, just in case.(set: $keepsake to "armlet")//]
(if: $dream is "tree")[The creak of old wood in the wind, the constant drumming of rain echoing down to you; those repetitive sounds blend together, invading your dreams.
//The hum of moving wood was something you often sought out, in a certain place. In summer, you traveled far from your homeland, as was expected, and you took your time returning. As the seasons passed, year after year, you began to develop a routine, and revisited the same haunts.
You spent lazy, warm days at a particular house on the hill, preparing cloth for cutting and dyeing, hanging them out to dry. Making the cloth yourself, sometimes, in quiet hours when the looms were mostly silent. (You were never very good at it, so you never tried much, but you learned a little regardless - though try as you might to remember it, that knowledge is lost to the present you).
The person you came to visit there knew his way around weaving, but he did much more with dyes and clothes. What would be harmonious, what was not; what patterns would look good, and what would be comfortable to wear. He had a special delight for warm colours - pinks most of all - but no matter what colours he was given to work with, it seemed as if everything he created had a splendor to it you never managed to put into words. He was skilled, too, in other artistic pursuits; the pictures and designs he conveyed to canvas and to cloth seemed ready to come to life themselves, to lead separate existences.
(He was always the harshest critic of his own work, like many artists, but if there were imperfections you never identified them yourself.)
You delighted in his dryness, his wry sense of humour, his enthusiasm for what he loved; you still remember the fondness you held for his company, and the quiet pleasure it gave you. It was why you sought him out, season after season, and why you became fascinated with things you otherwise would not have been.
You still remember the charm he gave to you, something made with his own hands; it retained its vivid pink even when exposed to travel and weather. You made changes to your helmet to accommodate it; the braid fluttered proudly from your armor from then on, impossible to miss. (set: $keepsake to "braid")//]
(if: $dream is "machine")[The rattling of broken machine-limbs, the way your shelter sways around you and seems to breathe like a living thing - the movement of metal and gears, even those long rusted away, seems to creep into your dreams.
//You dream of summer melting away into autumn, warm days turning to ash as the seasons turned, green leaves seemingly bursting into flames of orange and red and gold. Like migrating birds, you returned from those faraway haunts in which you spent spring and summer when autumn came; to you, it was a signal, a time to go home.
You often traveled by night as the days grew colder; it seemed to you, though you had little magecraft, that the fading of the seasons brought out a kind of magic in the world. Certainly, you saw more of those wanderers in autumn - mages, witches, summoners, those who held power of one kind or another - than you ever did at any other time.
They made the world a little more interesting, a little more lively; you were always fascinated with what little knowledge they imparted to you. Many of them were on journeys of their own, and so you never saw them more than once; those who you met again were, therefore, notable enough for you to remember them. One in particular stands out to your drifting mind.
The nights were always dark when you crossed paths with her; she seemed to prefer lonely places, ruins and graveyards with sad pasts. Perhaps it was for something magical, or perhaps it was just for inspiration; you never asked. You were content to linger.
You remember she told stories, if you happened to come across her at rest. You recall little of them now, despite your best efforts; but you remember that in the flickering light of the fire, they came to life. In the leaping brilliance of flame, you saw (or perhaps only thought you saw) characters of all kinds, guided by the words she spoke. Such encounters were rare, and so you treasured them all the more.
You still recall what she gave to you; an ornament all bones and feathers, threaded in a delicate arrangement. You asked if it had any purpose beyond what was obvious, and you received no real answer, but it was a trifling question. The function of it - if there was one - meant infinitely less to you than the meaning of being given a gift by her. You found some measure of rope to make a necklace that would hold it, and you wore it proudly over your armor. (set: $keepsake to "necklace")//]
You passed into sleep easily, without considering if your existence was transient; but, thankfully, whatever holds you together is strong enough to let you rest without falling to pieces.
When you wake - though you feel some tug of regret, surfacing from the pleasant haze of your former life - the sun calls to you. The rain has stopped; the wind rustles the grass. The storm has passed.
You emerge from your shelter, and stretch, and look towards the horizon. It seems as if it's time for your journey to begin once more.
[[Return to the very beginning?->rooted]]
[[Author's Notes->notes]]
Hi, I'm Ruka! I wrote this whole thing you've just finished. I hope it was fun to play!
This is the end of the demo for now. I'd estimate that as far as story progression goes, it's about 15% to 20% done...maybe. It's likely to get bigger than i expected, since my only goal was to say "It'll be bigger than the other ones! I don't want to just do short things!"
Do you recognise some of the mystery travelers mentioned, that this nameless protagonist likes so much? You might. One of them might even be you yourself (though those people who //are// mentioned know who they are already. I think. I tried to make it obvious without being too obvious but it may need clarification so ASK ME IF UNSURE?)
I hope you enjoyed reading what's here so far as much as I enjoyed writing it; it was initially a very vague project, and i really had no idea where I was going with it, but it turned into kind of a labor of love for other people who are dear to me as well as myself. Which is uh...very sentimental but you know it's a thing that I am so I guess you should also expect that? Haha.
Thanks for playing! Again, I really hope you enjoyed it!