The Spinner

Welcome to ''The Spinner''! This is a pseudo-CYOA story set in the world of //Planet Chivalry//, a TTRPG that I am participating in. The story features (text-colour:#17a58b)[Psychopomp] as the one and only participant, with minor references to other characters both in and out of the story, as well as concepts and locations in the general world of //Chivalry//. Any text in this shade of (text-colour:#17a58b)[teal] is either a quote or thought from (text-colour:#17a58b)[Psychopomp], but most of the time it is just used in reference to their name. Additional characters mentioned will also be in their respective colors, but some are just colors of objects. In any case, thank you for reading thus far, and I hope you enjoy the story! [[Begin]].

(text-colour:#17a58b)[Psychopomp] strolls over to a nearby set of trees. They seem to tower over them, branches fraying out into vast fans of drooping foliage. It's pleasant to look at, considering they haven't given the flora here much time. They get lost in the leaves for a moment before a sharp shade of (text-colour:red)[red] in a tree catches their eye. They can't reach it from here, but that won't stop them. They have options. They could easily [[ram into the tree]], or simply [[throw a rock at the branch]] supporting the object above.

(text-colour:#17a58b)[I don't want to go back down there. Not yet.]

(text-colour:#17a58b)[Psychopomp] takes a few steps back, and angles their head down. They brace themselves, before launching forward, slamming head first into the tree... but they can't pull themselves out. One of their horns is lodged within the bark. They pull and pull, popping out of the tree and landing flat on their ass. To add insult to injury, the fruit falls right off the tree onto (text-colour:#17a58b)[Psychopomp]'s head with a solid //''WHACK''//! Fortunately, it's still in one piece. They hold the fruit in their hand, admiring the texture and color. It feels rough, its coarse skin is uncomfortable in their hand. The color is rich, bold, and honestly surprising to find in nature. They turn it in their hand, hoping to see something more interesting on the other side, to no avail. They could always try tasting it. [[What's the worst that could happen?]]

(text-colour:#17a58b)[Psychopomp] stomps on the ground, sending a sizeable hunk of stone and bright green crystals high enough to pick up with their rocky hand. They look towards the branch, and lob the rock with enough force to snap the branch easily. The rock completes its arc, sinking back into the ground as swiftly as it erupted. The branch holding the fruit drops, as (text-colour:#17a58b)[Psychopomp] jogs over to catch it. With a free hand, they pluck it from its sprout, and proudly jam the branch back into the ground. They hold the fruit in their hand, admiring the texture and color. It feels rough, its coarse skin is uncomfortable in their hand. The color is rich, bold, and honestly surprising to find in nature. They turn it in their hand, hoping to see something more interesting on the other side, to no avail. They could always try tasting it. [[What's the worst that could happen?]]

They hesitate for a moment, thinking. What //is// the worst that could happen? They could be allergic. It could be poisonous. It could be delicious, even. No way to find out but to try! (text-colour:#17a58b)[Psychopomp] sinks their teeth into the thick, bumpy rind of the fruit. Their face contorts as the fruit fills their mouth with a foul, dense pulpy texture, not to mention the fruit contains a disgusting juice that fills their mouth with a rubbery taste. This wasn't a great idea. They spit out the hunk of fruit they just bit off, shuddering from the foul flavor and feeling that assaulted their taste buds. But they still can't help but feel the taste stick to the inside of their mouth... Yuck! They could easily [[tough it out]], or simply eat... [[anything else]].

(text-colour:#17a58b)[Psychopomp] follows the sound of rushing water to a nearby stream. The water flows, clear and clean downstream. They stare for a moment, waiting to see if they can find anything in the stream. They hold that position for a while, waiting for anything noteworthy to rush by in front of them. They could speed up the process, seeing if anything is hiding under a [[rock]], follow the rushing water [[downstream]], or watch their rippling [[reflection]] in the river.

(text-colour:#17a58b)[Psychopomp] reaches their hand under the water, and lifts up a small rock. From underneath, a small crab scuttles out, running around for a moment, before making its way to another rock. It hides under there. They set the rock they picked up back down where it was, and feel a little bad about it now. Looks like the only option is to go [[downstream]]... or watch their [[reflection]] in the water.

(text-colour:#17a58b)[Psychopomp] gets up from the side of the river, stretching their legs. They watch the direction the water flows. Looks to be going [[that way]]. Best to head off that direction, over towards the sea. But think of the possibilities of following the river [[upstream]]...

(text-colour:#17a58b)[Lookin' good!] (text-colour:#17a58b)[I'm gonna put my head in [[there]].]

(text-colour:#17a58b)[Psychopomp] stands there for a moment, eyes shut tightly trying to distract themselves from the horrid taste and feeling of the fruit. They shudder, still feeling it in their mouth, it's all they can think about unfortunately. (text-colour:#17a58b)[I need to eat [[anything else]] to get this taste out of my mouth.]

With their free hand, (text-colour:#17a58b)[Psychopomp] scoops up a handful of... dirt? You sure? (text-colour:#17a58b)[It's not like there's anything else around here besides... those things. Yuck.] If you say so. They scoop up the dirt, and shovel it into their mouth. It's not great, but it //feels// better to munch on, and that's what they need most right about now. They chew, and chew, until the feeling of the rubbery secretion is gone from their mouth. They spit out the dirt, back into the pile they scooped it from. ...Now what to do with the fruit itself? They could [[throw]] it, or simply [[drop]] it onto the ground. They could also [[squeeze]] it, and see if that might change the taste?

(text-colour:#17a58b)[Psychopomp] reels back, fruit in hand, and slings it at a tree further away. It flies through the air like a lumpy cannonball. It collides with the tree in the distance, splattering pulpy innards across the trunk, even causing the tree to sway from the impact. (text-colour:#17a58b)[Psychopomp] pumps their arm up and down in excitement from nailing the target. Good arm! But now they need to find something else. There's still a meal that needs to be held, and they have to find something edible. They could scavenge from the [[bushes]], or explore [[further northward]].

They drop the fruit right onto the ground, next to the branch they planted earlier. They flick the juice off their hand, and stomps the fruit, splattering it onto the ground. It's not like anyone was gonna eat it anyway. As they turn around, (text-colour:#17a58b)[Psychopomp] slips on the ground and falls flat on their face due to the leftover juice on their shoe. //Et tu, Fruit//. They get up and dust themselves off, but now they need to find something else. There's still a meal that needs to be held, and they have to find something edible. They could scavenge from the [[bushes]], or explore [[further northward]].

They eye the fruit, and crush it in the palm of their hand. They catch a small bit of juice in their other, watching it pool slowly and pitifully. It's too pulpy to get enough juice out of. (text-colour:#17a58b)[Psychopomp] brings their juice covered hand to their mouth, and licks some of it up, and it still sucks. Bitter and rubbery, not any better than the fruit itself. They shake their head. No saving it, it's gotta go. They need to [[throw]] it or [[drop]] it.

(text-colour:#17a58b)[Psychopomp] strolls beyond the trees, to a field lush with shrubs. The bushes outnumber any other life in the area, teeming with several different looking objects adorning thier leaves. As they walk to the nearest group of shrubbery, they begin to notice the objects clearer. They look larger than a flower typically would. Upon closer inspection, these plants bear fruit that looks like it has the potential to be harvested! ...however, there's a few to choose from. There's (text-colour:green)[a [[green]] one], round and firm, yet very small. There's (text-colour:purple)[a [[purple]] one], a bit stout, but covered in many pale seeds. There's (text-colour:orange)[an [[orange]] one], small and lumpy... it reminds them of the (text-colour:red)[red] fruit by look alone.

(text-colour:#17a58b)[Psychopomp] dunks their head into the river. They look around the shallow section they're submerged in, but unfortunately nothing seems to stick out. They pause for a moment, just to feel the cool stream of water pass around their head. It's comfortable. (text-colour:#17a58b)[Psychopomp] lifts their head above the surface, leftover water coarsing down their head. They shake like a dog, splashing water all over the place, poorly drying themselves off. With nothing visibly under the water, the only options left are to pick up a [[rock]] or follow the water [[downstream]].

After watching it flow, (text-colour:#17a58b)[Psychopomp] follows the water. They walk the same direction, following it for quite some time. The scenery doesn't change much, until they come upon the town of Flatshit. They look on at a distance, aware of the existence of the town, but never actually going. Part of them wants to keep going, but at a [[distance]]. For some reason, they feel they shouldn't enter the town. Alternatively, they could turn heel and go back [[upstream]].

(text-colour:#17a58b)[Psychopomp] strides along the river, traveling opposite the way it flows. They pass by the Retreat, following the river up a hill to a lake. It sits surrounded by trees, bushes, and flowers, but who is to say whats inside the lake? They could very easily [[look under the water]], or... (text-colour:#17a58b)[Psychopomp] notices the bushes have some very small wild berries on their branches. Maybe they could [[bait]] something out?

(text-colour:#17a58b)[Psychopomp] steps far away, keeping their distance from the town. They try to keep the river in sight, following it slowly. They keep an eye on the buildings, in case any Vhalruscoi step out and notice them. Standing that far away would cause a panic, potentially, and (text-colour:#17a58b)[Psychopomp] doesn't want any of the other knights to get involved. That would ruin the surprise, of course! They circle back around once the town tapers off, coming back to the river's edge. Their path leads them to the [[ocean]], vast and distant, in search of anything to bring back for the feast.

The sound of waves crashing against the shore fills (text-colour:#17a58b)[Psychopomp's] ears. The proud and powerful ocean, filling the air with its commanding and salty presence. There's bound to be something out there that can be brought back to prepare for the feast. They scan their eyes along the [[shore]], the array of [[sea stacks]] off to the side, or they could be so bold as to [[dunk their head into the ocean]].

(text-colour:#17a58b)[Psychopomp] sticks a hand against their forehead, attempting to scope out the sand in case anything sticks out to them along the coast. Nothing sticks out, until their eyes scan across a strange lump in the sand nearby the water. They run towards it, before sliding on their knees along the sand. Once in front of it, they attempt to pull it up out of the dunes, but it seems like it's buried fairly deep. They're curious as to [[find out]] what's buried under the beach, but they could also skip it and check out the [[sea stacks]].

(text-colour:#17a58b)[Psychopomp's] eyes scan the water, and are interested in some all-natural stone pillars that stick out of the water down the coast. They follow the coast, along the sound of crashing waves. The salty air brings a sense of intrigue to these distant spires. Once they're closer by, they ready themselves. They doff their clothes, tossing everything to the ground with some form of abandon, with the exception of their leather vest. That gets removed and folded gently, placed on top of their soon to be wrinkled shirt. Once sufficiently barren of an outfit, they take off full-speed towards the coast. Their body crashes into a wave as they stomp across the floor of the sea. They push their body against the current, until they hit what they came out for. Face first. (text-style:"shudder")[(text-colour:#17a58b)[YEEOWCH!]] After slamming their face into the body of one of the sea stacks, (text-colour:#17a58b)[Psychopomp] places their palms on the surface of the stone and looks around, attempting to sense [[anything nearby]] that would suffice as a meal for their allies.

(text-colour:#17a58b)[Psychopomp] strolls down to the waves, stepping into the water. They walk up to their knees, before leaning forward and dunking their head into the water. Not only is it harder to see anything down there than the river, but their eyes fill with salt water. Their clothes are all wet too. Way to go! They step out to the shore, grumbling as they walk past the sand and sit on the grass. They wait for their clothes to dry before they make another, likely better decision. They can peruse the [[shore]], or examine the [[sea stacks]] further out in the water.

(text-colour:#17a58b)[Psychopomp] drops down to the surface of the water, before dunking their head underneath the surface of the lake. They look around, side to side, trying to see any signs of motion they could get their hands on. Seeing movement, (text-colour:#17a58b)[Psychopomp] tries to track the object swimming by. They reach a hand over the surface of the water, and keep it still. They watch, wait, and hope until... (text-rotate-x:359)+(text-rotate-y:359)+(text-rotate-z:342)[SPLASH!] (text-colour:#17a58b)[Psychopomp's] hand drops into the water, colliding with a fish! They try to keep a grip on it, struggling and thrashing under the water. It's surprisingly nimble, fighting back against their hand. They're not sure if they can [[keep a hold on it]] or if it's [[going to escape]].

(text-colour:#17a58b)[Psychopomp] grabs a small handful of berries from the bush and crushes them with their hand, sprinkling the mush along the surface of the lake. They look at the remnants on their hand, and take a cautious lick. (text-colour:#17a58b)[Huh. That's actually pretty good. Maybe I should grab some of these, I wonder if there's more of these somewhere.] They squat, watching the mush bob at the surface of the water, hoping something bites. They sit, and wait, until... A fish of sorts takes the bait, seemingly enjoying the crushed up berry. (text-colour:#17a58b)[Psychopomp] steadies their hand, and tries to grab the fish as it samples the delicacy in front of them. Their hand collides, and the wet beast thrashes in an attempt to escape. It's surprisingly nimble, fighting back against their hand. They're not sure if they can [[keep a hold on it]] or if it's [[going to escape]].

(text-colour:#17a58b)[Psychopomp] tries with their might, and pulls the fish out of the water! They hold it up with pride, their catch shining brightly in the glistening kingslight. You could practically see the fish giving a thumbs up out of sheer pride. They store their prize safely, out of sight and out of mind. It'll preserve properly. They look around, back at the bush that has the berries on it. Maybe there's more somewhere else. The best idea now might be to travel back to the [[ocean]].

(text-colour:#17a58b)[Psychopomp] tries with all of their might, but the fish proves to be a superior force in the water. It slips out of their grasp, causing them to fall forward into the water, fully submerging themselves. (text-colour:#17a58b)[Aw beans.] (text-colour:#17a58b)[Psychopomp] steps out of the water, and lays down on the grass. As their body and outfit dry, they look upwards at the clouds. Maybe the river wasn't the best idea. Maybe they'll have some luck if they explore nearby the [[ocean]].

(text-colour:#17a58b)[Psychopomp] tosses a (text-colour:green)[green] berry into their mouth. They chew for a moment before the flavor sets in. It's overwhelmingly sweet! The flavor fills their mouth, like eating a handful of blueberries at once. They pop in another, and this one is much more tart than the last. They eat a handful more, before stopping themselves. (text-colour:#17a58b)[Remember why you're out here. It isn't for yourself.] They break a crystal off of their arm, and as it begins to melt, they reshape it into a bowl to carry as many of them as they can fit, before enclosing the bowl over the top. They stow the bowl somewhere secure, before they move along to find somewhere else to forage. Perhaps they could explore [[further northward]], maybe something interesting lies beyond what they are familiar with.

(text-colour:#17a58b)[Psychopomp] tosses a (text-colour:purple)[purple] berry into their mouth. They chew for a moment before the flavor sets in. The flavor is sweet, but not //too// sweet. It has more of an earthy taste, but it carries a pleasant scent up through (text-colour:#17a58b)[Psychopomp's] nose. Somewhat flowery overall. It reminds them of a strawberry. They sample another few, before thinking to themselves. (text-colour:#17a58b)[Alright, that seems good. Someone'll definitely enjoy this.] They break a crystal off of their arm, and as it begins to melt, they reshape it into a bowl to carry as many of them as they can fit, before enclosing the bowl over the top. They stow the bowl somewhere secure, before they move along to find somewhere else to forage. Perhaps they could explore [[further northward]], maybe something interesting lies beyond what they are familiar with.

(text-colour:#17a58b)[Psychopomp] tosses an (text-colour:orange)[orange] berry into their mouth. They chew for a moment before the flavor sets in. They hesitate on biting down, remembering what they know from the similar looking fruit from before. Eventually, they sink their teeth in the berry, and are met with a very sharp but still pleasant taste! They sample another few, chewing and savoring the sharp, yet sweet, flavor. After a few more bites, they wipe their hands off and stand back up. (text-colour:#17a58b)[Okay, I should grab some of these for the others. They'll enjoy these ones.] They break a crystal off of their arm, and as it begins to melt, they reshape it into a bowl to carry as many of them as they can fit, before enclosing the bowl over the top. They stow the bowl somewhere secure, before they move along to find somewhere else to forage. Perhaps they could explore [[further northward]], maybe something interesting lies beyond what they are familiar with.

(text-colour:#17a58b)[Psychopomp] plucks one of the lumpy (text-colour:orange)[orange] berries from the bush. It feels softer than the fruit from before. Much more appealing. Either way, the lumpiness of this one seems uneven, sections bulging out slightly further than others. Doesn't seem bad at all. [[Let's try it!]]

(text-colour:#17a58b)[Psychopomp] plucks one of the stout (text-colour:purple)[purple] berries from the bush. It looks like it had been pressed... well, //all// of them look like that. The seeds on the outside add a pleasant visual pattern that the berry otherwise lacked. [[Let's eat!]]

(text-colour:#17a58b)[Psychopomp] plucks one of the small (text-colour:green)[green] berries off the bush. It looks smooth, and feels firm in their hand. The top of it seems to curve upward and outward, like something had burst out from it. [[Bottoms up!]]

(text-colour:#17a58b)[Psychopomp] holds out both hands, making an L and an ⅃, before looking around. They can't tell which way is North. They stare upwards at the sun, squinting their eyes. They stare for... [[too long.]]

The curiosity gets the better of them. (text-colour:#17a58b)[Psychopomp] inhales deeply. Their eyes glow a cool shade of teal, as they place their palms on the coast above the buried object. They put their mind into motion, feeling the earth shake beneath them. (text-style:"rumble")[Sand rumbles, and the ground feels looser beneath them. The pulsing of the sand results in a mound shooting up, several feet above the ground.] Atop the slowly cascading sandy hill, a large crate rests now unearthed. (text-colour:#17a58b)[Psychopomp] catches their breath, arms feeling heavy as they trudge up to the box. Their mind wonders for a moment. (text-colour:#17a58b)[//How did this get here? There havent been any sailors around here in who knows how long... as long as I've been here at least. How old could this be? Whatever's washed up in this box could be ancient.//] They reach onto the edges of the crate, grabbing on to a loose piece of lumber, and [[pry the thing open]].

(text-colour:#17a58b)[Psychopomp] jams their claws into any crack or crevice in the wood that they can get into, and place one of their feet onto the box. They pull back, wood splintering and cracking as they attempt to open the box by any means necessary. (text-colour:#17a58b)[(text-style:"shudder")[HRRRHGGGGHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!]] Just as fast as they begin, their arms launch upwards with the panel covering the front of the wooden crate. They reel back, and chuck the panel away, as it spins through the air quite far, before crashing in the sand a distance away. Inside the crate, the contents seem very well packed. It looks like supplies, meant for a fisherman. A collapsible fishing rod catches their eye, among nets, lures, and various containers of, by this point, far expired bait. (text-colour:#17a58b)[Psychopomp] picks up the fishing rod, and whips it in front of them, watching as it pops out to its proper size. The best part is, it comes pre-reeled. (text-colour:#17a58b)[Niiice.] They take a few steps to the ocean, before pulling their arms back and [[casting]] the line out far into the water.

On the seafloor, (text-colour:#17a58b)[Psychopomp] feels a hint of movement. They turn their head in that direction, and squint their eyes to try and see what may be waiting to be harvested. (text-colour:#17a58b)[Psychopomp] feels something on the ground, and then feels something bump into their leg. They look down, and see a few clammish looking creatures scuttle and skitter around their ankles. They move their foot, and the clam-like bivalvish moll-esques flutter away into the deeper parts of the water. Against their leg, they feel a decently sized fish brush up against them. They stow their hand, and get ready to try and [[nab]] this one.

(text-colour:#17a58b)[Psychopomp] lifts their hand up above the fish, out of its sight, before swiftly tapping the sea stack they huddle so close to. A small spout of sand jumps up and kicks the fish upward. If it wasn't for the water, you could swear the fish was screaming. It flies upward and out of the water, as (text-colour:#17a58b)[Psychopomp] shimmies up the stony pillar out of the water. They catch the fish in their hand, holding it up as if it were a prize. ...Now that they think about it, they're stuck halfway up a stone pillar, holding it with one hand and a non-descript fish in the other. How are they gonna get back to shore? That's something for (text-colour:#17a58b)[Psychopomp] to [[figure out]].

(text-colour:#17a58b)[Wait, I have to figure this out?] Yup. (text-colour:#17a58b)[Uhh, okay. It shouldn't be too hard.] (text-colour:#17a58b)[I am going to... lets see. I'm gonna...] (text-colour:#17a58b)[Huh.] (text-colour:#17a58b)[//snaps fingers// Figured it out.] (text-colour:#17a58b)[Okay... Click this one right [[here]], and then I'll be back on shore.]

(text-colour:#17a58b)[Psychopomp] palm strikes the sea stack, sending a shockwave down to their feet that thrusts out a stone platform beneath them. They take the momentum from the platform shooting out and jump off at its peak, vaulting clean over the ocean, and barely landing on the shore. They stumble, and roll for a good few feet until they reach a stopping point with a mouthful of sand. Once de-sanded, they re-equip their outfit, and find a safe and convenient way to stow their catch. They look at the beach, and wonder if they could have gathered anything else on their expedition. (text-colour:#17a58b)[...Maybe another time. I think now it's time to [[head back]].]

It takes some time, but (text-colour:#17a58b)[Psychopomp] finally makes it back to their cave, not far away from King's Retreat. They sigh, before snapping a handful of branches of a nearby tree, before clashing rocks together and starting a small fire. They prop up a rock above the fire, and after a while, they... //Hold on, you there, behind the screen. Turn around for a second. Okay. You can turn around now.// ...they manage to successfully sear the fish to reasonable perfection, seasoned with all the salt they could find lying around. And not much else. They put out the fire, and scatter the ashes in the surrounding area. They put away the now cooked fish, and look off into the distance, towards the Retreat. Hopefully everyone is still there. (text-colour:#17a58b)[Psychopomp] lays down against the cave wall, putting their arms up behind their head, and they begin to doze off. They slowly sink into the walls and floors of the cave, until they are completely submerged. [[The end.]]

They stick the end of the rod into the sand, and reinforce it with some stone to make sure it stays put. They sit and watch at the coast, waiting for a bite to make the waiting less excruciating. They tap their feet, pat their knees, clap their hands, anything to pass the time. [[They wait.]]

They huff. After a few minutes, they try to stir up some action. (text-colour:#17a58b)[Psychopomp] hops up, and slams their palm into the sand. They rip out a crystal covered rock, swing their arm around a few times, and chuck it as far out into the sea as they can. The rock soars, coasting through the air. It flies and flies, until it makes its home way far out into the sea. (text-colour:#17a58b)[Psychopomp] sits back down. [[And waits.]]

(text-colour:#17a58b)[Gah. This sucks. How do people do this? I wish I was at home. Well... Not //cave// home. A real home. Maybe once I get off of this rock I can go back. Not all the way back. Maybe... a push or two offa the crash site. I can't go that far back. [[I can't]].]

(text-colour:#17a58b)[I shouldn't think about ditching everyone. Most of the people here are my friends.] (text-colour:#c49a1c)[Crow.] (text-colour:#f88dcf)[Zanni.] (text-colour:#85a2ad)[Yao Shai.] (text-colour:#17a58b)[There's plenty of people here that I want to stay here for and help how I can. People here that want to go home too, probably. Leaving on my own'd be selfish. Plus, no doubt I'd crash a spaceship and get stranded again if I left on my own.] (text-colour:#17a58b)[I wonder how] (text-colour:magenta)[ARS] (text-colour:#17a58b)[is doing. He's probably gettin' into some sort of trouble.] (text-colour:#17a58b)[Wonder how] (text-color:#5DCBA8)[Tomiyo] (text-colour:#17a58b)[is doing too. Wish I had a way to send letters or somethin'... I got friends outside of here.] Psychopomp shrugs their shoulders and thinks about someone else. (text-colour:#17a58b)[Sometimes I wonder if you're still out there, //E//...] They clutch their vest, and sigh. They clear their throat. (text-colour:#17a58b)[I should probably pay attention to the [[fishing rod]].]

(text-colour:#17a58b)[Psychopomp] takes a look back at the rod embedded in the sand right as the line goes taut. (text-colour:#17a58b)[Uh Oh!] They stomp over to the line, and rather than grab the pole itself, they grab onto the fishing line. And then they (text-style:"emboss","expand","shudder")[''YANK''] the fishing wire, pulling a fish-type creature out of the water, landing right in their hands. The fish flashes them a knowing, congratulatory smile, and (text-colour:#17a58b)[Psychopomp] gives a thumbs up. They comfortably stow away the fish for later use. They collapse the fishing pole, and toss it back into the crate, before saluting the crate and burying it back in the sand. (text-colour:#17a58b)[I guess its time I [[head back]].]

Thank you for reading ''The Spinner''! I hope you enjoyed the experience. This was my first time using Twine as an engine, and it wound up working swell! Any future endeavors of (text-colour:#17a58b)[Psychopomp] will occur in the heads and hearts of anyone who reads this story. But also probably somewhere else where I can get my grubby hands on a keyboard. ...by the way, you could also go back to [[Begin]] and try a different path. There's only two, but still. Maybe something else funny is written down somewhere? If you have read both paths, then thank you for everything and goodnight!

After a long day of grinding cave walls to gravel, a lumbering figure steps out of the mouth of the earth itself into the shining kingslight. Their eyes squint, adjusting to the reintroduction of light to their underutilized eyes. Good morning, (text-colour:#17a58b)[Psychopomp]. They scratch their face, and look to the pager that keeps them in contact with their associates - mostly friends, but sometimes they'll still have to talk to someone they'd rather trade blows with. It holds a handful of messages from a good few people who have everyone's best interest in mind... for the most part. They've been invited to a dinner, and soon. During a meal with a political figure, a topic was brought to light about changing allegiances. Not that it matters to (text-colour:#17a58b)[Psychopomp]. However, if this will be the last time they see some people that they consider friends, well... they'd best not screw it up this time. Let's bring some food. Everyone likes food. ...but where do they start? They scratch their head, looking around at the environment surrounding their makeshift home. They have plenty of options for foraging. They could search the [[trees]], the nearby [[water]], or they could go back [[underground]].

They tap their foot impatiently as the line remains loose. Their fingers drum against the sand, feeling the rhythm in their body. They put their hand to the ground, and begin drawing patterns in the ground. They trace circles in the sand, building a tiny canal with their finger as they wait, pushing up sand around it as it digs through the shore. And wait. [[And wait some more.]]

Eventually, after a concerning amount of time, (text-colour:#17a58b)[Psychopomp] //finally// recognizes a shift in the position of the sun, and repeats the phrase meant to reiterate the locations of each of the cardinal directions from the speaker's position. At least, they //try// to. They get out some noises that serve the same purpose ultimately. (text-colour:#17a58b)[Huh, hmm, buh nuh nuhh, aaand...] (text-colour:#17a58b)[...west.] They point their hand westward, and slowly turn 90 degrees counterclockwise, before breaking out into a sprint in their newfound [[northern direction]].

They rub their eyes as they run northward. (text-colour:#17a58b)[Shouldn't'a' looked at the sun that long. My eyes are **killin'** me!] After what feels like a long enough time to be noteworthy, (text-colour:#17a58b)[Psychopomp] skids to a halt in front of an unfamiliar field. At the center is a tall tree, branches outstretched and creating a dense pocket of shadow on the ground beneath it. In the sprawling fields, more trees dot the scenery. (text-colour:#17a58b)[Psychopomp] steps up to the [[closest one]].

It is dark under the canopy, but (text-colour:#17a58b)[Psychopomp] is no stranger to an uncomfortable lack of light. They step up to the tree, and weigh their options. There's gotta be something worthwhile in this tree, if its //anything// like the last ones. Should they [[shake]] the tree? What about a firm [[punch]]? They could also try [[throwing another rock]].

(text-colour:#17a58b)[Psychopomp] steps up to the tree, and looks up the trunk. It seems sturdy, like it could handle what's about to happen to it. They firmly clap their hands onto each side of the trunk, and dig their heels into the ground, before (text-style:"sway")[rocking back and forth]. (text-style:"sway")[The deafening crack and sway of wood fills the air, branches swinging and leaves flying about as the tree itself moves side to side]. As if on cue, plenty of obscured objects start to fall out of the tree, pelting (text-colour:#17a58b)[Psychopomp] as they aim for the ground. They duck and roll, but it feels like whatever is coming down is aiming right for them. They weave and step, but eventually trip. They look up and notice a bunch of small-ish somethings dropping down on top of them. (text-colour:#17a58b)[Uh oh!] [[It goes dark]].

A few paces backwards, and a good roll of the shoulder. (text-colour:#17a58b)[Psychopomp] readies themselves, and they charge forward with a solid fist reeled back, ready to strike. A few careful strides, and they snap their arm around into the bark of the tree. It shakes, and (text-colour:#17a58b)[Psychopomp] can feel the roots rattle around underneath the tree. It sways and shifts, falling leaves fill the air around them, underneath the canopy. It's pleasant. And then a fruit //**SMACKS**// on their head. And another. Over and over, fruits bonking and bouncing off their head, one lodges itself on their horn. They manage to swat away a few of them, but they keep getting pelted in the face. (text-colour:#17a58b)[Psychopomp] winces as they get beaned in the nose by what looks like a wooly peach. They catch the one that hits their nose, and take a [[bite]].

(text-colour:#17a58b)[Psychopomp] looks up at the tree. The branches seem a fair bit thinner than the last one they chucked stones at. Would it still be a good idea to try and break the branches off? (text-colour:#17a58b)[I mean, probably not, but am I really gonna pass up an opportunity to break stuff?] They laugh to themselves, before stomping on the ground and kicking up another jagged, crystalline stone. They catch it, and in the blink of an eye they whip their arm around and pierce through several branches, and the rock goes soaring off into the great... somewhere else. The branches drop down onto them, fruit-first. They careen down, knocking against the ground as (text-colour:#17a58b)[Psychopomp] tries to duck out of the way. However, some of the branches do still manage to whip the rocky fighter before they can step to safety. (text-colour:#17a58b)[(text-style:"rumble")[Ow! Hey!]] As quickly as they came down, they stop. Or, rather, run out. Can't knock 'em all out of the sky, I suppose. (text-colour:#17a58b)[Psychopomp] steps forward to pluck a fruit off of a fallen branch, preferably not pierced by a branch. Don't wanna be spoiled about whats inside, you know. Time for a [[bite]].

(text-colour:#17a58b)[Psychopomp] sits up once they can tell the barrage of mystery is over, throwing a mushy mystery substance around as they stand up. They scoop some of it up, and try and focus onto what it is. It looks like... mushed peaches? They sigh. Only one way to know [[for sure]].

Timidly, they bring the squashed lump to their tongue, and taste some of it. At first, its slightly bitter. Not bad. However, a moment later, the scent fills the air and the taste sweetens. It really is peaches! Just... squashed. And completely covering them. No point in bringing these ones back. They pull themselves out of the pile, wringing out their clothes of the peachy residue, before squaring up with the trunk once more. Do they [[punch]] it? Or is [[throwing another rock]] a better option?

(text-colour:#17a58b)[Psychopomp] looks at the fruit in their hand. It rotates with their rocky fist, looking perfectly round. They feel the soft flesh of the fruit with their thumb, pushing into the fruit. Juice seeps out, onto their finger. They lift it to their mouth, and sink in their teeth. Their sharp fangs pierce the skin and more juice flows out, filling their mouth with the sweet flavor. They chew, kneading the pulp with their teeth, draining it of its flavor as they swallow. (text-colour:#17a58b)[That's good.] Another bite. Teeth shredding the outside and rending the innards of the poor fruit, tearing it apart as (text-colour:#17a58b)[Psychopomp] savors the taste. Fresh fruit is always a delight. Another bite tears more of the fruit from itself. A few more bites leave (text-colour:#17a58b)[Psychopomp] with nothing but sticky hands and a firm, wrinkled pit, now devoid of its sweet surroundings. The best way to respect the snack might just be to [[bury it]].

(text-colour:#17a58b)[Psychopomp] looks at the pit of the peach. They inspect it carefully, turning and twisting it in their fingers before dropping it. They catch with their ankles, keeping it bouncing from one to the other, hackey-ing the pit, and sackey-ing it to themselves. Eventually, they miss and trip themselves over, falling into the remnants of another fruit. Scanning the grass, they find the pit, and kick some dirt over the top of it before tamping the ground. (text-colour:#17a58b)[Someday, that'll grow to be a big ol' tree, just a... A couple of feet from another one.] They look at the tree, down at the buried pit, and then back and forth a few times. (text-colour:#17a58b)[Yeah, that'll make sense.] (text-colour:#17a58b)[I should probably [[head home]].]

(text-colour:#17a58b)[Psychopomp] collects a few good peaches, and stuffs them into their pockets. They wipe their hands on the ground, freeing most of the juice off of their hands. Kicking themselves up, they begin to scope the horizon for any recognizable monuments, or at least any familiar landmarks from their way to the tree. They roll down the hill, before hauling ass back the way they came, once they see what looks like a castle in the distance. Fortunately, (text-colour:#17a58b)[Psychopomp] made the right call and eventually made it back to the //King's Retreat//. Generally. Off to the side somewhere nearby, they find the recognizable hole in the ground they like to hang out in. (text-colour:#17a58b)[Psychopomp] lays down against the cave wall, putting their arms up behind their head, and they begin to doze off. They slowly sink into the walls and floors of the cave, until they are completely submerged. [[The end.]]