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<<fadein 2s>><span class="logo"> <img src="https://i.postimg.cc/fbFyyCn2/Logo-1.png"> </span><</fadein>> <<timed 4s t8n>><span class="game-start-timed"> Click anywhere to continue... </span><</timed>> <<cont>><<goto 'start-menu'>><</cont>>
<<fadein 1s>> <div id="start-title">Bride of Shadows</div> <div id="start-subtitle">by Mortish</div> <<nobr>><div id="start-menu"> <<nobr>><<if Save.browser.auto.isEnabled() and Save.browser.size > 0>><<button "Resume Game">><<run Save.browser.continue() .then(() => { /* Success. Update the Passage area. */ Engine.show(); })>><</button>><</if>><</nobr>> <<button "New Game" "MMF">><<set $chapter to "Introduction">><</button>> <<button "FAQ" "faq">><<set $chapter to "Frequently Asked Questions">><</button>> <<button "Load Game">><<run UI.saves();>><</button>> <<button "Settings">><<run UI.settings();>><</button>> <<button "Credits">> <<script>> Dialog.setup("credits","credits"); Dialog.wiki(Story.get("credits").processText()); Dialog.open(); <</script>> <</button>> </div><</nobr>> <</fadein>> <<notifySound "June 24th: Prelude Moonday III" "10s">>
//Bride of Shadows is powered by patrons.// <h2>Duskweaver Members</h2> Bassesses & Suwariish <h2>Darksinger Members</h2> Agent, AGrimPotato, Alerose, Alex, Alexis, Anna, Anonymussss, Anria, ApplePi, Appleschnapps, Aria, Aryumi, Ash, ayesleigh, Bea11888, BLACK, BlueTechnicality, Briar, brittlebyrd, Brittney, Bug, capsun, CatHanAnd, Charlotte, chellyense, ChibiYasha, Cicily, d, Dakota, Dana, Dawn, DenseTM, Diamond, Doodle, Drynne, Eiko, El, Elaine, Elle, Emily, Erin, Evelyn, F, FelisLux, Frog, Funmilayo, Georgie, Hog-Monster, hotterlexluthor, Ida, InquisiJammies, Ins, Io, Izzy, Jaimie, Jalah, Jamie, Jellybelly50, Jen, Jessica, jiao, Jo, Just, Kaylee, Kaylin, Kerotao, KevinM, kira, krissy, Kyra-Leigh, LawsOfLemonPepper, Leithy, LissyS101, LittleBugg, Lore, Lynossa, Mal, Marie, Mattie, Megan, Mel, Melody, Michelle, Mikeala, Minnie, Mone, Naniwa, Navang, NEspey, NightmaresKiller, nonu, of_Fae, out, Pac, Patricia, peachii, percalebedsheets, Ran, Reagan, Rennzler, Riley, RinkutsuKi, Ro, Roxann, rubyribbon, Rue, Sadie, Sallyanna, Sara, Sarah, Scorpiuscircus, Scythe, Seraphie, shay, Sian, Sierra, Sonia, Sophia, Space, sqeefmeef, Star, sunday, Sylphide, tan, TastyPieceOfPastry, Tea, Teebs, UnkownOblivion, Wendy, Yodafish, Ytnomi, Zakki, Zyan <h2>Content</h2> <li>Icons - <a href="https://fontawesome.com/" target="_blank"> Font Awesome Icons</a></li> <li>Fonts - <a href="https://fonts.google.com/" target="_blank">Google Fonts</a>, <a href="https://opendyslexic.org/" target="_blank">Open Dyslexic</a></li> <li>Custom Macros - <a href="https://github.com/ChapelR/custom-macros-for-sugarcube-2" target="_blank">ChapelR Custom Macros Collection</a></li> <li>Template - <a href="https://losergames.tumblr.com/" target="_blank">Becky</a></li> <li>Story - Mortish</li> <li>Graphic Design - Mr. Mortish</li> <li>Sound Effects - Creative Commons</li> <h2>Copywrite</h2> © 2025 Vivi "Mortish" Mendoza. All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Unauthorized reproduction or distribution is prohibited.
<h1>Heading 1</h1> <h2>Heading 2</h2> <h3>Heading 3</h3> <<button "Button">><</button>> <<textbox "$textbox" $textbox>> <<listbox "$listbox">> <<option "Listbox 1">> <<option "Listbox 2">> <<option "Listbox 3">> <</listbox>> <<cycle "$cycle">> <<option "Cycling 1">> <<option "Cycling 2">> <<option "Cycling 3">> <</cycle>> <li>List Item</li> <li>List Item</li> <li>List Item</li>
<<if settings.notifs>><<if tags().includes('autosave')>><<notify 3.5s>>Saving...<</notify>><</if>><</if>> /* autosaving -- the autosave notif needs to be 'present' at all times so is stored in the passageheader, only popping up when you add the [autosave] tag onto one of your passages. this is mainly for aesthetics as the autosave function is currently set up to save on EVERY passage. this can be changed in the javascript settings, e.g. you could configure it to only autosave on passages with the [autosave] tag notify is also a ChapelR macro, not a default sugarcube macro, so make sure to familiarise yourself with the documentation!*/ <script> var myDiv = document.getElementById('passages'); myDiv.scrollTop = 0; </script> /* scroll top -- this script makes the page scroll back to the top every time you move on to the next passage -- do not delete it! */
<<nobr>> <div class="profile-container"> <div class="profile-header"> <h2>$name</h2> <div class="route-indicator"> <<if $poly>>Classic Route <<elseif $dm>>Dark Maiden Route <<elseif $fm>>Fated Mates Route <<else>>Route Not Selected <</if>> </div> <div class="chapter-progress"> Chapter: $chapter </div> </div> <div class="physical-details"> <h3>Physical Description</h3> <div class="physical-grid"> <div class="physical-item"> <span class="detail-label">Skin:</span> <<if $skinToneText>>$skinToneText <<else>>Not yet determined <</if>> </div> <div class="physical-item"> <span class="detail-label">Height:</span> <<if $heightText>>$heightText <<else>>Not yet determined <</if>> </div> <div class="physical-item"> <span class="detail-label">Hair:</span> <<if $hairColorText && $hairTypeText>>$hairColorText, $hairTypeText <<elseif $hairColorText>>$hairColorText <<else>>Not yet determined <</if>> </div> <div class="physical-item"> <span class="detail-label">Eyes:</span> <<if $eyeColorText>>$eyeColorText <<else>>Not yet determined <</if>> </div> <div class="physical-item"> <span class="detail-label">Build:</span> <<if $bodyTypeText>>$bodyTypeText <<else>>Not yet determined <</if>> </div> </div> </div> <div class="traits-section"> <h3>Character Traits</h3> <!-- Measured/Daring --> <div class="trait-meter-container"> <div class="trait-header-dual"> <div class="trait-pair"> <span class="trait-low">Daring: <<if $measured>><<= 100 - $measured>><<else>>50<</if>>%</span> <span class="trait-high">Measured: <<if $measured>>$measured<<else>>50<</if>>%</span> </div> </div> <div class="trait-description"> <<= getTraitDescription("measured", $measured || 50)>> </div> </div> <!-- Devout/Defiant --> <div class="trait-meter-container"> <div class="trait-header-dual"> <div class="trait-pair"> <span class="trait-low">Defiant: <<if $devout>><<= 100 - $devout>><<else>>50<</if>>%</span> <span class="trait-high">Devout: <<if $devout>>$devout<<else>>50<</if>>%</span> </div> </div> <div class="trait-description"> <<= getTraitDescription("devout", $devout || 50)>> </div> </div> <!-- Idealistic/Cynical --> <div class="trait-meter-container"> <div class="trait-header-dual"> <div class="trait-pair"> <span class="trait-low">Cynical: <<if $idealistic>><<= 100 - $idealistic>><<else>>50<</if>>%</span> <span class="trait-high">Idealistic: <<if $idealistic>>$idealistic<<else>>50<</if>>%</span> </div> </div> <div class="trait-description"> <<= getTraitDescription("idealistic", $idealistic || 50)>> </div> </div> <!-- Erudite/Intuitive --> <div class="trait-meter-container"> <div class="trait-header-dual"> <div class="trait-pair"> <span class="trait-low">Intuitive: <<if $erudite>><<= 100 - $erudite>><<else>>50<</if>>%</span> <span class="trait-high">Erudite: <<if $erudite>>$erudite<<else>>50<</if>>%</span> </div> </div> <div class="trait-description"> <<= getTraitDescription("erudite", $erudite || 50)>> </div> </div> <!-- Tender/Stoic --> <div class="trait-meter-container"> <div class="trait-header-dual"> <div class="trait-pair"> <span class="trait-low">Stoic: <<if $tender>><<= 100 - $tender>><<else>>50<</if>>%</span> <span class="trait-high">Tender: <<if $tender>>$tender<<else>>50<</if>>%</span> </div> </div> <div class="trait-description"> <<= getTraitDescription("tender", $tender || 50)>> </div> </div> <!-- Demure/Provocative --> <div class="trait-meter-container"> <div class="trait-header-dual"> <div class="trait-pair"> <span class="trait-low">Provocative: <<if $demure>><<= 100 - $demure>><<else>>50<</if>>%</span> <span class="trait-high">Demure: <<if $demure>>$demure<<else>>50<</if>>%</span> </div> </div> <div class="trait-description"> <<= getTraitDescription("demure", $demure || 50)>> </div> </div> </div> <<if $dynamicActive == 1>> <div class="relationships-section"> <h3>Relationship Dynamics</h3> <<if $poly>> <!-- Classic Route Relationships --> <div class="relationship-meter-container"> <div class="relationship-header-dual"> <div class="relationship-name-section"> <span class="relationship-name">Valdricht</span> </div> <div class="relationship-pair"> <span class="relationship-low">Devotee: <<= 100 - $c_val_dynamic>>%</span> <span class="relationship-high">Anointed: $c_val_dynamic%</span> </div> </div> <div class="relationship-description"> <<if $c_val_dynamic >= 70>>Your dynamic blazes with elegant defiance—he treasures your steel as much as your surrender. <<elseif $c_val_dynamic >= 30>>Your connection dances between worship and rebellion, keeping him endlessly captivated. <<else>>Your dynamic flows with exquisite devotion—every yielding gesture inflames his protective hunger. <</if>> </div> </div> <div class="relationship-meter-container"> <div class="relationship-header-dual"> <div class="relationship-name-section"> <span class="relationship-name">Serax</span> </div> <div class="relationship-pair"> <span class="relationship-low">Kindling: <<= 100 - $c_ser_dynamic>>%</span> <span class="relationship-high">Combustive: $c_ser_dynamic%</span> </div> </div> <div class="relationship-description"> <<if $c_ser_dynamic >= 70>>Your dynamic crackles with delicious tension—every clash of wills feeds the fire between you. <<elseif $c_ser_dynamic >= 30>>Your connection sparks unpredictably, neither of you quite able to resist the pull. <<else>>Your dynamic glows with tender heat—your softness draws out his most protective instincts. <</if>> </div> </div> <div class="relationship-meter-container"> <div class="relationship-header-dual"> <div class="relationship-name-section"> <span class="relationship-name">Kerach</span> </div> <div class="relationship-pair"> <span class="relationship-low">Pack Mate: <<= 100 - $c_ker_dynamic>>%</span> <span class="relationship-high">Entwined Hearts: $c_ker_dynamic%</span> </div> </div> <div class="relationship-description"> <<if $c_ker_dynamic >= 70>>Your hearts become entwined with passionate connection. A bold romance ignites between you. <<elseif $c_ker_dynamic >= 30>>Your bond wavers between loyal friendship and forbidden desire, still finding its path. <<else>>Your companionship grows through loyalty and trust. You're steadfast allies bound by friendship. <</if>> </div> </div> <<elseif $dm>> <!-- Dark Maiden Route Relationships --> <div class="relationship-meter-container"> <div class="relationship-header-dual"> <div class="relationship-name-section"> <span class="relationship-name">Valdricht</span> </div> <div class="relationship-pair"> <span class="relationship-low">Bound Mate: <<= 100 - $dm_val_dynamic>>%</span> <span class="relationship-high">Veiled Mate: $dm_val_dynamic%</span> </div> </div> <div class="relationship-description"> <<if $dm_val_dynamic >= 70>>Your dynamic thrums with exquisite resistance. Your defiance only sharpens his desire to claim you. <<elseif $dm_val_dynamic >= 30>>You teeter on the knife's edge between rebellion and surrender, driving him to distraction. <<else>>Your dynamic pulses with sacred surrender. You find profound peace in his absolute possession. <</if>> </div> </div> <div class="relationship-meter-container"> <div class="relationship-header-dual"> <div class="relationship-name-section"> <span class="relationship-name">Serax</span> </div> <div class="relationship-pair"> <span class="relationship-low">Tamed Heart: <<= 100 - $dm_ser_dynamic>>%</span> <span class="relationship-high">Wild Beauty: $dm_ser_dynamic%</span> </div> </div> <div class="relationship-description"> <<if $dm_ser_dynamic >= 70>>Your dynamic burns with intoxicating struggle. Every act of defiance feeds his hunter's soul. <<elseif $dm_ser_dynamic >= 30>>Your spirit flickers between wild and tame, keeping him perpetually on the hunt. <<else>>Your dynamic blooms with willing captivity. Your gentle submission awakens his fiercer protections. <</if>> </div> </div> <<elseif $fm>> <!-- Fated Mates Route - Valdricht Only --> <div class="relationship-meter-container"> <div class="relationship-header-dual"> <div class="relationship-name-section"> <span class="relationship-name">Valdricht</span> </div> <div class="relationship-pair"> <span class="relationship-low">Drowning Maiden: <<= 100 - $fm_val_dynamic>>%</span> <span class="relationship-high">Anchored Maiden: $fm_val_dynamic%</span> </div> </div> <div class="relationship-description"> <<if $fm_val_dynamic >= 70>>Your dynamic strains with magnificent resistance. Fighting fate itself only makes the bond burn brighter. <<elseif $fm_val_dynamic >= 30>>You struggle beautifully against the inevitable, each protest stoking his possessive fire. <<else>>Your dynamic surrenders to divine inevitability. You drown in a love beyond mortal comprehension. <</if>> </div> </div> <div class="relationship-note"> <em>The mate bond binds you to Valdricht alone.</em> </div> <</if>> </div> <</if>> <div class="story-progress"> <h3>Journey Milestones</h3> <!-- Prelude Section - Always visible --> <div class="milestone-section"> <h4 class="milestone-section-title">Prelude</h4> <div class="milestone-list"> <<if $p_awakening>> <div class="milestone-item achieved"> <div class="milestone-title">✓ First Awakening</div> <div class="milestone-description">You awaken into a world of shadow and hunger, nameless and lost.</div> </div> <</if>> <<if $p_firstFeed>> <div class="milestone-item achieved"> <div class="milestone-title">✓ First Blood</div> <div class="milestone-description">The crimson nectar touched your lips, awakening an insatiable thirst that would define your new existence.</div> </div> <</if>> <<if $p_kerach>> <div class="milestone-item achieved"> <div class="milestone-title">✓ Kerach Bond</div> <div class="milestone-description">You feel a sense of kinship with a tanulf. How strange...</div> </div> <</if>> <<if $p_firstIntimacy>> <div class="milestone-item achieved"> <div class="milestone-title">✓ First Intimacy</div> <div class="milestone-description">Flesh met flesh in the darkness, binding you to your saviors through pleasure and surrender.</div> </div> <</if>> <<if $p_firstIntimacy_fm>> <div class="milestone-item achieved"> <div class="milestone-title">✓ First Intimacy</div> <div class="milestone-description">Flesh met flesh in the darkness, binding you to your savior through pleasure and surrender.</div> </div> <</if>> <<if $p_conception>> <div class="milestone-item achieved"> <div class="milestone-title">✓ Conception</div> <div class="milestone-description">Life took root within you, a sacred promise that would reshape the very fabric of your destiny.</div> </div> <</if>> <<if $p_preludeComplete>> <div class="milestone-item achieved"> <div class="milestone-title">✓ Prelude Complete</div> <div class="milestone-description">Your transformation from mortal priestess to something altogether more dangerous is now complete.</div> </div> <</if>> </div> </div> </div> <</nobr>>
<div id="container"> <div id="header"></div> <div id="console"> <div id="title-bar" data-passage="title-bar"></div> <div id="nav" class="fa-icons" data-passage="nav"></div> <div id="passages"></div> </div> <div id="footer"></div></div> </div>
<<set $chapter = "">> <<set $name = "Unknown">> <<set $textbox = "textbox">> <<set $listbox = "listbox">> <<set $cycle = "cycle">> <<set $playerName = "Unknown">> /* Game Configs */ <<set $route = "Bride of Shadows">> <<set $poly to 0>> <<set $fm to 0>> <<set $mfm to 0>> <<set $mmf to 0>> <<set $dm to 0>> <<set $dynamicActive to 0>> /* Body Traits */ <<set $skinToneText to "">> <<set $skinTone to 0>> <<set $swSkin to 0>> <<set $heightText to "">> <<set $hairColorText to "">> <<set $hairTypeText to "">> <<set $hairType to 0>> <<set $eyeColorText to "">> <<set $breastSizeText to "">> <<set $breastSize to 0>> <<set $bodyTypeText to "">> <<set $height to "unknown">> <<set $hairColor to "unknown">> <<set $eyeColor to "unknown">> <<set $bodyType to "unknown">> <<set $nipples to "unknown">> <<set $pubicHair to "unknown">> /* Dynamics */ <<set $c_val_dynamic = 50>> /* Classic route – Valdricht dynamic */ <<set $c_ser_dynamic = 50>> /* Classic route – Serax dynamic */ <<set $c_ker_dynamic = 50>> <<set $dm_ser_dynamic = 50>> <<set $dm_val_dynamic = 50>> <<set $fm_val_dynamic = 50>> <<set $val_pref to 0>> <<set $ser_pref to 0>> <<set $val_bkn to 0>> <<set $ser_bkn to 0>> /* Backstory */ <<set $p_naditha to 0>> <<set $p_suffer to 0>> <<set $p_childbed to 0>> <<set $p_babyburn to 0>> <<set $p_miracle to 0>> /* Classic Prelude */ <<set $p_c_glare to 0>> <<set $oracle to 0>> <<set $mythweaver to 1>> /* Fated Mates Prelude */ <<set $p_fm_bodycheck to 0>> <<set $p_fm_wet to 0>> <<set $fm_p2_var to 0>> <<set $c_p2_var to 0>> <<set $p_fm_favor to 0>> /* p2 tender opt */ <<set $p_fm_reason to 0>> /* p2 cynic opt */ /* Dark Maiden Prelude */ <<set $p_dm_glare to 0>> <<set $sicklyacolyte to "Selia">> <<set $p_dm_surrender to 0>> <<set $p_dm_resist to 0>> /* Prelude Milestones */ <<set $p_awakening to 0>> <<set $p_firstFeed to 0>> <<set $p_firstIntimacy to 0>> <<set $p_firstIntimacy_fm to 0>> <<set $p_conception to 0>> <<set $p_preludeComplete to 0>> <<set $p_kerach to 0>> /* Meters */ <<set $measured = 50>> <<set $devout = 50>> <<set $idealistic = 50>> <<set $erudite = 50>> <<set $tender = 50>> <<set $demure = 50>> <<newmeter 'Measured' $measured / 100>> <<colors '#ffffff' '#444444' '#222222'>> <<sizing '100%' '1.2em'>> <</newmeter>> <<newmeter 'Devout' $devout / 100>> <<colors '#ffffff' '#444444' '#222222'>> <<sizing '100%' '1.2em'>> <</newmeter>> <<newmeter 'Idealistic' $idealistic / 100>> <<colors '#ffffff' '#444444' '#222222'>> <<sizing '100%' '1.2em'>> <</newmeter>> <<newmeter 'Erudite' $erudite / 100>> <<colors '#ffffff' '#444444' '#222222'>> <<sizing '100%' '1.2em'>> <</newmeter>> <<newmeter 'Tender' $tender / 100>> <<colors '#ffffff' '#444444' '#222222'>> <<sizing '100%' '1.2em'>> <</newmeter>> <<newmeter 'Demure' $demure / 100>> <<colors '#ffffff' '#444444' '#222222'>> <<sizing '100%' '1.2em'>> <</newmeter>> /* Classic Dynamics */ <<newmeter 'Valdricht' $c_val_dynamic / 100>> <<colors '#4491bc' '#bc8f8f' '#333'>> <<sizing '100%' '1.2em'>> <</newmeter>> <<newmeter 'Serax' $c_ser_dynamic / 100>> <<colors '#f6aa60' '#c0392b' '#333'>> <<sizing '100%' '1.2em'>> <</newmeter>> /* Classic Kerach Dynamic */ <<newmeter 'Kerach' $c_ker_dynamic / 100>> <<colors '#8B4513' '#D2B48C' '#333'>> <<sizing '100%' '1.2em'>> <</newmeter>> /* Dark Maiden Dynamics */ <<newmeter 'Valdricht (Dark Maiden)' $dm_val_dynamic / 100>> <<colors '#4491bc' '#bc8f8f' '#333'>> <<sizing '100%' '1.2em'>> <</newmeter>> <<newmeter 'Serax (Dark Maiden)' $dm_ser_dynamic / 100>> <<colors '#f6aa60' '#c0392b' '#333'>> <<sizing '100%' '1.2em'>> <</newmeter>> /* Fated Mates Dynamics */ <<newmeter 'Valdricht (Fated)' $fm_val_dynamic / 100>> <<colors '#4491bc' '#bc8f8f' '#333'>> <<sizing '100%' '1.2em'>> <</newmeter>> /* sounds */ <<cacheaudio "notification" "https://audio.jukehost.co.uk/E3LvQMvHhrdCXYl4OUHYRRCNF0ZUBTJy.mp3">> <<cacheaudio "chasing" "https://audio.jukehost.co.uk/wmzx7w9PgT4VjIdV0KTQmYyqEryIFMFj.mp3">> <<cacheaudio "closebook" "https://audio.jukehost.co.uk/mY7zweapt9NhkJDUrra6pgrWOBNJrxsg.wav">> <<cacheaudio "openbook" "https://audio.jukehost.co.uk/IJczpVWOQ5KBPgIYf0rQuj8IEUHJV68w.wav">> /* Profile */ <<script>> window.getTraitDescription = function(trait, value) { const descriptions = { measured: { high: "You choose your battles with careful deliberation, finding strength in patience and wisdom in restraint.", modHigh: "You prefer to think before you act, though sometimes impulse stirs beneath your composed surface.", modLow: "You feel the pull of bold action more often now, though you still hesitate at the precipice.", low: "Reckless courage burns in your chest. You leap before you look, consequences be damned." }, devout: { high: "Your faith remains your anchor, even as the divine grows distant and your world transforms beyond recognition.", modHigh: "You still reach toward the sacred, though doubt creeps in like shadows at dawn.", modLow: "Questions bloom where once certainty lived. You find yourself challenging what you were taught to accept.", low: "The old gods feel like lies now; you make your own meaning in a world full of beautiful monsters." }, idealistic: { high: "You see light in the darkest hearts and believe redemption waits even for creatures like yourself.", modHigh: "You hold fast to hope and goodness, even when faced with evidence of the world's darker nature.", modLow: "You feel the pull of doubt more than trust, yet idealism still flickers beneath your wariness.", low: "You know better than to hope aloud; every kindness carries a price you're not sure you want to pay." }, erudite: { high: "You hunger for knowledge like blood, believing understanding might master what instinct cannot.", modHigh: "Books and learning call to you, though sometimes your heart whispers louder than your mind.", modLow: "You trust the currents you feel more than the facts you've read, following sensation over study.", low: "Your body knows truths your mind cannot name. You surrender to instinct like prayer." }, tender: { high: "Your heart beats close to the surface, bruising easily but healing others with its openness.", modHigh: "Emotion moves through you like the seas. Powerful, unpredictable, impossible to fully contain.", modLow: "You've learned to keep your grief sealed and your longings quiet, showing only what serves you.", low: "Stone-faced and steel-spined, you swallow pain like communion wine and let no one see you break." }, demure: { high: "Desire lives hidden beneath laced fingers and lowered eyes. You struggle to give yourself permission to want.", modHigh: "Modesty wars with hunger in your chest; you show glimpses of fire before retreating to shadows.", modLow: "You're learning to let your gaze linger, to invite with touch and dare with silence.", low: "Shame has fled your body. You reach for what you want with unapologetic hands." } }; if (value >= 80) return descriptions[trait].high; if (value >= 51) return descriptions[trait].modHigh; if (value >= 21) return descriptions[trait].modLow; return descriptions[trait].low; }; window.getTraitLabel = function(trait, value) { const labels = { measured: { high: "Measured", low: "Daring" }, devout: { high: "Devout", low: "Defiant" }, idealistic: { high: "Idealistic", low: "Cynical" }, erudite: { high: "Erudite", low: "Intuitive" }, tender: { high: "Tender", low: "Stoic" }, demure: { high: "Demure", low: "Provocative" } }; return value >= 50 ? labels[trait].high : labels[trait].low; }; <</script>>
<div id="title-container"> <span class="title-item">$route</span> <span class="chapter-item">$chapter</span> </div>
<<link '<i class="fa-solid fa-bookmark" alt="saves"></i>'>><<run UI.saves();>><</link>> <<link '<i class="fa-solid fa-gear" alt="settings"></i>'>><<run UI.settings();>><</link>> <<link '<i class="fa-solid fa-user" alt="profile"></i>'>> <<script>> Dialog.setup("profile","profile"); Dialog.wiki(Story.get("profile").processText()); Dialog.open(); <</script>> <</link>> <<link '<i class="fa-solid fa-arrow-rotate-left" alt="return"></i>'>><<run Engine.backward();>><</link>> <<link '<i class="fa-solid fa-door-open" alt="restart"></i>'>><<run UI.restart();>><</link>>
<<widget "skinDesc">>\ <<switch $skinTone>>\ <<case 1>>\ <<set _skinWords to ["pale", "ivory", "moonlit", "milky", "porcelain", "alabaster"]>>\ <<case 2>>\ <<set _skinWords to ["freckled", "fair", "rosy", "peachy", "cream-colored", "sun-kissed"]>>\ <<case 3>>\ <<set _skinWords to ["olive", "golden", "bronze", "warm", "honey-toned"]>>\ <<case 4>>\ <<set _skinWords to ["sienna", "amber", "caramel", "russet", "cinnamon", "earth-toned"]>>\ <<case 5>>\ <<set _skinWords to ["ebony", "dark", "rich", "mahogany", "obsidian", "deep brown"]>>\ <<case 6>>\ <<set _skinWords to ["lavender", "violet", "purple-hued", "amethyst", "lilac"]>>\ <<case 7>>\ <<set _skinWords to ["blue", "azure", "cerulean"]>>\ <<case 8>>\ <<set _skinWords to ["rose", "pink", "coral", "blush-colored", "rosy"]>>\ <<case 9>>\ <<set _skinWords to ["indigo", "midnight", "navy", "deep blue", "twilight"]>>\ <<default>>\ <<set _skinWords to ["soft"]>>\ <</switch>>\ <<print _skinWords.random()>>\ <</widget>> <<widget "hairDesc">>\ <<switch $hairType>>\ <<case 1>>\ <<set _hairWords to ["curly", "coiled", "bouncy"]>>\ <<case 2>>\ <<set _hairWords to ["wavy", "undulating", "flowing", "rippling"]>>\ <<case 3>>\ <<set _hairWords to ["straight", "sleek", "smooth", "silky"]>>\ <<default>>\ <<set _hairWords to ["glossy"]>>\ <</switch>>\ <<print _hairWords.random()>>\ <</widget>> <<widget "breastDesc">>\ <<switch $breastSize>>\ <<case 1>>\ <<set _breastWords to ["small", "petite", "delicate", "perky", "taut"]>>\ <<case 2>>\ <<set _breastWords to ["modest", "average", "proportioned", "medium", "well-formed"]>>\ <<case 3>>\ <<set _breastWords to ["generous", "full", "ample", "voluptuous", "curvaceous"]>>\ <<default>>\ <<set _breastWords to ["soft"]>>\ <</switch>>\ <<print _breastWords.random()>>\ <</widget>> <<widget "bodyDesc">>\ <<switch $bodyType>>\ <<case 1>>\ <<set _bodyWords to ["sylphen", "willowy", "slender", "ethereal", "graceful", "delicate"]>>\ <<case 2>>\ <<set _bodyWords to ["lithe", "athletic", "toned", "lean", "supple", "agile"]>>\ <<case 3>>\ <<set _bodyWords to ["curvy", "shapely", "voluptuous", "hourglass", "feminine"]>>\ <<case 4>>\ <<set _bodyWords to ["soft", "curvy", "abundant", "lush", "luxurious"]>>\ <<default>>\ <<set _bodyWords to ["lovely"]>>\ <</switch>>\ <<print _bodyWords.random()>>\ <</widget>> <<widget "hairColorDesc">>\ <<switch $hairColor>>\ <<case 1>>\ <<set _hairColorWords to ["silver", "platinum", "moonlit", "sterling", "frost-white", "alabaster"]>>\ <<case 2>>\ <<set _hairColorWords to ["golden", "blonde", "honey", "wheat", "sun-kissed", "aureate"]>>\ <<case 3>>\ <<set _hairColorWords to ["obsidian", "raven", "jet-black", "ebony", "midnight", "coal-dark"]>>\ <<case 4>>\ <<set _hairColorWords to ["copper", "auburn", "russet", "flame-red", "burnished", "crimson"]>>\ <<case 5>>\ <<set _hairColorWords to ["sable", "chestnut", "mahogany", "brunette", "coffee-brown", "umber"]>>\ <<case 6>>\ <<set _hairColorWords to ["wisteria", "violet", "lavender", "purple", "amethyst", "lilac"]>>\ <<case 7>>\ <<set _hairColorWords to ["peony", "rose-pink", "coral", "blush", "salmon", "dusty rose"]>>\ <<case 8>>\ <<set _hairColorWords to ["indigo", "navy", "deep blue", "sapphire", "midnight blue", "cerulean"]>>\ <<default>>\ <<set _hairColorWords to ["rich"]>>\ <</switch>>\ <<print _hairColorWords.random()>>\ <</widget>> <<widget "nippleDesc">>\ <<if $nipples is 1>>\ <<print either("pink", "rosy", "light")>>\ <<elseif $nipples is 2>>\ <<print either("dark", "dusky")>>\ <</if>>\ <</widget>> <<widget "notifySound">> <<audio "notification" play>> <<notify 4s>>$args[0]<</notify>> <</widget>> /* Profile Stuff */
<<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[Historia Sacra Elodari|elodari_history]]</div> </div> <</nobr>> <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[Pantheon of Dawn|elodari_faith]]</div> </div> <</nobr>> <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[Blessed Meridian|summerisles_book]]</div> </div> <</nobr>> <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[The Wild North|nazralti_bood]]</div> </div> <</nobr>>
Bride of Shadows is an MMF erotic romance. You will have two male love interests who share a romantic and sexual relationship. Within the narrative, you will have the option to control how much M/M sexual content you want to read by expressing your preferences to your partner. If you'd prefer to omit M/M scenes, you can make that selection below. Your sex scenes will remain strictly MFM, but the romantic dynamics between characters will be unchanged. <span class="special-heading">Content Warning</span> <div style="font-size: 1.05em; line-height: 1.8em;"> <span class="glowing-star">✧</span><<toggletext "Abuse" "Abuse – The love interests will not physically strike the MC to enforce compliance. They may disregard her desires and be deceptive.">> <span class="glowing-star">✧</span><<toggletext "Death" "Death – Any character can die, though it will never be random. Death is generally the result of a series of deliberate or poor choices. Keep in mind that nothing is permanent with the save feature.">> <span class="glowing-star">✧</span><<toggletext "Derogatory Language" "Derogatory Language – Characters may sometimes use derogatory language when referring to the MC, though it will seldom be the love interests.">> <span class="glowing-star">✧</span><<toggletext "Dubious Consent" "Dubious Consent – The MC may feel pressured to engage in sexual activities before she is prepared, however her compliance will not be forced by threat of violence.">> <span class="glowing-star">✧</span><<toggletext "Objectification" "Objectification – The love interests may objectify the MC through language and behavior, though she will learn to correct them, if she chooses.">> <span class="glowing-star">✧</span><<toggletext "Pregnancy" "Pregnancy – Pregnancy is a core part of the story. Expect common pregnancy-related tropes and themes. Childbirth scenes will be skippable.">> <span class="glowing-star">✧</span><<toggletext "Sexism" "Sexism – Primarily misogyny. The story world reflects traditional gender norms, similar to medieval societies. Expect sexist language and behavior.">> <span class="glowing-star">✧</span><<toggletext "Violence" "Violence – Includes descriptions of physical violence against human or humanlike characters, ranging from punching to dismemberment. Players can engage in game hunting, though it's optional. The story includes descriptions of monster hunting and references to sexual violence. Nothing exceeds what is typical in mainstream dark fantasy novels.">> </div> <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[I want a polyamorous story with MMF intimacy.|STRUCTURE][$mmf to 1]]</div> <div class="choice-item">[[I want a polyamorous story with MFM intimacy.|STRUCTURE][$mfm to 1]]</div> </div> <</nobr>> <<set $route = "Classic">> <<set $poly to 1>>
Nazralt. The northernmost continent of Elovyr. An arctic wasteland of frost and darkness. The birthplace of Nightborn wretches and the hunting ground of abominable fiends. The only place worse than Sister Eshara's lecture hall. //Probably.// -Collection of notes from Vestal Talitha, <<toggletext "1192 A.A." "Year 1192 Ashurat Adonir">> <<nobr>><div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[Prelude – Maiden of Mourning|PRELUDE]]</div><</nobr>> <<set $chapter to "Prelude: Night I">> <<audio "chasing" fadeout>> <<audio "openbook" play>>
<<fadein 3s>>You dream of fire and wake to frost. So vivid is your nightmare that you don’t immediately panic as your eyes crack open to gaze up at the stormy sky. It isn’t rain that falls, but snow. Thick flakes, made sharp by the cutting wind, assault you. Within seconds, you’ve rolled onto your side to wheeze. The air in your lungs is so cold that it burns. Your hand goes to your throat, as if to assuage the pain of breathing. Tears form in the corners of your eyes, freezing before they can ever slip free. “Mother,” you hear yourself rasp. The word comes unbidden, little more than an incoherent moan and hindered by your frigid tongue. You sit up, a heavy, snow-caked pelt sliding down your shoulders. You’re quick to pull it back over your torso. The inside is supple and serves as a small haven of warmth against the bitter cold. You look around, seeking something familiar. The darkness of night is combated only by the muted moonlight filtering through thick clouds overhead. You’re in some sort of structure. Dilapidated wooden walls serve as a frame against the harshest of the winds. The ceiling that should be above you has collapsed, broken beams slumped on the far side of the room, their surfaces covered in frost and snow. To your left is the remnant of a stone chimney; to your right, a doorway. Through it, you see only snow. <<nobr>><div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[Call out for help.|n1_1_help]]</div> <div class="choice-item">[[Stay calm and observe your surroundings.|n1_1_observe]]</div> <</nobr>> <</fadein>> <<audio "closebook" play>> <<set $p_awakening to 1>> <<notifySound "Milestone: First Awakening" "4s">>
"H...elp," you attempt to call out. You can scarcely get your voice above a whisper. You try again, and this time you speak with more clarity, if not volume. "Please, is anyone out there? Mother?" There's that word again. //Mother.// It feels so natural, and yet when you try to call the image of her to your mind, there is only a void. With growing confusion, you attempt to call //anyone's// face to mind. //Nothing.// Your heart begins to pound. <<nobr>><div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[Try to remember who you are.|n1_2_who]]</div> <</nobr>> <<set $tender to Math.clamp($tender + 5, 0, 100)>> <<updatemeter 'Tender' $tender / 100>> <<notifySound "Tenderness has risen.">>
//Who am I?// Such a frightful question to ask. Your fear is only compounded when you realize you don't have an answer. //A name. I //must// have a name.// What it is, it eludes you. You find yourself holding out your hand and turning it over. Your skin is \ <<cycle "$skinTone" autoselect>>\ <<option "unblemished ivory" 1 "<<set $skinToneText to 'unblemished ivory'>>">>\ <<option "fair with subtle freckles" 2 "<<set $skinToneText to 'fair with subtle freckles'>>">>\ <<option "warm olive" 3 "<<set $skinToneText to 'warm olive'>>">>\ <<option "sienna brown" 4 "<<set $skinToneText to 'sienna brown'>>">>\ <<option "deep ebony" 5 "<<set $skinToneText to 'deep ebony'>>">>\ <<option "luminous lavender" 6 "<<set $skinToneText to 'luminous lavender'>>">>\ <<option "misty blue" 7 "<<set $skinToneText to 'misty blue'>>">>\ <<option "dusky rose" 8 "<<set $skinToneText to 'dusky rose'>>">>\ <<option "midnight indigo" 9 "<<set $skinToneText to 'midnight indigo'>>">>\ <</cycle>> but what holds your attention is your nails. They're long and dark, with pointed tips. <<nobr>><div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[There's something important about that...|n1_3_nothuman]]</div> <</nobr>>
//Not human.// You don't know what to do with that information, so you shelve it away for later. //If there is a later.// The whole setting has the feel of a dream. The abandoned structure, the endless snow in every direction, and the cold. Gods, but the cold. Even as the details of your past elude you, you're certain you've never known such an awful, bone-deep cold. "Modohar," you say without thinking. With the word comes memory. Modohar. The underworld. The final destination of the wicked and the unrepentant. Could that be what this is? Before you can give it proper consideration, your thoughts are flung off course by a sudden, stabbing pain in your middle. As you double over, your hands fumble about, seeking some sort of wound, but finding only smooth, unblemished skin. <<nobr>><div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[Cry out.|n1_4_inside_cryout]]</div> <div class="choice-item">[[Grit your teeth and bear it.|n1_4_inside_endure]]</div> <</nobr>> <<if $skinTone >= 6>>\ <<set $swSkin to 1>>\ <<set $val_pref to 1>>\ <<else>>\ <<set $swSkin to 0>>\ <<set $ser_pref to 1>>\ <</if>>\ <<if $skinTone == 6>>\ <<set $val_bkn to 1>>\ <</if>>\ <<if $skinTone == 4>>\ <<set $ser_bkn to 1>>\ <</if>> <<silently>> <<switch $skinTone>> <<case 1>><<set $skinToneText to "unblemished ivory">> <<case 2>><<set $skinToneText to "fair with subtle freckles">> <<case 3>><<set $skinToneText to "warm olive">> <<case 4>><<set $skinToneText to "sienna brown">> <<case 5>><<set $skinToneText to "deep ebony">> <<case 6>><<set $skinToneText to "luminous lavender">> <<case 7>><<set $skinToneText to "misty blue">> <<case 8>><<set $skinToneText to "dusky rose">> <<case 9>><<set $skinToneText to "midnight indigo">> <</switch>> <</silently>>
You cry out and drop to your knees, clutching your middle as the pain writhes through you. A choked sob escapes your lips, followed by another. You don’t know when you start crawling, only that you end up huddled in the corner, the pelt tangled around your arms. "Please," you whisper. "Please have mercy. I don’t understand..." Your voice trembles. Not just from the cold. Then.. //"Please have mercy,"// comes the echo. You freeze. Another whisper. //"I don’t understand..."// The words are yours, but they’re not coming from your mouth. They’re coming from outside. <<nobr>><div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[Run for the doorway.|n1_5_run]]</div> <</nobr>> <<set $tender to Math.clamp($tender + 5, 0, 100)>> <<updatemeter 'Tender' $tender / 100>> <<notifySound "Tenderness has risen.">>
You fall to your knees and press your hands to the floor, eyes shut tight as the pain claws its way through you. You don’t cry out. You don’t move. You wait it out. When it passes, you lift your head and whisper to no one—or to whoever might be listening. "Please," you murmur. "Just tell me what I did. Tell me what I did wrong." A pause. Then... //"Tell me what I did..."// The voice isn’t yours. But the words are. You hold your breath. "Tell me what I did wrong..." It’s coming from outside. <<nobr>><div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[Run for the doorway.|n1_5_run]]</div> <</nobr>> <<set $tender to Math.clamp($tender - 5, 0, 100)>> <<updatemeter 'Tender' $tender / 100>> <<notifySound "Stoicism has risen.">>
You take a shallow breath and resist the urge to cry out. Panic won’t serve you. Instead, you scan the space around you. The ruined beams. The doorway. The chimney. A few scraps of torn cloth near your feet. A jagged piece of wood that might once have belonged to furniture. None of it stirs a memory. You take note of what looks like a cauldron near the remains of the fireplace. It's half-buried in the snow. Whatever happened in this place, it happened a long time ago. <<nobr>><div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[Try to remember who you are.|n1_2_who]]</div> <</nobr>> <<set $tender to Math.clamp($tender - 5, 0, 100)>> <<updatemeter 'Tender' $tender / 100>> <<notifySound "Stoicism has risen.">>
This feels wrong. You rise and bolt from the hovel, running into the wind without thinking. Outside is a sea of snow, turned blue beneath the iron sky and dull moonlight. The cold is a beast without mercy. It scrapes across your face, bites at your joints, and works its way beneath the pelt, as if trying to burrow into your bones. The snow glitters and cuts like diamonds. The wind drives it sideways, scouring your skin and choking your breath. Each inhale burns, as if the air itself is punishing you for needing it. Your legs grow heavy. Your steps begin to falter. You don't realize you're ascending a hill until the ground gives way beneath you and you slip, tumbling down hard. Your leg twists beneath you at an unnatural angle. Pain flashes white-hot, blotting out everything. You curl inward, eyes shut, your breath coming in short, ragged bursts. You think the worst has passed. You think you can bear it. Then you open your eyes. Something moves in the snow. Slow. Deliberate. //Lumbering.// The storm seems to thin around it. It draws closer. Its body is black and slick like cured leather. Its arms are long and curved like scythes, ending in blunt, stunted tips. Its neck flows into its head without break, a seamless curve where no face should be. In the way that you can only be in nightmares, you're paralyzed as you stare into what must be the embodiment of Death itself. <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[So this is how it ends.|p_6_acceptfate]]</div> <div class="choice-item">[[There has to be a way out.|p_6_trytorun]]</div> </div> <</nobr>>
You must have done something to deserve this. Something to have been left out here, alone and forgotten in the cold. If this isn't Modohar, then surely you'll soon be on your way. As the monster draws near, you say a selfish prayer to a god whose name eludes you. //Please, let my end be swift.// Resignation eludes you. You want to close your eyes, but you can only stare as the creature's mouth begins to open, expanding from a small slit to a wide, gaping cavern. There's just enough moonlight to make its many rows of jagged teeth gleam. "Light preserve me," you croak. You'd assumed it was staring at you, but as you speak, its head jerks, reorienting so that it's pointed directly at you. Its mouth works, opening and closing as a lump in what appears to be its throat begins to quiver. "Light..." it says in a high-pitched warble. The second attempt is far clearer. "Light preserve me." It's mimicking your voice. "Light preserve me," it says again, this time matching your tremulous croak. You attempt to comfort yourself, assuring yourself that if you just keep quiet, it might not be able to see you. It has no eyes that you can discern, and you doubt it can smell anything in the storm. The notion brings little comfort. Already, your limbs are numb, and even your heart seems to be struggling to keep warmth in your chest. Despite the magnitude of your terror, your pulse has slowed to an irregular //thud//. Without warning, the creature surges forward, clearing the distance between you in the time it takes to inhale the breath to scream. In the same instant, another pain lances your middle, this one more vicious than the last. Your vision turns white. In your disorientation, you imagine the creature's mouth has taken hold of your abdomen, its myriad teeth digging into your belly as if you were nothing but a beast yourself—an errant fawn who strayed from the herd and ended up in the jaws of a wolf. For an indeterminate amount of time, all you know is agony. But then, it begins to ebb. When your vision clears, you see the creature. It lays in the snow, less than a <<toggletext "span" "span (noun. unit of measurement, 15cm/6in)">> from your feet. Dark fluid oozes from its head, blackening the snow. Sticking out of its head are two long arrows with gray feathers. For several seconds you stare at them, frozen by what you assume to be shock. Yet as a new shadow appears within your vantage, you realize you're capable of only the barest movements. Your legs no longer obey your will. Even the pain in the twisted one has gone utterly numb. The mere acts of blinking and breathing become daunting endeavors. The figure coalesces into a giant of a man, all in black from his high boots to his sweeping fur cloak. Even his face is concealed, wrapped in some sort of dark linen, save for a single strip of exposed skin around his eyes. Beneath the hood, two eyes burn through the storm, a radiant blue like moonlight through a frosted window. Despite his unnatural size, he moves with preternatural grace, as if the storm and the snowdrifts were no hindrance to him. <<nobr>><div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[Try to get his attention.|p_7_storymode]]</div> <</nobr>> <<set $idealistic to Math.clamp($idealistic - 5, 0, 100)>> <<updatemeter 'Idealistic' $idealistic / 100>> <<notifySound "Cynicism has risen.">>
You brace your palms against the snow and try to rise, but a sharp bolt of pain shoots through your leg. Your body jerks, collapsing instantly under its own weight. The limb is useless. You won't be able to run. Swallowing your panic, you force yourself to go still. Movement will only draw attention. As the monster draws near, you say a selfish prayer to a god whose name eludes you. //Please, don't let it see me.// You gape as the creature's mouth begins to open, expanding from a small slit to a wide, yawning cavern. There's just enough moonlight to make its many rows of jagged teeth gleam. "Great gods," you croak. You'd assumed it was staring at you, but as you speak, its head jerks, reorienting so that it's pointed directly at you. Its mouth works, opening and closing as a lump in what appears to be its throat begins to quiver. "Grrrr..." it says in a high-pitched warble. The second attempt is far clearer. "Grrrr...reat gods." It's mimicking your voice. "Great gods," it says again, this time matching your tremulous croak. You attempt to comfort yourself, assuring yourself that if you just keep quiet, it might not be able to see you. It has no eyes that you can discern, and you doubt it can smell anything in the storm. The notion brings little comfort. Already, your limbs are numb, and even your heart seems to be struggling to keep warmth in your chest. Despite the magnitude of your terror, your pulse has slowed to an irregular //thud//. Without warning, the creature surges forward, clearing the distance between you in the time it takes to inhale the breath to scream. In the same instant, another pain lances your middle, this one more vicious than the last. Your vision turns white. In your disorientation, you imagine the creature's mouth has taken hold of your abdomen, its myriad teeth digging into your belly as if you were nothing but a beast yourself—an errant fawn who strayed from the herd and ended up in the jaws of a wolf. For an indeterminate amount of time, all you know is agony. But then, it begins to ebb. When your vision clears, you see the creature. It lays in the snow, less than a <<toggletext "span" "span (15cm or 6in)">> from your feet. Dark fluid oozes from its head, blackening the snow. Sticking out of its head are two long arrows with gray feathers. For several seconds you stare at them, frozen by what you assume to be shock. Yet as a new shadow appears within your vantage, you realize you're capable of only the barest movements. Your legs no longer obey your will. Even the pain in the twisted one has gone utterly numb. The mere acts of blinking and breathing become daunting endeavors. The figure coalesces into a giant of a man, all in black from his high boots to his sweeping fur cloak. Even his face is concealed, wrapped in some sort of dark linen, save for a single strip of exposed skin around his eyes. Beneath the hood, two eyes burn through the storm, a radiant blue like moonlight through a frosted window. Despite his unnatural size, he moves with preternatural grace, as if the storm and the snowdrifts were no hindrance to him. <<nobr>><div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[Try to get his attention.|p_7_storymode]]</div> <</nobr>> <<set $idealistic to Math.clamp($idealistic + 5, 0, 100)>> <<updatemeter 'Idealistic' $idealistic / 100>> <<notifySound "Idealism has risen.">>
You try to move. Even though he seems to be staring straight at you, you're terrified of falling beneath his notice and disappearing into the clutches of winter. Your body now refuses even to blink. You manage a low sound, somewhere between a cry and a groan. The last of your air goes with it, and as you try drawing in another breath, the air simply hangs in your mouth. The man draws a sword from a sheath at his belt as he nears you. With a swift, graceful flourish, he severs the head of the fallen creature. The sword turns, and in another fluid sweep, he wipes it on the leg of his pants, resheathing it just as he's moving to kneel in front of you. //“Veth thy sevin llavesh, lynira?”// Strange words flow from behind his mask. His voice is at once deep and achingly melodic. You perceive the tilt of a question, but even if you understood him, you couldn't respond. Flecks of darkness are already appearing in the corners of your vision. They multiply rapidly. The faintest of creases mars the space between his lovely eyes. He reaches up with a gloved hand and pulls down his mask, revealing a face that could only be divine. His features are striking—clean angles and brutal symmetry. Fine wisps of black hair cling to his temples, framing a marble face with high cheekbones and a wide jaw that slopes into a cleft chin. Sensual lips part, but he says nothing. He seizes your chin, his grip as rough as you'd expect from such a large man, yet still startling enough to wrench a clipped grunt from you. Then, he descends, his mouth closing over yours. <<nobr>><div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[Breathe.|p_c1_breathe]]</div> <</nobr>>
<<if $dm is 1>> <<goto "darkMaiden_rt">> <</if>> <<if $fm is 1>> <<goto "fatedMates_rt">> <</if>> <<if $poly is 1>> <<goto "poly_rt">> <</if>> <<set $dynamicActive to 1>>
<span class="special-heading">Instructions</span> Bride of Shadows is a work in progress. The story is divided into a prelude and three acts. In the top left of your screen, you will see your story route. In the top right, your current chapter. The prelude will span five to six nights depending on your storyline and choices. In it, you will familiarize yourself with the world, the love interests, and your main character (MC). Choices matter. Most of the decisions you make in the prelude will determine the storyline you experience in Act I and beyond. Each interaction is an opportunity to shape your relationship with the love interests and your MC's inner voice. Once Act I begins, your MC’s personality will be set, with opportunities to change only in response to major life events. As you proceed, give careful thought to the kind of character you’ll enjoy playing. The love interests will adapt to your personality, even if you aren’t initially their type. Try not to worry about choosing the "best" or "right" answers. There are no wrong answers in the prelude. <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[Understood.|EXCERPT]]</div> </div> <</nobr>>
<div class="faq"> <h3>How dark will the story be?</h3> <p>Classic Route is the gentlest of the story routes. It starts fairly tame and eases you into the darker themes and content. Veteren dark romance readers will not be surprised by anything. Readers accustomed to romantasy/sweet romance may be uncomfortable with how the love interests behave. Please read the content warning thoroughly.</p> <h3>Do I have to play as a female character?</h3> <p>Yes. This is an erotic romance interactive novel that explores themes of female sexuality, pregnancy, and societal expectations of females in a medieval fantasy setting. As such, the story is gender-locked.</p> <h3>What is an MMF romance?</h3> <p>An MMF romance is an erotic romance with a poly relationship between two males and a female, wherein all three characters have a sexual relationship with one another.</p> <h3>I'm concerned the guys will like one another more than my MC.</h3> <p>The guys will be obsessed with your MC.</p> <h3>How long will the prelude be?</h3> <p>The prelude spans several nights (4-6) and will vary depending on your route and the choices you make. Generally, it concludes once your MC fully remembers her past.</p> <p>By that point, your MC will also have defined her core personality, her stance on faith, and the tone of her relationships with the love interests.</p> <h3>How does the MC remember her past?</h3> <p>Each time your MC sleeps during the early nights, she will revisit a key memory from her former life. Through the choices you make, you will shape her backstory.</p> <h3>Will Kerach be available as a love interest on the public build?</h3> <p>Yes. He was going to be a Patreon exclusive, but I don't want to write a character who can be easily excised from the narrative. As such, his romance will be included in its entirety in the public build.</p> <h3>How can I romance Kerach?</h3> <p>Same as the others. Kerach takes a bit longer to come around and the strength of your bond with him will depend on your choices.</p> <h3>Can I have a baby with Kerach?</h3> <p>Not in Classic Route.</p> <h3>How will paternity be handled in Classic Route?</h3> <p>Default twins, random genders.</p> <h3>How soon can my MC get pregnant?</h3> <p>Conception occurs prior to the end of the prelude, generally on Night IV or V depending on your choices.</p> <h3>Other questions?</h3> <p>Feel free to ask in the comments or submit an ask on Tumblr. I may ignore asks that give apoilers.</p> </div>
Warm breath fills your mouth. At the same time that he breathes into you, his arms go around your body, pulling you close. Whether it's his breath, the way his strong hands rub life into your back, or the heat you're able to glean as you're pressed against him, you manage to take in air. The man draws back, his lips leaving yours. You're given space to draw in shuddering breath. The air you take in is rich with his scent. You exhale in a moan, your head lolling to the side as you gasp for air. Your savior wastes no time in pulling you the rest of the way out of the snow. Once in his lap, he wraps his heavy cloak around you and rises, lifting you up. As your head goes to rest against his chest, you experience the first stirrings of hope. The man handles you with such familiarity that he //must// know you. And something about him feels //right//. Maybe it's just relief at having been rescued, or your trembling from the cold, but it feels as if your bones are vibrating as he holds you to his body. He surveys the area with a frown as snow gathers on his dark garments. His lips hardly move as he says, “Eri’th talven gath’vir. Nei veyn venirith.” You attempt to ask him what he's saying, but you can't get words past your chattering teeth. Before you can puzzle over what he said, there's another voice. It speaks loudly to rise above the wind. “Zhevrin veth eri veiryn sair?” Without responding, the man begins to walk. Or perhaps he's gliding. You're scarcely tousled as he moves in long strides. Once more, you have the sense that you're in a dream, although this one is far more agreeable. Who the man is, or the other one whose voice you heard—neither detail matters. All you care about is that the monster is gone and you're enveloped in warmth. You close your eyes, the last of the tension leaving you. The peace doesn't last. The pain in your abdomen returns. Just as before, it's a stabbing agony that wrests the breath from you and makes your body clench up. This time, it claws farther than before, scraping at the inside of your torso. In the delirium that follows, you imagine another monster, this one caged behind your ribs and clawing to break free. You have no way of measuring how long it lasts. When your vision finally clears, you see the man biting the finger of his glove. He pulls his hand free and then reaches into the bundle of furs in which you've been cocooned. His hand brushes over your abdomen, seeking the wound that's causing you such terrible distress. You try to tell him that whatever it is, it's //inside// you, but speech is still impossible. The man withdraws his hand and then bizarrely brings it back to his mouth, biting down on the flesh between his wrist and thumb. You try to turn away as he brings his hand down to your face, but he outmaneuvers you and presses the wound to your lips. “Rotyth velin’vir." The words seem to snake into your mind, expanding in your head until they're pressing against your skull. Without thought, your mouth opens wide, granting space for him to push his bloodied flesh into you. For a fraction of a second, you're disgusted. Then, the first trickle of his blood slides onto your tongue. <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[Drink.|p_c2_drink]]</div> </div> <</nobr>>
One taste is all it takes for you to latch onto him. Your tongue turns frenzied, seeking the puncture wounds. You lick and suck at them, desperately drawing out his blood. His blood is warmth spilling from a divine hearth. It seems to swell within you, growing to fill you up. Heat rushes through your body, reviving the parts of you that had gone numb. The knot of pain in your abdomen unfurls, the beast within now pacified. Before, you were in the underworld, but this is paradise. This man—//this god//—must have heard your prayer and come to save you. You want badly to thank him, but all you can do is continue to drink. For a while, his blood flows into you in a thick, steady stream. But as time passes, the flow begins to slow. Before long, you swipe your tongue over the punctures, only to find that they're gone. His skin is smooth and unbroken. You open eyes you hadn't realized you'd closed. A rumbling sound of protest moves through you as the man withdraws his hand. You've regained enough control of yourself to issue a plea. "More." He stares down at you, blue eyes shining. Behind him, the dark clouds roll by in a blur. The wind has picked up, and you wonder if he was able to hear you over the gale. "Need more," you tell him. Seemingly in response, he reaches down and brushes his thumb against the corner of your mouth. He then wipes it against your lips, and your gut tightens as your tongue darts out to lap up the stray drop of blood. In some ways, it's worse than having nothing at all. With your eyes, you try to convey the depths of your need, but when he withdraws his hand, it's to pull his mask back up over the lower half of his face. Before you can express your frustration, a new face appears in your field of vision. It's another man, this one similarly garbed in heavy furs. His face is wrapped in cloth the color of parchment, which contrasts with the bronze skin around his blue-green eyes. Those eyes are //glaring// at you. <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[Shrink back.|p_c3_shrink]]</div> <div class="choice-item">[[Glare back.|p_c3_glare]]</div> </div> <</nobr>> <<set $p_firstFeed to 1>> <<notifySound "Milestone: First Blood" "4s">>
The look of contempt is so intense that you forget your hunger, your instinct for self-preservation rising above the need to feed. You shrink back to the extent that you can, your movement drawing the attention of the man holding you. “Ywen thy korvens,” he says to the glaring man. The other man's eyes narrow marginally before he looks away. No longer quite so content, you attempt to sit up. You're bundled tightly in the furs and manage to do little more than lift your head. It's enough to get a small vantage. You're surprised to see that, at some point during your frenzy, you must have boarded some sort of carriage. It has no roof or walls that you can see, but nevertheless the men are sitting and being pulled forward, the landscape passing in a blur of shadows. The man holding you nudges you back down. He touches a finger to the bridge of your nose, and for the first time, you notice his long, black claws. "Delka'vir." Your world goes dark. <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[Continue.|p_c_BODY]]</div> </div> <</nobr>> <<set $measured to Math.clamp($measured + 5, 0, 100)>> <<updatemeter 'Measured' $measured / 100>> <<notifySound "Measured has risen.">>
The look of contempt is so intense that you forget your hunger, instead bristling. You return his glare, prompting the man to let out an undignified snort. No longer quite so content, you attempt to sit up. You're bundled tightly in the furs and manage to do little more than lift your head. It's enough to get a small vantage. You're surprised to see that, at some point during your frenzy, you must have boarded some sort of carriage. It has no roof or walls that you can see, but nevertheless the men are sitting and being pulled forward, the landscape passing in a blur of shadows. The man holding you nudges you back down. He touches a finger to the bridge of your nose, and for the first time, you notice his long, black claws. "Delka'vir." Your world goes dark. <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[Continue.|p_c_BODY]]</div> </div> <</nobr>> <<set $p_c_glare to 1>> <<set $measured to Math.clamp($measured - 5, 0, 100)>> <<updatemeter 'Measured' $measured / 100>> <<notifySound "Daring has risen.">>
You sink into shadows. At first, you resist, thrashing as the shadows coil around your limbs, dragging you downward like the tentacles of a leviathan. Panic spikes in your chest. But your struggle yields nothing; the shadows do not harm you. Slowly, you begin to still. The deeper you sink, the more the fear ebbs, replaced by an odd sense of calm. You start to tilt, turning until you're standing upright. The shadows solidify beneath you and your feet touch down on the floor. Wisps of darkness snake up your legs and torso. When they depart, you're left in a pale blue gown. You run your hands along the fabric. It's stiff and somewhat ill-fitting. You don't much like it, yet at the same time, there's a certain rightness to it. When you look up, you're staring into a mirror. The space behind you has changed, no longer a shadowy void, but some sort of bed chamber. You see women gathered behind you, all of them wearing the same blue garb. You can hear frantic whispering and a low moan, but for a moment you're fully captivated by your reflection. Could it truly be you? Surely, mortals aren't meant to be so lovely, and if they are, how were you so divinely blessed? You're \ <<cycle "$height" autoselect>>\ <<option "petite" 1 "<<set $heightText to 'petite'>>">>\ <<option "of average height" 2 "<<set $heightText to 'of average height'>>">>\ <<option "tall" 3 "<<set $heightText to 'tall'>>">>\ <</cycle>> with \ <<cycle "$hairColor" autoselect>>\ <<option "silver" 1 "<<set $hairColorText to 'silver'>>">>\ <<option "golden" 2 "<<set $hairColorText to 'golden'>>">>\ <<option "obsidian" 3 "<<set $hairColorText to 'obsidian'>>">>\ <<option "copper" 4 "<<set $hairColorText to 'copper'>>">>\ <<option "sable" 5 "<<set $hairColorText to 'sable'>>">>\ <<option "wisteria" 6 "<<set $hairColorText to 'wisteria'>>">>\ <<option "peony" 7 "<<set $hairColorText to 'peony'>>">>\ <<option "indigo" 8 "<<set $hairColorText to 'indigo'>>">>\ <</cycle>> hair that's pinned back, though a few \ <<cycle "$hairType" autoselect>>\ <<option "curly" 1 "<<set $hairTypeText to 'curly'>>">>\ <<option "wavy" 2 "<<set $hairTypeText to 'wavy'>>">>\ <<option "straight" 3 "<<set $hairTypeText to 'straight'>>">>\ <</cycle>> wisps fly free. Your \ <<cycle "$eyeColor" autoselect>>\ <<option "sapphire" 1 "<<set $eyeColorText to 'sapphire'>>">>\ <<option "emerald" 2 "<<set $eyeColorText to 'emerald'>>">>\ <<option "amber" 3 "<<set $eyeColorText to 'amber'>>">>\ <<option "amethyst" 4 "<<set $eyeColorText to 'amethyst'>>">>\ <<option "garnet" 5 "<<set $eyeColorText to 'garnet'>>">>\ <<option "citrine" 6 "<<set $eyeColorText to 'citrine'>>">>\ <<option "onyx" 7 "<<set $eyeColorText to 'onyx'>>">>\ <</cycle>> eyes are big and set behind a thick fringe of lashes. Your gaze drops down to regard the slope of your \ <<cycle "$breastSize" autoselect>>\ <<option "small" 1 "<<set $breastSizeText to 'small'>>">>\ <<option "modest" 2 "<<set $breastSizeText to 'modest'>>">>\ <<option "generous" 3 "<<set $breastSizeText to 'generous'>>">>\ <</cycle>> breasts, and the way the fabric of your gown clings to your \ <<cycle "$bodyType" autoselect>>\ <<option "sylphen" 1 "<<set $bodyTypeText to 'sylphen'>>">>\ <<option "lithe" 2 "<<set $bodyTypeText to 'lithe'>>">>\ <<option "curvy" 3 "<<set $bodyTypeText to 'curvy'>>">>\ <<option "big, soft" 4 "<<set $bodyTypeText to 'big, soft'>>">>\ <</cycle>> figure. "Anna, come!" You turn in time to see a slight, mousey-looking girl with reddish hair rush past you. She goes to join the women huddled around the bed just as a cry rings out. //A baby.// You step toward them, and then go still as one of the women passes a bloodied bundle off to the girl. "Go and place it by the window," whispers the woman, taking the girl by the shoulders and turning her away. "I will not ask twice." The woman turns back to the bed, where the others are now moving about frantically. For the first time, you notice there's a woman in the bed, though she doesn't appear to be moving. <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[Approach the bed.|p_c3_approachbed]]</div> <div class="choice-item">[[Follow the girl.|p_c3_followgirl]]</div> </div> <</nobr>>
While the girl carries the wailing infant away, you approach the bed. With each step, new details about the room reveal themselves, or perhaps you're only noticing them for the first time. The floor is made of cobbled stone, the sort more suited to a street than a bedchamber. The furnishings are few, each in a state of disrepair. The bed itself is small, a thin mattress set atop a frame with a broken leg, causing it to tilt to one side. The woman in the bed stares at the ceiling with glassy eyes. Her face is bloodless yet coated in sweat. One of the blue-garbed women presses a cloth to her brow while another massages her belly. Two more work frantically to stem the flow of blood from between her legs. “Look at me, Shaela. The worst is past. Your daughter is here now,” says the woman with the cloth. Her garments are different from the others, a deeper shade of blue, and she wears an iron circlet over her veil. You're surprised when the woman on the bed moans softly, her eyes fluttering shut. “That’s it,” says the woman with the circlet. “All is well now.” One of the women at the foot of the bed scoffs. “It most certainly is not //well.// Nothing has been //well// since she arrived, and nothing will be //well// once this abominable transgression is discovered. Better to let her die.” The woman in the circlet levels a glare on her. “Are you The Dawn Mother, that you would think to pass judgment upon her?” The older woman, gray streaking her hair, snaps back, “No. But I would think the high sister would be less inclined to coddle a deviant.” Their bickering is cut short as the woman in the bed convulses, her back arching and eyes going wide. You know at once that she’s dying, though the others seem not to realize it. All four rush to her aid, frantic. Across the room, the infant’s cries rise sharply, as if intuiting her mother’s passing. You cast a final, pitying glance at the woman on the bed. Perhaps it’s the way her limp body sinks into the blankets, but she suddenly seems terribly small—more girl than woman. As her soul slips away, the women draw back and begin to pray, all except the one in the circlet, who shakes her and pleads for her to return. When it becomes clear that she won’t draw breath again, the woman collapses onto the bed, dissolving into a weeping prayer. The gray-haired woman pauses her prayer to bark an order. “Annahera, will you shut that thing up?” She turns and gasps, the sound almost comical. But you're not laughing when you follow her gaze. The girl stands at the washbasin, arms wrapped around herself, head bowed. The baby lies wailing on the windowsill, its blanket burning. The women rush to it at once, but you find yourself frozen, staring at the girl, bewildered. She shrinks back, eyes filling with tears. Shaking your head, you turn back toward the baby, but the room shifts, and you find yourself stepping into a new one. <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[Look around.|p_c4_stillroom]]</div> </div> <</nobr>> <<set $p_childbed to 1>> <<silently>> <<switch $height>> <<case 1>><<set $heightText to "petite">> <<case 2>><<set $heightText to "of average height">> <<case 3>><<set $heightText to "tall">> <</switch>> <<switch $hairColor>> <<case 1>><<set $hairColorText to "silver">> <<case 2>><<set $hairColorText to "golden">> <<case 3>><<set $hairColorText to "obsidian">> <<case 4>><<set $hairColorText to "copper">> <<case 5>><<set $hairColorText to "sable">> <<case 6>><<set $hairColorText to "wisteria">> <<case 7>><<set $hairColorText to "peony">> <<case 8>><<set $hairColorText to "indigo">> <</switch>> <<switch $hairType>> <<case 1>><<set $hairTypeText to "curly">> <<case 2>><<set $hairTypeText to "wavy">> <<case 3>><<set $hairTypeText to "straight">> <</switch>> <<switch $eyeColor>> <<case 1>><<set $eyeColorText to "sapphire">> <<case 2>><<set $eyeColorText to "emerald">> <<case 3>><<set $eyeColorText to "amber">> <<case 4>><<set $eyeColorText to "amethyst">> <<case 5>><<set $eyeColorText to "garnet">> <<case 6>><<set $eyeColorText to "citrine">> <<case 7>><<set $eyeColorText to "onyx">> <</switch>> <<switch $bodyType>> <<case 1>><<set $bodyTypeText to "sylphen">> <<case 2>><<set $bodyTypeText to "lithe">> <<case 3>><<set $bodyTypeText to "curvy">> <<case 4>><<set $bodyTypeText to "big, soft">> <</switch>> <</silently>>
While the other women gather anxiously around the bed, you find your attention drawn toward the girl carrying the wailing infant. You follow her to the corner of the room near a window, where soft morning light slips through the gaps in the shutters. The girl halts before she reaches the shafts of sunlight, carefully cradling the tiny bundle in her arms. As she gently adjusts the blankets, you catch sight of the baby's face. She's beautiful and delicate, and you're left in awe of the perfection of new life. Her cries start to weaken into faint hiccups as the girl comforts her, smiling gently down at the newborn. But then the girl's expression changes, her eyes darting nervously toward the women at the bed. Her breath quickens, and for a moment, you see anguish and fear battle across her young face. Trembling, she leans down and places a tender kiss atop the baby's small head. "Our Mother loves you," she whispers. "She will be waiting for you on the other side. Please forgive me." The girl places the baby onto the windowsill, directly into the morning light. Immediately the girl recoils, wrapping her arms tightly around herself, eyes wide and brimming with tears. The baby's skin begins to darken, flaming to an angry red in seconds. Her small whimpers erupt into a piercing scream, agony clear in the tiny voice. You lunge forward instinctively, desperate to rescue her, only for your hands to pass uselessly through her small, writhing body. You cry out in frustration and horror, but none hear you. At the bed, the older woman with gray hair pauses her prayer to bark an irritated order. "Annahera, will you shut that thing up?" She turns and you look up in time to catch her lips twitching, before her eyes land on the burning baby. She lets out a theatrical gasp, her expression shifting to shock as she rushes toward the child, the other women close behind her. You turn back helplessly toward the infant, but the scene shifts before your eyes, shadows folding around you, and you find yourself standing in an altogether different place. <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[Look around.|p_c4_stillroom]]</div> </div> <</nobr>> <<set $p_babyburn to 1>> <<silently>> <<switch $height>> <<case 1>><<set $heightText to "petite">> <<case 2>><<set $heightText to "of average height">> <<case 3>><<set $heightText to "tall">> <</switch>> <<switch $hairColor>> <<case 1>><<set $hairColorText to "silver">> <<case 2>><<set $hairColorText to "golden">> <<case 3>><<set $hairColorText to "obsidian">> <<case 4>><<set $hairColorText to "copper">> <<case 5>><<set $hairColorText to "sable">> <<case 6>><<set $hairColorText to "wisteria">> <<case 7>><<set $hairColorText to "peony">> <<case 8>><<set $hairColorText to "indigo">> <</switch>> <<switch $hairType>> <<case 1>><<set $hairTypeText to "curly">> <<case 2>><<set $hairTypeText to "wavy">> <<case 3>><<set $hairTypeText to "straight">> <</switch>> <<switch $eyeColor>> <<case 1>><<set $eyeColorText to "sapphire">> <<case 2>><<set $eyeColorText to "emerald">> <<case 3>><<set $eyeColorText to "amber">> <<case 4>><<set $eyeColorText to "amethyst">> <<case 5>><<set $eyeColorText to "garnet">> <<case 6>><<set $eyeColorText to "citrine">> <<case 7>><<set $eyeColorText to "onyx">> <</switch>> <<switch $bodyType>> <<case 1>><<set $bodyTypeText to "sylphen">> <<case 2>><<set $bodyTypeText to "lithe">> <<case 3>><<set $bodyTypeText to "curvy">> <<case 4>><<set $bodyTypeText to "big, soft">> <</switch>> <</silently>>
Your heart is still pounding as you try to make sense of your new surroundings. The air heavy with the scent of marigold, yarrow, and something bitter curling from a small clay brazier. Shelves line the walls, crowded with bundles of dried herbs, glass jars filled with preserved roots, and linen-wrapped tools of healing. It's a stillroom. Near the furnace sits a simple bassinet, its wicker frame worn smooth at the edges. The baby lies within it, now wrapped in wide bandages lined with crushed herbs. Pale green residue stains the cloth, seeping faintly through the layers. She doesn't move, save for the slow rise and fall of her chest. One arm has come loose, the fingers curled slightly, as if reaching toward you. <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[Such a miracle, that she survived.|p_c5_miracle]]</div> <div class="choice-item">[[How cruel, for the gods to let her suffer.|p_c5_suffer]]</div> </div> <</nobr>>
The baby must be covered in burns beneath those bandages. Yet somehow, despite everything, she survived. Someone clearly went through tremendous effort to keep her alive. It seems a miracle. Even without a mother, perhaps there is still hope for her. "This is profane, Anja," says a harsh voice from behind you. "Bringing it into the world was sin enough, but allowing it to live in this state? Better to leave it down here." You turn to see the gray-haired woman a mere span behind you. Startled, you shuffle out of the way. Standing beside her is the circleted woman. She's a few years younger than the gray-haired woman, with only faint lines gracing her ovular face. Her eyes are dark in color, yet hold a strange brightness you find yourself favoring. "You are not to address me as such," she says, not taking her gaze from the baby. "And this child will live. I know it." The woman purses her lips. As she does so, you're reminded that you're in a dream, as her name comes to you in an instant. "If this child survives the night, it surely won't survive the dawn, //high sister,//" says Sister Naditha. "Even if it lives, what is there to do with it but leave it down here for whatever life it has?" "I said I //know// it," Anja reiterates. "This child is going to be a great <<toggletext "sanctor" "sanctor (noun. saint)">>." Naditha scoffs. "Have you gone mad? She's a //girl// and a shadowling, at that." A shadowling. The word unlocks a door in your mind. Behind it, knowledge. Shadowlings, shadewalkers, shadow stalkers, undermen, reaverkin, duskrats—those were just some of the words used to describe the lowliest race of men. Once, their kind had ruled all of Elovyr, with humans as their slaves. It was The Dawn Mother who liberated humans, sending her son to slay the king of the shadowlings and spreading her light across the lands. Beneath her light, the unclean flesh of a shadowling burned, forcing them to live underground, emerging only beneath the cloak of night. //Is that why the child burned?// You regard the baby with a fresh wave of compassion as the women carry on. "A <<toggletext "sanctora" "sanctora (noun. a female saint; a word Anja just invented)">>, then," Anja counters. "And I am not mad. The Dawn Mother herself showed me in a dream on the night of my ascension. It's how I learned about Shael's...condition." Naditha scoffs again, this time with phlegm. "The Dawn Mother told you? You don't think you might have absorbed this //great revelation// from the whispers in the halls? Come now, we all divined why that girl was sent here. This child is no //sanctora//, she's the bastard of a witless acolyte and no doubt a Hezan stablehand." "It matters not how she came to be, but //what// she will be. In my dream, she was—" "Precisely. Your //dream.//" Naditha throws up her hands. "You have been high sister for all of a week. I do not believe for a second that The Dawn Mother is speaking to you, and neither will anyone else!" <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[Anja's vision was real.|p_c6_anja]]</div> <div class="choice-item">[[Naditha has the right of it.|p_c6_naditha]]</div> </div> <</nobr>> <<set $p_miracle to 1>> <<set $devout to Math.clamp($devout + 5, 0, 100)>> <<updatemeter 'Devout' $devout / 100>> <<notifySound "Devotion has risen.">>
The baby must be covered head to toe in burns beneath those bandages. Who would go through all the trouble to heal her when she will so clearly suffer. Not merely the pain of the burns, but also the scars they will doubtlessly leave behind. Have the gods no mercy? "This is profane, Anja," says a voice from behind you. It seems to echo your thoughts. "Bringing it into the world was sin enough, but allowing it to live in this state? Better to leave it down here." You turn to see the gray-haired woman a mere span behind you. Startled, you shuffle out of the way. Standing beside her is the circleted woman. She's a few years younger than the gray-haired woman, with only faint lines gracing her ovular face. Her eyes are dark in color, yet hold a strange brightness you find yourself favoring. "You are not to address me as such," she says, not taking her gaze from the baby. "And this child will live. I know it." The woman purses her lips. As she does so, you're reminded that you're in a dream, as her name comes to you in an instant. "If this child survives the night, it surely won't survive the dawn, //high sister,//" says Sister Naditha. "Even if it lives, what is there to do with it but leave it down here for whatever life it has?" "I said I //know// it," Anja reiterates. "This child is going to be a great <<toggletext "sanctor" "sanctor (noun. saint)">>." Naditha scoffs. "Have you gone mad? She's a //girl// and a shadowling, at that." A shadowling. The word unlocks a door in your mind. Behind it, knowledge. Shadowlings, shadewalkers, shadow stalkers, undermen, reaverkin, duskrats—those were just some of the words used to describe the lowliest race of men. Once, their kind had ruled all of Elovyr, with humans as their slaves. It was The Dawn Mother who liberated humans, sending her son to slay the king of the shadowlings and spreading her light across the lands. Beneath her light, the unclean flesh of a shadowling burned, forcing them to live underground, emerging only beneath the cloak of night. //Is that why the child burned?// You regard the baby with a fresh wave of compassion as the women carry on. "A <<toggletext "sanctora" "sanctora (noun. a female saint; a word Anja just invented)">>, then," Anja counters. "And I am not mad. The Dawn Mother herself showed me in a dream on the night of my ascension. It's how I learned about Shael's...condition." Naditha scoffs again, this time with phlegm. "The Dawn Mother told you? You don't think you might have absorbed this //great revelation// from the whispers in the halls? Come now, we all divined why that girl was sent here. This child is no //sanctora//, she's the bastard of a witless acolyte and no doubt a Hezan stablehand." "It matters not how she came to be, but //what// she will be. In my dream, she was--" "Precisely. Your //dream.//" Naditha throws up her hands. "You have been high sister for all of a week. I do not believe for a second that The Dawn Mother is speaking to you, and neither will anyone else!" <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[Anja's vision was real.|p_c6_anja]]</div> <div class="choice-item">[[Naditha has the right of it.|p_c6_naditha]]</div> </div> <</nobr>> <<set $p_suffer to 1>> <<set $devout to Math.clamp($devout - 5, 0, 100)>> <<updatemeter 'Devout' $devout / 100>> <<notifySound "Defiance has risen.">>
As you watch the exchange unfold, you can't help but feel drawn to Anja's quiet certainty. The gentle authority in her voice resonates through you, making her words feel true. Conversely, Naditha's sharp tone and pinched expression strike you as petulant, her bitterness obvious even from afar. Undaunted by Naditha's rising voice, Anja speaks calmly. "They will believe because you are going to go upstairs and announce that this child is a miracle. Evidence of Our Mother's infinite mercy. You will tell them that she is meant to remain here with us, to take the veil—" "Blasphemy!" "—and walk among us as our sister, because if you do not—" "I //will// not!" "Then I will go to Brother Hadros and inform him that you //knew// the girl was with child and you turned a blind eye." "You'll implicate half the sanctum," Naditha hisses. "And I will also tell him that you knew what this babe was when it slipped into your hands and you instructed Annahera to leave her in the light." Her teeth gritting, Anja adds, "And may the shadows take you for that, Naditha. That girl will never forgive herself!" Naditha's face hardens, the muscle in her throat shifting. "A clever story you've invented. Have you considered how will you explain that your vision didn't also show you what the child would be? Was that not in your divine vision?" Anja blinks at her. Her eyes widen slightly before she lowers her head. When she speaks, it's in a soft, dulcet tone. "Vision? I don't know what vision she speaks of, Brother Hadros. I recognize that our dear healer Sister Naditha might be bitter, what with her being passed over time and again for ascension. Five times in twice as many years, no? And all of the high sisters passing from the same curious stomach affliction. Odd, that." Naditha backs away, cheeks flushed an angry red. "I will sing no praises for this abomination." Voice flat, Anja says, "No one is interested in hearing you sing, you feckless crone. Go upstairs and do as you were instructed or I will be taking High Sister Melia's //smelling salts// to Brother Hadros. I'm certain his healers will be most intrigued by its unique composition." The shadows in the corners of the room deepen as Naditha storms out of the stillroom, disappearing swiftly into darkness, leaving only a lingering air of spite in her wake. Once she's gone, Anja slumps into a seat beside the bassinet. She runs a trembling hand through her dark hair, causing her circlet to clatter onto the floor. She pays it no mind. "Goddess, grant me strength," she whispers. Her gaze turns to the baby, steadying with quiet resolve. "Grant us both strength. We will need it in all that is to come." As the shadows continue to spread, Anja begins to sing. It's a dolorous lullaby, mournful yet undeniably beautiful, echoing even as darkness swallows her and the baby up. <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[Continue.|p2_c1_wake]]</div> </div> <</nobr>> <<set $idealistic to Math.clamp($idealistic + 5, 0, 100)>> <<updatemeter 'Idealistic' $idealistic / 100>> <<notifySound "Idealism has risen.">>
Though you don't care for her, you find yourself agreeing with Naditha. Anja clearly has her reasons for wanting to keep this child, but you doubt they have anything to do with a divine vision. Undaunted by Naditha's rising voice, Anja speaks calmly. "They will believe because you are going to go upstairs and announce that this child is a miracle. Evidence of Our Mother's infinite mercy. You will tell them that she is meant to remain here with us, to take the veil—" "Blasphemy!" "—and walk among us as our sister, because if you do not—" "I //will// not!" "Then I will go to Brother Hadros and inform him that you //knew// the girl was with child and you turned a blind eye." "You'll implicate half the sanctum," Naditha hisses. "And I will also tell him that you knew what this babe was when it slipped into your hands and you instructed Annahera to leave her in the light." Her teeth gritting, Anja adds, "And may the shadows take you for that. That girl will never forgive herself!" Naditha's face hardens, the muscle in her throat shifting. "A clever story you've invented. Have you considered how will you explain that your vision didn't also show you what the child would be? Was that not in your divine vision?" Anja blinks at her. Her eyes go big and she lowers her head. When she speaks, it's in a soft, dulcet tone. "Vision? I don't know what vision she speaks of, Brother Hadros. I recognize that our dear healer Sister Naditha might be bitter, what with her being passed over time and again for ascension. Five times in twice as many years, no? And all of the high sisters passing from the same, curious stomach affliction. Odd, that." Naditha backs away, the color high in her cheeks. "I will sing no praises for this abomination." Voice flat, Anja says, "No one is interested in hearing you sing, you feckless crone. Go upstairs and do as you were instructed or I will be taking High Sister Melia's //smelling salts// to Brother Hadros. I'm certain his healers will be most intrigued by its unique composition." The shadows in the corners of the room deepen as Naditha storms out of the still room. She seems to disappear into the darkness, like an actress exiting the stage. Once she's gone, Anja slumps into a seat beside the bassinette. She runs a trembling hand through her dark hair. Her circlet slips loose and clatters to the floor, but she pays it no mind. "Goddess, grant me strength," she whispers. Her gaze turns to the baby. "Grant us both strength. We will need it in all that is to come." As the shadows continue to spread, Anja begins to sing. It's a dolorous lullaby that echoes even as the darkness swallows her and the baby. <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[Continue.|p2_c1_wake]]</div> </div> <</nobr>> <<set $p_naditha to 1>> <<set $idealistic to Math.clamp($idealistic - 5, 0, 100)>> <<updatemeter 'Idealistic' $idealistic / 100>> <<notifySound "Cynicism has risen.">>
You wake slowly, reluctant to leave the dream and the sound of Anja's singing. In the end, it's the sound of a crackling fire that draws your eyes to open. You find yourself staring into said fire. For a moment, that's all you do as you try to make sense of how you got where you are. The dream was so vivid, and you stuggle to shake it off. <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[That poor child...|p2_c2_poorchild]]</div> <div class="choice-item">[[Such a clever woman...|p2_c2_cleveranja]]</div> </div> <</nobr>> <<set $chapter to "Prelude: Night II">>
<<if $p_suffer eq 1>>That poor child. It didn't deserve what happened to it. And then to prolong its suffering by keeping it alive... Is there no mercy in the world? <<else>>That poor child. What a terrible fate it was condemned to. To lose its mother and suffer such agony when it had hardly drawn breath. In that, you can't help but feel a sort of kinship with the little girl. <</if>> It occurs to you that you're taking the dream far too seriously. The more the fog of sleep lifts, the more distant the dream becomes, replaced by the far more pressing reality of finding yourself in an unfamiliar place. <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[Sit up.|p2_c3_situp]]</div> </div> <</nobr>>
<<if $p_naditha eq 1>>You feel a swell of admiration for Anja and her determination to protect the child, even if she clearly lied to do so.<<else>>You feel a swell of admiration for Anja and her determination to protect the child.<</if>> <<if $p_suffer eq 1>> You are somewhat conflicted about the child, however. You still think it would have been best to let it pass with its mother. You can't help but wonder what sort of life it must have had. Likely, not a pleasant one.<<else>>It was a miracle that the baby survived. Whether it was a divine hand or sheer grit that preserved it, the child deserved a chance at life. <</if>> It occurs to you that you're taking the dream far too seriously. The more the fog of sleep lifts, the more distant the dream becomes, replaced by the far more pressing reality of finding yourself in an unfamiliar place. <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[Sit up.|p2_c3_situp]]</div> </div> <</nobr>>
You rub your eyes and then sit up, taking in a sharp breath at the pain in your leg. You're on a bed of soft pelts. None of them appear to be the one you were wearing earlier. Now, you're swathed in a long white tunic with a blue neckline, far too large for your frame. The fabric is cool against your skin. The space is...odd. Initially, you don't know what to make of the room. It's circular with domed walls that converge at a small, round opening in the ceiling. Pale stakes that look like the ribs of a great beast line the walls, serving as a support for the structure. Various rugs are stretched out across the floors, save for the center of the room where a cookfire burns atop a pile of rocks. There are various bags propped up against the walls, but no sign of the man or any other inhabitants. You recognize nothing, yet find yourself searching about for some sign that you might have been here before. When nothing stirs a memory, you attempt to climb to your feet. Your leg doesn't seem to be broken, but rising does cause considerable discomfort. You pull up the long bottom of your robes to find that your knee has been bandaged. Briefly, you think again about the child, but quickly push her out of your mind. Across the room, you locate what appears to be a door and hobble over to it. When you reach it, you run your hand across it, seeking an opening. You realize both the door and the wall are made not of stone, but of some sort of canvas. "A tent," you murmur. It's obvious once you see it. You look back, taking in the room again before turning and locating the straps that tether the door shut. It takes you a shamefully long time to figure out how they work. They seem to be tethered from the outside, yet you discover a way to manuever the knot that binds them, drawing it inside. Once the flap is open, you find a small space on the other side, as well as another door. The air is colder in this space and you can hear the sounds of the wind blowing outside. //I must figure out where I am,// you think. What if you're still near that terrible hovel, or if there are more monsters prowling outside? <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[Open the outer door.|p2_c4_open]]</div> <div class="choice-item">[[Better to go back inside.|p2_c4_retreat]]</div> </div> <</nobr>>
You grasp the outer flap, and struggle with the unfamiliar knots. After a moment of fumbling, you manage to loosen the ties, pulling back the heavy canvas. The instant the flap parts, an icy blast hits you squarely in the face. Snow gusts inward, stinging your skin and stealing your breath. Frantically, you try to secure the flap once more, but the whipping wind makes your fingers clumsy, and the fabric snaps stubbornly from your grasp. A large hand suddenly reaches past you, effortlessly catching hold of the canvas and pulling it shut again. Startled, you whirl around, nearly slipping as you scramble backward. A man looms in the entranceway, swiftly and deftly securing the ties. His heavy, fur-lined hood obscures most of his features, but the sheer size and presence of him sends your heart racing. Wet with snow, breathless, and shaking, you retreat deeper into the room, your eyes locked onto the stranger. <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[Search for a weapon.|p2_c5_weapon_open]]</div> <div class="choice-item">[[Back up and wait.|p2_c5_waitandsee_open]]</div> </div> <</nobr>> <<set $p_fm_wet to 1>> <<set $measured to Math.clamp($measured - 5, 0, 100)>> <<updatemeter 'Measured' $measured / 100>> <<notifySound "Daring has risen.">>
//What if there// are// monsters out there?// What exactly are //you// going to do about it, except run around like a fool and get your head bitten off? You may not be safe from monsters inside of the tent, but at least you won't freeze to death. The memory of the cold is enough to send you hobbling back to the pile of furs. Sinking onto the soft bed, you stretch out your legs and prod at your bandaged knee. <<if $swSkin eq 1>>\ Just as when you woke before, you're captivated by the sight of your fingers, particularly the long, pointed nails that extend from them. Yet as you stare at your hand, something else grips your attention. Earlier, your <<skinDesc>> fell somewhat beneath your notice, but now you recognize it as shadowling skin. A dreadful thought occurs to you. //Am I a slave?// <<else>>\ Just as when you woke before, you're captivated by the sight of your <<skinDesc>> fingers, particularly the long, pointed nails that extend from them. You examine them, both from the front and from behind, noting the slight curve at their tips. Did someone fashion your nails to appear so frightful, or was that choice you made? //What sort of person was I?// <</if>> Before you can contemplate that frightful question, you hear shuffling outside of the tent. It occurs to you that you didn't close the inner flap before going to sit down. Despite recognizing that an extra flap will do little to protect you, you can't sit idly by and wait. Once more you rise to your feet and hobble over to where the flap hangs open. You're in the process of trying to figure out how to retether the straps when the outer flap is opened. A burst of winter air rushes in, bringing with it a startling amount of snow. You stagger back and wrap your arms around yourself, your eyes going wide as a large figure steps inside. <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[Search for a weapon.|p2_c5_weapon_retreat]]</div> <div class="choice-item">[[Back up and wait.|p2_c5_waitandsee]]</div> </div> <</nobr>> <<set $p_fm_bodycheck to 1>> <<set $measured to Math.clamp($measured + 5, 0, 100)>> <<updatemeter 'Measured' $measured / 100>> <<notifySound "Measured has risen.">>
You retreat toward the fire, watching intently as a huge man shoulders his way into the tent. He's garbed in animal skins, from his brown leather boots up to his pelt-fashioned hood. You hear him mutter something that sounds like a curse as turns around to secure the outer flap. With his back turned to you, you consider searching for something with which to defend yourself. After all, he is a stranger and he must be thrice your size. Yet you recognize that merely holding a weapon could escalate an amicable interaction to one of conflict. Moreover, a weapon in your hands is liable to end up in his when he overpowers you. The turns, kicking snow from his boots before finally looking up at you. You can't help the sinking feeling in your chest as you find yourself staring at an unfamiliar set of eyes. Your suspicions are fully confirmed when he pulls down his mask, revealing a bronze face framed by wisps of golden hair. "I did not leave this open," he says, gesturing to the inner flap. He speaks in a strange, gutteral accent. "Now there is snow everywhere. Did you not have your fill of it last night?" <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[Apologize.|p2_c6_sorry_r_wait]]</div> </div> <</nobr>>
You retreat toward the fire, watching intently as a huge man shoulders his way into the tent. He’s garbed in animal skins, from his brown leather boots up to his pelt-fashioned hood. You hear him mutter something that sounds like a curse as he kicks snow from his boots. Your gaze darts around the interior of the tent, searching for something to defend yourself with. You grab one of the stones from the fire pit, careful to choose one from the outer ring that isn’t too hot. Quickly, you hide it behind your back just before the man finally looks up at you. You can't help the sinking feeling in your chest as you find yourself staring at an unfamiliar set of eyes. Your suspicions are fully confirmed when he pulls down his mask, revealing a bronze face framed by wisps of golden hair. "I did not leave this open," he says, gesturing to the inner flap. He speaks in a strange, gutteral accent. "Now there is snow everywhere. Did you not have your fill of it last night?" <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[Apologize.|p2_c6_sorry_retreat]]</div> </div> <</nobr>>
You retreat toward the fire, watching intently as a huge man shoulders his way into the tent. He's garbed in animal skins, from his brown leather boots up to his pelt-fashioned hood. You hear him mutter something that sounds like a curse as he kicks snow from his boots. Your gaze darts around the interior of the tent, seeking something with which to defend yourself. You opt to grab one of the stones from the fire pit, careful to grab one from the outer ring that isn't too hot. You're quick to hide it behind your back before the man finally looks up at you. You can't help the sinking feeling in your chest as you find yourself staring at an unfamiliar set of eyes. Your suspicions are fully confirmed when he pulls down his mask, revealing a bronze face framed by wisps of golden hair. "Are you a fool, or do you merely lust for death?" he bellows. He has a gutteral accent that makes his words all the more grating. <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[Apologize, profusely.|p2_c6_sorry]]</div> <div class="choice-item">[[Answer him, literally.|p2_c6_neither]]</div> </div> <</nobr>>
You edge back toward the fire, keeping your eyes fixed on the man as he finishes tying the flap. Snow clings to his boots and the heavy pelts draped over his shoulders, a faint hiss rising as the warmth of the tent begins to melt the frost. He mutters something under his breath, harsh and clipped, then turns to stamp the snow from his feet. You remain still, every muscle drawn tight with caution. A weapon might serve as protection, but just as easily provoke him. And looking at him, broad-shouldered, gloved hands thick as stone, you suspect it wouldn’t matter. If he meant you harm, no rock or blade would tip the odds. The man straightens and finally meets your gaze. Part of you already knew it wasn’t the man from before, yet you can’t help the sinking feeling in your chest as you stare into unfamiliar eyes. Your suspicions are confirmed as he pulls down his mask, revealing a bronze face framed by wisps of golden hair. “Are you a fool, or do you merely lust for death?” he bellows. He has a guttural accent that makes his words all the more grating. <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[Neither?|p2_c6_notafool_m]]</div> <div class="choice-item">[[Apologize.|p2_c6_sorry_m]]</div> </div> <</nobr>>
"Please forgive me," you say, inching back and trying to make yourself small. "I was only hoping to find out who else might be about." His expression shifts, the lines of anger softening into confusion. "What?" You start to repeat yourself. "I was only hoping to fi—" "I heard you the first time," he says, holding up a gloved hand. "Which master taught you to purr like that?" You blink at him. "Begging your pardon, sir?" He lets out a single, clipped laugh and begins removing his pelts, casting them in a heap by the door flap. //"Begging your pardon, sir?"// he repeats, in a tone that sounds an awful lot like mockery. "Save your theatrics for someone who doesn’t know your script, girl." "You know me?" you ask, shifting your back toward the wall to keep the stone hidden. "What kind of question is that?" he says, tossing his gloves onto the pile. //What a confusing man.// "Shall I ask it in a different manner?" you offer, keeping your voice calm. When he doesn’t respond, you continue, "Might our paths have crossed before? Do you know from where I hail, or perhaps of someone who might be seeking to find me? I seem to have lost my way in the inclement weather." His brows knot. "In the what?" "In the, um, snow." He shakes his head vigorously, droplets of water flinging in every direction. With his hood off, you're surprised to see that his wavy tresses are quite long. You imagine he might be mistaken for a woman from a distance, though his broad shoulders and jawline quickly dispel the illusion. "Right," he mutters with a sigh. "Put the damn rock down and sit. I can't take you seriously while you're thinking you're going to strike me." You hesitate, but once he lowers himself to sit by the fire, you follow suit. You cast him a sheepish look as you place the stone back on the pile and crouch on the opposite side of the flames. With his pelts off, he looks somewhat less threatening. He wears pale trousers and a longshirt beneath his white tunic. His brown leather boots are buckled up the sides, their tarnished edges suggesting genuine silver. "I wasn't going to strike you," you assure him gently. "I know." "I just didn’t know who you were, and I thought it prudent to take precautions." You glance at him. "Might you be inclined to tell me who you are?" "I’m the man who saved you from being eaten by a sithrak." <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[What's a sithrak?|p2_c7_sithrakwhat]]</div> </div> <</nobr>> <<set $c_ser_dynamic = Math.clamp($c_ser_dynamic - 5, 0, 100)>> <<updatemeter 'Serax' `$c_ser_dynamic / 100`>> <<notifySound "Your dynamic kindles with warmth." "4s">>
"Perhaps neither?" you say carefully. "I don't feel excessively foolish and I certainly do not wish for death." His expression shifts, lines of anger hardening into confusion. "What?" You repeat yourself more slowly, "I said that I do not feel excessively—" "I heard you the first time," he says, holding up a gloved hand. "Which master taught you to bark like that?" You blink at him. "I beg your pardon?" He lets out a single, clipped laugh and begins removing his pelts, casting them in a heap by the door flap. //"Beg your pardon?"// he repeats, in a tone that sounds an awful lot like mockery. "Save your theatrics for someone who doesn't know your script, woman." "You know me?" you ask, subtly shifting your back toward the wall to keep the stone hidden. "What kind of question is that?" he says, tossing his gloves onto the pile. //Such a confusing man.// "Shall I ask it in a different manner?" you venture. When he doesn't respond, you continue, "Might our paths have crossed before? Do you know from where I hail, or perhaps of someone who might be seeking to find me? I seem to have lost my way in the inclement weather." His brows knot. "In the //what?//" "In the //inclement weather.// The snow, if it pleases you." He shakes his head vigorously, droplets flinging in every direction. With his hood off, you’re surprised to see that his wavy tresses are quite long. You imagine he might be mistaken for a woman from a distance, though his broad shoulders and jawline quickly dispel the illusion. "Right," he sighs. "Put the damn rock down and sit. I can't take you seriously while you're thinking you're going to strike me." Your grip on the stone tightens for a beat, just long enough to register how silly it would be to refuse. Once he lowers himself to sit by the fire, you resign to join him. You purse your lips as you place the stone back on the pile and crouch on the opposite side of the flames. With his pelts off, he looks somewhat less threatening. He wears pale trousers and a longshirt beneath his white tunic. His brown leather boots are buckled tight, their tarnished edges speaking of genuine silver. "I wasn't going to strike you," you assure him. "I know." "I just didn't know who you were, and I thought it prudent to take precautions." You point out, "I //still// don't know who you are." "I'm the man who saved you from being eaten by a sithrak." <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[A sithrak?|p2_c7_sithrakwhat]]</div> </div> <</nobr>> <<set $c_ser_dynamic = Math.clamp($c_ser_dynamic + 5, 0, 100)>> <<updatemeter 'Serax' `$c_ser_dynamic / 100`>> <<notifySound "Your dynamic sharpens with tension." "4s">>
"Pardon, a what?" "A sithrak," he repeats with a flat stare. "Big, leathery beast with no eyes. Has a taste for daft women." Your eyes widen. "The monster! That was you who killed it? Pardon, but you don't look like the man who rescued me." "I am the one who felled it," he says, folding his arms across his chest. "Valdricht is the one who plucked you from the snow back in Kalat." "Kalat. Is that where you found me?" His eyes narrow with suspicion. "Is that not where you were?" "I... All I know is that I woke in some sort of old structure. A dilapidated building of sorts. Before I could make sense of how I'd gotten there, that sithrak was... hunting me." You say the last words with an involuntary shiver. Hunting is what men do to beasts. The idea that you would be prey in the wilderness, no different from any other animal, is deeply disturbing. "You don't know how you got to Kalat?" he asks. When you shake your head, he presses, "What of your maker? Surely he wouldn't have let you stray far from him." "My maker?" "Your master, then. Whatever you call him." You can't help but pull up your sleeves, searching for some sign of a brand on your arms. You find none. More curious, your skin is remarkably unblemished—not a single mark marring your smooth <<skinDesc>> flesh. "I don't believe I am a slave," you inform him. Even as you say the words, you're not sure how you knew to search your arms or even that slaves would be branded. <<if $swSkin == 1>>"You certainly weren't a freeling with skin like that," he says, his lips pressing into a grim line. "But I wasn't referring to your owner. Who is it that made you nyrkavenath?"<<else>>"I wasn't referring to your owner. Who is it that made you nyrkavenath?"<</if>> Your confusion must be evident, because he clarifies, "Who turned you into a darksinger?" You're beginning to suspect that he's simply inventing words. With a shake of your head, you say, "I still haven't received your name." "Serax." An odd name. Or at least, you think it is. In truth, you have little to compare it to apart from your intuition. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance," you tell him, lowering your head in a manner that seems appropriate. He stares at you in silence for long enough to be uncomfortable, and then says, "Do you have a name?" "Of course," you say, lacing your fingers in your lap. "I'm just not certain what it is. In truth, I'm struggling to remember a great deal of things. Such as where I was before Kalat or... well, anything, I suppose." You make a weak attempt at a laugh. "Certainly, I didn't fall from the sky. I must have come from somewhere, no?" Serax continues to stare at you, and now you have the distinct impression that his intent is to make you uneasy. <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[Stare back, blankly.|p2_c8_stoic]]</div> <div class="choice-item">[[Keep speaking, nervously.|p2_c9_tender]]</div> </div> <</nobr>>
You hold his stare, and after a few seconds pass, you begin to feel at ease. After what must be a full minute, Serax averts his gaze, glancing toward the door flap. You start to wonder if you managed to unnerve him, but then your ears prickle with the sound of snow crunching underfoot, followed by the scrape of tethers being pulled. Raising his voice, Serax says, “Velushka thy droska velkethe’dra, //nei// eri.” There’s no time to contemplate the strangeness of the words Serax speaks. The other man, Valdricht, steps inside, one long leg, then the other. Snow dusts the shoulders of his black coat, the fabric tailored to a staggering frame that seems to shrink the space around him. Only a narrow strip of pale skin is visible between the top of his mask and the bottom of his hood. Blue eyes settle on you, and his regard causes your spine to straighten. “Lumes? Eri eudnas’dra thy nei difhiren’dra ywen,” you hear Serax say. Valdricht's gaze lingers on you, until you feel compelled to say something. <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[Greet him politely.|p2_c9_greet]]</div> <div class="choice-item">[[Thank him for saving you.|p2_c9_thank]]</div> </div> <</nobr>> <<set $tender to Math.clamp($tender - 5, 0, 100)>> <<updatemeter 'Tender' $tender / 100>> <<set $c_ser_dynamic to Math.clamp($c_ser_dynamic + 5, 0, 100)>> <<updatemeter 'Serax' $c_ser_dynamic / 100>> <<notifySound "Your dynamic sharpens with tension." "4s">> <<timed 4.5s>> <<notifySound "Stoicism has risen." "4s">> <</timed>>
Feeling compelled to fill the silence, you say, "Perhaps I hit my head. I still seem to have a general understanding of certain things. Not much of what you say, to be candid, but when I try to think back it's like there's..." You trail off, distracted by the sound of snow crunching underfoot, followed by the tug of the outer tethers. Raising his voice, Serax says, “Velushka thy droska velkethe’dra, //nei// eri.” There's no time to contemplate the strangeness of the words Serax says. You hold your breath as the second flap opens. Somehow, you already know it will be //him//. He steps inside, one long leg, then the other, the canvas falling closed behind him. Snow dusts the shoulders of his long black coat, the fabric tailored to a staggering frame that forces the space to shrink around him. Only a narrow strip of pale skin is visible between the top of his mask and the bottom of his hood. Blue eyes settle on you, his regard causing your spine to straighten. “Lumes? Eri eudnas’dra thy nei difhiren’dra ywen,” you hear Serax say. Valdricht's gaze lingers on you, until you feel compelled to say something. <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[Greet him politely.|p2_c9_greet]]</div> <div class="choice-item">[[Thank him for saving you.|p2_c9_thank]]</div> </div> <</nobr>> <<set $tender to Math.clamp($tender + 5, 0, 100)>> <<updatemeter 'Tender' $tender / 100>> <<set $c_ser_dynamic to Math.clamp($c_ser_dynamic - 5, 0, 100)>> <<updatemeter 'Serax' $c_ser_dynamic / 100>> <<notifySound "Your dynamic kindles with warmth." "4s">> <<timed 4.5s>> <<notifySound "Tenderness has risen." "4s">> <</timed>>
You lower your head and utter a string of words that feel almost second nature. "May grace keep you, my lord. I am humbled to make your acquaintance." You’ve hardly finished when Serax snorts and mutters, “Velushka thy tafryk zevrithes’dra sal Suvrala.” //Is he translating for me?// Brows lifting, you ask Valdricht, "Are you able to understand me?" He blinks, long, dark lashes briefly falling over his eyes like curtains. When they lift, his gaze has shifted to Serax. “Veth ywen zin karethin zairyn? Ir veth ywen mokren sairith?” From the corner of your eye, you catch Serax shrug. “Ywen eudna’vir syven.” <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[Ask what they're saying.|p2_c9r_question]]</div> </div> <</nobr>> <<set $c_p2_var to 1>>
You lower your head and utter a string of words that feel almost second nature. "My lord, I am in your debt. The Light will bless you for what you've done for me." You've hardly finished when Serax snorts and says, “//Luma?// Velushka thy tafryk zevrithes’dra sal Suvrithel.” //Is he translating for me?// Brows lifting, you ask Valdricht, "Are you able to understand me?" He blinks, long, dark lashes briefly falling over his eyes like curtains. When they lift, his gaze has shifted to Serax. “Veth ywen zin karethin zairyn? Ir veth ywen mokren sairith?” From the corner of your eye, you catch Serax shrug. “Ywen eudna’vir syven.” <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[Ask what they're saying.|p2_c9r_question]]</div> </div> <</nobr>> <<set $c_p2_var to 2>>
"Perhaps neither?" you say carefully. "I don't feel excessively foolish and I certainly do not wish for death." His expression shifts, lines of anger hardening into confusion. "What?" You repeat yourself more slowly, "I said that I do not feel excessively—" "I heard you the first time," he says, holding up a gloved hand. "Which master taught you to bark like that?" You blink at him. "I beg your pardon?" He lets out a single, clipped laugh and begins removing his pelts, casting them in a heap by the door flap. //"Beg your pardon?"// he repeats, in a tone that sounds an awful lot like mockery. "Save your theatrics for someone who doesn't know your script, woman." "You know me?" you ask. "What kind of question is that?" he says, tossing his gloves onto the pile. //Such a confusing man.// "Shall I ask it in a different manner?" you venture. When he doesn't respond, you continue, "Might our paths have crossed before? Do you know from where I hail, or perhaps of someone who might be seeking to find me? I seem to have lost my way in the inclement weather." His brows knot. "In the //what?//" "In the //inclement weather.// The snow, if it pleases you." He shakes his head vigorously, droplets flinging in every direction. With his hood off, you’re surprised to see that his wavy tresses are quite long. You imagine he might be mistaken for a woman from a distance, though his broad shoulders and jawline quickly dispel the illusion. "Right," he mutters with a sigh. He lowers himself to sit by the fire, you follow suit. With his pelts off, he looks somewhat less threatening. He wears pale trousers and a longshirt beneath his white tunic. His brown leather boots are buckled up the sides, their tarnished edges suggesting genuine silver. Glancing back up at him, you say, "I //still// don't know who you are." "I'm the man who saved you from being eaten by a sithrak." <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[A sithrak?|p2_c7_sithrakwhat]]</div> </div> <</nobr>> <<set $c_ser_dynamic = Math.clamp($c_ser_dynamic + 5, 0, 100)>> <<updatemeter 'Serax' `$c_ser_dynamic / 100`>> <<notifySound "Your dynamic sharpens with tension." "4s">>
"Please forgive me," you say, inching back and trying to make yourself small. "I was only hoping to find out who else might be about." His expression shifts, the lines of anger softening into confusion. "What?" You start to repeat yourself. "I was only hoping to fi—" "I heard you the first time," he says, holding up a gloved hand. "Which master taught you to purr like that?" You blink at him. "Begging your pardon, sir?" He lets out a single, clipped laugh and begins removing his pelts, casting them in a heap by the door flap. //"Begging your pardon, sir?"// he repeats, in a tone that sounds an awful lot like mockery. "Save your theatrics for someone who doesn’t know your script, girl." "You know me?" you ask. "What kind of question is that?" he says, tossing his gloves onto the pile. //What a confusing man.// "Shall I ask it in a different manner?" you offer, keeping your voice calm. When he doesn’t respond, you continue, "Might our paths have crossed before? Do you know from where I hail, or perhaps of someone who might be seeking to find me? I seem to have lost my way in the inclement weather." His brows knot. "In the what?" "In the, um, snow." He shakes his head vigorously, droplets of water flinging in every direction. With his hood off, you're surprised to see that his wavy tresses are quite long. You imagine he might be mistaken for a woman from a distance, though his broad shoulders and jawline quickly dispel the illusion. "Right," he mutters with a sigh. He lowers himself to sit by the fire, you follow suit. With his pelts off, he looks somewhat less threatening. He wears pale trousers and a longshirt beneath his white tunic. His brown leather boots are buckled up the sides, their tarnished edges suggesting genuine silver. Glancing back up at him, you say, "Might you be inclined to tell me who you are?" "I’m the man who saved you from being eaten by a sithrak." <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[What's a sithrak?|p2_c7_sithrakwhat]]</div> </div> <</nobr>> <<set $c_ser_dynamic = Math.clamp($c_ser_dynamic - 5, 0, 100)>> <<updatemeter 'Serax' `$c_ser_dynamic / 100`>> <<notifySound "Your dynamic kindles with warmth." "4s">>
"Forgive me," you say, inching back. "I was only hoping to find someone." His expression changes, lines of anger softening into confusion. "What?" You start to repeat yourself. "I was only hoping to fi—" "I heard you the first time," he says, holding up a gloved hand. "Which master taught you to pur like that?" You blink at him. "Begging your pardon, sir?" He lets out a single, clipped laugh and begins removing his pelts, casting them in a heap by the door flap. //"Begging your pardon, sir?"// he repeats, in a tone that sounds an awful lot like mockery. "Save your theatrics for someone who doesn't know your script, girl." "You know me?" you ask, shifting your back toward the wall to keep the stone hidden. "What kind of question is that?" he says, tossing his gloves onto the pile. //What a confusing man.// "Shall I ask it in a different manner?" you venture. When he doesn't respond, you continue, "Might our paths have crossed before? Do you know from where I hail, or perhaps of someone who might be seeking to find me? I seem to have lost my way in the inclement weather." His brows knot. "In the what?" "In the, um, snow." He shakes his head vigorously, droplets of water flinging in every direction. With his hood off, you're surprised to see that his wavy tresses are quite long. You imagine that he might be mistaken for a woman if viewed from a distance, although his broad shoulders and jawline serve to offset his more feminine aspects. "Right," he says with a sigh. He lowers himself to sit by the fire, and after a moment of indecision, you join him, though you sit on the opposite side. With his pelts off, he looks somewhat less threatening. He wears pale trousers and a longshirt under his white tunic. His brown leather boots have a great deal of buckles on them, their tarnished edges speaking of genuine silver. You say, "May I ask who you are?" "I'm the man who saved you from being eaten by a sithrak." <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[What's a sithrak?|p2_c7_sithrak_ret]]</div> </div> <</nobr>>
"Forgive me," you say, inching back. "I woke and no one was here." His expression shifts, the lines of anger softening into confusion. "What?" You start to repeat yourself. "I said that I woke and—" "I heard you the first time," he says, holding up a gloved hand. "Which master taught you to pur like that?" You blink at him. "Begging your pardon, sir?" He lets out a single, clipped laugh and begins removing his pelts, casting them in a heap by the door flap. //"Begging your pardon, sir?"// he repeats, in a tone that sounds an awful lot like mockery. "Save your theatrics for someone who doesn't know your script, girl." "You know me?" you ask, shifting your back toward the wall to keep the stone hidden. "What kind of question is that?" he says, tossing his gloves onto the pile. //What a confusing man.// "Shall I ask it in a different manner?" you venture. When he doesn't respond, you continue, "Might our paths have crossed before? Do you know from where I hail, or perhaps of someone who might be seeking to find me? I seem to have lost my way in the inclement weather." His brows knot. "In the what?" "In the, um... snow." He shakes his head vigorously, droplets of water flinging in every direction. With his hood off, you're surprised to see that his wavy tresses are quite long. You imagine he might be mistaken for a woman if viewed from a distance, although his broad shoulders and jawline serve to offset his more feminine aspects. "Right," he says with a sigh. "Put the damn rock down and sit. I can't take you seriously while you're thinking you're going to strike me." You consider your options, but once he lowers himself to sit by the fire, you resign to join him. You cast him a sheepish look as you place the stone back on the pile and crouch on the opposite side of the fire. With his pelts off, he looks somewhat less threatening. He wears pale trousers and a longshirt under his white tunic. His brown leather boots have a great deal of buckles on them, their tarnished edges speaking of genuine silver. "I wasn't going to strike you," you assure him. "I know." "I just didn't know who you were, and I thought it prudent to take precautions." You point out, "I //still// don't know who you are." "I'm the man who saved you from being eaten by a sithrak." <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[What's a sithrak?|p2_c7_sithrak_ret]]</div> </div> <</nobr>>
"Pardon, a what?" "A sithrak," he repeats with a flat stare. "Big, leathery beast with no eyes. Has a taste for daft women." Your eyes widen. "The monster! That was you who killed it? Pardon, but you don't look like the man who rescued me." "I am the one who felled it," he says, folding his arms across his chest. "Valdricht is the one who plucked you from the snow back in Kalat." "Kalat. Is that where you found me?" His eyes narrow with suspicion. "Is that not where you were?" "I... All I know is that I woke in some sort of old structure. A dilapidated building of sorts. Before I could make sense of how I'd gotten there, that sithrak was... hunting me." You say the last words with an involuntary shiver. Hunting is what men do to beasts. The idea that you would be prey in the wilderness, no different from any other animal, is deeply disturbing. "You don't know how you got to Kalat?" he asks. When you shake your head, he presses, "What of your maker? Surely he wouldn't have let you stray far from him." "My maker?" "Your master, then. Whatever you call him." You can't help but pull up your sleeves, searching for some sign of a brand on your arms. You find none. More curious, your skin is remarkably unblemished—not a single mark marring your smooth <<skinDesc>> flesh. "I don't believe I am a slave," you inform him. Even as you say the words, you're not sure how you knew to search your arms or even that slaves would be branded. <<if $swSkin == 1>>"You certainly weren't a freeling with skin like that," he says, his lips pressing into a grim line. "But I wasn't referring to your owner. Who is it that made you nyrkavenath?"<<else>>"I wasn't referring to your owner. Who is it that made you nyrkavenath?"<</if>> Your confusion must be evident, because he clarifies, "Who turned you into a darksinger?" You're beginning to suspect that he's simply inventing words. With a shake of your head, you say, "I still haven't received your name." "Serax." An odd name. Or at least, you think it is. In truth, you have little to compare it to apart from your intuition. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance," you tell him, lowering your head in a manner that seems appropriate. He stares at you in silence for long enough to be uncomfortable, and then says, "Do you have a name?" "Of course," you say, lacing your fingers in your lap. "I'm just not certain what it is. In truth, I'm struggling to remember a great deal of things. Such as where I was before Kalat or... well, anything, I suppose." You make a weak attempt at a laugh. "Certainly, I didn't fall from the sky. I must have come from somewhere, no?" Serax continues to stare at you, and now you have the distinct impression that his intent is to make you uneasy. <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[Stare back, blankly.|p2_c8_stoic_r]]</div> <div class="choice-item">[[Keep speaking, nervously.|p2_c9_tender_r]]</div> </div> <</nobr>>
You hold his stare, and after a few seconds pass, you begin to feel at ease. After what must be a full minute, Serax averts his gaze, glancing toward the door flap. You start to wonder if you managed to unnerve him, but then your ears prickle with the sound of snow crunching underfoot, followed by the scrape of tethers being pulled. Raising his voice, Serax says, “Velushka thy droska velkethe’dra, //nei// eri.” There’s no time to contemplate the strangeness of the words Serax speaks. The other man, Valdricht, steps inside, one long leg, then the other. Snow dusts the shoulders of his black coat, the fabric tailored to a staggering frame that seems to shrink the space around him. Only a narrow strip of pale skin is visible between the top of his mask and the bottom of his hood. Blue eyes settle on you, and his regard causes your spine to straighten. “Lumes? Eri eudnas’dra thy nei difhiren’dra ywen,” you hear Serax say. Valdricht's gaze lingers on you, until you feel compelled to say something. <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[Greet him politely.|p2_c9r_greet]]</div> <div class="choice-item">[[Thank him for saving you.|p2_c9r_thank]]</div> </div> <</nobr>> <<set $tender to Math.clamp($tender - 5, 0, 100)>> <<updatemeter 'Tender' $tender / 100>> <<set $c_ser_dynamic to Math.clamp($c_ser_dynamic + 5, 0, 100)>> <<updatemeter 'Serax' $c_ser_dynamic / 100>> <<notifySound "Your dynamic sharpens with tension." "4s">> <<timed 4.5s>> <<notifySound "Stoicism has risen." "4s">> <</timed>>
Feeling compelled to fill the silence, you say, "Perhaps I hit my head. I still seem to have a general understanding of certain things. Not much of what you say, to be candid, but when I try to think back it's like there's..." You trail off, distracted by the sound of snow crunching underfoot, followed by the tug of the outer tethers. Raising his voice, Serax says, “Velushka thy droska velkethe’dra, //nei// eri.” There's no time to contemplate the strangeness of the words Serax says. You hold your breath as the second flap opens. Somehow, you already know it will be //him//. He steps inside, one long leg, then the other, the canvas falling closed behind him. Snow dusts the shoulders of his long black coat, the fabric tailored to a staggering frame that forces the space to shrink around him. Only a narrow strip of pale skin is visible between the top of his mask and the bottom of his hood. Blue eyes settle on you, his regard causing your spine to straighten. “Lumes? Eri eudnas’dra thy nei difhiren’dra ywen,” you hear Serax say. Valdricht's gaze lingers on you, until you feel compelled to say something. <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[Greet him politely.|p2_c9r_greet]]</div> <div class="choice-item">[[Thank him for saving you.|p2_c9r_thank]]</div> </div> <</nobr>> <<set $tender to Math.clamp($tender + 5, 0, 100)>> <<updatemeter 'Tender' $tender / 100>> <<set $c_ser_dynamic to Math.clamp($c_ser_dynamic - 5, 0, 100)>> <<updatemeter 'Serax' $c_ser_dynamic / 100>> <<notifySound "Your dynamic kindles with warmth." "4s">> <<timed 4.5s>> <<notifySound "Tenderness has risen." "4s">> <</timed>>
You lower your head and utter a string of words that feel almost second nature. "My lord, I am in your debt. The Light will bless you for what you've done for me." You've hardly finished when Serax snorts and says, “//Luma?// Velushka thy tafryk zevrithes’dra sal Suvrithel.” //Is he translating for me?// Brows lifting, you ask Valdricht, "Are you able to understand me?" He blinks, long, dark lashes briefly falling over his eyes like curtains. When they lift, his gaze has shifted to Serax. “Veth ywen zin karethin zairyn?” From the corner of your eye, you catch Serax shrug. “Ywen eudna’vir syven.” <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[Ask what they're saying.|p2_c9r_question]]</div> </div> <</nobr>> <<set $c_p2_var to 4>>
You lower your head and utter a string of words that feel almost second nature. "May grace keep you, my lord. I am humbled to make your acquaintance." You’ve hardly finished when Serax snorts and mutters, “Velushka thy tafryk zevrithes’dra sal Suvrala.” //Is he translating for me?// Brows lifting, you ask Valdricht, "Are you able to understand me?" He blinks, long, dark lashes briefly falling over his eyes like curtains. When they lift, his gaze has shifted to Serax. “Veth ywen zin karethin zairyn?” From the corner of your eye, you catch Serax shrug. “Ywen eudna’vir syven.” <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[Ask what they're saying.|p2_c9r_question]]</div> </div> <</nobr>> <<set $c_p2_var to 3>>
"Pardon my intrusion, but what is that language you're speaking?" you ask, glancing between them. Neither of them answers you. While Valdricht removes his coat, he murmurs something you can't make out, and you think you catch Serax rolling his eyes. Unlike the other man, Valdricht takes care to tether his coat and gloves to notches in the support beams. You find yourself staring at him as he goes through the motions of taking off his wet clothes, though you can't put your finger on why it's so captivating. As you watch him, memories come to you. Not memories of your past or anything that will shed light on who you are or where you come from. Instead, you remember those finely wrought lips closing over yours. You remember his blood against your lips, filling your mouth and sliding down your throat. You remember how he tasted, at once like paradise and oblivion. You try to push it out of your mind. Just thinking about it makes you feel tainted. You want to believe you misremembered, or that it was just some fevered dream that overtook you once you were rescued. Yet a tension begins to coil in the pit of your stomach. It's barbed, and you can't help but grunt, your hand going to your abdomen to assuage the phantom wound. Once his boots are off and placed near the fire, Valdricht approaches you. He sits beside you, and you instinctively angle yourself to face him. He's larger than you remember, almost unnaturally so, yet at the same time his frame and his features are elegantly arrayed, no part of him appearing out of proportion. Up close and in the light of the fire, his eyes are rings of deep water that encircle twin voids. The darkness expands as he regards you, as if opening wider to make space to pull you in. By the time he speaks, it feels like he can't possibly be addressing you, and yet his gaze remains fixed on yours. "How do you feel?" "Fine," you answer automatically. You hadn't expected him to speak your language, and there's something arresting about the cadence of his accented voice. He puts emphasis on the wrong syllables, but in a manner that makes you feel as if you're the one who's speaking improperly. He lifts his hand, reaching toward you, yet stopping short of making contact with your knee. "Your leg?" "Fine." "Do you hunger?" You have to consider the question. You have no idea when you might have last eaten, yet you haven't once thought of food since waking. As you consider the prospect of eating, you feel only a mild indifference. "I don't believe so." He considers you, his stare moving over your body. Unlike with Serax, you don't feel a challenge in his stare, only a quiet probing, as if he's seeking an answer to an unasked question. <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[Thank him, reservedly.|p2_c9r_equinox]]</div> <div class="choice-item">[[Thank him, graciously.|p2_c9r_orbit]]</div> </div> <</nobr>>
"I recognize your efforts," you tell him evenly. "You didn't have to offer me shelter. But you did. So… thank you." You hold his gaze as you say it, though the weight of it presses at your nerves. He says nothing in return, but that silence doesn't shake you. "This tent," you continue, more deliberately now, "is yours, I take it?" It feels… ill-suited. The man before you strikes you as someone better placed in carved halls, not canvas and bone. Valdricht replies, "I acknowledge your gratitude, but it is clarity that I seek. Who is your maker, and why were you alone in those ruins?" "I can't offer clarity," you admit. "On the first question, I’m uncertain. On the second, I have no knowledge." Valdricht's head tilts to the side ever so slightly. It's only then that you realize he's scarcely moved since sitting across from you. You're not even certain you've seen him blink. "Who made you nyrkavenath?" he asks, the foreign word starting hard and then ending in a breath. "Could you elaborate?" you ask. Serax speaks up. "I already told you. A darksinger." Enunciating each word, he asks, "Who. Made. You. A. Dark. Singer?" <<if $skinTone is 1 or $skinTone is 2 or $skinTone is 6>>\ You hold up your <<skinDesc>> hand, turning it over with a frown. "I don't believe I am terribly dark, Sir Serax." <<elseif $skinTone is 4 or $skinTone is 5 or $skinTone is 9>>\ You hold up your <<skinDesc>> hand, turning it over with a frown. "I don't believe anyone made me this way, Sir Serax. I daresay I must have been born like this, no?" <<else>>\ You hold up your <<skinDesc>> hand, turning it over with a frown. "I wouldn't say that I am overly dark, Sir Serax."<</if>>\ "No one is referring to your skin, woman," Serax retorts. "Stop playing the fool. You'll not convince us that you don't know what a darksinger is." "Well, that puts me in an awkward position," you say with a swallow. The enormity of your situation is beginning to catch up to you. You don't know your own name. You woke alone and naked in ruins, being hunted by a monster that mimicked your voice. You don't know where you are, and the only two people you know are sitting in front of you, eyeing you with suspicion. Both of them are men who could easily overpower you if they were so inclined. And then there's that pain, once more twisting in your gut. //There's something very wrong with me.// Valdricht extends his palm to you just as your eyes are beginning to sting. You place your hand in his on reflex, and then shiver at the strange current of energy that seems to spark across his skin. His hand closes around yours as his other rises. You notice something else about him. Like your own hands, his are tipped with dark claw-like nails. With his free hand, he presses the tip of his thumb claw into his index finger. A single drop of blood gathers on the pad of his finger, and he presses it lightly to the back of your hand. Saliva pools in your mouth. <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[Why did he do that?|p2_c9r_why]]</div> </div> <</nobr>> <<set $c_val_dynamic to Math.clamp($c_val_dynamic + 5, 0, 100)>> <<updatemeter 'Valdricht' $c_val_dynamic / 100>> <<notifySound "Your dynamic strengthens with resolve.">>
"I am grateful for your concern," you tell him. "Truly. And for your hospitality." You glance around, mostly because his stare is becoming unnerving. "I assume this is your... um, traveling domicile?" On second thought, the tent seems a more fitting abode for the other man. The man before you seems more suited to reside on a grand estate or in a castle. Valdricht says, "I acknowledge your gratitude, but it is clarity that I seek. Who is your maker, and why were you left alone in those ruins?" "I'm afraid I cannot elucidate you on that matter, my lord," you say, your shoulders slumping. "On the first question, I am confused, and on the second, I am ignorant." From the other side of the fire, Serax mutters, "Elucidate," under his breath. Valdricht's head tilts to the side ever so slightly. It's only then that you realize he's scarcely moved since sitting across from you. You're not even certain you've seen him blink. "Who made you nyrkavenath?" he asks, the foreign word starting hard and then ending in a breath. "Could you elaborate?" you ask gently. Serax speaks up. "I already told you. A darksinger." Enunciating each word, he asks, "Who. Made. You. A. Dark. Singer?" <<if $skinTone is 1 or $skinTone is 2 or $skinTone is 6>>\ You hold up your <<skinDesc>> hand, turning it over with a frown. "I don't believe I am terribly dark, Sir Serax." <<elseif $skinTone is 4 or $skinTone is 5 or $skinTone is 9>>\ You hold up your <<skinDesc>> hand, turning it over with a frown. "I don't believe anyone made me this way, Sir Serax. I daresay I must have been born like this, no?" <<else>>\ You hold up your <<skinDesc>> hand, turning it over with a frown. "I wouldn't say that I am overly dark, Sir Serax."<</if>>\ "No one is referring to your skin, woman," Serax retorts. "Stop playing the fool. You'll not convince us that you don't know what a darksinger is." "Well, that puts me in an awkward position." You attempt a smile, but your lips merely quiver. The enormity of your situation is beginning to catch up to you. You don't know your own name. You woke alone and naked in ruins, being hunted by a monster that mimicked your voice. You don't know where you are, and the only two people you know are sitting in front of you, eyeing you with suspicion. Both of them are men who could easily overpower you if they were so inclined. And then there's that pain, once more twisting in your gut. //There's something very wrong with me.// Valdricht extends his palm to you just as your eyes are beginning to sting. You place your hand in his on reflex, and then shiver at the strange current of energy that seems to spark across his skin. His hand closes around yours as his other rises. You notice something else about him. Like your own hands, his are tipped with dark, claw-like nails. With his free hand, he presses the tip of his thumb claw into his index finger. A single drop of blood gathers on the pad of his finger, and he presses it lightly to the back of your hand. Saliva pools in your mouth. <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[Why did he do that?|p2_c9r_why]]</div> </div> <</nobr>> <<set $c_val_dynamic to Math.clamp($c_val_dynamic - 5, 0, 100)>> <<updatemeter 'Valdricht' $c_val_dynamic / 100>> <<notifySound "Your dynamic stirs with devotion.">>
You want to ask why, but your throat is too tight. Your hesitation lasts only long enough for you to tremble. Then instinct overtakes reason, and you dive down, tongue darting out to lick the crimson drop from your skin. The taste explodes across your senses, a tiny spark igniting an insatiable inferno within. You gasp, but the hunger only tightens its grip. Without conscious thought, you reach for Valdricht’s hand, craving more. But he withdraws gently, murmuring, ''"Sila."'' Abruptly, your body goes slack, leaving you limp, capable only of a feeble whimper. You’re scarcely aware of his hand reaching out, fingers threading gently through your hair. You sag into his touch, eyes fluttering closed as your pulse races, your mind blurred with a desperate craving. "No control. No awareness," Valdricht says softly. "You're either a feral beast disguised as a beautiful woman, or a nascent darksinger. Come, Serax." Footsteps move closer. Your eyelids feel impossibly heavy, though they flutter open at the soft rustle of fabric. Serax appears at your side, kneeling down. He gathers you into his lap, guiding your head to rest against his chest. Your pulse calms ever-so-slightly at his closeness. Then his wrist comes into view, two fresh puncture marks visible. Your body jerks forward with renewed urgency. His wrist meets your lips, and you latch onto it, drinking hungrily. Blood rushes over your tongue, hot and sweet, flooding your mouth with relief. You moan against his skin, the sound muffled and desperate. As you drink from him, something remains out of reach. You drink deeper, harder, your whole body straining toward a satisfaction that hovers just beyond your grasp. Another moan escapes you, this one edged with frustration. You're drowning in plenty yet dying of thirst, and you don't understand why. His free hand pats your back, firm yet somehow comforting. "Settle down, woman." Eventually, your frantic pulls ease into slow, languid draws, each swallow gentler than the last. You continue to drink, but don't protest when Serax pulls his arm away. Your body lax and your mind dazed, you slump against his chest, full, yet not fully satiated. Serax begins to speak of you as if you aren't in the room. Perhaps you aren't, because you can only listen with detatched interest. "She needs to be with her maker," says Serax, while idly stroking your back. "She can't keep feeding from us." Valdricht says nothing. He sits on the other side of the fire, staring at you. You stare back, holding his gaze until fatigue drags you under. <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[Sink into dreams.|dream2_c1]]</div> </div> <</nobr>>
This time, you don't struggle against the shadows as you're pulled down. You step lightly onto the floor of the void, and the floor rises up, taking shape into the elements of your dream. Around you, a new world materializes. A long room emerges, structured and sacred, with heavy floors and arched stained-glass windows. Each one depicts a scene, the first featuring a woman with a radiant crown. As you regard each one in turn, memories of the Elodari faith spill into your mind. Elodine, The Dawn Mother, rising to melt the frost that once covered the world of Elovyr. Aurin, The Frost Father, preparing to confront the fiery maiden, only to fall in love with her. You see a scene depicting The Elunara, the divine wedding, and another showing their ascension to Mount Vartojun. The final scene depicts their firstborn son Adonir, descending from the mountain with a flaming sword and preparing to confront the wicked nightborn races. The last scene seems to stretch beyond the bounds of the window, the base of Mount Vartojun sprawling out into a vast continent locked in frost. Nazralt, the northernmost continent of Elovyr. An arctic land where not even The Dawn Mother's warmth can melt the permafrost. The cold keeps humans and fiends alike from the Ergalti mountain chain where the gods dwell. The image recedes, solidifying back into a simple stained-glass window as the hall comes to life. Tables appear, six in a row on each side of the room. Chairs materialize, and in them the shadows coalesce into the shapes of girls, all of them in white robes. The girl closest to you has a plain face and stringy black hair that pokes out from beneath a pale headdress. Her name comes to you just as Sister Naditha's had in the last dream. //Ismira.// Little details about her pop into your mind. She's not very bright and often falls asleep during prayer, but she has a kind smile and a merciful nature. She also picks her nose. As if on cue, a chubby finger lodges itself into her nostril and begins digging about. You grin, until your eyes fall on the girl sitting beside her. You gasp at the sight of her formless face, the features of which are in flux. Her eyes change from blue to green, freckles blossoming and then fading on her cheeks. The hair that spills out of the back of her headdress is curly, but it doesn't seem to know whether it wants to be red, orange, or blonde. Her name is... something that begins with an 's'. <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[Silba?|dream2_c2_parable][$sicklyacolyte to "Silba"]]</div> <div class="choice-item">[[Selia?|dream2_c2_parable][$sicklyacolyte to "Selia"]]</div> <div class="choice-item">[[Samira?|dream2_c2_parable][$sicklyacolyte to "Samira"]]</div> </div> <</nobr>>
//It's $sicklyacolyte, no?// The only detail that comes to you about $sicklyacolyte is that she's sickly. She sneezes, prompting Ismira to offer her a handkerchief. The front of the hall is the last part to materialize. Sister Naditha takes shape, shadows clinging to her as she paces, reading passionately from an open book. "...the great scholar lamented, for he had devoted his life to studying the scriptures, and yet it was the illiterate fisherman who was granted entry into Eduana whilst the scholar was turned away. Why was that?" Ismira's hand shoots up. At Sister Naditha's nod, Ismira says, "Because he was a very good fisherman and the gods enjoy eating fish?" Several of the girls laugh, and even Sister Naditha's lips tremble with a smile. As you near her, you realize her grays are turning white and she has more lines webbing out from her eyes than the last time you saw her. "No," she says gently. "Anyone else?" A hand in the front of the room tentatively rises. The humor leaves Sister Naditha's face, her lips pressing thin before she says, "Go on, then." The girl at the front of the class has a soft yet clear voice with a lovely speaking cadence. Her manner of speech and choice of words sound as if they belong to a much older girl, although she seems to be the smallest child in the lecture hall. "The scholar was prideful. Although he knew the scriptures well, his understanding was academic and self-serving. He was too full of himself to know the glory of the gods, whereas the fisherman was a humble vessel. That is why in The Book of the Eternal Dawn, Chapter Twelve, Verse Ten, The Mother, herself, says to the scholar, 'You knew my words, but not my will. You sought to embody my radiance, while he sought only to follow it.'" <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[A flawless response. Clearly she's a bright girl.|dream2_c3_erudite]]</div> <div class="choice-item">[[A flawless response. She's bright, but not wise.|dream2_c3_intuitive]]</div> </div> <</nobr>>
The girl is bright, without question, and her clarity of mind fills you with pride. Such wisdom in one so young is a testament to her keen intellect. Sister Naditha's upper lip curls, yet she nods in begrudging approval. "Excellent, as always." Turning to the rest of the class, she adds, "How shameful that the shadowling can better interpret the words of Our Mother than a room full of her true daughters." The girls shift uncomfortably in their seats. Their embarrassment is palpable. While Sister Naditha continues with her lecture, you reach the front of the room, stopping at the table where the girl sits. Somehow, you already knew it would be //her.// The long sleeves of her pale gown don't conceal her scarred hands. They're so thoroughly burnt that there are only nubs where her fingernails should be. Those same scars climb up her neck and the back of her head, yet do not touch her face. Her skin is an unnatural tone—the color of pink waterlilies. The sprig of hair that peeks from beneath her headdress is a deep shade of purple, like the midnight sky over the summer sea. Her eyes remind you a great deal of your own, yet with an inner ring of pure silver. <<if $p_babyburn == 1>>She's grown more beautiful than you could have imagined when you saw her in the moments following her birth. Now, more than before, you find yourself simmering with contempt for Sister Naditha and what she did to this precious child.<<else>>You couldn't have imagined the poor baby would grow into such a lovely little girl. In spite of her burns and her odd coloring, she's easily the most beautiful girl in the room.<</if>> While Naditha continues on about the sin of pride, the girl dips her quill into her inkwell and puts it to her parchment. <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[She's writing an intriguing parable.|dream2_c4_notes]]</div> <div class="choice-item">[[She's drawing an irreverent picture.|dream2_c4_picture]]</div> </div> <</nobr>> <<set $erudite to Math.clamp($erudite + 10, 0, 100)>> <<updatemeter 'Erudite' $erudite / 100>> <<notifySound "Erudite has risen.">>
The girl is bright, no doubt, but the tallest flower is the first to be cut. Doubly so in Sister Naditha's lecture hall. The sister's upper lip curls with derision even as she says, "Excellent, as always." Looking out over the others, she adds, "How shameful that the shadowling can better interpret the words of Our Mother than a room full of her //true //daughters." The girls shift uncomfortably in their seats. Their shame is palpable, and it will breed resentment. While Sister Naditha continues with her lecture, you reach the front of the room, stopping at the table where the girl sits. Somehow, you already knew it would be //her.// The long sleeves of her pale gown don't conceal her scarred hands. They're so thoroughly burnt that there are only nubs where her fingernails should be. Those same scars climb up her neck and the back of her head, yet do not touch her face. Her skin is an unnatural tone—the color of pink waterlilies. The sprig of hair that peeks from beneath her headdress is a deep shade of purple, like the midnight sky over the summer sea. Her eyes remind you a great deal of your own, yet with an inner ring of pure silver. <<if $p_babyburn == 1>>She's grown more beautiful than you could have imagined when you saw her in the moments following her birth. Now, more than before, you find yourself simmering with contempt for Sister Naditha and what she did to this precious child.<<else>>You couldn't have imagined the poor baby would grow into such a lovely little girl. In spite of her burns and her odd coloring, she's easily the most beautiful girl in the room.<</if>> While Naditha continues on about the sin of pride, the girl dips her quill into her inkwell and puts it to her parchment. <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[She's writing an intriguing parable.|dream2_c4_notes]]</div> <div class="choice-item">[[She's drawing an irreverent picture.|dream2_c4_picture]]</div> </div> <</nobr>> <<set $erudite to Math.clamp($erudite - 10, 0, 100)>> <<updatemeter 'Erudite' $erudite / 100>> <<notifySound "Intuition has risen.">>
The girl's quill glides gracefully across the parchment, ink pooling into neat, graceful letters. You lean closer, intrigued by what she's written. It's the same parable Sister Naditha was reading. Well, //almost.// In this new version, when the prideful scholar kneels before The Dawn Mother, she lays a gentle hand upon his head and says, "Though your pride is great and your heart burdened by sin, my mercy is without bounds. Rise, scholar, and enter the light of Eduana." A curious revision. You distinctly recall the scholar being condemned to an eternity in the underworld in the original scripture. The girl has a sweet soul and a compassionate heart, no doubt, but even a child should know better than to rewrite scripture. <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[She's flirting with trouble.|dream2_c5_song]]</div> </div> <</nobr>> <<set $devout to Math.clamp($devout + 10, 0, 100)>> <<updatemeter 'Devout' $devout / 100>> <<notifySound "Devotion has risen.">>
You watch, impressed by how deftly her burnt hands maneuver the quill. Though, you find yourself growing anxious as you realize she's drawing a haughty depiction of The Dawn Mother. In it, Elodine shoos the prideful scholar, saying, "I have no use for learned men, only those who will obey me without question." You can't help but chuckle, even as you look anxiously toward Sister Naditha. Her lecture has turned fiery, but thankfully she doesn't seem to have noticed the drawing. You breathe a sigh of relief when the girl carefully tears her drawing from the page and tucks it away up her sleeve. <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[That could have gone very badly.|dream2_c5_song]]</div> </div> <</nobr>> <<set $devout to Math.clamp($devout - 10, 0, 100)>> <<updatemeter 'Devout' $devout / 100>> <<notifySound "Defiance has risen.">>
Sister Naditha shuts her book with enough force to give the girls a start. As she sets it onto her lectern, she says, "Now, the dawn is nearly upon us. Rise up and let us sing The Hymn of Morning to welcome Our Mother's ascent." The scraping of chairs against the stone floor echoes as the girls move to stand. As Naditha lifts her hands toward the ceiling, they begin to sing. "Dear Mother crowned in morning gold, Your hand is strong, your heart is bold, You stand where shadows fear to tread, You guard the paths on which we're led." Once more, the shadowling girl stands out among her human peers. To call her singing voice divine would be blasphemous, and yet you can think of no other word to best describe it. Even the two girls behind her merely mouth the words to the hymn, preferring instead to listen to their peer's ethereal rendition. Sister Naditha gives the shadowling's table a hard knock, causing the room to fall silent. "Lower your pitch, girl. You are not meant to sing above the others, but in harmony with them. It isn't a competition for Our Mother's favor, which is fortunate for you." Several of the girls snicker, while the shadowling girl purses her lips. //No. Bite your tongue. Stay silent and do as you're told.// "High Sister Anja says my voice is a gift from the gods." //Little fool.// Once more, Sister Naditha's lip curls. "I see. Well, if the high sister said so, it must be true. Although, it is odd. One would think that if the gods were going to give you a gift, they might have started with a nose." This time, the girls make little effort to contain their laughter. While the shadowling's chin trembles, Sister Naditha says, "Silence! None of you is without her flaws. Besides, the poor girl can't help that she has the nose of a pig and a face not even Our Mother could bear to look upon. Back to singing now. Begin from the beginning." The girls once more lift their voices in song. This time, the shadowling's voice is soft and faltering. As you watch her, your fists clenched, you see her face begin to change. Her delicate button nose seems to recoil, drawing back into the twin pits of a snout. At the same time, the scars on her neck begin to climb, ravaging her smooth skin and devouring her elegant brows. One of her eyes clouds to milky white just as you see her sag to one side, like a candle that's begun to melt. <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[Try to comfort her.|dream2_c6_comfort]]</div> <div class="choice-item">[[It is only a dream.|dream2_c6_stoic]]</div> </div> <</nobr>>
Your chest aches for the girl, driving you forward on instinct. You reach out, fingertips brushing through her shoulder as if she were no more solid than smoke. Of course. A dream. Your hand drops helplessly. As the shadows begin their slow devouring of the hall—tables, windows, and children alike—you glance down at the shadowling’s table. Her notebook rests closed, her name neatly inked onto its surface. <div class="name-input-container"> <label class="name-input-label">Her name is...</label> <input type="text" class="glowing-input" id="playerNameInput" value="Shaelis" maxlength="30"> <div class="name-error" id="nameError">That name is forbidden. Choose another.</div> </div> <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item"> <a onclick="validatePlayerName('dream2_c7_name'); return false;">Continue.</a> </div> </div> <</nobr>> <<set $tender to Math.clamp($tender + 10, 0, 100)>> <<updatemeter 'Tender' $tender / 100>> <<notifySound "Tenderness has risen.">>
Pity for the girl and fury at Naditha war within you, but you remind yourself that it is only a dream. Staying focused, you peer about the room once more, seeking new details that might unlock hidden knowledge. But the shadows are already beginning to close in. Like the scars on the girl's face, they begin to devour the hall, swallowing up the walls with their stained glass, the chairs, tables, and the children. With little else to do, you look down at the shadowling's table. She closed her notebook before rising to sing, and for the first time, you notice her name is scrawled tidily on the front. <div class="name-input-container"> <label class="name-input-label">Her name is...</label> <input type="text" class="glowing-input" id="playerNameInput" value="Shaelis" maxlength="30"> <div class="name-error" id="nameError">That name is forbidden. Choose another.</div> </div> <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item"> <a onclick="validatePlayerName('dream2_c7_name'); return false;">Continue.</a> </div> </div> <</nobr>> <<set $tender to Math.clamp($tender - 10, 0, 100)>> <<updatemeter 'Tender' $tender / 100>> <<notifySound "Stoicism has risen.">>
<<if $playerName == "Shaelis">>She must be named after her mother. One can only wonder who her father might have been.<<else>>A curious name for a curious girl...<</if>> You step back and exhale as the shadows overtake her, and you toss a final glare in the direction of Naditha. <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[May the shadows keep her.|p3_c1_wake]]</div> </div> <</nobr>>
As you rise to consciousness, a new world unfurls around you. A vast pantheon of gods emerges, each tethered to sensory impressions and shrouded fragments of memory. You remember <<toggletext "The Radiant Gospels" "The Radiant Gospels (the holy book of the Elodari faith)">>, and that your favorite book was <<toggletext "The First Light" "The First Light (the first book of The Radiant Gospels)">>—it told the tale of when <<toggletext "Aurin" "Aurin (The Frost Father, the patron god of Elovyr)">> and <<toggletext "Elodine" "Elodine (The Dawn Mother, wife of Aurin and goddess of the sun)">> met, joining in divine matrimony. You recall the scents of sage and myrrh incense filling hallways, signaling that the <<toggletext "Vigil of Nydris" "Vigil of Nydris (weeklong midwinter period of worship for the moon goddess Nydris)">> was approaching. With it came imports of <<toggletext "Valdorian" "Valdorian (of Valdoria, the capital of the Mergalti Empire)">> fireworks, the baking of sweetcakes, and long, cool nights spent singing by the fire. And the songs. Oh there were so many. You remember the words to all of them. Your favorite was "Stay with Us, Verdant Sister," sung for the goddess <<toggletext "Therysa" "Therysa (The Verdant Sister, the Elodari harvest goddess)">> at the spring equinox. You recall how powerful you felt in those moments. To think that you, a humble girl, could sway a goddess to tend the fields rather than sneak away to Modohar to visit her lover. //'Sweet Sister of the harvest moon, tend the seeds you helped us sow, When you heed the shadow's call, the children reap what sorrow grows.'// The prayers. Their words fill your mind, line by line, into eternity. The ones spoken in childhood: Dawn Greeting, Protection Through the Night, The Blessing of Simple Bread. The prayers of the masses: Harvest Gratitude, When Storms End, Light for Healing, Safe Travels. And there were the long, elegant ones that required memorizing complex texts, some even written in foreign tongues: The Litany of Divine Ascension, Canticle of Primordial Order, and Hymn For Those Who Have Passed Beyond. //'O Luminous Matriarch, bind thou these wayward humours that do corrupt the vessel of thy servant, that we might walk undefiled beneath thy radiant countenance.'// <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[Marvel at their beauty.|p3_c2_devout]]</div> <div class="choice-item">[[Perhaps they were a bit tedious.|p3_c2_defiant]]</div> </div> <</nobr>> <<set $chapter to "Prelude: Moonday III">>
Each prayer and hymn feels like a blessing, connecting you to something far greater than your current predicament. The gods have not abandoned you, even in this strange place. You should give them thanks for protecting you. After all, you survived the cold and the monster's attack. Surely divine mercy guided your rescuers to find you when death seemed certain. A scent makes your nose twitch. It smells like seawater. You open your eyes and find yourself staring into the fire. A blackened iron pot sits on a grate above the flames, steam rising from whatever broth bubbles within. Above you, you see Serax, staring down at you. <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[Greet him.|p3_c3_kindling]]</div> <div class="choice-item">[[Ask why he was watching you sleep.|p3_c3_combustive]]</div> </div> <</nobr>> <<set $devout = Math.clamp($devout + 5, 0, 100)>> <<updatemeter 'Devout' $devout / 100>> <<notifySound "Devotion has risen." "4s">>
It's rather annoying to have your head stuffed with all these details while true memories elude you. You don't want to remember merely singing a hymn, you want to recall where you were, who you were with, and what your name was. Although, perhaps the gods are the key. Perhaps a prayer could draw their mercy on you, helping you to recall. Which one was the goddess of memory? A scent makes your nose twitch. It smells like seawater. You open your eyes and find yourself staring into the fire. A blackened iron pot sits on a grate above the flames, steam rising from whatever broth bubbles within. Above you, you see Serax, staring down at you. <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[Greet him.|p3_c3_kindling]]</div> <div class="choice-item">[[Ask why he was watching you sleep.|p3_c3_combustive]]</div> </div> <</nobr>> <<set $devout = Math.clamp($devout - 5, 0, 100)>> <<updatemeter 'Devout' $devout / 100>> <<notifySound "Defiance has risen." "4s">>
You sit up, offering him a small smile. "Good morning to you, Sir Serax. I pray your sleep was deep and untroubled." His brow furrows. "Why would it be troubled?" You frown. "I'm not certain. It is simply a saying, such as fare thee well or may your path be smooth. A pleasantry, if you will." "Ah, spare me," he grunts. "You want to eat?" You lean over the cookpot. Its bubbling contents emit a briny and unpleasant scent. //"That?"// you ask. Recognizing the distaste evident in your tone, you amend, "I only meant, what //is// that?" "You don't recognize a pot of brimkás?" <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[It seems familiar...|p3_c4_intuitive]]</div> <div class="choice-item">[[Actually, you know a great deal about brimkás.|p3_c4_erudite]]</div> </div> <</nobr>> <<set $c_ser_dynamic = Math.clamp($c_ser_dynamic - 5, 0, 100)>> <<updatemeter 'Serax' `$c_ser_dynamic / 100`>> <<notifySound "Your dynamic kindles with warmth." "4s">>
You sit up, your lips curving into a frown. "Were you watching me sleep?" Serax arches a brow. He seems bigger than you remember. "Good morning to you, too, my lady." "I am not a lady," you tell him, your hands rising to right your hair. "At least, I don't suppose I am. I also do not believe myself to be of the... How to say this delicately? Of the simple class. That of the laborers and such. I suspect I am something of a learned woman, don't you agree?" "What would a learned woman be doing in the ruins of Kalat, days from civilization, and naked no less?" Your cheeks heat. "Well, the nakedness does present a challenging point to reconcile. Although perhaps I was suffering from terminal paradoxia. It is a state of hypothermia in which the body becomes so cold that it begins to feel hot and the sufferer is known to disrobe. I read about it in a book once. I think. What is this you are cooking?" You lean over the cookpot. Its bubbling contents emit a briny and unpleasant scent. "You know about //terminal paradoxia// but you don't recognize a pot of brimkás?" <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[It seems familiar...|p3_c4_intuitive]]</div> <div class="choice-item">[[Actually, you know a great deal about brimkás.|p3_c4_erudite]]</div> </div> <</nobr>> <<set $c_ser_dynamic = Math.clamp($c_ser_dynamic + 5, 0, 100)>> <<updatemeter 'Serax' `$c_ser_dynamic / 100`>> <<notifySound "Your dynamic sharpens with tension." "4s">>
//Brimkás...// "It seems familiar..." you say slowly. The scent stirs something in your memory, though you can't place what. "You want to try some?" "Perhaps a small portion?" He ladles the brimkás into two wooden bowls, handing one to you. You look around for a spoon. "How am I meant to...?" He demonstrates by bringing his own bowl to his lips and slurping directly from the rim. You follow his example, taking a cautious sip. Salty, fishy, but not unpleasant, though not particularly appealing either. You catch his gaze lingering on you as you lower the bowl, something unreadable in his expression. "It's...adequate," you say diplomatically. "But I believe I am only fond of blood. Dreadful as that sounds." He takes your bowl and dumps the contents back into the cookpot without ceremony. Serax responds gravely, "Dreadful indeed. But you can't have any. Not yet." "Right, of course... Why, may I ask?" "Several reasons. If we feed you every time you wake, you'll not learn to control your hunger," he explains. "What are the other reasons?" "What?" he asks before bringing his bowl to his lips and slurping from the rim again. "You said there were several reasons," you remind him. "Was the one not good enough?" You study him for a moment. //What an odd man he is. But not unkind, I suppose.// "Actually, I... I need to relieve myself." "Boots are over there," says Serax. He gestures toward a pair of tall brown boots sitting beside the tent flap. "You mean for me to..." He shakes his head. "I mean for you to put them on, go outside, and find yourself a nice pile of snow to relieve yourself on." "Oh, yes, of course," you say with a light laugh. You rise carefully, surprised to find that your bandaged leg bears your weight without pain. You could have sworn it was badly injured after your fall, but it seems perfectly sound now. <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[Put on the boots.|p3_c5_outside]]</div> </div> <</nobr>> <<set $erudite = Math.clamp($erudite - 5, 0, 100)>> <<updatemeter 'Erudite' `$erudite / 100`>> <<notifySound "Intuition has risen." "4s">>
//Brimkás...// "Actually, I know a great deal about brimkás. It is a nutritional staple consisting of salted haddock, dried seaweed, and fermented fish paste. The dish serves as the primary sustenance for long-distance caravanners due to its exceptional resistance to spoilage and the versatility of its base ingredients, which may be supplemented with local flora to extend provisions for some time. The renowned Mergalti explorer Thanneth Korvanis famously survived an entire Nazralti winter on a single sealed parcel of brimkás during his expedition to map the northern reaches." Serax blinks at you. "I see. And do you //like// brimkás?" "//Oh.// I wouldn't know. I don't believe I've had the...pleasure. It does smell intriguing but I will have to decline. I..." Your throat works nervously. "I believe I am only fond of blood. Dreadful as that sounds." Serax responds gravely, "Dreadful indeed. But you can't have any. Not yet." "Right, of course... Why, may I ask?" "Several reasons. If we feed you every time you wake, you'll not learn to control your hunger," he explains. He ladles the brimkás into a wooden bowl, the steam rising as chunks of fish and dark seaweed settle into the broth. "What are the other reasons?" "What?" he asks before bringing the bowl to his lips and slurping directly from the rim. "You said there were several reasons," you remind him. "Was the one not good enough?" You study him for a moment. //What an odd man he is.// "Actually, I... I need to relieve myself." "Boots are over there," says Serax. He gestures toward a pair of tall brown boots sitting beside the tent flap. "You mean for me to..." He shakes his head. "I mean for you to put them on, go outside, and find yourself a nice pile of snow to //relieve yourself //on." "Oh, yes, of course," you say with a light laugh. You rise carefully, surprised to find that your bandaged leg bears your weight without pain. You could have sworn it was badly injured after your fall, but it seems perfectly sound now. <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[Put on the boots.|p3_c5_outside]]</div> </div> <</nobr>> <<set $erudite = Math.clamp($erudite + 5, 0, 100)>> <<updatemeter 'Erudite' `$erudite / 100`>> <<notifySound "Erudition has risen." "4s">>
You slip your feet into the boots. They're far too large, but they'll suffice. Moving toward the tent entrance, you begin fumbling with the complex knots holding the flap closed. "Let me," Serax says, rising from his meal. He steps behind you, his considerable height casting you in shadow as his hands work the ties above your head. This close, you catch his scent. It's something warm and clean beneath the lingering smell of woodsmoke. When his arm brushes against yours as he loosens the final knot, your breath catches. He holds the inner flap open and ushers you into the narrow space between the tent's double walls. "Don't open the outer flap until this one's closed behind you," he instructs, "or you'll let all the warm air out." He hesitates a moment, then reaches back inside and returns with a thick fur pelt. "Here." "Thank you," you say softly, accepting the warmth. He ignores your gratitude and reties the inner flap. Alone in the cramped vestibule, you turn toward the outer ties, working to unfasten them in the dim light filtering through the fabric. You pull the outer flap open and find yourself staring directly into the face of an enormous creature mere inches away. Yellow eyes the size of dinner plates lock onto yours, framed by a massive white-furred muzzle and curved horns that shoot from its skull like twisted bone. You scream and tumble backward, your oversized boots tangling as you crash into the tent wall. ''"Monster!"'' you shriek, terror making your voice crack. The tent shudders from your impact, and within seconds the inner flap opens. You scramble inside, into Serax's trembling arms. <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[Is he...laughing?|p3_c6_tanulf]]</div> </div> <</nobr>>
You gasp as he hoists you up effortlessly, carrying you back outside despite your protests. "You're letting all the cold air in," he chides, stepping into the vestibule with you still in his arms. "The beast!" you whisper urgently, clinging to his shoulders. "There's a—" "Idiot," Serax calls over your head. "Back up." The massive creature snorts—an oddly indignant sound—but obediently takes several steps away from the tent entrance. Your panic begins to quell as Serax works to secure the inner flap ties, though you remain pressed against him. Over his shoulder, you stare at the horned wolf, its yellow eyes watching you intently. <<if $erudite < $measured>>You study the creature. Despite your initial terror, something about its steady gaze seems more curious than hungry... "Is it... is it a tanulf?" you ask, uncertainty coloring your voice. As you say the word, images rise in your mind. Depictions in ink on parchment of great, horned wolves leaping over rivers in a single bound and squaring off against hunters. "It is," Serax confirms. "Is it tame?" "Tame enough," he says, setting you down. <<else>>You recognize the creature for what it is. A //tanulf.// The realization brings with it fragments of knowledge: Nazralti dire wolves, they're sometimes called. They can grow larger than Valdorian stallions, are migratory by nature, following the frost caribou herds across the northern reaches. "It's a tanulf," you say with newfound certainty. "Aye," Serax replies. "Is it tame?" "Tame enough," he says, setting you down.<</if>> "He's yours, then?" you ask, tilting your head back to regard him. He seems to swallow up all the space in the vestibule. "More or less. Don't you have to piss?" //Piss?// You bite your tongue and nod. "Sorry to alarm you," you say, sidestepping him to exit the tent. The moment you step fully outside, the cold hits like a physical blow. Perhaps you only notice it now that the immediate terror of the tanulf has ebbed, but the air seems to bite at every exposed inch of skin. You clutch the pelt tighter around yourself and turn back to thank Serax, but he's already disappeared inside. <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[Tell him you won't go far.|p3_c7_tender]]</div> <div class="choice-item">[[Depart without saying a word.|p3_c7_stoic]]</div> </div> <</nobr>>
"I won't go far!" you call out. "Good to know," comes Serax's muffled response from within the tent, his tone perfectly neutral. You turn to take in your surroundings. Snow stretches endlessly in every direction, rolling white dunes that seem to swallow the horizon. The landscape feels vast and empty, though you stand in what appears to be a natural valley between the frozen swells. Your gaze drifts to the sleigh nearby. It's a dark wood construction with two rows of seats, its interior lined with thick fur for warmth. It's attached to a large sled piled high with goods beneath a secured tarp. And there, still as a statue, stands the tanulf. Those yellow eyes remain fixed on you with unwavering attention. You begin to walk, choosing a direction that leads away from the camp. The tanulf immediately falls into step behind you, its massive paws silent on the snow. "Serax!" you call, apprehension creeping into your voice. "It's following me!" "Kerach just wants to watch over you," he shouts back. "Make sure the sithrak don't swarm you. They're attracted to the scent of urine." "Oh gods," you whisper, hustling to find the nearest discreet space to relieve yourself. <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[Continue.|p3_c8_relief]]</div> </div> <</nobr>> <<set $tender = Math.clamp($tender + 5, 0, 100)>> <<updatemeter 'Tender' `$tender / 100`>> <<notifySound "Tenderness has risen." "4s">>
You turn to take in your surroundings with quiet contemplation. Snow stretches endlessly in every direction, rolling white dunes that seem to swallow the horizon. The landscape feels vast and empty, though you stand in what appears to be a natural valley between the frozen swells. If what Serax said is true—that you're days from civilization—then this barren expanse certainly supports his claim. Nothing but white as far as the eye can see. Your gaze drifts to the sleigh nearby. It's a dark wood construction with two rows of seats, its interior lined with thick fur for warmth. It's attached to a large sled piled high with goods beneath a secured tarp. And there, still as a statue, stands the tanulf. Those yellow eyes remain fixed on you with unwavering attention. You begin to walk, choosing a direction that leads away from the camp. The tanulf immediately falls into step behind you, its massive paws silent on the snow. Your spine prickles with awareness of its presence, but you say nothing, not wanting to let it sense your apprehension. <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[Continue.|p3_c8_relief]]</div> </div> <</nobr>> <<set $tender = Math.clamp($tender - 5, 0, 100)>> <<updatemeter 'Tender' `$tender / 100`>> <<notifySound "Stoicism has risen." "4s">>
By the time you've emptied your bladder, you feel both relieved and less wary of Kerach. He maintained a polite distance throughout, and you find his presence oddly comforting now, especially when you reflect on what Serax said about the sithrak. There's nothing in your recovered memories to account for that monster, and you remind yourself to ask Serax about it again when you return. Despite the bitter cold, you resolve to climb the nearest dune, bolstered by Kerach's presence. The weather is clear and the wind is low, making the cold marginally more bearable as you trudge upward through the snow. At the top, you're breathless from the exertion. As you suspected, nothing but snow stretches in every direction. "Nazralt," you whisper. An arctic wasteland, yet also the fabled seat of the gods. You think you see Mount Vartojun rising in the distance—a dark peak against the pale sky. You recall the myth that the gods once lived there, until the Nazralti people chose to worship other deities. Then the gods departed for the Summer Isles, taking with them the light and warmth. "Six months of winter," you murmur, looking up at the sky. "Six months of night." The moon becomes the only light for the better part of the year here, you remember. They don't even use the word "day" in winter, but "moonday" instead. "How do I know these things, and how did I end up here?" Kerach makes a small chuffing sound behind you, giving you a start. <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[Reach out to pet him.|p3_c9_pet]]</div> <div class="choice-item">[[Regard him silently.|p3_c9_return]]</div> </div> <</nobr>>
You reach out tentatively toward Kerach, but he pulls back with a low growl that rumbles from deep in his chest, startling you. "I was only being kind," you say softly, withdrawing your hand. You regard him with mild reproach. "As the scriptures say, 'Bite not the hand offered in friendship, for kindness spurned becomes vengeance earned.'" You turn and start down the hill toward the tent, your oversized boots sliding slightly in the snow. You hear the soft crunch of snow beneath Kerach's paws as he trails behind you. <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[Continue.|p3_c10_tent]]</div> </div> <</nobr>> <<set $c_ker_dynamic = Math.clamp($c_ker_dynamic + 5, 0, 100)>> <<updatemeter 'Kerach' `$c_ker_dynamic / 100`>> <<notifySound "Your bond deepens with kindred understanding." "4s">> <<set $measured = Math.clamp($measured - 5, 0, 100)>> <<updatemeter 'Measured' `$measured / 100`>> <<timed 4.5s>> <<notifySound "Daring has risen." "4s">> <</timed>> <<set $p_kerach to 1>>
You regard Kerach more carefully. His eyes aren't quite yellow as you first thought. They're more golden, and seem to glow in the moonlight. "Thank you for accompanying me," you say simply. You turn and start down the hill toward the tent, your oversized boots sliding slightly in the snow. Kerach follows close behind. <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[Continue.|p3_c10_tent]]</div> </div> <</nobr>> <<set $c_ker_dynamic = Math.clamp($c_ker_dynamic - 5, 0, 100)>> <<updatemeter 'Kerach' `$c_ker_dynamic / 100`>> <<notifySound "Your bond strengthens with quiet loyalty." "4s">> <<set $tender = Math.clamp($tender - 5, 0, 100)>> <<updatemeter 'Tender' `$tender / 100`>> <<timed 4.5s>> <<notifySound "Stoicism has risen." "4s">> <</timed>> <<set $p_kerach to 1>> <<notifySound "Milestone: Tanulf Bond" "4s">>
By the time you reach the tent, the cold seems to have seeped into every fiber of your being. You fumble with the outer flap tethers, your fingers bloodless. "Wait there," calls Serax from within. You take a step back and draw your arms back behind the furs. After a moment, the flap opens and Serax ushers you into the vestibule. You glance back, glimpsing Kerach looming nearby before Serax seals the flap and begins tying it shut. "He f-f-followed me," you sputter, your body trembling. "Probably deciding if you're worth the trouble to eat," Serax says. He tosses you a grin before moving to untether the inner flap. You have to press yourself to the canvas wall to make space for him. "Eat?" The word comes out in a high-pitched whine. "I only jest," he says, pulling the tether free. "There isn't enough meat on you for a satisfying meal." You hope that was another jest. Once inside, you rush toward the fire, only to recoil with a shriek. You'd stretched out your hands to meet the warmth and the numb extremities promptly felt as if they'd burst into flames. "That was unwise," Serax chides. He takes you by the collar and guides your trembling form over to sit by the wall. "Your body needs time to adapt to the warmth. You must know that." You fall into a heap, turning your hands over. The skin is red and even the air from your breath burns. "This is part of being a...a darksinger?" you ask, your eyes stinging. "No," he says with a dry laugh. "It's part of being in Nazralt." He sits down beside you, close enough that his knee brushes against yours. <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[Scoot away.|p3_c11_scoot]]</div> <div class="choice-item">[[Remain where you are.|p3_c11_stay]]</div> </div> <</nobr>> <<set $chapter to "Prelude: Moonday III">>
You shift away from him, putting a small but deliberate distance between your bodies. While you don't wish to seem ungrateful, the proximity feels too intimate given your circumstances. Serax says, "It is already Aurasir. The sun has been gone for more than a month. Right now, a human outside, even with the proper clothes." He ticks several items off on his fingers. "Dunsilk, vardull, pelsrok, ullvotter, ullstrømper, or at the very least a pair of varmsoker--" "Pardon, but what language are you speaking?" Serax rolls his eyes. "<<toggletext "Aethric" "Aethric (the common tongue of Elovyr, descending from the ancient Aesic language)">>, obviously." "I scarcely understand a word of it." "That's because you speak <<toggletext "Islari" "Islari (a dialect of Aethric, the dominant dialect of the Summer Isles)">>, albeit with an exceptionally odd accent." "Islari is a dialect of Aethric, and a rather sophisticated one at that," you say, your tone carrying a hint of defensiveness. "And is my accent truly that odd?" You're feeling warmer by the second, though his casual dismissiveness pricks at you even as you begin to relax. "It's tolerable," he says. Silence settles between you. Soon your trembling ceases, giving way to a new beast. Your insides begin to coil, but it isn't brimkas that you hunger for. Swallowing, you cast a wary glance in his direction, noting the careful space you've maintained between you. A question bubbles up in your mind, escaping before you can catch it. "Do you believe I am married?" "How would I know such a thing?" "I only asked your belief. Do I strike you as a married woman, or perhaps possess the mannerisms of a woman who might be wedded?" You glance up at him in time to see him fold his arms across his chest. You notice fine hairs along his broad jaw. They glint like gold as they catch the firelight. Serax seems to consider you for a moment, his gaze sweeping over you in a manner that makes you shift uncomfortably. You don't resist the urge to lean slightly further away. "You don't strike me as anything." <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[Pardon?|p3_c12_pardon]]</div> </div> <</nobr>> <<set $c_ser_dynamic = Math.clamp($c_ser_dynamic + 5, 0, 100)>> <<updatemeter 'Serax' `$c_ser_dynamic / 100`>> <<notifySound "Your dynamic sharpens with tension.">>
You remain where you are, though you glance warily at the space where your knees touch. It's difficult to complain, given that you drank his blood. Moreover, it isn't wholly unpleasant to be touched, even through the fabric of clothes. Serax says, "It is already Aurasir. The sun has been gone for more than a month. Right now, a human outside, even with the proper clothes." He ticks several items off on his fingers. "Dunsilk, vardull, pelsrok, ullvotter, ullstrømper, or at the very least a pair of varmsoker--" "Pardon, but what language are you speaking?" Serax rolls his eyes. "<<toggletext "Aethric" "Aethric (the common tongue of Elovyr, descending from the ancient Aesic language)">>, obviously." "I scarcely understand a word of it." "That's because you speak <<toggletext "Islari" "Islari (a dialect of Aethric, the dominant dialect of the Summer Isles)">>, albeit with an exceptionally odd accent." "Islari is a dialect of Aethric, and a rather sophisticated one at that," you say. "And is my accent truly that odd?" You're feeling warmer by the second, and even his barbs don't bother you overmuch as you begin to relax. "It's tolerable," he says. Silence settles between you. Soon your trembling ceases, giving way to a new beast. Your insides begin to coil, but it isn't brimkas that you hunger for. Swallowing, you glance once more at where your knees are touching. A question bubbles up in your mind, escaping before you can catch it. "Do you believe I am married?" "How would I know such a thing?" "I only asked your belief. Do I strike you as a married woman, or perhaps possess the mannerisms of a woman who might be wedded?" You glance up at him in time to see him fold his arms across his chest. You notice fine hairs along his broad jaw. They glint like gold as they catch the firelight. Serax seems to consider you for a moment, his gaze sweeping over you in a manner that makes you want to pull back. You resist the urge. "You don't strike me as anything." <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[Pardon?|p3_c12_pardon]]</div> </div> <</nobr>> <<set $c_ser_dynamic = Math.clamp($c_ser_dynamic - 5, 0, 100)>> <<updatemeter 'Serax' `$c_ser_dynamic / 100`>> <<notifySound "Your dynamic kindles with warmth.">>
You wait for him to say more, but he simply stares until you feel compelled to ask, "Pardon? What do you mean by that?" "Just what I said." Once more, he ticks off items on his fingers. "You have an Islari accent, yet you talk like a Mergalti noble, which would be suspicious if you were a human, but as a shadewalker woman? I don't believe there is a word for how outlandish that is. That is to say nothing of the fact that we found you naked in the ruins of Kalat in winter. You can speak on dialects and wield the words of scholars, but you don't know what a sithrak or a darksinger is. "And on that subject, who in the world does not know of darksingers? And you are a female. You should not be. Nascent darksingers are almost unheard of in this age but females almost never survive the change. Yet here you are, your stomach growling for a taste of my blood. You are many things. Too many things to be anything." Through his rant, you learn something about yourself. When you're not being overwhelmed by words you don't understand, you're rather good at holding details in your mind. "All of those are fair points, however have you considered my perspective? I woke in the wilderness being hunted by a monster. Then, you and Valdricht appear. You bring me back to your tent, dress me in your clothes and tell me I am a darksinger and I need your blood to survive." You hold up a finger. "How do I know you aren't cultists who have abducted me and stolen my memories?" Serax snorts. "Do you really believe that?" You shrug. "Not really. But it's as plausible as any theory given what I know. Whether you want to believe it or not, I don't know what a darksinger is, though I would appreciate it if you would tell me." In a smaller voice, you add, "And then give me blood, if it isn't too much trouble." "Are you not concerned that by drinking my blood you'll be falling more deeply under my spell?" You purse your lips. "I am under no spell." "I am curious what the purpose would be in abducting you? Are we going to sacrifice you? Use you in some sort of ritual?" <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[Elaborate.|p3_c13_suggest]]</div> </div> <</nobr>>
"Perhaps you simply want to corrupt my soul to honor your heathen god," you say, pressing your lips tight to keep from smiling. "Or perhaps we simply want a biddable female to warm our bed furs. The later months do get terribly cold." Your amusement sours and you draw your knees up, wrapping your arms around them. "I doubt that is the case. I am already in your tent and unable to leave. If that is your intention, why wait?" Belatedly, you realize that it sounds as if you're being provocative, but Serax responds before you can clarify. "Perhaps I am only waiting for Valdricht to have you first. He is particular about such things." Your throat tightens. Too anxious to engage with the hypothetical, you ask, "Will you tell me about darksingers?" Serax ignores the question. "Would it be so terrible? To share our bed?" <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[Answer him.|p3_c14_answer]]</div> <div class="choice-item">[[Ignore him.|p3_c14_ignore]]</div> </div> <</nobr>>
You hug your legs more tightly. "Of course. It would be a sin. We are not married. Such a union would be profoundly unchaste." Serax arches a brow. The firelight and shadows sharpen his features, accentuating their broad, masculine angles. Your gaze settles on his lips as he speaks, and you have difficulty tearing it away. "Do you believe yourself to be chaste?" he asks. "That is not a trait I would normally ascribe to a shadewalker woman. Your master clearly paid to educate you. He would have expected something in return." "Why do you assume I have a master?" His lips quirk. "You are not the sort of female to go untethered." "What does that mean?" Serax doesn't immediately answer. Some of the tension leaves you as he turns, reaching over to grab a bag and rifle through it. After a moment of searching, he produces something that gleams silver and passes it to you. A mirror. <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[Look into it.|p3_c15_MIRROR]]</div> </div> <</nobr>> <<set $tender = Math.clamp($tender + 5, 0, 100)>> <<updatemeter 'Tender' $tender / 100>> <<set $c_ser_dynamic = Math.clamp($c_ser_dynamic - 5, 0, 100)>> <<updatemeter 'Serax' `$c_ser_dynamic / 100`>> <<notifySound "Your dynamic kindles with warmth.">>
You turn your face away from him, wrapping your arms more tightly around your knees. "I will not engage in such vulgarity," you say stiffly. Serax lets out a low chuckle. "Vulgarity? I asked you a simple question." "It was not simple, and you know it." The silence stretches between you. When he speaks again, his tone has shifted, becoming almost contrite. "You're right. Forgive me. I've gone too far." He pauses. "Will you allow me to make amends?" Despite yourself, you glance at him. "I... suppose." "Good. To answer your earlier question—I don't believe you are a married woman." "You don't?" You reach up to adjust your hair. "How did you come to that conclusion?" Serax doesn't immediately answer. Instead, he reaches over to grab a bag and rifles through it. After a moment of searching, he produces something that gleams silver and passes it to you. A mirror. <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[Look into it.|p3_c15_MIRROR]]</div> </div> <</nobr>> <<set $tender = Math.clamp($tender - 5, 0, 100)>> <<updatemeter 'Tender' `$tender / 100`>> <<set $c_ser_dynamic = Math.clamp($c_ser_dynamic + 5, 0, 100)>> <<updatemeter 'Serax' `$c_ser_dynamic / 100`>> <<notifySound "Your dynamic sharpens with tension.">>
You hesitate, taking a breath before lifting the mirror and peering into the glass. Your heart skips in anticipation of seeing a face ravaged by burns, though your trepidation quickly turns to astonishment. "Oh..." At first it's all you can say. The face that stares back at you is a stranger's, yet not frighteningly so. Your <<skinDesc>> skin catches the firelight, smooth and supple. <<hairColorDesc>> hair falls in <<hairDesc>> strands around your face, framing the same vibrant $eyeColorText eyes you saw in the dream. Your features are delicate yet striking—high cheekbones, a graceful nose, and pillowy lips you can't resist pressing a finger to. "So beautiful..." you murmur, unable to look away from your reflection. From beside you, Serax's voice cuts through your wonder with dark amusement. "Vanity suits you." You flush, lowering the mirror to your lap, but your eyes are already drawn back to the silvered surface. "You understand now?" Serax asks. "You're not the sort of female who falls beneath the notice of men. Were you born a lady in a castle, you'd likely have a bevy of suitors competing for your hand in marriage. But you're a beautiful shadewalker woman. One with nary a scar on her body. You've never worked in a field. I doubt you've even seen the inside of a washroom. You served in a man's bed." You thrust the mirror back at him and rise to your feet. "That is not true." "That is logical," he counters. "And given that you don't know who you are or where you came from, how can you make such a claim?" "Because I know I am not like that." You wrap your arms around yourself. "It is just something... something I can feel. I wouldn't lay with a man, unless he were my husband." Serax shakes his head. "Why are you assuming you would have a choice?" His smile is devoid of humor. "Take it from a former slave. I know your type well. You're what we call a chamber slave. If I had to guess, you were born into it. Your father would have been exceedingly wealthy, as shadowling slaves are a luxury in the summerlands. I'd wager he was fond of your mother, or a man of great faith, because he took it upon himself to educate you. Then he either died or gave in to the nattering of his wife and had you sold off to a master once you came of age. "You would have been sold to another man of great means. Perhaps even to the darksinger who made you. If he'd used you for feeding while you were mortal, you'd have scars, so one can only assume you were purchased to serve in his bed." "That is an outlandish series of deductions," you say, even as your mind races, searching for any hint of the past he laid out. Before you can think too deeply, your stomach cramps, the pain knocking the breath from you and causing you to double over. "And //that// is vyrdóthyn." "What?" you wheeze, letting the pelt drop. Your hands move over your abdomen, seeking a wound. "Vyrdóthyn. Blood hunger," he says. "The bane of a nascent darksinger's existence. It starts as pain that becomes worse with each moment that passes. After an hour of that you begin to vomit. At first it is bile and then your own liquefied organs. Are you ready to feed?" He holds up his arm and you fall to your knees without questioning him. You hesitate at the sight of the smooth, unbroken skin of his wrist, but then another pain hits and you sink your fangs in, desperate for relief. <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[Drink.|p3_c16_DARKSINGER]]</div> </div> <</nobr>>
This time is more satisfying than the last. You drink deeply, and as you do he pulls you into his lap. Just as Serax implied, the pain soon fades, replaced by warmth and a dull sense of pleasure. The more you drink, the more acute it becomes, until you've all but melted against him. Serax continues to speak, and you listen with half an ear. "You are a darksinger. You drank the blood of your maker, another darksinger, and it changed you. Your body is no longer mortal. You are stronger, faster, more resistant to the cold, and you will have powers. Those will depend on your bloodline." He strokes your hair. "But all of that comes later. Now, you are //nascent.// Your body is still adapting to the change. For the next week or so, you will wake, feed, and sleep. Little by little, you'll remain awake for longer. Eventually, you'll be able to feed without falling asleep. Most importantly, your body will cease to devour itself if you go more than a night without blood." He waits until your pull weakens, your body lax with satiation, and then pulls his wrist back. You lay against his chest, listening to the sound of his heart beating. Serax brushes his thumb against the corner of your lips. The light touch makes you shiver. "Can I tell you a secret?" It takes you the better part of a minute simply to absorb his question, and then you have to coordinate a response. No small task, given that your tongue feels at once numb and weighted. "Uh huh," is all you manage, your eyes falling shut. "Valdricht left because he can't stand the scent of you." If his words didn't rouse you from your stupor, his next ones are far more effective. "He wants you. More than I have known him to want anything." He lowers his lips to your ear, whispering. "I can feel it, when I touch his mind. Last night I brushed against his mind for an instant and I couldn't sleep. I was hard for hours." "I don't understand," you manage. "Of course not," he murmurs. "I am simply warning you not to be too forward with him. You see, he intends to take you to Meyrrvik and leave you there. We should arrive in another night or two, and then you will be free of us both. Free to find your master, your maker, your home, your own sustenance." His lips graze the shell of your ear. "But if you were to be unchaste with Valdricht, that could be a problem. He has a way of getting fixated on things. He would want to keep you by his side. It's clear to me that you are not the sort of woman who would be content with such an arrangement. Trading your body for protection, shelter and blood..." <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[Blood?|p3_c17_blood]]</div> <div class="choice-item">[[Say nothing.|p3_c17_quiet]]</div> </div> <</nobr>>
"Valdricht's blood?" you ask. You attempt to sit up, but manage only to squirm. "Every night," he says, pulling away with a sigh. "As enticing as it might sound, you are better off forging your own path." He maneuvers you onto the floor, laying you on a white pelt. Your nostrils flare as you detect Valdricht's distinctive scent. "Get some sleep while you can. We'll be leaving for Meyrrvik before long." You close your eyes, but your mind continues to buzz. //Meyrrvik.// The name means nothing to you and the idea of being left there makes bile rise in your throat. You force it down, if only to avoid dirtying the pelt beneath you. The pelt that smells divine. You focus on the scent as your thoughts dissolve and you slip into shadows. <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[Sink into dreams.|p3_c_DREAM3]]</div> </div> <</nobr>> <<set $tender = Math.clamp($tender + 5, 0, 100)>> <<updatemeter 'Tender' $tender / 100>> <<notifySound "Tenderness has risen.">>
You say nothing. Something about his words prickles at your instincts, but you're too exhausted to contend with it. After a moment, Serax maneuvers you onto the floor, laying you on a white pelt. Your nostrils flare as you detect Valdricht's distinctive scent. "Get some sleep while you can. We'll be leaving for Meyrrvik before long." You close your eyes, but your mind continues to buzz. //Meyrrvik.// The name means nothing to you and the idea of being left there makes bile rise in your throat. You force it down, if only to avoid dirtying the pelt beneath you. The pelt that smells divine. You focus on the scent as your thoughts dissolve and you slip into shadows. <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[Sink into dreams.|p3_c_DREAM3]]</div> </div> <</nobr>> <<set $tender = Math.clamp($tender - 5, 0, 100)>> <<updatemeter 'Tender' `$tender / 100`>> <<notifySound "Stoicism has risen.">>
This time, the shadows around you tremble. As you land atop the void, the darkness beneath you sparks with light. It's as if the floor is glass, and that glass is the only thing separating you from the cosmos. Countless stars wheel beneath your feet, distant nebulae swirling in impossible colors that have no names. The vastness yawns below you like a hungry mouth, and vertigo seizes you as you realize how thin this barrier truly is. One crack, one misstep, and you would fall forever through that endless expanse, tumbling past dying suns and newborn worlds until you became nothing more than another mote of dust in the infinite dark. Your breath catches as the cosmic abyss seems to pulse, as if aware of your presence. The stars begin to dim one by one, winking out like candles snuffed by an unseen hand, until only absolute darkness remains beneath you. Then a warm glow blooms in the distance. A simple lantern sits upon a weathered wooden desk, its flame steady and reassuring. You blink, and when you look down again, there is only worn cobblestone beneath your feet. Exhaling, you approach the lantern. As you near it, walls spring up around you, but you aren't frightened anymore. There's something familiar about this place. Comforting. The room takes shape, and with it, a bookshelf materializes. There's a thin layer of dust on the top shelf where thick books with dark spines are clustered. Some have titles written on the spines, but the more you try to focus on the words, the more they blur. There are fewer titles on the lower shelves and the spines are thinner, yet you realize that simply looking at each book calls forth a name from the depths of your mind. The tall book with the frayed spine is //Tales from the First Dawn//, and you know it's filled with pictures. //Thistle and Clove// is a book on herbs and one that Sister Naditha called 'tantamount to witchery.' You have a feeling it isn't supposed to be here. You're still pursing your lips when another book catches your eye. //Forsaken Creatures of the Frozen Reaches. //You reach out, brushing your finger along its spine, and then gasp with delight as its knowledge floods your mind. You smile as you recall depictions of tanulfs, details about their natural habitats—the forests of the Lower Nazralti Reach—and pages regarding their mannerisms. Your cheeks warm as you recall a detailed passage about their mating habits. How the males have to bite the females to hold them in place as their phalluses swell within them. "Such an indecent book," you murmur, pulling your hand back. It does nothing to stem the flow of information. You remember centaurs as well, their tribes scattered across the continent of Baniralt. You learn how the Baniralti princes pit the tribes against one another, stoking grievances in order to keep the clans feuding rather than turning their ire toward the humans who are ever-encroaching upon their lands. There's even a page dedicated to the sithrak. Just one, and it appears to have been lifted from a larger body of work. The creature the author describes bears little resemblance to the thing that stalked you in Kalat. He describes bat-like monsters with great, leathery wings that fly in swarms, snatching up village women and carrying them back to their caves. The author describes a tale of a militia that gave chase, following the flock into the mountains in hopes of rescuing their womenfolk. Only one man made it back alive, and whatever he saw, it was enough to ensure that the Nazralti men never again took up their axes to reclaim their stolen wives, instead turning to monks and saying prayers that their deaths be swift. <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[How terrible.|p3c_d3_shaelis]]</div> </div> <</nobr>>
Chilled, you take a step back, overwhelmed by the inundation of knowledge. You catch your breath, and then consider which book to touch next, but you're distracted by a sound of approaching footsteps. You turn to see that the room is now fully formed. There's a bed with a patchwork quilt and a nightstand with several books piled on it. On the other side of the room is a dresser, its door ajar. Hanging inside are several pale garments. There's a staircase against the back wall. As you notice it, the door at the top opens. The girl you've grown familiar with comes racing down the stairs. Your stomach clenches, but mercifully she doesn't trip despite her overly long robes and pronounced limp. "I will choose one!" she exclaims as she snatches off her headdress. Waves of midnight hair tumble free, framing her round face. Scars still cover her face, yet they seem less grave than when last you saw her. She reaches the end of the stairs, huffing for breath. Her eyes widen as she looks in your direction, and for an instant you think she's taken note of you, but then she barrels right //through// you as if you were made of mist, running to the bookcase. You turn in time to see her yank //Thistle and Clove// from the shelf and stuff it under her robes. "You will change into your nightclothes and //I// will choose what we read tonight." Looking up, you see Anja entering the room. She's put on some weight since last you saw her and her circlet is slightly askew. She pauses after entering, turning to peer into the hall before closing the door behind her. $playerName has already hobbled over to the dresser. She hides the illicit book just before Anja comes down the stairs. "Yes, Mother Anja," she says in a sweet, singsong voice. Anja briefly smiles, but then her lips press into a frown. "You aren't to call me that anymore. You are not a child." "I am only seven," says the girl, her voice muffled as she lifts her robes over her head. "How could I be anything but a child?" "Nearly eight," Anja remarks as she makes her way to the bookcase. "And now a sworn acolyte. Only five years until you take your vows." "Five years and a winter." You step out of the way as Anja stoops to regard the books. There are more lines in her face and dark circles under her blue eyes. Those eyes sparkle as she says, "I had hoped to read a book on medicinal herbs this evening, but I suppose one of these will do." As Anja plucks two books from the shelf, $playerName says, "Herbcraft should be left only to the healers. In the hands of the novice or the easily influenced, it is tantamount to witchery." "So I've heard," Anja says, looking between the two books. You peer over her shoulder. It isn't hard, given how stout she is. You recognize each book in turn. One is //The Silent Oracle//, the tale of Selyra, the goddess of secrets and memories. Born knowing all that was and all that would be, it was said that Selyra never asked a single question. She //answered// them. The other book was the story of Selyra's twin. //The Mythweaver's Lament //told the tale of Lirael, a radiant beauty whose stories were so captivating that even the embittered god Maerion would take leave from his frigid waters to ascend to Mount Vartojun and listen to her tales. One story seems to pull at your soul. <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[The Silent Oracle|p3c_d3_SELYRA]]</div> <div class="choice-item">[[The Mythweaver's Lament|p3_d3c_LIRAEL]]</div> </div> <</nobr>>
You reach for //The Silent Oracle//, but stop short as Anja bends to put //The Mythweaver's Lament// back on the shelf. "I am not feeling quite so morbid this evening," she mutters before rising. "Come now. I have to return before morning mass." $playerName has already changed into her nightdress and is wrapping her hair into a bonnet as she goes to the bed. She angles her head to see which book Anja carries and then beams with approval. "That is my second favorite book!" she declares. "One can only wonder what the first is," Anja says, settling onto the side of the bed just as the girl hops onto it. Without any real bite, she says, "Be careful. You are not as small as you think." "I am //quite// small," $playerName says, hunching her shoulders. Anja suppresses a smile. "I have never known a child who doesn't want to grow up." "Aha! So, you admit I am a child, //Mother// Anja?" "//High Sister// Anja," Anja corrects, before opening the book and plunging into the tale. "Long ago, when the world was young and the gods still rested on Mount Vartojun, The Frost Father and The Dawn Mother were blessed with a daughter named Selyra. She was born with the extraordinary gift of prophecy, able to see all that was and all that would come to pass." You go to lean against the wall, the words of the story unfolding in your mind as Anja reads. //But this gift came with a terrible burden. Young Selyra could not control when the visions came, nor could she choose which truths to speak. She would blurt out prophecies at the most inappropriate times, reveal secrets that were meant to stay hidden, and speak of sorrows yet to come. The other gods grew weary of her constant, uncontrolled revelations. Her father Aurin watched with growing concern as his daughter's gift brought chaos rather than wisdom to their celestial home. Now Selyra had a twin sister, Lirael, blessed with her own divine gift, the ability to weave tales so beautiful and captivating that even the stars would pause in their dance to listen. Where Selyra spoke harsh truths that none wished to hear, Lirael spun lovely stories that filled hearts with wonder and joy. The gods would gather eagerly around Lirael each evening, their faces bright with delight as she told of brave heroes and distant kingdoms, of love found and quests fulfilled. Poor Selyra would sit alone in the shadows, watching as all flocked to her sister's warmth while carefully avoiding her own cursed presence. One fateful evening, as Lirael reached the climax of a particularly magnificent tale, Selyra suddenly spoke from the darkness: 'Henceforth, all who hear your stories will know nothing but the deepest miseries.' The gathering fell silent. Lirael's golden words died on her lips.// "Was it accident or design?" Anja says with dramatic flair. "Did the prophecy tear itself from Selyra's lips without her willing it, as they so often did? Or had she watched her sister's beloved audience once too often, feeling the sharp blade of envy twist in her divine heart?" "Could it not be both?" $playerName proposes. "Perhaps she was envious of her sister, and perhaps it was an accident." "Is envy not a sin?" Anja prods. "//Acting upon// envy is a sin. As with all vices of the mind, the sin is in the deed, not the thought, as we are all sinful creatures." Anja beams. "Very good. Now, shall I continue?" //None can say for certain, for only Selyra herself knew the truth of that moment. Soon after, her loving mother would ensure she could speak no more truths at all. Seeing how her daughter's dangerous compulsion had now brought prophecy of doom upon her own beloved twin, Elodine could bear no more. The Dawn Mother knew that Selyra's gift, left unchecked, would destroy not only the peace of the divine realm but Selyra herself. With tears of mercy in her radiant eyes, Elodine approached her daughter. 'My child,' she said gently, 'your tongue brings only sorrow to yourself and others. Let me spare you this burden.'// "And so, with the tender touch that only a mother's love could provide, Elodine sealed her daughter's mouth with divine magic." $playerName interrupts, "That is a rather odd way to say she burned her tongue out with holy fire." Anja presses on. "No longer could dangerous prophecies tear themselves from Selyra's lips. No longer could uncontrolled truths spill forth to wound those around her." //Some whispered that the punishment was cruel, but the wise understood it as the deepest compassion. For Elodine had not silenced her daughter in anger, but had freed her from the terrible compulsion that had made her both feared and friendless. And so Selyra became the Silent Oracle, transformed from a source of unwanted revelations into the divine keeper of sacred discretion. She learned that true wisdom lay not in speaking every truth that came to mind, but in knowing when silence served a higher purpose. Young maidens still pray to her for guidance in learning proper restraint, and those who stand before lords and magistrates invoke her name when swearing to speak only truth.// "And the moral of this tale is that punishment, when given in love, can transform a curse into a blessing, and that sometimes the greatest gift a parent can give is protection from our own worst impulses." <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[A fine lesson for a precocious girl.|p3c_d3S_devout]]</div> <div class="choice-item">[[A horrid lesson meant to control her.|p3c_d3S_deviant]]</div> </div> <</nobr>> <<set $oracle to 1>>
You reach for //The Mythweaver's Lament//, but stop short as Anja bends to put //The Silent Oracle// back on the shelf. "A fine lesson for this evening," she mutters before rising. "Come now. I have to return before morning mass." $playerName has already changed into her nightdress and is wrapping her hair into a bonnet as she goes to the bed. She angles her head to see which book Anja carries and then beams with approval. "That is my second favorite book!" she declares. "One can only wonder what the first is," Anja says, settling onto the side of the bed just as the girl hops onto it. Without any real bite, she says, "Be careful. You are not as small as you think." "I am //quite// small," $playerName says, hunching her shoulders. Anja suppresses a smile. "I have never known a child who doesn't want to grow up." "Aha! So, you admit I am a child, //Mother// Anja?" "//High Sister// Anja," Anja corrects, before opening the book and plunging into the tale. "Long ago, when the world was young and the gods still dwelled on Mount Vartojun, the Frost Father Aurin and the Dawn Mother Elodine were blessed with twin daughters. While Selyra was cursed with prophecies that brought only sorrow, her sister Lirael was gifted with a voice that could weave tales so beautiful that even the coldest hearts would weep with joy." //All who heard Lirael's stories would set aside their quarrels to listen. Warriors would lay down their swords, merchants would forget their ledgers, and even bitter Maerion would rise from his frozen seas to gather at Mount Vartojun when word spread that the mythweaver would tell a tale. But Lirael's gift came with a terrible warning. One fateful evening, as Lirael reached the climax of a particularly magnificent tale, her voice rising with dramatic tension, Selyra suddenly spoke from the darkness: 'Henceforth, all who hear your stories will know nothing but the deepest miseries.' For a time, Lirael heeded her sister's prophecy. She remained silent in the divine halls, though stories burned within her like caged fire. But pride is the downfall of gods and mortals alike, and Lirael grew vain of her gift. 'Surely,' she whispered to herself, 'one small tale could do no harm. And I have crafted such a magnificent story. It would be a sin to let it die unspoken.' So Lirael descended to the underworld, seeking an audience who had already known the deepest miseries, thinking herself clever to circumvent fate. There she found Beorath, the god of misery himself, writhing in eternal agony. When Lirael unveiled her face and began to speak, her story was so beautiful that for the first time since his birth, Beorath forgot his pain. But when her tale ended, Beorath's suffering returned tenfold. With it came a desperate hunger to keep the one thing that had ever brought him peace. In his madness, he claimed Lirael as his bride, scarring her divine beauty and trapping her in the deepest chambers of shadow. From the depths of Modohar, Lirael's voice rose in anguished supplication: 'Mother! Please, I beg you! Save me from this torment!' But as Elodine moved toward mercy, Aurin's voice cut through her compassion: 'She courted misery, thinking herself wiser than fate. Now misery shall be her husband.'// Anja finishes with a grave flair. "And the moral is this: pride goeth before destruction, and those who court darkness thinking themselves clever will surely be claimed by the shadows." You find yourself pushing off from the wall and glancing back to confirm that it's still solid. With interest, you note that the girl left the dresser door wide open. "That's not how the story ends," says $playerName, clearly disgruntled. "You just made that up." "As is my right," Anja says primly as she closes the book. <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[It is a wise lesson.|p3c_d3_devout]]</div> <div class="choice-item">[[It is a perverse tale.|p3c_d3_defiant]]</div> </div> <</nobr>> <<set $mythweaver to 1>>
Clearly, the girl is in need of firm boundaries, especially given her nature. $playerName snorts. You crack a smile, thinking of Serax. "That isn't in the book, you just made that part up." Your smile only widens as you inwardly note the girl's sharp mind, though you feel a flutter of unease at her irreverent tone. "I believe the moral is that if you're better than other people, they'll act upon their envy and burn out your tongue." At that, the last of Anja's mirth fades. The lines in her face seem to deepen. "Are you implying that Our Mother committed a sin?" The girl shrugs. "I am not implying anything. I am simply stating the facts of the story. The //truth.// Clearly, the gods feared Selyra for what she might reveal. I'd wager even Our Mother had secrets she didn't want revealed." Your heart clenches at such bold questioning of divine wisdom. "You tread on troubled waters," Anja warns. She forces a smile as she rises. "Keep speaking like that and we'll have to ship you to a Selyrian sanctum. One of the ones in Baniralt, where their priestesses must have their tongues removed upon taking their vows." Anja is clearly being playful, but $playerName's eyes narrow. "If you sent me to have my tongue cut out like Selyra, you'd only be proving that like Selyra, I speak truth." Such defiance troubles you deeply, even as you admire her courage. Anja makes her way to the bookcase. Her lips curve as she says, "And what truths does a //child// know better than a //mother//?" "I know that I have the most beautiful voice you've ever heard," she says. "Indeed," Anja says, replacing the book. "And I know that my mother was not a servant whom the midwives attended. She was the former Keeper of Records." Anja stills, but recovers quickly, brushing imaginary dust from her skirts. "Where did you hear such a tale?" "I didn't hear it," $playerName says, her tone turning guarded. "Not precisely. I just heard what people didn't say and then drew a logical conclusion." "What does that mean?" Anja's voice drops low. "How does one hear what isn't said?" The girl shrugs. Anja's voice hardens. "Lie to the world, but not to me." She shrugs again, but this time, softly she says, "Sometimes people lie. A lot of times, actually. Even though it is a sin. When people speak, it's like a tune played on the clavichord. Little lies are like a bad key being struck. Bigger ones, they're like a whole song being played out of tune. The story everyone tells about my mother, it is quite offensive to the ears." Anja stares at the girl, her face as white as the gowns in the dresser. After a long moment, she holds up her hand. It's trembling. "You will never speak of this again. Not a word, or I will cut your tongue out myself." With that, Anja stalks to the stairs. As she ascends, she says, "And you will throw that book into the fire this evening." You look to the girl, but as Anja slams the door shut behind herself, the world goes black. <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[To be continued.|DEMO_C]]</div> </div> <</nobr>> <<set $devout = Math.clamp($devout + 10, 0, 100)>> <<updatemeter 'Devout' `$devout / 100`>> <<notifySound "Devotion has risen." "4s">>
Clearly, it is a self-serving moral on the part of the narrator. $playerName snorts. You crack a smile, thinking of Serax. "That isn't in the book, you just made that part up." Your smile only widens as you inwardly praise the girl for seeing through the ruse. However, you grimace at her next words. "I believe the moral is that if you're better than other people, they'll act upon their envy and burn out your tongue." At that, the last of Anja's mirth fades. The lines in her face seem to deepen. "Are you implying that Our Mother committed a sin?" The girl shrugs. "I am not implying anything. I am simply stating the facts of the story. The //truth.// Clearly, the gods feared Selyra for what she might reveal. I'd wager even Our Mother had secrets she didn't want revealed." "You tread on troubled waters," Anja warns. She forces a smile as she rises. "Keep speaking like that and we'll have to ship you to a Selyrian sanctum. One of the ones in Baniralt, where their priestesses must have their tongues removed upon taking their vows." Anja is clearly being playful, but $playerName's eyes narrow. "If you sent me to have my tongue cut out like Selyra, you'd only be proving that like Selyra, I speak truth." Anja makes her way to the bookcase. Her lips curve as she says, "And what truths does a //child// know better than a //mother//?" "I know that I have the most beautiful voice you've ever heard," she says. "Indeed," Anja says, replacing the book. "And I know that my mother was not a servant whom the midwives attended. She was the former Keeper of Records." Anja stills, but recovers quickly, brushing imaginary dust from her skirts. "Where did you hear such a tale?" "I didn't hear it," $playerName says, her tone turning guarded. "Not precisely. I just heard what people didn't say and then drew a logical conclusion." "What does that mean?" Anja's voice drops low. "How does one hear what isn't said?" The girl shrugs. Anja's voice hardens. "Lie to the world, but not to me." She shrugs again, but this time, softly she says, "Sometimes people lie. A lot of times, actually. Even though it is a sin. When people speak, it's like a tune played on the clavichord. Little lies are like a bad key being struck. Bigger ones, they're like a whole song being played out of tune. The story everyone tells about my mother, it is quite offensive to the ears." Anja stares at the girl, her face as white as the gowns in the dresser. After a long moment, she holds up her hand. It's trembling. "You will never speak of this again. Not a word, or I will cut your tongue out myself." With that, Anja stalks to the stairs. As she ascends, she says, "And you will throw that book into the fire this evening." You look to the girl, but as Anja slams the door shut behind herself, the world goes black. <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[To be continued.|DEMO_C]]</div> </div> <</nobr>> <<set $devout = Math.clamp($devout - 10, 0, 100)>> <<updatemeter 'Devout' `$devout / 100`>> <<notifySound "Defiance has risen." "4s">>
Curbing one's pride is an essential part of growing up. You pity Lirael for realizing too late that her gift was meant to be a lesson. //Our greatest strengths might become our greatest weaknesses if left unchecked by humility and prudence.// As you reach the dresser, you frown. There's a whole trove of illicit books hiding beneath her socks and headdresses. "It wasn't fair, what happened to Lirael," $playerName says. "The Dawn Mother must have known that by leaving her down there, she'd just be fulfilling the prophecy." "Precisely," says Anja. "That is the point. Do not try to place the blame on Our Mother. Lirael chose to descend into Modohar—" "—to use her gift." "—to try to circumvent her fate," Anja corrects. "She is no different than the Baniralti witch doctors who try to raise the dead." "By that logic, could we not say that it was her fate to descend into the underworld?" "No," Anja says, patting the girl's leg. "Lirael needed only to curb her impulsive nature and she could have remained on Mount Vartojun. Was she not engaged to be married to Adonir?" The girl cringes. "To her //brother.//" "Well, the gods are permitted a certain degree of consanguinity." Anja says lightly. "Were you in Lirael's place, what would you have done?" "I don't believe I would have married my brother, even if he was the handsomest man in all the world. I also wouldn't like to live on Mount Vartojun, not forever. Clearly my family didn't favor me, especially my mother." "What nonsense is that? Elodine loved Lirael. In fact, most believe she was Our Mother's favorite." $playerName shakes her head. "If she loved her, she wouldn't have let Selyra bully her into silence, nor permit her husband to leave her daughter in Modohar. I think she used them to hide her own envy. I'll bet Elodine was no different than Selyra, festering with anger while her prettier daughter got all the attention." Anja rises, her lips pressed into a tight frown. "Our Mother does not //fester.// She is a goddess of infinite mercy, but she is a woman, and therefore must obey her husband." "If she is so merciful, why did she burn me?" Anja sighs as she rises from the bed. "Not this again." "It is a reasonable question. I have a theory." "Another?" Anja's tone is dry as she makes her way to the bookshelf. "This one is my best yet," the girl says. "I theorize that I am the goddess of beauty." Anja scoffs. "Now you are divine?" "Think about it." Her back straightens as she plunges into her tale. "Selyra spoke prophecy and lost her tongue. Lirael wove stories and was condemned to the shadows. I was born beautiful and that is why Elodine burned me. In fact, I surmise that my mother was the lover of Aurin." Anja stops, her eyes bulging. "$playerName, that is blasphemy. And you forget, your mother was human." "And in some stories, The Frost Father is a shadewalker." "In //what// stories?" You glance nervously at the hidden books. "I don't remember," the girl says before hastily continuing. "I suspect that Elodine was consumed with jealousy when she saw me. The only daughters she ever gave her husband were cursed, but there I was, perfect and beautiful, so she sought to ruin me so that my father would never recognize me. But she forgot that beauty is more than how we appear. She forgot to steal my voice. That is why I sing so beautifully. One day, my father will hear me and he will come down from the heavens and make me whole. Perhaps he could even strike a bargain with The Hag and bring my mother back as well. Not that I wish to replace you. In fact, I will ask him to bring you to the heavens with us." The room falls silent for a moment, and then Anja asks, "Are you finished?" The girl nods. Anja returns to her bedside. "It is an intriguing notion, $playerName. And a profoundly prideful one. Do you believe you are better than the other acolytes?" Another nod. "I am smarter than them, better at singing, and cooking and—" "How about running?" asks Anja. "Or walking in sunlight? Or making friends?" "That's only because of what Elodine did to me. If I'd never been burned—" "But you were. You //are//," says Anja. "You must stop this foolishness. It is one thing to invent tales that your father is a Nazralti prince or that your mother was a siren, but when you involve the gods in your tales, you blaspheme." "But I am a goddess. I know it." She lowers her voice to a whisper. "Sometimes, there is a voice inside of me. It tells me things." "What sorts of things?" Anja's voice is light, but you can see her stiffen. "Like, the other day, in Sister Naditha's lecture hall. The voice told me not to sing so well. That if I did, I would be punished. But I didn't listen." Anja breathes a sigh of relief. "That is your intuition. You have good instincts, if only you would follow them." The girl shakes her head. "No, it's more than that. Sometimes it tells me other things. Like where I'll find an interesting book or when someone is having a conversation that I should listen to. And when I sleep, I can hear it more clearly. It tells me that I am a goddess and that I've lived a thousand lifetimes." "Dreams, $playerName. Those are dreams." "Most nights, it shows me the same dream. That I am walking on great plains of snow, and that everywhere my feet touch, the snow melts." At that, Anja sits. "I had that same dream, not long before you were born." "You did?" Tears well in Anja's eyes as she nods. "Yes." "Then you know it's true. You saw when I ascended to Mount Vartojun?" Anja clasps her hands. "No. Tell me. Tell me everything." The girl's eyes turn luminous. "At the top, the Hall of the Gods is still there, but it is empty, save for Aurin. He sits on a great throne of ice, but he is not its master. He's frozen in it, until I touch him. I take his hand and guide him down the mountain, into the underworld where the shadows consume his body and his soul is set free. And the sun goes dark and then shatters into pieces, but the moon keeps glowing. It's bright and warm and it melts all of the snow, but it doesn't burn my skin..." She trails off as Anja pulls away, taking several long steps back. "What's wrong?" the girl asks. "Didn't you see it, too?" Anja shakes her head. When she speaks, her voice is faint. "It was only a dream. You will never speak of it again, is that understood?" "What?" Breathing heavily, Anja says, "Speak a word of that dream again and I can do nothing to protect you." With that, Anja departs. You look to the girl, but as Anja slams the door shut behind herself, the world goes black. <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[To be continued.|DEMO_C]]</div> </div> <</nobr>> <<set $devout = Math.clamp($devout + 10, 0, 100)>> <<updatemeter 'Devout' `$devout / 100`>> <<notifySound "Devotion has risen." "4s">>
Clearly it is a story meant to curb the creative passion of young women. //Don't try to tell tales, little women, or you'll end up being raped by a monster in the underworld.// As you reach the dresser, you bite down on a smile. There's a whole trove of illicit books hiding beneath her socks and headdresses. "It wasn't fair, what happened to Lirael," $playerName says. "The Dawn Mother must have known that by leaving her down there, she'd just be fulfilling the prophecy." "Precisely," says Anja. "That is the point. Do not try to place the blame on Our Mother. Lirael chose to descend into Modohar—" "—to use her gift." "—to try to circumvent her fate," Anja corrects. "She is no different than the Baniralti witch doctors who try to raise the dead." "By that logic, could we not say that it was her fate to descend into the underworld?" "No," Anja says, patting the girl's leg. "Lirael needed only to curb her impulsive nature and she could have remained on Mount Vartojun. Was she not engaged to be married to Adonir?" The girl cringes. "To her //brother.//" "Well, the gods are permitted a certain degree of consanguinity." Anja says lightly. "Were you in Lirael's place, what would you have done?" "I don't believe I would have married my brother, even if he was the handsomest man in all the world. I also wouldn't like to live on Mount Vartojun, not forever. Clearly my family didn't favor me, especially my mother." "What nonsense is that? Elodine loved Lirael. In fact, most believe she was Our Mother's favorite." $playerName shakes her head. "If she loved her, she wouldn't have let Selyra bully her into silence, nor permit her husband to leave her daughter in Modohar. I think she used them to hide her own envy. I'll bet Elodine was no different than Selyra, festering with anger while her prettier daughter got all the attention." Anja rises, her lips pressed into a tight frown. "Our Mother does not //fester.// She is a goddess of infinite mercy, but she is a woman, and therefore must obey her husband." "If she is so merciful, why did she burn me?" Anja sighs as she rises from the bed. "Not this again." "It is a reasonable question. I have a theory." "Another?" Anja's tone is dry as she makes her way to the bookshelf. "This one is my best yet," the girl says. "I theorize that I am the goddess of beauty." Anja scoffs. "Now you are divine?" "Think about it." Her back straightens as she plunges into her tale. "Selyra spoke prophecy and lost her tongue. Lirael wove stories and was condemned to the shadows. I was born beautiful and that is why Elodine burned me. In fact, I surmise that my mother was the lover of Aurin." Anja stops, her eyes bulging. "$playerName, that is blasphemy. And you forget, your mother was human." "And in some stories, The Frost Father is a shadewalker." "In //what// stories?" You glance nervously at the hidden books. "I don't remember," the girl says before hastily continuing. "I suspect that Elodine was consumed with jealousy when she saw me. The only daughters she ever gave her husband were cursed, but there I was, perfect and beautiful, so she sought to ruin me so that my father would never recognize me. But she forgot that beauty is more than how we appear. She forgot to steal my voice. That is why I sing so beautifully. One day, my father will hear me and he will come down from the heavens and make me whole. Perhaps he could even strike a bargain with The Hag and bring my mother back as well. Not that I wish to replace you. In fact, I will ask him to bring you to the heavens with us." The room falls silent for a moment, and then Anja asks, "Are you finished?" The girl nods. Anja returns to her bedside. "It is an intriguing notion, $playerName. And a profoundly prideful one. Do you believe you are better than the other acolytes?" Another nod. "I am smarter than them, better at singing, and cooking and—" "How about running?" asks Anja. "Or walking in sunlight? Or making friends?" "That's only because of what Elodine did to me. If I'd never been burned—" "But you were. You //are//," says Anja. "You must stop this foolishness. It is one thing to invent tales that your father is a Nazralti prince or that your mother was a siren, but when you involve the gods in your tales, you blaspheme." "But I am a goddess. I know it." She lowers her voice to a whisper. "Sometimes, there is a voice inside of me. It tells me things." "What sorts of things?" Anja's voice is light, but you can see her stiffen. "Like, the other day, in Sister Naditha's lecture hall. The voice told me not to sing so well. That if I did, I would be punished. But I didn't listen." Anja breathes a sigh of relief. "That is your intuition. You have good instincts, if only you would follow them." The girl shakes her head. "No, it's more than that. Sometimes it tells me other things. Like where I'll find an interesting book or when someone is having a conversation that I should listen to. And when I sleep, I can hear it more clearly. It tells me that I am a goddess and that I've lived a thousand lifetimes." "Dreams, $playerName. Those are dreams." "Most nights, it shows me the same dream. That I am walking on great plains of snow, and that everywhere my feet touch, the snow melts." At that, Anja sits. "I had that same dream, not long before you were born." "You did?" Tears well in Anja's eyes as she nods. "Yes." "Then you know it's true. You saw when I ascended to Mount Vartojun?" Anja clasps her hands. "No. Tell me. Tell me everything." The girl's eyes turn luminous. "At the top, the Hall of the Gods is still there, but it is empty, save for my father. He sits on a great throne of ice. And even he is made of ice until I touch him. I take his hand and guide him down the mountain, into the underworld where the shadows consume his body and his soul is set free. And the sun goes dark but the moon keeps glowing. It's bright and warm and it melts all of the snow, but it doesn't burn my skin..." She trails off as Anja pulls away, taking several long steps back. "What's wrong?" the girl asks. "Didn't you see it, too?" Anja shakes her head. When she speaks, her voice is faint. "It was only a dream. You will never speak of it again, is that understood?" "No?" Breathing heavily, Anja says, "Speak a word of that dream again and I can do nothing to protect you." With that, Anja goes to the stairs. As she ascends, she says, "And you will throw that book into the fire this evening." You look to the girl, but as Anja slams the door shut behind herself, the world goes black. <<nobr>> <div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[To be continued.|DEMO_C]]</div> </div> <</nobr>> <<set $devout = Math.clamp($devout - 10, 0, 100)>> <<updatemeter 'Devout' `$devout / 100`>> <<notifySound "Defiance has risen." "4s">>
!!!The prelude continues... Following an unsettling dream, you're thrust back into the waking world. As memories begin to seep back in, you're forced to reckon with your identity and plot your next move. The Classic Route prelude will resume soon. Check Tumblr for more details, as well as a comprehensive look at the dynamics system. -Mortish