Cityscape

A road stretches before you. It is crude, cracked, each stone worn by the wind and the sand, bleached under the relentless assault of the sun. Memory ill serves you here, and you grasp after hazy images as if you pulled on smoke. Fears are another matter, and you discount them the way you ceased counting stones, and miles, and days. [[Beginnings 2<-Turn around]] (set: $money to 10) (set: $morality to 0)

The road stretches behind you. It is the same road. The same stones. You have trekked the same monotonous parcel of earth for your entire life. Nothing has changed in the stones. The landscape is blindingly bright, so you cover your eyes with cloth, and note no difference, no progress. [[Traveller 1<-Continue]]

A traveller greets you on the road, his teeth yellowed and his breath like sulphurous gas. His tangled white beard resists gravity. His emerald, silken robes are frayed along every inch of hem. You have met him before on this road, many times. “Hail, friend!” he calls, hesitant. There is a blade at your waist. You may be a bandit. He doesn’t remember. [[Traveller Greet<-There is an understanding of sorts...]] [[Traveller Kill<-There are no witnesses on the open road...]]

There is an understanding of sorts between travellers, a creed. You greet him in turn, and he smiles wider, though there is no joy in the act, only relief. He tells you his destination. He asks yours, but cannot understand your reply. He speaks, but understand nothing you say. Has it gone this way every time? You part ways, unsettled by the interaction. (set: $morality to it + 1) [[Gate 1<-Continue, disturbed]] (set: $traveller to true)

There are no witnesses on the open road. The sword is weighty in your hands, but familiar. *This feels right.* You cut him down, steel flashing like a sliver of sunlight. *One! Two! Three!* Left arm, raised in self-defence. Right torso, already falling. Thin neck, gurgling up soundless pleas. There is no blood. Your brow furrows, unsure of what that means. But the desert is dry, and it seems justified. Besides, the sparkle of gold pieces distracts you. A purse lies open on the sand. You pick up 6 gold pieces. (set: $money to it + 6) (set: $morality to it - 2) (set: $traveller to false) [[Gate 1<-Continue, unfeeling]]

The city, when you arrive, is sudden. Cyclopean walls rise from the desert, square and perfect in their geometry. They are incongruous in the wasteland, but they too stretch for as far as the eye can see, both to the left and to the right. The stonework is repeated, infinitely. Looking upon it makes you nauseous. [[Gate 2<-Approach the gate]]

Columns split the sand on either side of the threshold, each wider than a wagon and three storeys high. Two guards study your approach, leaning on the columns in chainmail armour. A labyrinthine insignia twists upon the yellow field of their chestplates, and you know it to be the City’s own coat of arms. Though they are watching you, these guards are in debate with a jester. It sounds a little heated. [[Gate 3<-Approach]]

“Listen to me, you dogs! I am the great entertainer Imbroglio, and I demand you let me through!” They do not look impressed with his tirade. “Orders are orders, jester. You don’t get in without a pass. You,” he grumbles, jerking his chin in your direction, “same thing. No pass, no entry.” The fool Imbroglio whips around to look at you. Streaks of blue and red are painted across his face. The pink of his skin is visible only around the eyes, and in vertical smudges where he has apparently clawed his own face in frustration. “Good luck, friend! These so-called civil servants are implacable imbeciles, with no reasoning of their own. And they call me the fool!” [“I doubt you’ll get any further being so rude.”]<cl1| (click: ?cl1)[(display: "Gate 4")]

“Bah! I didn’t start out quite so mean-spirited, but these men have pushed me to the edge. They accuse me of smuggling and thieving and lying about my profession!” [“Smuggling what?”]<cl2| (click: ?cl2)[(display:"Gate 5")]

Energetic frustration drains from his face. His crazed eyes narrow, and you think you may see the shadow of a smile spread across his lips. He lowers his voice. “Dice, of all things.” [“Dice? Is gambling illegal here?”]<cl3| (click: ?cl3)[(display:"Gate 6")]

“Something like that, friend! Or something equally absurd!” [[Guard 1<-Continue]]

One of the guards stomps his boot. “Enough, enough. Jester, leave us be for a minute, you’re not the only one trying to get into the City.” He storms off several paces to the left, cursing under his breath in a language you do not know. “I don’t want to have to go over it again, traveller, you can only get into the City with a pass issued by an administrator. If you don’t have one, then shove off.” He spits to the side. [[Guard 2<-You fumble through your knapsack in search of a pass...]] [[Guard Bribe<-All keys are made of gold...]]

All keys are made of gold, this you know axiomatically. The sun will rise in the east, mountains will rumble but they will not fall, and men will bend with the weight of coin. “Maybe I can persuade you otherwise?” You shake your coinpurse. The guard snorts at the admittedly pathetic clink. “I don’t know whether to pity you or punch you.” Economics is clearly not your strong suit. [[Guard 2<-You fumble through your knapsack in search of a pass...]]

You find, to your surprise, nothing. No food, no medicine, no book or map. How did you survive the journey through the desert? “You done?” the guard asks. He doesn’t hate his work, just the drama of outsiders acting out astonishment, begging for pity or understanding. “Just give me a second,” you say, and his mood visibly darkens. [[Guard 3<-Continue]]

You must have something in your cloak. It has interior folds for holding... There! The rough, dry texture of paper! You pull out a neat stack of letters and pages, tied up with a blue ribbon. Undoing the ribbon you begin to wonder what these documents are, and what they can do for you. Maybe they can reveal something about your past? And maybe what they reveal is better left behind. One of them, though, must be a way into the city. [[Guard Letter<-Open the first letter, folded perfectly but smudged with dirt and darker stains.]] [[Guard Page<-Unfold a random page, it looks like it may be from a diary or a book.]] [[Guard Seal<-Try the third document. It bears a regal-looking wax seal, unbroken.]] [[Guard Folded<-This document is folded strangely. You pull it this way and that, revealing it’s true form.]] [[Guard Crumpled<-There may be something in the last one, which looks as though it has been crumpled and re-straightened many many times before.]]

YOU YOU LEFT YOU LEFT US YOU LEFT US DYING YOU LEFT US DYING AND ALONE [[Guard 3<-Look at the other documents]]

This was the city of Zobeide, where they settled, waiting for that scene to be repeated one night. None of them, asleep or awake, ever saw the woman again. The city's streets were streets where they went to work every day, with no link any more to the dreamed chase. Which, for that matter, had long been forgotten. New men arrived from other lands, having had a dream like theirs, and in the city of Zobeide, they recognized something from the streets of the dream, and they changed the positions of arcades and stairways to resemble more closely the path of the pursued woman and so, at the spot where she had vanished, there would remain no avenue of escape. The first to arrive could not understand what drew these people to Zobeide, this ugly city, this trap. [[Guard 3<-Look at the other documents]]

...Provided alwayes, and our will and pleasure is, and wee do hereby declare to all Citied men, princes and states, that if the bearer of this seal, or any other of their licence or appointment, shall at any time or times hereafter find passage into the premise of City domain. The pass! You’ve found it! [[Guard 4<-Hand the pass to the guard]] [[Guard 3<-Look at the other documents]]

It is a pinwheel. So small in your hands. (set: $pinwheel to true) Where are the children? [[Guard 3<-Look at the other documents]]

You wince upon opening it, quickly stuff it into your cloak. It bears a sketch of your face, and a sum of money for your murder. You remember nothing and take it as a good sign. That world is so very far away. [[Guard 3<-Look at the other documents]]

He snatches it from your hand with sharp annoyance. He reads it, struggling through the syntax of the author. His eyebrows wiggle like caterpillars traversing the forest floor. “It’s signed by Administrator Matrichovi himself.” He looks at you, studying your clothes as if in a literal new light. He hands the pass back to you. “You can enter.” [[Guard 5<-Continue]]

As you approach the towering gatehouse, the jester Imbroglio signals for your attention. You try to ignore him but he whispers loudly, and hops up and down while waving his arms. He scuttles towards you, keeping a careful eye on the guards. “I’m glad at least one of us made it in, friend. Don’t you worry, I’ll be close behind, but I must ask a favour of you.” [“But-”]<cl6| (click: ?cl6)[(display:"Guard 6")]

You try to interject but he cuts you off, pressing a light leather purse into your hand, and curling your fingers around it. “I have a friend in the City, you see, and I need to bring her this package. I’m afraid they won’t let me carry it in anytime soon. You need to take them- it.” (set: $dice to true) A guard calls out, and Imbroglio pushes you forward. He waves away their suspicion. “Just saying goodbye to my friend!” [[Guard 7<-Continue]]

The City awaits. As you walk, the contents of the jester’s purse clatter like bones. [[Streets 1<-Ever onwards]]

The cobbled street is empty at first, but as you stride, contemplating your own success, you find you are not alone. You first notice gangs of children, dressed in baggy brown clothes. They move in excited, swirling patterns, like clumsy parodies of swallow swarms. They chitter and caw as well. Then a woman approaches you with a box tied around her waist. She tries to sell you a bag of candied fruits. Only when you spy the lantern bearers do you notice that there are changes taking place. [[Streets 2<-Continue]]

The shadow crept up on you, and you attributed it to the massive walls, but you realize that twilight is encroaching upon the City, a veil of fabric so thin and fine that you had not noticed it blanket the world. Wandering amber lights flicker here and there, soft light illuminating the men who bear them. The lights gutter in places, and multiply. The children have slipped into hidden alleys, the fruit vendor has followed the long shadows home, and the phantom forms of lantern-lighters fade away into the distance. You are left alone in a city of floating lights. Will-o'-wisps watch you. [[Streets Stay<-Stay for a moment]] [[Streets 3<-Quicken your pace]]

Running. This old game. It is not long before you hear the sounds of human activity again. You round a corner and enter a bustling marketplace: the City Bazaar. [[Bazaar<-Continue]]

Brave. Or stupid. Or meaningless. Being alone in this darkness is not comfortable. You feel voyeur eyes move across your skin, while indistinct whispers snake from brick walls. Why stay? Perhaps it’s controlled fear, that tension in your bones and the spring of your muscles. It feels good. But it feels too familiar. [[Streets Stay 2<-Hold still]]

The gloom is oppressive. *Relent.* You're a natural at fleeing your fears and running from the past, don't pretend otherwise. What difference would staying make now? [[Streets 3<-Quicken your pace. You’ll make no statements here.]]

[[Fishmongers]] cry out for your attention, hoping for a few more coins in profit before the darkness carries with it silence and torpor. An [[Enchantress<-enchantress]] eyes you through the crowd, her gaze intense. A shop full of [[Artificers<-artificers]] sprawls to your left. A buzz and whir emanates from the place. Bolts of cloth twist in the breeze, hanging from the beams of a [[Fabric shop<-merchant’s stand]]. Firelight catches like honey in the weave. [[Glazier<-A glazier]] slumps bored at his stand, his moustache oiled black, spinning a glass toy made of concentric circles on a thin metal axis. People are constantly looking at his selection, but he makes no effort to sell them. There are dozens upon dozens of stalls, but not enough time to view them all (and certainly not enough gold in your possession). [[Chase 1<-Push your way through the crowd]]

When you approach, she curls her lip and raises a long, thin stalk of wood to your chest. The wand is lacquered black, and a dragon carving wraps around its handle. She lowers its point to your cloak, where Imbroglio’s package is kept. “You bring a terrible power into this City, stranger. I don't need magic cards or raven eyes to divine that.” “I'm not sure what I carry," you admit. The enchantress gapes at you. “And yet you strut with such conviction. So clueless! So foolish!” She refuses to speak of the issue more, and you resolve to open the package as soon as you’re alone. [[Enchant<-Request an enchantment]]

Whole cod hanging from their eye sockets. Wress in mustard seed sauce. Redfin, supposedly an aphrodisiac. All creatures are dead before they reach the City. [[Bazaar<-Leave the fishmongers]]

Blue like aquamarine. Blue is rare here, and expensive. In the City, they rarely look to the sky. Rusted roan, thick and warm. Images flash in your mind - memories. Blood-soaked sand. Red clay on a riverbank. Which came first? [[Bazaar<-Leave the fabric shop]]

You approach, curious. A series of faces pop into existence: your own, reflected in a dozen mirrors. (set: $glazier to true) You lean closer. So this is you? The desert sun and wind has worn you, that’s for sure. How different you look from what you imagined. Would have been better off not knowing. “I hear they’re imbued with magic,” another perusing citizen says. He leans forward as well, his lady friends supporting him. “They show you five years in the future.” The other customers nod and chatter. You furrow your eyebrows, knowing it’s a lie. Some logical puzzle clicks into place, and you realize the glazier’s plight. They will not buy a thing that does not flatter them. [Purchase a glass bauble, for pity’s sake.]<bauble| (click-replace: ?bauble)[(display:"Glazier 2")] [[Bazaar<-Leave the glazier with his many mirrors]]

The artificers hunch and clamber like groundhogs smoked out of their den. Marble stands hold up automata and artefacts from the old world; here in the corner of the Bazaar is where ancient magic and newfangled mechanism collide. The artificers know that the two are not so different. Some rumour that among these reclusive men and women are the [Exiled Archivists]<ex|, seeking refuge and comfort in the presence of objects that confound time. (click: ?ex)[The City is only equal to the sum of its entire history. Some pieces have been removed, some texts destroyed, some secrets whispered for safekeeping into the bitter, mute wind. Those that could not escape paid the price.] [[Bazaar<-Leave the artificers with their machines]]

You shove and you twist, you start and you stop. Laughing women, staggering men, and flitting children. You hold your purse tight against your body as you move forward. An elbow stabs into your ribs and you cry out in pain, but the sound is drowned out in the fray. A woman trips and grabs onto your cloak for support. A little boy ducks between your legs as if you were a giant, and you barely keep your footing. Behind the shifting mass of people you can see side avenues, blissfully empty. You push against the crowd, caught in their riptide. They are too strong. You cannot breathe. Your skin is moist with sweat. Every brush of a stranger’s hand is fire and ice. Your skin crawls with their fabrics. You just want to escape the pull. Why can’t you leave? Then you hear it, in the back of your mind. The clinking, like laughter. Imbroglio’s package. It laughs at you and your struggle. [[Chase 2<-You are swept away in the current]]

You lose 3 coins, and the glazier hands you a mirror the size of your palm. The transaction is fake, but when you meet the glazier's eyes there is a genuine connection, and he forces a smile. A voice whispers in the back of your head that the eyes are the window to the soul, but the phrase seems out of place, sick and ironic here. (set: $money to it - 3) (set: $mirror to true)

She sneers at you. "Bah! Come back when you have more gold!" [[Bazaar<-Leave the angry enchantress]]

She scowls, but you show her gold. She does not notice the blood. “Some things are certain. Some things are choice. You stride the place between.” Light flashes down her wand’s length, leaps to your boots. She smirks. “Walk with more certainty.” You lose 10 gold, but something is different. (set: $money to it -10) [[Bazaar<-Leave the enchantress]]

(if: $traveller is true) [She sneers at you. "Bah! Come back when you have more gold!" [[Bazaar<-Leave the angry enchantress]] ] (if: $traveller is false) [She scowls, but you show her gold. She does not notice the blood. “Some things are certain. Some things are choice. You stride the place between.” Light flashes down her wand’s length, leaps to your boots. She smirks. “Walk with more certainty.” You lose 10 gold, but something is different. (set: $money to it -10) [[Bazaar<-Leave the enchantress]] ]

They yield no space and they SQUEEZE you Throw you Bash you Break you Lungs filled with people - no, Water. You’re drowning [DROWN]<drown| (Click: ?drown)[(display:"Chase 3")]

You're dying [DIE]<die| (Click: ?die)[(display:"Chase 4")]

You're falling [FALL]<fall| (Click: ?fall)[(display:"Chase 5")]

Pain flares in your elbows and your knees. Your chin misses the cobblestones by a mere inch. Blood seeps in your mouth, metallic in taste. The crowd has stopped. Their boots and slippers surround you in a circle. They’ve formed a two-foot birth, and no one’s offering to help you up. No one’s speaking or moving or- [*Oh gods no.*]<no| (Click: ?no)[ There! A pair of yellowed dice on the street beside you! And beside it, Imbroglio’s packaging… You snatch them up. You hide them in your cloak as you stand. Pain and terror course through your veins in searing alchemy. The crowd still stares at you. The sound of their breathing is swallowed by the rush of blood in your ears, the pang and roar of your own tremulous heart. [[Chase 6<-Flee while you can]] ]

All at once they begin to howl. Their jaws stretch wide to the point of breaking and they bellow out a single note, rising in volume. It is their threnody, and you know the dice will break this world. The thunder from their throats hits you like a wall. [Push through]<push| (Click: ?push)[Your bones rattle within you [Push *harder*]<harder| ] (Click: ?harder)[Your ears quiver with the din [*Shove!*]<shove| ] (Click: ?shove)[Your bones rattle within you [Run]<run| ] (Click: ?run)[JUST RUN GODDAMIT! [[Alley 1<-escape]] ]

Air is rushing fire in your throat. Air threatens to burst your lungs apart. Right, left, left, duck beneath a clothesline covered in rags, left once more. You dive down alleys and duck into doorways, clambering among shadows, darting through the labyrinthine cityscape as if speed will make you any less lost. Perhaps there’s some equation at work, some probability that undercuts you, but the dice in your possession are silent. In a few minutes, so is the City. You’ve lost the crowd and its dread howl. [[Alley 2<-Continue]]

For the first time you realize how narrow the alleys are. As you regain your breath, you look notice that the building walls are at least twice as tall as you. There are no windows here. Faint light breaks through the thatching and fractured tapestry above. Right, left, forward, backward. Direction is challenged. Every step you take is into the unknown. It all seems the same to you: a broken maze, assembled haphazardly. Too many dead ends and half-strung thoughts. This is the impulse of creation, without the logic. [[Alley 3<-Continue]]

When you make it out of the labyrinth, twilight has given way completely to night. You slip out of a shadowy crack in the brickwork of buildings, like a spider from its lair. [[Branching<-Continue]]

You creep into a cobblestone circle. A series of torches on the far side illuminate small spheres of the night. You strain your eyes against the dark. You seem to be alone, but the sight afforded by the fire only deepens the darkness beyond. The air is moist and heavy. The barest of breezes caresses your skin. The circle has four cardinal paths. One leads back to the bazaar, a place you cannot return to. The other three lead forward into the unknown, across this strange cityscape. There are signposts, but the language is alien to you. You are confronted with a difficult decision. [[Temple 1<-Take the right path]] *The next two paths will be added in expansions, and will offer you access to entirely new parts of the City, and entirely new avenues of decision-making and memory recovery. Stay tuned!*

The path is maintained. Your footing is sure. A gap in the stars punches through grid-like constellations, but you soon know it for what it is: a stone tower. The construct is negative space on the dome of the void. It is a paradox, and yet the bold logic beneath it is clear. You know at once this tower is a temple. Humanity’s talon claws at the firmament, scrawling knowledge, poetry, and epics with star-bright ink and a black canvas. [[Temple 2<-Continue]]

Slit-like windows bleed flickering amber. The light is weak, but welcoming. You can find your way even in the darkest of nights, how convenient for a sinner like you. The thought leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. When did you become so cynical? [[Priestess<-Spit until your palette is clear]]

“This ground deserves more respect, wouldn’t you agree?” The voice comes from a curtain of shadow in the church’s stonework. Out steps a figure in chequered robes. Her hair is auburn red, split into two gold-net cauls on either side of her narrow face. You can’t tell what colour her eyes are, but they glitter in the diffuse glow of her temple. “Priestess, I… I’m so-” She waves the apology away. “I’m sure you’re seething with regret.” The remark is innocent, even friendly, but twists an ache within you. She smiles, with wrinkles at the corners of her mouth that say she smiles often. [[Priestess Smile<-Smile back]] [[Priestess Suspect<-Eye her with suspicion]]

“What is your name?” you ask. She is the only citizen you would truly call amicable. A name is information and connection. “I am a priestess of the Faceless, the Nameless, the Eternal. It would be impossible for me to hold my office and my birthname at once.” She says this with a slight frown. “You are not familiar with our ways, are you?” [[Priestess 2<-“Perhaps I’m looking to acquaint myself with your god."]]

"Who are you?" you ask. The citizens of this place are not normal, not human. There is something predatory or animalistic about them. “I am a priestess of the Faceless, the Nameless, the Eternal. The real question is who, stranger, are you?” She says this with a frown. “You are not familiar with our ways.” [[Priestess 2<-“Perhaps I’m looking to acquaint myself with your god."]]

Meaning in the meaningless. Whispers in the void. “I know too little about the Nameless to make judgments, but I believe I’m here by coincidence. With respect, it was nothing more than a hasty decision, simple chance.” The words galvanize her body, like a sharp cold, or shocking touch. “Hold your tongue. You know more than enough. Do you not think I can sense it on you? The Faceless does not collect broken people, only broken truths. It would swallow you whole, given the chance.” Her right hand shoots out and she grabs your chin. She peers into your eyes, her own pupils dilated and darting. She is searching for something. ["What?"]<disagree| (Click: ?disagree)[“I see.” She lets you go with a grunt that seems out of place coming from her. “You’ve lost it. Or it’s lost you.” “What? What are you talking about?” You rub your jaw. The priestess has a grip like a vice. “What is your name, stranger?” [A simple question.]<name| (Click: ?name)[“My name is-” Wait... “My name, it’s-” How? [[Priestess 3<-WHAT HAPPENED TO MY NAME?]] ] ]

A shake of the head. “It is too late for prayer. You are not here for my council or that of the reverent abyss, and yet your being here is driven by purpose.” [[Priestess Agree<-It's been a long time since you felt you had control...]] [[Priestess Disagree<-Meaning in the meaningless. Whispers in the void...]]

It's been a long time since you felt you had control. "I feel a tugging through events, I do. I don't know enough about the Eternal to say it's involved. I don't know if I believe in the Nameless. All I know is that I feel hunted." "You know more than enough. Do you not think I can sense it on you? The Faceless does not collect broken people, only broken truths. It will not collect you.” She lifts her right hand and she holds your chin. She peers into your eyes, her own pupils dilated and darting. She is searching for something. ["What?"]<agree| (Click: ?agree)[“I see.” She lets you go with a sigh that seems to tear from her very soul. “You’ve lost it. Or it’s lost you.” “What? What are you talking about?” You rub your jaw. The priestess has a touch like a cool breeze. “What is your name, stranger?” [A simple question.]<name| (Click: ?name)[“My name is-” Wait... “My name, it’s-” How? [[Priestess 3<-WHAT HAPPENED TO MY NAME?]] ] ]

She begins nodding vigorously to herself. “The Faceless will not collect you. But it may destroy you. It may elevate you. Find yourself and return here, stranger. The temple will open for you, when you’re ready.” The priestess whirls around and marches towards the temple. Her hair cauls swing with every forceful step. The chequered fabric confuses your eyes. You look away. A graveyard sprawls behind the temple complex. [[Graveyard<-Approach]]

Candles and lanterns are scattered among the gravestones, marking a hundred distinct paths in an otherwise trackless dark. These are the avenues of the mourning, all abed and with their loved ones in the realm of dreams. You imagine processions of men with masks and women with veils gliding across the dewy grass, stepping so lightly as to not wake the dead. The graves themselves are concrete and would be out of place in the mystical vision if not for the half-light. Most are ovals sunk into the soil, some are rectangles. One is a woman’s face with vines in her hair and a butterfly over her eyes. Not far off is a monument in the shape of a person, though you cannot make out details. (set: $arquet to false) [[Graveyard 2<-Move closer]]

*Melanie*, it reads, but the name fades immediately. It is replaced by *YOUR FAULT*, and then *Miriam*. The name then fades for good. *I am not afraid of tomorrow, for I have seen yesterday and loved today.* [[Graveyard 2<-Leave this grave]]

At first, you cannot find the inscriptions. Then you cannot seem to escape them and the diminished lives they hope to represent. Everyone knows that words cannot capture a life, but everyone hopes. Everyone tries. Imbroglio’s dice are vibrating. There is something to be learned here. Explore. [[Melanie<-Examine the oval headstone]] [[Sascha<-Examine the rectangular headstone]] [[Gregor<-Examine the plaque in the ground]] [[Arquet<-Examine the headstone in the shape of a woman's face]] [[Nathan<-Examine the anchor, worked in iron and jutting boldly from the earth]] [[Sam<-Examine the cross headstone]] [[Grave Monument<-Move towards the monument]]

*Sascha*, it reads, but the name fades immediately. It is replaced by *LEAVE*, and then *Miriam*. The name then fades for good. *She is gone, like a beautiful Wednesday.* [[Graveyard 2<-Take your leave]]

*Gregor*, it reads, but the name fades immediately. It is replaced by *SEE*, and then *Miriam*. The name then fades for good. *I’ll miss the simple things most.* [[Graveyard 2<-Step back from this grave]]

The face is familiar, but most of it is hidden behind the wings of a butterfly, carved expertly into the stone. If only you could see her eyes... *Arquet*, it reads, but the name fades immediately. It is replaced by *HOLD ME*, and then *Miriam*. The name then fades for good. *The song is ended, but the melody lingers on* [[Graveyard 2<-No, no. Leave this grave.]] [[Arquet 2<- Touch the headstone, gently...]]

*Nathan*, it reads, but the name fades immediately. It is replaced by *COLD*, and then *Miriam*. The name then fades for good. *We are all sailors on this vast And sublime ocean.* [[Graveyard 2<-A different grave. A warmer grave.]]

*Sam*, it reads, but the name fades immediately. It is replaced by *CHOICE*, and then *Miriam*. The name then fades for good. *Apart, but not forever.* [[Graveyard 2<-Leave this grave alone]]

You feel the pull. It is undeniable, and cold. You are not sure if this is the result of some clever architecture, or if it is an otherworldly gravity, but you know you are directed. The Priestess may be correct after all. Imbroglio’s dice shake violently now. [[Grave Monument 2<-Move closer]]

You are your own funeral procession, winding slowly through the graveyard. Folds of darkness part as you near the monument, and you realize it has a maw - no, a door. Above the door are two entwined figures: a young woman wearing a simple dress and a blindfold, and a hooded figure with a skull for a face. They are frozen in dance, or in anguish. [[Grave Monument 3<-Even closer]]

You do not control your steps. You are fabric in the wind, a dead twig on rushing waters. Your heart beats faster. What lures you in? For what purpose? There is danger in the shadows, and danger in the air. A part of you replays the same thought in your mind over and over again: you may die in this place. [[Grave Monument 4<-Turn back! Run away!]]

Choice was always an illusion. You struggle in the inexorable tide of consequences. The tide swells to meet you. You are swallowed in darkness. [[Descent 1<-submit]]

There is moisture in the air. The way it grows thicker and colder in your flared nostrils is the only metric you have of distance, of descent. Darkness is almost palpable here, like some second physical component that forms the crypt’s atmosphere. You shuffle down slick stone stairs and trust in your footing. Enchanted boots are just what you need. [[Descent 2<-Continue your way down]]

“No one to witness my passing,” you mutter. No one is listening. At least, you hope no one is listening. There is the faintest glimmer of light below you and energy bursts into your stiff muscles. [[Descent 4<-Hurry]]

“At least I’d already be buried,” you joke with a grunt. No one is listening. At least, you hope no one is listening. There is the faintest glimmer of light below you and energy bursts into your stiff muscles. [[Descent 4<-Hurry]]

Though you see nothing, your perception of this underworld is dominated by walls of stone so close and so precariously angled that you cannot help but feel the passage shrinking, you cannot help but imagine the tons of earth and rock collapsing on your frail body and crushing your bones. [[Descent 3<-Shake the thoughts from your head]]

If only it were so easy. It strikes you that no one would come looking for you, no one would bury you, or utter your last rites. [[Descent Jest<-Make a jest]] [[Descent Brood<-Brood solemnly]]

You abandon caution and dance down the steps of the triangular passage. The chamber you enter is just another triangle, a three-sided pyramid with a lantern hanging from the apex. It does not flicker like fire. Perhaps it is some form of glowing mineral? An altar or shrine of some kind lies against one wall, illuminated by a singular candle. Another wall gives way to a chamber shrouded in dark. The third wall has at its centre a door made from fine hardwood and copper. The wood has since rotted, and the copper has turned green like flaking, sickly vines. [[Candle 1<-Inspect the altar]] [[Candle 1<-Explore the black chamber]] [[Candle 1<-Investigate the corroded door]]

You fumble in the half-light, almost falling face first onto the floor. What did you expect? [[Candle 2<-Take the candle]]

You approach the curio and its wavering singularity of light. The candle, as you come nearer, has barely melted at all. Someone has set it aflame within the last few minutes. It must be the priestess, that is the only explanation. And yet the way down the stairs seemed to have taken an age… [[Candle 3<-Continue]]

The candlelight reveals dirt and mold on your hands from the walls. It coats your skin in splotches and streaks, like dappled light piercing a forest canopy. You have not meandered a forest in so long… Early autumn between the silent birches, laughter on the wind. You blink away the memory and rub your forehead, smudging grime on your face. Move on, creature of the dark earth. Move on. [[Altar<-Inspect the altar]] [[Black Chamber<-Explore the black chamber]] [[Corroded Door<-Investigate the corroded door]]

It is made of a dark lacquered wood, and seems to have withstood the damp and rot of this infernal place. There is no form of adornment on it: no metal clasps or intricate carvings. Only a thick book bound in umber leather lies on top of it. [[Altar 2<-Open the book]]

Hot wax splashes on your hand and you cry out in pain. You blow on the wax and try to tear it off, only partially aware of how loud you are being. Your cry echoes back at you. It’s not possible to wake the dead, is it? The pain only lasts a few seconds. The shock and anxiety pressing in on you will not pass so quickly. [[Black Crypt<-Look up]]

The moment your fingers touch the binding it snaps open. Pages flip in rapid succession like a deck of cards. The faint light above you flickers. With an audible thud and a cloud of dust, the book opens to a page. (if: $traveller is false) [Ink the colour of rust is scrawled on the vellum. It reads: *Zuandomenego Collari, longstanding member of the City’s Merchant Guild, purveyor of linseed oil and tobacco. Cut down on road to City by unknown assailant, 10th of Janiver. Killed by blade, gold stolen from the corpse. May he find rest here. Note: interment awaiting* The traveller? The old man you murdered. How is this possible? You killed him not ten hours ago! A low moan echoes in the crypt. You know there is something for you down here, but you cannot help but feel the sins you carry are agitating the dead.] (if: $traveller is true) [Ink the colour of rust is scrawled on the vellum. It reads: *Zuandomenego Collari, longstanding member of the City’s Merchant Guild, purveyor of linseed oil and tobacco. Died of heat stroke on road to City, 10th of Janiver. Body unmolested by man or beast. May he find rest here, and gentle breezes in the afterlife. Note: interment awaiting* The traveller? The one with yellow teeth and a white beard? But you saw him not ten hours ago! Perhaps if you had given him water… No, you had no water. There was nothing you could do to save him.] [[Altar 3<-The book’s pages begin to shuffle again…]]

How is this possible? The altar is gone. In its place is black, negative space. The light above goes dark. You are left in this void with a dying spark. Give it your all, for you hold no power here. [[Black Crypt 2<-You have no choice: the black chamber awaits...]]

Rotted. Decrepit. Falling apart in this underworld, where reverence of the dead is touted and neglect is their welcome. And yet… this door is different. You clench your teeth, seeing a lock of some shiny alloy, one that contains gold or else is designed to mimic it well. The lock is perfect in its angles, square and clean. Find the key. You know somehow that you must peer beyond this threshold. [[Black Crypt<-Inspect the altar]]

Move, slowly. Step by step. Heartbeat by heartbeat. Every scuff of your boot calls out in this umbra. Every intake of breath is sharp and metallic. Every sickening swallow of bile pops your ears, deafening you, paralyzing you. *Shhh.* What’s that? A sound. A footstep? [[Black Crypt Stop<-stop]] [[Black Crypt Go<-GO!]]

Muscles seize. Silence reigns. The quiet is tenebrous. It drums in your ears, battering invisible walls of resolve, closing in, shrinking... There’s nothing. You’ve been holding your breath. [[Black Crypt 3<-Exhale]]

Your heart races, but your legs will not move. The quiet is tenebrous. It drums in your ears, battering invisible walls of resolve, closing in, shrinking... Nothing. You’ve been holding your breath. [[Black Crypt 3<-Exhale]]

Something screams within you, within the sinews that strangle your heart and your lungs like serpents. Don’t let it voice that pain. You let that tension go, rushing out of you with all the constrained energy of a hound on a chain. [*In and out*]<breathe1| (Click: ?breathe1)[Good. The screaming within fades. [*In and out*]<breathe2| (Click: ?breathe2)[Panic lessens to fear. [*In and out*]<breathe3| (Click: ?breathe3)[Some equilibrium is restored, but the fear will stay with you. Gather whatever shred of wits you have. [[Black Crypt 4<-Press onwards]] ] ] ]

*How?* Dark is dimensionless. It has no limits, and your eyes dart here and there searching for an end to the torture. All walls have melted away into void. One step or one eternity, you cannot mark the confines of this prison. How can you move onwards if there is no compass scrawled in the architecture? [[BC Miracle<-"I need a miracle"]] [[BC Reason<-"I need to think"]]

That’s it? Sit and wait for divine intervention? You’d die of starvation in the time wasted, if you could avoid those sinister intellects that crawl this abyss. [[BC Miracle 2<-Nevermind, cool heads prevail]]

That’s it? This is not a puzzle, this is survival, and you are caught in a prison for the dead. Take the miracle, you’ll live longer. [[BC Reason 2<-Accept the improbable]]

Yes, reason. It burns in your body like alcohol. Use it. You make your way slowly, quietly, and surely towards the span of black you last saw the door. Your arms are held in front of you, fingers splayed like insectoid feelers, ready for the sensory flash of contact. It takes an age, but you make it. The stone is cut sharp into cubes, stacked to make a column on either side of the entranceway. [[Shades<-Enter the chamber]]

Deux ex machina, or product of fate, you’ve always known the City was tainted by the undercurrent of some unreality, a power holding one foot within the laws and confines of the visible and tangible, and another foot holding open the door to a place outside of rules, confines, and substance. You cannot name this power. It is a god. It is an idle thought. It is you and the dead who watch with gaping, empty eye sockets. Nameless, formless, almighty and absurd… A scream echoes through the crypt. [[Shades<-The darkness quivers...]]

Dazzling, eldritch fire leaps up around you. Streaks scar your vision behind closed eyes, you scream out in pain, pulsing agony rips through your knees. You’ve fallen. The stones are cold against your hands, your face. [Open your eyes]<eyes| (click-replace: ?eyes) [You squint, searching the white fire for some source of menace. You find dozens. They huddle in upon themselves, hunchbacked and broken. They are absences of light in the brilliance of white fire. Cloaked in riotous shadows, these shades stand in concentric circles and stare at you, eyes all shining different colours. Sapphire, amber, ruby, amethyst, and more: fixed on you. They make no move, except to shiver and shake. Maybe it is the white fire. Maybe they are benign. Perhaps it is rage and wrath in their tortured souls. Old superstition says there is power in knowing a spirit’s name, or the way it died. You can try your luck guessing. [[Shade Blue<-Approach the first shade]] ]

You can make out no details in its form, save for flecks of dark in its radiant eyes. They burn like sapphires on the cold disk of the moon. “Hello?” The shade attempts to speak, but can produce only the groans of timber under stress. The call is low and loud, reverberating in your skull. [[Blue Fail<-“Were you a woodsman?”]] [[Shade Sea<-"Did you die at sea?"]]

You can make out no details in its form, save for flecks of dark in its radiant eyes. They smolder like embers in the night. “Hello?” The shade attempts to speak, but can produce only a whoosh and roar. [[Shade Fire<-“Did you die in a fire?”]] [[Amber Fail<-“Were you a smith of some kind?”]] [[Amber Fail<-“Were you an arsonist?”]]

The shade laughs and weeps and sings all at once. Its substance fades into oblivion, into dreams, into that unknowable beyond. The other shades join the chorus. Memories of death and sorrow are swept away in a flood of remembered joys, relived loves, and reclaimed identities. They remember. Life, as well as death. A great wind sweeps through the crypt, and the white fire blazes brighter, climbs taller, and all at once vanishes. In its place is a key made of moonlight: the gift of the dead to you. (set: $SpiritKey to true) [[Key Door<-Go to the corroded door. Go beyond.]]

It moves even closer, desperate hope in its eyes. You hear the ruckus of a crowd from far away and countless years ago. Celebration? Reverence? Revilement? [[Amber Fail<-"Were you a sacrifice?"]] [[Amber Fail<-"Were you put to the stake for a crime?"]] [[Shade Witch<-"Were you accused of witchcraft?"]]

The shade trembles and groans, but inches closer to you. There is excitement in its blazing eyes. You are close to the truth, and a distant keening sound grows louder in your ears. [[Amber Fail<-“Were you caught in a house fire?”]] [[Amber Fail<-“Did you die in an explosion?”]] [[Shade Burn<-“Did someone burn you to death?”]]

The shade twists and moans, curling upon the axis of its own ethereal spine, fading in agony. That is not how it died. The poor soul only wanted recognition. [[Shade Amber<-It is gone. Approach the shade with amber eyes.]]

The shade trembles and groans, but inches closer to you. There is excitement in its blazing eyes. You are close to the truth. [[Blue Fail<-“Were you a mariner?”]] [[Shade Passenger<-“Were you a passenger on a ship?”]]

Its shadowy form falls to the floor in a smoking heap, and the creature sobs in a strikingly human register. You crouch down low and speak to the shade. “I am truly sorry for your death. If you help me leave this place, I will do whatever I can to help you find absolution.” [An ethereal hand whips out and grabs your wrist.]<bluewrist| (Click: ?bluewrist) [*Small, dirty space. Small, dark space.* A hundred thousand voices whisper in your skull. *Salt in mouth. Salt in wounds. Cracked lips, cracked skin. Whimper. Freezing, burning. Water rushing. World turning. Lungs screaming flesh piled on flesh ‘dump the cargo’ we fell* You vomit water from your lungs, and heave deep breaths that burn in every inch of you. These shades know their deaths well. They imprint those memories on the crypt's black canvas and drown in recycled suffering, reliving the last, suspended moments of life, caught in the eternal present like fabric on a nail. The strength of whatever supernatural riptide runs beneath reality is not enough to pull them from their earthly anchor, their pain, and their guilt. You realize you will one day join them, if you cannot remember, and absolve yourself. The shade is waiting for you to do something. And you understand that there are options before you. There is always a way out, no matter what. [[Nomi<-Recover the shade’s identity from the depths. Speak its name.]] [[Shade Hammer<-If life is fragile, so is death. You will smash the chains of the afterlife.]]

It moves even closer, desperate hope in its eyes. You hear the clink of metal on metal from far away and countless years ago. Industry? Shackles? Chains? [[Blue Fail<-“Were you a merchant?”]] [[Shade Slave<-“Were you a slave?”]] [[Blue Fail<-“Were you a prisoner?”]]

["Nomi."]<nomi1| (click: ?nomi1)[Nomi, with her eyes the colour and shape of almonds. Nomi, who played with lion cubs and cried when her father drowned them. Nomi, who punched an older boy in the face for calling her mother a bad name. Nomi, who never kissed a boy, but shared such tender moments with a girl. Nomi, who practiced the harp for ages, but never played for the grandmother who gave her the instrument. ["Nomi."]<nomi2| (click: ?nomi2) [This is a soul with many memories. Not all of them are in a dark, crowded cabin on a ship riding titanic waves. Not all of them bleed with panic, smell of sweat and feces, or sting around the wrist and ankles as the metal digs in. Not all of them are in chains. ["Nomi."]<nomi3| (click: ?nomi3) [She was not just a slave. Tamer of lions. Defender of mothers. Tender. Musical. Loved. [[Shade Key<-A worthy epitaph. Memories to dream on.]] ] ] ]

You expect a struggle, but the gateway to hell slams shut the moment you resist, and you hear a heavy clang as something metal falls beside you. You crouch down, completely blind, and brush the floor with frozen fingers. You find what feels like an oddly shaped hammer. In the darkness, it somehow still gleems as if caught in starlight. You are not sure if this is a gift from the void, or from the dead. (set: $SpiritHammer to true) [[Hammer Door<-Go to the corroded door. Bash it down.]]

Its shadowy form falls to the floor in a smoking heap, and the creature sobs in a strikingly human register. You can hear the crackle of firewood, emanating from within the shade. You crouch down low and speak to them. “I am truly sorry for your death. If you help me leave this place, I will do whatever I can to help you find absolution.” [An ethereal hand whips out and grabs your wrist.]<amberwrist| (Click: ?amberwrist) [*Cut the trees and build a pyre throw the witch into the fire.* A hundred thousand voices whisper in your skull. *Such a crowd to see me scream. Men, women, children laughing, children chanting, stones thrown through windows stench of oil stench of urine why can’t i breath why can’t they see i only live to love the trees. No harm. No hurt. A poor harvest, and i burn* You cough on smoke-filled lungs, clawing at the grimy floor and heaving breaths of liquid fire. These shades know their deaths well. They imprint those memories on the crypt's black canvas and drown in recycled suffering, reliving the last, suspended moments of life, caught in the eternal present like fabric on a nail. The strength of whatever supernatural riptide runs beneath reality is not enough to pull them from their earthly anchor, their pain, and their guilt. You realize you will one day join them, if you cannot remember, and absolve yourself. The shade is waiting for you to do something. And you understand that there are options before you. There is always a way out, no matter what. [[Simra<-Reclaim the shade’s identity from the ashes. Speak its name.]] [[Shade Hammer<-If life is fragile, so is death. You will burn the afterlife to the ground.]] ]

The shade twists and moans, curling upon the axis of its own ethereal spine, fading in agony. That is not how it died. The poor soul only wanted recognition. [[Shade Red<-It is gone. Approach the shade with crimson eyes.]]

The shade twists and moans, curling upon the axis of its own ethereal spine, fading in agony. That is not how it died. The poor soul only wanted recognition. [[Shade Hammer<-It is gone. The other shades begin to moan as well...]]

There is a blackness in every shade around you, a pit inside of them that resists the white fire's radiance. That blackness is growing, swallowing these souls from the inside. So they howl. It starts out low like the rumble of an aftershock. The white fire gutters in its presence, and you feel the air grow thin, oxygen depleting by the second. For the second time in this accursed City, you witness the cataclysmic threnody of a people. [[Shade Hammer 2<-Continue]]

["Simra."]<simra1| (click: ?simra1)[Simra, who would walk the forests at twilight and speak gently to the foxes, deer, and swallows. Simra, who would sing to the wind in the first light of dawn, plucking chimney stalk and silver root from dewy fields. Simra, who delivered the babies of the townsfolk and comforted women in labour. Simra, who dreamed of a child of her own, who once stole a kiss from the farmer’s son and wished he would return to her, who dreamed of a marriage by moonlight. Simra, who witnessed the City’s expansion by axe and mill. ["Simra."]<simra2| (click: ?simra2) [This is a soul with many memories. Not all of them smell of smoke and oil, stained red by panic and helplessness. Not all of them suffocate in the pain of knowing she was despised in her last moments as the children sang and the people stared. Not all of them flash with fire and hatred. ["Simra."]<simra3| (click: ?simra3) [She was not just a freak. Keeper of forest paths. Whisperer of wild secrets. Midwife. Healer. Romantic. [[Shade Key<-A worthy epitaph. Memories to dream on.]] ] ] ]

You hold the key before you like a torch. It paints the crypt's sunken, overgrown walls in shining hues of quartz and silver. It fights back the darkness in a lambent sphere. The light does nothing, however, to glorify the rotted door when you arrive. Pitted wood planks lay interlocked behind bands of metal, unidentifiable beneath the layers of rust. [[Key Door 2<-Use the key]]

You waste no time when you arrive at the corroded door. [SMASH]<smash1| (click: ?smash1)[Rotted chips of wood cascade off of the door. [SMASH]<smash2| (click: ?smash2)[The hammer punches through wood and metal banding like a blade through soft flesh. [SMASH]<smash3| (click: ?smash3)[Gaping holes perforate the portal. Whatever lies beyond is pure black. [SMASH]<smash4| (click: ?smash4)[Rusted hinges give way, and the ruined door falls from its place in the stone wall. The supernatural hammer is thrumming in your hands. Vibrating. Singing. [[Miriam 1<-Go. See what awaits you.]] ] ] ]

You can make out no details in its form, save for flecks of dark in its radiant eyes. They shimmer and flash like rubies caught in sunlight. “Hello?” The shade attempts to speak, but the black pit of its maw produces only a distant roar and the clanging of metal. It stretches its incorporeal arm to you, as if begging for you to succeed. A glance around you reveals that all of the shades are doing the same, black tendril arms raised before hollow eyes. This is your last chance for absolution. [[Red Fail<-“Did you die in a factory accident?”]] [[Shade Battle<-“Did you die in a battle?”]] [[Red Fail<-“Were you a smith?”]]

The shade trembles and groans, but inches closer to you. There is excitement in its blazing eyes. You are close to the truth, and the sounds of metal on metal grow louder. [[Red Fail<-“Were you an outlaw?”]] [[Shade Merc<-“Were you a mercenary?”]] [[Red Fail<-“Were you a soldier or knight?”]]

It moves even closer, desperate hope in its eyes. You hear the clash of metal on metal from far away and countless years ago, and echoing war cries in a dark corner of your mind. Why fight? Why rush into the fray, to risk life and death? [[Red Fail<-"Did you fight for your family?”]] [[Red Fail<-"Did you fight for greed?”]] [[Shade Violence<-"Did you fight for the sake of violence?”]]

Its shadowy form falls to the floor in a smoking heap, and the creature sobs in a strikingly human register. You crouch down low and speak to them. “We all have pasts we are not proud of. If you help me leave this place, I will do whatever I can to help you find absolution.” [An ethereal hand whips out and grabs your wrist.]<redwrist| (click: ?redwrist) [*Hack cut bash kill* A hundred thousand voices whisper in your skull. *My sword is the razor edge of mortality, the arbiter, the final judgement swinging down in a silver arc… The Blade is God and I am God’s arm, God’s soldier, God’s unfeeling unflinching unrelenting avatar Then swings the sword that i can’t see Then comes the Blade that i can’t stop Then judgement falls upon me and my God is fallen, bloody and laid in dirt Mortality is not a razor edge but a slow fall in darkness. Hearing the blades clash, heaviness growing in lungs to bursting, fluids leaking, echoes fading* You cough out clods of bloody soil, clawing at the grimy stones and heaving in painful breaths. These shades know their deaths well. They imprint those memories on the crypt's black canvas and drown in recycled suffering, reliving the last, suspended moments of life, caught in the eternal present like fabric on a nail. The strength of whatever supernatural riptide runs beneath reality is not enough to pull them from their earthly anchor, their pain, and their guilt. You realize you will one day join them, if you cannot remember, and absolve yourself. The shade is waiting for you to do something. And you understand that there are options before you. There is always a way out, no matter what. [[Kieran<-Reclaim the shade’s identity from the shallow graves of war. Speak its name.]] [[Shade Hammer<-If life is fragile, so is death. You will cut down the pillars of the afterlife.]] ]

["Kieran."]<kieran1| (click: ?kieran1)[Kieran, whose hair was straw-like gold in the sun, and flowed like a lion's mane in the wind. Kieran, who mastered the art of twirling sticks by age ten, but did not understand the hardships of battle for many years. Kieran, who trailed wagons entering the City, hunting for stray chunks of coal, and turned poverty into a game. Kieran, whose first love was the unfolding of the tarot, and fresh cherry pastries, and watching the sun set from the crenellations of the City harbour. Kieran, whose first kill was his mother in childbirth, a woman who he learned later was only a house slave. Kieran, whose first murder was at age sixteen in the damp and narrow space between a tenement building and an ancient church. ["Kieran."]<kieran2| (click: ?kieran2)[This is a soul with many memories. Not all of them are in the chaotic crush of battle. Not all of them smell of loosed bowels and sweat, or bleed with fear, pulse with adrenaline, scream with the rush of mortality and the power that comes with wielding it. Not all of them end with the edge of a sword. ["Kieran."]<kieran3| (click: ?kieran3)[He was not just a killer. Witness of golden sunsets. Fleet-footed catcher of coal. Lion child. Orphan. Rampscallion. [[Shade Key<-A worthy epitaph. Memories to dream on.]] ] ] ]

The grainy, pitted stone steals all warmth from your hand. You jerk it back in shock. “*No road too long, traveller*,” the headstone whispers. Beneath the butterflies wings, lips of granite mouth the voice of the dead. “*There is always time for the journey back - the dead know this best.*” You swallow phlegm and fear together, clear your throat. “I care not for my own soul... [[Arquet Other<-...But the soul of another.”]] [[Arquet Oblivion<-...My road leads forever onward, into oblivion.”]]

“*You are not the only one who walks a bleak road in the void. She is lost, and ever searching.*” Your exhale is a shuddering wind. “Is she scared?” you ask. The statue makes no reply. “Please, tell me if she’s scared!” It is only stone, bone-white in the moon’s gleam. [[Graveyard 2<-Your thoughts sink into darkness. Leave this grave, and its dead beauty.]]

“*I know. She is lost, and ever searching.*” Your exhale is a shuddering wind. “She will never forgive me.” “*Forgiveness will not come easily. It did not come easily to you, remember?*” “Yes. Yes, I remember.” Your heart sinks as you ask yourself if it ever came at all. “*If you find her, traveller, give her this.*” The butterfly comes to life, flexing bone-white wings and lifting into the cold night air. The creature lands on your shoulder, folding its wings. It is stone again. You lift it gently, and place it in your cloak. (set: $arquet to true) The headstone’s face is uncovered. Her eyes, her eyes! Those blank, unseeing eyes... [[Graveyard 2<-Leave. The memory will fade in time.]]

Ink the colour of rust is scrawled on the vellum. It reads: *Pasqualin de Viscardi, maker of beautiful mirrors and bender of glass. Awaiting death, 21st of Janiver. Suicide by hanging, found by coalman Tuviani. May he find rest here, when he makes his fateful choice.* The glazier? Suicide? You cannot fathom how this is possible. The book records deaths both past and future: by accident, murder, and choice. The dry ink communicates none of the irony of Pasqualin’s “fateful choice.” How can he choose when his fate is written? Maybe the text is wrong… maybe. But you know that is not true. (if: $glazier is true) [Perhaps you can save him. Go back. Tell him to stop making those damned mirrors!] [[Altar 4<-The pages keep turning as if in the wind, now turning back, back, back... so many lives, ended.]]

Double-click this passage to edit it.

When it finally stops, and the sandy, bubbling sound of pages turning is gone, you are left with only the ringing in your ears. “*Miriam*,” it reads. You shut your eyes tight, hiding in your own black mausoleum. You wish you’d never arrived at this cursed city. But the steps you took were you own, and some part of you understands that the long road was a purgatory, an infinite cage for you to rage in like an animal. You marched alone under the unforgiving sun, but your mind was crowded with too many regrets to feel the burning bliss of solitude. (if: $traveller is true) [You've never been alone. Just lonely, and ignorant, and oh so stubborn. You'd recognize that if you weren't so set in your ways. [[Altar 5<-Open your eyes, weary traveller. She deserves this.]] ] (if: $traveller is false) [You've never been alone. Just lonely, and ignorant, and oh so stubborn. You'd recognize that if you weren't lost in your own toxic guilt, spiralling down a path of destruction and death that leads inevitably to judgement, to the cold brickwork of the City. And here you are, buried deep. [[Altar 5<-Open your eyes, coward, murderer. She deserves better.]] ]

Of course. Her name is gone, as are the details of her passing. The page now has your face sketched on it. How gaunt your cheeks are, how big your nose! The drawing cannot be accurate. (if: $mirror is true) [You pull out the glazier’s mirror. There is not enough light to see by, but the thick shadows scrape the flesh from your skull. And your nose has always been big. Miriam used to pull on it, remember? With her tiny hands. ] There is an entry on the page for you: for your death. However, the inked letters squirm and shift like serpents trapped on the page, and the text seems to change ever so slightly, moment to moment. Poor Pasqualin had no such treatment. Why is his fate set? Why are you - miserable you! - in this life of flux? [[Altar Death<-Read your record of death]]

*[Miserable vagabond]<vmis| (Click-replace: ?vmis) [ [Failed parent]<vfail| (Click-replace: ?vfail) [ [Wounded soul]<vwound| (Click-replace: ?vwound) [ [Aimless traveller]]]].* [Died alone]<dalone| (Click-replace: ?dalone) [ [Committed suicide]<dsuic| (Click-replace: ?dsuic) [ [Should have ended it]<dshould| (Click-replace: ?dshould) [ [Buried alive]<dburied| (Click-replace: ?dburied) [ [Died in darkness]<ddark| (Click-replace: ?ddark) [Died with no witnesses] ] ] ] ][, on the 10th of Janiver]<tnow| (Click-replace: ?tnow) [ [with no children to bury them]<tnot| (Click-replace: ?tnot) [ [, body crowded by insects]<thang| (Click-replace: ?thang) [ [, hanging onto moments]<tless| (Click-replace: ?tless) [ [ in a timeless place]<trec| (Click-replace: ?trec) [, time of death not recorded] ] ] ] ]. May they find [rest here.]<rrest| (Click-replace: ?rrest)[ [a yawning void.]<rvoid| (Click-replace: ?rvoid)[ [no peace.]<rpeace| (Click-replace: ?rpeace)[ [the sound of laughter.]<rhuman| (Click-replace: ?rhuman)[ [those precious memories of sun streaming through the leaves.]<rpark| (Click-replace: ?rpark)[ [their humanity in death.]<rmeaning| (click-replace: ?rmeaning)[ [something meaningful, wherever they may be. Your eyes sting and your fingers tremble, reading your own sad obituary. [[Black Chamber<-Close the book]] [[Black Chamber<-Burn the book! Destroy it with fire!]] ]]]]]] ]

The door clicks open before you even touch the lock. As the neglected hinges swing, they produce a low moan. In your hand, the supernatural key is whining. Keening, perhaps in anticipation. [[Miriam 1<-Go. See what awaits you.]]

She is sitting on cold tiles, but she feels no discomfort. (if: $traveller is true) [Her small, delicate hands are petting a kitten. Both Miriam and the cat are white as snow. They stand stark in contrast against the black, illuminated by some otherworldy source, though they cast no light of their own..] (if: $traveller is false) [Her small, delicate hands are playing with some invisible toy. She is white as snow. She stands stark in contrast against the black, illuminated by some otherworldy source, though she casts no light of her own.] (if: $traveller is true) [She looks at you, and smiles.] (if: $traveller is false) [She looks at you, and frowns.] "Do you remember me, Miriam?" Your voice is ragged. Your throat is so tight. She is still staring at you. Inch by inch, you approach. With each tentative step it becomes harder to breath, and still harder to blink away tears. "Please, say something." (if: $SpiritKey is true) [Her eyes fall on the silvery key, and she stands up. She gently grabs the kitten from the floor and walks towards you. [[Miriam 2<- Continue]] ] (if: $SpiritHammer is true) [Her eyes fall on the hammer, and she stands up. There is fear in her eyes. She turns around and runs. [[Chase Experiment<-Run after her!]] ]

The crypt's natural darkness closes in on you, but so too does a throbbing shadow on the edge of your vision. A wind picks up and pulls your hair. It steals the warmth from your blood, and the pulsing grows bolder. Heavier. Stronger. This is the undertow of death. This is the swift current to hell, the gaping mouth of a burning river. The shades are torn apart like statues of sand. Did they ever stand a chance at peace? Did you? [[Shade Hammer 3<-Fight the current.]]

As she approaches, the kitten becomes agitated. It stares at you, baring its fangs, hissing, but producing no sound. She never had a kitten when she was a child... "Miriam," you whisper, surprised that a voice can sound as fragile as glass, "I'm so sorry." The kitten leaps from Miriam's arms and darts into the darkness. Miriam turns and runs after it. [[Chase Experiment<-Follow her!]]

"Miriam, I..." Molasses. Tar. Thick, oily smoke caught in your throat. For a moment, you close your mouth, and she sobs quietly. Then you remember that parenthood was never truly easy. This is the responsibility you once cherished, the pain you held close because you knew it was precious. This is the only meaning in your universe, and you lost it years ago. So stop stalling. Console your daughter. (if: $pinwheel is true)[ [[Miriam Pinwheel<-Give her the pinwheel]] ] (if: $arquet is true)[ [[Miriam Butterfly<-Give her the butterfly from Arquet's grave.]] ] [[Miriam Dice<-Give her Imbroglio's dice.]]

You drop the hammer and dart into the dark halls. [Go]<mirgo| (click-replace: ?mirgo) [You feel rather than see a wall rising before you. [Turn right [[Chase Fail<-Turn left]]]<mirright| (click-replace: ?mirright) [You miss bashing your head off of the brickwork by mere inches. [ [[Chase Fail<-Turn right]] Turn left]<mirleft| (click-replace: ?mirleft) [Somehow you recognize the twists and turns. [ [[Chase Fail<-Right again]] Left again]<mirl2| (click-replace: ?mirl2) [This is a maze you navigate by memory, though the holes in your past are ragged, and complete. [Duck]<mirduck| (click-replace: ?mirduck) [You barely dodge a cleft stone. [Right, quickly [[Chase Fail<-Left, hurry!]]]<mirglimpse| (click-replace: ?mirglimpse) [There! A glimpse of a white ankles, gone in an instant. [Left, left! A sharp and staggering left!]<mirl| (click-replace: ?mirl) ["Miriam, no!" She's fallen, and she sobs on the black floor. There's crimson streaks on on her knees, her elbows, her hands, and her face. She is so scared: wide-eyed and panicking. The kitten is nowhere in sight. [[Miriam Console<-Console her]] ] ] ] ] ] ] ]

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You pull the stone butterfly out of your cloak. "Look, Miri. Look at the butterfly I found." You know that beauty cannot cure pain, but the wonder in her eyes is an effective distraction. Her lips silently word a question, and she looks to you. Without understanding the question fully, you nod. [[MButterfly 2<-She reaches out for the butterfly, and makes contact with your hand-]]

The pinwheel is delicate, and you take great care in removing it from your cloak. "Look, Miri. Look at what I found." Her eyes light up in recognition, and you understand that despite your own amnesiatic condition, for Miriam's spirit this is a powerful mnemonic to happy times. Soundlessly, she laughs, her pain forgotten. [[MPinwheel 2<-She reaches out for it, and makes contact with your hand-]]

They clatter like pebbles in your hand, and she looks at them with fascination, perhaps tinged with fear. "Look, Miri. I've found some game pieces." Pain is in the mind. The dice are as effective a distraction as gems, and she reaches out to touch them. [[MDice 2<-She makes contact with your hand-]]

Black rock falls away. The City crumbles to silky dust, to vapour, to a dream-like haze. *Hey there! That's it for now, unfortunately. I know, a bit of a cheap cliffhanger, right? The good news is that Cityscape is constantly being updated, and I'm excited to work with Twine and discover its many suprising functions (often by accident) so that new and interesting ways of interacting with the City crop up, even in text you might have already explored. I hope you've enjoyed it so far. If you revisit the game, you'll likely notice that the act of exploring the City is crucial to the choice function of the game. To put it simply: the more you explore, the more you find, and the more you can interact with. Come back soon!*