briarheart

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<<nobr>> <div class="main-menu-container"> <div class="main-menu-header"> <a href="https://twitter.com/raininthewoods"><svg xmlns="http://www.w3.org/2000/svg" x="0px" y="0px" width="25" height="25" viewBox="0 0 72 72" style=" fill:#cab179;"><path d="M63,19.645c-1.43,2.143-3.24,4.026-5.325,5.538c0.02,0.459,0.03,0.921,0.03,1.384C57.705,40.701,46.977,57,27.353,57 C21.328,57,13.476,54.884,11,52.195c0.836,0.1,1.686,0.15,2.546,0.15c4.999,0,9.6-1.711,13.249-4.58 c-4.668-0.086-8.608-3.18-9.966-7.43c2.124,0.334,4.818-0.184,4.818-0.184s-8.342-1.436-8.558-10.622 c2.412,1.402,4.832,1.338,4.832,1.338s-4.811-2.97-4.744-8.901c0.039-3.499,1.442-5.38,1.442-5.38 c9.115,11.255,21.989,11.178,21.989,11.178s-0.276-1.598-0.276-2.436c0-5.906,4.775-10.697,10.667-10.697 c3.068,0,5.84,1.3,7.786,3.379c2.432-0.482,4.716-1.372,6.776-2.597c-0.931,3.737-4.69,5.918-4.69,5.918S60.09,20.971,63,19.645z"></path></svg></a><a href="https://raindev.tumblr.com/"><svg xmlns="http://www.w3.org/2000/svg" x="0px" y="0px" width="25" height="25" viewBox="0 0 50 50" style=" fill:#cab179;"><path d="M17.594,23.641h-2.681c-0.692,0-1.253-0.561-1.253-1.253v-4.613c0-0.758,0.475-1.428,1.189-1.681 c1.738-0.614,4.822-2.439,5.33-7.712C20.255,7.605,20.892,7,21.674,7h4.993c0.681,0,1.234,0.552,1.234,1.234v7.267h5.053 c0.692,0,1.253,0.561,1.253,1.253v5.635c0,0.692-0.561,1.253-1.253,1.253h-5.053v8.142c0,1.85,0.893,2.559,1.745,2.559 c0.67,0,1.828-0.306,2.685-0.538c0.712-0.193,1.196,0.026,1.444,0.747s1.598,4.557,1.598,4.557c0.246,0.703-0.006,1.477-0.615,1.906 c-1.152,0.812-3.319,1.924-6.547,1.924c-5.014,0-10.617-2.228-10.617-10.542C17.594,30.745,17.594,23.641,17.594,23.641z"></path></svg></a><a href="https://ko-fi.com/raindev"><img src="data:image/png;base64,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"></a> </div> <h1>Briarheart</h1> <div class="main-menu-links"> [[new game|warnings]] <<link 'load game'>> <<script>>UI.saves()<</script>> <</link>> <<link 'settings'>> <<script>>UI.settings()<</script>> <</link>> <<link 'credits'>> <<popup 'credits' 'Credits' 'popover'>> <</link >> </div> </div> <</nobr>>

this is a beta-testing build. everything is ugly, a lot doesn't work and nothing is finished. please don't inflict it on anyone else :( <<nobr>><div class="choices"> <div class="choice"><span>1.</span> [[Continue.|warnings]]</div> </div><</nobr>>

this game is rated 18+ for: <ul class="intro-list"><li>violence</li> <li>depictions of blood and gore</li> <li>death</li> <li>explicit language</li> <li>sexually suggestive themes</li> <li>memory loss</li> <li>sense of unreality; doubt over reality</li></ul> and more. player discretion is advised. <<nobr>><div class="choices"> <div class="choice"><span>1.</span> [[I understand.|wip]]</div> </div><</nobr>>

<<replace ".menu-container">><<include "menu">><</replace>> <<replace ".header-container">><<include "header">><</replace>>

<<nobr>> <h2 class="header-subtitle">$title</h2> <h1>Briarheart</h1> <h2 class="header-extra">$location | $year</h2> <</nobr>>

<<script>>document.querySelector("#ui-dialog-titlebar").style.display = "none"; <</script>><div class="subpage-header"><h2>Inventory</h2><div class="close"><<button "X">><<dialogclose>><<script>>document.querySelector("#ui-dialog-titlebar").style.display = "block"; <</script>><</button>></div></div><<nobr>> <div class="inventory_left"> <div class="inventory_left_content"> <<for _i to 0; _i lt $inventory.length; _i++>> <<capture _i>> <<set _img to $inventory[_i].image>> <<set _item to $inventory[_i]>> <div class="item-slot"> <<button [img[$inventory[_i]['image']]]>> <<set $current_item to $inventory[_i]>> <<script>>document.querySelector(".inventory_right").classList.remove("wow");<</script>> <<update>> <</button>> </div> <</capture>> <</for>> </div> </div> <</nobr>> <div class="inventory_right wow"> <<nobr>> <div class="inventory_right_content"> <<liveblock>> <<if $current_item is 'none'>> No item selected. <<else>> <h2><<liveblock>><<print $current_item['name']>><</liveblock>></h2> <div class="item-frame"><<liveblock>>[img[$current_item['image']]]<</liveblock>></div> <div class="item-description"><<liveblock>> <<for _x to 0; _x lt $current_item.description.length; _x++>> <<set _paragraph to $current_item.description[_x]>> <p><<print _paragraph>></p> <</for>> <</liveblock>></div> <</if>><</liveblock>> </div> <</nobr>> </div>

<<script>>document.querySelector("#ui-dialog-titlebar").style.display = "none"; <</script>><div class="subpage-header"><h2>Journal</h2><div class="close"><<button "X">><<script>>document.querySelector("#ui-dialog-titlebar").style.display = "block"; document.querySelector(".inventory_right").style.animation = 'wowza 1s'; <</script>><<dialogclose>><</button>></div></div> <<nobr>> <div class="journal_left"> <div class="journal_left_content"> <div class="major_section"> <h3><<print $people['title']>></h3> <div class="section"> <<for _a to 0; _a lt $people.entries.length; _a++>> <<capture _a>> <<set _entry to $people['entries'][_a]>> <<if $people['entries'][_a]['unlocked'] is true>> <div class="page"> <<button _entry['title']>> <<set $current_entry to $people['entries'][_a]>> <<script>>document.querySelector(".inventory_right").classList.remove("wow")<</script>> <<update>> <</button>> </div> <<else>> <div class="locked-page"> ??? </div> <</if>> <</capture>> <</for>> </div> </div> <div class="major_section"> <h3><<print $crowned_grove['title']>></h3> <div class="section"> <<for _i to 0; _i lt $crowned_grove.entries.length; _i++>> <<capture _i>> <<set _entry to $crowned_grove['entries'][_i]>> <<if $crowned_grove['entries'][_i]['unlocked'] is true>> <div class="page"> <<button _entry['title']>> <<set $current_entry to $crowned_grove['entries'][_i]>> <<script>>document.querySelector(".inventory_right").classList.remove("wow")<</script>> <<update>> <</button>> </div> <<else>> <div class="locked-page"> ??? </div> <</if>> <</capture>> <</for>> </div> </div> <div class="major_section"> <h3><<print $magic['title']>></h3> <div class="section"> <<for _i to 0; _i lt $magic.entries.length; _i++>> <<capture _i>> <<set _entry to $magic['entries'][_i]>> <<if $magic['entries'][_i]['unlocked'] is true>> <div class="page"> <<button _entry['title']>> <<set $current_entry to $magic['entries'][_i]>> <<script>>document.querySelector(".inventory_right").classList.remove("wow")<</script>> <<update>> <</button>> </div> <<else>> <div class="locked-page"> ??? </div> <</if>> <</capture>> <</for>> </div> </div> <div class="major_section"> <h3><<print $past['title']>></h3> <div class="section"> <<for _i to 0; _i lt $past.entries.length; _i++>> <<capture _i>> <<set _entry to $past['entries'][_i]>> <<if $past['entries'][_i]['unlocked'] is true>> <div class="page"> <<button _entry['title']>> <<set $current_entry to $past['entries'][_i]>> <<script>>document.querySelector(".inventory_right").classList.remove("wow")<</script>> <<update>> <</button>> </div> <<else>> <div class="locked-page"> ??? </div> <</if>> <</capture>> <</for>> </div> </div> <div class="major_section"> <h3><<print $worlds['title']>></h3> <div class="section"> <<for _i to 0; _i lt $worlds.entries.length; _i++>> <<capture _i>> <<set _entry to $worlds['entries'][_i]>> <<if $worlds['entries'][_i]['unlocked'] is true>> <div class="page"> <<button _entry['title']>> <<set $current_entry to $worlds['entries'][_i]>> <<script>>document.querySelector(".inventory_right").classList.remove("wow")<</script>> <<update>> <</button>> </div> <<else>> <div class="locked-page"> ??? </div> <</if>> <</capture>> <</for>> </div> </div> </div> </div> <div class="inventory_right wow"> <div class="inventory_right_content"> <<liveblock>> <<if $current_entry is 'none'>> No entry selected. <<else>> <h2><<liveblock>><<print $current_entry['title']>><</liveblock>></h2> <div class="item-description"><<liveblock>> <<for _x to 0; _x lt $current_entry.description.length; _x++>> <<set _paragraph to $current_entry.description[_x]>> <p><<print _paragraph>></p> <</for>> <</liveblock>></div> <</if>><</liveblock>> </div> </div> <</nobr>>

<<script>>document.querySelector("#ui-dialog-titlebar").style.display = "none"; <</script>><div class="subpage-header"><<nobr>> <h2>Your Briarheart</h2> <div class="close"> <<button "X">> <<dialogclose>> <<script>>document.querySelector("#ui-dialog-titlebar").style.display = "block"; <</script>> <</button>> </div> <</nobr>></div><div class="subpage-container"><<nobr>> <div class="journal_left"> <div class="your_briarheart_left_content justify_center"> <div class="briarheart_mask"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/Ywn5Dkk.png"> </div> <h3>$name Al'Korhei</h3> <span>$they/$them</span> <span><<if $heritage is "roots">>oracle | forestborn<<elseif $heritage is "soil">>healer | speaker for the dead<<elseif $heritage is "blood">>shapeshifter | animal speaker<<else>> ??? | ??? <</if>></span><span>$health | $state | $modifier</span> <div class="curse"> mind | soul | body </div> <</nobr>></div><div class="inventory_right wow"><div class="your_briarheart_right_content"><<nobr>> <div class="briarheart_tabs"> <span class="tabs_active" id="bio"> <<link 'bio'>> <<replace ".item-description">><<include "bio">><</replace>> <<script>> document.querySelector("#bio").classList.add("tabs_active"); document.querySelector("#appearance").classList.remove("tabs_active"); document.querySelector("#magic").classList.remove("tabs_active"); document.querySelector(".inventory_right").classList.remove("wow")<</script>> <</link>> </span> <span id="appearance"> <<link 'appearance'>> <<replace ".item-description">><<include "appearance">><</replace>> <<script>> document.querySelector("#bio").classList.remove("tabs_active"); document.querySelector("#appearance").classList.add("tabs_active"); document.querySelector("#magic").classList.remove("tabs_active"); document.querySelector(".inventory_right").classList.remove("wow")<</script>> <</link>> </span> <span id="magic"> <<link 'magic'>> <<replace ".item-description">><<include "magic">><</replace>> <<script>> document.querySelector("#bio").classList.remove("tabs_active"); document.querySelector("#appearance").classList.remove("tabs_active"); document.querySelector("#magic").classList.add("tabs_active"); document.querySelector(".inventory_right").classList.remove("wow")<</script>> <</link>> </span> </div><</nobr>><div class="item-description"><div class="bio">The briarheart. There are statues of the famed hero and their companions all over Crowned Grove. When you were younger, you tried to spy behind their mask, to get a glimpse of the face beneath, but there was nothing to be seen - the true visage of the briarheart was never captured by any artist or sculptor. But you had to check. You had to see if the face hidden behind the mask was your own. Your mother always said it was. That the mark in your forehead, the same shimmering in the hero’s mask, was all the proof you needed. You grew up under their shadow, their silent eyes judging your every move, with the knowledge that one day you would depart with companions of your own to save the world again a thorn twisting in your ribcage. Saving the world cost the briarheart their life - it was supposed to also claim your own. But you failed. //Why?// <hr> ...Not that any of that matters now. You are a simple apprentice to a strange herbalist in a small, unremarkable village. You've done little in the past seven years, content only with surviving and building a new life - a life you never expected to //live// and are just now learning how to lead. </div> </div> </div> </div> </div>

<<script>>document.querySelector("#ui-dialog-titlebar").style.display = "none"; <</script>><div class="subpage-header"><h2>Credits</h2><div class="close"><<button "X">><<dialogclose>><<script>>document.querySelector("#ui-dialog-titlebar").style.display = "block"; <</script>><</button>></div></div> <div class="journal_left"></div> <div class="inventory_right wow"> <div class="inventory_right_content"><div class="item-description">writing, coding & art by raindev (aka me). fonts used are available on google fonts. most icons are from <a href="https://icons8.com">icons8</a>. a huge shoutout to <a href="https://idrellegames.tumblr.com/">idrellegames</a> and <a href="https://cerberus-writes.tumblr.com/">cerberus-writes</a> for all twine/coding tutorials! also a shoutout to <a href="https://manonamora-if.tumblr.com/">manonamora-if</a> for all the help <3 a huge, huge thank you to my beta readers!!</div></div> </div>

<div class="bio">The briarheart. There are statues of the famed hero and their companions all over Crowned Grove. When you were younger, you tried to spy behind their mask, to get a glimpse of the face beneath, but there was nothing to be seen - the true visage of the briarheart was never captured by any artist or sculptor. But you had to check. You had to see if the face hidden behind the mask was your own. Your mother always said it was. That the mark in your forehead, the same shimmering in the hero’s mask, was all the proof you needed. You grew up under their shadow, their silent eyes judging your every move, with the knowledge that one day you would depart with companions of your own to save the world again a thorn twisting in your ribcage. Saving the world cost the briarheart their life - it was supposed to also claim your own. But you failed. //Why?// <hr> ...Not that any of that matters now. You are a simple apprentice to a strange herbalist in a small, unremarkable village. You've done little in the past seven years, content only with surviving and building a new life - a life you never expected to //live// and are just now learning how to lead. </div>

<<nobr>> <div class="appearance"> <div class="characteristic"> <span>skin color</span> $skin_color </div> <div class="characteristic"> <span>hair color</span> $hair_color </div> <div class="characteristic"> <span>hair texture</span> $hair_texture </div> <div class="characteristic"> <span>eye color</span> $eye_color </div> <div class="characteristic"> <span>mark</span> $mark </div> </div> <</nobr>>

<<nobr>> <h3>fae magic</h3> <div class="bio"> <<if $heritage is "roots">>Yours is the power of growing things that dig deep into the earth. From the smallest flower to the tallest tree, they whisper to you of events past, present and future, whether you want it or not. If you ask, they might even come to your aid - though not all of them are fond of you.<<elseif $heritage is "blood">>Yours is the power of breathing, moving things that live in the wild, and their tongue is yours too. Powerful of body, you can hear, see and smell better than most humans, and the feral blood in your veins can break and make your bones, bringing forth claws, scales, sometimes even wings - that is, if you could control it…<<else>>Yours is the power of the earth that eats those whom death takes. But what the earth devours, it can give back, and the potential to heal lingers beneath your fingertips, though that toll it takes might be too much for you. Bones can tell you things, and the dead and dying are open to your meddling, if you wish to take the risk. <</if>> </div> <h3>elven magic</h3> <div class="bio"> ??? </div> <</nobr>>

<<link 'Main menu'>> <<popup 'menu_dialog' 'Return to main menu?' 'pop'>> <</link>> <<link 'Your briarheart'>> <<popup 'your_briarheart' 'Your briarheart' 'popover'>> <</link >> <<link 'Journal'>> <<popup 'journal' 'Journal' 'popover'>> <</link >> <<link 'Inventory'>> <<popup 'inventory' 'Inventory' 'popover'>> <</link >> <<link 'Saves'>><<script>>UI.saves()<</script>><</link>> <<link 'Credits'>> <<popup 'credits' 'Credits' 'popover'>> <</link >> <<link 'Settings'>><<script>>UI.settings()<</script>><</link>>

<<set $location to "???">> <<set $title to "prologue">> <<set $year to "???">> <<set $name to "???">> <<set $person to "person">> <<set $child to "child">> <<set $they to "???">> <<set $them to "???">> <<set $their to "???">> <<set $heritage to "???">> <<set $skin_color to "???">> <<set $freckles to "???">> <<set $hair_color to "???">> <<set $hair_texture to "???">> <<set $hair_length to "???">> <<set $eye_color to "???">> <<set $facial_hair to "???">> <<set $height to "???">> <<set $tattoos to "">> <<set $scars to "">> <<set $mark to "???">> <<set $health to "full health">> <<set $state to "rested">> <<set $modifier to "no modifier">> <<set $horns to "">> <<set $horns_prov to "">> <<set $extras to "">> <<set $extras_prov to "">> <<set $inventory to []>> <<set $example_item to { id: 1, name: 'Example Item', description: ['This is a description for the item.', 'With many paragraphs.', 'Look!'], image: 'https://cdn-icons-png.flaticon.com/512/2619/2619285.png' }>> <<set $example_item2 to { id: 2, name: 'Example Item 2', description: ['This is a description for the item.', 'With many paragraphs.', 'Look!'], image: 'https://cdn-icons-png.flaticon.com/512/2619/2619285.png' }>> <<set $current_item to 'none'>> <<set $crowned_grove to { title: 'The Crowned Grove', entries: [ { title: "Briar's Spear", description: ['This is a description for the journal item.', 'With many paragraphs.', 'Look!'], image: 'https://cdn-icons-png.flaticon.com/512/2619/2619285.png', unlocked: false }, { title: "Ashentree", description: ["Ashentree is a small village in a small branch of the Crowned Grove, completely unremarkable if it weren't for its resident herbalist, the - unknown to its residents, of course - presence of the failed briarheart in their midst and the strange, wild tales of the village's founding.", "Nothing much ever happens here."], image: 'https://cdn-icons-png.flaticon.com/512/2619/2619285.png', unlocked: false }, { title: "The Bitter Branch", description: ['pls change', 'With many paragraphs.', 'Look!'], image: 'https://cdn-icons-png.flaticon.com/512/2619/2619285.png', unlocked: false } ] }>> <<set $people to { title: 'People', entries: [ { title: "Levo", description: ["Levo was assigned as your guardian when you were both fourteen years old, but he was already part of your life way before that."], image: 'https://cdn-icons-png.flaticon.com/512/2619/2619285.png', unlocked: false }, { title: "Kaisa", description: ["Composed, terribly efficient and downright imposing, Kaisa is not someone to be trifled with. Your whole life you’ve been aware of her powerful presence, of her piercing eyes… Of course, your relationship with her is… complicated, to say the least. She’s always been with you, learning from the same teachers, practicing the same skills, but you’ve never been close. Maybe that was your fault - she was always //so// perfect, so much more deserving of the title of briarheart than you. It was impossible not to feel a tug of envy.", "But things have changed. She is the only other survivor from the trip down to the roots of the world. You don’t know what she saw or what she remembers of it, and you are not sure you want to know. And now she is //here//, looking for you." ,"You are not sure what to expect from her."], image: 'https://cdn-icons-png.flaticon.com/512/2619/2619285.png', unlocked: false }, { title: "Ves", description: ['This is a description for the journal item.', 'With many paragraphs.', 'Look!'], image: 'https://cdn-icons-png.flaticon.com/512/2619/2619285.png', unlocked: false }, { title: "Nima", description: ['This is a description for the journal item.', 'With many paragraphs.', 'Look!'], image: 'https://cdn-icons-png.flaticon.com/512/2619/2619285.png', unlocked: false }, { title: "The herbalist", description: ["The herbalist is... strange. Perfectly calm, sometimes even charming, their knowledge of herbs, healing and medicine in general go way beyond what a simple herbalist in a small village should know. You've learned much under their tutelage, though you can't say you know much about the person behind the impassive, slightly mischievous golden eyes."], image: 'https://cdn-icons-png.flaticon.com/512/2619/2619285.png', unlocked: false }, { title: "Isra", description: ['This is a description for the journal item.', 'With many paragraphs.', 'Look!'], image: 'https://cdn-icons-png.flaticon.com/512/2619/2619285.png', unlocked: false }, { title: "Queen Nova", description: ['This is a description for the journal item.', 'With many paragraphs.', 'Look!'], image: 'https://cdn-icons-png.flaticon.com/512/2619/2619285.png', unlocked: false }, { title: "Daelia", description: ['This is a description for the journal item.', 'With many paragraphs.', 'Look!'], image: 'https://cdn-icons-png.flaticon.com/512/2619/2619285.png', unlocked: false }, { title: "Vesta", description: ['This is a description for the journal item.', 'With many paragraphs.', 'Look!'], image: 'https://cdn-icons-png.flaticon.com/512/2619/2619285.png', unlocked: false }, { title: "Vi", description: ["Vi might be the one that benefitted the most from your arrival at Ashentree, at least in the sense of not being considered the strange kid in the village anymore. Not with you around.", "Smart, but extremely wary of everything and anything, especially you, Vi was the first apprentice of the herbalist's, and she takes pride in doing ridiculously well in her tasks."], image: 'https://cdn-icons-png.flaticon.com/512/2619/2619285.png', unlocked: false }, ] }>> <<set $worlds to { title: 'Worlds Beyond', entries: [ { title: "The Eyrie", description: ['This is a description for the journal item.', 'With many paragraphs.', 'Look!'], image: 'https://cdn-icons-png.flaticon.com/512/2619/2619285.png', unlocked: false }, { title: "The Dawn Kingdom", description: ['pls change', 'With many paragraphs.', 'Look!'], image: 'https://cdn-icons-png.flaticon.com/512/2619/2619285.png', unlocked: false } ] }>> <<set $magic to { title: 'Magic', entries: [ { title: "Elven Magic", description: [''], image: 'https://cdn-icons-png.flaticon.com/512/2619/2619285.png', unlocked: false }, { title: "Fae Magic", description: ["What exactly is fae magic? No one, not even the fae, can really tell.", "They used to have their own power, of course, before they arrived at the Crowned Grove and the wild clawed its way into their hearts, devouring what was little was left of their old magic after their homeland, the Dawn Kingdom, fell. Nowadays their power is a hybrid, confusing thing, still foreign and strange, //not the wild//, but somehow deeply linked to it, thriving off it... Some might even say more so than elven magic ever has.", "No one knows exactly why. Was the Dawn Kingdom so alike the Crowned Grove that their magic, their lifeblood, could be easily transferred and shared with each other? If so, why? How? It's impossible to answer these questions without asking bigger, harder ones: what //is// the wild? How did come into existence, who - if anything - created it, and how can it bury itself so easily into its inhabitants?", "You've asked yourself these questions many times, especially after your fae magic awoke. Blood, roots, soil - power over beasts, over trees, over death and the dying, though maybe //power over// is too positive a term. //Capacity to interact with// might just be enough."], image: 'https://cdn-icons-png.flaticon.com/512/2619/2619285.png', unlocked: false } ] }>> <<set $past to { title: 'The Past', entries: [ { title: "The Golden Spring", description: ['This is a description for the journal item.', 'With many paragraphs.', 'Look!'], image: 'https://cdn-icons-png.flaticon.com/512/2619/2619285.png', unlocked: false }, { title: "The Violet Wave", description: ['pls change', 'With many paragraphs.', 'Look!'], image: 'https://cdn-icons-png.flaticon.com/512/2619/2619285.png', unlocked: false }, { title: "The Briarheart's Fall", description: ["Seven years ago you were supposed to save the wild.","But you didn't.", "It's hard to explain how or why to others when you don't even know it yourself. You remember little of the trip down to the roots of the world, and even less of what transpired when you and your small party arrived at the heart of the wild.", "You know it was bloody. You know it was terrible. You know it took the lives of all your companions except for Kaisa. You know she was there at the end when it all went wrong, that she did everything in her power to save you and the wild and everyone else... But that's where all your knowledge ends.", "It's strange, even now. You hear people talk about it in the tavern, in the market, as just a way to make conversation. //The Briarheart's fall//, they say, as if it were an Event, capitalized and bolded, a chapter title in the history of the Crowned Grove, and you suppose they are right. Your life, your failure, in the open for all to see."], image: 'https://cdn-icons-png.flaticon.com/512/2619/2619285.png', unlocked: false }, ] }>> <<set $current_entry to 'none'>> <<set $levo_relationship to "friendship">> <<set $briarheart_relationship to "neutral">> <<set $garden to false>> <<set $ball to false>> <<set $book to false>> <<set $told_vi to false>>

this game is being developed in twine, which means your saves are stored in your browser and will be deleted if you erase your local storage. this also means that every new update might break old save files depending on the alterations made. if you have any doubts, please contact me on the <a href="https://raindev.tumblr.com/">dev blog</a>. you can access the menu by clicking on the little arrow there -> <<nobr>><div class="choices"> <div class="choice"><span>1.</span> [[Continue.|blurb]]</div> </div><</nobr>>

The //briarheart//. There are statues of the famed hero and their companions all over Crowned Grove. When you were younger, you tried to spy behind their mask, to get a glimpse of the face beneath, but there was nothing to be seen - the true visage of the briarheart was never captured by any artist or sculptor. But you had to check. You had to see if the face hidden behind the mask was your own. Your mother always said it was. That the mark on your forehead, the same shimmering on the hero’s mask, was all the proof you needed. You grew up under their shadow, their silent eyes judging your every move, with the knowledge that one day you would depart with companions of your own to save the world a thorn twisting in your ribcage. Saving the world cost the briarheart their life - it was supposed to also claim your own. But you failed. //Why?// <<nobr>><div class="choices"> <div class="choice"><span>1.</span> [[Start game.|prologue]]</div> </div><</nobr>>

<h2>00. the end of worlds</h2> Here’s the thing about the end of the world: it happens a lot, and yet every time we forget. When was the first one, you ask? Many, many years ago, when the stars slept closer and the moon was a real thing, made of stone and rock, and not the shimmering, frail glass you see when you look up to the night sky today. I’d love to say the peoples were one and that peace reigned back then, but that was never the case, not really; you’d just need to peel away one layer of bullshit peace talk to reach the festering ugliness beneath the surface, and it was just as unsettling as the one you face today. Maybe even worse, for what it lacked in hunger it made up for in power. Not a pretty sight, I can attest to that. But that world, ah, that world was //bigger//. Magic flowed in its veins like blood does in your frail, mortal body. You could taste it in the air, feel it under your feet, touch it with bare hands. It was always there. Present. Comforting. //Real//. But I digress. That’s not the end of the world that is of interest to you, at least not today. This ending is much closer - in time, in space, certainly in gravity - and it is, unfortunately, all your fault. There is a person, you see. A child, really, though you like to think of yourself as an adult already. You, yes, who else? The briarheart reborn, the savior of the Crowned Grove, groomed from birth to save the kingdom and the wild from the decay spreading through its roots. Who else, indeed. <<nobr>><div class="choices"> <div class="choice"><span>1.</span> [[Continue.|prologue2]]</div> </div><</nobr>>

(The worst is, this isn’t even the first ending you’ve witnessed. Remember the Eyrie? You watched it die, transfixed, from the window of your quarters, eyes on the distant kingdom as it crumbled under its own weight. A monster of red marble and black stone, huffing and puffing as it breathed its last, consumed from the inside out by the decay. The refugees would arrive in the days and weeks after, seeking solace in the last kingdom alive, the famed Crowned Grove, and in its most precious jewel. The briarheart. //You//. You were there, too, when the last human died. They were brought from the Eyrie’s bones already halfway gone, skin gray and dry, the rot buried deep into their flesh. There was nothing you or anyone else could do, but they brought them to you all the same, and they died with a smile on their lips, eyes on the markings on your forehead. The silent hum of the wild inside of you recoiled at the sight of them - not at the decay, already so infuriatingly familiar, but at the Eyrie’s magic so deeply entrenched into their very being. A //stranger//. And still, they looked to you for salvation. //Fool//.) <<nobr>><div class="choices"> <div class="choice"><span>1.</span> [[Continue.|prologue3]]</div> </div><</nobr>>

Where were we? Oh, yes, you. The briarheart reborn, on a quest to save a world with a party of companions determined to aid you in your suicidal mission. You are ready. You’ve been ready for years, or at least that’s what you’ve always told yourself, and today, your last day alive, is no different. You are going to die; you are going to save the wild; you will fulfill your destiny. But today, too, the world will end. You just don’t know it yet. <<nobr>><div class="choices"> <div class="choice"><span>1.</span> [[Continue.|here]]</div> </div><</nobr>>

[[Here’s how it goes:|the_guardian]]

First, a guardian. He stands alone against the dying light of the sun, a dark figure amidst the dusk-red of the sky. The image is a messy, beautiful painting; slightly blurry, certainly exaggerated – you shouldn’t be able to see the deep brown of his eyes from here, but you do – colors as bright as a streak of blood against the snow. The guardian – //Levo//, you remind yourself, and then his name echoes through your mind, the edge of a knife brushing against your skin, //Levo, Levo, Levo// – is painted in blotches of brown, red and black, edges fraying as if the artist ran out of ink, and yet nothing is as painstakingly depicted as he is. He is the center of this fake world, the focal point where everything and everyone - even you - converges. You feel more than see his smile. His voice reverberates inside your chest. The world tilts ever so slightly, and the moment hangs in the air, a thread cut from the tapestry of time, a second that stretches years. Levo’s hair swirls gently in the wind, the sun slowly sinks in the horizon, but otherwise nothing moves and the silence weighs, heavy and unforgiving, against your heart. (//This is wrong//, you think, and you are right. This afternoon was normal - or as normal as an afternoon here, on the roots of the world, can be - but this is not the truth, remember? This is your memory. Your nightmare. It’s real, if only to you.) <<nobr>><div class="choices"> <div class="choice"><span>1.</span> [[Continue.|the_guardian2]]</div> </div><</nobr>>

“Your Highness,” he says. He stands right in front of you now, and the world shifts to accommodate this change. The horizon melts into a mess of grays and reds, and the wooden bones of the Crowned Grove come into focus, and now you can feel the dirt of the ground against your bare feet. “It’s an important day. You should rest.” Oh, yes. You will ==end== save the world today. You will //die// today. You shiver and resist the temptation to look away, not wanting him to see the fear that is right here, waiting to burst out, a pathetic little monster clawing against your throat, your chest, your tongue. It tastes bitter, a poison you are forced to swallow every day, all your life. <<nobr>><div class="choices"> <div class="choice"><span>1.</span> [[(Silly fool. Isn’t your guardian also your companion, your best friend? Did you really think he didn’t know then - that he hadn’t always known?)|guardian_friendship][$levo_relationship to "friendship"]]</div> <div class="choice"><span>2.</span> [[(Silly fool. Isn’t he the one who holds your heart? Did you really think he didn’t know then - that he hadn’t always known?)|guardian_romance][$levo_relationship to "romance"]]</div> <div class="choice"><span>3.</span> [[(Silly fool. Hasn’t he been with you your whole life, a silent shadow always watching over you? Did you really think he didn’t know then - that he hadn’t always known?)|guardian_professional][$levo_relationship to "professional"]]</div> </div><</nobr>>

(But I forget myself. You know that, don’t you? It’s always been easier to pretend you don’t, though. Easier to forget the painful familiarity of the playful glint in his eyes when you smile, the comfortable silence of his company, the complicit, knowing tilt of his head, the terrifying, freeing feeling in the knowledge that he is always, always //here//.) He doesn’t wait for your reply. “Your Highness,” he begins, then stops. You take a deep breath, trying to shake off the claws sinking into your shoulders. The silence is heavy with unspoken things, with a lifetime of companionship, with the ending you both knew was coming. “Maybe-” The sky shudders, and darkness comes. Anger fills your chest, the monster clawing, digging, tearing at your throat. You dare not look it in the eye, dare not see the rage and frustration and hopelessness shimmering in them. “No,” you say, pushing the beast down, down, down, its blood poison dripping from your teeth. “No.” He lowers his eyes, admonished. “Forgive me, Your Highness.” The world is a storm of colors - he is a storm of colors, brown, red, and black, his expression lost to the whims of nightmare and memory. Still, his voice echoes, phantom fingers grasping at your face, mouth, eyes. //Forgive me, forgive me, forgive me.// <<nobr>><div class="choices"> <div class="choice"><span>1.</span> [[Continue.|the_heart]]</div> </div><</nobr>>

(But I forget myself. You know that, don’t you? It’s always been easier to pretend you don’t, though. Easier to forget the painful familiarity of the way he always, always, stands just a bit too close, the peculiar light in his eyes when you smile, the frantic awareness his proximity sparks in you, the terrifying feeling of being too close to the abyss mixed with the knowledge that it would be so easy, so freeing, to simply fall.) He’s waiting. You open your mouth to say something - anything - but the words die in your throat, a jumbled mess of unspoken things that have been simmering between both of you for far too long now. Things that shall never see the light of day, for better or worse. And still he waits, and waits. You glimpse something terrible lurking in his caramel eyes, something deep and raw and horrible in its sincerity. You fail; you break, and your eyes dart away. You do not wish to remember his pain, his grief. The sky shudders, and darkness comes. His voice grows weaker, distant, filtered through the churning river of time. “When the time comes,” Levo whispers. “Promise me you will at least try.” The world is a storm of colors - he is a storm of colors, brown, red, and black, his expression lost to the whims of nightmare and memory. Still, his voice echoes, phantom fingers grasping at your face, mouth, eyes. //Promise me, promise me, promise me.// <<nobr>><div class="choices"> <div class="choice"><span>1.</span> [[Continue.|the_heart]]</div> </div><</nobr>>

(But I forget myself. You know that, don’t you? It’s always been easier to pretend you don’t, though. Easier to forget his constant presence at your back, his silent vigil and guardianship, the bundle of raw, knife-sharp possibilities festering in the air between both of you, the calming, freeing feeling the knowledge that he is always, //always// here, brings.) He’s waiting. A feeling you can’t quite understand shines in his caramel eyes and for a moment it almost looks like he might say something. You fail; you break, and your eyes dart away. You do not wish to see pity or indifference or something worse there, lurking just beneath his immaculate professionalism. You do not wish to think about what could have been. It’s beyond both of you now. The sky shudders, and darkness comes. The world is a storm of colors - he is a storm of colors, brown, red, and black, his expression lost to the whims of nightmare and memory. Still, his silence echoes, phantom fingers grasping at your face, mouth, eyes, unending, unforgiving. <<nobr>><div class="choices"> <div class="choice"><span>1.</span> [[Continue.|the_heart]]</div> </div><</nobr>>

Then, a heart, and it is not yours. Once again, the scene is a butterfly pinned to a wall - twitching, struggling, but quiet, a moment suspended in time. The artist is even more chaotic than before, and the world is gray, unfocused, with sprays of muted green and brown, dark shadows swirling around you like the veins of a giant beast - the roots of the wild, spiraling ever downwards, twisting and turning around themselves. Until now. Until //here//. <<nobr>><div class="choices"> <div class="choice"><span>1.</span> [[Continue.|the_heart2]]</div> </div><</nobr>>

The gaping maw is a dark stain amidst the canvas, neatly defined between the messy colors. Nothing moves, there is no wind, and yet there it comes: the beat of this foreign yet familiar heart, never-ceasing and ravenous, echoing from down below, from inside; it hums under your fingertips, below your feet, pressed close against your chest. It beckons you closer, its sound vibrating against your skin, wave after wave of hunger and need. //Welcome//, it seems to whisper. //Welcome home, dearest child.// You shiver. (You knew what it was, didn’t you? You knew the moment you arrived there, a slow, creeping realization that spread throughout your whole body. You knew what it was. You knew what it wanted. //You.//) <<nobr>><div class="choices"> <div class="choice"><span>1.</span> [[You pull away. You never wanted this power, this fate, and the wild you have you soon enough. These last moments are yours.|briarheart_resigned][$briarheart_relationship to "resigned"]]</div> <div class="choice"><span>2.</span> [[You let it wash over you. This has always been your life; you know it is all about to end.|briarheart_neutral][$briarheart_relationship to "neutral"]]</div> <div class="choice"><span>3.</span> [[You pull the wild in. This is your fate, your calling. You are the wild’s briarheart and the wild is also yours.|briarheart_accepting][$briarheart_relationship to "accepting"]]</div> </div><</nobr>>

Your power hums beneath your ribcage, reeling from your refusal. The wild retreats, its lingering touch sending a shiver down your spine, but it doesn’t leave. Its heart beats with want, a snake poised to strike. “Briarheart?” a voice calls, faint but sharp. The spell breaks and you blink, sluggish, the grays and browns and greens shifting, the black hole below watching, waiting, commanding your attention. //She// stands ready, white and red, and a startling, vibrant green against the muted colors of this artificial world. She’s too far away, and still you can feel her breathing, quick and tired, smell the copper of the blood staining her face, her hair, her clothes. The look on her face haunts you - Kaisa is never scared, but she is. //She is.// Reality shifts again, just slightly. You become aware of the buzzing in your ears, the insistent touch of //something// - something in your mind, rattling like a scorpion imprisoned inside a glass jar, its stinger tapping against its cage. //Tap, tap, tap,// it goes, //tap, tap, tap//, until it snaps, cracks spreading, and leaks - because they are all dead, and //he// is dead, and it is all wrong, you can feel the blood in your hands, cold skin against yours, and //it's all wrong//- “Briarheart,” comes her voice again, firmer this time. The flood doesn’t stop, but it grows fainter, a river withering to a stream. You can still smell blood. You can still taste rot, and death, and smoke. But Kaisa is here, and for a brief moment her contours are sharper than the gaping maw, clearer than the noise in your head. “Briarheart,” she repeats. “We must go.” You stop. Again, a moment frozen in time, her face painted in stark contrast to the muddy background, her mouth twisted in a determined snarl, her eyes as hard as steel. She is right. You remember. You remember. You have a purpose. A duty. And you are almost there. Giving your life to save the wild and the Crowned Grove is your fate, and //nothing// - no sorrow, pain, or wound - will stop you from fulfilling it. <<nobr>><div class="choices"> <div class="choice"><span>1.</span> [[Continue.|wrong]]</div> </div><</nobr>>

Your power hums beneath your ribcage, vibrating with newfound strength. The wild extends its will, occupying the hollow corners of your body where you were too little, too thin, to reach. Your jaw clenches, but you force yourself to relax. It will be over soon enough. “Briarheart?” a voice calls, faint but sharp. The spell breaks and you blink, sluggish, the grays and browns and greens shifting, the black hole below watching, waiting, commanding your attention. //She// stands ready, white and red, and a startling, vibrant green against the muted colors of this artificial world. She’s too far away, and still you can feel her breathing, quick and tired, smell the copper of the blood staining her face, her hair, her clothes. The look on her face haunts you - Kaisa is never scared, but she is. //She is.// Reality shifts again, just slightly. You become aware of the buzzing in your ears, the insistent touch of //something// - something in your mind, rattling like a scorpion imprisoned inside a glass jar, its stinger tapping against its cage. //Tap, tap, tap,// it goes, //tap, tap, tap//, until it snaps, cracks spreading, and leaks - because they are all dead, and //he// is dead, and it is all wrong, you can feel the blood in your hands, cold skin against yours, and //it's all wrong//- “Briarheart,” comes her voice again, firmer this time. The flood doesn’t stop, but it grows fainter, a river withering to a stream. You can still smell blood. You can still taste rot, and death, and smoke. But Kaisa is here, and for a brief moment her contours are sharper than the gaping maw, clearer than the noise in your head. “Briarheart,” she repeats. “We must go.” You stop. Again, a moment frozen in time, her face painted in stark contrast to the muddy background, her mouth twisted in a determined snarl, her eyes as hard as steel. She is right. You remember. You remember. You have a purpose. A duty. And you are almost there. Giving your life to save the wild and the Crowned Grove is your fate, and //nothing// - no sorrow, pain, or wound - will stop you from fulfilling it. <<nobr>><div class="choices"> <div class="choice"><span>1.</span> [[Continue.|wrong]]</div> </div><</nobr>>

Your power hums beneath your ribcage, blossoming across your chest. The wild expands, filling the empty corners of your being with pure magic. Your jaw clenches, but soon enough relaxes, and you let yourself enjoy the feeling of having your whole world brimming beneath your skin, of being everywhere and nowhere at once. “Briarheart?” a voice calls, faint but sharp. The spell breaks and you blink, sluggish, the grays and browns and greens shifting, the black hole below watching, waiting, commanding your attention. //She// stands ready, white and red, and a startling, vibrant green against the muted colors of this artificial world. She’s too far away, and still you can feel her breathing, quick and tired, smell the copper of the blood staining her face, her hair, her clothes. The look on her face haunts you - Kaisa is never scared, but she is. //She is.// Reality shifts again, just slightly. You become aware of the buzzing in your ears, the insistent touch of //something// - something in your mind, rattling like a scorpion imprisoned inside a glass jar, its stinger tapping against its cage. //Tap, tap, tap,// it goes, //tap, tap, tap//, until it snaps, cracks spreading, and leaks - because they are all dead, and //he// is dead, and it is all wrong, you can feel the blood in your hands, cold skin against yours, and //it's all wrong//- “Briarheart,” comes her voice again, firmer this time. The flood doesn’t stop, but it grows fainter, a river withering to a stream. You can still smell blood. You can still taste rot, and death, and smoke. But Kaisa is here, and for a brief moment her contours are sharper than the gaping maw, clearer than the noise in your head. “Briarheart,” she repeats. “We must go.” You stop. Again, a moment frozen in time, her face painted in stark contrast to the muddy background, her mouth twisted in a determined snarl, her eyes as hard as steel. She is right. You remember. You remember. You have a purpose. A duty. And you are almost there. Giving your life to save the wild and the Crowned Grove is your fate, and //nothing// - no sorrow, pain, or wound - will stop you from fulfilling it. <<nobr>><div class="choices"> <div class="choice"><span>1.</span> [[Continue.|wrong]]</div> </div><</nobr>>

[[(You were so wrong, weren’t you?)|the_knowing]]

And lastly, knowing. You see, it is the knowing that breaks the world. The guardian was the catalyst, of course, and the heart a siren song, but it is the knowing that undoes it all, unraveling everything with the simple twist of a thread. Knowing is what destroys - you, your duty, your plans, your fate. Knowing is many things, //- a companion’s body, growing cold- - a cage, a tomb, flowers growing on a corpse that refuses to decay- - white bones on an ancient throne, covered by vines, earth, and rot- - an open chest, ribs broken, blood still dripping, an emptiness that could devour the world- - an undying rage, cold, brittle, poisonous, and guilt, so much guilt it cloys and festers and-// But it’s gone. The memory dissolves. The nightmare fades. You awake, and another end has come to pass. Your ending this time, world-shattering, //final//. But the world goes on still - unbelievably, unrelenting, uncaring -, stumbling ahead half-dead, not knowing the next ending might be its last. But you know. Or you knew. That’s why I’m here. Why you are here. You knew. You //know//. And believe me, you //will// [[remember.|cc]]

But there is still more to uncover before we start, as it were. Your mind, you see, is useless as it is right now. A wasteland of impressions, of memories and nightmares, with no real sense of personhood and history to speak of, and I will need //all// of you before this is over, even if I have to crack that mind of yours like an egg to get there. This is not cruelty, before you judge me too harshly. I still believe you will thank me once this is all over. You will see. You will understand. Or you won’t. I can’t pretend to care. But I can be nice. I can be... if not //gentle//, then at least //careful//. You see, to dig deeper we need first to scratch the surface; we need to mold you back to what you were when it all started, before rot and pain ate away at your very existence and made you this pathetic, misshapen thing without form and substance. And that won't be pretty, but it must be done and it must be by my hands. Think back, way back. Before the trip to the roots of the world, before the gaping maw into the darkness, before death and rot and blood, back to the life you led as the youngest child of the queen of the Crowned Grove, promised so young to the wild as the new briarheart. Before //me//. What do you see? <<nobr>><div class="choices"> <div class="choice"><span>1.</span> [[A garden, your mother in the distance, earth on your fingertips.|garden][$garden to true]]</div> <div class="choice"><span>2.</span> [[A book, warm fingers running through your hair, the pale light of the moon.|a book][$book to true]]</div> <div class="choice"><span>3.</span> [[A ball, the briarheart mask against your face, hands on an old, silver mirror.|a ball][$ball to true]]</div> </div><</nobr>>

The memory forms slowly, colors, shapes, smells flowing into your mind like water through fissures in a glass wall. The morning air - because it //is// morning, gray and quiet - is cold against your skin, but the earth is warm, soft and hums under your touch like a purring cat. You smile, chubby fingers digging deeper, the garden sighing in anticipation around you. <<nobr>><div class="choices"> <div class="choice"><span>1.</span> <<link "Flowers sprout between your fingers, an explosion of colors and strange shapes crawling up your hand and arm. You laugh, and they laugh in return, their whisper as soft as velvet against your mind, telling you awful, terrible things, and wonderful, beautiful things, and// so much more...//" "garden2">><<set $heritage to "roots">><</link>></div> <div class="choice"><span>2.</span> <<link "Bones emerge from the earth, dirty and cracked, and you know - you //know// - you should be scared, but there is no malice in their grip, no anger in their touch. A small cut near your thumb closes, the skin unmarked, perfect. You lean in to hear their voice." "garden2">><<set $heritage to "soil">><</link>></div> <div class="choice"><span>3.</span> <<link "Your nails grow into sharp, long claws. Your gum itches almost painfully and another presence brushes against your mind - and then another, and another, and so many more. The birds in the sky. A rat scurrying through the grass. And in the distance, a wolf, hungry, fangs sharp and bloody…" "garden2">><<set $heritage to "blood">><</link>></div> </div><</nobr>>

This memory is sharp, crystal clear - you are about to fall asleep, warm, safe, blankets drawn to your chin, pale moonlight caressing your face, your hair, but all your world converges onto a single voice, calm, low, with a touch of mirth and fake drama underneath. You blink, exhaustion clinging to your eyelids, but you want to hear it - you want to hear the end of the story. There is a pause. “Hm?” you let out. You can’t find your tongue. A laugh fills the air, clear, soft. You sink deeper into the blankets. “Time to sleep, little flower,” the voice says, and fingers run through your hair, then over the blankets. “We can finish the story another time.” “I want to know what they do with the monster,” you manage to say, though it isn't what you mean. //You won’t be back for weeks//, you want to complain. //She won’t let you. Please stay.// <<nobr>><div class="choices"> <div class="choice"><span>1.</span> [[Continue.|a book2]]</div> </div><</nobr>>

The gowns are drops of color against white. They swirl to the emerging, distant - (distant //now//, to the new, broken you) - song, laughter and excited voices filling the air. You watch, the canvas that is the ball carved in between the folds of the curtain, your gloved fingers curled around the silk. You follow their movement, an ugly, ungainly feeling spreading through your stomach. //Want.// No, that’s not it. Not only, at least. //Envy.// “<span class="cycle"><<cycle "$child" autoselect>><<option "Child">><<option "Boy">><<option "Girl">><</cycle>></span>!” You startle away from the canvas - from //the balcony// -, eyes turning to the immaculate figure at the door. Your mother, in white just like you, her face a mask of her own. She doesn’t approach, but her gaze is a sharp knife against your covered visage, against your hair, down to your feet, taking in the new outfit made just for the occasion. A new sensation wakes in your chest, devouring the envy down to its bone - apprehension, excitement, //fear//. You almost miss it - her nod, barely a twitch of her head. Tension melts away from your muscles, leaving you almost boneless. She approves. You give her your best smile. “You will be presented to the guests soon,” is all she says in answer, but the gleam of pride in her eyes is impossible to miss, and your chest feels like a balloon about to burst. You watch her turn to leave, giddy, but then she stops. “You are almost a young adult, my briarheart. I expect you to behave as such.” You nod, startled. “Of course, Mother. I will do my best.” When haven’t you? She glances at the guard by the huge oak doors. “Take <span class="cycle"><<cycle "$them" autoselect>><<option "them">><<option "him">><<option "her">><</cycle>></span> to the main balcony on my command,” she says, and then she’s gone. You stay still for a moment, fingers curling and uncurling at your sides. The music from the ballroom is louder, or maybe you just //can’t //escape it now - Mother will expect you to dance once tonight, like you practiced, just so the nobles can get a good look at you. It will ease their worries. You are well-fed, well-groomed, well-mannered, and - more importantly - brimming with power. You can feel it now, your power, tamed by the bitter tea, right behind your heart. //They// will feel it too. You need to look – and behave – your best. <<nobr>><div class="choices"> <div class="choice"><span>1.</span> [[Continue.|a ball2]]</div> </div><</nobr>>

“Briarheart!” You jerk away, and <<if $heritage is "roots">>the flowers wither and die, petals turning to fine dust against the earth<<elseif $heritage is "soil">>the bones sink back into the earth, disappearing as if they never existed<<else>>your nails shrink back<</if>>. Fingers grip your hand tight, and then your jaw, and mom is here, staring down at you, a flash of disapproval - and //disappointment? //- in her eyes. “Behave yourself.” You frown. “Mother, I…” But she backs off, letting you go as if your skin burns her. You flinch away. “I’m sorry.” Her face smooths over. She eyes the earth in front of you - disturbed, but clear, unmarred by the strange flowers you grew from nothing remains of the dead your own strange claws. Your mother’s lips curl into a grimace. “This is your father’s gift to you, a drop of his fae blood and magic. Powerful, but dangerous, hungry. It will eat you alive before you find a worthy use for it.” And then she is gone, and the memory dissolves into nothingness. <<nobr>><div class="choices"> <div class="choice"><span>1.</span> [[Continue.|cc_hub]]</div> </div><</nobr>>

<<if $extras_prov is "scales off its face and arms and legs">><<set $extras to "scales">><<elseif $extras is "fangs and claws off">><<set $extras to "fangs and claws">><<else>><<set $extras to "">><</if>>What do you see? <<nobr>><div class="choices"> <div class="choice"><span>1.</span> <<if $garden is false>>[[A garden, your mother in the distance, earth on your fingertips.|garden][$garden to true]]<<else>>==A garden, your mother in the distance, earth on your fingertips.==<</if>></div> <div class="choice"><span>2.</span> <<if $book is false>>[[A book, warm fingers running through your hair, the pale light of the moon.|a book][$book to true]]<<else>>==A book, warm fingers running through your hair, the pale light of the moon.==<</if>></div> <div class="choice"><span>3.</span> <<if $ball is false>>[[A ball, the briarheart mask against your face, hands on an old, silver mirror.|a ball][$ball to true]]<<else>>==A ball, the briarheart mask against your face, hands on an old, silver mirror.==<</if>></div> <<if $ball is true and $book is true and $garden is true>><div class="choice"><span>4.</span> [[Myself.|cc_review]]</div><</if>> </div><</nobr>>

“You know what they do with them,” the voice says quietly. “They let the monster into the village and they live in peace forever.” “Daelia says they kill it,” you whisper. “That they rip its <span class="cycle"><<cycle "$extras_prov" autoselect>><<option "scales off its face and arms and legs">><<option "fangs and claws off">><</cycle>></span>, and its <span class="cycle"><<cycle "$horns_prov" autoselect>><<option "horns">><<option "antlers">><<update>><</cycle>></span> off its head, like she said Mother should do with me.” The pause is longer, heavier this time. The fingers on your hair slide to your face and suddenly you realize you are not sleepy anymore; you are wide awake, searching in the darkness for their face, for their calm, solid presence, their kind eyes. But the silver moonlight isn’t enough. It dances on the contours of their nose and cheekbones as they lean down, their lips on your forehead, then on your eyelids, but it never reveals their features. “No one will ever touch you, little flower,” they say, fingers brushing the dusting of scales on your cheekbone. “Daelia is wrong. No one will hurt you.” You breathe in. “Promise?” A smile against your brow. “I promise.” <<nobr>><div class="choices"> <div class="choice"><span>1.</span> [[Continue.|cc_hub]]</div> </div><</nobr>>

<<nobr>> <<if $child is "Child" or $child is "child">><<set $person to "person">><<set $child to "child">><<elseif $child is "Boy" or $child is "boy">><<set $person to "man">><<set $child to "boy">><<else>><<set $person to "woman">><<set $child to "girl">><</if>> <<if $them is "them">><<set $their to "their">><<set $they to "they">><<elseif $them is "him">><<set $their to "his">><<set $they to "he">><<else>><<set $their to "her">><<set $they to "she">><</if>> With one last glance at the ballroom below, you approach the mirror by the tiny - and only - table in the room, fingertips sliding down its beautiful silver frame. A mask stares back at you, bone white, eyes carved too big, too angular, like those of a beast - but it’s the <span class="cycle"><<cycle "$mark" autoselect>> <<option "rose">> <<option "lily">> <<option "tulip">> <<option "orchid">> <<option "carnation">> <<option "hydrangea">> <<option "daffodil">> <<option "marigold">> <<option "lotus">> <<option "dahlia">> <<option "chrysanthemum">> <<option "camellia">> <<option "iris">> <<option "daisy">> <<option "sunflower">> <</cycle>></span> right above your forehead that catches your attention; the sigil of the briarheart, an exact replica of the mark drawn into your flesh. <</nobr>> <<nobr>>The sight of it makes you queasy. You remove the mask after a brief moment of hesitation, wanting - no, //needing//, with an anxiety and hunger that embarrasses you - to see the face beneath… and there it is, //there you are//, a bit sweaty, a few strands of <span class="cycle"><<cycle "$hair_texture" autoselect>> <<option "straight">> <<option "wavy">> <<option "curly">> <<option "coily">> <</cycle>></span> <span class="cycle"><<cycle "$hair_color" autoselect>> <<option "auburn">> <<option "red">> <<option "white">> <<option "gray">> <<option "black">> <<option "dark brown">> <<option "brown">> <<option "silver">> <<option "gold">> <<option "pale gold">> <</cycle>></span> hair plastered to your temples and <span class="cycle"><<cycle "$freckles" autoselect>><<option "freckled">><<option "clear">><</cycle>></span> nose, but it’s you all the same.<</nobr>> (Isn’t it?) //(Isn’t it?)// <<nobr>>You blink at your reflection, frowning - your <span class="cycle"><<cycle "$eye_color" autoselect>> <<option "gray">> <<option "blue">> <<option "green">> <<option "violet">> <<option "brown">> <<option "black">> <<option "hazel">> <<option "gold">> <</cycle>></span> eyes shine a bit too bright, your <span class="cycle"><<cycle "$skin_color" autoselect>> <<option "ivory">> <<option "beige">> <<option "golden brown">> <<option "brown">> <<option "deep brown">> <<option "black">> <</cycle>></span> skin a bit too pale. The colors become blurry as you watch, like too fresh paint sliding down the smooth surface of a canvas, mixing, corrupting. A bolt of fear runs down your spine, but then you hear it, loud and clear and terrible, coming from the ballroom beyond the curtains, below the relative safety of your hidden balcony.<</nobr>> <<nobr>><div class="choices"> <div class="choice"><span>1.</span> [[Your name.|your name]]</div> </div><</nobr>>

<<textbox "$name" "Roma">> <<nobr>><div class="choices"> <div class="choice"><span>1.</span> [[Continue.|cc_hub]]</div> </div><</nobr>>

<<if $extras_prov is "scales off its face and arms and legs">><<set $extras to "scales">><<elseif $extras_prov is "fangs and claws off">><<set $extras to "fangs and claws">><</if>><<if $horns_prov is "horns">><<set $horns to "horns">><<elseif $horns_prov is "antlers">><<set $horns to "antlers">><</if>>Good. Then it’s time for us to truly begin. I have //much to show// you. And I promise you: I will behave. I will let you reconstruct your broken mind with minimum interference, and you will figure it out yourself, because //that// is also important. You are important, much as I wish it were otherwise. You will barely remember I’m here. Mostly. <<nobr>><div class="choices"> <div class="choice"><span>1.</span> [[Continue.|pt01]]</div> </div><</nobr>>

<<nobr>> <<if $levo_relationship is "professional">> <<set $people['entries'][0]['description'].push("A silent shadow, a constant companion, the only sure, dependable aspect of the whirlwind that was your life before your failure seven years ago, Levo was both your watcher and your keeper, though your relationship with him remained cool, professional, painfully distant throughout the years.")>> <<set $people['entries'][0]['description'].push("That didn't stop him from dying for you down in the bones of the world and his death has been just as close a companion as he was in life.")>> <<elseif $levo_relationship is "friendship">> <<set $people['entries'][0]['description'].push("Levo was your best friend, your partner in crime, the one who would frown, raise an eyebrow and even put one some protest, but that could never //not// help you sneak out to watch the glass moon, to wander the garden and the streets beyond, to show you life, even if just a little. ")>> <<set $people['entries'][0]['description'].push("That was, truly, what he wanted: to give you a //life//. Your memories of your descent into the bones of the world are fragmented, hazy, but you do know every step downwards was painful, regretful even, to him. He desperately wanted you to //live//.")>> <<set $people['entries'][0]['description'].push("He got his wish in the end; his life for yours.")>> <<else>> <<set $people['entries'][0]['description'].push("From childhood friend to keeper, he was always with you: discreetly helping you during your lessons, sometimes sneaking you out to watch the marvels beyond the palace, but mostly just being near, a constant presence, a reminder that you were still just a child, then a teen, and not just the //briarheart//.")>> <<set $people['entries'][0]['description'].push("Is it strange, then, that your relationship eventually changed to something different? That your touch on his skin lingered a bit longer than necessary, that his quiet, unwavering attention was both a curse and a blessing?")>> <<set $people['entries'][0]['description'].push("Levo got his wish in the end; his life for yours. ")>> <</if>> <<set $people['entries'][0]['unlocked'] to true>> <<set $past['entries'][2]['unlocked'] to true>> <<notify 6s>>Journal entries //LEVO// and //BRIARHEART'S FALL// unlocked.<</notify>> <</nobr>><h2>01. slumber, interrupted</h2> Here’s where the //new// end of the world begins: with your ear pressed against the soil in the middle of the woods, the wild cursing through your veins, and your mangled power struggling to unfurl inside your chest. You still remember how it should feel; the magic warming your body, expanding your senses, connecting you to the wild and to the Crowned Grove itself, every tree, flower and animal pulsing with life under your skin. It was, at the same time, too much power and too little, the awareness of so much overwhelming, the control of so little devastating. But now it’s all gone - your power is a weak, pathetic thing, barely a presence against your heart; the connection to the wild still there, still so precious despite your refusal of it for so many years, but damaged, yes, almost thorn. //Almost//, you think, and it burns against your wrist, flames within your flesh. You breathe out, but don't let go. You can’t. It’s been seven years and still you yearn for it almost as much as it yearns for you. You reach out almost without noticing, searching, looking- A branch snaps. You open your eyes, blinking to the soft light of the morning sun, the smell of wet earth filling your nose. You push yourself off the ground, swatting the dirt off your clothes a bit too quickly. When you raise your head, Vi is already at the edge of the glade, watching you with her somber, now vaguely wary eyes. She’s almost as dirty as you, hands brown from digging into the soil and a large, once white blouse making her look even smaller and more disheveled. But her gaze is as sharp - and as curious - as ever. “The herbalist requests your presence,” she says in her oddly formal voice, approaching slowly, head tilting just slightly. You straighten up. She still looks at you like she’s expecting you to grow a second head at any moment, the time together in the herbalist’s cramped cabin all these years not doing much to bring you two closer. <<nobr>><div class="choices"> <div class="choice"><span>1.</span> [[Maybe things would have been different if you had told her the truth about your identity.|not_told][$told_vi to false]]</div> <div class="choice"><span>2.</span> [[You should never have told her who you are.|told][$told_vi to true]]</div> </div><</nobr>>

<<nobr>> <<set $people['entries'][9]['description'].push("Throughout the years, you //almost// told her who you really are, but never quite managed to get the words out. It was too dangerous, you told yourself over and over and over; this far away from Briar's Spear, the people feel the briarheart's failure - //your// failure - all too keenly, and you could never be sure knowing the briarheart was so close wouldn't push them over the edge. Even quiet, cautious Vi.")>> <<set $people['entries'][9]['description'].push("It will always hurt a bit, though. Maybe you could've been friends.")>> <<set $people['entries'][9]['unlocked'] to true>> <<notify 6s>>Journal entry //VI// unlocked.<</notify>> <</nobr>>She, like all other villagers of Ashentree, seemed to accept your story well - you are just an orphan from the Shallows looking for a quiet place to live after the briarheart’s failure triggered the worst advance of the decay in hundreds of years. With your home destroyed, a remote, tranquil village like Ashentree was an obvious choice, and you were good enough with herbs and medicine to be useful and unremarkable enough to be mostly ignored. But Vi is too smart for that. She knows you are not who you say you are, or at least she has doubts; she always watches you like she’s expecting you to finally confess a terrible, unforgivable crime. (Oh, well. She’s not wrong, is she?) It's not like you weren't //tempted//; the words clawed their way up your throat only to die on your tongue many, many times throughout the years, growing sharper in the long moments of quiet work, a constant itch in the back of your mind. But they never did come out, and the secret poisoned the air between both of you, an invisible barrier neither of you ever dared to cross. It’s too late to worry about that. You blink and finally process her words. “Anything wrong?” You frown. “I shouldn’t be needed for two more days at least. I refilled the stock before leaving yesterday.” “A girl from the village is sick. The parents brought her in very early," she says and you nod, but something in the way she stands tells you she isn’t done yet. Unsure, you wait. Vi bites down on her lower lip, fingers curling. She wants to tell you something. But the moment stretches until it snaps, the forest around you sighing with its release. “I will go then,” you say hesitantly, but Vi is already looking away. Whatever it is, she will not tell you. You shudder, shaking the thought away. The herbalist is waiting for you. <<nobr>><div class="choices"> <div class="choice"><span>1.</span> [[Continue.|the_herbalist]]</div> </div><</nobr>>

<<nobr>> <<set $people['entries'][9]['description'].push("You are still not sure //why/ you told her who you are. Maybe you were a bit too lonely. Maybe you were homesick, tired, //bored//. She took the news with her customary cautious look, and, though she remained distant, almost aloof, she never told anyone else or treated you any different. ")>> <<set $people['entries'][9]['description'].push("Though you can see it in her eyes sometimes. //Fear//.")>> <<set $people['entries'][9]['unlocked'] to true>> <<notify 6s>>Journal entry //VI// unlocked.<</notify>> <</nobr>>The villagers of Ashentree are suspicious by nature, and while Vi isn’t nearly as bad as them she’s still wary of you - the //real// you, the briarheart who failed seven years ago and now lives in exile in a tiny village away from civilization, spending $their time digging roots and tending to the herbalist’s little garden. Your confession was ill-timed, foolish, born out of desperation or maybe loneliness, and while she was careful about keeping herself distant from you, she at least never told anyone else. (But sometimes you do wonder what would happen if she had - would the villagers chase you away? Would they attack you, ignore you, //fear// you? You know she is scared of you. You can see it in her eyes when she thinks you are not looking. She isn’t stupid, you know that. She can feel the wild still growing out of your bones. Like back in that moment. //Now//, for you. She’s watching you.) You blink and finally process her words. “Anything wrong?” You frown. “I shouldn’t be needed for two more days at least. I refilled the stock before leaving yesterday.” “A girl from the village is sick. The parents brought her in very early," she says and you nod, but something in the way she stands tells you she isn’t done yet. Unsure, you wait. Vi bites down on her lower lip, fingers curling. She wants to tell you something. <<nobr>><div class="choices"> <div class="choice"><span>1.</span> [[Continue.|told2]]</div> </div><</nobr>>

The herbalist’s hut is tucked away in a half hidden glade near the forest’s border, straddling the line between acceptable and suspicious as seen by the people of Ashentree; a little too far away for comfort, of course, close to the woods and the wild’s maddened whispers, but still near enough for it to be… passable as a need for solitude instead of questionable weirdness. (You, of course, are the very picture of questionable weirdness). The herbalist is nowhere to be seen when you approach, the tiny wooden house standing alone in the glade, vines and moss crawling up its foundations to creep along its walls, draping along its windows to form a natural curtain of green, deep red and yellow. Under the dying light of the sun, when the world explodes in pinks and oranges and reds, this place //feels// strange - like a mirage, half in this world, half in another, threatening to fade away in the blink of an eye like a leaf blown by the wind. But it’s only morning now, and the herbalist’s hut looks normal - lopsided, cramped, and old, but normal. The door is open, like always, but the herbalist isn’t by the oven tending to a potion or by the table preparing ingredients when you enter, and for a moment the small room is in complete, uncharacteristic silence, the dried herbs hanging from the ceiling swaying softly around your head. You open your mouth to call for them, but then a shadow moves against the curtain that hides the entrance to the back room and a pained groan crawls through the floorboards in the quietness of the morning. You shiver, a suspicion growing in the back of your mind. “$name? Come in,” comes the herbalist’s voice, calm, melodic, but with a hint of steel, of strain. Your unease intensifies and you approach the curtain, hesitating for a second before peeling it away to reveal the small room beyond. <<nobr>><div class="choices"> <div class="choice"><span>1.</span> [[Continue.|the_herbalist2]]</div> </div><</nobr>>

<<nobr>> <<set $people['entries'][1]['unlocked'] to true>> <<notify 6s>>Journal entry //KAISA// unlocked.<</notify>> <</nobr>>“Some people… arrived at the village a few hours ago. Looking for you.” She winces when you take in a sharp breath. “Guards, I think. Royal guards? They had armor and flags, and…” She trails off, leaving you to come to terms with her words. //Royal guards?// Looking for //you//? A chill runs down your spine. //Mother.// “Who was leading them?” you ask sharply. She steps back, eying you warily, and you force yourself to calm down, the drum of your heartbeat waking the wild’s feeble magic in your blood. The pain in your wrist returns, burning, an acid eating away at your bones. “Sorry, I meant no… Did you get a good look at who was leading them?” And then, “Please.” Vi relaxes a bit. The pain in your wrist makes you dizzy, but her words are clear through the growing fog in your mind. “A woman, I think. Tall, long black hair? And black armor.” She makes a face. “Didn’t look exactly mean, but not friendly either.” Kaisa. //Here//. For// you//. <<if $heritage is "roots">>The wild hums. In the silence of the morning, the trees lean in your direction, branches swaying, whispers skittering the edge of your understanding, but emotions not your own - not your own //right now// - unfurl inside your chest; pain, hatred, joy, blossoming and withering in the blink of an eye. You shudder.<<elseif $heritage is "soil">>The wild hums. In the silence of the morning, the earth sighs beneath your bare feet, the sound a promise of secrets buried deep, of lives long lost still echoing throughout the dark, damp soil just waiting for an eager ear. You shudder.<<else>>The wild hums. In the silence of the morning, the beasts of the forest breathe and growl and sing, and you can feel them under your skin; tingling in your fingertips, itching along your teeth, scratching at the back of your throat. You shudder.<</if>> “$name?” The pain in your wrist weakens. You focus on Vi’s wary face. You don’t even attempt a smile. “I’m all right,” you say slowly. “Thank you for telling me.” She nods, nervously tugging at her own shirt. “What are you going to do?” (Direct and smart, she was. A pity meeting you ruined her life.) <<nobr>><div class="choices"> <div class="choice"><span>1.</span>==Run away. You don’t know why your mother wants you back, but it can’t be anything good. The weeks after your return were some of the worst in your life and you are not eager to experience the court’s scorn and the queen’s disappointment yet again.== (COMING SOON)</div> <div class="choice"><span>2.</span> [[You have a duty to the herbalist and they need you now. But after… You don’t know. You never thought you would be called back to court - you were… not happy, but content with your life here. It’s good work, and even though you and Vi never got close, the herbalist cares for you. In their own weird way. Why would she call you back?|not_run]]</div> </div><</nobr>>

Your life as the briarheart is over. You are only $name now, apprenticed to a village herbalist, content to spend the little time you have left taking care of their garden and helping them with the sick villagers, and even that your old life is threatening to take away from you.

If that’s what this is. You can’t imagine an alternative. The queen washed her hands off you seven years ago. You were born to fulfill a fate and only that, but you failed - what use would she have for you now? “The herbalist needs me now,” is all you say and Vi nods, still refusing to look you in the eye. “Thank you for telling me.” She shrugs, and then, “Good luck.” //You will need it// is what she doesn’t say, but you hear it just fine, and a bolt of doubt creeps up your spine. You curl your fingers, the whisper of the forest a soft caress against your jaw, your ear. It would be so easy to turn away now and just //run//, run and run and not stop until you are so far away the crown would never be able to get you back. So why don’t you? (A flash of $eye_color eyes and a tired, but warm smile. Grim lips so rarely touched by joy. A touch on your shoulder, a tilt of a head, the weight of a knowing, trusting stare. Your heart squeezes just a little. You still think about them, don’t you?) You shudder, shaking the thought - and the question - away. You’ve made your choice - and the herbalist is waiting for you. <<nobr>><div class="choices"> <div class="choice"><span>1.</span> [[Continue.|the_herbalist]]</div> </div><</nobr>>

<<nobr>> <<set $people['entries'][4]['unlocked'] to true>> <<notify 6s>>Journal entry //THE HERBALIST// unlocked.<</notify>> <</nobr>>The place is cramped, as is everything in the herbalist’s hut, but the morning sun slips inside through a huge window, chasing the shadows into the nooks and crannies of the room. An old bed takes up much of the space on the opposite side, and everywhere else is taken by flasks, herbs, and less savory things like knives, rope, and thread, all resting on wooden boxes or frail chairs. Still, the guest room, as the herbalist likes to call it, is spotless, clean to the bone without losing its comfortable, cluttered aura, a familiar embrace to those who would always choose //not// to be here. Movement near the bed catches your attention. The yellow light reveals the curved figure of the herbalist, dressed in pastels and greens, their warm brown skin in contrast with the pale, frail hand emerging from the nest of blankets. They look up when you approach, lips twitching in a small, almost not there smile, though their golden eyes remain hard, focused. “$name,” the herbalist repeats, and they glance away. “I take you know Mai and Naina, from the village?” You follow their gaze, noticing the two women huddled together against a particularly precarious stack of boxes by the window. Their light brown skin, usually flushed by the heat of the village bakery, is pale, their eyes wide and embraced by dark, purple circles. Still, they stare back at you unflinching, careful curiosity mixing with plain, barely concealed wariness. They have never been rude to you, or, at least, never refused to sell you their bread and pastries, but you are not welcome - not in the village, and certainly not //here//. Your eyes move to the shivering bundle of blankets in the bed. The small, pale hand clings to the herbalist’s for dear life, nails digging into their skin. Your unease becomes a tiny, dense ball of anxiety in your stomach. “Lio is not feeling well,” the herbalist is saying, their attention still on the mothers by the window. “Help me tend to her.” A hesitant footstep at your back. You ignore it, sitting on the bed but positioning yourself away from the child’s face, near her legs. The herbalist is still talking. “Outside, please,” they say. “We don’t need any distractions for this.” Another footstep, and a burning, incessant glare right in the middle of your shoulder blades. “I’m not sure-” “I did not ask, Mai,” the herbalist says calmly. “But I must,” says another voice. You can’t help it - you turn to face Naina, her lips a thin slash across her face. “Are you sure you can trust $them? With //my// daughter?” <<nobr>><div class="choices"> <div class="choice"><span>1.</span> [[You bristle. “I’ve been the herbalist’s apprentice for seven years,” you say, voice sharp. “And not once have I failed them. Pray tell me why exactly they wouldn’t trust me, with your daughter or anyone else’s.”|bristle]]</div> <div class="choice"><span>2.</span> [[You bite down on your lip, exhaustion sinking deep into your bones, but you stay silent. These people - and their unfounded, baseless suspicion - aren’t worth your time or your words.|tired]]</div> <div class="choice"><span>3.</span> [[You bite down on your lip, warmth making its way up your neck and face, shame curling inside your stomach. You stay silent, fingers probing at a blanket’s unfettered threads.|shame]]</div> <div class="choice"><span>4.</span> [[You stay silent, lips curling under Mai and Naina’s gaze. If they are going to say shit, they better do it to your face.|anger]]</div> <div class="choice"><span>5.</span> [[You force a grimace into a soft, calm smile. “Don’t worry,” you say, voice pleasant. “The herbalist taught me well, and I’m sure they would never allow me near your daughter if I couldn’t handle myself.”|plesant]]</div> </div><</nobr>>

<<nobr>> <<set $crowned_grove['entries'][1]['unlocked'] to true>> <<notify 6s>>Journal entry //ASHENTREE// unlocked.<</notify>> <</nobr>>Naina’s pale face flushes red and she opens her mouth to argue, but Mai’s hand closes around her arm, silencing her. She stays still for a moment, fingers curling and uncurling at her sides, and you almost expect her to shake off her wife and come at you, be it with words or fists - it wouldn’t be the first time a villager decided you were too mouthy for a barely tolerated outsider, and it certainly won’t be the last. You might be a failure, but they don’t know that, and you’ve never given them reason to doubt your character //or// skills - you are not here to take abuse in silence. But Naina ultimately steps away and follows Mai outside the room, giving you one last nasty look before disappearing behind the curtain. You force yourself to unclench your own hands, to take a deep breath, to convince your body that no, no fight is coming. You’re safe. “Nicely done,” the herbalist says, a touch of mirth in their voice. “But we have work to do.” They are right, of course. For the first time, you turn your undivided attention to the child on the bed. <<nobr>><div class="choices"> <div class="choice"><span>1.</span> [[Continue.|the girl]]</div> </div><</nobr>>

<<nobr>> <<set $crowned_grove['entries'][1]['unlocked'] to true>> <<notify 6s>>Journal entry //ASHENTREE// unlocked.<</notify>> <</nobr>>“You were the one who brought your daughter to me, Naina,” the herbalist says after a pause. “And $name is my apprentice. If you don’t trust $them, you don’t trust me, and in coming here you’ve wasted time your daughter doesn’t have. I suggest you leave with her now if you don’t agree with my methods. Maybe transport can be arranged for her to go to High Tower for a healer.” You don’t bother looking up to see Naina’s and Mai’s reaction. You would rather help save little Lio, of course, but this problem isn’t yours - it’s //theirs//. You might be a failure, but they don’t know that, and you’ve never given them reason to doubt your character //or// skills. You’ve offered too much of yourself already to have anything left to give these two in compromise. These //crumbs// you will guard fiercely. “This won’t be necessary,” says Mai finally. “I’m sorry, herbalist. We will be waiting outside. Please do your best for our little girl.” “I will,” the herbalist says, and they leave. “That went well,” the herbalist says with a sigh. “But we have work to do.” They are right, of course. For the first time, you turn your undivided attention to the child on the bed. <<nobr>><div class="choices"> <div class="choice"><span>1.</span> [[Continue.|the girl]]</div> </div><</nobr>>

<<nobr>> <<set $crowned_grove['entries'][1]['unlocked'] to true>> <<notify 6s>>Journal entry //ASHENTREE// unlocked.<</notify>> <</nobr>>“You were the one who brought your daughter to me, Naina,” the herbalist says after a pause. “And $name is my apprentice. If you don’t trust $them, you don’t trust me, and in coming here you’ve wasted time your daughter doesn’t have. I suggest you leave with her now if you don’t agree with my methods. Maybe transport can be arranged for her to go to High Tower for a healer.” You steal a glance at Naina and Mai, gauging their reactions. You want - maybe //need// - to help save little Lio, but the decision is theirs to make. A thousand words make their way to your lips - how you are //good// at this, truly, and though you and the herbalist lost people over the years, it was never for a lack of skill or knowledge; how you will do your best to help their daughter, that you would never harm anyone, let alone a child; how you understand their worry, and how you won’t take their complaints to heart. But in the end you say nothing. You might be good at this, but being good meant nothing down in the roots of the world, and your best might not be enough here either. You can feel it, too, the bitterness spreading through your chest - you will remember their slight, their doubts, and it might never leave the hollow of your heart. And the wild knows you’ve harmed plenty. “This won’t be necessary,” says Mai finally. “I’m sorry, herbalist. We will be waiting outside. Please do your best for our little girl.” “I will,” the herbalist says, and they leave. “That went well,” the herbalist says with a sigh. “But we have work to do.” They are right, of course. For the first time, you turn your undivided attention to the child on the bed. <<nobr>><div class="choices"> <div class="choice"><span>1.</span> [[Continue.|the girl]]</div> </div><</nobr>>

<<nobr>> <<set $crowned_grove['entries'][1]['unlocked'] to true>> <<notify 6s>>Journal entry //ASHENTREE// unlocked.<</notify>> <</nobr>>“You were the one who brought your daughter to me, Naina,” the herbalist says after a pause. “And $name is my apprentice. If you don’t trust $them, you don’t trust me, and in coming here you’ve wasted time your daughter doesn’t have. I suggest you leave with her now if you don’t agree with my methods. Maybe transport can be arranged for her to go to High Tower for a healer.” You don’t stare away as Mai’s face grows paler. They both look at you, Naina biting down her lip, eyes flashing with anger, fear and anger again, Mai with an exhaustion you can almost feel under your own skin, their worry for their daughter almost a smell, a taste on your tongue. Still, you refuse to let them forget you are //here//, and if they are going to be terrible they better be ready to be terrible to your face,// right now//. “This won’t be necessary,” says Mai finally. “I’m sorry, herbalist. We will be waiting outside. Please do your best for our little girl.” “I will,” the herbalist says, and they leave. “That went well,” the herbalist says with a sigh. “But we have work to do.” They are right, of course. For the first time, you turn your undivided attention to the child on the bed. <<nobr>><div class="choices"> <div class="choice"><span>1.</span> [[Continue.|the girl]]</div> </div><</nobr>>

<<nobr>> <<set $crowned_grove['entries'][1]['unlocked'] to true>> <<notify 6s>>Journal entry //ASHENTREE// unlocked.<</notify>> <</nobr>>You watch, still smiling, while Naina’s face crumples then builds itself again, clearly struggling with your answer - that you answered //at all//, more like. You are used to villagers like her, who like to talk and complain and posture, all the while expecting you to go along and stay quiet, eyes downcast and lips sealed, but you are not here for that. You will smile, you will be //nice// and they will back down, thrown off by your refusal to either say nothing or fight back. Most of the time, at least. “I trust the herbalist,” says Mai finally. “Come, Naina We will be waiting outside. Please do your best for our little girl.” “I will,” the herbalist says, and they leave. “Nicely done,” the herbalist says, a touch of mirth in their voice. “But we have work to do.” They are right, of course. For the first time, you turn your undivided attention to the child on the bed. <<nobr>><div class="choices"> <div class="choice"><span>1.</span> [[Continue.|the girl]]</div> </div><</nobr>>

She looks dreadful. Her brown complexion is so pale she looks drained of blood, veins stark under her skin, eyes moving wildly under her eyelids. As you watch, she struggles against an unseen enemy under a bundle of blankets, drenched in sweat, her dark hair plastered against her face, her breathing coming in painful, labored gasps. If you didn’t know better, your mind would go to a particularly nasty cold or a stomach bug, but you do know better. This is no disease, not in the usual sense of the word. This is a curse. Your wrist itches, a reminder and an accusation. “Have you found it yet?” you ask, ignoring it. The herbalist shakes their head. “She won’t let me look for it. The parents waited too long to bring her here, and they didn’t think to look either.” Or they thought and chose not to look out of fear or shame, is what they don’t say. You sigh. The herbalist’s eyes turn to you, a clear order in them, and you can’t help but grimace. <<nobr>><div class="choices"> <<if $heritage is "soil">><div class="choice"><span>1.</span> [[Continue.|soil]]</div><<elseif $heritage is "roots">> <div class="choice"><span>1.</span> [[Continue.|roots]]</div><<else>> <div class="choice"><span>1.</span> [[Continue.|blood]]</div><</if>> </div><</nobr>>

“I will hold her down,” you say. “And heal her, if you can,” the herbalist says and you hate them just a little for knowing so well the extent of your powers despite you never, ever, having told them anything. “We both hold her down, we both heal her.” You only grunt in answer. You position yourselves once the herbalist has managed to extract their hand from the little girl’s grasp; you move to sit by her head, hand near hers, while the herbalist hops on the bed, fingers hovering around Lio’s temples. “Ready?” You grimace once again and nod. The herbalist doesn’t give a warning; they press their fingertips against the girl’s head, closing their eyes, and their power unfurls from the point of contact, flooding Lio’s body, mind and soul with an unrelenting but careful wave of energy. It brushes against your own skin, foreign, alien, //not from the wild//, and you can’t help but cringe under its onslaught, the beast that is the wild inside of you raising its hackles. You scowl. But if it’s bad for you it’s even worse for Lio. The girl //screams//. She rages. She thrashes against the herbalist, her voice a constant shrill against your ears, reverberating through your head and chest. //It’s not her//, you tell yourself when the screams grow louder, less human, less sane. //It’s the wild//. The wild, clawing, raging, desperate to keep draining the girl, to keep consuming, eating, //devouring//. Just like it did to you. <<nobr>><div class="choices"> <div class="choice"><span>1.</span> [[Continue.|soil2]]</div> </div><</nobr>>

<<nobr>> <<set $magic['entries'][1]['unlocked'] to true>> <<notify 6s>>Journal entry //FAE MAGIC// unlocked.<</notify>> <</nobr>>“//$name//,” the herbalist hisses, and you take a deep breath, ignoring the shiver running down your body. You close your eyes, fingers closing around Lio’s wrist, searching for the beast inside you, for that thread that connects you to the wild, to the Crowned Grove, to your powers as the briarheart - and then away, to something else half buried under it all, just as emaciated and still the wild’s, but different, once alien, once //not the wild//. The power your fae father gave you, still yours, still //there//. You refuse to think twice. You reach for it, and it //answers//. Lio’s screams grow faint, distant as if heard from underwater, and silence fills your ears, only marred by the faint, almost impossible to hear humming from deep inside the earth. You can almost taste it on your tongue - dark, humid, unfathomably ancient, reeking of both death and new, fresh life. The quietness of the abyss soothes you, lulls you into nothingness, a calm that covers your mind like a warm, comfortable blanket, hiding the pain and ecstasy of life from sight. It would be //so// easy to let it consume you. To consume //it//. But you are here for a reason.// Lio//. <<nobr>><div class="choices"> <div class="choice"><span>1.</span> [[Continue.|soil3]]</div> </div><</nobr>>

Death lies beside Lio, brushing against her cheek, slipping inside her mouth, spreading through her chest. It is unseen, but not unfelt, not for those like you and the herbalist, and if it can be felt, it can be bargained with. Not like you would bargain with a merchant, with a tavern keeper, with a guard - no, with Death you ask, you nudge, you hide and you lie, and you push it away bit by bit, like one would carefully guide an old, dear horse to the stable. Its touch is cold, then warm, felt only through a thin layer of protection - reality, maybe, or life, or something else, the final barrier between this world and beyond. You cannot heal her as much as you can deny death its reward. Death doesn’t speak. You are pretty sure it doesn’t even listen, not in the usual sense of the word, but your magic is deeply intertwined with it, the fae magic your father gave you embracing death with the same familiarity that it does life. And so sometimes - //sometimes// - death… listens. Not consciously, you think. You are pretty sure it has no consciousness at all. It takes ages. Hours. Days, it feels like. Years. The little girl’s fear and pain is a constant companion, her confusion bolts of energy against your mind, her despair a bitter taste in your mouth. She struggles. She yells. You lose your focus, not once, but twice, three times, getting glimpses of the herbalist going through the same, but you don’t back down, and slowly neither does she. And then finally, //finally//, you feel the curse stop, then recede, then fall silent. Death leaves. You open your eyes to the warm light of a reddish sky, the afternoon slipping into the now quiet room to paint the walls in pinks and oranges. You are breathing hard, sweat in your brow and temples, fingers still curled around Lio’s bony wrist. <<nobr>><div class="choices"> <div class="choice"><span>1.</span> [[Continue.|done]]</div> </div><</nobr>>

“Hold her down,” you say. “//You// hold //it// back, too,” the herbalist says and you hate them just a little for knowing so well the extent of your powers despite you never, ever, having told them anything. “I won’t be able to do it for long. You need to find the source and fight it too.” You only grunt in answer. You position yourselves once the herbalist has managed to extract their hand from the little girl’s grasp; you move to her side by her head, hand near hers, while the herbalist hops on the bed, fingers hovering around Lio’s temples. “Ready?” You grimace once again and nod. The herbalist doesn’t give a warning; they press their fingertips against the girl’s head, closing their eyes, and their power unfurls from the point of contact, flooding Lio’s body, mind and soul with an unrelenting but careful wave of energy. It brushes against your own skin, foreign, alien, //not from the wild//, and you can’t help but cringe under its onslaught, the beast that is the wild inside of you raising its hackles. You scowl. But if it’s bad for you it’s even worse for Lio. The girl //screams//. She rages. She thrashes against the herbalist, her voice a constant shrill against your ears, reverberating through your head and chest. //It’s not her//, you tell yourself when the screams grow louder, less human, less sane. //It’s the wild//. The wild, clawing, raging, desperate to keep draining the girl, to keep consuming, eating, //devouring//. Just like it did to you. <<nobr>><div class="choices"> <div class="choice"><span>1.</span> [[Continue.|roots2]]</div> </div><</nobr>>

<<nobr>> <<set $magic['entries'][1]['unlocked'] to true>> <<notify 6s>>Journal entry //FAE MAGIC// unlocked.<</notify>> <</nobr>>“//$name//,” the herbalist hisses, and you take a deep breath, ignoring the shiver running down your body. You close your eyes, fingers closing around Lio’s wrist, searching for the beast inside you, for that thread that connects you to the wild, to the Crowned Grove, to your powers as the briarheart - and then away, to something else half buried under it all, just as emaciated and still the wild’s, but different, once alien, once //not the wild//. The power your fae father gave you, still yours, still //there//. You refuse to think twice. You reach for it, and it// answers//. Lio’s screams grow faint, distant as if heard from underwater, and new voices reach your ears - whispers in a language just outside your understanding, the soft rustle of leaves on the wind, the unheard sound of trees growing heavensward and roots digging deep into the earth. A myriad of emotions offered to you on a silver platter, welcoming, mysterious, inviting, a promise of a future unseen, a past forgotten, and so, so much more. It would be //so// easy to let them consume you. To consume //them//. But you are here for a reason. //Lio//. <<nobr>><div class="choices"> <div class="choice"><span>1.</span> [[Continue.|roots3]]</div> </div><</nobr>>

Lio is not a tree or flower, and so a bridge between you and her can not be made, but some of these emotions are her own - fear, in the present; happiness, anger, annoyance, in the past; and pain, laughter and helplessness, in the future. The trees outside the window, swaying quietly in an unfelt wind, whisper them and a thousand more to you - yours, the herbalist’s, maybe even Mai’s and Naina’s, maybe someone else’s entirely -, flooding your conscience with their intensity, their meaning, though you can never grasp it all. Still, you feel each and every one of them, looking for a clue, a tip, something that will lead you to the moment that changed Lio’s life forever - the moment she fell prey to the wild. You cannot heal her as the herbalist can, but they are right - you can //find// the source of the curse and you can fight it. A flash of white teeth, of red against light brown skin, a sharp, insistent pain. You follow the emotion, tasting blood in your mouth, a flare of panic in the back of your throat, agony spreading through your right leg, because, //yes//, you have one. You look down to see your pants torn off at your right calf, blood leaking freely, the sting of tears in your eyes. Mother told you so many times not to play near the woods. The fox growls again. You sniff, stumbling back, but the beast stays under the shadow of the trees, fangs crimson with your blood, a cluster of lilac flowers blooming out of where its left eye should be. The animal steps forward, sunlight reflecting on one of its front legs, on the rough texture of its bark, the leaves there red, white, and so, so green… You emerge from the memory trembling, gasping, the pain of the bite still echoing through your bones. You blink, untangling yourself from Lio’s emotions, the sight of the monstrous fox still too strong, too real, the child’s scattered mind allowing you to see and feel so much more. You shudder. “The bite,” you spit out, still reeling. “She was bitten by a cursed animal. Right leg.” The herbalist doesn’t lose a second; they shift, tearing away the girl’s pants at the right calf, revealing the already healing wound left by the fox’s bite. It looks good enough, clean, as healthy as an animal bite can be, but the curse is rarely seen in wounds like this. It sinks deep into a host’s veins, spreading like a poisonous flower from the point of contact - sometimes it’s visible to the eye, sometimes not, and Lio’s skin is unblemished, clean. The curse is deep into her flesh. “Call it back,” the herbalist says, and you repress a grunt of annoyance, but you do as they say. You can’t just //call// it back, of course. No one, not even you, can command the wild, and right now it wants to devour Lio whole. As it is, you can only nudge her into falling back, using your connection to the forests of the Crowned Grove to convince, to incite, to //beg//, //please, stay away from her//. The wild doesn’t speak. You are pretty sure it doesn’t even listen, not in the usual sense of the word, but your magic is deeply entrenched into the wild’s, by nature and field of domain, and sometimes - //sometimes// - the wild… listens. Not consciously, you think. You are pretty sure it has no consciousness at all. It takes ages. Hours. Days, it feels like. Years. The little girl’s fear and pain is a constant companion, her confusion bolts of energy against your mind, her despair a bitter taste in your mouth. But you don’t back down, and slowly neither does she, and finally, //finally//, you feel the curse stop, then recede, then fall silent. You open your eyes to the warm light of a reddish sky, the afternoon slipping into the now quiet room to paint the walls in pinks and oranges. You are breathing hard, sweat in your brow and temples, fingers still curled around Lio’s bony wrist. <<nobr>><div class="choices"> <div class="choice"><span>1.</span> [[Continue.|done]]</div> </div><</nobr>>

“I will hold her down,” you say. “Compel her, if you can,” the herbalist says and you hate them just a little for knowing so well the extent of your powers despite you never, ever, having told them anything. "Anything will help." You position yourselves once the herbalist has managed to extract their hand from the little girl’s grasp; you move to her side by her head, hands ready to hold her down, while the herbalist hops on the bed, fingers hovering around Lio’s temples. “Ready?” You grimace once again and nod. The herbalist doesn’t give a warning; they press their fingertips against the girl’s head, closing their eyes, and their power unfurls from the point of contact, flooding Lio’s body, mind and soul with an unrelenting but careful wave of energy. It brushes against your own skin, foreign, alien, //not from the wild//, and you can’t help but cringe under its onslaught, the beast that is the wild inside of you raising its hackles. You scowl. But if it’s bad for you it’s even worse for Lio. The girl //screams//. She rages. She thrashes against the herbalist and you jump into action, holding her thin wrists down, her voice a constant shrill against your ears, reverberating through your head and chest. //It’s not her//, you tell yourself when the screams grow louder, less human, less sane. //It’s the wild//. The wild, clawing, raging, desperate to keep draining the girl, to keep consuming, eating, //devouring//. Just like it did to you. <<nobr>><div class="choices"> <div class="choice"><span>1.</span> [[Continue.|blood2]]</div> </div><</nobr>>

<<nobr>> <<set $magic['entries'][1]['unlocked'] to true>> <<notify 6s>>Journal entry //FAE MAGIC// unlocked.<</notify>> <</nobr>>“//$name//,” the herbalist hisses, and you take a deep breath, ignoring the shiver running down your body. You close your eyes, searching for the beast inside you, for that thread that connects you to the wild, to the Crowned Grove, to your powers as the briarheart - and then away, to something else half buried under it all, just as emaciated and still the wild’s, but different, once alien, once not the wild. The power your fae father gave you, still yours, still //there//. You refuse to think twice. You reach for it, and it //answers//. A bird sings outside the window. Bees buzz under the floorboards - you need to tell the herbalist about them later - and the herbalist’s fat cat lazes amongst the herbs in the garden, sun shining down on its fur. Their minds are bright against your conscience, insistent and welcoming, and for a moment you can almost feel them under your skin, stretching your muscles, burning under your teeth. The girl’s flailing is nothing to your newfound strength, and the smells and tastes of the little room flood your nose, your mouth, almost too much in their intensity. It would be //so// easy to let them consume you. To consume //them//. But you are here for a reason. //Lio//. <<nobr>><div class="choices"> <div class="choice"><span>1.</span> [[Continue.|blood3]]</div> </div><</nobr>>

Lio is not a beast of the forest, of the sky, of the water, but you can reach her - elves and the fae, and even the extinct humans, are still animals as far as your power is concerned, and so a bridge can be made. Her mind is not as bright, definitely not welcoming, and the thread between both of you is so thin you can barely feel it, but you extend your conscience to her, finding her body aflame, her mind in tatters - unfocused, scattered, scrambling under the wild’s relentless hunger, the curse eating its way into her body, mind and soul. You cannot heal her as the herbalist can, but they are right - you can //compel// her. It would never work if her mind was whole. You have no problem convincing a bird to perch on your shoulder or the fat cat in the garden to jump onto your lap for pets, but an elf like Lio is something else entirely. Maybe if your powers weren’t so mangled by the failure at the roots of the world; maybe if you had any training on how to use your fae magic and not only the wild’s; maybe if you were just a bit stronger… As it is, you can only nudge her into fighting back the curse, into refusing to fall against the wild’s crazed presence. It takes ages. Hours. Days, it feels like. Years. The little girl’s fear and pain is a constant companion, her confusion bolts of energy against your mind, her despair a bitter taste in your mouth. But you don’t back down, and slowly neither does she, and finally, //finally//, you feel the curse stop, then recede, then fall silent. You open your eyes to the warm light of a reddish sky, the afternoon slipping into the now quiet room to paint the walls in pinks and oranges. You are breathing hard, sweat in your brow and temples, fingers still curled around Lio’s bony wrists. You let her go and almost flinch when red marks reveal themselves from under your touch, proof of your unnatural, beastly strength. But she sleeps soundly now, expression relaxed, at peace. You push your guilt away. <<nobr>><div class="choices"> <div class="choice"><span>1.</span> [[Continue.|done]]</div> </div><</nobr>>

“It’s done,” the herbalist murmurs, leaning back. They look just as bad as you feel, tired, disheveled, pale. But their smile is blinding, happy, and with it the last dregs of tension melt away from your muscles. It //is// done. “You did well.” You almost preen under their approval. “It’s gone, then?” The herbalist’s smile falters and your stomach drops. “Not really,” they say. “She was brought to us too late. But it will not kill her and for now that is enough.” They sigh. “We can deal with whatever the wild throws at us later.” You hum in agreement, eyes on Lio’s tired face. Your wrist throbs. You ignore it, stomach still churning with the knowledge that the curse is still //there//, running through her veins, poisoning her even now. You don’t know many people who survived the curse without expelling it completely, though they do exist, of course. Some lose their strength, some their sanity, others go on to live long lives with only an unexplainable headache here and there. Some never speak again, or hear again. Some are more prone to bolts of deep sadness, of terrible anger. Some are just… not quite there anymore. It depends on how much the wild devoured, and //where//. You do not wish to be here when Lio wakes up. “I can take it from now,” the herbalist is saying. You force yourself to listen. “Mai and Naina are going to bring this house down on my head if I don’t go speak with them in the next three minutes. Then I will take care of Lio until she awakes. You’re free to go.” They look down at you, still perched on the bed. “I assume you are eager to go to the village.” <<nobr>><div class="choices"> <<if $told_vi is false>> <div class="choice"><span>1.</span> [[Continue.|doesnt know]]</div> <<else>> <div class="choice"><span>1.</span> [[Continue.|does know]]</div> <</if>> </div><</nobr>>

<<nobr>> <<set $people['entries'][1]['unlocked'] to true>> <<notify 6s>>Journal entry //KAISA// unlocked.<</notify>> <</nobr>>You stare back at them, confused. “What do you mean?” The herbalist tilts their head, a hint of surprise in their golden eyes. “Oh,” they say simply. “You don’t know yet.” Fear curls inside your chest. “What? What don’t I know?” The herbalist looks away. “I thought Vi would have told you.” They sigh, and you have the distinct impression they are forcing themselves to look at you, eyes a tiny bit darker. “Guards arrived in the village before the sun even rose this morning. A dozen of them, maybe. So well-armored you’d think they are after the Pale Demon themselves.” They pause. “They were looking for you, though.” You take in a sharp breath. //Royal guards?// Looking for //you//? A chill runs down your spine. //Mother.// “Who was leading them?” you ask sharply. The herbalist raises an eyebrow and you force yourself to calm down, the drum of your heartbeat waking the wild’s feeble magic in your blood. The pain in your wrist returns, burning, an acid eating away at your bones. “Sorry, I meant no… Do you know who was leading them?” And then, “Please.” The herbalist's impassive expression softens slightly. “You know who was leading them, $name. Who else but the First Commander?” Kaisa. //Here//. For //you//. <<if $heritage is "roots">>The wild hums. In the silence of the morning, the trees lean in your direction, branches swaying, whispers skittering the edge of your understanding, but emotions not your own - not your own //right now// - unfurl inside your chest; pain, hatred, joy, blossoming and withering in the blink of an eye. You shudder.<<elseif $heritage is "soil">>The wild hums. In the silence of the morning, the earth sighs beneath your bare feet, the sound a promise of secrets buried deep, of lives long lost still echoing throughout the dark, damp soil just waiting for an eager ear. You shudder.<<else>>The wild hums. In the silence of the morning, the beasts of the forest breathe and growl and sing, and you can feel them under your skin; tingling in your fingertips, itching along your teeth, scratching at the back of your throat. You shudder.<</if>> <<nobr>><div class="choices"> <div class="choice"><span>1.</span> [[Continue.|the_herbalist3]]</div> </div><</nobr>>

You stare back at them, confused, and then it clicks. “You already know about the guards.” The herbalist gives you a sad smile. //Vi//. You look away. You had forgotten about them amidst the stress of saving Lio’s life, but now the knowledge sits in your mind, barbed, thorny, slicing at you with every thought, every movement. Kaisa is in the village. Your mother wants you back. The kingdom calls for its briarheart yet again. The room suddenly feels //too// cramped, the afternoon too cold. You shiver. <<nobr>><div class="choices"> <div class="choice"><span>1.</span> [[Continue.|the_herbalist3]]</div> </div><</nobr>>

<<nobr>> <<set $people['entries'][4]['description'].push("And isn't that strange? How come you've lived with them for years and yet never, not once, wandered about ther true name? How come no villager has ever wondered the same, suspicious as they are of outsiders?")>> <<set $people['entries'][4]['description'].push("Because the herbalist is an outsider, right?")>> <<set $people['entries'][4]['description'].push("Their magic says so. They are not fae, you are sure of that, and they //look// like an elf, but the power shimmering beneath their skin says otherwise. They heal like a fae would, but aren't fae; they look like an elf would, but aren't one; what, then, is the herbalist?")>> <<set $people['entries'][4]['description'].push("You are not sure you want to know.")>> <<notify 6s>>Journal entry //THE HERBALIST// updated.<</notify>> <</nobr>>The herbalist’s voice yanks you from your thoughts. “Are you going to run?” Your head snaps in their direction, surprise chasing away the cold inside your chest. The herbalist stares back at you, gold eyes shimmering, and for a moment you stop and //really// look at them - at their russet brown skin, pale hair, soft, almost too pretty face. Their ears are pointed, of course, but no horns or antlers protrude from their head, no scales dust their cheeks, no claws adorn their fingers. An elf, just like Vi or Mai and the villagers, like the little girl on the bed… but you’ve heard of fae folk who look just like elves too, and still, even then it’s said it’s possible to tell. That the fae are still //not the wild//, still strange. Foreign. Elves are too deeply connected to the Crowned Grove to not recognize them as //not their own//. And still, here the herbalist is, fully aware of who you truly are. You’ve been so careful. <<if $told_vi is true>>Vi only knows because you told her, but you never even considered telling the herbalist.<<else>>You’ve told no one, not Vi, not the herbalist.<</if>> Too much hinged on them accepting you as their apprentice, and you could never be sure they just wouldn’t throw you away, wouldn’t force you to start over //again//. But you should’ve known something was wrong. The herbalist can heal without blood magic and yet they are not fae. They should not know who you are and yet they do. //What are you?// is the question in your tongue, but you swallow it back, wincing at its bitterness. You think back to the rumors about refugees from distant kingdoms and how some could survive with their dead world’s magic still in their hearts, about how a few elves from the Eyrie went on to live under the wild’s protection while still nursing the fiery power of their fallen kingdom… Maybe the herbalist is one of them. Maybe they are something else. You’ve never stopped to ask yourself their name. You are not sure you want to know. <<nobr>><div class="choices"> <div class="choice"><span>1.</span> [[Continue.|the_herbalist4]]</div> </div><</nobr>>

“Do you think I could?” is all you say after a long, tense pause. You are not looking at them anymore. “Run, I mean.” The herbalist snorts. “From the First Commander? I don’t think so.” <<if $told_vi is false>>Your lips curl into something resembling a smile, but you can’t bring yourself to say anything. The herbalist is right - it is too late to run. A wild, terrified part of you almost expects to see Kaisa in the doorway, pushing back the curtains to get a look at you, her failed briarheart, and for a moment the feeling is so real it freezes the blood in your veins. You are not sure you ever want to see Kaisa again. Or any of your siblings, even Isra. Or, worse still, your mother. “If it’s worth anything, I’m glad you didn’t leave, be it by choice or not,” the herbalist says quietly. You look up to see them watching Lio, a small smile on their lips. “She would have died otherwise.” They glance at you. “What are you going to do now?”<<else>>Your lips curl into something resembling a smile. “You are right, of course. If I were to run, I should have done it before coming here.” “I’m glad you didn’t,” the herbalist says quietly. You look up to see them watching Lio, and their expression softens, losing some of its staged calm. “She would have died otherwise.” They glance at you. “What are you going to do now?”<</if>> The false smile turns bitter. “Go to the village, of course. If I run, I can still catch the market open. There are a few seeds I need to buy for the garden. Yours and mine.” Your stomach protests. “And I //am// ravenous. We did miss lunch, and I didn’t eat anything for breakfast.” The herbalist’s golden eyes are sad, almost pitying, but with a hint of understanding. You can’t bear to look at them any longer. So you leave. <<nobr>><div class="choices"> <div class="choice"><span>1.</span> [[Continue.|end]]</div> </div><</nobr>>

this is the end of this part of chapter 1!!! more to come, hopefully soon!

<<nobr>><<set $location to "Ashentree">> <<set $title to "chapter one">> <<set $year to "879">><</nobr>><h2>act 01</h2> <h2>[[blood, freely given|ch01]]</h2>

Are you sure you want to go to the main menu? You will lose all unsaved progress. <<link 'Yes'>><<script>>Engine.restart()<</script>><</link>>

You prefer to be referred to as a <span class="cycle"><<cycle "$child" autoselect>><<option "child">><<option "boy">><<option "girl">><</cycle>></span>. You prefer <span class="cycle"><<cycle "$them" autoselect>><<option "them">><<option "him">><<option "her">><</cycle>></span> pronouns. <<nobr>>The mark on your forehead is the <span class="cycle"><<cycle "$mark" autoselect>> <<option "rose">> <<option "lily">> <<option "tulip">> <<option "orchid">> <<option "carnation">> <<option "hydrangea">> <<option "daffodil">> <<option "marigold">> <<option "lotus">> <<option "dahlia">> <<option "chrysanthemum">> <<option "camellia">> <<option "iris">> <<option "daisy">> <<option "sunflower">> <</cycle>></span><</nobr>> <<nobr>>Your hair is <span class="cycle"><<cycle "$hair_texture" autoselect>> <<option "straight">> <<option "wavy">> <<option "curly">> <<option "coily">> <</cycle>></span> and <span class="cycle"><<cycle "$hair_color" autoselect>> <<option "auburn">> <<option "red">> <<option "white">> <<option "gray">> <<option "black">> <<option "dark brown">> <<option "brown">> <<option "silver">> <<option "gold">> <<option "pale gold">> <</cycle>></span>. You have a <span class="cycle"><<cycle "$freckles" autoselect>><<option "freckled">><<option "clear">><</cycle>></span> skin.<</nobr>> <<nobr>>Your eyes are <span class="cycle"><<cycle "$eye_color" autoselect>> <<option "gray">> <<option "blue">> <<option "green">> <<option "violet">> <<option "brown">> <<option "black">> <<option "hazel">> <<option "gold">> <</cycle>></span> and your skin is <span class="cycle"><<cycle "$skin_color" autoselect>> <<option "ivory">> <<option "beige">> <<option "golden brown">> <<option "brown">> <<option "deep brown">> <<option "black">> <</cycle>></span>.<</nobr>> You have <span class="cycle"><<cycle "$extras" autoselect>><<option "scales">><<option "fangs and claws">><</cycle>></span> and <span class="cycle"><<cycle "$horns" autoselect>><<option "horns">><<option "antlers">><</cycle>></span>. What is your name? <<textbox "$name" "Roma">> And what power has your fae blood given you? <<nobr>><div class="choices"> <div class="choice"><span>1.</span> <<link "The power over roots - all that which grows from the earth, and all the secrets they can tell you." "cc_review">><<set $heritage to "roots">><</link>></div> <div class="choice"><span>2.</span> <<link "The power over soil - over the dead and the dying, and the healing that comes with it." "cc_review">><<set $heritage to "soil">><</link>></div> <div class="choice"><span>3.</span> <<link "The power over blood - over the beasts of the forest and their many, many weapons." "cc_review">><<set $heritage to "blood">><</link>></div> </div><</nobr>>