Blinking the last remnants of sleep from your eyes, you sit up. The sun-warmed earth beneath you gently coats your fur. You stand, brush yourself off, and look around [[your room]].
(set:$clotheson to false)You stand in a small dirt room, walls dug out before you were born. Dried roots jut out in places, running through the walls and holding the loose material in place. [[Your clothes]] lie in a pile in the far corner, laid out the night before. Through a crack in your [[front door]], lamplight from the burrow hall spills onto your floor, showing a speckling trail of dust in the air.You laid out your tunic, trousers, and cloak before you slept, preparing for another long day of work. They are rough and worn, but they keep you warm and blend well into the underbrush outside Barley's Burrow. A good fit for a gatherer such as yourself. You slip them on before turning your focus back to [[your room]].
(set: $clotheson to true)(if:$clotheson is true)[Ready to start your day, you pull open the door and brace for Barley's Burrow's [[gathering district]].]
(if:$clotheson is false)[You should not leave [[your room]] without getting dressed.]The gathering district of Barley's Burrow is by no means special, but to you it is home. Dim lamps hang from thick root segments in the ceiling, casting eerie, flickering shadows over the halls. You hear chatter from farther down the tunnel, the usual bartering and bickering of the [[market]] having already begun. It would be nice to not speak to anyone this morning, you think, but there might not be an alternative. Although the district is not wealthy, trade is common among the gatherers. From berries and nuts to tools and lamp resin, they sell anything a working mouse might need. Looking forward to the tunnel to the surface, you spot a stall of honeyed raspberries. [[Brother Meriall]], being the heir to the Gatherer's Warden, was not in any way poor. He could afford luxuries like honey from the higher tunnels, and he wanted to make sure that everymouse knew it.
[[Steal one]]
[[Keep walking]]Being a very large mouse, it is clear that he is well-fed. His status afforded him a comfortable life, as shown by the soft fabrics that he wore and the delicious foods he could sell in his stalls. If one had the honour of being invited to his home, they would surely be greeted by woven rugs, wooden chairs, and beautifully coloured lanterns. You have never had the honour though, and you feel grateful for this. You turn your attention back to the [[market]]. Your stomach rumbles. He wouldn't miss just ''one'' berry.
(set: $roll to (random: 1, 6))
(if:$roll is < 4)[Walking past the delicious-smelling stall, you reach out, hoping to snatch some breakfast. You are interrupted by a swift swat to the paw, leaving a sharp sting.
"Really, Bram? Stealing? I didn't think you were that down on your luck! If you want food, here's some advice. Do your job."
Your whiskers burn with embarassment, and you wander towards the [[highward tunnel]], mumbling your apologies.]
(if:$roll is > 3)[Walking past the delicious-smelling stall, you reach out, hoping to snatch some breakfast. You find a perfect raspberry, out of Merriall's view, grabbing it up and walking casually away. No one is the wiser. You carry on to the [[highward tunnel]].(set: $hasBerry to true)]
You decide that it would be best to keep your paws to yourself. You carry on walking without a word to anyone else. As the traders fade into the distance behind you, so too does the ringing in your ears from their voices. You soon find yourself at the [[highward tunnel]].Granules of dirt stick to your paws as you make your way upward. You pass by a few layers of dwellings and markets, waving hello to other folk beginning their days. The eerie light of the hanging lanterns is quickly replaced by the warm, familiar glow of sunlight. You slow your pace slightly as you feel the chilled air from the [[entrance]].As you duck under the low-hanging opening to the mound that covers Barley's Burrow, the usual rush of sun-baked warmth is cut short by a sharp chill in the breeze. Normally, the summer heat stays for a few more weeks before the omen season arrives, but here it is, the telltale smell of must and decay, the shudder in your spine when the wind blows, the greying orange leaves hiding the food you stake your life on being able to find. Your heart sinks a little as you set out for your usual [[foraging spot]].
(set:$hasMushrooms to false)
(set:$hasStrawberries to false)
(set:$hasFlowers to false)Your usual gathering place is a tiny grove filled with [[small bushes]] and mossy [[fallen logs]]. It is not the best spot, certainly not anywhere near as fruitful as Merriall's, but it typically brings you just enough to feed your few customers. Unfortunate mice like you, without much money, just trying to get by. They don't pay much, but they pay enough, and you all survive and make your way in the world. With weather like this however, it would be a challenge to find enough food for everyone. Turning your nose to the wind, you catch three distinct smells apart from the rotting stench of the [[leaves]].
Follow the [[sweet smell]].
Follow the [[earthy smell]].
Follow the [[tangy smell]].
Head [[home]].
(set: $roll to (random: 1, 6))
(if:$roll is < 4)[Following the sweet smell on the air, you are drawn to a small pile of leaves nestled under a decently-sized rock. It appears some other mouse tried to hide their find here. Opening the crumbling bundle, you find three strawberries, red and juicy. Your stomach rumbles, but you know better than to eat your customer's food. You tuck the berries into the sack slung over your back and turn back to the [[foraging spot]].
(set: $hasStrawberries to true)]
(if:$roll is > 3)[Following the sweet smell on the air, you are drawn to a small pile of leaves nestled under a decently-sized rock. Moving them to the side, your hopefullness is quickly replaced by sadness as you find nothing underneath but two strawberry stems. You turn back to the [[foraging spot]].
(set: $hasStrawberries to false)](set: $roll to (random: 1, 6))
(if:$roll is < 4)[An earthy scent forces its way into your snout, past the must of the leaves. Following it to the source, you find a graying tree, slick with green moss. Looking closer, you find a hollow in the base, the home of four thriving wide-capped mushrooms. You snatch them up quickly, the snap of their stems ringing in your ears brighter than any Warden's coin purse. Content with your find, you turn back to your [[foraging spot]].
(set: $hasMushroom to true)]
(if:$roll is > 3)[An earthy scent forces its way into your snout, past the must of the leaves. Following it to the source, you find a graying tree, slick with green moss. Looking closer, you find a hollow in the base, home to a small beetle. You watch sadly as it munches on the remains of a mushroom stem. Each crunch stings with the guilt of not being able to provide for the Murkroots this week. You hurry back to your [[foraging spot]].
(set: $hasMushroom to false)](set: $roll to (random: 1, 6))
(if:$roll is < 4)[Turning your nose to the tangy scent on the air, you follow it to a small pool of murky water surrounded by green ferns and wilting flowers. Picking through the blooms, you find a bunch of purplebuds, a flower known for its biting taste. The Nettlefoots in particular loved this plant. You tuck it into your sack and quickly return to the [[foraging spot]].
(set: $hasFlowers to true)]
(if:$roll is > 3)[Turning your nose to the tangy scent on the air, you follow it to a small pool of murky water surrounded by green ferns and wilting flowers. Picking through the blooms, you find nothing but wilted purplebuds. The Nettlefoots may find themselves with an empty table this week. You turn guiltily back to the [[foraging spot]].
(set: $hasFlowers to false)]In the chill of the air, it is clear that the bushes near Barley's Burrow are feeling the coming of the Omen. Any leaves or buds have either begun to wilt or have fallen off completely, sitting on the forest floor like a tragic reminder of the way of the world. What was once a lovely sight, a place for young mice to play, even, has become a grim reminder of what might become of you and your friends. A reminder of how important your duties are at the [[foraging spot]].The leaves on the ground are missing their usual crunch. As you make your weekly march through your [[foraging spot]], you notice the replacement of the satisfying crumbling of leaves with a soft squelching sound. The rapidly approaching Omen seems determined to drain the joy from every aspect of this endeavour.All around you, logs lie rotting, the corpses of trees that once towered far above your forest. Moss and termites ravage their insides, showing themselves in jagged parts torn by time and rain. You think it might be time for a break.
Leaving your sack against a nearby tree, you take a running leap, landing square at the soft edge of the closest log. The patter of paws on wood fills your ears as you scurry quickly, as fast as you can, down the length of the log, before hurling yourself off the other side, crashing into a pile of leaves on the ground. You smile to yourself for a moment, then the must of the leaves reminds you to return to the task at hand. You walk back to the [[foraging spot]].Tying up your sack and throwing it over your shoulder, you think it best to return home. You make your way down the same rotting forest path to the mound marking the entrance to Barley's Burrow. You climb silently down the tunnel to the gathering district. The dim light of the lanterns grants relief to your eyes after the brightness of the sunlight. Pushing open the door to your room with a loud creak, you drop your sack in the corner. You hang your cloak on the back of the door, lay on your dirt floor, and drift into [[sleep]].(align:"=><=")[(text-style:"underline")[Chapter Two
[[Crawl out of bed]]]](align:"=><=")[(text-style:"underline")[Chapter One
[[Wake up]]]]Blinking a deep sleep from your eyes, you crawl lazily out of bed. Not a single part of you feels ready to face the day, but you move forward anyway, turning your attention to your [[room]]. You miss waking up to sun-warmed earth. This hard, frozen ground affords no comfort, no joy.
(set: $hasClothes to false)Your room lies completely in disarray. Your belongings, once stored nicely in boxes or sacks, are now strewn across the cold dirt floor. Scratches mark your walls, drawing your eyes back to your shoddily patched, splintered [[door]]. With the quick onset of winter, everyone scrambled to find food, ransacking every home they could find, regardless of whether or not food was actually there.
You feel a deep guilt creep its way up your spine. If you had worked a little harder, found a little more food, maybe you could have helped. You know this is not true, but that fact does little to console you.
Lying atop a crate next to you are your [[tunic, trousers, and cloak]]. The dirty wood grain of the crate peeks through the holes that have worn through the fabric.
(if:$hasClothes is true)[Mentally preparing yourself for the gathering district, you approach the battered door. Careful to not pull apart the fraying boards, you tug it open with a creak, stepping out into the dark [[hallway]].]
(if:$hasClothes is false)[In your half-awake state, you stumble towards the door before remembering that mice tend to appreciate when you leave your [[room]] clothed.]Stiffly, you pick up your tunic and trousers, shrugging them on over your matted fur. Without bathing water, the frozen season always came with a disgusting, itching feeling. Turning your eyes to your ripped cloak, you remember the reason for its state of disrepair. Images flash in your mind of the mouse who broke your door. The unbridled fear in his eyes. The light fading from those same eyes as he lay on your floor.
You slip your cloak over your shoulders and turn back to your [[room]].
(set: $hasClothes to true)Where lanterns once illuminated this hall, only darkness can be seen. The resin has run dry and the glasses lie empty. The chatter from the [[gatherer's district]] has died, and in its place is an eerie silence, the creak of frozen roots and the occasional pawstep being the only sounds you can hear. Approaching the main square, you remember the steady decline of crowds. Where there were stands and shops selling berries, nuts, and roots, instead there is an empty square, barely even reminiscent of a gathering place. In the center, someone has placed a wooden board to carry [[memorials]] of those who have passed. A soft [[sobbing]] farther down the tunnel grabs your attention.None of the memorial pages in the [[gatherer's district]] are new to you. Although you know how little it helps to visit the board every day, you do it anyway. You need the reminder of those you've lost, especially those who you might have helped.
(if: $hasStrawberries is false)[A crumpled piece of parchment is nailed to the upper left corner of the board. It reads:
"My poor son, I am so sorry for what I have done. I failed you, and in doing so, failed myself. I will carry this shame forever.
All the love I can muster and more,
Mom"]
(if: $hasFlowers is false)[A well maintained page inscribed with doodles of flowers sits dead center on the board. It reads:
"Dearest Breanna and Portann Nettlefoot. I will never forget what you have taught me, but I am not sure how much longer I have. I cannot find food. I am cold. I am scared. I will see you soon."]
(if: $hasMushroom is false)[A tattered bit of parchment reads:
"Beloved Tanya and Dirk, the Murkroots will be with us always. Their undying love for those around them did not go unnoticed and will never be forgotten. I miss you already."
It is stained with tears.]
Pushing guilt from your mind, you push on farther down the tunnel, towards the persistent sobbing. Rounding a bend, you see a young mouse, Victoria, sat just outside her door. She had lost her parents to a violent break-in, leaving her to fend for herself. Noticing your approach, she looks up at you, tears streaking down her salt and pepper fur.
"Please," she says, one paw on her stomach, the grime soaked deep into her tunic's fabric. "I'm so hungry. Do you have anything to spare?"
(if: $hasBerry is true)[[Give her the last of your food]]
[[Give her nothing]]Pulling a crumpled package from your cloak, you reveal a small piece of the raspberry you stole so long ago. You take a deep breath before offering it to her. She quickly snatches it from your paws, scarfing it down before you can take back your offer.
"Thank you sir," she says softly. "It's hard to sleep. My tummy rumbles so loud I think the neighbours can hear."
Her sobs and sniffles become fewer and farther between. This sort of life can't continue. The people of Barley's Burrow deserve better than freezing cold and the starvation of children. If no one would do anything to help, you would have to at least [[try]].As you shake your head slowly, her sobs grow louder. She looks up at you, then back to the ground as she continues her crying. The same guilt from earlier crawls its way up your spine, tugging on your heart and prying its way into your brain. This sort of life cannot be allowed to continue. The people of Barley's Burrow deserve better than freezing cold and starving children. If no one would do anything to help, you would have to [[try]].The rest of your day is uneventful, your time primarily spent grieving and feeling sorry for those you could not help. You eventually wander back to your room and drift into sleep. As you fade away, your eyes come to rest on the blade of your needle, poking out from behind a box in the corner. You might need it [[tomorrow]].(align:"=><=")[(text-style:"underline")[Chapter Three
[[Pick yourself up]]]]Shaking the snow from your fur, you stand up and assess your surroundings. You had found a tree hollow to sleep in, the first solid shelter you had seen since leaving the forest around Barley's Burrow. After a few days of travel, your supplies are dwindling, but you have not yet lost hope. The smell of smoke draws your attention to the remaining embers of your fire. Stomping it out, you pick up the last of your gear. You sling your sack over your shoulder, slip your needle onto your belt, and step out from the warmth of your hollow into the [[frozen wilderness]].The forest around you is still. The only sound in your ears is the occasional whistle of wind through the barren branches of the trees around you. After leaving home with no destination in mind, you now feel a little lost, the tall wooden pillars and endless mounds of snow blending into each other. What were you thinking, leaving relative warmth and safety, thinking of all mice, you would be the one to make a change?
A sudden ''CAW'' breaks your spiral. Snapping your eyes to the grey skies above you, you spot a [[dark spot]] circling above. It dips and whirls between branches, spinning rhythmically as though putting on a show. Seemingly as though it knows you can see it, it begins to fly [[north]]. Growing up, you had heard stories of crows from the Burrow elders. They were ancient creatures, quick as a hawk, deadly as a wolf, and wiser than all others. The elders used to either burn crow feathers when they found them, or keep all others from touching them. When set ablaze, their smoke was said to reveal secrets from the future, but it was also said that any feather a crow loses will be found again, no matter who has taken it. All your life, you had been taught to avoid these terrifying creatures, but now it seems to be your only choice. If it is truly a wise creature, it must know something you do not.
You snap back to reality out of the fog of remembrance, bringing your attention back to the [[frozen wilderness]].You set out to the north, following closely behind the soaring crow. It seems to slow its wingbeats enough to stay just ahead of you as it leads you farther and farther through the dead trees, bare bushes, and snowy rocks. You feel the squelch of rotted leaves below your paws, reminding you of the speed at which the winter set in. By now, any doubt has left your mind that this is natural weather. Whatever is behind the early winter, the death of your friends, you are determined to find it, and if crows truly are wise, your new guide knows something.
A [[sharp voice]] breaks your trail of thought."Stop right there!" comes a surprisingly squeaky voice.
Looking closely, you can make out three figures in snow-covered cloaks, tattered and torn by the elements. In their hands are sharpened rocks and sticks, crude weapons that no self-respecting mouse would carry, even out of necessity. These are rats.
"Hand over your food!" comes another shout. "Or does this have to get nasty?" The one in front pats his grimy paw on the head of his makeshift spear.
[[Fight back]]
[[Run past]]
(set: $isHurt to false)(set: $roll to (random: 1, 6))
(if:$roll is < 5)[Dropping your sack to the snow at your feet, you draw your needle from your belt. The pristine metal shines, despite the timid sun, earning some frightened looks from the rats in front of you.
"You rat bastards!" you yell, charging forwards into battle.
As the leader lunges forwards with his spear, you try to knock it to the side, slipping on a patch of ice. The tip nicks your shoulder, drawing a thin line of blood. You manage to get past his guard, catching him in the chest with your needle. As you look up from your first kill, the second rat's crude club catches the side of your head, knocking you to the ground. Scrambling to your feet, you narrowly avoid the jumping strike of the third rat, sending a cloud of snow into the air. You run forwards through the cloud, and in doing so swing furiously, catching one rat in the neck before cutting the other across the face. Red sprays across the snow, and as the cloud settles, the three of them lie in front of you. They struggle for a minute before lying still. You bask in the warmth of [[victory]], looking up at the crow who, in turn, watches you from a high branch.
(set: $isHurt to true)]
(if:$roll is > 4)[Dropping your sack to the snow at your feet, you draw your needle from your belt. The pristine metal shines, despite the timid sun, earning some frightened looks from the rats in front of you.
"You rat bastards!" you yell, charging forwards into battle.
As the leader lunges forwards with his spear, you knock it to the side, slipping past his defenses and thrusting your needle through his chest. With a wheezing sigh, he drops to the ground, the snow turning red around him. The others quickly leap towards you, their crude clubs swinging down towards your skull. As you roll swiftly to the side, their strikes send snow flying up in all directions. Scrambling forwards through the cloud, you swing furiously, catching one in the neck before cutting the other across the face. Red sprays across the snow, and as the cloud settles, the three of them lie in front of you. They struggle for a minute before lying still. You bask in the warmth of [[victory]], looking up at the crow who, in turn, watches you from a high branch.](set: $roll to (random: 1, 6))
(if:$roll is < 3)[You hold your sack tightly, preparing for what is to come. As the rats approach, you set off sprinting without a word, trying to dodge their attacks. The leader's makeshift spear catches you in the shoulder, drawing blood as it tears through cloak and skin alike. You frantically scramble away, narrowly avoiding the two others and their furious club attacks. Adrenaline coursing through your veins, you run faster, and after a minute, you can no longer hear their shouts of barbarous rage. Looking to the sky, you can see the crow [[carrying on]] to the north after looking back at you, as though saying "Follow me".
(set: $isHurt to true)]
(if:$roll is > 2)[You hold your sack tightly, preparing for what is to come. As the rats approach, you set off sprinting without a word, ducking under their furious attacks with ease. A spear is thrust past your head, followed by two clumsy club strikes that are easily avoided. After a minute of running, you can no longer hear their shouts of barbarous rage. Looking to the sky, you can see the crow [[carrying on]] to the north after looking back at you, as though saying "Follow me".]At first glance, the rats do not have anything of value on them. As you are about to return to walking, an unusual stone catches your eye. Poking out from the leader's cloak is a flat piece of slate, carved with strange swirls and markings. You are not quite able to place why, but you feel as though you should keep this object. You tuck it into your sack before [[carrying on]] north.
(set: $hasFlameStone to true)With your belongings intact, you push onwards, following your mysterious guide through the snowy wasteland. After hours of freezing snow and biting wind, the bird swoops into a hollow in what appears to be a dead willow tree. You approach cautiously, wary of the tricks this creature may try to play on you. As you near the base of the tree and search for a way up, a twine [[rope]] drops from the hollow, smacking your head on the way down. Better than nothing, you suppose.Tying your sack around your shoulders, you wrap your paws firmly around the rope and begin to climb. Normally, this task would be daunting for you, but with your heart pounding, adrenaline coursing through your veins, you make your way up through winding branches to the [[hollow]], bracing yourself for whatever you may find inside.Pulling yourself into the hollow, your heart skips a beat as you see the wonders kept inside. Stacks of parchments reaching more than halfway up the walls, piles of various trinkets, assorted berries, and most breathtakingly, a massive crow.
"Greetings, mouse," it speaks calmly. "Those who would speak to me have taken to calling me Burlap. Make yourself at ease, breathe for a moment."
In the dim light, its black feathers are haunting, appearing almost foggy as you look on in astonishment. It towers above you, talons scraping along the wooden floor almost as large as you. You obey.
"You would not seek me out without reason. Your efforts have certainly earned you some answers. What knowledge do you require?"
"What is behind the winter?" you ask, breath ragged from the climb.
"Take a look," it says, sliding a sheet of [[parchment]] across the floor with one talon. Looking closer at the sheet, you see an assortment of scribbles rambling on about ancient creatures. The one drawing that stands out to you is one of a great furred demon, slumbering as long as it can. Its fangs poke out from its lips, bringing to mind images of what might happen to the prey of a creature such as this.
"This," Burlap explains, "is what is known as a Bear. Specifically a Cave Bear, the most vicious sort. In the warmer months, they hunt anything that breathes and gather berries whenever they can. They have become lazy, however, and have decided that they will sleep longer this year. Through their raw power, as long as they are sleeping, winter will not end, so as not to earn their ire. If you wish for this winter to end, for your people to eat again, you must find them and wake them."
You blink for a moment, trying to process this new information. How are you supposed to not only find ancient demons, but then wake them from their slumber that not even the seasons would dare interrupt? The crow takes note of your thinking.
"You will find tools along the journey that will aid you. So it is written, so it will come to pass. You have found one, you will find more."
"I have?" you ask, bewildered. You then remember the [[strange stone]] from earlier, pulling it from your sack.The carved slate now appears different somehow, the swirls and patterns seeming less artistic and more like writing. Visions flash behind your eyes of bright light and roaring flames, and your fur bristles with a new warmth.
"You have found a sacred stone," he speaks. "An ancient vessel for primordial power. This one in particular allows a control over flames. Where once you feared the cold and the threats residing in it, you will now know safety. Speak the words aloud, produce me a flame, mouse."
Hands trembling, you speak what you can make out of the words in the slate. The words seem gutteral, rumbling in the back of your throat, but as you speak more and more, an orange light begins to form between your paws. As you reach the end, the slate glows for a moment before dimming. Suddenly, a roaring flame erupts in your hands, bathing the room in beautiful oranges and yellows. [[Burlap]] looks down, admiring the golden tint on his feathers."Look what has become of you, little mouse. Once nothing but a gatherer, now a hero. There is nothing else I can give you, but I will be with you for the remainder of your journey. This is terribly exciting, and I'm afraid I have nothing else for me to do these days."
"Thank you for your help, oh great crow," you say, kneeling. "I will do what I can."
"No," says the crow, plainly. "You will do what you must. Continue north, hero."
With that, the crow leaps through the hollow's opening, taking to the sky. You do not know what lies in store for you [[next]], but you face it proudly, with newfound confidence.
(align:"=><=")[(text-style:"underline")[Thank you for playing! Your journey will continue soon!]]