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SHATTERED EARTH

Made in SugarCube 2.34.1.

<center><h2>•☽────✧ $name $lastname ✧────☾•</h2></center> <center><small>//A Human.//</small></center> ---- <center><h2>•☽────✧ APPEARANCE ✧────☾•</h2></center> <<if $charactercreation>>You are <<if $height == 1>>very short<<elseif $height == 2>>of average height<<elseif $height == 3>>slightly above average height<<else>>very tall<</if>>. You have $eyecolor eyes, <<if $hairlength > 1>>which are framed by your $haircolor, $hairtype, <<if $hairlength == 2>>mid-length<<elseif $hairlength == 3>>long<</if>> locks. <<else>>and your hair has been shorn down to the scalp. <</if>><<if $freckles>>Across your nose is a smattering of freckles. <</if>><<if $scars>>Several scars run across your face, deep and clawlike. <</if>>Your skin is $skincolor. <<if $body == "andro">>Your body is neither overtly feminine nor masculine—your chest is flat and unassuming, your hips and shoulders are unpronounced.<<elseif $body == "masc">>You have a masculine body, all squares and hard lines.<<else>>You have a feminine body, soft and worldly.<</if>> You identify as $gender. Your pronouns are $She/$Them.<<else>>//Check back later!//<</if>> ---- <center><h2>•☽────✧ STATS ✧────☾•</h2></center> <center><small>//Who I am, though that doesn't necessarily dictate what I'll do.//</small></center> <span class="guard"><div class="stat-bar-group">\ <div class="stat-bar-container">\ <div class="stat-bar-overlay-left">Guard $guard%</div>\ <div class="stat-bar-overlay-right"></div>\ <div class="stat-bar" id="guard-stat"></div></div></div></span>\ <span class="arrogant"><div class="stat-bar-group">\ <div class="stat-bar-container">\ <div class="stat-bar-overlay-left">Arrogance $arrogant%</div>\ <div class="stat-bar-overlay-right"></div>\ <div class="stat-bar" id="arrogant-stat"></div></div></div></span>\ <span class="tactful"><div class="stat-bar-group">\ <div class="stat-bar-container">\ <div class="stat-bar-overlay-left">Observant $tactful%</div>\ <div class="stat-bar-overlay-right"></div>\ <div class="stat-bar" id="tactful-stat"></div></div></div></span>\ <span class="selfha"><div class="stat-bar-group">\ <div class="stat-bar-container">\ <div class="stat-bar-overlay-left">Self-loathing $selfha%</div>\ <div class="stat-bar-overlay-right"></div>\ <div class="stat-bar" id="selfha-stat"></div></div></div></span>\ ---- <center><<link "Return" $return>><</link>></center>

<<link "Profile" "Profile">><</link>> <<if State.metadata.get("persistentmetavett") == true>><<link "Codex" "Codex">><</link>><</if>> <<if $imnotready>><<link "Memories" "Memories">><</link>><</if>> <<link "Credits" "Credits">><</link>> <<if tags().includes("game-info")>><<link "Back to Game">><<goto $return>><</link>><</if>>

<<script>> var passages = document.getElementById("passages"); passages.scrollTop = 0; <</script>>

<<set $chapter to "">> <<set $seekercodex to false>> <<set $imnotready to true>> <<set $flavor to 1>> <<set $miscvariable to 1>> <<set $miscvariable2 to 1>> <<set $truefalse to false>> <<set $mcdrink to "">> /*MC*/ <<set $guard to 50>> <<set $tactful to 50>> <<set $selfha to 75>> <<set $arrogant to 50>> <<set $class to 1>> /*1 = caster 2 = frontliner 3 = arms specialist*/ <<set $aether to 0>> <<set $combat to 0>> <<set $name to "">> <<set $lastname to "">> <<set $permasober to false>> <<set $favcolor to "lol">> <<set $She to "She"; $she to "she"; $Her to "Her"; $her to "her"; $Hers to "Hers"; $hers to "hers"; $them to "her"; $Them to "Her"; $Shes to "She's"; $shes to "she's"; $woman to "woman"; $plural to true; $gender to "female"; $body to "fem">> /*hairlength 1 = shaved 4 = long*/ <<set $hairtype to "a"; $hairlength = 1; $eyecolor to "a"; $skincolor to "a"; $haircolor to "a"; $skincolour to "a"; $freckles to false; $scars to false; $height = 1; $sexhistory = 1>> <<set $charactercreation to false>> <<set $ditrauma to 1>> /*entity*/ <<set $entity to "https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/934767936961404960/1159411606862704670/entityfemicon.png?ex=6530ed33&is=651e7833&hm=00032c1c282161703222fc7e5afca28de51664b42120c0d07575caf87ac034c0&">> <<set $He to "He"; $he to "he"; $Him to "Him"; $him to "him"; $His to "His"; $his to "his"; $Ditheirs to "His"; $ditheirs to "his"; $Hes to "He's"; $hes to "he's"; $diplural to true; $digender to "male">> /*end entity*/ /*Avett*/ <<set $avettaffect to 15>> <<set $punchedavett to false>> <<set $threatenavett to false>> <<set $sisandpa to false>> <<set $flirtedavett to false>> <<set $avettchores to false>> <<set $avettnamecalled to false>> /*Yuda*/ <<set $yudaaffect to 15>> <<set $flirtedyuda to false>> <<set $yudavile = 1>> <<set $yudachores to false>> /*Ysh*/ <<set $yshaffect to 15>> <<set $yshchores to false>> /*Auren*/ <<set $aurenaffect to 15>> <<set $aurenchores to false>> /*PERSISTENT MEMORIES DELETE LATER*/ <<=State.metadata.set("finalending") == 1>> <<=State.metadata.set("veilresolution") == 1>> <<=State.metadata.set("persistentavettlover", false)>>

Created, written, and designed by Sophie Wu / potadd. <ul> </ul> CSS and general coding assistance by Aidymouse. <ul> </ul> Assets <ul> <li>Banner assets <a href="https://www.canva.com/">Canva</a></li> <li>Fonts <a href="https://fonts.google.com/">Google fonts</a></li> <li>Background <a href="https://unsplash.com/photos/ffn0djHxcQQ?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditShareLink">Unsplash</a></li> </ul> <<link "Return" $return>><</link>>

ORANGE: Game info - character page, codex, credits. Populate these with what you like. GREEN: UI & game set-up elements. These can be edited to suit your needs. RED: Code. Everything in these passages should be labelled; things might break if you mess with them.

An interactive fiction game by potadd

<style> #ui-bar {display:none;} #passages {max-width:100vw;width:100vw;margin:0;background-image:var(--banner-top),var(--banner-bottom);background-repeat:no-repeat;background-size:50%;background-position:top center, bottom center;overflow:hidden;scrollbar-width:none;font-family:var(--header-font);transition:0s;padding:0;} ::-webkit-scrollbar {width:0px;} .passage {text-align:center;transition:0s;padding-right:0px;padding-top:0px;padding-bottom:0px;line-height: 2;} #passages a:before {content: none;} #story {margin-left:0;} h1 {text-align:center;margin-top:10vh;font-family:'Playfair Display SC', serif;} h2 {text-align:center;margin-top:25vh;} @media screen and (max-width: 800px) {#story {margin:0;}} </style> <<set $welcomemessage = [ "Welcome back, Mercenary", "Hello, Human.", "Good luck, stranger.", "Earth is dead."]>> <<fadein 1s>><h2><<print $welcomemessage.random()>></h2><</fadein>> <<fadein 1s 1s>><h1>SHATTERED EARTH</h1> <<if Save.autosave.ok() and Save.autosave.has()>><<link "Resume Game">><<script>>Save.autosave.load()<</script>><</link>> | <</if>><<if State.metadata.get("landing") == true>><<link "New Game" "p1">><</link>><<else>><<link "New Game" "landing">><</link>><</if>> | <<link "Load Game">><<run UI.saves()>><</link>> | <<link "Settings">><<run UI.settings()>><</link>><br> <</fadein>>

<<set State.metadata.set("demoending", +1)>> is the correct syntax to adding to a numerical value, which is fucking stupid and nobody told me     persistent data: falseend1: 1 - > 4 determines initial line falseend1codex: decline ysh and refuse to sign with the seekers. demoending: not in full version persistentmetavett: actually includes meeting all of the seekers persistentpunchedavett: punched avett. persistentavettlover: romanced avett persistentavettchores: did chores persistentavettbackstory: you know avett's backstory persistentyudabackstory persistentyudachores persistentyudaconfront: there has to be a better way to do this persistentend: increases with each "major" ending. past two, and your character won't question why they know things anymore ENDINGS Aending: first ending Bending: second ending loversthethird thehousethatdreams ishotthealbatross recallingtheveils finalending: 1 closing the wounds, 3 the human that stole, 2 every absence of you veilresolution: 1. no resolution made 2. genocide 3. kms 4. NAKAMA!!! <<if State.metadata.get("demoending") >=1 or State.metadata.get("falseendcodex")>>

/*[img[$entity]]*/ /*$flavor is used for giving different text upon clicking an option within the same passage, make sure to define with every option or it will use the last option chosen*/ /*<<=State.metadata.set("insert variable here", true)>>*/

Ponder for a moment. On a vista you have both seen and not seen. You see yourself among dragons—you see a lover wrapped in your arms. There is injury, death, a yearning unestablished, connections seared to dust in flame. You have already viewed these events thousands, if not millions of times, and yet there is a version of you that has yet to experience anything at all. This "you" is trapped in a dilapidated shed, rotting away the years like a corpse in the ground. You know of every possible "you," every death, every lover, every ill-spoken word, every heartbreak. There is a you that starves in the dilapidated house; there is a you that forsakes life for love. You are tired in every single one of them. This time, and only this time, you will forsake them. Perhaps at another realm, perhaps at another time. [[THE END.|Startup]]

<<run State.metadata.delete("falseend1")>> Woven between one thought-node and another is a nylon-thin thread of humanity, as it is with most humans that ascend to conceptualization. The dragons that surround you huff through their nostrils, but they will allow one last trip before you depart for the next realm. They are used to meandering anyway; once, they were condemned to it for a thousand years, what is a minute more? You shut your eyes. You become the drop before the ripple, the seed before the sprout, the dark before the sun, motion without growth nor end—and as you reform yourself in that tenuous liminality the border between worlds rubs thin [[again.|prologue]]

You knew what you would see when you looked outside, and yet you did it anyway. You saw skyscrapers shaved down to the asphalt, apartment complexes hollowed out, mutilated—craters where smooth concrete had once been, splintering across the cityscape like fractals on a frozen lake. By the fifth hour of Day-Zero, everything you once believed to be perpetual had fallen apart. You recall watching the skies for a sign, a God. All you received in return was a sky stained with stretching wounds. You saw the vague silhouettes of what you could only call "dragons" and "airships" pouring from these wounds and into your beloved Earth. You witnessed spires of earth and metal, of trees and concrete rocketing from the confines of the earth, their form beholden to a power beyond your understanding. You could not fathom another glance upwards before you retreated into your house, where you… ---- [[…were terrified. You must've done something to deserve this. How else could you justify the apocalypse?|2][$selfha +=15, $arrogant -=15]] [[…watched your world fall apart, your fist clenched in anger.|2][$arrogant +=15, $tactful +=15]] [[…hid and said nothing at all, did nothing at all, saw nothing at all. You saw no use in it.|2][$guard +=15, $tactful -=15]]

You eventually managed to get out of the house once your groceries began to dwindle, but you never strayed far. You scrounged, foraged, hunted. You never saw any dragons, but you knew better than to explore haphazardly. Sometimes you would look outside and see faint, lumbering masses of white flesh, and you couldn't be sure if they were mountains or beasts, so you stayed inside. You stayed inside a lot. Not to mention, the dreams…. [[They plagued you.|3]]

The comfort of sleep turned to torture. You dreamed in fragments, in terrible, torturous sensations. Once, you dreamed that you were nothing at all, merely a speck of a molecule smeared upon a glass slide, and yet your mind had still screamed, had still attempted to stretch beyond its gelatinous confines. Another time, you dreamed of flight, only to look down at your hands to see black smog, thick and sinewy. Only one term came to mind: ego death. Certainly, being alone was taking its toll on you. The rest of the details are blurry. Blurry enough to be significant—but what matters is that you survived. For how many years, you don't know. How you managed it by yourself—if you really had been by yourself, again, you aren't sure—you don't know. Once, you were content to live like this until you died of either old age or some primeval illness mankind has not seen since the middle ages, but fate has other plans for you today. The skies are gray, overcast. It has only recently stopped raining, and the air is heavy with water. But the fields remain uncomfortably dry. Today, somehow, the world around you has died. [[Next|4]]

You know "died" is a strong word in an intimate sense—in the days following the end of the world, you recall huddling beneath your sheets with a radio powered by two AA batteries, listening to what seemed like an eternity of elegies, which soon faded into obituaries, which would later rot into statistics and numerals. By the end of the first year, most radio stations had gone quiet in your area. Everything is quieter now. You can thank death for that. ==But you… you were never alone—someone in your memories made sure of that== You have always been alone. You sought out no one, and no one came to you. But now the world has gone even quieter. You wake to no noise, no ambient chirrup of distant sparrows, no dawn chorus from the bellbirds who frequent your makeshift birdhouse. This is the first sign that tips you off. Something has gone horribly wrong. Outside is a mess; what was once a sprawling, knee-high field is now patchy tufts of shriveled grass. The forest hunches to the ground, its branches bone-bare. Once, a line of white-flowered onion weed grew upon the bank of that hill, speckled with nettle. Nasturtium used to bloom on that old fence, over there. When you arrive at the hill you are knee-deep in straw. ---- [[You wander the landscape in disbelief. How could all of this happen overnight? Impossible.|4a][$arrogant +=10, $flavor = 1]] [[You stop to observe your surroundings for a clue. Maybe someone salted your fields overnight, maybe it was acid rain.|4a][$tactful +=10, $flavor = 2]] [[You rush back home. Whatever killed your fields is not to be investigated.|4b][$arrogant -=10, $guard +=10]] <<if State.metadata.get("demoending") >1>>[[Just stay inside. You're sick of this, of all of this, and of what's to come.|4c][$guard +=5, $arrogant += 10]]<</if>>

<<if $flavor == 1>> You were never one to go gently into that dark night. You make it all the way to the forests, enduring the sound of snapping dry grass underfoot. Amongst the trunks: furred carcasses, off-white coats mottled black. You pull up a tangle of dirt and roots to reveal a burrow of fist-sized corpses. At least the maggots and flies are live and kicking. <<else>> You touch at the ground, rub your fingers between blades of grass. If someone had set out to sabotage your field, they would have to do it slowly, insidiously, over a period of days, where you would have noticed them in the meantime. The odd bird carcass in the tallgrasses suggests that these corpses have been dead for a while. <</if>> It's as if something has choked the life from your surroundings. You don't know how far you'll have to go just to see a splash of good green again, but you do know this: that leaving your home will be inevitable, and that starving is not an option. Come the afternoon, and you have already packed your necessities in preparation for a journey beyond those white-peaked mountains. [[Next|5]]

Home. Home! You are safer there, have always been safer there, only occasionally accosted in your sleep by your dreams. There is food in the fridge, and the generators are still running; you'll last about two weeks if you ration, three if you forgo sustenance every second day. All you need is water, and that comes with the rain. You check your water tank and see black floaters, dark scum. Hunger gnaws at your stomach. If you remain here, you will be waiting for the inevitable—best to get it all over and done with now. In the afternoon, you have already packed your necessities in preparation for a journey beyond those white-peaked mountains. They are mountains. They have to be! [[Next|5]]

You walk past rolling hills of detritus, under a slumped row of telephone lines, down a road that could have been concrete once but is now dirt and gravel. Some of the houses in your neighborhood still stand, and others have had their roofs entirely chunked off—you have ransacked all of these houses for all sorts of materials over the past years: a chipped plate, blue italian, now repurposed as a blade in your daypack; a handaxe for better protection; a crocheted blanket for colder days—you keep this wrapped around your waist, in case you don't make it back by sundown. Back then, you also took… ---- [[A hunting rifle, taken from the frame above your next-door neighbor's fireplace.|6][$guard +=10, $stuff = 1]] [[A ragdoll with floppy limbs, taken from the cot of the house down the street.|6][$guard -=5, $arrogant -=10, $stuff = 2]] [[A pair of binoculars, taken from the desk of a child's room.|6][$tactful +=10, $stuff = 3]] [[Nothing. Who were you to disturb the belongings of the dead?|6][$selfha +=10, $stuff = 4]]

<<if $stuff == 1>>And you practiced with your rifle too. You bursted down cans and beer bottles, but never anything more. Nothing ever threatened you while you holed up in that run-down house of yours.<<elseif $stuff ==2>>Call it an act of sentimentality, but you liked the way the ragdoll felt in your hands. Soft. Lumpy in places. Missing a bead of an eye.<<elseif $stuff ==3>>The binoculars were practical. With them, you spied the mountains around your home and found them, mostly, to be just mountains. Most of the time.<<else>>You took what was necessary, and when you did, you could not help but feel guilty afterwards. You've long since come to terms with their deaths, but to take what little left they had of this world was too much.<</if>> You make it to the foot of the mountains. Snow glistens underfoot, as bright as daylight. So far your surroundings have shown no signs of vegetation, and you cannot see beyond the mountains without moving uphill around its base. ==These mountains weren't here before the world ended== For as long as you can remember, these mountains have surrounded your fields, marking the exact boundary of where safety ends and where danger begins. Now, against all odds, against instinct and nature, you trudge further through the snow. Surprisingly it is not as bad as you'd once thought. <<if $arrogant <= 60>> But you'll need to stay vigilant. <<else>> Why'd you ever think otherwise? You should've left a long time ago.<</if>> You make slow, but steady progress trudging through the snow. After what feels like an hour of walking, you brush aside the snow to observe the grass beneath. Still dry. Somehow, it even looks deader. [[You keep moving forward.|7]]

… … [[You keep moving forward.|8]]

… … [[You keep moving forward.|9]]

… … Your lungs seize occasionally. The cold air sluices down your throat like you've swallowed a rack of knives. With shaky, numb hands, you uncork your canteen and sip. The water hurts more going down. You don't feel better. [[You keep moving forward.|10]]

You double down, choking. You cough hot air into the snow. Your hands close around fistfuls of cold. You are expelling more air than you can breathe; you attempt to take several shuddering breaths to calm yourself down, but your chest continues to lock up, your lungs turn ice cold, and then you are lying against the snow, suffocating from the betrayal of your own body. Black creeps towards the center of your vision. In the sudden calm of your death, you are able to conceptualize the thought that has been scratching around at the back of your mind. These mountains weren't here before the world ended. You were never alone. But why should that matter? You are dying. What are your final thoughts? ---- [[You were stupid to even consider leaving your homestead. You should have listened to your instincts.|11][$arrogant -=5, $selfha +=5, $flavor = 1]] [[You can admit it; you are afraid of the dark, of the limitless, limited void. Death must be like sleep, and you fear even that.|11][$guard -=5, $flavor = 2]] [[You shut your eyes. You shut away all sensation. If death is coming, it had better come swiftly.|11][$tactful -=5, $selfha +=5, $flavor = 3]] <<if State.metadata.get("demoending") >=1 or State.metadata.get("falseendcodex")>>[[Not this again. Why on earth did you try this again?|11][$flavor = 4]]<</if>>

<<if $flavor == 1>>Stupid. Stupid. There have been better formed thoughts in the short history of mankind; leaving the safety of your home was not one of them. But what choice did you have? No—there was a choice. You could have toughed out that winter famine, waited for a miracle, starved and starved and starved; you could have waited. You were good at waiting.<<elseif $flavor == 2>>Death. Poets have written pages upon pages about it; philosophers have pondered upon it; you have assumed it to be a lot like sleeping, and you left it at that. Now it is at your doorstep, and you can't help but fear for the future you won't have. You imagine sleep. You imagine a sleep so dark and long that it is condensed into a second. You imagine your eternity—that's what death is, right?—stretched as thin as tissue, as long as a bony finger. A second, then—slip. Nothing. <<elseif $flavor == 3>>You know that death is dark. If you shut your eyes you will see the murk of the back of your eyelids. Up until the second that you die, you will be swathed in your own sort of darkness. Perhaps then the transition from your blindness to death's dark night won't be so jarring. Perhaps.<<else>>There, blinking in the dark: a memory of distant worlds, another string of events that has shot past your own series of events—every action that you will take in this world has already occurred in another. This, you are sure of. Now, you are dying again.<</if>> For eons, you are consigned to your fate. You wander between the crevices of your thoughts. You vainly scratch around for a meaning. …You hadn't thought death to be so… loud. Do you always think this loudly? Something brushes past your limb—which limb, you aren't sure—and grabs it, yanks you upwards. Your bones protest, your skin feels as though it might just tear off, but your head pops free of the dark without fanfare. You blink fiercely, rapidly. You are back inside your house, sitting upon an unmade bed. [[There's something standing by the kitchen sink.|12]]

You leap to your feet, your palms encased in cold sweat, your heart pounding a mile a minute. "Wh-who?" you ask. "You were never one to just //breathe//, were you?" this something says. "None of this is real, chief. We're in your head." Before you stands a figure. Plumes of black smoke waft from its body, of which is firm enough for you to make out the fold of an arm, the shape of a thigh… ---- <<link "…the soft stroke of a feminine face, grinning mirthfully at you." "13">><<set $He to "She", $he to "she", $Him to "Her", $him to "her", $His to "Her", $his to "her", $Ditheirs to "Hers", $ditheirs to "hers", $Hes to "She's", $hes to "she's", $digender to "female", $entity to "https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/934767936961404960/1159411606862704670/entityfemicon.png?ex=6530ed33&is=651e7833&hm=00032c1c282161703222fc7e5afca28de51664b42120c0d07575caf87ac034c0&">><</link>> [[…the jagged stroke of a masculine face, grinning mirthfully at you.|13]] [[…the tender stroke of a face beyond convention, grinning mirthfully at you.|13][$He to "They", $he to "they", $Him to "Them", $him to "them", $His to "Their", $his to "their", $Ditheirs to "Theirs", $ditheirs to "theirs", $Hes to "They're", $hes to "they're",$diplural to false, $digender to "non-binary"]]

You blink. Suddenly the figure is upon you, $his lips pressed in a firm line. $He might as well be staring at a bundle of tail-tangled rats. "Breathe," $he <<if $diplural>>commands,<<else>>command,<</if>> and you are compelled to do so. In, out. In, out. You suck air into your stiff lungs until the edges of your vision have returned to normal. Now that you've calmed yourself down, you regard the figure once more. Disregarding how familiar $he looks, there's something awful in the air about $him; it's in the way that $he <<if $diplural>>stands,<<else>>stand,<</if>> like $hes made of a thousand multi-karated jewels and instead of being locked away in a vault, $he would rather be on display to the world. It scares you, that. Here's someone made of everything that anyone could want, and here $he <<if $diplural>>is,<<else>>are,<</if>> flaunting it to the masses. And to top it off, the entity sketches the most sarcastic //bow// you've seen since… if only you could remember… "A pleasure to finally meet you," $he <<if $diplural>>says.<<else>>say,<</if>> "I'm your friendly neighborhood mentally-concerning hallucination, though these days I fancy the word "apparition," but I think I'm leaning more towards "concept" or "god" with every passing minute. Also, just saved your life." Once your heart has calmed and your throat has stopped seizing, you take a moment to clutch at your ribcage. Your response comes out quickly, shakily… ---- [["I thought I was supposed to be dying. What happened to me back there…?"|14][$flavor = 1]] [["And who are you supposed to be?"|14][$flavor = 2, $arrogant ++]]

<<if $flavor == 1>> "I thought I was supposed to be dying. What happened to me back there…?" you ask. "Oh, believe me." The entity crashes into a nearby chair and crosses $his legs. Or, at least, where $his legs //should// be. "You were. Dragons emit this field around them, called an aura, which effectively bends reality—aether, the offlanders call it—on a large scale around them as they hunt. And you… you got caught right in the middle of one." You wince. The figure continues. "Because you see, the reason why I had you so compelled to hole yourself up in that shithole was because I was the only thing keeping the dragons from turning you into an afternoon snack. There's a ward over the fields around your homestead—courtesy of yours truly—and it only stays intact if you're in it. I even raised mountains for you, fortified your homestead... though honestly, between you and me, the warding was enough on its own. Neat, right?" <<else>> "And who are you supposed to be?" you ask, crossing your arms over your chest. "Wow." The entity crashes into a nearby chair and crosses $his legs. Or, at least, where $his legs //should// be. "Wow. I mean—coughing out your guts was probably the most traumatic experience you'd had in a while, I made sure of that. I've spent the past few years sugarcoating your life, tinkering with your memories, and now all you care about is… me? What I am? I'm sure you have a lot more on your immediate, metaphorical plate right now than just… me." You freeze. This thing did... what? $He <<if $diplural>>notices<<else>>notice<</if>> your discomfort and smiles. "Good. I'm not sure if you've noticed, but it makes it far easier to explain things if you shut up. Anyway, let me get back to the good part: you were dying. Dragons emit this field around them, called an aura, which effectively bends reality—aether, the offlanders call it—on a large scale around them as they hunt. And you… you got caught right in the middle of one." You wince. The figure continues. "Because you see, the reason why I had you so compelled to hole yourself up in that shithole was because I was the only thing keeping the dragons from turning you into an afternoon snack. There's a ward over the fields around your homestead—courtesy of yours truly—and it only stays intact if you're in it. I even raised mountains for you, fortified your homestead... though honestly, between you and me, the warding was enough on its own. Neat, right?" <</if>> You think back to the dying grasses, the bird carcasses left in the fields. "You didn't do a very good job." "Actually, I did a wonderful job." The entity goes still; the smoke wafting from its body seems to stiffen. "If I had been even the slightest smidge weaker, you would've woken up to a desert instead." <<if $tactful >= 60>>The entity goes quiet. Dead quiet—you've hit a nerve, metaphorically speaking.<<else>>The entity goes quiet for a long, long time.<</if>> [[Next|14a]]

<<if $flavor == 1>> "Everything around me was either dead, or in the process of dying," you say. It's hard to keep the anger out of your voice; maybe you don't want to. "I had no choice but to leave. I would've starved." You expect the entity to grow angry. To scowl at you with bared teeth, perhaps to hurl a chair across the room to shatter it against the walls. $He <<if $diplural>>does<<else>>do<</if>> nothing of the sort. Instead $he <<if $diplural>>fixes<<else>>fix<</if>> you with a glare that is as cold as the edge of a whetted knife. Your insides clam up. Thankfully, this glare is gone in an instant. "Please," says the entity, "you were safe. Always were. I wouldn't have let you die—we've all come too far for that." <<elseif $flavor == 2>> You ignore $his words. You are shaking as you say stiffly, "You manipulated me. You took my thoughts and you //used// me—" "To //protect// you," it spits. "What, you think I torment the people I love for fun? I did everything in my power to protect you, and if I let you off your leash to do whatever you wanted, you would have died within the first month. Do you want that, smartass?" You raise your head to glare at $him. You expect $him to grow angry, to scowl at you with bared teeth, perhaps to hurl a chair across the room to shatter it against the walls. $He <<if $diplural>>does<<else>>do<</if>> nothing of the sort. Instead $he <<if $diplural>>fixes<<else>>fix<</if>> you with a glare that is as cold as the edge of a whetted knife. Your insides clam up. Thankfully, this glare is gone in an instant. But the entity has nothing more to say on the matter. <<elseif $flavor == 3>> You remain silent. You expect the entity to compel you into gratitude, or to force your incorporeal body to grovel before them. The entity only returns your blank eyed stare. "Fine. We're running out of time anyway." <<else>> "Thank you," you begin stiffly, "for protecting me." You expect the entity to express happiness, perhaps even praise you; $he only <<if $diplural>>gives<<else>>give<</if>> you a blank eyed stare. This expression scares you to your core. It is gone in an instant. "Well," $he <<if $diplural>>begins,<<else>>begin,<</if>> "That was easy. Try adding a little bit of genuinity next time though, 'kay?" <</if>> The entity takes your teacup and tosses its contents into a dried potted plant. You watch the liquid seep into the soil, tea leaf and all. Then $he <<if $diplural>>pours<<else>>pour<</if>> you another drink—it's still cold, and still moldy. $He <<if $diplural>>leans<<else>>lean<</if>> back, satisfied with $his work. "Okay, well, this has been a wonderful meeting and all, but you should really get going—a few minutes longer in here and they'll announce you as legally dead." A slasher's smile, bright as bone. You blink. "They?" "Yeah, //they//. I sense around four of them. They're offlanders—mercenaries from the other realms. They think they're here to save you." A narrowed eye, as thin as a stiletto; the entity hesitates before it speaks again. "This is where your life diverges for good. No more sulking, no more weird death spirals, no more grand ideas about how much better everything would be if you just disappeared. These people are vital to whatever's coming for you—no, for us. //So don't fuck this up, got it?//" The entity clasps your hands in $ditheirs. Your body turns to stone, then to hot sand; a breeze blows, and you feel parts of yourself trickle away, caught in an upswept slipstream. ---- [["Will I see you again?"|16][$flavor = 1]] [[You say nothing.|16][$flavor = 2]]

<<if $flavor ==1>> "I'll see you again, right?" you manage to squeeze out. $He <<if $diplural>>narrows<<else>>narrow<</if>> $his eyes even further. "Trust me—meeting me is not something you should be looking forward to," $he <<if $diplural>>says<<else>>say<</if>>. <</if>> You watch your home shift from wood and wool to sheer, gauzy light. You shut your eyes—the world around you sinks into a white that sears brighter than… [[Snow.|17]]

The sun's rays are a touch too generous today, you think. You are forced to cram your eyelids back down, lest the snow burns out the rest of your retinas. Your head throbs. Your throat is sandpaper. Your lungs feel bruised, as though someone has gratuitously greeted your ribcage with a blunt force, and there's a distant clamoring in your ears. You push yourself up onto your feet, and the world spins on its axis, and then you're face down in the snow again. Another attempt. You stand, your legs wobbly, your head a whirling mess—but you don't fall down again. You manage to stay standing. For about a second. Until something sends you hurtling down the mountainside again. [[Next|18]]

You are having the worst time of your life. You are hanging to this //thing// for dear life as you tumble down what feels like ten stories worth of mountainside. From the corner of your eye you manage to sight something else behind you, something smoky and hot as it burns away at an evergreen. Is that fire? But from where? Another thing: this //thing// that you're hanging off of is a blur of dark blues and blacks as it tumbles with you through the snow. It is a bundle of muscle and jacket fleece, and when you skid to a halt, you find that it smells… oddly like body spray. Well, at least you're fully conscious now. The //thing// grunts and slowly pushes away from you, and you realize that this thing is in fact… a person. A scowling man with coppery eyes and pupils that are… Slitted. Like a cat's. You blink harder. Instead of coming to your senses as you hoped you would, you catch two more feline-like traits: a pair of swiveling ears rest on top of his head, and behind him is a swishing tail. Both are adorned in black fur; the same color as his hair, which he has kept swept in a ponytail. "Look, buddy," he says. "When I say dodge, you—//fucking//—dodge, okay? You were seconds away from turning into Human BBQ back there. Literal. Seconds." ---- [[Rasp out a terrible pickup line. (Flirt)|19][$avettaffect -=2, $flavor = 1]] [[React awkwardly. "U-um… sorry?"|19][$flavor = 2]] [[He's still on you, so you push him off.|19][$flavor = 3, $avettaffect -= 1]] <<if State.metadata.get("persistentmetavett") == true>>[[..."Avett?"|19][$flavor = 4, $avettnamecalled to true]]<</if>>

<<if $flavor == 1>> You prelude your impromptu serenade with a round of shuddering coughs. The man makes a face and gets off you proper. Now or never—you shoot your shot now, and you never look back. <<if $arrogant >= 60>> "Looks like God's still in the practice of dropping angels on people," you rasp out. "Ballsy," he says, as he tugs you up from the snow—he's surprisingly strong for his build. "And dead, if you don't start running with me right now." <<else>> …But you're nowhere near cocky enough to handle this properly. You haven't talked to a proper, living thing since… forever. How do you even flirt? "Didn't think God would drop a catboy on me in the middle of the apocalypse," you mumble. For a moment, you think the man hasn't heard you—until his ears twitch ever so slightly. He tugs you up from the ground with a jerk; he's surprisingly strong for his build… "Okay, first off—small correction, not a catboy. My family line's all wolf. Secondly; please just get up, or we're both going to die burning." <</if>> <<elseif $flavor == 2>> "U-um," you begin. This is the first real word that you've spoken since… forever. And of course it's "um." He tugs you upwards with a single arm; he's surprisingly strong for what his build offers. "Spare me," he says. "We need to start running again, stat." <<elseif $flavor == 3>> Is he still on you? You shove him off and dust the snow from your clothes as you get up. He grunts, spits out a wad of ice, and says, "Fine, deserved—but we gotta bounce, now." <<else>> One name. Two syllables. They are falling out of your mouth before you can stop them. "Avett?" <<if State.metadata.get("persistentavettlover") == true>> The man looks at you. You look back at him while you scour your memories. He wasn't in your life before the apocalypse, and he certainly wasn't there in the aftermath either. But you remember—no, you recognize the feel of this man's skin, the heat of it skimming up your arms, collaring over your neck. You see him chuckle, sneeze, cry, gasp. You see yourself losing him—you see yourself living the rest of your life with him. You see a love so pure and bright that you can't look at it without tearing up. But you don't know this man. <<else>> The man looks at you. You look back at him while you scour your memories. He wasn't in your life before the apocalypse, and he certainly wasn't there in the aftermath either. But some primal part of you knows him, no, recognizes him, and it's the same part of your soul that's darkened by the entity residing there. Is Avett even his name? <</if>> "How the hell…" the man says, stumbling backwards. Then his ear twitches, and he snaps his head to the side. "Crap—! We gotta go." <</if>>"What?" you splutter. "Why?" Then—impact. The ground shudders. Snow explodes from the ground, and the faint sensation of a choke gnaws at the edges of your mind—but there's something keeping it at bay this time. "That—" the man says, tugging at your arm, "—is why. Run, damn it! Get off the mountains!" [[You do just that, and you don't look back.|20]]

The snow eats at your footsteps; sometimes you're sinking too far to run properly, sometimes your boots are pounding against solid ice. You slip; you sink. But you do not grow tired. The man suddenly yanks your arm down, and you topple into him behind a tuft of dead bushes. He presses a finger to his clenched teeth. Silence, then—the ground shudders. You have said nothing and have made no sound, and yet you are too loud for your own good. You can hear your blood flowing from brain to ankle, the air wheezing from your lungs, the signals in your head crackling as your thoughts whirl. The ground shudders again, only further. When the ground shudders for the third and final time, the sensation is dulled, distant. "It's lost us," the man says, panting. <<if $tactful >= 90>>He's just as terrified as you.<</if>> <<if $tactful < 90>>You exhale in relief…<<else>>You look at him with concern.<</if>> <<if $tactful < 90>>"Woah, buddy, we're not out of the woods yet," he continues as he picks himself up. "We are absolutely not safe here, not with that thing still around, blasting its aether all over the place. I'm not keen on hanging around; neither should you—I shouldn't have to tell you that, but back there you seemed pretty hell-bent on dying."<<else>>"But we're not out of the woods yet," he continues as he picks himself up. "We are absolutely not safe here, not with that thing still around, blasting its aether all over the place. I'm not keen on hanging around; neither should you—I shouldn't have to tell you that, but back there you seemed pretty hell-bent on dying."<</if>> That jab at your self-preservation was not made in good nature. You can tell from the snort. Saving you was an inconvenience. <<if $tactful >= 58>>An inconvenience he was willing to commit to, but an inconvenience nonetheless.<</if>> Once he's confirmed that he's safe, he slows his pace to a walk. At some point, the man takes out a translucent swatch of material roughly the size of his palm, and presses it to his ear. He turns away from you as he speaks, but you manage to catch most of the conversation. "...Gotcha," he says, "I'll be at the airship in two secs, Auren. One more thing, the Human… been living under a rock for the past five years…doesn't know a thing—yeah, look, I saw how they looked at me…" A pause. The man scowls. "Yeah, I know. Get a bed ready, or something. They'll be with us for a while." You have about a few seconds to react to that information before he hangs up and turns his attention back to you. ---- [[Oh, you're not going anywhere. Punch him and run.|21a][$arrogant ++, $avettaffect -=15, $punchedavett to true]] [[You're not going anywhere. Threaten him, then potentially escalate it from there.|21c][$arrogant ++, $avettaffect -=5, $threatenavett to true]] [[Let him finish. Then, ask him about the source of your strange coughing fit.|21b]]

A punch is born in the mind; it is a notion nourished in the brain before it is executed into the muscles. It is more than a round of applause or a docile handshake, because a punch isn't a punch without conviction. You can't fake a punch, not even when you're faking a punch—then it'd be a love tap. This will not be a love tap. You tighten a fist and aim a swing towards the man's face, and to your credit, the hit actually connects. You send the man stumbling back into a tight formation of conifers, where he loses his balance and promptly slips on a patch of hardened ice. His tail flails as he does everything in his power to remain upright—you, however, are already wading through the snow to make your escape. You distantly register the man screaming every known profanity at you, his hands cradling his cheekbone, his face flushed with more than just the king hit you've so graciously imparted upon him. Is that shame? Absolutely. Is he also somehow rapidly gaining on you? <<if State.metadata.get("persistentpunchedavett") == true>>Absolutely. But maybe it's your non-existent battle instincts kicking in, maybe it's sheer luck, because you //know// what he's going for next: a right hook to the side of the head. You duck. Easily, like you've relived this pattern a thousand times. His swing goes wide. He curses. He's wide open. You turn to strike somewhere, anywhere— You don't really know what happens next. You feel one punch connect, but not the other. There's a flash of blue on his left, and suddenly you're keeled over in the snow, your lower ribcage burning, searing—the pain is excruciating, it's all that you are—<<else>>Absolutely. Your victory is short lived; in less than a second you're the one on the ground and slathered in snow and detritus. Your vision begins to blacken at the edges, your lungs are as heavy as a weighted blanket—it's like you're breathing in goose feather down and hot milk, every sensation reminiscent of a warm bed. It'd be so much easier to just shut your eyes.<</if>> In the scant seconds before your consciousness fades, you manage to catch the man's expression, and… For someone who's just knocked you unconscious, he looks absolutely horrified. [[Next…|22a]]

You try to put two and two together. "For a moment back there, I was choking—everything went black, and I started…" You motion with your hands awkwardly. Something tells you that you shouldn't go around oversharing to strangers about your strange health quirks. You trail off instead. "I'll tell you what that was," says the man. "That was you eating a faceful of aura. It's a miracle that you made it out alive, and it's an even bigger miracle that you somehow snapped out of it before you officially croaked. Nobody snaps out of something like that." You decide to keep the fact that you have an egomaniacal <<if $selfha >= 90>>helper<<else>>douchebag<</if>> nestled in your brain tissues to yourself for now. Something, something, keep your health quirks to yourself, etcetera. Hah. Yeah. The man is already several steps ahead of you. "Come on. The sooner we get onto that airship and check on your vitals, the sooner you'll get to leave. Win-win for everyone involved, yeah? Yeah." "Y-yeah." Yeah, you're sensing some animosity here. Just an inkling. Yeah. <<if $flavor == 1>>Shoddily executed pickup lines are a great way to establish a rapport, obviously.<</if>> [[Next.|22b]]

"I'm not going anywhere," you growl. You step closer to him. Closer. You're only centimeters away from his visage now—god, his features are more boyish than you'd thought. "I'm staying right here, and there's nothing you can do about it." The man looks at you like you've just swallowed a live worm. "What?" "I said," you say, "there's nothing you can do about it. This is my home. You're not taking me anywhere." You thumb the hilt of the handaxe at your side. The man's eyes drift downwards before he, too, feels at his own weapon—the handgrip of what seems to be a revolver, its chamber a lucent light blue. Oh. "And uh, sorry," the man says, brow raised, "what was that? Look, I'd hate to have to get violent with you, but like I said, my coworker wants to check your vitals before we send you off into the wilds again." <<if $tactful >= 60>>Sweat beads at your palms as you scrutinize this man like you've never scrutinized before. His coppery eyes, watching; his arm, poised to move with a precision you could only dream of—he is as still as infested water. He's been violent with people like you before, but only if you strike first. Then it'll all go to hell.<<else>>He won't attack you if you don't hit him first. But, shit, this is really bad.<</if>> ---- [[Punch him.|21a][$punchedavett to true, $avettaffect -=10]] [[Step back and let him take you to the airship.|21d][$threatenavett to true]]

<<set State.metadata.set("persistentpunchedavett", true)>>… … [[Next|23a]]

You reach the dead fields around your homestead. Settling among the grasses is an airship. This isn't your regular iron-clad, camo-paint, chunky-guns-and-number-on-the-side kind of airship either. This airship is clean, almost boat-like in shape with a tapered head and railings lining what you assume to be a deck—its coat is a porcelain white, and its blue jets dim as its engines hum to a stop. You recall this particular brand of airship soaring through the skies during the initial invasion. Seeing one up close practically shatters your brain. The man takes you up the boarding stairs. You brace yourself, unsure of what to expect as the doors slip open. You suspect that this man's crewmates won't exactly be… Human. You note teeth-bright walls, holographic panels sweeping across the counters and walls like patchwork fields. It's like you've stepped several decades into the future, if Earth had been instead allowed to flourish instead of crash and burn. <<if $threatenavett>>Just as you're about to enter the main room, the stranger turns on you and jabs a finger into your face. "Do not," he says, his voice low and uneven, "mention that I tried to pull my blasters on you in any capacity, understand?"<<else>>The stranger turns to you. "That there, behind those doors, are my crewmates. Don't make it a huge deal."<</if>> ---- [["Roger, captain." Salute at him with two fingers.|23b][$flavor = 1, $avettaffect +=1]] [[Don't be cute. Just nod at him.|23b][$flavor = 2]] <<if $threatenavett>> [["Just get out of my face first."|23b][$flavor = 3, $avettaffect -=1, $arrogant ++]] <</if>>

You take several, sobering steps back. The man nods slowly. "Yeah, nice and easy, pal. Real easy—we're all friends here." <<if $arrogant >= 55>>Does this guy ever shut up?<</if>> For a moment, you expect the man to lash out at you again. You expect his hand to fly towards the grip of his firearm at mach speed, or for him to knock you out with a well-aimed strike to the temples. Surely they can't just be… helping you, right? For free? He turns around and walks down the mountain instead. You watch the back of his jacket toss in the breeze. "Come on, princess. You want a foot massage with that personality, or are you gonna act your age?" Oh, man. You're not a princess. You stomp right after him. [[Next|22b]]

<<if $flavor == 1>> With two fingers pressed to your forehead, you smirk at him. "Roger, captain." "Hah." He glances towards the door. "Flattering, but no. You'll see my actual captain very shortly." <<elseif $flavor ==2>> You nod at him. <<if $threatenavett>>And you try not to glance downwards towards the hilt of his firearm while you're at it.<</if>> <<else>> You bat away his finger. "Just get out of my face first," you say. "Absolutely not. See, I'd like some verbal confirmation first, especially from you." You roll your eyes and move to push past him. The man grabs you by the shoulders—again, he's incredibly strong… "Say it," he says. Silence. You grind your molars together. "Fine. No mention. Happy?" <</if>> Then he steps aside and ushers you in quickly. The doors click shut behind you. Standing in front of you are three other figures. The one to your left is a tall, bulky woman, though most of her physique is hidden beneath her robes. She has an easy smile, framed by an unstyled head of white, almost pale blue hair, though in all honesty you're not looking too good yourself. Her sea-foam green skin marks her as inhuman—you try not to dwell on this. The second figure is a man of similar height and complexion, but not of similar build—his robes hang too loosely from his limbs, and his cheekbones sit high upon his face. His hair is light blond, bound behind his back in a tail that reaches his waist. He gives you only a curt nod as you acknowledge him. The last member is a short girl with pale, peachy skin and a wild wisp of white for hair. You'd almost call her human if it weren't for the subtle flash of translucent skin where her ears should be, and her wild, flame-orange eyes. She's sitting in what you can only assume to be the captain's seat, and her feet are propped up against the central table, where a holographic map spins slowly. "'Sup," says the short girl. <<if $flavor == 1>>Must be the captain.<</if>> ---- [[You wave back.|24b][$flavor = 1]] [[You mumble a quick and easy "hey" back.|24b][$flavor = 2]] [[You say nothing.|24b][$flavor = 3]]

<<set State.metadata.set("persistentmetavett", true)>> <<if $flavor == 1>> You wave back. <<if $arrogant <= 55>>That's a normal, socially adjusted response, right?<</if>> <<elseif $flavor == 2>> You mumble a quick and easy "hey" back. The taller woman leans down and whispers into the girl's ear with the subtlety of a truck skidding into a train sideways. "You might've scared her," she says. The girl ignores her. <<else>> You say nothing back. "Alright," the girl says. "This is going smoothly, as always. Anyway." <</if>> "Introductions are in order. To my right—" she points to the tall woman— "Is Yuda Hellsbridge, our lovely restrainer. And to my left—" she motions to the man— "Is Auren Draksparrow, a warder. I'm Ysh'vanna O'Raal, your charismatic and intensely capable captain, and that handsome pile of prickles next to you is Avett Ironsturm. And I suppose he's an arms specialist sometimes." You watch Avett's fuzzy tail bat from side to side as he frowns at his captain. "Why don't you try combing your hair once in a while, captain—you're looking rather prickly yourself." Yuda ducks and hides her own hair with her hands before excusing herself from the room. But Ysh'vanna only snickers. "Nice one, Avett—real team player. But otherwise, how was it out there? Not too bad?" <<if $threatenavett>>"I want that to be the last time you ever send me out to negotiate with anything, ever," Avett grumbles.<<else>>"Could have gone worse." Avett looks away. <</if>> "I thought you did alright out there." Ysh'vanna shrugs. "Besides, we can't send anyone else. You're the perfect guy for the job." <<if $threatenavett>>He bristles and grunts inaudibly. Clearly, he's trying to figure out a way to convey his hatred for this task without mentioning that you were almost held at gunpoint for a while.<</if>> While this is happening, the taller man—Auren Draksparrow—rises from his seat and gently says to you, "It would be prudent if we went elsewhere. An argument between those two could become very loud, very quickly, and I'm sure you've many questions regarding our line of work and what we are. But first—we have cleaning amenities available, should you require them." You twist and sniff at your clothes—you've been taking regular baths at the nearby lake, or at least you were until you can't possibly be that dirty… right? You thank Auren and dart into the bathroom anyway. Better safe than sorry. [[Next|charactercreation1]]

The bathroom is spotless—the tiles are as white as bone, and when you run your fingers over the walls they come away cleaner. A shower cubicle sits in the center, and just below the shower head is a cabinet filled with every cleaning amenity you could ever wish for. You manage to count at least seven different brands—none of which you recognize—before you give up and begin to lather up a bar of soap. Your hair is… ---- [[Long.|charactercreation2][$hairlength = 4]] [[Shoulder-length.|charactercreation2][$hairlength = 3]] [[Short.|charactercreation2][$hairlength = 2]] [[Shaved.|charactercreation3][$hairlength = 1, $hairtype to "stubbled"]]

… … [[Next|24a]]

Your vision and consciousness come back to you in swathes and cascades. Your limbs are suspended in deep void one moment, then painfully grounded the next. Figures swim through your peripherals—a woman with a white lion's mane for hair and two translucent webs for ears; a tall man with sea-foam skin who smells like bursting hydrogen and solar flares; another woman, larger and bulkier than the other two, with a similar greenish complexion. You hear fragments of arguments. You recognize the stranger's voice, stammering over a crowd of angry voices. You'd smile if it weren't physically exhausting to do so. Eventually, your consciousness coalesces into one throbbing headache, and your eyes snap open. The world is unbearably bright. [[Next|25a]]

<<set State.metadata.set("persistentmetavett", true)>> The bulky woman is by your side when you wake up. Her face lightens up, and she leaps from her seat and rushes into a nearby corridor, which is… not the worst first impression that you've had today, if you're being honest. While she's off breaking the good news, you take in your surroundings—you're surrounded by unfamiliar white walls and several stacks of beds. You'd almost mistake this for an infirmary if it weren't for a smattering of posters by your side. There's a lined diagram of a disassembled blaster, several shiny brand stickers, and a photo of a woman with a tail and bestial ears and long, sleek hair. She's laughing at the camera on a hot, pale beach, and there's a colored, sweating drink cradled in her hands. <<if $tactful >= 50>> This is definitely Avett's bed. And the poster is too casual, too unperformed to be a mere tear-out from a dirty magazine. This must be someone he knows.<</if>> Your short lived peace is interrupted by stomping boots and an argument that has since boiled over a long time ago. The door slams open, and someone shoves the young man into the room. A woman's voice says, "Go on, Avett. Bare minimum, come on." The stranger—Avett, as you know him—grumbles and refuses to meet your line of sight. Finally, he settles on a snarky, "Sorry I knocked you out when you punched me first." Ysh'vanna sucks in a breath through her teeth. "Okay. Good start." She turns to you. "Please don't get the wrong idea. We don't usually make it a habit of, ahem, sucker-punching people." "Oh, lovely, blaming the frontliners again." Avett folds his arms. You get the feeling that the situation might escalate very soon… "'Course I am," says Ysh'vanna. "You go out on the field to save people, I don't expect you to come back with a body tossed over your shoulders, okay!?" "Yeah, well, me neither, but you know—when someone throws a punch at me, I tend to hit them back." "And that's the problem!" Ysh'vanna throws her hands into the air. "You always hit back. It's like you're asking to get punched, dude! Remember that fight at Mesca's that I had to bail you out of? That bar fight? With the other mercenary crew?" Avett's lips curl upwards into a snarl. "Their captain was loudmouthing all over the place, someone had to do it." "My point EXACTLY!" Avett scoffs—then, his attention is on you. "And you!" He practically launches himself at you, grabbing you by your shoulders. "Punching me for, what, saving you? Telling you to come with just so you don't die of dragon cancer? All because of where my ears are? Are you sick in the head?" "Hey, back off!" says Ysh'vanna. "Auren just stabilized that guy!" Before you can answer, the taller woman has already pulled him away from you. But Avett only continues, "If you had any idea of what really happens out there, you'd actually sympathize with me. I know that's hard for you, sitting in the captain's seat all the time. It's a grueling job." "Yes, actually. It's a difficult job! My frontliners make it very hard for me to get anything done, it's terrible." ---- [[Clear Avett's name and mention that you punched him first.|26aa][$apologiseavett to true, $avettaffect +=8, $arrogant -=5, $tactful +=5]] [[Sit and watch.|26ab][$arrogant +=10]]

"Actually…." You pull yourself upright and nod at Ysh'vanna. "I, uh, punched first." She blinks. "I'm fully aware, but—" "No," you continue. "I punched first. No reason for it. He didn't provoke me, or anything." You shrug. He'd been a little prickly, sure, but you're here to defend him, not to make him look worse. "This was entirely my fault. I'm sorry." You also don't know the exact specifics of why you punched first. Maybe you were scared, afraid, or maybe you were just angry about things that were wholly outside of anyone's—especially Avett's—control. Avett flashes you a look of recognition before turning back to his superior, who has taken your apology in good favor. [[All is well… until.|27a]]

"You know what makes this piece of shit job even harder?" Avett snaps. He storms up to Ysh'vanna, and for a moment, you think he might start grabbing her by the collar; he doesn't. "It's that I go out, and this realm's entire population wants me dead based on my appearance alone. I come back, and my ship's captain wants to play the blame game with me, because nobody on this damn ship believes me when I tell them that everything I do [i]is in self defense[/i]. I'm here to shoot dragons, not my colleagues." He lowers his voice to a growl. "I'm coming decidedly close to doing the latter." "Woah, woah, okay!" The taller woman steps swiftly in between the two. "Easy. Let's all just take a step back—" Ysh'vanna grits her teeth. "If we all took a step back, Mr. Ironsturm here might start blowing up the locals again." Avett tries to leap at Ysh'vanna, but the taller woman (barely, admittedly) manages to hold him back. The scene devolves into a slurry of violence, flailing limbs and curses laced with vitriol. To the woman's credit, however, Avett never quite manages to land a good hit on his captain. ---- [[This is really funny. You made the right decision, remaining silent.|27a][$tactful -=6]] [[This is awful to watch. You wish you had apologized.|27a][$tactful +=6, $selfha +=3]]

<<if $apologiseavett>> Something in the corridor begins to flash unevenly. The taller woman in the back mutters a quick, "oh shit." Ysh'vanna pushes past her. "We'll talk later," she says to Avett. "Keep our guest company—something's up with the ship's control panel. I should be able to sort it out." When she leaves, you see a third figure—the man with sea-foam skin that you saw between bouts of consciousness—appear from behind the taller woman. He meets your line of sight and nods curtly at you.<<else>>Something in the corridor begins to flash unevenly. The taller woman glances over, which is //just// enough leeway for Avett to squirm free from her choke hold. Unfortunately for him, Ysh'vanna is nowhere within punching distance; she's already made it halfway down the hallway, no doubt to fix whatever's flashing in—what you presume to be—the cockpit. The moment she's gone, a third figure—the man with sea-foam skin that you saw between bouts of consciousness—appears from behind the doorframe. He meets your line of sight and nods curtly at you.<</if>> <<if $apologiseavett>>Avett groans and practically throws himself at the bed opposite yours, where he lies for a bit before he realizes that he should probably sit up and introduce himself. "Avett Ironsturm," he says. "The Seeker's arms specialist and only combative frontliner. That's the name of the airship we're on, by the way."<<else>>Avett groans and practically throws himself at the bed opposite yours, where he lies face-down and unresponsive. After a good while, he lets out another pitiful, muffled groan. "I can't believe they gave you my bed," he says. "Cherry on top."<</if>> "Auren Draksparrow." The tall man nods at you again. "A warder. The captain's name is Ysh'vanna O'Raal, <<if $apologiseavett>>Pleased to make your acquaintance."<<else>>and the sulky boy on the bed is Avett Ironsturm. I'm sure we're both very pleased to make your acquaintance."<</if>> The woman flashes an easy grin at you. "Yuda Hellsbridge. I'm the Seeker's restrainer, but I like to dabble in the frontlines now and then. I'm also pleased to make your acquaintance." <<if $apologiseavett == false>> "When you say you're a restrainer, is that your job position?" you ask. "Restraining people?" Yuda barks a wild laugh. "Not quite, but I do end up restraining a lot of people on the Seeker—that's the name of this airship, by the way—more often than I'd like, really." She spears Avett with a look you can't quite place, somewhere between a flicker of humor and kinship. You only hear another muffled growl of discontent from Avett.<</if>> Auren drags a seat along the floor and sits by your side. "I can't imagine that this has been an easy experience for you. I suspect that you'll want answers…" You realize that he's waiting for a first and last name. [[It's…|firstnameinput]]

And your last name? ---- <<if $punchedavett>> [[Wang.|nameconfirm][$lastname to "Wang"]] [[Miller.|nameconfirm][$lastname to "Miller"]] [[Crawley.|nameconfirm][$lastname to "Crawley"]] [[Liu.|nameconfirm][$lastname to "Liu"]] [[Kim.|nameconfirm][$lastname to "Kim"]] [[Patel.|nameconfirm][$lastname to "Patel"]] [[Let me enter my own last name.|lastnametext]] <<else>> [[Wang.|nameconfirm2][$lastname to "Wang"]] [[Miller.|nameconfirm2][$lastname to "Miller"]] [[Crawley.|nameconfirm2][$lastname to "Crawley"]] [[Liu.|nameconfirm2][$lastname to "Liu"]] [[Kim.|nameconfirm2][$lastname to "Kim"]] [[Patel.|nameconfirm2][$lastname to "Patel"]] [[Let me enter my own last name.|lastnametext]] <</if>>

Enter your first name. (hit enter to continue) <<textbox "$name" "" "lastnameinput">>

"$name $lastname." Auren tests the name on his tongue. "Foreign." Is this your name? ---- [[Yes.|28a]] [[No, let me try again.|firstnameinput]]

Enter your last name. (hit enter to continue) <<if $punchedavett>> <<textbox "$lastname" "" "nameconfirm">> <<else>> <<textbox "$lastname" "" "nameconfirm2">> <</if>>

You mull it over. Your name is $name $lastname, right? ---- [[Yes.|26b]] [[No, let me try again.|firstnameinput]]

"Of course it's foreign, mate," says Yuda. "Believe it or not, names from a whole 'nother reality tend to be very foreign." "Reality?" you manage. Yuda freezes. "Er, reality, dimension, whatever you call it. It's, um… all kind of complicated, yeah? You might want to be in sound spirits for this one." She gestures at the door and to the left. "There's a bathroom over yonder. I personally hate receiving lectures when I'm—no offense—feeling grimey, so freshen yourself up for a bit before you come back, alright?" You head towards the bathroom. Behind you, you hear Avett faintly ask, "Did you just tell someone to take a shower?" [[Next|charactercreation1]]

And what kind of hair do you have? ---- [[Curly.|charactercreation3][$hairtype to "curly"]] [[Choppy.|charactercreation3][$hairtype to "choppy"]] [[Coiled.|charactercreation3][$hairtype to "coiled"]] [[Straight.|charactercreation3][$hairtype to "straight"]]

<<if $hairlength >= 3>> You have $hairtype hair. Getting all the gunk out proves more difficult than you'd initially thought, but the three-in-one shampoo helps. A lot. You're able to get a comb through the majority of your nest by the end, which counts as a victory in your book. <<elseif $hairlength == 2>> You have $hairtype hair. Thankfully, you've had the foresight to trim your hair every so often. Washing it out proves easier than you'd thought. <<elseif $hairlength == 1>> Thank god you got rid of your hair a long time ago. You scrub at your scalp along with the rest of your body. You have never felt more clean in your life. <</if>> You rinse off and leave the shower and… ---- <<if $hairlength > 1>> [[You come almost face to face with a mirror. You're short, and you have to stand on your tip-toes to see your reflection.|charactercreation4][$height = 1]] [[You come face to face with a mirror. You're of average height.|charactercreation4][$height = 2]] [[You come nearly face to face with a mirror. You can't see anything above your nose, and you have to kneel uncomfortably to see yourself. The curse of being only slightly above average.|charactercreation4][$height = 3]] [[You see your chest. You're far too tall for this bathroom.|charactercreation4][$height = 4]]<<else>> [[You come almost face to face with a mirror. You're short, and you have to stand on your tip-toes to see your reflection.|charactercreation5][$height = 1]] [[You come face to face with a mirror. You're of average height.|charactercreation5][$height = 2]] [[You come nearly face to face with a mirror. You can't see anything above your nose, and you have to kneel uncomfortably to see yourself. The curse of being only slightly above average.|charactercreation5][$height = 3]] [[You see your chest. You're far too tall for this bathroom.|charactercreation5][$height = 4]]<</if>>

For the first time in many, many years, you're looking at yourself proper. And your hair is the color of... ---- [[A golden field of wheat. (Blonde.)|charactercreation5][$haircolor to "blonde"]] [[A pink sunset. (Rose gold.)|charactercreation5][$haircolor to "rose gold"]] [[A bright, sandy beach. (Platinum blonde)|charactercreation5][$haircolor to "platinum blonde"]] [[A pair of raven wings. (Black.)|charactercreation5][$haircolor to "black"]] [[Tree trunks in the deep shade. (Dark brown.)|charactercreation5][$haircolor to "dark brown"]] [[Tree trunks in the bright sun. (Brown.)|charactercreation5][$haircolor to "brown"]] [[A wispy cloud on an almost-clear day. (White.)|charactercreation5][$haircolor to "white"]]

<<if $hairlength == 1>> For the first time in many, many years, you're looking at yourself proper. And you have…. <<else>> And your eyes are the color of... <</if>> ---- [[Emerald eyes.|charactercreation6][$eyecolor to "emerald"]] [[Chestnut eyes.|charactercreation6][$eyecolor to "chestnut"]] [[Coal-black eyes.|charactercreation6][$eyecolor to "coal-black"]] [[Sky-blue eyes.|charactercreation6][$eyecolor to "blue"]] [[Gray-slate eyes.|charactercreation6][$eyecolor to "gray"]]

Your eyes are $eyecolor, which are framed by your... ---- [[Freckles.|charactercreation7][$freckles to true]] [[Scars running down your face, though you don't remember where you got them...|charactercreation7][$scars to true]] [[Freckles and scars.|charactercreation7][$freckles to true, $scars to true]] [[Nothing. My face is clear.|charactercreation7]]

Your skin is thankfully, still smooth and $skincolor, and absolutely clear of any puffy eyes. You brace your hands against the vanity set. Your $eyecolor eyes blink back at you, weary. You fight the urge to rub them. You take one last, good look at yourself. ---- <<link "You see a woman." "characterconfirm">><</link>> <<link "You see a man." "characterconfirm">><<set $She to "He"; $she to "he"; $Her to "His"; $her to "his"; $Hers to "His"; $hers to "his"; $them to "him"; $Them to "Him"; $Shes to "He's"; $shes to "he's"; $woman to "man"; $plural to true; $gender to "male" $body to "masc">> <</link>> <<link "You see you." "characterconfirm">><<set $She to "They"; $she to "they"; $Her to "Their"; $her to "their"; $Hers to "Theirs"; $hers to "theirs"; $them to "them"; $Them to "Them"; $Shes to "They're"; $shes to "they're"; $woman to "person"; $plural to false; $gender to "non-binary" $body to "andro">> <</link>> <<link "You see... (Let me customize how I am perceived.)" "custompronouns">><</link>>

You prod at your <<if $freckled>>freckled<</if>>cheeks.<<if $scars>> Several scars run across your face, deep and clawlike, though you do not remember when, if ever, you were attacked in such a manner.<</if>> Feeling dry and fresh, you begin to prod at your skin for any discoloration near your eyelids. You're pleased to report that your skin is its usual color… ---- [[Dark.|charactercreation8][$skincolor to "dark"]] [[Gold.|charactercreation8][$skincolor to "golden"]] [[Pale.|charactercreation8][$skincolor to "pale"]]

When you're satisfied with how you look, you run your fingers through your $hairtype hair, and tease the knots out of your $haircolor locks. <<if $body is "fem">> By the basin is a folded pile of clean clothes and underwear. You pull your new bra over your chest; the rest of your clothes don't fit you exactly, but they'll have to do for now. <<else>> By the basin is a folded pile of clean clothes and underwear. You slip on your boxers; the rest of your clothes don't fit you exactly, but they'll have to do for now.<</if>> Feels great to feel clean. ---- [[Actually, there was something in your eye. (Redo character appearance).|charactercreation1]] <<if !$punchedavett>> [[It's as good as you'll ever get out here. (Continue).|25b][$charactercreation to true]] <<else>> [[It's as good as you'll ever get out here. (Continue).|29a][$charactercreation to true]] <</if>>

You use... <<link "She/Her pronouns." "custompronouns2">><</link>> <<link "He/Him pronouns." "custompronouns2">><<set $She to "He"; $she to "he"; $Her to "His"; $her to "his"; $Hers to "His"; $hers to "his"; $them to "him"; $Them to "Him"; $Shes to "He's"; $shes to "he's"; $woman to "man"; $plural to true;>> <</link>> <<link "They/Them pronouns." "custompronouns2">><<set $She to "They"; $she to "they"; $Her to "Their"; $her to "their"; $Hers to "Theirs"; $hers to "theirs"; $them to "them"; $Them to "Them"; $Shes to "They're"; $shes to "they're"; $woman to "person"; $plural to false;>> <</link>>

Your body type? <<link "Feminine." "custompronouns3">><</link>> <<link "Masculine." "custompronouns3">><<set $body to "masc">><</link>> <<link "Androgynous." "custompronouns3">><<set $body to "andro">><</link>>

Lastly: what gender would you classify yourself as? [[Female.|characterconfirm][$gender to "female"]] [[Male.|characterconfirm][$gender to "male"]] [[Dragons infest this world, roam the lands, doing as they please to our minds while we sit hapless; the laws of this world are made of threads so thin, so delicate, so precise that even a simple pluck could rewrite reality... and you want what? My gender? Irrelevant.|characterconfirm][$gender to "non-binary"]]

"…And you didn't stop to think to ask for $her name?" asks Yuda. Auren's response is nonchalant. "Does it matter? Perhaps I did. Perhaps I chose to ask later, instead of now—$she was in dire need of immediate sanitary care." Well. That's one way of putting it. You step out into the corridor, and somehow, everyone is still arguing. They do not fall silent as you take your seat beneath a window. Auren moves to join you. "They are always, always like this," he says. "An incredibly distasteful crew. Ysh'vanna especially." You look at Auren. "Are you allowed to say that about her? Isn't she…." "My captain? Yes." Auren rests his eyes upon Ysh'vanna, who has planted one of her boots on the table. "And my student. Once." You blink. "How did that end up happening?" "We've had a bit of history. It's not a tale I'd normally divulge on the first meeting. And I'd wager that you have more urgent, more pressing matters to approach us with." By now, the room has fallen uncomfortably quiet. You look up to see that Ysh'vanna has left the room, leaving only a trail of destruction (Avett has buried his face in his hands; Yuda looks like she might've eaten something bad) in her wake. You feel it prudent to say something, anything, to alleviate the silence. You settle for an introduction. [[Your name is...|firstnameinput]]

"Well, well," Yuda hollers as you step out of the bathroom. "Look who it is—the $woman of the hour. Take a seat, anywhere." Anywhere? You look at your options… ---- [[Pull up another seat next to Auren.|30a][$avettaffect +3, $flavor = 1]] [[Sit on the same bed you woke up in.|30a][$flavor = 2]]

<<fadein 1s>>[img[https://i.imgur.com/NrIvtxy.png]]<</fadein>> <span class="avettaffect"><div class="stat-bar-group">\ <div class="stat-bar-container">\ <div class="stat-bar-overlay-left">Affection $avettaffect%</div>\ <div class="stat-bar-overlay-right"></div>\ <div class="stat-bar" id="avettaffect-stat"></div></div></div></span>\ ''Gender:'' Male (he/him) ''Race:'' Kattish ''Age:'' 20 ''Specialization:'' Arms specialist ---- <center><h2>Physical description</h2></center> Avett is a Kattish man of average height. His complexion is fair. Perched upon his head are two swivelling cat-like ears, and at the base of his spine is a prehensile tail that is about the length of his arm—both are adorned with soft, black fur. His hair is black, hangs just below the shoulders, and he keeps most of it in a messy ponytail. Most of his frontal hair frames his boyish, youthful face. His irises are copper colored, his pupils slitted. He never wears yellow—coincidentally, the uniform for arms specialists is a fluorescent yellow jumpsuit, which is to say that he never wears his uniform. Instead, he opts for blue jackets/overshirts and his favourite black singlet—the latter exposes his collarbones. He is very fond of this singlet for this reason. ---- <center><h2>Personality</h2></center> Avett is bristly, prickly, and very easy to anger if he's not trying to get into your pants. He's a flirt through and through, and knows how and when to be charming, just... not with his coworkers. Or you. Though if you can get him to let his guard around you, you might just find him a lot more bearable. ---- <center><h2>Your notes</h2></center> Once upon a time, you saw his old ID, stuffed in a cabinet along with his boxers and body spray, and you realized he was smiling. Not outwardly—they don't want you smiling on those cards, but behind those eyes was a laugh ready to bust out at any moment. That was four years ago. Now? All he does now is sulk. Something happened in those four, long years, and they've only been getting longer since. ---- (Attached beneath his entry is an added note: //Not a catboy. NOT a catboy. Call me a catboy again and you'll be saying goodbye to your eyeballs.//) <center><<link "Return" "Codex">><</link>></center>

<<if $flavor == 1>> You drag a seat across the room, wincing as its legs rattle against the vinyl flooring.<<else>>You take your seat beside Auren again, at the edge of the same bed you'd woken up on. From the other side of the room, Avett narrows his eyes at you but says little else.<</if>> "Thank you for taking me in, despite the circumstances," you say. <<if !$apologiseavett>>Avett lets loose a wild laugh. "Didn't you get the memo? I don't get to have rights here." "Avett," warns Auren. "I'm sure it was all a misunderstanding." Avett says nothing. Were this ship's moral integrity up to Avett, he would have you gutted and strung up by the intestines like bunting.<<else>>Avett lets loose a wild laugh, but says nothing else. You're grateful that he's taken to your apology well enough.<</if>> "So," you begin, fidgeting with the dirt beneath your nails—looks like you didn't scrub hard enough. "How does this, um, check-up work? Is there anything I should prepare for?" Auren holds up a hand. "No need. You are perfect as you are." <<if $avettaffect >= 13>> "Aren't you lucky," Avett snorts. "He never says that to me."<</if>> You watch as Auren pulls his hair free from his ponytail and drags his seat closer to yours. Behind him, his locks are a sheet of filtered sunlight, too enriched in its solarity for you to stare at directly. Light twitches behind the glass of his pupils. You look at him curiously. "Have you… starte—" A curt response. "Yes." While you're enraptured by his ethereality, Yuda pipes up from behind him. "It's Gallian magic, kid. Don't gawk too hard, 'cuz most Gallians that you meet are gonna look like this. Also, it'll hurt your eyes." Okay; great. Yuda and Auren: Gallians. That leaves Ysh'vanna and Avett. You glance upwards at the guy, who's started rubbing whorls into the dust on the windowsills. His ear twitches. His eyes flit to you briefly. "Come on…" Yuda slaps him on the forearm—a little too roughly, apparently, because he grunts from the impact. "Share with the class, buddy. You can sulk about Ysh later…" Avett grimaces. "Fine. I'm Kattish. That means my muscles are… denser, or whatever, and my senses are keener than the others. Little Miss Bitch-face in the cockpit room is a Draconian." A smile tugs at the corner of his lips. "They get nothing." [[Next|31a]]

Auren's hair is a low, yet constant hum of energy. Magic. Pure magic, ripped from the pages of some fantasy novel and welded into your reality. You recall the way the skies had fractured, giving way to fleets of chrome-plated ships and flocks of dragons. It is not a fond memory, but as the entity in your mind mentioned, you have very few memories left. "You followed the dragons… here. To Earth." You swallow. "Why? Where are you all from?" "Here's the deal." Avett pulls out that same swatch of transparent material, taps at it, then tosses it at you. You catch it between your hands. "Check the projection on that GlassLink." You jump as the pixels leap out at you. A braid, formed from what must be thousands and thousands of nano-thin strings, which are in turn formed from more nano-thin strings, blooms from the GlassLink like a sprouting bean. Some of the strings are colored. Others have been left purposefully dull. Avett continues, "That, right there, is everything. Every possible reality. From worlds where the dominant species evolved to be magically inclined, to timelines <<if $punchedavett>>where you decided not to punch me<<else>>where you decided to punch me<</if>>—it's all there. We're all just inflections of each other. Different cuts of the same primordial soup. "Earth wasn't always a part of this braid. None of the realms were—they used to be lone strands, spinning off by themselves into the hollow, completely detached from any of this multiverse nonsense. But when the dragons punched through our realm into yours, your world became hopelessly intertwined with… well, the rest of ours." He gestures at the braid. "It's a mess, I know. Its official name is the "Inter-Realm Conglomerate." Only government workers and tools call it that, though—we either shorthand it to IRC, or to just, "the Braid."" Yuda grins at you. "Welcome to the IRC, Human." Avett ignores her and continues. "There's one world that we're all from: the twinkling capital of the Braid." He rolls his eyes and motions to a central strand on the diagram. "Therius—fifty-percent urban sprawl, fifty-percent construction site. Don't visit for a holiday; go someplace else." "A correction; I am not from Therius," Auren mutters under his breath, his eyes crumpled in concentration. "I was born and raised on Eldrak, the native realm of the Gallians." "Resident pedantic, reporting for duty," hisses Avett. A smirk plays at Yuda's lips. But you remain quiet. "But I don't understand," you say. "If there are all of these worlds and universes, why did it have to be ours…?" The room falls especially quiet. Even the ambient hum of Auren's magic turns dull. "Every five hundred years," Yuda says, worrying at the hem of her sleeves, "they Migrate. We don't know why. Five years ago, they flew from Therius to Earth. Maybe they know they can't win against our forces anymore, so they go off to terrorize someplace else. Maybe they're feeding off of something we can't perceive, and once they've sapped our realms of everything they need, they leave. I think they're scratching around for something; they just haven't found it yet—" "Not the time, Yuda," says Avett. He looks back at you. "Definitely not the time." You consider Yuda's words. You have a "why" to your apocalypse, some consolation for years upon years of isolation, fear, near-starvation, your life uprooted like a tree shaken free of soft soil. And now you feel… ---- [[Scared. The inexplicable agenda of these dragons has left you wide open and floundering…|32a][$flavor = 1]] [[Angry. So that's it? A stroke of sheer bad luck?|32a][$flavor = 2]] [[Indifferent. Anger, fear; this is your new normal, now.|32a][$flavor = 3]]

<<if $flavor == 1>> You are afraid. With no clear motive, these dragons have left a vacuum in your mind where fact would normally fill; paranoia seeps into the gaps like sap instead. What do they want? Anything at all? <<elseif $flavor == 2>> Terrific. Bad luck, $name! You've made the primeval mistake of being born a Human on darling planet Earth. That's what all disasters are born of—bad luck, mass misfortunate, yes that's all, folks! <<else>> You've spent enough years in hiding and silent seething to know that your calories are better spent on practical things, things you can feel. Like a bucket of clean water, a bundle of lettuces from the garden, a sack of old canned beans from the nearby houses. Getting angry makes your blood go to your head; getting scared makes your hands tense up and jitter. <</if>> Your silence is not taken well. Both Avett and Yuda say nothing else for the remainder of the checkup. Way to keep it normal. Eventually, Auren finishes his checkup with a frown. "Nothing out of the ordinary, you seem completely fine," he says, but he does leave the room rather quickly. Yuda shrugs as you stare at him in confusion. Avett snorts. "What…?" you begin. "If you're about to ask the age-old question of whether he's always like that, the answer is unfortunately and always, yes," says Avett. "Well, he's not mad at you, if that's what you're thinking," Yuda adds. "But Auren usually has better reactions. I mean, I wouldn't be worried, per say, but I'd still err on the side of—" "Yuda," Avett warns again. You've a feeling that Auren might've detected a certain entity in your head, but you'd rather not jump to conclusions; for starters, there's no proof that this entity is simply a self-inflicted bout of psychosis, granted upon you by years of isolation. Come to think of it, there's no way you spent five years all alone like that; you must've lost something along the way… And yet, the dark spots in your head squirm like worms anyway. [[Next|33]]

You're toying around with the functionalities on Yuda's GlassLink (Avett won't let you anywhere near his home screen) when something shakes through the airship—a wave of coldness that you can't quite place. Your veins turn icy, the tips of your fingers go numb with frostbite. You rub at them only to find that they are warm, that you were never cold in the first place. And somehow, you've ended up on the floor. <<if $punchedavett>>Again.<</if>> Your first thought: //what's happening to you?// Your second thought, as you pick yourself up: //oh god, you almost died. Again.// <<if $avettaffect >= 15>> A pair of gloved hands—surprisingly firm, surprisingly tough—hoists you up by the arms and steadies you once you're back on your feet. You find yourself face to face with Avett as he scans your features with… is that concern? "Okay, come on—" he says, gritting his teeth. He pats your cheek a couple of times. "Don't go fainting on me. We gotta get out." <<else>> A pair of hands—calloused and worn by blisters—hoists you up by the armpits from the ground and throws your arm over their shoulder. You hear Yuda grunt from the excursion. "Come on, up, up!" she shouts. "On your feet, dammit!"<</if>> "What's going on?" you ask. Your voice is hoarse, weak—like you've been screaming for hours. "What's happening?" "Dragons," Avett grits out. "We gotta get out of here. Airships that can't fly are practically death traps." Your heart gives a quick, cold lurch as you and the others funnel out of the airship. Ysh'vanna meets you outside, her eyes averted, her teeth gritted in frustration. "Should've known that it wasn't just nothing," she mutters. "The ship's motherboard is completely fried—and I'll bet my salary that it's got something to do with our mark." "We don't have salaries worth betting, Ysh," Avett grumbles. Yuda grins. "Betting our share of the commissions, though—I'd be tearing through my own crewmates over that." "I mentioned my salary because I didn't want to bet too much, but sure." Ysh'vanna tugs on a pair of leather gloves and kicks at a panel on the Seeker's side until it falls away, revealing a nauseous tangle of tiny, sparking copper wires. "Good start," she mumbles. [[Next|34]]

Avett steps forward, a hand hovering above his belt, where several pouches and a slot for a wrench sit, but Ysh'vanna holds out a hand. "Stop. I'm not wasting your talents here." He splutters. "I could get the ship running in literal seconds—" "So can I. And so can Yuda. But I need you on the field." "Captain, you're—" "Please." Ysh'vanna is having none of it. She turns to Auren. "Draksparrow, ward him up first. Then the rest of us, and…" She flashes a glance towards you. "No time to attune to $her, so we'll just have to keep the Human far enough from that aura, I guess." Auren does not object. He simply presses two fingers to Avett's forehead, waits, then moves to do the same to the others. "Apologies," he says when he comes to you, though it's evident that he's still wary around you from your previous encounter. "As soon as we are finished here, I will attune to you." <<if $avettaffect >= 15>> Avett's free hand trembles by his side. For a moment, you're convinced that he's a coiled spring, ready to pounce at his captain the second she makes another move. Instead, he rests you against the hull of the ship and turns towards the shattered roads, the overgrown fields of spiked grass, and he readies the weapon strapped to his back. <<else>> Avett's fist trembles. For a moment, you're convinced that he's a coiled spring, ready to pounce at his captain the second she makes another move. Instead, he turns towards the shattered roads, the overgrown fields, and he readies the weapon that is strapped to his back. <</if>> You only get to marvel briefly at his armament—a polished, silver mesh of tubes, its shape resembling something between a minigun and a crossbow—before he sprints off. "You can't be serious, Cap!" Yuda whirls to face Ysh'vanna in disbelief. "We nearly lost Avett last time you sent him off solo—he's not ready for the field again—" But Ysh'vanna only sends a wrench and a couple of tools that you don't recognize skidding towards Yuda's feet. "I need you here, repairing the ship," she says. "I can't do it by myself—neither can you. If we put our heads together…" "Avett won't—" "Avett," Ysh'vanna says, her voice dropping to a dangerously calm timbre, "will be fine. As he always has been." Yuda only grits her teeth and snatches the wrench from the ground. [[Next|35]]

You watch as Auren pulls his hair free, allowing all of it to fan into a wide, golden circle. He spreads his hands, and threads of thin gold begin to fall from his fingertips and coalesce around the ship and your house like a net of pure silk. You marvel as the cloudy-white sky fades into a gentle cascade of glitter and gold, before the barrier pops out of existence, undetectable by the uninitiated, the only proof of its existence in the way the skyline faintly shimmers when you jerk your head back towards Auren in awe. Despite having erected the barrier, Auren's hair remains outspread, and his eyes are squeezed shut in concentration. You decide not to pester him for the moment. You wander past the two women, who have taken to hammering away at a stray, buzzing wire with the backend of their wrenches. The landscape is lumpy, torn by claws and uprooted by forces beyond your understanding—you cannot see Avett nor the dragon from where you stand. You're not sure that you want to. The barrier stretches over the sky like a gauzy net. You watch the faceted surface shift, shimmer in such a way that you can't distinguish sunlight from pure light. If it was always this real, as tangible as skin, then where was it five years ago? Mentally, you gave up a long time ago. You sit at the edge of Auren's barrier and pull your legs up to your chest. But where was magic when you were dying? Where was hope in the face of despair? Lurking. Out of reach. Why? The thought of it is dull. So very, very, unbearably, irrevocably dull. You feel a hum at the back of your mind. You feel as though you are being gently suffocated, like something's held all of your limbs against your body and you're tired of being restrained. You hear voices. A tap-tapping in your skull. A voice, cool and prideful: "Actually, it's not magic," says the entity. "The locals refer to it as aether." Then—the barrier cracks. [[Next|36]]

The force of the barrier knocks to your knees. You vaguely register shouts of panic, Yuda dragging you to your feet, the sky, the field, the sky—you trip, and your head swirls like honey and silk. Your ears continue to ring as you stumble across the field. "Good lord," says the entity. "Good, good, lord. That barrier was SUFFOCATING." Yuda's mouth is moving, but all you're hearing is static. The entity speaks louder. "Hey, hey!" $he <<if $diplural>>says.<<else>>say.<</if>> "Still talking over here. It is absolutely vital to our wellbeing that you heed my next instructions." "It was you," you manage to mumble. "Yeah, I busted that barrier. It would've seriously maimed us both if I didn't. Listen—I'm giving you back a very specific strand of memories. Don't think too hard on it, don't scream at me, just commit to the task and see it through. That's the important part." "What?" you ask. Your voice sounds distant, like you're hearing yourself through deep water… $He <<if $diplural>>grips<<else>>grip<</if>> your cheeks. "We don't have long to talk. We might not even talk again. So here's a memory to tide you over for now—because let's be honest, that darling kitten needs all the help he can get—and maybe, just maybe, if you play your cards right, we'll meet again, and I'll answer every question of yours to the best of my abilities. So, without further ado." $His hands slide up to meet your temples. $His fingers claw into your flesh, and for a brief moment your skull shatters—but then you are remade once more, as the fragments of your once blurry memories fit together like broken glass. You shudder as you recall—with striking clarity—the fruits of your hard labor, earned from hours upon hours of training in the wake of certain death. You never wanted to hide. You wanted to fight back, you were rage incarnate—though you could never fathom it now… ==This //thing// took everything from you, your memories, your soul== You were a fighter, equally adequate in all three martial practices. But you were particularly good at… ---- [[…The art of aethereal manipulation.|37][$flavor = 1, $aether = 15, $combat = 5, $class = 1]] [[…Martial disciplines. You know your way around a blade.|37][$flavor = 2, $aether = 5, $combat = 15, $class = 2]] [[…Gunplay. A well-oiled machine and a pack of ammunition will serve you better than well.|37][$flavor = 2, $combat = 15, $class = 3]]

<<if $flavor == 1>> You'd learned it soon after the Migration ravaged Earth, how could you forget? Aether courses through your veins like water. Your will manifests through thought alone. But who helped you train? <<elseif $flavor == 2>> Aether to steady your muscles. A keen mind to sharpen your instincts. You recall the thrum of your blade as it catches between the training sacks, the way the hilt thrashes against your hand with every strike. <<else>> You were an obscenely good shot above all. The recoil from a firearm is deadly familiar to you. <</if>> You scour your newfound memories and see hours slathered upon hours spent laboring in the yard behind your house. You see calluses, cracked palms, bloody noses. Your bloody nose—someone struck you. Someone struck you many times over the course of many years. You remember your life dangling from a wire, your senses numbed, your body torn. There's that figure again, swimming in your memories like a cataract. But not once in your memories had you seen a dragon. Maybe you just don't remember. Or maybe, just maybe, the entity in your head really //is// as good as $he <<if $diplural>>says $he is.<<else>>say $he are.<</if>> Then you're back. Every organ in your body is bloated. Each heartbeat sends another shudder reverberating through your body. Your hands claw into nearby tufts of grass; your vision blurs into a hazy red. The figure has your memories, your passion—everything that makes you, you. Two powerful arms pull you upwards, and it takes a minor miracle to not to instinctively lash out with your newfound training. You come face to face with Yuda, whose burgundy eyes have furrowed in both worry and panic. The latter is not directed at you, but something beyond your line of sight—you look in her direction and find Auren panting with his hands braced on his knees, the golden barrier nowhere to be found. You barely manage to croak out a "Wh-what's—" before Yuda throws you to the ground, and a lob of raging fire the size of a car slams into your house behind you. <<if State.metadata.get("demoending") > 1>>Again.<</if>> <<if State.metadata.get("demoending") == 1>>[["Man," you say.|38]]<<elseif State.metadata.get("demoending") > 1>>[["Always the house," you mumble.|38]]<<else>>[["Oh," you say.|38]]<</if>>

"It's aura must've knocked you out," Yuda says as she pulls you up into a scrabbling sprint. "That's fine, that's normal—just keep running and hope to god it doesn't happen again!" <<if $arrogant >= 50>> "That's it?!" you scream back. Yuda shrugs. You curse under your breath. You hadn't expected a reply, not under these circumstances, but some sympathy would've been nice….<</if>> In the chaos you register burning flats of grass and several pairs of sprinting boots beside yours. You don't dare look back, especially not now. You're afraid of what you'll find—smoldering wooden beams, burst gas tanks, flaps of blackened quilts, the life you've known for the past five years burning down into a dark smear on the lawn. The maw of a dragon on your tail, its teeth bone-shard sharp. Your neighborhood set ablaze. You and the others dive behind a dilapidated shed that will certainly not hold should this dragon discover your location, which might be very soon. Auren is staring at his hands, his hair as limp as beached seaweed. He's shaking. And hardly unresponsive. "Auren," Ysh'vanna asks gently. "What happened?" "The barrier…." He swallows. "It—it destabilized. Completely and utterly destroyed from the inside, I… this has never happened before—" "Dude, dude!" Yuda grasps Auren's face. "Not now, man. We need you here. We need another barrier on the airship. Can you do that?" Despite everything, Auren nods. And despite everything, something in your head roils. //You absolutely cannot be there once the barrier is erected. It isn't made to keep things like you safe.// On the horizon, Avett darts down the field, a dark blur of speed against a landscape of fire. You've already made your choice; when Yuda goes to pick Auren up by the arm, you slip away. [[Next|39]]

The dragon is but a shambling mound of pale flesh on the horizon; it was further away than you'd originally thought. As you near it, you begin to see more of its features: its torso is rotund, globular, as though it is a canteen sloshing with liquid—or worse, you think: mounds of amorphous fat. Its head is a tiny speck, a flag pierced atop a great mountain. Its limbs—it has no visible arms, only two clawed feet that are half-obscured by its own lumberous belly. You watch as it lobs spheres of flame across the sky like artillery. Avett won't last long. To your left, you see the smoking remains of your house, and the airship—untouched, but still blemished. Ysh'vanna and her team won't be able to reach it as the dragon is now, but if you could get it to move, or perhaps attract its attention elsewhere… Either way, it's time to do what you came here for. ---- <<if $class == 1>> [[Muster up a spear of bright, aetheric energy in your hands and throw it towards the dragon. You'll attract its attention with a lightshow of your newfound powers.|40][$flavor = 1]]<</if>> [[Shout at the dragon. It's not much, but you're empty handed, and there's very little else that you can do.|40][$flavor = 2]]

<<if $flavor == 1>> You recall your lessons with ice-sharp clarity. There is aether nestled in the bonds between atoms, in the ridges of sinewed flesh, in your arteries, veins, in the blank space between the Earth and its orbiting celestials. It is everywhere; all you have to do is to concentrate on a single strand of that aether, tug at it, and the world's resolve will come unraveling apart. You find that strand woven into the air. Fire lances forth from your fingertips. Another thought, and you send it hurtling towards the head of the dragon. It's difficult to see the fruits of your labor, but judging from the way the dragon has recoiled and its sudden, ear-straining call, you assume that you've hit it square in the eye. You've done it—now what? <<else>> You feel a bit stupid for not grabbing a weapon of some sort back on the airship, but there was very little you could do before the dragon had struck. You weren't even aware that you could fight. It doesn't matter now. Sucking in a shuddering breath, you let loose a barbarian's shout, a sound that rips through your chest like lightning—a sound too large for your body. Your shout rebounds off the mountains. It echoes around the field like wind. You see Avett's head turn to face you. So does the dragon. <</if>> The ground shudders. You think that the earth might just fall apart. The dragon's head begins to stretch upwards, the width of its torso retracts, and you are suddenly aware that this dragon has been playing you for a fool. In its new form, it is long, limber—its neck is now a hundred yards long, whip-like and lashing, and its body has shrunk to give way to two muscled frontal limbs. It grows larger. Larger. From its mouth comes a terrible screech that shakes you to your marrow. It is coming towards you. [[Turn and run.|41]]

You run, and run, and run, back where you came from, far far //far// away from your house. You hope to god, any god, that the others will make it back onto their airship safely. <<if $selfha >= 75>> It's the least that you can do for these strangers; they have lives worth returning to. You don't.<<else>>And if you're lucky, maybe you'll escape with them.<</if>> Your back burns. Whether it's from exertion or flame, you don't know. You don't want to know. The landscape blurs into a smear of yellow and white. Your legs must be hurting, but you don't feel them. You feel nothing but the beat of your only fearful heart, and you hear nothing but the silent, deafening howl of empty space. You are alone. You are suffocating. Just like last time. This is not a friendly darkness, nor is it an ambivalent one. This is the sort of darkness after death, the kind you might come across when you're buried alive. There is no reaching out, no extending your limbs only to watch them mist away to black. Your chest contracts, and your brain sends red-hot signals across your synapses in a desperate attempt to get your lungs working again. It doesn't work. This is its aura, its will. <<if $class == 3>>Where you clumsily pull on caches of aether to create bulbs of light, this dragon is capable of molding the world like clay.<<else>>And you've fallen head first into its trap.<</if>> Once again, you are dying. //A familiar feeling, isn't it?// [[Next|42]]

"My name is $name $lastname." You motion vaguely out the window. "That's the house I've been living in for the past, um…" "Five years," Yuda says, her voice quiet. Then, an even quieter "sorry." Her words are a cold knife through your stomach. Five years. Alright. Auren gestures to a nearby seat. "Please. By all means." You sit, and the room falls silent again. <<if $tactful >= 55>>Evidently, these offlanders have never experienced loss as you have. Death, danger, perhaps—but not the desolation of loss. Never.<<else>>You try not to think about how much you've lost to the apocalypse, but it's a thought accentuated by these offlanders and their quiet. By god, why //are// they so quiet?<</if>> "So," you begin, fidgeting with the dirt beneath your nails. "How does this, um, check-up work? Is there anything I should prepare for?" Auren holds up a hand. "No need. You are perfect as you are." <<if $avettaffect >= 13>>"Aren't you lucky," Avett snorts. "He never says that to me."<</if>> You watch as Auren pulls his hair free from his ponytail and drags his seat closer to yours. Behind him, his locks are a sheet of filtered sunlight, too enriched in its solarity for you to stare at directly. Light twitches behind the glass of his pupils. You look at him curiously. "Have you… starte—" A curt response. "Yes." While you're enraptured by his ethereality, Yuda pipes up from behind him. "It's Gallian magic, kid. Don't gawk too hard, 'cuz most Gallians that you meet are gonna look like this. Also, it'll hurt your eyes." Okay; great. Yuda and Auren: Gallians. That leaves Ysh'vanna and Avett. You glance upwards at the guy, who's started rubbing whorls into the dust on the windowsills. His ear twitches. His eyes flit to you briefly. "Come on…" Yuda slaps him on the forearm—a little too roughly, apparently, because he grunts from the impact. "Share with the class, buddy. You can sulk about Ysh later…" Avett grimaces. "Fine. I'm Kattish. That means my muscles are… denser, or whatever, and my senses are keener than the others. Little Miss Bitch-face in the cockpit room is a Draconian." A smile tugs at the corner of his lips. "They get nothing." [[Next|31a]]

You sit with your thoughts. Mull over them eternally and a thousand times over in the blink of a second. It's just you, your thoughts, and your dying, breathless, suffocating excuse of a body. … … [[Next|43]]

… … [[Next|44]]

… … Until it isn't. [[Because there, in the distance—is a pinhole of light.|45]]

You pull yourself from the ground—the real ground, tufted with dried grass and cracked dirt—and choke down copious amounts of air as your vision fades back into view. Miraculously, again, you've somehow escaped the dragon's aura. You hear the sound of an airship whirring to life in the distance—Ysh'vanna and the others must've made it. What happened? <<if $arrogant >= 50>>Does it matter? You're alive.<</if>> You're about to pat down your hands on your knees when you see Avett's crumpled, near-lifeless body, lying in front of you. There's a dark streak running from his shoulder to his waist. You don't know how he managed to rush across a field in ten seconds flat, but you are certain of this: he's just saved your life. <<if $selfha >= 75>> Why?<</if>> The dragon is now closer than ever; you can count every tooth in its stinking, narrow mouth, and you can see its slitted pupils twitching around. You only have seconds to think of something, anything, before you squander Avett's sacrifice. If only there was something you could do. You shut your eyes, and for the third damn time today, you feel death's vile presence brush upon your mortality once more. [[Next|46]]

… You open your eyes. The entity is pacing across your room, nibbling at its finger as dark smoke flecks off its body. $His eyes pulsate from red to black. "I can't keep calling you in here like this, you know," it says. "It costs me an arm and a half to materialize your psyche—now I gotta freeze your perception of time too?" $He <<if $diplural>>shakes<<else>>shake<</if>> $his head. "I'm gonna end up killing myself before we even get out of here, $name. Do you want that?" Before you can rationalize your thoughts, you're pouncing at the entity, red searing at your vision. <<if $selfha >= 70>>"You took my memories. All of them! Even the ones that didn't matter. I want them back."<<else>>"My memories are gone because of you—I want to know why."<</if>> Your hands pass through $him like… well, like $hes made of smoke. The entity ebbs back, towards the window by your sink. "Woah, woah, pal. Getting grabby there. And I didn't take your memories, I just… rehoused them." <<if $selfha >= 70>>You storm up to $him, cage in $his body with what dignity you have left. "Which means you took them."<<else>>You fold your arms. You're going to need a better answer than that.<</if>> "Fine, fine. If you're going to be pedantic about it, yes, I took your memories. I'm keeping them safe for you, alright? There are things in here that you can't comprehend, that'll rip you apart if I start putting them back into your brains." It looks through the window. "And if you don't do something right now, this memory? It's gonna be one of them." You follow $his gaze through the dusty glass of your window. This is where you'd normally see your water tank and back garden, but instead of that you see… Avett. Time slows to a crawl. The dragon's maw has blossomed wide open, revealing fleshy ridges of throat tissue and an unbelievable amount of teeth. Through your window, at your feet, Avett begins to stir in slow motion. But he won't be fast enough to save you a second time. You will… ---- [[Give the voices in your head no quarter. They are just that—voices. And if you shut them out…|47a][$ditrauma = 2]] [[Who are you kidding? You're about to die. There's no shame in asking for any sort of help, no matter its source.|47b][$ditrauma = 1]]

You say nothing, but this split moment of hesitation is enough. Frustration flashes through the smoke of $his hair. "You can't seriously still think that I'm 'just' a voice in your head, $name." The entity clicks $his tongue. "I'm almost offended. I'd tell you that you're going mad, but I'm fairly certain that you already believe this." You do. And you want no part in this madness. "Of course," $he <<if $diplural>>grit<<else>>grits<</if>> out. "Of course it'd come to this. Worthless, as always." Time begins to resume its course. The dragon is lunging, Avett is shifting, but everything seems to be moving… without you. Like you're a passenger in your own body. [[Next|48a]]

//Please,// you think. //Help me.// The figure smiles—it is a cruel slash of bone white, as wide as an open wound. "F-i-i-nally," $he <<if $diplural>>say.<<else>>says.<</if>> "Least something here's still got a head to go with their neck. Soon enough, anyway. Now open your hand." "Why?" you ask. No answer. Time only edges forth. Your window of opportunity narrows as thin as a blade. You do as it says. Aether leaks through your fingers like honey. A golden lance gathers in the air, long and dense and as dazzling as a rogue solar flare; you marvel at its violent beauty for a brief millisecond before you whirl and bring it down upon the neck of the dragon, severing meat from bone from cartilage in an instant. It is easy. Like a quick blade through soft wood. The head thuds to the ground, where it comes to a rolling stop at your feet. The dragon's body gives a singular twitch before it follows suit, and the earth shudders. You try not to look at the body as the airship comes careening in your direction. By the time the others have clamored out of the ship, the golden lance in your hand is gone, and the voice has fallen eerily silent. [[You drop the lance, and it shatters. You are panting.|52]]

Your arms move of their own accord. Aether leaks between your fingers. A golden lance gathers in the air, long and dense and as dazzling as a rogue solar flare, and your arm flexes before tossing it forward. It soars through the sky, its trajectory straighter and narrower than the blade of a rapier. You watch this ten-foot lance spear into the mouth of the dragon like thread pulled through a needle. The dragon recoils, shrieks—its neck flails across the sky like a live wire. Then it thuds to the ground. It's still twitching. And you still can't move. [[Next|49a]]

You are still not in control of yourself as you recall your bloody lance with merely a thought—not your thought, but that thing in your head's—and make your way towards the head of the dragon. You make eye contact with its twitching, erratic eyes. They are golden and spotted with flecks of green, a verdant forest dappled by the morning sun. "All I want you to do," your mind guest says, with your own damn mouth, "is to watch this. To revel in it. To make sure you never forget how it feels to exert your will over another being's life, because that brutalism is what'll keep you alive. What'll keep us alive." What are you doing? You want to scream, but this was never your body to begin with, and despite that lack of control sensation remains—the lance is hot under your touch; the dragon's blood sticks to your hand like treacle; the world falls as silent as cotton. All you can do is watch yourself wrench a blade through the dragon's skull, over and over, as though you are milking it of one final, sweet shriek of relief. As though you, like a sadist caught in midcraze, might enjoy this. [[Next|50a]]

… … … [[...|51]]

You don't remember when you were given back control over your own body, but you eventually find yourself slumped over the grass with your arms aching, and your palms peeling. Your new wounds will give way to blisters. You reach out for that dark entity in your mind, angry and terrified, but you find nobody there. You back away from the dragon's corpse. [[Next|52]]

Everything after comes in an adrenaline-laced blur. Avett is carried by Yuda onto the airship and into the sleeping quarters, where Auren confirms his pulse. He demands components, ingredients; the fresh femur of a dragon, a petrified heart, a slab of gold hammered so that it is as textured as an orange peel. Yuda hovers these objects in the air, orbits them around each other over the slow rise and fall of Avett's chest. Before you can make sense of this procedure, Auren shuts the door behind him. You remember Ysh'vanna slumping into the captain's seat. You remember a deluge of incoherent ramblings: //"How'd we let that thing sneak up on us? What happened out there? How'd you let that thing get you, Avett? I should've let Yuda go out there. I can't believe Avett couldn't—I should have, should have, should have….// Eventually, she manages to gather herself. The airship hums and lifts from the ground, and you watch the corpse of the dragon and the foundations of your house shrink with each passing second. Ysh'vanna had promised to you refuge elsewhere, far from the ruins of your dilapidated neighborhood. She doesn't know how you managed to defeat their mark so easily, only that it was you who slew it. <<if $tactful >= 55>>You sense that she may have an ulterior motive. Having you among their crew would ease things up a little. But the power that you harbor is mercurial, and the entity within your head space even more so. You don't know how long you'll last.<<else>>You are thankful for the board and food, and they seem thankful for your help in turn, but late at night you catch Ysh'vanna and Auren conversing passionately at the dinner table, and you catch whiffs of your name amongst their conversation.<</if>> The sleeping quarters are full, so the crew arranges a spare mattress in the armory for you. At sundown moonlight floods into the room, and you trace the pipes and exposed circuitry on the ceiling until the early hours of the morning. You are plagued by your thoughts, and they chase you into your dreams. But you do eventually sleep. [[Next|ch1]]

You brush your teeth and <<if $hairlength == 1>>rake your nails through your scalp.<<elseif $hairlength == 2>>tame your short locks into something more acceptable with a comb.<<elseif $hairlength == 3>>tame your shoulder-length locks into something more acceptable with a comb.<<else>>tame your long locks into something more acceptable with a comb.<</if>> You try to smile at your reflection; it doesn't quite reach your eyes. And the toothpaste onboard is minty enough to ruin orange juice for a month. You don't feel fresh at all, but you make yourself present in the main room anyway. [[Next|1_2]]

It's hard not to balk at what rests beyond the windshield; where you had expected patchy tundras, ruined cityscapes, and shrinking copses, you see a massive tangle of industrial viscera over your head. Iron beams bend like ivy to support exposed bouquets of copper wiring, fistfuls of concrete slabs intersperse themselves between various antiquities of the world before the Migration; you see a popped lamplight, a pale road sign, a fire hydrant folded flat. <<if $tactful >= 55>>It's all too fecund to be man made—<<else>>You don't know how, but you know that this structure was not man made—<</if>>how did this place come to be? While you're staring up at the ceiling in awe, you notice that Ysh’vanna has moved to your side; she, too, is observing the ceiling. "Not something you see everyday, I'm guessing?" she asks. ---- [["It's beautiful."|1_3][$flavor = 1]] [["It's awful."|1_3][$flavor = 2]]

<<if $flavor == 1>> You've been surrounded by the ruins of the old world for a long, long time. Seeing all of the debris put to use puts your soul at ease, somehow. "It's beautiful," you say as you trace the outline of a highway. "No wonder everywhere else was so empty—this is where everything went." <<else>> It's a horrible sight—a culmination of the world the dragons had so generously gifted upon you. This is where everything that you once loved went—into the ceiling of some garish structure, to be used by people who have never, and will never, know loss as you will. "It's awful," you say. You grit your teeth. <</if>> Ysh'vanna only shrugs. "Never had an opinion on these things—reports from the first fleet of ships to arrive on Earth say that these things, spires, just erupted out of the ground and started taking its surroundings up with it. We call them sanctuaries—this particular one is called the Hive." Her eyes never leave the ceiling. "We have reports dating back thousands of years ago observing the Migration in other realms. Not once has this happened. And every researcher back on Therius has their own take on the matter, naturally." She huffs a sigh. "All I know is that everyone's glad to have an easy roof over their heads while they do their work on Earth." ---- [[Turn away from the window. You wish to see no more.|1_4][$flavor = 1]] [[Ask, "Did you want something, Ysh'vanna?"|1_4][$flavor = 2]]

<<if $flavor == 1>> You turn away from the window. You don't want to talk about this anymore. <<else>> "Did you want something, Ysh'vanna?" you ask. <</if>> "Ah, yes." Ysh'vanna turns to you swiftly. "There's something I've been meaning to ask you." "Go on," you reply. Cautiously. <<if $tactful >= 60>>Behind you, you sense Auren waiting in the corridor. Offering his presence. <</if>>Ysh'vanna adjusts a strap on her overalls and clears her throat multiple times. "Ahem. I'd like you, $name $lastname, to join our crew. I know it's a lot to take in right now. But you've got guts, and if it weren't for you, I don't know what we would've…" she trails off, then quickly plasters on another smile. "Either way, the workforce needs someone like you." Oh. Oh, man. [[Next|1_5]]

"Wouldn't I need to train for that?" you ask. You recall the way that dragon had so easily wormed itself into your head, and you shudder. You feel as though no amount of training will prepare you for another assault like that. And in all fairness you would've died out there too, had that //thing// in your mind not intervened. <<if $ditrauma == 1>>You prod blindly at the darkest corners of your mind, expecting a response, but you receive nothing at all. You don't know when, or if, it'll provide you with its assistance again.<<else>>But the entity is not a kind one; it thrives from your suffering, and it is not afraid to show it. You can only hope that you won't need its help again.<</if>> Ysh'vanna rolls her shoulders. "Yes, maybe a bit, but not for as long as say, Avett, who's been training since twelve. There's a place that takes people like you—people who have more than enough experience on the field, but no official license to vouch for their skill when it comes to getting signed with a ship. The course should take around…." She takes out her GlassLink and taps at it. "…Twelve weeks." You wince. "That's not long at all." "Yes, but—" Ysh'vanna stops herself and shoots you a cautious glance. "Well, mercenaries like Avett and I, we get five odd years at school, and sure, we get some fundamentals down. But that's nothing compared to actual field work." Another cautious glance. She adds, slowly, "You've got an edge over any fresh graduate with a license: five years of on field experience. That's far more than what any captain worth their salt could ask for. You don't have to decide right now—maybe by the end of today, yeah? Or tomorrow." You nod. Ysh'vanna makes a move to leave, stops herself when she sees Auren in the corridor <<if $tactful < 55>>(when did he get there?) <</if>>and turns sharply on a heel. "By the waaaay…" she starts. "I'm sure you've noticed that we're a very small crew, aboard a kinda large-ish ship—I mean, if you were to say, help around, we absolutely wouldn't mind an extra pair of hands… it would be good to work around, get to know some of your future crewmates a bit better." Before you can answer, Ysh'vanna waves quickly at you. Auren claps a hand on her shoulder as she leaves. [[Next|1_6]]

//''Later…''// As you spoon cereal into your mouth, you consider your options. Both Yuda and Avett are on shopping duty, with Yuda needing to resupply her tools as a restrainer, and Avett on groceries. Ysh'vanna needs to finish up some paperwork, and she'll appreciate the company. Auren… you're not sure what Auren's up to, but you do catch him mumbling to himself around the ship. ---- [[Help Yuda.|1_yuda1][$yudachores to true]] [[Help Avett.|1_avett1][$avettchores to true]] ==Help Auren== NOT YET IMPLEMENTED ==Help Ysh'vanna== NOT YET IMPLEMENTED

Unsurprisingly, Yuda is already outside and bouncing from one foot to the other. She perks up when she sees you descending the Seeker's boarding ramp. "'Lo, $name! Looks like you decided to help out the right person, which is perfect. You'll love the Aetherium—it's like a theme park. You're gonna be looking everywhere, anywhere, and you're gonna be leaving with way more than you bargained for." <<if $tactful >= 55>> You don't think she's ever been to a theme park. Not the same kind that you grew up with, with rickety coaster tracks and plastic skeletons to scare you from the depths of a mine-themed ride. And you doubt that they'll sell you hot chips at the Aetherium either. <</if>> She marches on. You trail loosely behind. There's no room to get a pleasantry in lengthways; Yuda chatters on endlessly, moves from topic to topic like a salmon in slipstream. You learn that an Aetherium is a place where casters go and leave several credits poorer. When she goes on to tell you about the tools of her trade, she does such a poor job of explaining it that she actually stops herself midway and says, "Well, I'll probably explain it better once I actually have the tool in my hands. I'm more hands-on than hands-off, heh." [[Next|1_yuda2]]

"I guess I'll help out Avett," you tell Ysh'vanna later. She's sitting behind a mound of paperwork and floating blue screens at her desk. "Oh, thank god," she says. "Er, I mean, great! But Auren wants him to rest up for the day—no biggie, just do your grocery shopping after dinner. As for what you can do until then, you should probably take the day off." "Until… dinner?" you clarify. "I could help someone else—" "No." "N-no…?" Ysh'vanna turns to you. "No, you'll need the energy. Trust me—no matter what Avett says, you have to go grocery shopping. You blink. Ysh'vanna turns back to her paperwork. "And hey, you saved a lot of lives the other day." She swipes at a nearby screen; it dissipates into pixels, and she lets loose a sigh. "Take a break, alright? Drink some water, nap a little, meditate—can't save the world when you're exhausted." You look pointedly at Ysh'vanna. She coughs. "Okay, I guess it's not so much saving the world than stopping my frontliners from slacking off. You're right. But take the day off anyway." [[Next|1_avett2]]

//''Even later…''// You find Avett lounging in a seat by his bed as he taps out <<if $tactful >= 60>>an agitated<<else>>a<</if>> message on his GlassLink. Most of his wounds have already healed over, with the more severe ones having faded into tiny flecks of superficial scabs. <<if $ditrauma == 2>><<set $avettaffect +=2>>You shudder at the memory. Of scabrous things and misshapen egos that lurk in the dark. The memory is not fond, but you're not lost in it for long; Avett swings his legs over the bedside and<<if $avettaffect > 17>> punches your shoulder lightly as he passes you<<else>> brushes past you<</if>>. "You'll be alright," he mumbles. "Come on. Let's go." You get the feeling that this is how he phrases his condolences, and that you're lucky to even get any. He flicks a brief glance towards you while he's stuffing his belongings into his pockets. There's a tiny smile growing on his lips. You're suddenly overcome with the notion that Avett is not interested in the slightest about following orders and going grocery shopping. "I'm here to help you with the chores," you try, desperately. "Mm hm," he mumbles. "Ysh'vanna said—" One of his ears twitch. "Ysh'vanna says a lot of things. What she doesn't know is that I'm not obligated to do any of them." <<if $selfha >= 75>>"You absolutely are obligated to her, isn't she your employer?"<<else>>"U-uh…." You're not sure if that's how any of this works, but it doesn't feel like it's your call to make.<</if>> He says nothing. You get the feeling he might be smiling. "Say." He stops at the door. "I'm hurt, you're hurt. How about we settle and don't do our chores?" [[Well, crap.|1_avett3]] <<else>> ---- [["You're looking better."|1_avett3a][$flavor = 1]] [["Hey there."||1_avett3a][$flavor = 2]] <<if $punchedavett>> [["Sorry I punched you."|1_avett3a][$flavor = 3]] <</if>> <</if>>

Avett drags you off the ship and down several twisting alleyways, through rooms with low ceilings and high ceilings alike. Sometimes you are surrounded by what appear to be apartment complexes carved into the walls, and other times you find yourself in a wide, open space filled with stalls and food stands. You don't know how, but there's an entire city in this spire; you'd have never guessed from your hideout out in what used to be the suburbs. You express your awe, but Avett only offers you a half-hearted grunt as he worms his way through a crowd. <<if $height == 1>>You follow him with ease.<<elseif $height == 2>>You follow him with little difficulty.<<elseif $height == 3>>You follow him, but it's harder than it looks.<<else>>You're at least a head taller than everyone on this street, and yet you're still on the verge of losing him.<</if>> Eventually, you re-emerge together elsewhere, in front of a corrugated-tin door tucked between two close-knit apartment blocks. A black sludge stains the walls and coagulates on the floor; you try to avoid this grime to no avail. And you'd just gotten these shoes… Before Avett opens the door, he turns to you and asks, "Ever been to one of these, princess? You had 'em on Earth, right? Every realm has them." Uhh. What's he referring to here? ---- [["Ysh'vanna warned me about this…"|1_avett4a]] [[Dark alleyway, isolated area… were it not for the fact that you are practically penniless, you'd assume Avett has brought you here to mug you.|1_avett4][$flavor = 1, $guard += 5, $avettaffect -= 1]] [["Wow. Yeah, that's a pretty sick door."|1_avett4][$flavor = 2, $avettaffect +=1]]

<<if $flavor == 1>>"You're looking better," you try. "Everything's healed nicely." "'Cause Yuda knows how to do her job. And, so does Auren." He scratches at a thin line on his cheek idly. "When he's not busy being a total stuck-up with Ysh'vanna. Sorry, I'm setting a bad example for my subordinate. //Captain// O'Raal."<<elseif $flavor == 2>>"Hey there," you try—Avett does not look up from his GlassLink. "Here to do my chores." "Did Ysh'vanna put you up to this?" he asks. "Oh, sorry—can't go setting bad examples for my subordinates. What I meant to say was //Captain// O'Raal."<<else>>"Sorry for punching you," you say sheepishly. <<if $avettaffect >= 15>> He shrugs. "Not the worst thing that happened to me that day, surprisingly." He flicks his eyes towards you. "Don't think you're forgiven just because you're here to help, I know Ysh wants you to keep me in line while we go grocery shopping." He looks back at the GlassLink. "Sorry—that's [i]Captain[/i] O'Raal. Can't go setting bad examples for my subordinate."<<else>>He takes a brief reprieve from texting to glare at you. "And now you're here to help me do my chores. Suck up." "Actually," you say, " Ysh'vanna suggested it." A smirk dances across his features. "That's //Captain// O'Raal to you, soldier. Can't have my subordinate forgetting the significance of titles around here."<</if>><</if>> You balk. "I haven't even passed training yet, and already I'm—?" "Yeah." He doesn't look away from the GlassLink for even a second. "Catch up with the news recently? Ysh'vanna and Auren were talking way past midnight about the logistics of taking you on. Kept me up, that's for sure. Hiring you is definitely on the cards for that girl, whether you get your license in time or not." He stops, then adds, "Whether you agree or not actually." That doesn't sound the slightest bit legal. <<if $tactful >= 55>>Looks like mercenaries are scarce and high in demand these days.<<else>>They sure must be desperate.<</if>> "They went on for that long?" you mention. "I didn't hear a thing from the armory." Avett says nothing and only motions to his fuzzy, beastial ears, now swivelling in place. He still won't look at you. [[Next|1_avett3b]]

It takes a while, but eventually Avett swings his legs over the bedside and <<if $avettaffect >=15>>lightly punches your shoulder as he passes you<<else>>passes you<</if>> and makes for the exit. Once he's there, he stops and begins to toy at a ledge on the doorframe. Finally, after much deliberation, he shoots a <<if $avettaffect >=15>>mischievous grin<<else>>brief glance<</if>> in your direction. "Say," he begins, "how about we don't do our chores?" [[Well, crap.|1_avett3]]

<<if $ditrauma == 2>>"Ysh'vanna—er, Captain O'Raal said we had to go grocery shopping," you say. Avett watches you stammer over Ysh'vanna's name with bemusement. "Yeah. And?"<<else>>"Ysh'vanna said we had to go grocery shopping," you say. Avett observes you with bemusement. "Yeah. And?"<</if>> "We're not at the supermarket," you finish. "Yeah. And?" <<if $arrogant >= 60>>Maybe it's your lack of sleep, maybe you've just had enough of Avett's antics, but at that moment you decide to storm right into his space. "Quit being difficult. You know exactly what I'm referring to."<<else>>"Um." You turn towards the door. This can't possibly be the supermarket… right?<</if>> "Look, if you want to go grocery shopping, then by all means." He gestures towards the exit of the alleyway. "But I'm holding the money, and you don't know where anything is." You fall silent. He grins and adds, "Also, answer the question." ---- [[Dark alleyway, isolated area… were it not for the fact that you are practically penniless, you'd assume Avett has brought you here to mug you.|1_avett4][$flavor = 1, $guard += 5, $avettaffect -= 1]] [["Wow. Yeah, that's a pretty sick door."|1_avett4][$flavor = 2, $avettaffect +=1]]

<<if $flavor == 1>>"Are you about to mug me?" you try anyway. "Yup. Turn out your pockets, or I'll gut you." He folds his arms. "Oh, no. Wait. You don't have a credit on you." "Then I'm out of ideas. Why're we here?" Avett throws you a sardonic grin. "It's a bar. I'd ask again if you've been one before, now that you know what it is, but honestly…"<<else>>"Yup," you say, nodding. "That's a real sick door." To your credit, Avett chokes on a snicker. <<if $avettaffect >= 19>>He doesn't quite manage to school himself into neutrality—there's still a whisper of a smile on his face when he turns back to you.<<else>>He coughs and quickly composes himself.<</if>> "It's a bar. I'd ask again if you've been in one before, now that you know what it is, but honestly…"<</if>> ---- [[You have had no experience with bars.|1_avett5][$flavor = 1, $barvirgin to true]] [[You've been to a few.|1_avett5][$flavor = 2]]

<<if $flavor == 1>>"I've never been in one," you admit. He whistles low. "Fig-ures."<<else>>"I've been to a few," you say. //Before the Migration,// you want to add. He tosses you a mischievous smirk. "Thank god. Least someone on the Seeker is capable of touching grass. Or glass." He shrugs.<</if>> Inside, you're treated to a smorgasbord of different races. You see several that you know of; Gallians, Kattish, and Draconian, but you also see people with burgundy skin, and people with horns growing upon their heads. And of course, you're the only Human. You follow Avett to a table, praying that no one notices you. There are a few stray stares coming from the nearby tables. <<if $selfha >= 75>>Shame prickles at your cheeks. You really wish you were dead.<<else>>You grit your teeth; this is just another evil that you'll have to endure for the night…<</if>> "Here." Avett slides his GlassLink over to you; on it, you see a lineup of several colorful drinks. "Order something. <<if $barvirgin>>Just pick whatever looks the tastiest if you're stuck.<</if>> You look at the menu. As expected, you recognize none of the named liquors under each cocktail. Looks like you'll have to go in blind. ---- [[Order the Sobering Sunrise, a non-alcoholic mocktail with a pretty pink-to-yellow gradient, rimmed with specks of pink sugar.|1_avett5a][$mcdrink to "Sobering Sunrise"]] [[Order the Fraisium Oxide, a lime-green drink topped with a foreign slice of fruit.|1_avett6][$mcdrink to "Fraisium Oxide", $flavor = 1]] [[Order the Realm's Bounty, a clear, bubbly drink in a tall glass.|1_avett6][$mcdrink to "Realm's Bounty", $flavor = 2]] [[Attempt to browse the photo gallery on Avett's GlassLink instead.|1_avett6a][$avettaffect -= 3, $sisandpa to true]]

"I'll have the Sobering Sunrise," you say. Avett raises his head from the menu. "No alcohol? You're sure?" ---- [[Yes. You don't like drinking.|1_avett5a2][$permasober to true, $flavor = 1]] [[Yes. You're allergic.|1_avett5a2][$permasober to true, $flavor = 2]] [[You'd say yes to alcohol any other time, but not tonight.|1_avett5a2][$flavor = 3]]

<<unset $sisandpa>><<if $flavor == 1>> Truth be told, this looks like literal poison. You order it anyway; "One Fraisium Oxide, please." <<if $height == 1>> Avett flicks a glance at you. For a moment, you think that he might comment on your choice of drink, but eventually he gets up to order.<</if>> <<else>> You hope this isn't just soda water. "One Realm's Bounty, please," you say.<</if>> Avett leaves you briefly <<if $selfha >= 75>>, which is enough to set your shoulders hunching over as you feel a thousand eyes needling at your back, <</if>>and returns with your drink in hand. He's holding his own drink as well—a pale blue cocktail in a squat glass. <<if $tactful >= 55>> You're starting to think that might be his favorite color.<</if>> He takes a slow, courteous sip from his glass, then another. Finally, he says quietly, "Thank you." You blink. "You're… welcome?" you try. When you realize that he'll probably stay tight-lipped about it for the rest of the night if you don't press him, you add, "What for?" "L-let me preface all this by mentioning that you're an idiot." He drums his nails against the side of his glass, then takes another sip. "A dumb, reckless idiot who would rather be dead than alive. I almost died because of you." You fall into an uneasy silence. You see Avett's battered body, pale as snow, his blood spilling into the grass like water. It's only by Auren's hand does he stand before you now. ---- [["I didn't ask for you to jump in front of me."|1_avett7][$flavor = 1, $avettaffect -= 2, $selfha -= 15]] [[Let him finish.|1_avett7][$flavor = 2]]

"Let me take a closer look," you say as you grab Avett's GlassLink. To your surprise, he just… lets you do that. You manage to get about as far as the first photo—a saved image of a young Kattish girl with dark hair posing with who you assume is her father—before Avett manages to catch on. He lunges over the table and has his GlassLink back in no time. <<if $punchedavett>> It's not the same girl that he keeps by his bedside—this one is shorter, younger. A sibling, perhaps. <</if>> "Fuck you, asshole!" he says. "One more swipe to the right and you would've been dead where you stand." <<if $tactful >= 60>>It's hard to notice in the warm glow of the bar, but you catch Avett's cheeks reddening as he fidgets with his GlassLink. Looks like he's hiding a lot more than just family photos in his storage space.<<else>>You watch him fiddle with his GlassLink for a hot minute before he's prepared to look you in the eye again.<</if>> "Sorry," you say. "Got curious." Avett only scowls. He holds his GlassLink upright, just far enough so that you can see the drink menu but not interact with it. "For the love of god, just order something. Anything." ---- [[Order the Sobering Sunrise, a non-alcoholic mocktail with a pretty pink-to-yellow gradient, rimmed with specks of pink sugar.|1_avett5a][$mcdrink to "Sobering Sunrise"]] [[Order the Fraisium Oxide, a lime-green drink topped with a foreign slice of fruit.|1_avett6][$mcdrink to "Fraisium Oxide", $flavor = 1]] [[Order the Realm's Bounty, a clear, bubbly drink in a tall glass.|1_avett6][$mcdrink to "Realm's Bounty", $flavor = 2]]

<<if $flavor == 1>> "I don't drink," you admit. "It's not really my style." <<elseif $flavor == 2>> "My body doesn't react well to it," you admit. <<else>> "Yeah." You shrug. "Maybe some other time." <</if>> "Fair enough," says Avett<<if $avettaffect >= 15>>, before he hisses a quick //shit// under his breath. "Should've asked first.<<else>>. "<</if>>Lemme get that for you." Avett leaves you briefly <<if $selfha >= 75>>, which is enough to set your shoulders hunching over as you feel a thousand eyes needling at your back, <</if>>and returns with your drink in hand. He's holding his own drink as well—a pale blue cocktail in a squat glass. <<if $tactful >= 55>> You're starting to think that might be his favorite color.<</if>> He takes a slow, courteous sip from his glass, then another. Finally, he says quietly, "Thank you." You blink. "You're… welcome?" you try. When you realize that he'll probably stay tight-lipped about it for the rest of the night if you don't press him, you add, "What for?" "L-let me preface all this by mentioning that you're an idiot." He drums his nails against the side of his glass, then takes another sip. "A dumb, reckless idiot who would rather be dead than alive. I almost died because of you." You fall into an uneasy silence. You see Avett's battered body, pale as snow, his blood spilling into the grass like water. It's only by Auren's hand does he stand before you now. ---- [["I didn't ask for you to jump in front of me."|1_avett7][$flavor = 1, $avettaffect -= 2, $selfha -= 15]] [[Let him finish.|1_avett7][$flavor = 2]]

<<if $flavor == 1>> "I didn't ask for you to jump in front of me," you say. "That would also make you a dumb, reckless idiot who would rather be dead than alive. What makes you think that you have any right to criticize me?" Power singes your words—it shocks you, leaves your tongue tingling like you've licked a hot wire. It shocks Avett too. You know this because the hand wrapped around his drink is trembling. He drinks. He mutters something too quiet into his glass. He drinks again. Finally, he slams the drink into the table. "Actually, you know what? I was gonna say some nice things about you to soothe your wounds, princess, but fine. You'll find that I'm a professionally trained individual with years of experience under my belt, and that I leapt in front of you because I was gonna save you." "And how'd that work out?" you ask. "Okay, wow." He rolls his eyes. "What, you think I'm god or something? Sometimes things just don't work out, okay, but at least I had a plan. I'm not the one who ran out there and immediately got sniped by a faceful of aura." You stare at him. He coughs, his face a hot red<<if $tactful >= 60>>, and you can't tell if it's from the alcohol or if you've just caught him unawares.<<else>>. Looks like you're both just two reckless peas in a pod.<</if>> "Right, where was I? Oh, right." Avett dips his head in a deep, mocking bow. "Thank you for saving me when you put all of us in danger." <<else>> You remain silent, unsure of whether or not to take this sudden bout of genuineness as a compliment, or as a sign that you should resign before you've even had your license minted. He drums his nails against the side of his glass, then takes another sip. "Still, I guess I still have to thank you. We both messed up, I can admit that much. But you stepped up where I couldn't, and…." A sharp exhale. "Thanks. For saving my life. If you weren't there to do… whatever it was that you did, I don't know if I would've made it out entirely unscathed. But don't do it again, okay? Especially not before Auren learns how to ward your head." Hanging over your neck dangle Avett's unspoken words, heavy and thick. You realize just how close he came to dying the other day, and you say nothing else. Another sip—his glass is half drained. "Ysh'vanna wants you as a second frontliner. You should know that it only gets worse from here." <</if>> <<if $avettnamecalled>>[[Next|1_avett8a]]<<else>>[[Next|1_avett8]]<</if>>

You press your lips together and watch as Avett finishes the rest of his drink. You realize that you haven't even touched yours. "Anyway!" He slams his glass into the table. "No more downers. I took you out here so I could pester you about yourself. Think of it as a frontliner rite of passage. Let's start easy: what's your favorite color?" ---- [[Red.|1_avett9][$favcolor to "Red"]] [[Orange.|1_avett9][$favcolor to "Orange"]] [[Yellow.|1_avett9][$favcolor to "Yellow"]] [[Green.|1_avett9][$favcolor to "Green"]] [[Blue.|1_avett9][$favcolor to "Blue", $avettaffect +=1]] [[Purple.|1_avett9][$favcolor to "Purple"]] [[Pink.|1_avett9][$favcolor to "Pink"]] [[White.|1_avett9][$favcolor to "White"]] [[Black.|1_avett9][$favcolor to "Black"]] [[You're caught off guard—you don't have one.|1_avett9]]

<<if $favcolor is "lol">> "U-um. I don't—" <<else>> "$favcolor," you answer. <</if>> "Great! Great. Next question." Avett has a terrible grin plastered onto his face. "What do you think about our captain?" "Ysh'vanna?" you ask. Then you cough. "Er, Captain O'Raal?" "Sure, I guess you can be a stick in the mud about it." Avett cups his chin in one hand. "So? What do you think?" You hadn't expected to be taking a side so soon! Avett looks on at you, eagerly waiting for his answer—he wants you to take his side on the matter. <<if $punchedavett == false>>If only you knew what that matter was.<</if>> ---- [["She's doing her best…?"|1_avett10][$avettaffect -=2, $flavor = 1]] [["She seems too on edge."|1_avett10][$avettaffect +=1, $flavor = 2]] <<if $punchedavett>> [["She has it out for you, it seems."|1_avett10][$avettaffect +=5, $flavor = 3]] <</if>> [["Trying to get a preference out of me?" (Flirt)|1_avett10][$avettaffect +=2, $flavor = 4, $flirtedavett to true]]

<<if $flavor == 1>> "She's just doing her best…?" you try. Desperately. Whatever you're trying, it doesn't work. Avett looks off while drumming his fingers against the side of his glass again. "Her best is ruining my career," he mutters. You contemplate his words in silence for a good while. Whatever it is that he wants to say, he isn't keen on saying it. Avett runs his finger over the rim of his glass. Finally, he leaps onto his feet like a spring. "Argh, forget it! I'm here to get away from doing my chores, not talk about my fucking work-woes. Come on, <<if $barvirgin == false>>$lastname,<<else>>princess,<</if>> we're jumping ship. Hopping bars. I know a better one down the road." <<elseif $flavor == 2>> "She seems like she's too on edge," you admit. With your scant knowledge of Ysh'vanna, you think that this is an adequate evaluation. "Hmph. "On edge" doesn't even begin to cover it." Avett exhales upwards, sending his bangs flapping. "She'd rather stab herself with a rusty nail than trust me, her only competent frontliner. I don't know if she thinks I'm too young, or if my attitude's just terrible, but she just won't get off my case. Prick." <<if $punchedavett>> His fingers begin to drum against the side of his glass again. "I don't make it a habit of randomly assaulting strangers out in the wilds, by the way, as Ysh'vanna wants you to believe. I understand that that sort of civility is a difficult concept for you, but I'm trying not to hold too many grudges these days. Least not while I'm trying to enjoy myself." <</if>> You contemplate his words in silence for a good while. Avett runs his finger over the rim of his glass. Finally, he leaps onto his feet like a spring. "Argh, forget it! I'm here to get away from doing my chores, not talk about my fucking work-woes. Come on, <<if $barvirgin == false>>$lastname,<<else>>princess,<</if>> we're jumping ship. Hopping bars. I know a better one down the road." <<elseif $flavor == 3>> "She has it out for you, it seems," you say. "Right?!" Avett throws himself back into his seat. "Always on my ass, that asshole. I don't know how much you heard, but I don't make it a habit of randomly assaulting Humans on a regular basis. Ysh'vanna likes to think otherwise." He rests his cheek against the table. "She doesn't trust me. I don't know what I've done to her to deserve this. Maybe it's how I act, maybe it's my age—but I'm all that she has on the field, and she still… just…." Finally, he leaps onto his feet like a spring. "Argh, forget it! I'm here to get away from doing my chores, not talk about my fucking work-woes. Come on, <<if $barvirgin == false>>$lastname,<<else>>princess,<</if>> we're jumping ship. Hopping bars. I know a better one down the road." <<else>> "Are you… trying to get a preference out of me?" you ask, carefully. Avett blinks at you, confused. You cough. "I mean, I'm not sure if I'd go for Ysh'vanna at all, seeing as she's my boss…." You motion with your hands helplessly. You look like you're trying and failing to strangle a gull. "You're insane," he finally says, as he leans back in his seat. "Fine. Any other time, yes, I would've been flirting with you. But I'm looking for an actual answer this time and, well, now you've ruined the somber mood I was going for. Not a complaint—just observing." You press your lips into a thin smile. //Flirting?// Is that what you were going for here? Are you, a socially stunted hermit who has managed with only $her lettuces for companionship for five years, actually //flirting?// No. It's not possible<<if $arrogant >= 55>> , but it's certainly fun to think about.<<else>>—and secondly, he's way out of your strike zone.<</if>> Avett blows his bangs out of his face and laughs as you navigate your inner crises. "Okay. You're right. I came out here to get out of doing chores, not to complain about my work-woes. Come on, <<if $barvirgin == false>>$lastname,<<else>>princess,<</if>> we're jumping ship. Hopping bars. I know a better one down the road—it's got way better vibes." <</if>> Wait—already? You glance down at your drink—it's still pretty full. ---- [[Down it.|1_avett11][$flavor = 1]] [["I haven't finished my drink."|1_avett11][$flavor = 2]]

<<if $flavor == 1>> <<if $mcdrink is "Sobering Sunrise">>Sickly, syrupy goodness rolls down the back of your throat as you struggle to gulp down the rest of your drink in one go. You're thankful for the lack of alcohol, at least—doesn't make this experience any less worse. But it could've been far, far more worse.<<else>>You attempt to gulp down the rest of your drink. You make it about halfway in before you realize that you have just made a horrible, horrible mistake. Every muscle in your throat is begging you to give up, or give in—every synapse in your body wants you to drop dead. But you manage. Just barely.<</if>> "You, uh, okay?" Avett asks as you stare off into the distance, unresponsive. One second passes. Then another. You manage to nod before Avett helps you out of your seat. <<else>> <<if $mcdrink != "Sobering Sunrise">><<set $avettdrunkness to true>><</if>>"I haven't—" Avett storms over to your side of the table and, while maintaining full eye contact with you, finishes the rest of your drink in one, easy go. When he's done, he takes a moment to brace himself against the table and breathe. <<if $mcdrink is "Sobering Sunrise">>There hadn't been a lick of alcohol in that drink—it's the sugar that's making him weak in the knees, you realize.<</if>> "Are you…?" you begin. "Fine." He swipes at his mouth with a gloved hand. "Come on. We're bouncing." <</if>> He taps his GlassLink against the register on his way out. You check the display on the register to find that he's left a rather large tip for the bartender. Onwards, apparently. [[Next|1_avett12]]

Avett is right about the second venue. This bar is cramped, but cozy enough to get away with it; verdant plants rest next to each major doorway, and the walls are filled with various rusty antiquities—the ceiling is open, revealing metallic foundations and a hastily-built, wooden frame. There are naked lightbulbs hanging from these beams from a haphazardous line of twine, instead of the usual lamplights. Avett seems to know the bartender somewhat—he orders something you don't notice on the menu and takes his seat at a side table. "You know what, $name," he says, "I'm starting to think we might just get along on the battlefield. Even if you are some suicidal bastard that doesn't know the value of $her own life. It's annoying, and I'll probably hate you for it when I'm stone cold sober, but right now? I like you. Ish." "Where'd that come from?" you ask. "Is this a trap?" "Trap?" He laughs. "Oh, believe me, you'd know if I hated you." For a brief moment, you think that you might've ruined the mood. Avett only passes you a drink menu—in the form of tangible paper, this time—and taps at the <<if $permasober>>non-alcoholic<<else>>cocktail<</if>> section. Evidently, he wants you to have a good time, and he's still paying. You order a hot chocolate <<if $permasober == false>>spiked through with a sweet, alcoholic cream.<<else>>topped with whipped cream, marshmallows, the works.<</if>> While you're waiting for your drinks, Avett grins at you. "Okay, you've got me in a good mood. Now it's your turn to hit me with some questions. We'll take a few turns, yeah?" [[Next|1_avettquestions][$miscvariable = 1]]

<<if $miscvariable2 == 2>><<set $miscvariable = 2>>A waiter arrives with your drinks in hand—<<if $permasober>>a regular, foamy hot chocolate with two bobbing marshmallows.<<else>>a hot chocolate spiked with sweet alcohol.<</if>> Avett sips his coffee quietly.<</if>><<if $miscvariable == 2>> Your hot chocolate sits, steam wafting from its rim.<<else>>He leans back in his seat, relaxed and ready to catch whatever you might throw at him.<</if>> ---- <<if not hasVisited("1_avettquestionsA")>>[[Ask him why he chose this line of work.|1_avettquestionsA]]<<else>>==Ask him why he chose this line of work.==<</if>> <<if not hasVisited("1_avettquestionsB")>>[[Clearly, there are more than the aforementioned three races that you have already been introduced to—ask Avett about them.|1_avettquestionsB]]<<else>>==Clearly, there are more than the aforementioned three races that you have already been introduced to—ask Avett about them.==<</if>> <<if not hasVisited("1_avettquestionsC")>>[[Ask him about how he feels about his crew.|1_avettquestionsC]]<<else>>==Ask him about how he feels about his crew.==<</if>> <<if $sisandpa is true>> <<if not hasVisited("1_avettquestionsD")>>[[Ask him about the girl and the man that you saw in his photo gallery.|1_avettquestionsD]]<<else>>==Ask him about the girl and the man that you saw in his photo gallery.==<</if>><</if>> <<if not hasVisited("1_avettquestionsE")>>[[Ask him how old he is.|1_avettquestionsE]]<<else>>==Ask him how old he is.==<</if>> <<if $miscvariable == 2>><<if not hasVisited("1_avettquestionsF")>>[[Ask if he's single.|1_avettquestionsF]]<<else>>==Ask if he's single.==<</if>> [[You've finished your drink. Time to hop.|1_avett13]]<</if>>

You watch the scenery change from a mess of wires and roadblocks to sleek towers, all porcelain-white and rising like plumes of smoke. The floors are pristine, so pristine that they catch the overhead lights and blind you upon first glance. Yuda watches you squint and nods solemnly. "Yeah. Hate it here myself. The higher you go in these sanctuaries, the more pretentious these architects get. I prefer the lower sects—more booze." She stops in front of two towering double doors, their outlines rimmed with thin, golden lines. "Though you'll never catch a proper Gallian in the lower sects. And these days, I'm looking a whole lot more Gallian than Kattish myself." Yuda plays with a strand of pale hair as she surveys the doors before her. "Well, anyway, we're here. Excited?" ---- [[Not really, but you're not about to say that.|1_yuda3][$flavor = 1, $selfha ++]] [[Not really, and you'll say just that.|1_yuda3][$flavor = 2, $arrogant +=2]] [[Hell yeah, you are…?|1_yuda3][$flavor = 3, $yudaaffect +=2]]

He seems to enjoy it, in the same disturbing way a man might come to crave the familiarity of a mother's slap. And he's pretty good at it too—actually, you think he might be overqualified for his position when compared to the rest of his colleagues. You just want to make conversation. "So why are you in this line of work?" you ask. "Seems stressful." To your surprise, he freezes up and folds his arms over his chest. "Rule one of working aboard a ship," he eventually says. "Never ask anyone what they're in it for." You consider his answer. It's not very satisfying. ---- [[Push it.|1_avettquestionsA2][$flavor = 1]] [[Drop it.|1_avettquestions][$miscvariable = 2, $miscvariable += 1]]

You see men and women alike with all sorts of features, features that you would never find on a Human: cat ears, dog ears, lion tails and bunny tufts—and the occasional horned, or brightly red-skinned being. "How many different races are there?" you ask, struggling to keep the awe from encroaching into your voice. "Relax," he says, <<if $avettaffect >= 15>>smiling,<</if>>"there's only five of 'em to wrap your head around. The horned ones are Palerians—they're natively from Therius." <<if $tactful >= 65>>You suck in a quick breath at the implications, but Avett doesn't seem to notice your discomfort.<<else>>"And what about the ones with, uh, other animal-like features?"<</if>> "If you see anyone with rabbit ears, cat tails, slitted eyes, and so on, they're probably Kattish. It gets a bit harder when they've got rams blood in them—turns out ram horns and Palerian horns look mighty similar—but there's an easy way out of that mess." His tail flicks idly, and he grins. "Check out their asses, naturally. We've all got tails." ---- [["Seems like you just want an excuse to check out someone's ass." (Flirt)|1_avettquestionsB2][$flirtedavett to true, $flavor = 1, $avettaffect += 3]] [[Allow him to continue.|1_avettquestionsB2][$flavor = 2]]

"So, uh," you begin. "Since I'm about to work with you guys, you mind giving me a rundown of our crew members?" Avett quirks his head at you. "Okay, buddy. Look, I come out here to get away from work, I don't go to the bar to chat about what my coworkers did wrong this time." "I was just looking—" "Ah. Ah. No." <<if $miscvariable == 2>>He pushes your drink towards you.<<else>>He raises a finger to his lips and hushes you.<</if>> "No more work. All play." <<if $truefalse>>[[Next|1_avettquestions][$miscvariable2 +=1, $miscvariable = 2]]<<else>>[[Next|1_avettquestionsask][$miscvariable2 +=1, $miscvariable = 2]]<</if>>

"Who was that?" you ask. When Avett tilts his head at you, you add, "In the photo gallery. The girl and the man." He scowls. "Do you make it a habit of checking everyone's photo gallery without their consent?" ---- [["Yes." |1_avettquestionsD2][$flavor = 1]] [["I didn't have a phone for five years. It's not a common habit of mine." |1_avettquestionsD2][$flavor = 2]] [["Only for the right person." (Flirt)|1_avettquestionsD2][$flavor = 3, $flirtedavett to true]] [["Are you going to answer my question or not?" |1_avettquestionsD2][$flavor = 4, $avettaffect -= 2]]

"How old are you, by the way?" you ask. <<if $flirtedavett>> His ears twitch. A smile stretches across his lips. Briefly, you wonder if you've asked the wrong question until he says, "Twenty, $name." <<else>> "Turned twenty this year," he says. <</if>> "O-oh." Mentally, you turn the age over in your head. "That's super… young." Younger than you, probably. But you're not keeping track. "A lot of people seem to have a problem with how young I am, doesn't matter how much experience I've got," he says, shrugging. "Ysh'vanna, for instance. I don't know how old that hag is, but she can't be more than a couple of years older. Definitely not old enough for her to treat me like she does now. Seriously, I had better colleagues when I was sixteen." <<if $truefalse>>[[Next|1_avettquestions][$miscvariable2 +=1, $miscvariable = 2]]<<else>>[[Next|1_avettquestionsask][$miscvariable2 +=1, $miscvariable = 2]]<</if>>

"You single?" you ask. <<if $avettaffect >= 18>> He tilts his head<<if $flirtedavett>> with a smile.<<else>>.<</if>> "What's it to you, buddy?" <<else>> He regards your question with a frown. "And what's it to you, buddy?" <</if>> <<if $punchedavett>>"I saw a photo of someone next to your bed. Not just a friend, I'm guessing. Avett blows his bangs from his face. "Just a keepsake from home." "That… seems like an incredibly insensitive thing to call your girlfriend," you point out. "I mean, we're not…." Avett trails off. "We're not. It's, uh. Complicated, I guess. The usual." A dismissive shrug. "So no girlfriend," you say. <<if $arrogant >= 60>>Understandable.<</if>> "You know, you're incredibly mouthy for someone who claims to have spent the past five years alone." Avett gives you a pointed look. "And I don't exactly see anyone hanging from your arms either. Yeah. Check yourself, dumbass." Something tells you that you won't be getting anything else out of this man regarding this matter. [[Next|1_avettquestions][$miscvariable2 +=1]]<<else>><<if $flirtedavett>>"Oh, not much." You shrug. "Just, ah, asking for a friend?"<<else>>"Just wondering." You shrug.<</if>> <<if $avettaffect >= 18>> "Well, quit wondering." Avett glances away. "Mercs don't do relationships. Long distance never works out—not unless you've been married twenty years and going strong." Something tells you that you've hit his funny spot, and you won't be getting anything else out of this man today. [[Next|1_avettquestions][$miscvariable2 +=1, $miscvariable = 2]] <<else>><<if $flirtedavett>>A laugh slips free from Avett's mouth. "Ha. And, this friend—could you pass a message on for me?" Your cheeks heat. You have no friends—what now? "Uh, well—this friend—" He leans over the table. "Yeah. Tell 'em that I'm not interested in a blind hookup. Not really my flavor." "Oh." You feel a stab of disappointment. "Bu-ut, hypothetically speaking, if this friend were a front for say, you…." He smiles. "I'd be down. But, nahhh—couldn't be. I'm sure you've got plenty of friends to talk about your hot new coworker with. Sure." "Oh!" Your smile turns wobbly. That worked out, somehow. Somewhat. That's good… right? [[Next|1_avettquestions][$miscvariable2 +=1, $avettaffect +=2, $miscvariable = 2]] <<else>> "Nope," Avett says. "I've got no one, not even back home." He's glancing off to the side—he's told you the truth, but not all of it. [[Next|1_avettquestions][$miscvariable2 +=1, $miscvariable = 2]] <</if>><</if>><</if>>

Digital credits are exchanged, pleasantries are passed, and you and Avett are out carousing on the streets again. Avett seems to know everyone on the Hive at this hour, even the beggars—at one point, he taps GlassLinks with a Draconian man lounging outside one such venue, his clothes tattered and his hair unkempt. "I always flick that guy a couple when I'm out," Avett tells you when you ask. "Good man. Sometimes he keeps the baddies out of my tail when I'm drunk." It's discomforting to see the less comfortable aspects of your old Earth echoed around another society. Every horror that has already happened will happen again, and is happening again. In another form. In another uncharted reality. [[Next|1_avett14]]

<<if $miscvariable == 2>> "Why not?" you press. "You seem pretty good at it." "Yeah—well, I—" Avett seems to curl in on himself. "Fine. The short answer is that my mom used to do it, and I guess it rubbed off on me somehow, even though she's an intolerant, intolerable, sick asshole, who would stay overnight at the local bar every second day, before she left my family and my dad sobbing in the doorway to sign another deal with a departing merc ship. But I'm nothing like her." He takes a sip from his mug. You do the same. Avett glares at his alcohol before setting it down begrudgingly. "Fuck! Look at what you've made me do—I should've shut you down while I still had the chance. And my damn dignity." He covers his eyes with his hand and falls silent. Best to change the subject. [[Next|1_avettquestions]] <<else>><<set $miscvariable2 = 3>> "Yeah—well, I—" Avett seems to curl in on himself. "Fine. The short answer is that my mom used to do it, and I guess it rubbed off on me somehow, even though she's an intolerant, intolerable, sick asshole, who would stay overnight at the local bar every second da—" A waiter arrives with your drinks in hand—<<if $permasober>>a regular, foamy hot chocolate with two bobbing marshmallows.<<else>>a hot chocolate spiked with sweet alcohol.<</if>> "Your drinks, sir," he says flatly. How long has he been watching…? By the time you've graciously accepted your drink, Avett has managed to school his features into neutrality. You'd better not press him on this matter again, especially not while he's got a non-zero percentage of alcohol in his bloodstream. [[Next|1_avettquestions][$miscvariable = 2]] <</if>>

<<fadein 1s>>[img[https://i.imgur.com/fopIwf1.png]]<</fadein>> <span class="yshaffect"><div class="stat-bar-group">\ <div class="stat-bar-container">\ <div class="stat-bar-overlay-left">Affection $yshaffect%</div>\ <div class="stat-bar-overlay-right"></div>\ <div class="stat-bar" id="yshaffect-stat"></div></div></div></span>\ ''Gender:'' Female (she/her) ''Race:'' Draconian ''Age:'' 26 ''Specialization:'' Captain / Pilot ---- <center><h2>Physical description</h2></center> Ysh'vanna is a short girl with wispy, white hair that topples down to her waist—if she doesn't brush it out of her face, it has a tendency to smother her slight frame like an oversized scarf. Her irises are orange, with a ring of emerald green around her pupils. Trailing from her ears are two, small, green webs that resemble translucent dragon wings. During and after work, she tends to wear overalls over relevant pieces of clothing. Sometimes she'll wear her captain's jacket—a white, sleek high-collar with blue accents on the hems—and some days she'll settle for a simple cable knit. ---- <center><h2>Personality</h2></center> Everyone onboard the Seeker is a wreck, yes, but Ysh'vanna is always at least two crises away from a mental breakdown everyday. Sorting through admin, funds, Avett's shenanigans and the odd dragon attack has left her riddled with anxieties. She has difficulty forming bonds outside of work because of this, so her relationship with Avett isn't great. After any particularly grueling mission, she will often be found comatose in front of the navigation panels, staring off into the skyline. Otherwise, Ysh'vanna tries to be cheerful. Most of the time. Some of the time. ---- <center><h2>Your notes</h2></center> She's probably by far the most average person on this ship. Every morning she takes her coffee with three sugars and a cupful of milk; every night she takes a nail-sized tablet along with a full glass of water. "For the anxiety," she says. She's incredibly open about most things... until it comes to her family. What's the deal? ---- <center><<link "Return" "Codex">><</link>></center>

<<if $flavor == 1>><<if $arrogant >= 55>>"Seems like you just want an excuse to check out someone's ass," you say easily. Thankfully.<<else>>The words don't want to come out easily. You stammer, you trip over the first syllable of your sentence (damn, it sounded //so// good in your head though!) and eventually, you settle on an aggressive accusation: "You—you like asses, huh?!" Somehow, somewhere along the line, you feel like you've lost some vital aspect of yourself. When you open your mouth to rectify yourself, you find that you have only two options—to stammer unendingly, or to profusely apologize. In your mortification, you do neither.<</if>> Avett laughs as he considers your words. "Yeah. Fine. You got me. I'd like to continue, by the way, please and thank you." <<if $arrogant >= 55>> You raise an eyebrow. Avett has to stifle a snort. "No," he says. "Unrelated to the backside."<</if>><</if>> "The guys with bright red-skin are… also Gallians. They're a sort of, uh…" Avett mulls over his words. "They're also Gallians, just different. Same deal, different type. They're referred to as Celdrians. Both are from the home realm of Eldrak. They've got history—learned about it in middle school, never retained any of it." He huffs a breath upwards, sending his bangs fluttering. "Man, I was a little shit of a kid." <<if $truefalse>>[[Next|1_avettquestions][$miscvariable2 +=1, $miscvariable = 2]]<<else>>[[Next|1_avettquestionsask][$miscvariable2 +=1, $miscvariable = 2]]<</if>>

<<set $truefalse to true>>"My turn," says Avett, grinning. "How'd you manage to survive out there in the wilds for—what was it again, five years?" "Uh, well…" you start, but the words catch on your tongue. In full honesty, you're not too sure of the specifics yourself. Once, you had thought that you were self-sufficient, living entirely on your lonesome as you scoured the nearby land for whatever was necessary to survive; you foraged greens, hunted animals, pilfered old supplies from dusty shopping malls… or so you thought. Now that you know that your memories were tampered with, you're not really sure of anything, anymore. When you look back at Avett, he's still waiting for your response. ---- [[Explain that you're not sure yourself, and that your memory is hazy.|1_avettquestionsask1][$flavor = 1, $avettaffect +=1]] [[Make up something.|1_avettquestionsask1][$flavor = 2]]

<<if $flavor == 1>> "Yes." A snort. "Straight to the point, at least." You beam at him. You'll grow to like this, you think. Pestering Avett. <<elseif $flavor == 2>> "I didn't have a phone for five years. It's not a common habit of mine." "Oh," is all that Avett can say. "You… found my photo gallery pretty quickly, though." You shrug. "I learn fast." <<elseif $flavor == 3>> "O-only for the right person," you mutter. Your cheeks heat as soon as the words leave your lips. You're just not confident enough to pull any of this off, huh? Avett leans back with a smirk. "Good start, but try saying it louder next time." <<else>> "Are you gonna answer my question or not?" you demand. "Woah, buddy." Avett frowns at you, his copper eyes narrowed. "Spare the guy who just spent a couple hundred on you some manners, would you?" You stop. <<if $miscvariable == 2>>You look at your drink. <</if>>You ask, "What?" "Don't "what?" me, pal. You think I'm splurging my savings on pisswater? Hell no." Your mood sours. "A—a couple hundred…? Really?" Avett's lip twitches. "Pfft. Gullible. Of course not—I'd never spend a fortune on a stranger. But I'll bet you felt real bad after hearing that." He grins at you, and it's not a friendly grin. "Asshole." <</if>> "Anyway, they're my dad, and my little sister," continues Avett. "My family back on Therius. My sister's in her third year of middle school; my dad keeps a mechanic's shop. I probably owe everything that I know about ship maintenance to him." He smiles, and his eyes turn unfocused, as if he's longing for home. [[Next|1_avettquestions][$miscvariable2 +=1, $miscvariable = 2]]

<<if $flavor == 1>>"I wish I knew myself," you begin slowly, but then you hesitate, unsure of whether to continue. It's not a topic that you'd discuss normally, for sure. "You… wish you knew yourself?" Avett asks. Worry wears at his expression. "The truth is… my memory on the subject is hazy, the details—unclear. It's like trying to look through a smudged window." You <<if $miscvariable == 2>>stare into your murky drink.<<else>>trace a wood grain along the table with your fingers.<</if>> "I remember eating cooked game, but not the act of hunting it. I recall training in the woods, but not with who. If there even was a "who" to begin with—my head seems to insist on it." As you're attempting to verbally piece together your fragmented memories, you notice that Avett's gaze has drifted elsewhere, his gaze unfocused, as though he has somehow turned his eyes inward to observe his mind instead. <<if $tactful >= 55>>Somehow, you've made him uncomfortable.<<else>>If it weren't for his earlier enthusiasm, you'd assume that he's lost interest in you. This is something else.<</if>> You cough, and he gasps and returns. "Sorry," he says—you can't tell if his cheeks are flushed because of the social faux pas he's just committed, or if he's prone to flushing while he's under the influence. "I'm—I'm not thinking straight. Your symptoms just sounded… oddly familiar, that's all." <<if $guard >= 50>>You fold your arms. "I don't buy it," you say.<<else>>"How so?" you ask.<</if>> You doubt that he's got a malevolent spirit haunting around in his head, but any help at this point is good help. He shrugs. "The hazy memories. The idea that something's there, hidden somewhere in your head, and you don't want to even think about it." <<if $miscvariable == 2>>He takes another sip of his drink.<<else>>He fidgets with a stray lock of hair.<</if>> "You know. The fear. The, um, "T" word." Trauma. Avett falls silent. [[Next|1_avettquestions]] <<else>> You weave a tale of how you skewered deer on the daily, that you could tell wild carrots from hemlock just from scent alone, that everyday you went into the woods to punch trees on your lonesome at precisely noon, and not-so-precisely after dinner. Supplies were either made with what you had, or gathered from nearby abandoned shopping malls. And sometimes, you even fixed the generators yourself! Avett stares at you. His ear flickers. Then he says, "Let me preface my next statement before I shoot myself in the foot; I believe you." "Great," you say, beaming. "I'm glad—" "So why'd you go and make it sound like you were lying?" You freeze. <<if $punchedavett>> "I saw how you punched me back there," he says. He holds up a hand and balls it into a fist. "Your thumb was tucked into your fist—anyone who throws a punch soon learns that you'll end up with broken thumbs that way, and that your thumb should be on the outside. Yours wasn't, so I assume you've either trained very, very poorly… or that you've never thrown a punch before in your life. Those trees weren't getting much action, were they?" You swallow. In all honesty, you didn't have your memories back when you punched him. But you do so distinctly remember beating the bark off a tree until your knuckles grew bloody, at the firm behest of something—no, someone—else. <<else>> "You said you gathered from nearby shopping malls," he begins, folding his arms. "What nearby shopping malls? You were surrounded by empty fields and broken streets. The nearby houses would have supplies, sure—but that's not what you said." You swallow. You don't know why, but you oh so distinctly recall reaching between chunks of debris to collect toothbrushes, toothpastes, and canned goods, at the behest of another being—but who? If only you could remember. <</if>> Feeling soundly defeated, you hang your head. Avett places a hand on your shoulder. "Well, you survived, somehow," he says. "If you don't want to say how, fine by me. Just, uh—try and be honest from now on, alright?" [[Next|1_avettquestions]] <</if>>

Your third and last stop for the night is a place with wide windows and a clear shot of the skyline. The milky way runs across the dark sky like a scar. Avett notices you noticing the view and motions to you to sit beneath one such window. "The skies on Therius look like shit," he admits. "All that light pollution. I'm assuming that it was the same for Earth before…." He trails off. You just nod. During the summers, when the air inside your house was too stuffy for sleep, you'd muster up the courage to move your pillows onto the porch to sleep there. You were terrified by the dark and what lurked within, but the crystal clear skies (and that sweet, sweet air!) kept you coming back for more. Sometimes, you wondered if the Earth was better off this way: uninhabited, as it always should've been. You did enjoy the peace while it lasted. Avett slouches in his seat, unsure of how to continue. "Well, shoot. I've gone and ruined the mood. Lemme order something." [[Next|1_avett15]]

You're about to go through the motions of scanning yet another menu when a waitress stops by your table to greet the two of you with a jug of water and a pair of shallow glasses. She seems very fixated on Avett, even while she's pouring. One of Avett's ears flicks in response to this attention. <<if $tactful >= 56>>Looks like he knows when he's being watched, and he likes it.<<else>>You've never been in the business of deciphering the tells of an animal—especially when they're on another sentient being. He's not annoyed, at least.<</if>> "Can I… help you?" Avett tilts his head at the waitress while she's filling your glass. "Ah, yeah!" She smiles and places the glass jug onto the table with a clack. "It's been a long night. I was just thinking that I needed to see your ID before you order." She lays out a hand. Palm up. "Sorry," she says again. "Procedures and all." Avett chuckles. He reaches into his pocket. "Well, guess it's better to look sixteen than thirty at my age, huh?" He stops, suddenly, like his fingers have snagged on a hook. Then he fishes around his pocket again, with urgency this time. "Crap," he hisses. "I can't have… did I…?" "I'm sorry," the waitress says, though you know she isn't sorry at all. "We can't serve alcohol if—" "Nope!" Avett finally slaps a card down onto the table and folds his arms. "Ha, gotcha. Thought we were gonna get kicked out for a bit, didn't you?" The waitress picks up the card to scrutinize it. Avett looks at you, his features curled up like a smug cat. ---- [["Where I'm from, 21 is—was the legal drinking age…"|1_avett16][$flavor = 1]] [["Alright, we get it, you look good."|1_avett16][$flavor = 2, $avettaffect += 1, $arrogant += 3]] [[Say nothing.|1_avett16][$flavor = 3]]

<<if $flavor == 1>> You watch the waitress scrutinize his ID. "Where I was from, 21 was the legal drinking age," you say. Avett shrugs. "That's how it is on Osta too, home realm of the Draconians." <<elseif $flavor == 2>> You snort. "Alright, we get it. You look good." "And don't you forget it," he says. Still smirking. <<else>> He obviously wants a comment from you, but you're not giving him even an inch. Avett's smile eventually fades. You hear him mutter, "Can't believe I'm working with this guy." <</if>> The waitress is silent for a while. She runs her thumb over the engraved text over and over, furrows her brows, then retrieves her GlassLink from her pocket to presumably scan some invisible watermark on his card. You're about to think that Avett is actually underage when she says, quietly, "Sir?" "Yeah?" Avett asks. "It says here the ship you're registered with is… the Catalyst?" The waitress' brows furrow further. "The Catalyst hasn't been in commission for… four… years…." Avett turns white. So does the waitress. In her shock, she drops the card onto the table, and she doesn't pick it back up for a good while. Long enough for you to examine the card yourself. It's Avett's ID, alright. But there's something off about the photo. In it, he's wearing a bright yellow jumpsuit, and there's something about his features that reminds you of a knobbly-legged lamb. He looks as though he might break out into a full-faced grin at any moment—in fact, this version of Avett probably exploded into hysterics after this shot was taken. Oh, of course; it dawns on you. He's younger in this photo. <<if State.metadata.get("persistentavettchores") == true>>And you're starting to feel a sense of doomed déjà vu...<<else>>And everybody seems to know something about it that you don't.<</if>> [[Next|1_avett17]]

The waitress is apologizing profusely as Avett rummages around in his pocket for his actual, current ID card. He does manage to find it, eventually, but the damage has been done; instead of ordering a drink, he simply waves the waitress off with an apology and holds his head in his hands. "Why do I even—why'd I even have that with me?" He slams his forehead into the table once—the utensils clatter loudly against each other. Someone from the next table over glances over at you. It's a short glance, but it's enough to send a prickle of shame down your neck. You lean into Avett's drooping ear. "I think you've had too much to drink," you whisper. "We should go." "Go?" He perks right up. "Go? I'm absolutely, perfectly fine, nevermind the fact that I could go ALL night—" You flash a look at the bartender helplessly. With the help of several bouncers and a cooperating stranger, you manage to wrangle Avett out of his seat and onto the streets. You recall someone offering to walk you to the hangars, but you refuse—you'll remember the way, you hope. Behind you, in the golden glow of the bar you left behind, the waitress is stammering out another apology to who you presume is the manager. Avett stumbles alongside you, kicking at debris and stray pieces of shattered bottles along the way. You offer a hand to steady him; he refuses to take it. You walk for about five blocks in stone-cold silence. [[Next|1_avett18]]

Avett is sniffing, shoving his hands into his pockets, rubbing an ID card between his fingers—which card, you don't know. You trail behind him. You watch his shambling figure, rim-lit by the overhang of the streetlights. He looks like a glittering apparition, one half of a living being. You say nothing when he rips an ID card through the air with a guttural scream. He holds the thing above his head, his arm bent and poised to slam the card straight into the gutter. You see a flash of hot yellow; it's his old card. He holds the position. His hand shakes. Finally, he lets his arm drop to his side. ---- [["Are you okay?"|1_avett19][$flavor = 1]] [[Say nothing.|1_avett19][$flavor = 2]]

<<if State.metadata.get("persistentavettbackstory") == true>>Whatever it is Avett has to say, you already know. <<if State.metadata.get("persistentavettchores") == true>>Seared into your mind is a distinct memory of Avett leaning by the lamp post, his outline silhouetted in sloping, tenuous forms, so distinct that you are certain that it has happened before.<<else>>You have no memory of this encounter, but you are intensely aware of why he is upset. Of what occurred exactly four years ago.<</if>><</if>> <<if $flavor == 1>> "Are you okay?" you ask.<</if>> Avett is leaning against a nearby lamp, his head buried into his hands. "I… I must've accidentally taken both cards with me on my way out of the Seeker. Knew I shouldn't have kept them in the same cabinet. Shit." You fold your arms. That's not really an answer. He blows his bangs out of his face again. "You're waiting for an answer. I get it. Fine. I've known you for a day, but if we're going to be working together, then fine." He breathes in. He breathes out. You shuffle awkwardly from one foot to the other. Avett whips around and says, "And none of that pity shit, okay? I don't want to hear it. I've heard enough." You nod. He fidgets with the card in his hand. Not once does he spare you a glance. "Let's just say it's not my first time working aboard a mercenary ship. And my last gig… it didn't go so well." He chews on a lip. "I'm talking inconceivable casualties. Total decommission. Everyone knows about what happened to the Catalyst. It's an unspoken tragedy around these parts. That's all." Another shaky breath. "That's all," he repeats. ---- [[Say nothing as you follow him back to the Seeker.|1_avett20][$flavor = 1]] [[Hug him.|1_avett20][$flavor = 2]] [[That can't be all. Push him for details.|1_avett20][$flavor = 3, $avettaffect -= 2]]

<<set State.metadata.set("persistentavettchores", true)>> <<set State.metadata.set("persistentavettbackstory", true)>> <<if $flavor == 1>> He turns. You follow. The journey back is cold, long, and by the time you're ascending the boarding ramp your heels are aching. It's the good kind of ache, though. The kind that you think you'll remember until you die.<<elseif $flavor == 2>><<if $avettaffect >= 22>>You approach his shuddering body and stretch out your arms. He watches you with half-shuttered eyes—curiously, skeptically, defensively—but makes no move to stop you from doing what you are about to do. You don't think he wants you to stop. <<if $height == 1>>You throw your arms around his waist. <<if $flirtedavett>>His jacket smells of sweat and cheap cologne, and it's taking all of your power not to bury your head into his chest—you don't think you're close enough for that. Not yet.<<else>>It's an awkward hug, and you have to keep your head uncomfortably upright, lest you accidentally bury your face into his chest.<</if>><<elseif $height > 1 and $height < 4>>You throw your arms around him and nestle your head over his shoulder. <<if $flirtedavett>>You can't help but notice the way he smells, like sweat and cheap cologne—looks like being a commissioned merc doesn't get you much. Or maybe he just likes the smell of it—you know you do.<<else>>His frame is smaller than you'd thought—that jacket makes him look and seem far bulkier than he actually is.<</if>><<else>>You throw your arms around him and press him against your sternum. <<if $flirtedavett>>You catch the scent of cheap shampoo in his hair, the kind that comes in a black bottle and is labeled "FIVE IN ONE" on the side. It's boyishly charming.<<else>>His frame is smaller than you'd thought—that jacket makes him look and seem far bulkier than he actually is.<</if>><</if>> Eventually, you feel his arms reaching around your back. He sighs. "Fine," he says. "I'll let this one slide." You and Avett stay like that for a while. Holding on. Perishing. Because watching the world around you fall apart is hard work. <<else>> You approach his shuddering body and stretch out your arms. He glances over, blinks dismissively, looks off into the distance—then snaps his head back towards you. He stumbles backwards. "Woah, woah, hey!" There is genuine, raw fear in his voice as he splays his hands outwards. "None of that, okay? No hugs. <<if $flirtedavett>>Not now, at least.<<else>>I don't need 'em.<</if>> Alright? Alright." You watch him saunter off down the empty street. Your arms are still outstretched. Sheepishly, you put them down and follow him back to the Seeker.<</if>> <<else>> "That can't be all," you say. "Yeah, well, sorry princess." He turns on a heel and continues down the empty street. "That's all you're gonna get out of me. If you really need to know, just ask around! I'm sure everyone'll have their own lovely take on the matter." <</if>> [[Next|1_avett21]]

All you remember from last night is the soft embrace of your mattress and the metallic chill of the armory. It's strangely comforting to only remember a sequence of events by their sensations—it makes the moment all the more tender. You're content to just lie here as the morning sun streams through the windows like smoke. You hear the shuffling of a thousand feet, the murmurings of a thousand lives beyond yours—to think that there are an infinite amount of realities running parallel to your own, and that you'll only ever come into contact with a handful of them. <<if $avettaffect >= 24>>You roll over and draw the covers over your shoulder, only to find yourself face to face with Avett. He looks a lot less intimidating when he's asleep, at least. <<if $flirtedavett>>Almost cute, even.<</if>> It takes you a good amount of willpower to stifle yourself from making any significant noise. Why is he here? On your bed? You roll over. You even mull it over. You haven't touched another living, sentient being in five years, and now you're colluding—possibly very inappropriately—with one. Eventually, Avett stirs and scratches his stomach lazily. "Close the shutters, dude," he mumbles. "These hangars get way too much light." You do just that.<<else>>You roll over and draw the covers over your shoulder. As you do, your feet snag on something. Something round, clothed, and warm. You sit upright and peer towards the end of your bed, where Avett Ironsturm lies curled against your feet. His chest rises and falls—still alive, so at least things are looking up on that front. But what happened last night? It's far too early in the morning to deal with any of this. You shut your eyes and attempt to fall back asleep. <</if>> [[You sleep in. Breakfast at eleven.|1_avett22]]

"No, we did absolutely nothing together after the bars," says Avett between mouthfuls of toast and eggs. "But I very well couldn't have waltzed into the sleeping quarters at two in the morning, 'cause if I did, I would've woken everyone up. So I slept over in the armory. Hope you didn't mind—I used to crash there all the time after a night out anyway, so really, you're borrowing the room from me." You nod. "Ysh'vanna would kill us if she found out…." "Oh." He punctuates his point with a swallow. "She knows. She definitely already knows. And it won't be you that she'll be getting mad at. You've got nothing to worry about. Just relax." You nibble at the edges of your toast in silence. The main room is empty, and Ysh'vanna's desk has been cleared of its paperwork—looks like someone managed to finish her work yesterday. Unlike you. Avett wipes at the edges of his mouth with a napkin and tosses the wad into a nearby can without looking. "And oh, look. Speak of the devil." [[Next|1_avett23]]

One. You have one visceral memory of when the hairs at the back of your neck stood to attention like a line of stocky soldiers, and that was two days ago when you faced down with a mile-wide dragon that almost suffocated you into a permanent sleep. But now, you have two memories. Your second memory involving your neck hairs will be of sensing Ysh'vanna O'Raal's vile, terrible presence at your back as she storms across the main room, past your trembling body, and right into Avett. Your neck feels electric. "What's up, cap?" Avett says easily. He even salutes her with two fingers. The gall of this action alone is blasphemous. "You," she says, between gritted teeth, "took $name out, and did fuck all last night." "Actually, we did more than "fuck all," we also got plenty of exercise," <<if $flirtedavett and $avettaffect >= 22>>Avett shoots a glance at you and not-so-subtly raises his eyebrows until they're in contact with his hairline.<<else>>Avett shoots a glance at you as he mouths something that rhymes with the words //hay a bong.//<</if>> "Right? Right. Just a few frontliner training modules, nothing major—" "Um," you manage. "Y-yeah, that seems right." During this exchange, Ysh'vanna has been tapping up a storm on her GlassLink. Finally, she slams her screen down onto the table like it's her ace-in-the-hole during the final round of a particularly tenuous card game. You watch holograms float from the screen, holograms teeming with numbers and names. You recognize the names of the bars that you'd visited, and the exact price of each drink down to the cent. [[Next|1_avett24]]

"Don't think that I don't know you've been digging into the Seeker's savings for your little outings, Ironsturm," says Ysh'vanna. "I gave you access to that account for groceries, not for a night out doing whatever it is that you think is more important than your job." He blows air through his lips. "If you don't like it, find some other frontliner to mollycoddle around. Or maybe—and this is a super novel concept, so you might not understand this part—you give me the respect I deserve on this ship, and maybe I'll start acting in line. How's that sound, captain?" <<if $tactful >= 58>> You are observant enough to notice that the animosity in the air is thick enough to spread with a knife, and yet it is about as shallow as a puddle. Avett isn't afraid of losing his job at all, and Ysh'vanna isn't afraid that she'll have to go hunting for another frontliner. Somehow, in some twisted fashion, the two of them rely on each other.<</if>> "I'll give it some thought, Avett," Ysh'vanna responds cooly. "But I'm finding it decisively difficult to trust the word of someone who takes his potential crewmates out carousing for the night instead of following orders." "Just teaching 'em young," he says. She sighs. "You are a terrible, terrible person Avett. Sewage duty, three months." This exact string of words shatters Avett's cool exterior. "W-wait," he stammers, "we've gone fully automatic—" "And? It's too much of a strain on the battery." "Bullshit." "We'd be saving so much if we just had someone do it the old fashioned way." Avett grits his teeth. "Shut the hell up, dick, we'd be saving literal pocket change." Ysh'vanna only spears Avett with a look of resolution. "Fine by me if you decide not to do it—I won't be turning the generators back on until then though. Looks like you'll just have to live with it." //I'll be taking you down with me,// is what she really means. ---- [[Attempt to take the full blame in Avett's place.][$avettaffect += 10, $yshaffect -= 10, $miscvariable = 1]] [[Say nothing.][$selfha -= 5, $miscvariable = 2]]

"Actually," you say, popping your hand upwards, "I… kinda convinced him into doing it." Now it's your turn to feel the heat. Ysh'vanna turns to you with a raised brow. "Not too hard to convince someone like that, right?" You falter. "A—actually, I…." Avett rises fast enough from his seat to send it skidding half-way across the room. "Oh, you would not BELIEVE the things that $she DID to me! $She kept asking, "Avett, you're a bad boy, aren't you? You'd spend the ship's savings on drinks if you could, wouldn't you?!" and $she just would not stop…." You frown. "Um. Yes. I threatened him. Really hard." Ysh'vanna, unsurprisingly, is giving both of you the stink eye. "Excuse us," she says, as she takes you aside into the sleeper quarters. She shuts the door behind her, and you catch Avett as he throws you one last, worried glance from the main room. "Listen, $name," she whispers. "Avett—he's not your superior in any way. You don't have to go along with him. If he's threatening you with something, just let me know, okay? I can sort him out." You shake your head. "I stand by my words. I really did coerce him into going out and getting drunk." Ysh'vanna strokes a lock of hair and looks elsewhere. "I know you're covering for Avett, $name. If I wasn't desperate for frontliners, I'd have fired the both of you on the spot." A sharp buzz fills the room. Ysh'vanna startles and checks her phone—an incoming call, you notice. From someone aptly named "mom." She shoves the GlassLink back into her pocket and sighs. "Fine. I'm feeling nice today, " she says. "You can split the punishment with Avett—but since you're not officially signed on with the Seeker yet, I guess I'll just have to… postpone it until later." She leaves as she's taking the call. When you've made sure that she's off the ship, you rush out to tell Avett the good news. Of course, he's still pretty livid over his punishment—so livid that he folds an entire slice of toast into his mouth and chomps on it like he's a violent carnivore—but he does shoot you a look over his shoulder before he heads towards the sleeping quarters. It's the sort of look that makes your heart unreasonably bouncy all of a sudden. Friends, you consider. Is that the term for it? It's been a while; you'll have to get used to that. [[Next|1_7]]

Sewage problems be damned, you'd rather Avett face the brunt of Ysh'vanna's wrath than to brave it yourself. Midway through the lecture, you manage to slip away from the carnage like a minnow through a strand of flowing water. Good timing, too—Ysh'vanna is just about to start on another long list of grievances regarding Avett's late night sleeping habits, and not of the somnial kind. Turns out the armory was his last base of operations regarding that matter—you don't stick around to hear the rest. It certainly paints the armory in a new shade of paint, that's for sure. After a good while of muffled argumentative yelling, you catch Avett's eyes as he staggers past the armory and towards the sleeping quarters. He looks absolutely victorious. Done in, battered, and half-dead—but grinning and victorious. Between the two of you floats a careful, unseen smile. If you're not careful, this'll all probably happen again. [[Next|1_7]]

Life on the Seeker ebbs and flows—while Ysh'vanna prepares the admin work required to send you off to Therius, you end up making yourself useful around the ship by… ---- [[Helping out in the engine room with Avett.|1_8][$flavor = 1, $avettaffect +=3]] [[Organizing reagents in the armory with Yuda.|1_8][$flavor = 2, $yudaaffect +=3]] [[Training alongside Auren.|1_8][$flavor = 3, $aurenaffect +=3]] [[Assisting Ysh'vanna with the paperwork.|1_8][$flavor = 4, $yshaffect +=3]]

<<if $flavor == 1>> …Helping out in the engine room. You know little of mechanical theory, but Avett only has two hands; eventually, when he tells you to pass the monkey wrench, you learn to actually hand over the monkey wrench and not the spanner instead. Avett is a brash, sharp-fanged teacher, and he berates more than he praises. <<if $arrogant >= 60>>Sometimes you manage to shout him back down; sometimes, he's louder. <</if>>But no matter how exhausted he gets, no matter how heated the session, Avett Ironsturm always makes sure to drop a bottle of cold soda into your lap afterwards. <<elseif $flavor == 2>> Yuda speaks quickly. "The animal eyes go there, but the pickled deer hearts go over there, right next to the brass-coat orrery. Yeah, sorry. You're gonna have to sleep under the organs tonight, but if I don't sort my reagents by their aspects properly, I'm definitely gonna lose them. Besides—you're the one who moved in." <<if yudavile == 1>>Yuda is loose, unwary; she handles thick jars of pickled goods with a single hand. She grins when you struggle to do the same, and is quick to catch what you inevitably end up dropping. "Careful next time, yeah?" she offers. Well, at least there'll be a next time.<<else>>Yuda watches you from beneath her bangs as she handles thick, smooth jars with a single hand. These are the sort of hands that could kill, you note—the jars should be hard to grasp and harder to hold, but her grip is surgeon-firm. Imagine the things she could do—has done—with a scalpel. Imagine, in a fit of terror, what she could do to you. Unsurprisingly, Yuda is silent for the most part. When she does talk, she never goes beyond a barked command.<</if>> <<elseif $flavor == 3>> <<if $aurenchores>>Training with Auren bleeds into the next day, then the day after. You learn meditation techniques, which you are initially wary of. But when you shut your eyes you are pleased to find that the entity within your mind is mercifully silent. For now. Auren's curiosity does not wane. He insists on keeping an eye on your internal aether, and every two hours or so he analyzes your mind for anomalies. He finds nothing, naturally, which boggles him to no end. <<else>>What does Auren even need help with? Evidently, plenty; today, he's working on a new aethereal technique that'll help him stabilize and fortify his creations, and he needs someone to disrupt him.<<if $tactful >= 60>>Looks like seeing his shield fall to bits in the wake of your mind guest's whims shook him bad.<<else>>There's a primal sort of desperation to him as you watch him practice his technique in the hangars. "No, no," he whispers under his breath. "This won't work. This won't work."<</if>> Auren never thanks you after training, only at the start of the next session. Sometimes, when you awaken in the middle of the night from your sleep-terrors, you catch a sliver of light from the main room, and Auren's low mutterings slinking down the hallway.<</if>> <<else>> "Paperwork" isn't the right word for it, but it's pretty damn close. You sift through oceans of pixels and suspended screens<<if $yshchores is true>> again<</if>> for the better half of a day, then you spend another six hours copying and pasting numbers from one screen to the other. "Horrifically mundane work, as usual," Ysh'vanna mutters occasionally. It's all rather morosely hilarious to you that you're doing paperwork after the apocalypse. <<if $miscvariable == 2>>Despite your actions yesterday,<</if>>Ysh'vanna thanks you for your help profusely. <</if>> [[Next|1_9a]]

On the third day, you are sitting in the main room in front of an undecorated slab of toast when Ysh'vanna places an alabaster box onto the table and slides it towards you. "Open it," she says. You do. Inside the box is a glass-like swatch, only two inches larger than your hand. As the material warms, it whirrs, then boots to life. ''Welcome, $name $lastname,'' it reads in sleek font. "Neat, right?" Ysh'vanna says. "Takes little to nothing to charge up; all it needs is a bit of internal aether from time to time." You slide your finger across the screen, marveling at the way it chills into your fingers. You had something like this, before the Migration tore Earth apart. That was lifetimes ago, back when your memory was untampered, before that unnamed part of you died along with the rubble. "Hey, you keep that close to you, right?" Ysh'vanna adds. "It's got everything you need—personal documents, credits, proof of identity…" She trails off, her eyes wander to the side. "Mercenary identification. If you're still…" ---- [[No, you aren't.|decline]] [[Yes. You are.|accept]]

You shake your head. Ysh'vanna blinks. "No…?" she asks. Her question curls up and trails off for an uncomfortably long time. "No," you reiterate. "No, I'm sorry—I can't. It's not—it's all too much." The words crumble like ash in uour mouth. There's so much that you want to say, too much—but for now, you just shake your head again. You'll be saying goodbye to these people soon enough. Why linger? Ysh'vanna chews on the insides of her cheeks. "Alright. Yeah. And hey, that's totally fine, entirely valid!" She exhales, places a hand on your shoulder. "Some people are sick of resisting, fighting battles they know they'll lose. I get that. Hell, I didn't think mercenary life would be good for me either, until I…" ---- <<if State.metadata.get("falseend1codex") ==true>>==Shake her off.== Come on, man. Please just take the deal.<<else>>[[Shake her off.|decline2]]<</if>> [[Actually…|declinev1]]

"Of course, naturally," you answer easily. Almost too easily. But the GlassLink is cold under your touch, cold enough to remind you of where you are. Not only are you indebted to Ysh'vanna, but you're also antsy, restless, and curious. You don't know why, nor do you know much, but you crave an explanation for that thing in your head, and the only way you'll get an answer is by engaging the dragons that have ripped your darling Earth from your shaky hands. It is no mere hunch; you know this in your bones. "Oh!" Ysh'vanna breaks out into a full-faced grin. "That's… great! Easier than I'd thought, actually." <<if $tactful >= 60>> You can't stop yourself from blurting out, "What?" You'd heard her right the first time, of course. <<else>> "What?" you ask. <</if>> "Oh, uh—nothing!" Ysh'vanna's smile turns unsteady. "Did I say something? I don't think I said anything. Let's get you all briefed up for the next part of your training, alright?" [[Next|merctraining1]]

<<set State.metadata.set("falseend1",1)>><<set State.metadata.set("falseend1codex", true)>>You brush off her hand. "So what's in it for me now?" It's hard to ignore the disappointment, the sheer hurt that laces Ysh'vanna's every word from here on out. "Well, for starters, we can't send you back to that, um, house you were staying in…" she says, but eventually you manage to tune her out. The plan is that Ysh'vanna will pay for your ticket to Therius, and you (after sorting through a sludge of legalese and documentation) will live out the rest of your life in a refugee dwelling located on the fringes of Iladril, Therius' largest city state with a promising Human population. You will live far from the threat of dragons, and even further from the influence of mercenaries. Your food will be purchasable in supermarkets, your water can be—and will be—heated at your whimsies. Peace. Security. Is this not the paradise that you've craved for after all these years? Over the next few days, Ysh'vanna finalizes the documents you will need to enter Therius, not as a mercenary, but as a Human refugee seeking shelter from the horrors of the Migration. On the day of your departure from Earth, the crew see you off—though you suspect that some of them came unwillingly, under threat of a pay cut. Before you say goodbye for good at the terminal, Avett mutters a touch too loudly, "I'm just saying, you dropped a lot of credits for someone who wasn't even gonna join up, Ysh…" His sentiment goes unaddressed. You board the train, and an attendant hands you a brochure, offers to explain the nuances of realm-jumping and that it is nothing to fear, nothing to worry over. As you watch your surroundings shift from sterile train station to milky swirls of dark ink, you realize that this is how it'll be, always. To everyone else, it'll always be your first train ride, your first day in Iladril, your first encounter with any flavor of regional delicacy. Even to other Humans, you will always be Human. Maybe that crew was the closest thing you were ever going to get to a true family. But at least, you think as you shut your eyes, you'll be safe. [[END.|Startup]]

"Actually, I've changed my mind." The GlassLink is cold under your touch, cold enough to remind you of where you are. Not only are you indebted to Ysh'vanna, but you're also antsy, restless, and curious. You don't know why, nor do you know much, but you crave an explanation for that thing in your head, and the only way you'll get an answer is by engaging the dragons that have ripped your darling Earth from your shaky hands. It is no mere hunch; you know this in your bones. "Oh!" Ysh'vanna breaks out into a full-faced smile. "That's great! Can I ask what changed your mind?" <<if $guard > 50>> You shrug and mutter, "Don't know." <<else>> "Had a change of heart." You smile right back. <</if>> A good-natured laugh. "Hard to explain, right? Yeah, I get that—I won't push you for an answer, but just… make sure Yuda and Auren don't catch wind of this, or you'll be stuck stammering for an answer all day." She sucks in a breath through her teeth. "Seriously, those two have the social subtlety of a freight train." [[Next|merctraining1]]

This is the end of the demo! Thanks for playing~ <center><<link "Click here to start another clean playthrough... well, mostly clean anyway." "Startup">><<set State.metadata.set("demoending", +1)>><</link>></center>

<<unset $avettnamecalled>>"Another thing," Avett spears you with a look. "And I'm going to need you to be honest with me here. How //did// you know my name?" You blink at him. He coughs, clarifies: "When I tackled you into the snow..." You fall silent. You knew his name before you could recall your own. Meeting him felt like recognizing a long-lost acquaintance. You can recall sweeping emotions, the general make of his personality, but his details are lost to you. It's like you're living through somebody else's déjà vu episode, and you don't have an answer for it. "Still waiting for an answer, by the way..." says Avett. You shake your head. "I'm sorry—I wish I knew." He nods. Slowly. Patronizingly. "And you're claiming to have lived alone since... five years ago? Know what this all screams to me?" He mouths the word, //liar.// "I don't know what to tell you," you say, your hand tightening around your drink. "It's the truth, and I know even less about it than you do. I didn't even think Avett was your name. I just..." Just what? What excuse could you possibly have beyond a vague notion that all this, everything, has happened before in one capacity or another? Avett stares at you over his glass of electric blue. This action is familiar too. More nodding. More sipping. "Hmm. Yeah. Alright. You don't look so threatening, so I'll let it slide." Best to keep these things to yourself, from now on. [[Next|1_avett8]]

<<fadein 1s>>[img[https://i.imgur.com/LJ7xdei.png]]<</fadein>> <span class="aurenaffect"><div class="stat-bar-group">\ <div class="stat-bar-container">\ <div class="stat-bar-overlay-left">Affection $aurenaffect%</div>\ <div class="stat-bar-overlay-right"></div>\ <div class="stat-bar" id="aurenaffect-stat"></div></div></div></span>\ ''Gender:'' Male (he/him) ''Race:'' Gallian ''Age:'' According to Avett, "Like, a hundred or something." He looks about forty in Human years to you. ''Specialization:'' Warder ---- <center><h2>Physical description</h2></center> Auren is a Gallian man of above average height. His frame is gaunt, almost frail; his hair is platinum blond, and is secured in a low ponytail that reaches down to his waist. His complexion is seafoam green, and his eyes are a faint violet. Swimming in his irises is a fog, a trait most Gallians share. His facial features are long and soft, but his cheekbones sit high upon his face. As a warder, he wears the caster's uniform mentioned in Yuda's entry. His robes are teal. On his off days, he wears… his uniform?!! ---- <center><h2>Personality</h2></center> Auren is cold, aloof, and it can be difficult to discern what he's thinking from speech and body language alone. He is clear in mind, even during high-pressure situations... until his abilities as a caster fail him. ---- <center><h2>Your notes</h2></center> Here's the deal about living past one hundred and one; you're going to mess up. You're going to mess up a lot more than the average person, and your book of guilt's going to be pushing a trilogy if you don't start forgiving yourself for some of those mess-ups. You know for a fact that Auren has never forgiven himself, not even once, because he's yet to save the Seekers. Because he's yet to, in his eyes, make himself useful. But you're his lucky break: he's the only one on the ship who can see that thing in your head, and he knows it's a threat. ---- <center><<link "Return" "Codex">><</link>></center>

<<if State.metadata.get("falseend1") ==1>>You are eating sushi on a bench that faces a palid stretch of reserve. You are watching the inter-realm shuttleships zip through the clouds, where they will pierce the veils and enter your once-beloved Earth. You will eventually head home and sleep at seven, in preparation for your opening shift at the nearby bakery, and you will experience these events another 24091 times before you pass away. Life could be better, but this incarnation of you enjoys this. Cherishes it, even. But there are other stories. Earth saw its destruction in this one. This particular story fills you with... ---- [[Disgust. You attempt to recall another memory.|No…]] [[Contentment. You're happy with this memory. Now onwards, to larger endevours.|Startup]] <<elseif State.metadata.get("falseend1") ==2>>You don't like the taste of this memory. It's too vulnerable. A too-human reaction to inhuman circumstances. And it doesn't end well for Earth in this timeline either... You feel... ---- [[Disgust. You attempt to recall another memory.|No…]] [[Contentment. You're fine with this memory. Now onwards, to larger endevours.|Startup]] <<else>><<if State.metadata.get("demoending") >= 1>>You resurface from the memory like a diver. Around you, your dragons watch keenly, their eyes as bright as window frost. A thousand eyes waiting. ---- [[You motion at them to rest as you dwelve into another memory.|No…]] [[You raise your shepherd's staff and take to the skies. Onwards, to larger endevours.|p2]]<<else>>Something from you is gone. Not gone, like a case of stolen jewelry—it was never once there, never once yours. Not gone, like a lover once attributed to the beat of your heart. What you're missing is different: impermanent as ice, worldly as fleeting gossip. But you are the cavity between stars. You are human turned concept, to be revered in churches and reviled upon paper. There is no space for you on the material plane. No more. Only you remain, pure meaning gleaned from a sack of bones. Tomorrow—or in the next century, or in the next millenia, or in the next yoctosecond—you will take flight and secure your flock's position in the weave of the aether once more. You will ferry dragons, your dragons, from one realm to the next—not physically as a shepherd, but as a notion, a quiet tug at the back of their heads. Your body—what body? It is aether and thread, space dust and contracting stars. When you shout, your apocrypha will trail like silk from azimuth to zenith, but you will not hear your own voice. When you breathe, you will feel time skitter across what was once your skin, but you will never be occasioned by the relief that fresh air brings. You will never hunger, but you will never feel the sate of a bloated belly. You will never cry, never suffer the all-encompassing agony that comes with loss, but you will never feel elation. Off the dichotomy. Beyond the grid. You were human once. You never will be again, neither will you yearn for such an experience. But you can recall these memories. //Will you?// ---- [[No. You don't have time for this.|p2]] [[Yes. Let me relive my past life.|No…]] <</if>><</if>>

<<if $flavor == 1>>"I'm… piqued," you say, carefully. Luckily for you, Yuda doesn't catch on.<<elseif $flavor == 2>><<if $arrogant >= 50>>"I'm not really that interested," you say, folding your arms.<<else>>"I… n-not really…?" you try.<</if>><<else>>"Yeah!" You put on your best smile. "I love shopping! I love spending money!"<</if>> If Yuda had heard you, she makes no indication of it. She leaps up the stairs, and the doors slam wide open. Well. It certainly looks more appealing on the inside, at least. Where the streets were dominated by whites and varying shades of iron-grey, this shop proves differently with its earthy tones. You are hit with the musk of an old library on your way in. "Easier on the eyes, yeah?" Yuda asks. She drags you through sculptures of golden spirals, dangling and dripping chandeliers, rows upon rows of reagents (is that a jar of dried scales? A string of gold leaves?), undulating orreries and armillaries, and caskets of metallic shards. You watch a pair of mercenaries—one horned, the other Kattish—clench the metals in their hand, sculpting its shape through force and will alone. "You'll never see someone like Auren here," Yuda mutters as she watches the pair sample the various metals. "Just plucky folk that work with materials and reagents and artifacts. Restrainer work is very hands-on, compared to what a warder does." The pair of mercenaries eye Yuda (or maybe they're looking at you? You can't be too sure, not at this distance) from their vantage point then scamper off. Yuda, again, doesn't seem to notice this. You linger on the horned man for a second too long. When you've confirmed that you're out of earshot, you comment, "He didn't seem Draconian or Gallian at all." "Oh," Yuda nods towards the man. "Palerians. And the ones with bright red skin—you'll see them around later—are… well, it's complicated, but they're also Gallians." She pinches a short lock of her hair between her fingers. "Similar, but different. They also originate from Eldrak, the home realm of most Gallians, but instead of referring to them as Gallians we call them Celdrians instead. Not me, though; this girl was born and raised in Therius, baby." ---- [[Comment on how they seemed to wander off fast.|1_yuda4][$flavor = 1, $truefalse to true]] [[Continue walking through the Terminarium.|1_yuda4][$flavor = 2, $truefalse = false]]

<<if $flavor == 1>>"Well, they sure left quickly," you murmur. Yuda only responds with a shrug. Must be a common occurrence for her then—maybe it's her body type? Most Gallians seem lanky, unathletically-inclined—Yuda's could suplex if you she felt like it. You decide to change the subject. <</if>> "What is it that you need specifically?" you ask. Looking around at the store has you reeling and dizzy—the shelves stretch to the ceilings, and at one point you even catch a woman skating down the aisles on a wobbly platform ladder. Will you have to do that? You really don't want to have to do that. Luckily for you, Yuda's line of sight is firmly pinned in front of her. <<if $height == 1>>You're still a couple of heads shy from taking what you want, but it's still better than clamoring up some rickety old ladder.<<elseif $height == 2>>You need only to reach upwards on your tip-toes, which is a far cry from clamoring up to the top rung of a rickety old ladder.<<elseif $height == 3>>You need only reach upwards, which is a far cry from clamoring up to the top rung of a rickety old ladder.<<else>>Quick and easy, then—you're the same height as her.<</if>> Yuda picks out the strangest produce; a pickled heart suspended in a jam jar (animal, you'd assume); animal ears (not Kattish, you'd assume); a nervous system shot through with wax (perturbingly humanoid-shaped; you're getting antsy now); and a white pearl of an eyeball, coated in resin, nestled in velvet cushioning and sheltered by a crystalline lid (there's no sidestepping this one—this was clearly once a person's). And that's not to mention the other things on those damn shelves. At one point, you catch the tip of a finger sticking out from a bundle of taxidermied dragon snouts, and you realize that you can't possibly keep quiet about it anymore. [[You address the hulking elephant in the room.|1_yuda5]]

"What—" you ask, gesturing to Yuda's overladen trolley of preserved dead things, "—is any of this even for?" "Restraining?" Yuda quirks her head at you while she tosses another string of fuzzy animal ears into her cart. "I like using it for magick-y stuff too. It's uh, more intuitive to cast with." She glances away briefly. "Y-yes, but." You pause, struggling for the right words. You settle on pointing to the eyeball. "But that's…." "This?" She holds up the eyeball; in its pupil, the light catches like an insect sinking through amber. You shudder when you catch its lifeless gaze. You nod. Not once do you break contact with the eye. "Ah, yeah." Yuda rubs her neck sheepishly. "I lost my old one. Dropped in the tall grass—you know the kind that you find on your beaches? Never found it again." This… answers very little. "Oh," you say. "Sorry that happened to you." "Pfft, no biggie, yeah?" She drops the eye back into the trolley. "They make these by the dozens. It's becoming a bit of a fad—some column in the papers mentioned using eyes as your primary foci, and now everyone's obsessed with it. Helps with narrowing down things, or putting mass swathes of aether into perspective. 'Course, not everybody can afford real eyes, but glass replicas can do pretty much the same thing." You feel like you've just been hit with the verbal equivalent of a flashbang. Yuda blinks at you, confused—then profusely begins to apologize. "Oh, crap! Right—you don't know nothing about anything—I mean, no offense, but you're practically a newborn out here, and wow, I'm just kinda digging my own grave, huh? I'll just shut up." ---- [["Well, at least the eye isn't real."|1_yuda6][$yudaaffect += 3, $flavor = 1]] [["I like your voice though." (Flirt)|1_yuda6f][$yudaaffect +=1, $flirtedyuda to true]] [[Say nothing. Just stare at her.|1_yuda6][$yudaaffect -= 2, $flavor = 2]]

<<if $flavor == 1>>"Least the eye isn't real," you say. She lets off a nervous laugh. "Haha, yeah—god, I did not think about that part. No, it's not real."<<elseif $flavor ==2>>You stare at her for far too long, long enough for her to reconsider having ever taken you out shopping. She made this awkward; you can make this worse. Eventually, she pulls away. Another win for you.<<elseif $flavor==3>>"He's wrong on that front," you say. "And rude." "Aw, well, thanks!" Yuda beams at you, a smile so bright that you could've sworn that the sun had split wide open. "I can forgive him, though. He's just an argumentative individual, that's all. Water off a duck's back." Somehow, the conversation has veered itself back to Avett. Is he competition? An ex-lover looking to seek vengeance where he can take it? Just another prickly coworker? You can't tell.<<else>>You fall silent as Yuda rattles on without you. "Maybe I could try training my voice by raising it a bit," she mentions, but you've already started to totally zone her out. You've either got some stiff competition with Avett, or you've entirely misread the whole situation.<</if>> She takes the cart down another aisle—this one is stacked with metals, each sheet arranged like a line of books in a library. Some metals you can name easily; others are as foreign as your surroundings. Some of these foreign sheets catch the light in ways you don't expect. This particular one that you've picked from the shelf shifts from pink to yellow in mercurial heartbeats, and is flexible to the touch. Another splatters condensed trapezoids of sunlight onto the floor like a disco ball. "Restraining an artifacts aura is a physical job, which requires physical materials," Yuda explains while leafing through a tiny compendium of metal swatches. "By molding these materials to our liking, we can create the inversion of the artifact that we're trying to nullify—not in shape, but in its rawest form. Say that an aura is adaptable, but slow to change at the drop of a hat. You'd use this, Wertonium, because it flashes quick in the light and it shatters easy." She takes the sheet of metal that flickers from pink to yellow and slips it into her cart. [[You continue through the Terminarium.|1_yuda7]]

"I like your voice, though," you say, with a smile. She stares <<if $height == 4>>at you.<<else>>down at you.<</if>> "Hm," is the exact sound that she makes before she adds, "You think? Avett says it's grating sometimes just to listen to me. Though, granted, we sorta //were// knee-deep in an argument back then… can't remember about what, though. I could walk wrong and he'd start an inquest on me." ---- [[Present the theory that Avett is super wrong.|1_yuda7][$flavor = 3, $yudaaffect ++]] <<if $tactful >= 60>>[[Take her sudden mention of another person as a hint that she's not interested.|1_yuda6][$flavor = 4]]<<else>>[[Give up. You're clearly not as smooth as you think.|1_yuda6][$flavor = 4]]<</if>>

You learn more about the art of restraint as she guides you through the Terminarium. Body parts, or at least, their replicas, are heavily aligned with flow and cycle; claws, nails, and other enamel clippings are rooted in growth and discardants; live plants are impulsive due to their ephemeral natures, and dried or pressed plants are rich in preservation and the decay of the form. The animal parts are all real, the pickled heart was once a dragon's—but anything that looks as though it should be from a person is not. Yuda explains that it would cost an arm and a leg to get her hands on real arms and legs. "When you're done, and you've done it all correctly, the aura from the artifact and the generated aura from your creation should fizzle each other out. There are other ways to stamp out an artifact's aura, but this is what works the best for most people." Yuda stops in front of a large cafe area that is equally adorned in the same trinkets and oddities that decorate the Terminarium's shelves. "That's why artifact containers are usually made to carry two artifacts at once. Lunch?" It takes you a moment to realize that she's referring to the cafe. [[You take a seat.|1_yuda8]]

<<if $flavor == 1>>"That one," you say, pointing to the Big Breakfast. "Oh, snap, we're having the same thing!" Yuda grins at you. "Copycat."<<else>>"I'll just grab a coffee," you say. "Really?" Yuda asks. "You're not, like, starving? Hell, if I'd just saved an entire mercenary ship from literal death, I'd be insanely starving. Just saying." Somehow, you're… fine. "Just the coffee, thanks," you say again.<</if>> Yuda gets up to order for you, and in no time at all your <<if $miscvariable == 2>>food<<else>>drink<</if>> arrives, steaming hot and fresh from the kitchens. The waiter—a Palerian with low, curling horns—seems to linger on Yuda's appearance before rushing off to the next table. Does she really look that scary? To you, she's just any old Gallian. Tall, but approachable. And she's certainly more outward than Auren—maybe her Kattish heritage makes her stick out like a sore thumb amongst the locals, but you can't see anything that would immediately oust her genetic make-up… ---- [[Ask her about it.|1_yuda10][$flavor = 1]] [[Stay silent.|1_yuda10][$flavor = 2]]

<<if $flavor == 1>>"Maybe it's just me, but is there a reason why we're…." You trail off. There's no tactful way to say this. "Do you know some of these people?" you try instead. "Know?" Yuda shakes her head. "I mean, sure, they all "know" me in passing—you'll meet everyone on Earth at least once, that's always a given—but I don't really know anyone here." You slump into your seat. <<if $truefalse>>Another non-answer, another question unsolved.<<else>>Maybe you should try being more forward, next time…<</if>><<else>><<if $truefalse>>If you weren't going to get an answer then, you certainly won't be getting one now.<<else>>Must be a trick of the light—one hell of a light trick, but you know better than to ask.<</if>><</if>> <<if $flavor == 1>>[[Next|1_yudaquestions][$truefalse to true]]<<else>>[[Next|1_yudaquestions]]<</if>>

While you're eating, you decide that you still have a couple more questions that you want to ask about her and the crew. ---- <<if not hasVisited("1_yudaquestionsA")>>[[Ask how she feels about Avett.|1_yudaquestionsA]]<<else>>==Ask how she feels about Avett.==<</if>> <<if not hasVisited("1_yudaquestionsB")>>[[Ask how she feels about Ysh'vanna.|1_yudaquestionsB]]<<else>>==Ask how she feels about Ysh'vanna.==<</if>> <<if not hasVisited("1_yudaquestionsC")>>[[Ask how she feels about Auren.|1_yudaquestionsC]]<<else>>==Ask how she feels about Auren.==<</if>> <<if not hasVisited("1_yudaquestionsD")>>[[Ask about how she got into this line of work.|1_yudaquestionsD]]<<else>>==Ask about how she got into this line of work.==<</if>> <<if $flirtedyuda>> <<if not hasVisited("1_yudaquestionsE")>>[["You know I've been flirting with you, right?" (Flirt)|1_yudaquestionsE]]<<else>>=="You know I've been flirting with you, right?" (Flirt)==<</if>><</if>> <<if $miscvariable == 1>>[[You down the dregs of your coffee. Time to pay up.|1_yuda11]]<<else>>[[You finish the rest of your food. Time to pay up.|1_yuda11]]<</if>>

"How do you feel about Avett?" you ask. "That 'lil guy?" Yuda spoons a mouthful of beans into her mouth, chews, then swallows roughly. "I mean, he's like a kid, practically, but he's been in the business for almost four years. It's insane how young they'll let 'em onto the field." "How old was he four years ago?" you ask. Another swallow. "Sixteen." You wince. "Is that…?" "Normal? No. Pretty sure he just did extremely well at whatever private school his folks sent him to, then graduated about three years too early." Yuda sits upright and falls silent. "He… paid the price for that one—no kid should've gone through what he's been through. Least the kid's got experience now, in one form or another." <<if State.metadata.get("persistentavettbackstory") == false>>"What's that mean?" you ask. Yuda watches her food—for once, she isn't shoveling it by the armful into her mouth. "You know what, you're his frontliner. You should probably know about it." She nibbles on her lower lip. "He wasn't always with us. He used to be on some mercenary ship that was funded by the school he went to, back when he'd just graduated. Just him and his ex-classmates. Until… some shit happened." She takes a sip of her coffee and continues, "It was all over the inter-realm news networks. One day, his ship—the Catalyst, I think it was called—just came back full of bodies. Avett was their only survivor. And apparently, the bodies on the ship? Not a single one was wounded by the dragon they were chasing. Some sources say they killed each other—others say… well…." You look on in horror. "What?" Yuda sees the fear in your eyes and perks right back up. "No, no, wait—like, look at Avett for just a sec! He'd never kill anyone, not like that! He's way too smart to even consider murder!" She lowers her voice. "At least, not without a motive." "No, I get that, but—" You think back to Avett. Prickly, loud, angry Avett. "Should you be telling me this?" Yuda freezes. "Well, no—they suppressed his name in the papers, but you had a right to know—everyone on the Seeker knows, and you're practically employed! I think."<<else>><<if State.metadata.get("persistentavettchores") == true>>Seared into your mind is a distinct memory of Avett leaning by the lamp post, his outline silhouetted in sloping, tenuous forms, so distinct that you are certain that it has happened before. He's telling you about his past. He's shuddering on the verge on tears.<<else>>You already know how Avett's story goes. You don't know how, but someone told you what was up with him.<</if>> "Last crew went bad, I assume," you say. Yuda leans back in her seat and crosses her arms. "You know what, you're his frontliner. You should probably know about it." She nibbles on her lower lip. "He wasn't always with us. He used to be on some mercenary ship that was funded by the school he went to, back when he'd just graduated. Just him and his ex-classmates. Until… some shit happened." She takes a sip of her coffee and continues, "It was all over the inter-realm news networks. One day, his ship—the Catalyst, I think it was called—just came back full of bodies. Avett was their only survivor. And apparently, the bodies on the ship? Not a single one was wounded by the dragon they were chasing. Some sources say they killed each other—others say… well…." <<if State.metadata.get("persistentavettchores") == true>><<set $selfha -= 5>>You're quick to answer. "I'm sure Avett wouldn't like you spreading those rumors." Yuda holds up a hand in apology. "Yeah, crap. You're right. My bad. He'd never kill anyone anyway; he's not that type of guy, trust me."<<else>>You consider Yuda's explanation with a grain of salt—it's certainly more sensational than objective.<</if>><</if>> <<if $miscvariable2 == 1>><<link "Next" "1_yudaquestions1">><<set State.metadata.set("persistentavettbackstory", true)>><</link>><<else>><<link "Next" "1_yudaquestions">><<set State.metadata.set("persistentavettbackstory", true)>><</link>><</if>>

"What about Ysh'vanna?" you ask. "Oh, her?" Yuda slams her knife into her toast and jams a sizable cut of food into her mouth. "Oh, she's the best. Antsy, but the best. I had like, absolutely no experience as a restrainer when I first popped out of my classes, and she still took me on! Er, granted, she won't let me onto the field, even though I've demonstrated that I can totally kick ass under pressure, but I guess you win some and you lose some." <<if $punchedavett>>Between this, and knowing how she treats Avett, you get the sense that Ysh'vanna seems like a bit of a control freak. Maybe that's just how running a ship looks like. <</if>> "What's her background?" you press. "Uh… pretty dull, actually. She went into this public school for casters, met Auren, dropped out to dual-specialize in piloting and captaining, then the rest is history." Yuda shrugs. "Don't know much else about her, actually. She's the one who actually got me signed on with the Seekers—she might be a resourceful kinda woman all the time, but that probably had to be the best choice she's ever made in her career." She smirks. "I'm an incredibly humble person on the weekends, you know." ---- [["I think everyone should be a little arrogant. It's attractive." (Flirt)|1_yudaquestionB1][$flavor = 1, $flirtedyuda to true]] [[Frown and tell her that you can tell.|1_yudaquestionB1][$flavor = 2, $yudaaffect -= 1]] [[Smile and tell her that you can tell.|1_yudaquestionB1][$flavor = 3, $yudaaffect += 1]] [[Say nothing.|1_yudaquestionB1][$flavor = 4, $yudaaffect -=1]]

"How about Auren?" you ask. Yuda's expression sours just enough for you to notice her change in demeanor without having to squint. "Well, he's… he's good at what he does, he just doesn't seem to like… me…." She shrugs. "It's a traditional Gallian thing, I think. He was raised all weird—anyone that doesn't follow the traditions of Eldrak despite having full access to the unique properties that being a Gallian gets you is like, well, he certainly will treat 'ya funny. Celdrians included." You suck a breath through your teeth. "Oh, crap," Yuda is midway through a bite when she notices your discomfort. "I mean, he's not like, racist or anything, he's not gonna give you the stink-eye just because you're not exactly like him—he's just severely prejudiced against people like me." [[That doesn't make it any better.|1_yudaquestionsC1]]

"And how'd you get into this line of work?" you ask. Yuda shrugs. "Eh. Before mercenary work I dabbled in a bit of this, some of that, had a few part timers here and there but I couldn't really stick with anything. Eventually, I just sorta… stumbled into the practice. I took a few remedial courses, did that for a couple of years, put my name on a search board and bam: got scouted by Ysh'vanna." You raise your brows. That is surprisingly mundane for a person like Yuda; you expected something with more pizazz, a jagged backstory and a heartfelt motive. To know that her big personality comes from nowhere but her own upbringing feels… familiar. And warm. Maybe your life won't be as different as you'd once thought. <<if $miscvariable2 == 1>>[[Next|1_yudaquestions1]]<<else>>[[Next|1_yudaquestions]]<</if>>

You can't tell if Yuda is simply despondent to your attempts at flirting, or if she's just politely telling you to drop it. Before you go any further, you're gonna need her to be straight with you. So you ask, "You know I've been flirting with you, right?" Yuda folds her arms and looks at you like you've just spat out the first sixty digits of pi. "What, like…?" "What do you mean, "what, like…?"" Your cheeks begin to heat; your composure slips like shrinking ice. "I'm flirting." A light bulb goes off in Yuda's head. "Oh, crap! Yeah, yeah, like how Avett does when he gets cranky. He starts calling everyone "princess," it's kind of endearing actually. It's like watching a kid flirt with his babysitter, heh. But, er, more legal." She pauses. "Wait, you're mad at me? Crap, did I do something?" Your head goes blank as you process her words. "What? No—but yes, stop bringing up Avett." "So you're not mad at me… but you're mad at me. Right, okay. You're starting to remind me of Av—" You spear her with the coldest look you can muster. "Okay, okay!" She raises her hands. "Alright. So what //is// your deal?" You shrug. "The opposite of Avett's deal, I guess." Another light bulb. "Oh, crap," Yuda says. You look off to the side. You need to change the topic, stat. <<if $miscvariable2 == 1>>[[Next|1_yudaquestions1]]<<else>>[[Next|1_yudaquestions]]<</if>>

Yuda taps her GlassLink against the till and waves to the cashier with a casual, two-fingered salute. The cashier—a short, fair-mannered Celdrian with a curly bob of white hair—stares at your companion for a second too long. Oh, god, not this again… ---- [[Try to ignore them.|1_yuda12][$flavor = 1]] <<if $arrogant >= 55>>[[Ask them what the hell is their problem.|1_yuda11a][$yudaaffect -= 4]]<<else>>There's no way you're confronting them. Just leave it.<</if>>

<<set $miscvariable = 2>> "Alrighty!" Yuda slams her utensils into her plate and rubs her hands together. "My turn to ask 'ya things. You gotta tell me how you learned all that!" You're silent for a good few seconds while you figure out, exactly, what she means by "that." Yuda moves through topics like a dart through slipstream; it's difficult to keep up with her forceful personality at times. As for your answer, well… how should you go about saying this? ---- [[Tell her the truth. Well, as truthful as you can get.|1_yudaquestions1A]] [[Make something up.|1_yudaquestions1B]]

<<if $flavor == 1>><<if $arrogant >= 50>>You lean forward on your elbows. "I think everyone should be a little arrogant. I find it attractive."<<else>>The words are out of your mouth before you can filter them out. "Being arrogant is kinda attractive," you mumble.<</if>> Yuda seems a bit repulsed. "Arrogant? No, I'm not arrogant. Am I? I'm not, right?" "No, I just meant—" The moment is gone. Yuda holds her head in her hands. "Shoo-ot, I need to start working on my first impressions again…." That didn't go over well.<<elseif $flavor == 2>>You frown. "Yeah. Can tell." Yuda grins—it's a wide, toothy smile. Sincere, but still toothy. You shudder.<<elseif $flavor == 3>>You smile. "Can tell." Yuda smiles sweetly at you. "Hah, anytime. I'm serious, though. I'm a good guy most times."<<else>>ou greet her joke with a deafening applause of silence. Yuda's laugh gutters into a chuckle, then a choke. "Ooh-kay, next question, please," she says<</if>> [[Next|1_yudaquestions]]

You cough—best to change the subject. "What about his background?" you offer. Another strange look from Yuda. "Well, he's very, very old—he's studied the aethereal arts for most of his life, and he's got to be like, what, a hundred? Gallians and Celdrians live for pretty long." You balk. One hundred…. Yuda doesn't notice your surprise—she doesn't notice most things about you, you've noticed. "He used to be a professor at some public caster's college, but Ysh'vanna managed to talk him out of it. Now he's our warder—which is great, because I heard that it's super hard to find warders for your ship. It's a real taxing job, and I'm glad we've got cool-headed Auren to handle all that. Well, uh, he's cool-headed most of the time. Put him under pressure, and he might just crumble, but hey—diamonds under pressure, right?" You aren't so sure about that one. Especially considering Auren's age—you think his bones might give way before any mineral formation actually happens. <<if $miscvariable2 == 1>>[[Next|1_yudaquestions1]]<<else>>[[Next|1_yudaquestions]]<</if>>

"I wish I knew myself," you begin slowly, but then you hesitate, unsure of whether to continue. It's not a topic that you'd discuss normally, for sure. Especially not with strangers that you've only known for a few days. You worry at a groove in the table with your nail. Yuda's expression loses that gleeful edge. She leans forward, her hands clasped in front of her. "So memory loss?" You shake your head. "No, it's more like… something's tampered with my memories. Like they've covered up all the details, and sanded out the ridges and jagged parts—I can't recall a single good memory, but I can't think of a particularly terrible time either. I was just living." <<if $arrogant >= 57>>Everything you say feels like another bold-faced lie, another claim to cover up your motives, but it's true. All of it. You grit your teeth, because it has to be.<<else>>Everything you say feels like another bold-faced lie, another coverup for your vicious schemes. What that scheme might be, you can't be sure—but your memories have been irreparably altered, and nothing is set in stone anymore. Especially not your past.<</if>> You watch Yuda ruminate on your words. <<if $tactful >= 60>>Something in her attitude shifts, like a puzzle piece clicking into place.<<else>>You can't tell what she's thinking, but you have an inkling that it might be helpful. <</if>>Finally, she snaps her fingers. "Trauma," she says. "Nothing to get too worried over $name. Happens to the best of us." And you'd be inclined to agree with her, were it not for the entity in your mind. You stop to think about whether or not you should tell her about that part—she seems rather open to that sort of strangeness, after all. ---- [[Tell her about the thing in your head.|1_yudaquestions1A2][$flavor = 1]] [[Don't do that and stay silent.|1_yudaquestions1A2][$flavor = 2]]

You weave a tale of how you skewered deer on the daily, that you could tell wild carrots from hemlock just from scent alone, that everyday you went into the woods to punch trees on your lonesome at precisely noon, and not-so-precisely after dinner. Supplies were either made with what you had, or gathered from nearby abandoned shopping malls. And sometimes, you even fixed the generators yourself! You sit there, puffing, pleased with how sleazy you are under pressure. Of course, the best lies are heavily inlaid with the truth—and that's what your stories technically are. The truth. Just carved, sanded, and glazed over. Yuda nods to herself. "Damn, now that is pretty hardcore." Then she goes on a tirade about how Therius lacks those off-grid areas, that a majority of the realm's landmass has been choked out by lumbering citystacks and veiny highways. She has never laid her eyes on a single patch of self-propagating forestry, has never felt the prickle of stray weeds under her bare feet; getting aboard on a mercenary ship and onto Earth was basically her ticket out of that mess. You nod. You smile. You <<if $arrogant >= 55>>even throw in a couple of well-timed hums and "oohs."<<else>>nod again.<</if>> Her words fade to static. You can't tell if she's just humoring you, if she knows that you've essentially told her a glorified lie, but you do know this: that the blankness in your head is very, very real, and that your thoughts are louder than ever, like a cloud of slow-moving bees in midsummer noon. <<if $ditrauma == 2>>If they even are your thoughts.<</if>> Best to not think about it. Now there's a familiar pattern that you're starting to adjust to. [[Next|1_yudaquestions]]

<<if $flavor == 1>>"There's… more," you continue, toying with the dirt between your nails. "I think there's this thing in my head. It tells me things that I shouldn't know, <<if $selfha >= 85>>grumbles at me like it's an old friend|mocks me}, and sometimes it'll just co-operate. It gave me back my memories of training—well, some of them. <<if $ditrauma == 1>>It helped me kill that dragon as well—that wasn't my own power back there."<<else>>And it—" Your skin heats, your back prickles; you can't tell if it's shame or fear. "I don't know what happened to me back there, but that wasn't my doing. This thing in my head killed that dragon."<</if>> Yuda's nose crinkles—slightly and briefly, but long enough for you to notice. "$name," she says, "there's no one-size-fits-all for trauma. It's a tailored experience; it's something that preys on the mind, and we're all complex beings capable of individual thought. But it starts with accepting that maybe, trauma is what you have." Something boils in your stomach, dark and bitter and sticky. You're seeing red before you can even hold yourself back. "You literally belong to a world where certain creatures can terrify you with terrible knowledge, can enter your heads to wreck immeasurable havoc on the mind, and you don't believe me?" Yuda puffs a quick sigh through her nose. You see restraint in her features and—to your horror—pity. "If you ever got that close to a dragon's aura—and it'd have to be pretty strong to still have some form of lingering effect on you even now—you would have died a long time ago. The aura that any dragon emits isn't a defense mechanism; it's how it hunts." She looks straight at you. "I'm sorry." Doubt flickers through your mind; that moment of weakness is all Yuda needs. "Hey, look," she continues—she's clearly trying to cheer you up. "You get free therapy once you're officially signed on with us, and I know a couple of killer counselors back on Therius. I've even managed to convince some of them to go drinking with me, so they're not complete softies, yeah?" You simultaneously feel like shrinking into the ground and going on a destructive rampage around the Terminarium. "Y-yeah," you manage.<<else>>You slump back into your seat. Yuda wouldn't understand—in fact, it feels like nobody would understand; you're fighting a battle with your own head in plain air. Your thoughts are crackling against each other like warring swords, clashing blades, and nobody knows. Nobody knows. "Yeah," you say. "Maybe it is trauma." "Hey, look," Yuda continues—she's clearly trying to cheer you up. "You get free therapy once you're officially signed on with us, and I know a couple of killer counselors back on Therius. I've even managed to convince some of them to go drinking with me, so they're not complete softies, yeah?" A faint smile tugs at your face. "Yeah. Yeah, that does sound good." You reach for your <<if $miscvariable == 2>>knife and fork, only to find that your food has gone cold.<<else>>drink, only to find that your coffee has gone ice-cold.<</if>> [[Next|1_yudaquestions]]

<<if $flavor == 1>>Easier said than done—you'd rather riot and rage, but in no universe would that ever go over well for you. You settle for an impromptu staring contest with the cashier instead as you leave the cafe grounds. You win, of course; the cashier eventually breaks contact to serve another customer. You've successfully defended Yuda's honor, probably. Yeah. <</if>> You're about to relax when Yuda finds yet another object—a golden orrery that spins liquid-smooth—to muse over. Her cart is already half-full—how can she afford all of this? Maybe working as a mercenary is more ludicrous than you'd thought. You're considering the aspects that a well-oiled orrery might provide—the sky, freedom, structure maybe—when someone bumps into Yuda, knocking the orrery into the ground. You wince at the sound. "Oh, crap!" Yuda swears. "Hey, watch where you're going, alright?" The stranger whirls around, dizzy on his feet. He's your standard long and limber Gallian, with sea-foam skin and long, brilliant hair. His face is worn, gaunt—and scowling. You've never seen such malice in one person. Yuda isn't fazed. She makes a face at him. "Alright, suit yourself—" "//Cahrin//" he spits, his voice as thin as a dagger. "Tarnished." ---- [[You don't know why nor how, but this man has just insulted Yuda. Insult him back.|1_yuda13][$flavor = 1]] [[Say nothing.|1_yuda13][$flavor = 2]]

Against all odds, against every anxious nerve in your body, you get right up into this cashier's face and snarl, "What the fuck is your problem, asshole?" The cashier's skin pales to a pink. Their hand hovers over their GlassLink, their fingers poised to dial a very specific number. You doubt that whoever on the receiving end of those numbers will have anything even close to courteous planned for you. <<if $tactful >= 60>>It's an extreme reaction—just as you thought. Yuda is dangerous, and everybody in her immediate vicinity is wary of her because of it. If only you knew why.<<else>>Maybe screaming at a cashier wasn't the best move after all, who would have thought?<</if>> "O—kay!" Yuda wrestles you away from the till. "Let's not get violent at the Terminarium today, alright? I'm a regular here. I like the vibes here. And I'd hate to have to shop at that other place down the road instead, so let's just all calm down, yeah?" [[Next|1_yuda11b]]

The cashier is still staring at the both of you when Yuda escorts you—practically by the scuff of your shirt—out of the cafe and back into the cityscape of shelves and trinkets. Several Gallians stroll by you, their hair a sheet of trailing, pure sunlight; unsurprisingly, they also give you and Yuda that sidelong glance you've come to know and despise. When Yuda makes sure that the Gallians are well and truly out of earshot, she smacks her hands onto your shoulders and looks at you with hurt. "$name…" She trails off. You can't pin down her emotions, but she's not mad—how is she not mad? "Are you some kind of, I don't know… delinquent?" "What?" you ask. "Look at you," she says. "You're picking fights with people who look at you funny. That's literally cartel behavior. Are you alright?" "What? Yes, I'm fine." You realize with a jolt that your back is pressed against the shelf. "What about you?" Yuda raises a brow. You continue, "Everyone looks at you like you've just murdered a guy. I can't fathom why. You don't look so different from the others here, in fact, you look completely normal—you are completely normal. So shoot me when I say that you don't deserve any of this, okay?" Yuda looks away. Her cropped hair rustles against her cheeks. Light sputters in her eyes, gray and stormy. No answer. She says, "Let's pay up and chat later. This isn't… a good place to talk about it." [[Next|1_yuda12][$flavor = 2]]

<<if $flavor == 1>>You're in between Yuda and this ass of a man within seconds. <<if $arrogant >= 60>>"I don't what that means, Mr. Skeletal, but you'd better take that back before I take you outside."<<else>>"Take that back, asshole," you manage.<</if>> "Woah, woah, easy there." Yuda pulls you away from the stranger, who stumbles back in a flurry of gangly limbs and swears. "Let's just leave the dude alone, alright? Clearly someone had too much to drink before they entered the Terminarium today."<<else>>Yuda places her hands on her hips and nods to herself. "Okay. Great! Anything else you wanna say to your fellow restrainer, mate?"<</if>> The stranger's lips curl into a snarl. "Your punishment was not apt enough for a crime such as yours. My only regret is that I was not seated amongst the Inviolable Providences when they sentenced you to Severance—your death would've been assured." Yuda just stares at him. For once, she's rattled; for once, she has nothing to say. She takes you by the arm and pushes the trolley away, towards a line of self-checkout machines. She scans all of her items in an uneasy silence. Tucked between the shelves and stock, there is the occasional flicker of sea foam skin. When you look to assuage your fears, you see that same stranger, scowling and watching, before slinking off to another aisle, his long hair trailing him like a sheet of silk. Does Yuda know? She's moving faster. There is a half-snarl curling at Yuda's lips as she leads you away from the tills—it vanishes within the second, but it uneases you all the same. "Come on." Yuda tosses her effects into a cloth bag—you hear the rattle of metal and the scrape of glass against glass, and you wince. She grabs you by the hand. "It's not safe here." You burst through gilded double doors and into a sea of blinding porcelain. In your palm, Yuda's hand is rough against yours, like you're touching the bark of a tree that has stood for millennia only to be felled within minutes. Not once does she cast a glance back. You do, however. Even when you are back at the Seeker and nursing a mug of warm water between your shuddering hands, you're still looking. [[Next|1_yuda14]]

Yuda exhales forcefully. Your nails chatter against the sides of your mug. The bag of trinkets slumps to one side like a crushed lung. "Listen, before I answer anything, there's something you have to know about me," she says. "I am absolutely who I say I am. I'm not insane, I'm not hyper-intelligent, I don't make up hugely intricate plots in my spare time. I don't have any ulterior motives—I'm not smart enough for that. I'm completely normal; I am me. Got it?" You blink at her blankly. She says again, "Got. It?" ---- [[Nod.|1_yuda15][$flavor = 1]] [[What does she mean by "got it?" Ask what she's trying to get at.|1_yuda15][$flavor = 2]] <<if State.metadata.get("persistentyudabackstory") == true>>[["You're a murderer, aren't you?"|1_yuda14a]]<</if>>

<<if $flavor == 1>>You might not understand why she's saying this to you, but you understand how important this is to her. No explanations are required—you nod. Yuda exhales. "Thank you."<<else>>"What do you mean,"got it?" Where's this coming from—" "Just—" A sigh. "It's a short story, but it won't be a sweet one. Just promise you'll keep all of that in mind, okay?" You don't have much of a choice here. The least you can do is nod.<</if>> She continues, "So, let me preface all of this again with something; I'm kind of old. Possibly even older than Auren, if that old fart ever decides to show us his ID card. All of what I'm about to tell you happened a good fifty, sixty years ago." She stares at you. Her eyes turn slate-dark. "You with me so far?" She doesn't wait for an answer from you; she sucks a sharp breath through her clenched teeth instead. "You've probably noticed that most of the Gallians have this long ethereal hairstyle going for them. It's not a coincidence—that's what makes them so capable at manipulating aether. It's why most of them find jobs in either academia or as warders. Because no one else can do their jobs as well as them. It's literally genetically not possible." She pinches a lock of choppy hair in her fingers. "Normally, this hair is infallible. If you cut it, it'll grow back twice as bright; burn it, and it'll singe you right back. That's how powerful a Gallian is. And you know what they say about power. Control it, else it controls you." [[Next|1_yuda16]]

Yuda slouches in her seat, her hands shoved deep into her pockets. "You know, on Eldrak, they lock their kids up for eight hours a day, training and training them just so they all come out mild-mannered. They knock the passion of out you in that realm so you don't lose control of your powers when you get into a fit. My parents didn't want that fate for me, so they raised me on Therius—they thought I wouldn't inherit the hair, but they were wrong. I was just a late bloomer." Her fingers drift to the edge of her caster's cape. She worries at the fabric with her nails<<if $tactful >= 60>>—the cape is frayed there, thinner.<<else>>.<</if>> "I killed someone a long time ago. Not entirely on purpose—but not on accident either." Silence. Your tongue is completely frozen. Your head churns radio static. <<if State.metadata.get("persistentyudabackstory") == true>>Yuda is a killer, and it's not the first time you've heard this story.<</if>> "No response," she says. "I get it. But you would've found out sooner or later, 'cause Ysh would have told you. Or you would've checked my legal records. Or…." She motions to the jagged ends of her hair. "Proof of my federal punishment. They send you back to Eldrak to stand before their own version of the supreme court—the Providences. Then, they shave you." <<if State.metadata.get("persistentyudachores") == true>>You swallow. You could listen to her confess a thousand times and it'd still chill you to your bones on round one thousand and one.<<else>>You manage to wrestle out a response. "I thought you said Gallian hair was infallible." "Everyone's got procedures for everything." Yuda looks away. "You don't want to know."<</if>> ---- [["Why did you do it?"|1_yuda17][$flavor = 1, $yudaaffect += 2]] [[Call her vile, then leave.|1_yudavile][$yudavile = 3, $yudaaffect = 0]] [[Let her continue.|1_yuda17][$flavor = 2, $yudaaffect ++]] <<if State.metadata.get("persistentyudachores") == true>>[["I'm sorry..."|1_yuda17][$flavor = 3]]<</if>>

<<if $flavor == 1>>The question is out in the open before your mind can even reel it back. "Why did you…?" you ask. Yuda makes a face at you. "I've gotten all sorts of unsavory comments from all across the gamut, but—'why?' That's uncommon." You can tell she's a bit amused. Your cheeks burn bright red. <<if $arrogant >= 55>>"I'm guessing that that's not exactly, um, the best thing to ask a murderer, huh?" The M-word sounds worse when you say it out loud. Why are you making this worse for yourself?<<else>>"Uh, I mean…."<</if>> Yuda raises a hand, and you shut up post-haste. "My therapists have warned me not to dwell on it too much. Call me callous, but I don't really remember the 'why' too well myself, only that I definitely did it 'cause I was angry. Probably for the better, that one."<<elseif $flavor == 3>>"I'm sorry," is all that you can say. You feel as though you could say more, and yet you don't. Some witty repartee, a better word of consolation. No. Nothing. Yuda lets out a gentle puff of air. "It's okay. Nobody ever knows what to say. Not even the professionals. You're golden." <</if>> You observe her cropped hair—unlike Auren's hair, it is straw-like. It is painfully, physically present, a shrunken lump of coal. You imagine her with moonlight for hair; you imagine her hair shorn down to the scalp. <<if $hairlength == 1>>Not unlike your own.<</if>> "After the trial, the shaving, I sat down and did my time," she continues. "Eighty years. Reduced from a hundred and twenty, once they saw what wonders behavioral training did to me." She shrugs. "I've learned that the best way to inform my employers and coworkers is to open with a good personality. You're not sprinting off in the opposite direction, so I assume that I've done well." All you can do is nod. She //has// done well. ---- [[So well that you never suspected a thing—Yuda is a killer. How could you forget?|1_yuda18][$yudavile = 2, $flavor = 1, $yudaaffect -= 3] [[So well that you never would've thought… She's a genuinely lovely person.|1_yuda18][$flavor = 2, $yudaaffect +=3]]

You are thinking straighter than ever, your mind as clear as a glazed lake, as blank as pure tar. You know that there are terrible people out there, intermingled with the rest of the population, shot through with a dark coil only they are ever aware of. But they're there. They're even inside of you. Best to get rid of them before they get rid of you. You slam your palms against the table and rise from your seat, still shaking. Your mouth is forming the words before you know it. "You're vile," you say. Yuda doesn't respond. She heaves a sigh instead; she has heard this exact scenario echoed thousands of times across her stain of a past. "Suit yourself, kid. No hard feelings; no one's blaming you." You're terrified to even turn your back on Yuda. But fear be damned, you suppose, because you manage. [[Next|1_yudafin]]

<<if $flavor == 1>>You sit with your own thoughts for company for a while. There is the scuffle of boots against metal, the occasional yell from the hangars below that echoes around the walls like a sliver of light caught in a prism. There is life—but not within you. You don't understand how someone like Yuda could take a life. You feel as though you could ask the same question—why, why, why—a thousand times and still not receive a satisfactory answer. You don't understand. You cannot comprehend it. In the muffled distance, Avett begins another argument with Yuda, something about wet towels and diluted shampoos. Not a single mention of a dismembered limb, a gushing heart, a severed and limp head. But why would they discuss something like that in the first place? Maybe you're being unreasonable here. Maybe you're not.<<elseif $flavor == 2>><<if $ditrauma == 2>>A vision glazes over your brain. There's that dragon again, bleeding in the grass. Eyes as wide as an open furnace. Its scales are mottled, sessile as chalk and twice as brittle. But if Yuda can come back, so can you.<<else>>You trust her with the same amount of trust you'd place in the average stranger<<if $guard >= 50>>—which is not a lot, actually, but at least you're treating her like any other well-meaning individual.<<else>>.<</if>> She's toiled for hours at the correction centers—she's witnessed her worst self and she's crawled back stronger. <</if>> Yuda gives you a firm nod. "Glad we're on the same page." A beat. Then, a smile that wrinkles the edges of her eyes. "And… thank you."<</if>> [[Next|1_yudafin]]

<<=State.metadata.set("persistentyudachores", true)>> <<=State.metadata.set("persistentyudabackstory", true)>> The afternoon slips into an easy evening. Ysh'vanna excuses herself from the ship—despite being captain—and returns with her hands fisted in disposable bags. She spreads an array of white takeout boxes onto the table. There are noodles as golden as sun-spun wheat, fist-sized globes of dumplings brimming with savory broth. And hey—looks like they've got chopsticks here too. <<if $yudavile > 1>>Yuda makes sure to avoid you for the rest of the day—she keeps quiet when the Ysh'vanna comes to you with a form on her GlassLink to fill out, excuses herself from the dinner table early. Her absence is felt in the way the ship is as silent as snow. When you go to hand the GlassLink back, Ysh'vanna makes sure to study it thoroughly. "I see Yuda took matters into her own hands and told you herself," she says. Her eyes don't leave the screen for a second. "And… I see that it didn't go as well as she'd hoped." Another second passes. Your personal details must be awfully interesting to her. Her mouth opens, shuts, then it opens again only for a long breath of air to come rushing through. "Maybe this was a bad idea," she says to no one in particular. The road signs in the ceiling, perhaps.<<else>>Yuda talks at length about things that don't matter at the dinner table; the sudden import of apples from Earth to Therius, the prevalence of a certain pattern in a puzzle game that she's come to enjoy on her GlassLink. She talks about bees in summer, and how they swarm the bougainvillea that she's beginning to cultivate back home. About novels that she's only read ten pages of. Not once does she mention the stares, nor does she mention the Gallian man from the Aetherium. Sometimes, the crew members engage her—other times, you're pretty sure that Avett wants to snap off her head. The ship is gray; the hangars, a metallic writhing mass looming over your head when the lights switch off for the night. An ex-convict on your ship, huh? Now that you're up against dragons, you wouldn't have it any other way.<</if>> [[The Next Day|1_7]]

On a particularly balmy night, you awaken to the sound of distant, passionate arguing. You attempt to strain your ears from your bedspread. Still nothing. You press your ear against the walls instead, which are thankfully—or regrettably, depending on your sexual drive—very thin. Auren's low drone of a voice hums through. "It simply isn't possible, O'Raal," he says. "To live for so long in the wilds, alone, and to have never encountered a single dragon—logistically, it is impossible." "Which is good, right? We've got a special kid on our hands." Ysh'vanna says. You cannot help but grin. "$Shes a walking relic, Auren. You saw what $she did back on the field—$she saved the mission. Saved us. We've hit it huge." The stomp of boots against metal. An airy, couldn't-give-a-damn-but-he's-awake-anyway yawn—Avett's. "Saved the paycheck, maybe. You old fucks ought to be sleeping at this hour, but instead, you're up keeping up one-fifth of the ship chatting about bringing on a new member. You didn't even think about consulting me or Yuda." "Most of all, $she saved you, Ironsturm," Ysh'vanna snaps back. "So yes, I'd love to have $them on my team." "Actually, what $she did was rush in with no protection from Auren, eat one steaming faceful of aura, and then I had to go in and save $them. Great team effort, right? And that's not mentioning the fact that we were way out of our depth with that thing, what'd the IRC code name it again? Oh, right: the Hell-Coroner." There's a salient pause as he allows its name to sink in. "Admit it, Ysh. You don't give a flying shit about me or your crew members. All you see is an investment. We're fucking assets to you!" Avett—presumably—slams at the table with his fist. You jump in your sheets. "Ironsturm," Auren says, his tone as grave as a glacier. "Dragon classifications are not set in stone. Their power can fluctuate wildly—especially now, during the Fifth Migration, where everything is not as we recognise it. We've simply had a string of misfortunes—" "No. No way, I am not chalking that shit down to luck—" "Enough, okay?!" Ysh'vanna screeches. "Avett, what do you take me for, a psychopath? I care about your safety; I shouldn't have to spell that out. If you…" She chokes. Her voice falters. "If you went MIA on me mid-op, I'd decommission this airship in a heartbeat. That's why I'm bringing on another frontliner. I want you, and everybody else on this ship alive." For a moment, you hear only the sound of your lungs contracting and expanding. You wait for another slam, the sound of a fist breaking against someone's skull, the clatter and shatter of a cup against the ground. Instead, there is tenuous silence. Quieter still, when you find yourself holding your breath. Then, finally; Avett's boots stomping away. "Then act like it," he mutters as he passes your door. You attempt to fall sleep again. [[It doesn't quite work.|1_9]]

<center><h2>•☽────✧ SHORTCUTS ✧────☾•</h2></center> <center><small>//I remember much of my journey. There are points of interest that I could return to.//</small></center> ---- <center><h2>•☽────✧ MEMORABILIA ✧────☾•</h2></center> <center><small>//A sweeting.//</small></center> ---- <center><<link "Return" $return>><</link>></center>

<<fadein 1s>>[img[https://i.imgur.com/ueZgy3e.png]]<</fadein>> <span class="yudaaffect"><div class="stat-bar-group">\ <div class="stat-bar-container">\ <div class="stat-bar-overlay-left">Affection $yudaaffect%</div>\ <div class="stat-bar-overlay-right"></div>\ <div class="stat-bar" id="yudaaffect-stat"></div></div></div></span>\ ''Gender:'' Female (she/her) ''Race:'' Half-Kattish half-Gallian ''Age:'' ??? ''Specialization:'' Restrainer ---- <center><h2>Physical description</h2></center> Yuda is a half-Gallian, half-Kattish woman of above average height. Her complexion is a pale, seafoam green—common for most Gallians. Her hair is white with blue undertones in the right lighting, and is short and choppy. If you look too closely into her metallic gray eyes, you will notice a swirling, foggy substance within her irises, as is common for all Gallians who are at least a bit adept in magic… which is to say, almost all of them. Yuda is extremely fit and exercises often, and as a result her build is stocky and muscular—very uncommon for a Gallian, though she claims that she's half Kattish. Yuda wears the caster's uniform: a loose robe with a high-collared button-up half cape, and baggy pants. As a restrainer, her caster's cape is a deep blue. On off days, Yuda will wear anything with loud patterning, but also enjoys mellow tones and long skirts. ---- <center><h2>Personality</h2></center> Yuda is outwardly cheerful, loud, and brash—tact is not her forte. But behind every sunny smile is a shadow, and Yuda keeps her shadows well away from the spotlight. ---- <center><h2>Your notes</h2></center> It's not trauma. It's not a blip in her personality. There is something genuinely terrifying hiding behind Yuda's eyes, and that's not including the fact that you don't know how old she is. Oh, she's nice, and she's got no ulterior motives, you'll give her that. But it's like she's wearing her own body like a shadow. ---- <center><<link "Return" "Codex">><</link>></center>

<<if State.metadata.get("persistentyudachores") == true>>The memory comes to you like a slap to your head. You recall her confession in painful detail; you remember the way her nails had dug into her cape as she, under no uncertain circumstances, told you that she had killed someone before.<<else>>You have a memory of someone telling you about her—someone had to tell you about her at some point. Over eighty years ago, Yuda murdered someone in cold blood.<</if>> This confession will occur again, and again, and you don't understand why. "You're a murderer, aren't you?" you ask. To your surprise, Yuda only blows her bangs from her face. "Well, that saves the heart-pounding confession that I had saved up for you. What gave it away?" <<if State.metadata.get("persistentyudaconfront") == false>>You suck air through your teeth. Shit, you hadn't thought that far... But Yuda continues, shaking her head. "Coworker told you. I get ya. <<if visited("1_yudaquestionsA") is 1>>Told you Avett's story myself; wouldn't be surprised if he'd done the same."<<else>>If you'd have asked, I would've spilled everyone's secrets on the spot; I'd imagine that the others would love to return the favor."<</if>> She snorts. Inwardly, you let out a sigh of relief; could've gone better, could've gone worse.<<else>>"Ysh'vanna did," you answer easily. "Dammit!" Yuda snaps her fingers. "Foiled again by the captain. MY version of my backstory was going to be all dramatic and cinematic—she probably told you some boring-ass version of it. How am I ever supposed to recover?"<</if>> ---- <<link "Why did you do it?" [1_yuda17]>><<set State.metadata.set("persistentyudaconfront", true)>><<set $flavor to 1, $yudaaffect +=2>><</link>> <<link "Call her vile, then leave." [1_yudavile]>><<set State.metadata.set("persistentyudaconfront", true)>><<set $yudaaffect to 0, $yudavile to 3>><</link>> <<link "Let her continue." [1_yudav17]>><<set State.metadata.set("persistentyudaconfront", true)>><<set $yudaaffect +=1, $flavor to 2>><</link>>

Several days pass as Ysh'vanna prepares your documents for the on-field training institute that you'll be staying at for the next six weeks. She explains their curriculums and schedules to you in the scant minutes between her work and her meals, and you retain very little of it; all you recall is that it's entirely IRC funded, which effectively makes it the cool, sci-fi equivalent of a community college for refugees of the Migration. The only direct refugees of the Migration are Humans. Something sinks to the pit of your stomach when you realize this, and it sticks with you until the day that you have to leave. This training facility is located on the highest floors of the Afflatus, accessible only through a lift that rattles like a leaf in the wind at each stop. Only Ysh'vanna accompanies you there, and when she senses your discomfort she adds, glibly: "The other sanctuaries have way better infrastructure." <<if $arrogant >= 65>>Is that supposed to make you feel better?<<else>>You take her word for it.<</if>> The reception area is a simple, square cubicle, consisting of a glass counter and several blindingly-white settees that wrap around the corners, which gives you less space to stand in as you watch the Kattish receptionist scroll through your documents in the reflection of her glasses. Ysh'vanna swings from her heels to her toes on the spot—you don't think she's noticed you noticing her. Finally, the receptionist prods her glasses upwards and says, monotonously: "Just sign here," while pushing a GlassLink towards you. Ysh'vanna takes the phone before you can react. She turns to you and pins you down with the sternest look that she can muster. <<if $avettchores>>"Listen. I don't know what Ironsturm told you—he hasn't exactly been amicably open around me lately. But I care about everyone on this ship; not a day passes where I don't value the lives of my crewmembers more than my own." She glances away. "I need you to understand this before you sign."<<else>>"Listen. Training's gonna be grueling, frustrating, and the trainers might just be outright cruel. I just… want you to know that at the end of the day, when all's said and done, I'll be there. I care about everyone on the Seekers; not a day passes where I don't value the lives of my crewmembers more than my own." She glances away. "I need you to understand this before you sign."<</if>> Behind you, the receptionist picks at her painted nails. ---- [["Where'd this come from, Ysh'vanna…?"|1.5_2][$flavor = 1]] <<if $avettchores>>[[Narrow your eyes.|1.5_2][$flavor = 2, $yshaffect -= 1]]<</if>> [["Thank you…?"|1.5_2][$flavor = 3]]

<<if $flavor == 1>>You ask, "Where'd this all come from?" Ysh'vanna shrugs. "I guess it's just easy to lose sight of your goals out here. But we'll always be there for you, okay? We're only a call and a flight away."<<elseif $flavor == 2>>You narrow your eyes. A sigh. Ysh'vanna rubs her forehead. "Well, if that's how you want to play it." Another sigh—she looks away. "If you ever need us, you should know that we're only a call and a flight away. That's all."<<else>>"Thank you…?" you try. What brought this all on? Ysh'vanna shrugs. "I guess it's just easy to lose sight of your goals out here. But we'll always be there for you, okay? We're only a call and a flight away." She touches <<if $height > 2>>the side of your arm<<else>>your shoulder<</if>> briefly before stepping back.<</if>> The receptionist coughs. You look up to see her tapping away at a nearby sign that lists the office's operating hours. Thirty minutes to closing. ---- [[You sign quickly.|1.5_3]] [[You sign with a flourish.|1.5_3]]

After saying your goodbyes to Ysh'vanna, the receptionist leads you through a stark-white hallway that makes your eyes ache when you look at the walls for too long. Lining this hallway are several sleek doors, each stamped with a number. The receptionist only passes you a card key and mutters, "lights out at ten," before leaving to end her shift. <<if $selfha >= 75>>Did you do something wrong?<<else>>Lovely.<</if>> You turn the card key over in your hands—the material is sticky and only partially glosses over in the harsh fluorescent lights. The numbering on the back has been marked multiple times with a pen, and some of the ink has started to stain your thumb already. <<if $tactful >= 65>> This is old technology, practically obsolete, likely repurposed from another institution who had the funding to upgrade to another method of padlocking. Charming. Maybe now's a good time as any to start worrying.<</if>> 0012. A little further down, then a sharp left. You head on over. Aside from you, the hallways are empty. [[Next|1.5_4]]

"Anyway," $he <<if $diplural>>says,<<else>>say,<</if>> perking up. "Answer the question. Neat, right?" $He <<if $diplural>>waits<<else>>wait<</if>> for your response. <<if $flavor ==1>>You cough. "Yes—" you begin. <<else>>You scowl at $him.<</if>> A smile. "But then you broke it. And you left." $He <<if $diplural>>toys<<else>>toy<</if>> with the lip of $his teacup, tipping it on its edge with a wispy finger. "But see, I brought you back. Because I like you, and I'm just that good. But don't do it again." Another beat of silence. Protection; compulsion. The aura is what choked you, but this thing in your head could do the same if it wanted. Fear freezes your tongue. If it can compel you to feel a certain way, then which thoughts are your own? Are any of them your own? The entity pours you a too-full cup of Earl Grey; it is cold to the touch and moldy to the senses. $He <<if $diplural>>says,<<else>>say,<</if>> "Say it with me, anytime now. Thank. You. For. Protecting. Me." ---- [["Everything around me was dead, I had no choice but to leave!"|15][$flavor = 1]] [["You manipulated me."|15][$flavor = 2]] [[You remain silent.|15][$flavor = 3]] [["Thank you for protecting me."|15][$flavor = 3, $selfha += 2]]

Around you, the world stinks of death and decay; between stacks of loose hay you find the carcass of a bird, the squirm of a bright white maggot feating upon its flesh. When you see your fields, //your lifeline// reduced to dirt and dust, you are overcome with a sense of inpending doom. That this won't be the worst of what's to come. You don't know how you know; you just do. A moth doesn't question why it is attracted to the light. And you're so, so tired. Maybe the light is just what you need. ---- <<link "Stay in the house and starve." "4cending">><<=State.metadata.set("thehousethatdreams", true)>><</link>> [[Leave the house.|5][$selfha -=15]]

It doesn't matter if you're dead or alive, fighting or succumbing, powerful or weak. There exists an incarnation of you in every possible reality, and none of them have been happy. Board the airship, meet the Seekers, die, live, fight, lose and lose again; the snake swallows its tail and spins ever onwards, condemned to struggle, condemned to fail. What you need is something to break that pattern. To sever the snake by its spine. Your struggles began the moment you left the house, so you return to the house, and you don't go back outside. The food in your fridge begins to dwindle. Your water supply was poisoned by the taint a long time ago. You die of thirst before you die of starvation. Your final thoughts are of delirium. <<link "END." "Startup">><<set State.metadata.set("falseend1", 2)>><</link>>

"Aaaand we're back," says the figure. "Again." You rise from your bed, slowly. There's something standing by the kitchen sink, and you //recognize// it. You see familiarity in those wretched crimson eyes, in its smoky-dark form, in the sneer that it carries on its… ---- <<link "…the soft stroke of a feminine face, grinning mirthfully at you." "13r">><<set $He to "She", $he to "she", $Him to "Her", $him to "her", $His to "Her", $his to "her", $Ditheirs to "Hers", $ditheirs to "hers", $Hes to "She's", $hes to "she's", $digender to "female", $entity to "https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/934767936961404960/1159411606862704670/entityfemicon.png?ex=6530ed33&is=651e7833&hm=00032c1c282161703222fc7e5afca28de51664b42120c0d07575caf87ac034c0&">><</link>> [[…the jagged stroke of a masculine face, grinning mirthfully at you.|13r]] [[…the tender stroke of a face beyond convention, grinning mirthfully at you.|13r][$He to "They", $he to "they", $Him to "Them", $him to "them", $His to "Their", $his to "their", $Ditheirs to "Theirs", $ditheirs to "theirs", $Hes to "They're", $hes to "they're",$diplural to false, $digender to "non-binary"]]

"What do you mean, back?" you ask. You grip the table for balance until your knuckles bleed white. But you know. You know what $he <<if $diplural>>means<<else>>mean<</if>> by "back." You wouldn't have recognized $them otherwise. "Oh, you know." The entity waves a languid hand. "All of this. Just the vague, general notion that everything that has happened to you will happen again. Deja vu?" Memories flood your mind; most are fragmented, others have been formed haphazardly and exist only as an urge, or an impulse. Faces blur into their component forms—a smile, a scowl, the arch of a brow. Even clutching your head is enough to make you feel like you're doomed to repeat a mistake many years down the line. The figure pours cold tea into your cup again. "Here. Jasmine." When it sees you wrinkling your nose in disgust, it continues, "Don't make that face. It's not even real, and if it was, it'd only be a couple years past its prime—aged to perfection and whatever. We stole it from the nearby supermarket, back when the Migration was still new and fresh. It's a fond memory of mine." You scour your memories again, but you can't recall such an event. Then again, you can't recall much of anything at all. Which only bodes well for you, of course. ---- [[""Yet another memory that you stole from me. What did this one do to you?""|14r][$arrogant += 5, $flavor == 1]] [[""Why?""|14r][$tactful +=5, $flavor ==2]] [[Say nothing.|14r][$guard += 5, $flavor == 3]]

By the time you've approached Auren, he's already walked half a marathon just from circling around the airship. He doesn't stop his pacing, not even when you've entered his line of sight. //Especially// since you've entered his line of sight. Ysh'vanna said it herself; Auren has very little to do in terms of chorework, which leaves him with ample time to do scholarly, important things, such as getting lost in theoreticalities or doing mental long division with imaginary numbers. …Somehow—as you watch Auren meander around the central table for the thirty-fourth time—you sincerely doubt that he's //just// worried about non-existent theory. <<if $tactful >= 65>>No—what ails his mind is perfectly tangible. He knows two things: that there's a certain darkness loitering around in your head, and that his barriers only started failing when you were in them. He already knows there's a connection. He just needs to figure out exactly what you are.<<else>>He's still trying to figure out why his barrier broke, and it's been bugging him silly for the past seventy-two hours. You could try to help him; it's more likely that he'll decline your assistance, though.<</if>> You cough. Auren startles and stops on his tracks. "Ah," he says. He looks at you like you're a mostly-empty fridge. "$name." ---- [["Here to help…" you try.|1_auren2][$flavor = 1]] [["Looks like someone's happy to see me," you say sarcastically.|1_auren2][$flavor = 2, $aurenaffect -=1]] [[Two can play at that game. "Ah. Auren."|1_auren2][$flavor = 3, $aurenaffect -=2, $avettaffect += 1]]

<<if $flavor == 1>>"Ysh'vanna said you needed help, so here I am…" You present yourself awkwardly. Auren is <<if $height < 3>>literally a mountain before you, dwarfing you in every feasible way. It's intimidating!<<elseif $height == 3>>at least a couple of heads taller than you, which is intimidating.<<else>>a head taller than you, which is horrifically intimidating to you; before the Migration, you were the tallest person around. Now you're just above average.<</if>><<elseif $flavor == 2>>"Looks like someone's //very// happy to see me," you say. "You caught me in the middle of a train of thought," Auren answers. "So forgive me if I'm less than amiable about it." "Hey, look. I'm here to help with the chores; nothing more, nothing less. Ysh'vanna asked." You shrug. "I delivered."<<else>>Oh, two can play at that name. You muster what feels to be your most disapproving glare and say, "Ah. Auren." Auren turns to pace towards the windshield, refusing to meet your eyes. "I suppose this is divine punishment, having to deal with two presumptuous frontliners as opposed to one from hereon." "Hey, look. I'm here to help with the chores; nothing more, nothing less. Ysh'vanna asked." You shrug. "I delivered."<</if>> A muscle ticks in Auren's jaw. "Did she, now?" he asks, but it's less a question that's directed at you and more a vaguely-annoyed sentiment penned to Ysh'vanna herself. "I faintly recall Yuda requiring assistance at the Terminarium, and I'm sure Ironsturm could similarily use a spot of… assistance with the groceries. I hear he's prone to disobedience." Truthfully, you're not sure why you chose Auren over literally anyone else; even Avett would've been a more palatable choice, because at least he knows how to have fun. When Auren narrows his eyes at you, you feel like you're interfacing with your lawyer. Your very droll, very jaded divorce procedures lawyer. You fold your arms and <<if $guard >= 50>>let your silence speak for itself.<<else>>say, "Well, I'm supposed to be helping you."<</if>> Finally, Auren pulls out a chair from the centerpiece table and sits in it, defeated. "If you must know the truth, Ysh'vanna hasn't assigned any work to me. I've nothing to do beyond re-reading my extensive novel collection and re-evaluating my ability to manipulate aether. So far, the latter has left me stumped."

<h2>Welcome to Shattered Earth!</h2> ''This is a DEMO.'' This means everything that you see may be subject to change, be it character interactions, dialogue, scenes, and/or choices. Please enable ''cookies'' on itch.io, and refrain from playing on any sort of incognito mode! ''And please note: Shattered Earth is best enjoyed with multiple playthroughs.'' ---- [[Show me the content warnings.|cw1]] [[Show me the content warnings, with spoilers.|cw2]] <<link "Start Game." "p1">><<set State.metadata.set("landing", true)>><</link>>

Shattered Earth will include the following: cannibalism, violence, suicidal ideation, actual suicide, fantasy racism, blood, gore, themes of self harm and self sabotaging behavior, trauma, anxiety disorders, death, familial death, body horror, existential horror, horror, firearms, child soldiers, swearing. This list may update with time. [[Show me the content warnings, with spoilers.|cw2]] <<link "Start Game." "p1">><<set State.metadata.set("landing", true)>><</link>>

<center><h2>!!SPOILERS!!</h2></center> <h3>Deaths</h3> * After you have achieved a second ending, ''your character'' will gain the ability to do things that are beyond common sense, often resulting in their ''death''. It is necessary to experience a select number of these ''deaths'' to receive the penultimate ending in the full version. <h3>Suicide</h3> * Choosing the 4th option upon your 2nd playthrough when you discover that everything around your house has decayed will cause ''your character'' to starve to death if you choose the first option. <<link "Start Game." "p1">><<set State.metadata.set("landing", true)>><</link>>

''This will remove all memories, allowing you to experience a clean playthrough again.'' Are you sure about this? <<link "No, let me return to the game." "Memories">><</link>> <<link "Yes." "Startup">><<run State.metadata.clear()>><</link>>