Grimoirtua
Not intended to be played on a mobile device.
Best experienced in Firefox and fullscreen.<<run UIBar.stow()>><center>[img[images/hhlogo.png]]
<div class="wrapper"><h1><div class="mainmenubutton"><<click [[Start]]>><<audio "heartbeat" play loop>><</click>></div></h1></div><<set $start to "yes">>
<div class="mm"><center><div class="mm2"><div class="mm3"><table><td><div class="mmbut">[[ABOUT]]</div>
<div class="mmbut">[[CREDITS]]</div>
<div class="mmbut"><<link "Restart">><<run UI.restart()>><</link>></div></td><td><div class="mmbut">[[GUIDANCE]]</div>
<div class="mmbut">[[CHAPTERS]]</div>
<div class="mmbut"><<link "Saves">><<script>>UI.saves()<</script>><</link>></div>
</td></table></div></div></center>[[GUIDANCE]][[CREDITS]][[ABOUT]][[CHAPTERS]]<<link "Restart">><<run UI.restart()>><</link>><<link "Saves">><<script>>UI.saves()<</script>><</link>><<run UIBar.unstow()>><div class="chtitle">Guidance</div><div class="pass"><i><span class="talk">Heretic's Hope</span></i> is hypertext-based fiction in which the player influences the narrative's progression by clicking links. No internet connection is required to play, and the game can either be played in-browser or downloaded and played offline. Below, you can find more information about the game's mechanics and types of links:
<center>[img[images/hhui2.png]]
This type of link <span class="talk">advances the text</span>.
<div class="proglink"><a>❂</a></div>
[img[images/hhui2.png]]
These types of links prompt the player to <span class="talk">select a dialogue choice</span>.
<div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Agree]</div><td class="choice"><a>Yes, Your Holiness.</a></td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Refuse]</div><td class="choice"><a>I won't be long.</a></td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Question]</div><td class="choice"><a>Are you upset?</a></td></span></div>
[img[images/hhui2.png]]
These types of links present different <span class="talk">actions</span> to choose from.
<div class="decision">What is your decision?
<div class="but"><a>Speak to Harpactor</a></div> <div class="but"><a>Speak to Mantodea</a></div> <div class="but"><a>Speak to Olivalis</a></div></div>
[img[images/hhui2.png]]
<i>“<span class="talk">But this is a human!</span>" someone cries at last.</i>
Text that appears <span class="talk">like this</span> denotes <span class="talk">emphasis</span> or ambient “<span class="talk">dialogue</span>," and cannot be clicked on.
[img[images/hhui2.png]]
<i>You <span class="cycle"><<cyclinglink "bow deeply" "remain motionless" "clasp your hands before you">></span>.</i>
Sometimes, <span class="cycle"><<cyclinglink "clickable text" "cycling links">></span> will appear within a passage, which can be clicked on to change its meaning; the option chosen may be referenced later. These kinds of links can also occasionally appear in dialogue choices.
[img[images/hhui2.png]]
The <span class="talk">arrows</span> at the top of the story menu can be used to navigate between recent passages, while the rightmost (</>) button toggles the story menu display.
[img[images/help3.png]]
From the <span class="talk">menu</span>, the game can be saved, loaded, or restarted at any time. <span class="talk">Saving</span> when you encounter a choice you're not sure about is recommended.
[img[images/hhui2.png]]</center>
Heretic's Hope is <span style="text-shadow: 1px 0 0 #ff0000, 0 -1px 0 #ff0000, 0 1px 0 #ff0000, -1px 0 0 #ff0000">not intended to be played on a mobile device or a very small screen</span>, and is not currently optimized for mobile play. <span class="talk">Fullscreen</span> is recommended for the best experience, as is playing in <span style="text-shadow: 1px 0 0 #ff0000, 0 -1px 0 #ff0000, 0 1px 0 #ff0000, -1px 0 0 #ff0000">Firefox</span>. (Other browsers will run the game, but certain visual effects may not be able to display.)
To play the game in fullscreen within your browser, press the <span class="talk">FN (Function) and F11</span> keys, or <span class="talk">Control + Command + F</span> on Mac. Depending on the size of your screen, you may find it useful to zoom in (<span class="talk">Ctrl +</span>) or out (<span class="talk">Ctrl -</span>).</div><<if $start is "yes">><span style="font-family: 'IM Fell English SC', serif;">What is it to be holy? What is it to be human?</span><</if>><<if $ch1 is "yes">><div class="chtitlesmall">ONE</div><span style="font-family: 'IM Fell English SC', serif;">What is it to be holy? What is it to be human?</span><</if>><<if $ch2 is "yes">><div class="chtitlesmall">TWO</div><span style="font-family: 'IM Fell English SC', serif;">I felt a Funeral, in my Brain,
And Mourners to and fro
Kept treading - treading - till it seemed
That Sense was breaking through -</span><</if>><<if $ch3 is "yes">><div class="chtitlesmall">THREE</div><span style="font-family: 'IM Fell English SC', serif;">And when they all were seated,
A Service, like a Drum -
Kept beating - beating - till I thought
My mind was going numb -</span><</if>><<if $ch4 is "yes">><div class="chtitlesmall">FOUR</div><span style="font-family: 'IM Fell English SC', serif;">And then I heard them lift a Box
And creak across my Soul
With those same Boots of Lead, again,
Then Space - began to toll,</span><</if>><<if $ch5 is "yes">><div class="chtitlesmall">FIVE</div><span style="font-family: 'IM Fell English SC', serif;">As all the Heavens were a Bell,
And Being, but an Ear,
And I, and Silence, some strange Race,
Wrecked, solitary, here -</span><</if>><<if $ch6 is "yes">><div class="chtitlesmall">SIX</div><span style="font-family: 'IM Fell English SC', serif;">And then a Plank in Reason, broke,
And I dropped down, and down -
And hit a World, at every plunge,
And Finished knowing - then -</span><</if>>
<div class="chtitlesmall">MENU</div><<audio "her" stop>><<audio "ritual" stop>><<audio "nightdreams" stop>><<audio "forest" stop>><<audio "fire" stop>><<audio "harpactor" stop>><<audio "mantodea" stop>><<audio "olivalis" stop>><<audio "npc" stop>><<audio "ship" stop>><<audio "apocrita" stop>><<audio "credits" stop>><<audio "apparition" stop>><<run UIBar.stow()>><<set $start to "no">><<set $ch1 to "yes">><<set $ch2 to "no">><<set $ch3 to "no">><<set $ch4 to "no">><<set $ch5 to "no">><<set $ch6 to "no">><center><div class="chtitle">I.</div><div class="chaptitle">Gravedirt</div>
<div class="typed-speed40-delay800">
<big><big>“It was not certain what significance the ceremony held... but the formality was no less sacred for it being unintelligible.”
― <span class="talk">Mervyn Peake</span>, <i>Titus Groan</i></big></big>
</div>
<center><div class="proglink">[[❂|introduction1]]</div></center>
<<audio "ritual" stop>><<audio "her" play loop>><div class="portrait">[img[images/portrait1.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="window"></div><div class="psg">Heads and eyestalks turn in your direction as you hurry through the chapels and into Her Excellency’s dwelling. Cleaners scuttle behind you, minding the dirt you’ve tracked across the Hive's polished floors. You do not care. In another life, you would have cared, and it would have bothered you that you do not — but it feels as though that life has fled from you, flaking and sloughing away in great lengths like a skin being shed.
Her Excellency’s call is piercing in the walls of <span class="her2">Her</span> spire, where it travels through hallways and stairwells as if on foot. It is a low, buzzing frequency that rattles the small bones of your ears, and it is tailored to summon you alone. This is <span class="her2">Her</span> word for you, spoken in a wordless tongue by a tongueless maw.
Aides and minders race to meet you at the doors to <span class="her2">Her</span> chambers. They crank them open, and like a strange accordion or a graceful fan, they fold apart to grant you entrance.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|her1]]</div></center></div><div class="chtitle">Credits</div><div class="pass"><center><span class="talk">Writing & Programming</span>
<i>by G.C. “Grim" Baccaris @grimoirtua</i>
<span class="talk">Character Illustrations & UI</span>
<i>by G.C. “Grim" Baccaris @grimoirtua</i>
<span class="talk">Setting & Concept</span>
<i>created in collaboration with O. James @ghastarium</i>
<span class="talk">Additional Dialogue</span>
<i>for Lt. Ponomarenko, Felosial, & Cyrafi'al written by O. James @ghastarium</i>
<span class="talk">Music</span>
<i>by <a href="https://chezmonplaisir.bandcamp.com/">Monplasir</a> (CC0) and <a href="https://incompetech.com">Kevin Macleod</a> (<a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/">CC BY 4.0</a>)</i>
<span class="talk">Tracklist:</span> <span id="tracklist"><<click "[+]">><<replace "#tracklist">><small>Ritual, Dragon and Toast, Nightdream, Anamalie, Teller of the Tales, Pippin the Hunchback, Sardana, Laid Back Guitars, Inexorable, Magic Forest, & Moorlands by Kevin Macleod
To Start Again & Action by Monplaisir</small><</replace>><</click>></span>
<span class="talk">Sound Effects</span>
<i>by jobro & hykenfreak
(via freesound.org)</i>
<span class="talk">Additional Art</span>
<i>by jkjkke, Luis Zuno (@ansimuz), Sauer2, KnoblePersona, Pyromantic
(via opengameart.org)</i>
<span class="talk">Poem 340</span>
<i>“I felt a Funeral, in my Brain,"
by Emily Dickinson</i>
<span class="talk">Visual Effects & Scripts</span>
<i>by Matt Boldt (Typed.js), Leon Arnott (cyclinglink macro)</i>
<span class="talk">Testing & Feedback</span>
<i>O. James, Greg Buchanan, Matt Stricker, Quinn, Mesa, E.S., E., J.C.</i>
<span class="talk">Special Thanks</span>
<i>to Vee Hoffman, Cat Manning, aMadReason, Hyacinth Nil,
Miranda Cornelius-Fisse, Shae Rossi, Jesse Bradley, Stephen Granade,
and all other Patrons</i>
<big><big><b>&</b></big></big>
<i>Thank <span class="talk">you</span> for playing.</i></center></div><<if $end is "true">><center><div class="mainmenubutton"><<link "Restart">><<run UI.restart()>><</link>></div></center><</if>><div class="portrait">[img[images/her.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="window"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Her Excellency</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue"><span class="her">Child of Woman, Kith of Our Kind, I absolve you now of your sins. To mark our continued friendship, I have designed for you a special task. Come closer.</span></div></div></center>
Approaching slowly, you are aware of the myriad eyes of the court upon you. Though you have shown Her Excellency nothing but the respect and deference you've been taught is her due, many of her courtiers still seem to regard you with suspicion. You are not like them. It is as simple as that.
You are an oddity to the proserpo, through and through. You refuse to call yourself male or female; you cannot eat or sing or move as they do; you are fully grown, and yet your body is frail like a grub or a larva, burdened by its own flesh and lacking any carapace to make you durable. Among such creatures as these, it is you who risks being crushed underfoot.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|her3]]</div></center></div><<run UIBar.unstow()>><div class="chtitle">About the Game</div><div class="pass"><i><span class="talk">Heretic's Hope</span></i> was written and illustrated by Grim (G.C.) Baccaris for the 2019 Interactive Fiction Competition and created in Twine, “an open source tool for telling interactive, nonlinear stories." The narrative concerns grief, identity, communication, belief, and belonging.
Players especially averse to insects or arachnids may find <i>Heretic's Hope</i> anywhere from mildly uncomfortable to generally intolerable, depending on the strength of their aversion. Click the following link to reveal additional, more specific <span class="talk">content warnings</span>: <span id="warn"><<click "[+]">><<replace "#warn">>Grief, death of a parent, body horror, blood, mild violence, emotional manipulation, insects/maggots/wasps/arachnids.<</replace>><</click>></span>
<i>Heretic's Hope</i> is the second game in the <i>Sacred Tides</i> series, the first being <i>Devotionalia</i>, which was released in 2018. The narratives exist within the same setting, but it is <b><span style="text-shadow: 1px 0 0 #ff0000, 0 -1px 0 #ff0000, 0 1px 0 #ff0000, -1px 0 0 #ff0000">not necessary</span></b> to have played <i>Devotionalia</i> at all in order to understand, complete, or play <i>Heretic's Hope</i>. The <i>Sacred Tides</i> series is part of the “Oversea" setting, a concept co-created with O. James (@ghastarium), who additionally provided dialogue for their own characters where they appear as NPCs in <i>Heretic's Hope</i>.</div><<cacheaudio "her" "music/Dragon and Toast.mp3">><<cacheaudio "ritual" "music/Ritual.mp3">><<cacheaudio "nightdreams" "music/Nightdreams.mp3">><<cacheaudio "forest" "music/Magic Forest.mp3">><<cacheaudio "fire" "music/Moorland.mp3">>
<<cacheaudio "harpactor" "music/Anamalie.mp3">> <<cacheaudio "olivalis" "music/Pippin the Hunchback.mp3">> <<cacheaudio "mantodea" "music/Teller of the Tales.mp3">> <<cacheaudio "npc" "music/Sardana.mp3">> <<cacheaudio "ship" "music/Laid Back Guitars.mp3">><<cacheaudio "apocrita" "music/Inexorable.mp3">> <<cacheaudio "credits" "music/MonplaisirAction.mp3">> <<cacheaudio "apparition" "music/ToStartAgain.mp3">>
<<cacheaudio "heartbeat" "sfx/jobro-heartbeat.mp3">> <<cacheaudio "boom" "sfx/hykenfreak-boom.ogg">>
<<set $dranktea to "false">><<set $apparitiontalk to "false">><<set $hday1 to "false">><<set $mday1 to "false">><<set $oday1 to "false">><<set $harpactor = 0>><<set $mantodea = 0>><<set $olivalis = 0>><<set $wounded to "false">><<set $fond to "true">><<set $heavy to "false">><<set $strange to "false">><<set $pontiff to "true">><div class="portrait">[img[images/her.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="window"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Her Excellency</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue"><span class="her">Your honored Mother was of great use to me, foremost among my interpreters. You may act as such in her stead when I require it, but I've found another use for you, child, a grander one: you are to be my new Pontiff.</span></div></div></center>
Noises of shock and outrage ripple through the assembled court. Legs rub together anxiously, singing piercing refrains of apprehension; wings beat furiously; mandibles clatter in voiceless whispers. Few are brave enough to speak aloud, and their unbearable silence screams through the dead air.
“<span class="talk">But this is a human!</span>" someone cries at last.
Emboldened, another voice demands, “<span class="talk">What of Pontiff Apocrita?</span>"</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|her4]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/her.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="window"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Her Excellency</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue"><span class="her">Apocrita knows of the change! Do you <span class="shake">QUESTION</span> ME, my humble court?</span></div></div></center>
Silence falls, broken only with bursts of obsequious protest. “<span class="talk">Of course not, Your Magnificence!</span>"
Apocrita knows.
All at once, you understand his renewed hostility. He was never particularly warm or kind — he has always been known throughout the court for his vultuous nature and short temper — but you see now what has incensed him so. Without meaning to, you have stolen something very dear from him.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|her5]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/her.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="window"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Her Excellency</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue"><span class="her"><i>Well</i>, Pontiff Eser? What say you?</span></div></div></center>
Though you cannot see more than Her Excellency's silhouette behind her ornate screen, you can feel <span class="her2">Her</span> scrutiny, the unbearable weight of <span class="her2">Her</span> expectations pressing down upon you.
As <span class="her2">She</span> leans toward you, you hear the jingling of golden bangles and note the shadow of <span class="her2">Her</span> fabled “crown" — a blade buried to its hilt in <span class="her2">Her</span> head, the weapon that once failed to kill <span class="her2">Her</span> now worn forever as a trophy.
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Agree]</div><td class="choice">[[It is a privilege to serve Her Excellency.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Doubt]</div><td class="choice">[[This is an honor, but surely Apocrita is more able?]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Protest]</div><td class="choice">[[Yet I have no experience, Your Magnificence.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div>
<div class="portrait">[img[images/her.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="window"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Her Excellency</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue"><span class="her">Very good. You have always been amenable, haven't you? She taught you well, made you wise. Good, then. Ah! See here, all gathered: I put my faith — Our Faith — in this human! You <i>will</i> avail your own to them.</span></div></div></center>
Though reluctant, the assembled court has no choice but to understand. Despite regarding <span class="her2">Her</span> word above all, some still remain cautious in their acceptance, but others follow <span class="her2">Her</span> so unquestioningly that they are convinced in an instant.
Her Excellency lowers <span class="her2">Her</span> voice to address you once more.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|her6]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/her.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="window"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Her Excellency</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue"><span class="her">Then you will gain it. Won't you, my dear? Each of us learns their place. Let it be known to all of Achthoven: this is your new Pontiff! Be at ease, for Their Holiness shall soon swear their vow to our Faith.</span></div></div></center>
You thought you knew your place, until now. Your place was anywhere out of the way, anywhere your presence would not interfere too gravely. You lived in peace among these creatures, all of whom knew of you, but few of whom desired to know too much — and it was good.
Now, thrust into a position of such scrutiny, you feel as though the ground is crumbling beneath you. You wish the great Sea would swallow you and be done with it.
Her Excellency lowers <span class="her2">Her</span> voice to address you once more.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|her6]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/her.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="window"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Her Excellency</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue"><span class="her">Apocrita will do as I say. As will you, Eser. <span class="shake">I</span> am your Mother now. Do you hear me, my sweet court? They are as much my child as any of you!</span></div></div></center>
You bite your tongue, and a bolt of pain lances through your chest at <span class="her2">Her</span> words.
<span class="her2">She</span> never soothed you when you woke from a nightmare. <span class="her2">She</span> never washed and braided your hair when you were a child. <span class="her2">She</span> would not have made the same grave sacrifices to keep you safe.
A cultural difference, you remind yourself — surely Her Excellency does not realize what a cruel thing that was to say.
Her Excellency lowers <span class="her2">Her</span> voice to address you once more.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|her6]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/her.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="window"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Her Excellency</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue"><span class="her">You'll begin presently; I will have you lead tonight's vespers. Do as you will until then — I tire, now, and I've no more to say. Meet with someone among my Synod if you require guidance.</span></div></div></center>
As the courtiers clear out in a skittering of limbs, all gossiping amongst themselves, you are led out of <span class="her2">Her</span> chambers and into the anteroom.
Here, only three courtiers remain: three quarters of the Queen's Synod, <span class="her2">Her</span> most trusted attendants.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|her7]]</div></center></div><<set $hday1 to "true">><<set $harpactor to $harpactor + 1>><div class="portrait">[img[images/harpactor.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="window"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Dux Harpactor</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Well! You've caused quite the stir today, haven't you?</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Agree]</div><td class="choice">[[So it seems...]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Protest]</div><td class="choice">[[That wasn't my intent.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Doubt]</div><td class="choice">[[Surely it won't last.]]</td></span></div></center>
</div></div><<set $mday1 to "true">><<set $mantodea to $mantodea + 1>><div class="portrait">[img[images/mantodea.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="window"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Magister Mantodea</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Is this something you desired, Eser?</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Evade]</div><td class="choice">[[I don't know.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Truth]</div><td class="choice">[[No. Why choose me?]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Lie]</div><td class="choice">[[If there's a higher honor, I can't imagine it.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><<set $oday1 to "true">><<set $olivalis to $olivalis + 1>><div class="portrait">[img[images/olivalis.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="window"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Signifer Olivalis</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Oh, how exciting! You must be so thrilled!</div></div></center>
Her wings tremble and beat once, twice, fanning a faint shimmering dust through the air before going still.
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Agree]</div><td class="choice">[[It's truly an honor.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Demur]</div><td class="choice">[[It's rather intimidating.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Question]</div><td class="choice">[[Have we any other choice?]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/harpactor.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="window"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Dux Harpactor</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Yes, you certainly seemed taken aback. Her Excellency does as <span class="her2">She</span> sees fit, to be sure, but I'd no idea <span class="her2">She</span> was considering such a thing.</div></div></center>
It worries you, just a bit, to think that <span class="her2">She</span> did not consult even the honored Synod about a decision such as this.
Your consternation must show on your face, for Harpactor clicks her mandibles and shifts her immensely armored weight toward you sharply.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|hadvice]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/olivalis.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="window"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Signifer Olivalis</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">You're always so polite! No need to be shy. You must have earned this somehow. Oh, the things you'll see in the high gardens! It will be blessèd, Eser. You are growing holier by the minute!</div></div></center>
You incline your head politely as Olivalis observes you with her massive bulging eyes, but you do not feel the same exhilaration.
She leans closer to you on her whip-thin limbs, spreading her wings again as if to envelop your conversation within them.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|oadvice]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/olivalis.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="window"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Signifer Olivalis</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">I'm sure you'll do just fine. You haven't died yet, after all. You're really something!</div></div></center>
Something indeed. Sometimes, you aren't sure what.
Though you appreciate the tinge of affection in the way Olivalis regards you, her tone conceals some tongue-in-cheek quality you can't place. No matter how much she may like you, you are alien to her. A curiosity, a novelty — a human.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|oadvice]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/olivalis.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="window"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Signifer Olivalis</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Not really! Ha-ha-ha! <span class="her2">Her</span> word is law, of course.</div></div></center>
Of course.
The immense and immediate conviction in Olivalis' voice seems to weigh her body down for a moment, and she shuffles her wings again as if to shake off the heaviness of the truth.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|oadvice]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/harpactor.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="window"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Dux Harpactor</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Don't fret. Just be wary of those who might resent it. Particularly the venomous ones. Ha! Just a joke, Eser. My, your eyes went wide for a moment. Humans are so amusing.</div></div></center>
Harpactor's sense of humor, though alarming, is not new to you. Even so, you cannot help but think of spiders' fangs — or of Apocrita's long and merciless stinger.
But you have the protection of Her Excellency's esteem, now. Surely that must count for something.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|hadvice]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/harpactor.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="window"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Dux Harpactor</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Wouldn't be so certain about that, Pontiff. You heard the court. Everybody did.</div></div></center>
Harpactor's chief skills are strategy and brutality. It is Mantodea who excels in the smooth logical acrobatics of validation, Olivalis whose upbeat nature lifts the spirits and boosts morale. Her Excellency values the Dux for her strength of form and character, her unflinching frankness.
By nature, she is particularly not well-suited to reassuring anybody. It does not seem to rank among her chief interests whatsoever.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|hadvice]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/mantodea.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="window"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Magister Mantodea</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Well, know this: there is no question that you must perform your new duties with certainty and sincerity.</div></div></center>
Though there is a sharpness to his words, his tone is not unkind. Mantodea has always been known for his great reserves of patience; he is an ancient creature, and he has taught scores of young ones in his long tenure.
That alone takes more than a lifetime's share of patience.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|madvice]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/mantodea.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="window"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Magister Mantodea</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">I would not presume <span style="font-family: 'IM Fell English SC', serif;">Her</span> motives. If <span style="font-family: 'IM Fell English SC', serif;">She</span> sees something in you that you've been blind to, you must open your eyes.</div></div></center>
The Magister dips his head in thought, extending his long forelimbs until they touch the floor.
You know by the tone of his voice that in this one matter, he is far from impartial; he believes in Her Excellency's esteem above all else.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|madvice]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/mantodea.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="window"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Magister Mantodea</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Polite to a fault, as always. There is no shame in being afraid, child. I will not begrudge you that in such a turbulent time.</div></div></center>
He means well, but part of you recoils from the sentiment. You had hoped your fear was not so apparent.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|madvice]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/harpactor.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="window"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Dux Harpactor</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">I'll give you a bit of free wisdom, Pontiff. <span class="her2">She</span> chose you, so rise to the occasion. Remain alert and vigilant, even at rest! You are the new guardian of the Faith — so get to guarding. Vigilance!</div></div></center>
She punctuates each statement with a stamp of one clawed tarsus against the tile floor. You manage not to flinch, but Harpactor does not seem impressed with your fortitude. She only tosses her head in an informal salute, signifying the completion of her briefing.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|vesp]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/olivalis.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="window"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Signifer Olivalis</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Can I offer you a little counsel, Pontiff? I know you're a quiet sort, but enthusiasm is essential. Essential! If you don't have enthusiasm for the Faith, why, how will everyone stay faithful? So let yourself be invigorated!</div></div></center>
You assure her that you will do as she advises, though a sense of guilt already gnaws at you — the close-held fear that you cannot make good on such a promise.
But Olivalis is satisfied, blind to your uncertainty. An expectant and joyous sort of vacancy fills the Signifer's eyes, and her antennae twitch toward some sound or sensation you cannot sense.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|vesp]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/mantodea.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="window"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Magister Mantodea</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">A word of advice, Pontiff... Do not let this elevation in status change your nature. Grow prideful, and grow sinful — but remain humble, and be holy. It's not only a matter of the Faith — but of your own safety. I trust you understand.</div></div></center>
You do.
His forelegs twitch higher, forever poised in the position of prayer, and he regards you with unblinking bulbous eyes. You nod and bend forward in a bow, but when you rise you find that he has already turned away, having said all he wished to say.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|vesp]]</div></center></div><<audio "her" stop>><<audio "nightdreams" play loop>><div class="portrait">[img[images/portrait1.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest2"></div><div class="psg">Night is marked by the churning of the sea above. Time is kept according to Her Excellency’s whims, each day and each hour mutable in favor of rituals that can change by the moment, but the darkening world does not relent to <span class="her2">Her</span> sovereignty.
Exiting the Hive, you make your way to the Eight Terraces from which Achthoven takes its name. The altar of the vespers is poised at the edge of the second Terrace, where the Pontiff is obliged to stand and gaze down upon the congregation below.
Bees — of the ordinary kind, Apocrita’s minute cousins — drone ceaselessly in adorned nests that hang and drip high above the altar. The space is framed by the boughs of ivy-choked dead trees whose tops have long-since snapped off; their frayed shadows mark the place where the court gathers in the red twilight to worship.
</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|vespers]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/portrait1.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest2"></div><div class="psg">Everyone, high-born and low-born alike, has gathered on the lowest Terrace. Their eyes all fix upon you as you begin your ascension. In the Sea overhead, lights twinkle like distant eyes blinking in the darkness.
Her Excellency is not here. <span class="her2">She</span> remains in <span class="her2">Her</span> tower, sensing and listening, but <span class="her2">Her</span> distant presence is felt all the same. It is always felt.
You climb the worn stone stairway to the second Terrace, where a podium of tightly braided vines marks the place you are to stand and give the sermon. It is flanked by the dead trees, their trunks gnarled and twisted. The hum of the bees, heedless of your presence, continues.
The higher you ascend, the more troubled you become — keenly aware that you feel like an impostor on holy ground. The greenery seems to seethe around you, as if breathing heavily.
</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|vespers2]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/portrait.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest2"></div><div class="psg">As you look out over the crowd, you see the Hive and its bell tower protruding against the horizon like a crooked finger poised to pronounce judgment. The long occupation of the proserpo has deformed the castle's silhouette into a twisted, organic mass.
You have never seen the Hive without evidence of Her Excellency's conquest. In the decades it has belonged to <span class="her">Her</span>, the workers have dismantled and renewed it to suit their needs, carrying away old stone, building towers of dirt and vines. The proserpo, those that crawl, are hardier than the humans who built the castle. When man's time ends, theirs begins.
Above the jungle canopy, the Oversea churns and shimmers.
The court watches you with apprehension. It’s time to begin.
</div><center><div class="decision">What is your decision?
<div class="but2">[[recite a prayer]]</div> <div class="but2">[[sing a hymn]]</div></div></center></div><<audio "heartbeat" stop>><<audio "ritual" play loop>><div class="portrait">[img[images/portrait1.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="corridor"></div><div class="psg"><<if $dranktea is "true">>It is difficult to wake up. You feel as though you are moving through a fog, though your body for once comes alive free of the usual aches and discomfiture.
When the knock comes at your door, you scarcely hear it. The courier outside chirps a shrill introduction and you rush to meet him, woozy and unbalanced, disoriented by your lack of pain. You stand quietly and accept his parcel — your new vestments, issued by the Faith.<</if>><<if $dranktea is "false">>When you wake, your mind is clear, but your body writhes inside, spreading a chill through you that you can't seem to cure.
When the knock comes at your door, you spring to answer it right away, though your body protests with a shivering and a shortness of breath like something long and sinuous curling fingers around your lungs and caging them in place.
You wheeze through the appropriate greeting to the courier and accept his parcel — your new vestments, issued by the Faith.<</if>></div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|day2b]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/olivalis.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="temple"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Signifer Olivalis</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Of course... you've only just become Pontiff, and you are still are grieving... Your kind lives longer than many of ours, and forms such attachments to the living, as we do not. I am sorry to hear of her passing, you know. Truly, I am. She was a good human. It must be difficult for you.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Sincere]</div><td class="choice">[[Thank you. It is.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Defend]</div><td class="choice">[[It's as if you lost Her Excellency.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div>
<div class="portrait">[img[images/olivalis.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="temple"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Signifer Olivalis</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Could it be? Hmm... Perhaps you’re right. I am beginning to moult, after all! Remind me, do you moult?</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Lie]</div><td class="choice">[[Not that I know of.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Truth]</div><td class="choice">[[In a manner of speaking...]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/mantodea.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="temple"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Magister Mantodea</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Of course, Eser. Am I to suppose her name pains you?</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Deflect]</div><td class="choice">[[I wish you would not suppose anything.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Truth]</div><td class="choice">[[It's like a wound.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/harpactor.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="temple"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Dux Harpactor</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue"><span class="shake">HA!</span> Armand summoned you? I’ll bet that was a shock to your senses. Your kind isn’t too partial to our nourishment, as I recall. Your food is a pleasing luxury to us once it has ripened and rotted, or I think we would not seek to keep you <i>so</i> well-fed. Your trash helps us feed the little ones, you know. I don’t suppose you’ll take to our nectar now that you’ve become Pontiff?</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Wry]</div><td class="choice">[[Probably not.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Challenge]</div><td class="choice">[[Am I only a pet?]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/harpactor.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="temple"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Dux Harpactor</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Perhaps you should at that, you clever creature. You're starting to take to your duties, so I'll indulge you: I've just come from an audience with Her Excellency. I'll be off to oversee the harbor shortly.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Question]</div><td class="choice">[[Why are you going to the harbor?]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Pry]</div><td class="choice">[[What did She need of you?]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/mantodea.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="temple"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Magister Mantodea</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Ah, then surely it must. I don't intend to cause you any pain, of course. Let's speak of other things, shall we?</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Terse]</div><td class="choice">[[Please.|boat deets m]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Agree]</div><td class="choice">[[Thank you.|boat deets m]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/harpactor.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="temple"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Dux Harpactor</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Someone’s spotted a shadow on the horizon; I had a look, and it seems that the ship we turned away last month is back.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Optimistic]</div><td class="choice">[[A friendly vessel?]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Pessimistic]</div><td class="choice">[[A hostile vessel?]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/olivalis.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="temple"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Signifer Olivalis</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">You aren’t missing much. Forgive me for saying so, but I think it’d be a bit ugly in your case. Your kind... bleeds, even at the smallest scratch. And bleeds quite a lot at that! Oh, but you must forgive me — that's not what I'm meant to speak with you about. The ship! Yes, yes, there's a ship on its way here.</div></div></center>
Your hands still itch, and you fear what you will see when you remove your gloves, but you do not want to speak of it. She does not need to know of such things.
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Question]</div><td class="choice">[[What sort of ship?]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Question]</div><td class="choice">[[Where did it come from?]]</td></span></div></center></div></div>
<div class="portrait">[img[images/olivalis.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="temple"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Signifer Olivalis</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Hmmm... gross! Oh, but I know what we <i>should</i> be talking about — the ship! Yes, yes, there's a ship on its way here.</div></div></center>
Your hands still itch, and you fear what you will see when you remove your gloves, but this makes for a suitable distraction.
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Question]</div><td class="choice">[[What sort of ship?]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Question]</div><td class="choice">[[Where did it come from?]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/apocrita.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg">He rises again, wings beating, eyes enormous and hateful as he fixes his gaze upon you as though it were a piercing thing.
<center><div class="label">Apocrita</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Have you enjoyed your new trade, Pontiff?</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Lie]</div><td class="choice">[[Very much so.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Truth]</div><td class="choice">[[Not at all.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Evade]</div><td class="choice">[[Can I help you?]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><center><div class="tometitle">Chapter Select</div><div class="desc">Select <span class="talk">specific chapters</span> to re-play.
<i>Some scenes and events rely on or reference earlier choices; a default will be used if you have not triggered necessary variables.</i></div></center><div class="bookframe"><div class="leftcolumn"><div class="chapter">ONE</div>
<span class="bookframeselect">[[➺|Start]]</span> [[Gravedirt|Start]]
“<i>You are the only human left.</i>"
<div class="chapter">TWO</div>
<span class="bookframeselect">[[➺|Two]]</span> [[Holy Ground|Two]]
“<i>Pruning is a most holy duty.</i>"
<div class="chapter">THREE</div>
<span class="bookframeselect">[[➺|Three]]</span> [[The Shadow of the Ship|Three]]
“<i>Human life is parasitic, too.</i>"
</div><div class="rightcolumn"><div class="chapter">FOUR</div>
<span class="bookframeselect">[[➺|Four]]</span> [[Upon A Painted Ocean|Four]]
“<i>History cannot erase the truth of this place.</i>"
<div class="chapter">FIVE</div>
<span class="bookframeselect">[[➺|Five]]</span> [[Golden Fire|Five]]
“<i>Something must be done about it.</i>"
<div class="chapter">SIX</div>
<span class="bookframeselect">[[➺|Six]]</span> [[Imago Emerging|Six]]
“<i>Only <span style="font-family: 'IM Fell English SC';">She</span> can help you.</i>"
</div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/portrait1.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><span class="talk">Deoridh</span> was Her Excellency’s chief interpreter, a woman from Elsewhere, a human, and <span class="talk">your mother</span>. For as long as you can remember, you lived here with her: two humans among the <span class="talk">proserpo</span>, a society of insects and arachnids so mutated in size and intellect that their ambition drove them to conquer the island of Achthoven many years ago.
Humans who die in the superstitious court of the proserpo are never to be buried. They are only burned, or embalmed, or — they disappear, discarded and swallowed by the dark currents of the sea surrounding Achthoven. You did not want that for her, so you dug the grave yourself one month ago, staring into the soil all the while as if you could part it with your grief.
Mother would not have asked you to bury her. She did not want to burden you with such a task as that, but you carried that burden the same way you carried her cold body into the Garden: with love.
</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|introduction2]]</div></center></div><<run UIBar.unstow()>><<audio "heartbeat" stop>><<audio "ritual" play loop>><div class="portrait">[img[images/portrait1.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg">You are the only human left.
A month has passed, and there is still dirt lodged beneath your nails. You spend too much of your time doubled over at the grave, stricken and lonely, reliving the night you buried your mother.
The pain, too, has gotten worse. It is like a living thing, growing day by day within you. Much of it is grief, a new and debilitating hurt you've never known before and cannot fathom how to heal — but much of it is an old, forgotten pain, as well.
You are alone now, and it has found you again. There is nowhere else to turn.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|introduction]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/portrait1.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg">You are not permitted to cut flowers to bring to her grave, for all that grows in the Garden is holy. Instead, you bring all else you have to offer: <span class="cycle"><<cyclinglink "stories" "memories" "company">></span> and <span class="cycle"><<cyclinglink "prayers" "care" "protection">></span>.
You are sitting at your mother's unmarked resting place, noting the soft blue grass that has begun to sprout along the edges of the disturbed earth, when you hear someone approaching. There are no footfalls to mark their progress — only a low, droning buzz and the papery beat of wings growing louder as they grow nearer.
You know that sound all too well.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|introduction3]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/apocrita.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Pontiff Apocrita</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Humans do not last. You know this. She knew it. We have all known this. It shouldn't have come as any surprise. Now, do not tarry any longer.</div></div></center>
The only thing Apocrita has ever claimed to love is the Garden — and the Garden is said to be endless. The death of a single bloom cannot kill the organism itself. He will never suffer the loss of his Mother.
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Sarcastic]</div><td class="choice">[[Of course, Your Holiness.|ofcsnide]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Obedient]</div><td class="choice">[[Of course, Your Holiness.|ofcobedient]]</td></span></div></center>
</div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/apocrita.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Pontiff Apocrita</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">You’ve dallied here for days now, moping and crying. It’s not something you should display so freely, to be frank. And the Groundskeeper is tired of your lingering — it’s an ill omen. I shall not have you sicken the Garden with this dreadful aura.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Insist]</div><td class="choice">[[This was my mother.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Concede]</div><td class="choice">[[Very well.|vw]]</td></span></div></center>
</div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/apocrita.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Pontiff Apocrita</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Ah, do I seem angry? Why might that be? Hah! Perhaps because you’ve defiled our holy ground with death and rot. You have desecrated this terrace!</div></div></center>
Apocrita twitches in outrage, each of his golden legs tensing. His jaws snap, and the pitch of his wingbeats seems to take a sharp upward turn.
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Apologize]</div><td class="choice">[[I'm sorry.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Argue]</div><td class="choice">[[You're wrong.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Plead]</div><td class="choice">[[Please don't dig her up.]]</td></span></div></center>
</div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/apocrita.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg">His Holiness <span class="talk">Pontiff Apocrita</span> hovers behind you, his great height and mass undercut by the delicate thinness of his limbs and the fragility of his wings, which look so sheer as to be unable to carry him. Yet they do, strong beyond reckoning, and the sound of them beating is as low and dire as his voice, frayed with a sonorous hum of irritation. Apocrita has never favored you, and of late he has had less patience with you than ever.
<center><div class="label">Pontiff Apocrita</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Her Excellency is calling you, Eser. Do not keep <span class="her2">Her</span> waiting. I bid you begone.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Agree]</div><td class="choice">[[Yes, Your Holiness.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Refuse]</div><td class="choice">[[I won't be long.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Question]</div><td class="choice">[[Are you upset with me?]]</td></span></div></center>
</div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/apocrita.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Pontiff Apocrita</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Ungrateful wretch! I've no obligation to give the likes of you advice, but here you spurn it all the same. If you will not mind your tongue in my presence, mind it in <span class="her2">Hers</span> lest you lose it! Being Deoridh’s child will not spare you. Ghosts have no sway over Her Excellency.</div></div></center>
Chastised but not deterred, you kneel and press <span class="cycle"><<cyclinglink "your forehead" "a kiss">></span> to the earth of the grave one last time, before rising to your feet in silence and turning to leave.
Apocrita's piercing cries of “<span class="talk">Begone!</span>" do not hasten your departure. Alive and defiant, the growing grass remains there in your stead.
</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|introduction4]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/apocrita.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Pontiff Apocrita</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Indeed “of course." One day you ought to understand the utility of my advice - which I offer, you'll note, only out of concern. Now, go. Do not make <span class="her2">Her</span> wait!</div></div></center>
Perhaps he is right - perhaps you have been ungrateful. When the tone he takes with you is so often one laced with agitation, it is difficult to imagine he intends any great charity.
Even so, he is surely right about one thing: you must go if <span class="her2">She</span> calls you.
</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|introduction4]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/apocrita.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Pontiff Apocrita</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Humans die! Humans and their attachments do not move the Faith. Yet even so... Her Excellency held Deoridh in high esteem. That should be enough for you.</div></div></center>
It isn't. Commendation, even from on high, does not make your mother's heart beat again. Empty words from courtiers do not ease your grief.
You rise slowly from your knees, pressing your palms into the earth of the grave to steady yourself. You have nothing left to say for yourself.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|introduction4]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/apocrita.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Pontiff Apocrita</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">... Very good, then. Well enough, well enough. Make haste!</div></div></center>
Apocrita's mandibles rattle as if to suppress a tirade for which he suddenly realized he had no need. It seems as though he expected you to argue, and was denied the satisfaction of his well-composed retort.
You are careful not to smirk or smile as you take your leave.
</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|introduction4]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/apocrita.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Pontiff Apocrita</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">As you should be. Hie now, if you have any sense at all, before <span class="her2">She</span> sends an escort.</div></div></center>
Heaving yourself to your feet, you nod in deference and slink away.
Though your heart is heavy — almost painfully so — with things unsaid, you know better than to defend yourself. What you did went against all decree. In truth, you suspect that you're lucky to be alive.
</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|introduction4]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/apocrita.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Pontiff Apocrita</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Wretched child! You think you know more than I about holiness? This land — none of it is to be disturbed without decree. I won't stand for it. Not one more blade of grass! Not one more shall your sins destroy!</div></div></center>
But he <i>is</i> wrong. Your mother could not defile anything.
Apocrita's wings buzz with rage as he hovers, draped with rosaries and radiating displeasure. His stinger glints in the corner of your eye as you heave yourself to your feet, but you are relatively certain that for all his bluster, he would not employ it without Her Excellency's express permission.
</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|introduction4]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/apocrita.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Pontiff Apocrita</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">And violate our sacred land further? You needn’t worry about that. Oh, you've backed me into quite a corner with this little trick, haven't you? No, I shall have nothing more to do with the thing. As if I would wish to deal in dead humans! Ridiculous. Appalling. Bah! Leave, now, before Her Excellency grows as impatient with you as I have.</div></div></center>
You do as he asks, but you feel some satisfaction in knowing that your mother cannot be disturbed; you no longer need to guard her resting place night and day. Not even the Pontiff has the authority to exhume her.
When he hisses a final, deflated-sounding “<span class="talk">Begone!</span>" your way, you wonder who he is really speaking to. You, or Deoridh?
</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|introduction4]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/portrait1.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg">No matter your reasons for doing it, you committed a crime against the Faith when you dug the grave. You know this, and you do not expect Apocrita to forgive you — or Her Excellency.
Yet if <span class="her2">She</span> were as deeply offended, you doubt you would have lived long enough to apologize. You have <span class="cycle"><<cyclinglink "few" "no">></span> regrets.
When you listen closely, you hear <span class="her2">Her</span> call ringing through the air from afar. You had not noticed it before, stifled by the buzz of Apocrita's frustration, the rush of blood in your head, the wailing grief growing louder by the day in your mind.
You must not keep <span class="her2">Her</span> waiting.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|her]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/portrait1.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="window"></div><div class="psg">There is <span class="talk"><span style="font-family: 'IM Fell English SC', serif;">Dux Harpactor</span></span>, the assassin bug renowned for her bloody achievements as well as her courtly decorum. Beside her stands <span class="talk"><span style="font-family: 'IM Fell English SC', serif;">Magister Mantodea</span></span>, the genial but secretive pedagogue; a mantis, his celibacy has long allowed him to keep his head. Behind the pair is <span class="talk"><span style="font-family: 'IM Fell English SC', serif;">Signifer Olivalis</span></span>, the mulcible standard-bearer whose upright posture and massive eyes give her the appearance of barely containing an inquisitive nature at all times.
You have known them all since you were ten years old, though you admit you still do not know them well.
The former fourth member of the Synod is not present. He is in the Garden, glaring at your mother’s grave.
You have replaced him.</div><center><div class="decision">What is your decision?
<div class="but">[[Speak to Harpactor]]</div> <div class="but">[[Speak to Mantodea]]</div> <div class="but">[[Speak to Olivalis]]</div></div></center>
</div><div class="portrait">[img[images/portrait1.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest2"></div><div class="psg">When the silence that has fallen over the crowd is complete, you part your lips and raise your hands to eye level. You draw an inward breath, and then you bring your palms together in a single sharp motion as you exhale. In the silence, it echoes like thunder.
You don't know any prayers by heart, but you have listened to Apocrita's sermons for many years. You are accustomed to the cadence and tone of the language: florid and courtly and drenched in mystic trappings. With great care, you begin:
<center><div class="label">Eser</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Her Excellency has decreed that we <span class="cycle"><<cyclinglink "shall" "must">></span> pray together, and our <span class="cycle"><<cyclinglink "benefactor" "God" "Presence">></span> in the Garden shall be pleased. Will you join me?</div></div></center>
Dissent quivers among the assembled, but they cannot refuse <span class="her2">Her</span> decree.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|vespers4]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/portrait1.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest2"></div><div class="psg">In the lifetime you've lived here, you have learned many songs. Few of them have coherent lyrics; words are only punctuation, sprinkled ritually as refrains to build upon, with harmonies for mortar. Pretty words are for <span class="cycle"><<cyclinglink "prayers" "poems" "apologies">></span> — but song ought to be unadulterated sound, like the chirp of a cricket's wings.
There is a holy dirge that has occupied your mind since you realized that your mother was dying. You cannot sing it as well as a minstrel cricket could, but you think it might do. You clear your throat and summon its melody, twisting up from within you like a living thing.
Your voice is clear and pristine, androgynous in its timbre, warm with love and grief alike. To human ears, it would sound holy and sincere. A human's skin might have prickled with gooseflesh to hear such a song — but the proserpo that crowd beneath your podium shiver with digust at the sound of such a naked human voice.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|vespers5]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/portrait1.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest2"></div><div class="psg">Your voice does not sound like your own to you — it sounds larger, heavier, amplified by the echoing space that cradles the podium. Your voice is neither deep nor high, its pitch always caught in some liminal softness, but here it seems to take on an otherworldly quality.
<center><div class="label">Eser</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">I now pledge my <span class="cycle"><<cyclinglink "devotion" "life" "soul" "blood">></span> to the Faith of Achthoven. Glory be to God in our Paradise, and glory be to Her Excellency who has wrought a place for God to dwell. Always shall there be an endless garden, <span class="cycle"><<cyclinglink "righteous" "bountiful" "powerful">></span> as the sinful sea is not.</div></div></center>
You don't sound like yourself, or even like your mother. This is a stranger's voice, a stranger's memory, a stranger's beliefs — and yet each lie is all your own.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|vespers4b]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/portrait1.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest2"></div><div class="psg">At their open disdain, your voice is halted in your throat, choked away in an instant. You grip the podium with one hand, feeling the tendons in your arm grow unnaturally tight; you are so distressed you cannot seem to unclench your hand and release it. “<span class="talk"><span class="cycle"><<cyclinglink "Beg pardon" "I'm so sorry" "Excuse me">></span></span>," you whisper in a dry throat. No one hears or understands you.
Something else builds in you, eclipsing the dirge: not a song, but a cry. That, too, is nearly suffocated before it rolls off your tongue at last, a high sharp trill as thick and fluid as blood.
Wings flutter on the terrace below. Legs creak together. On instinct, you cry out again, louder and sharper, tongue fluttering against the backs of your teeth in a piercing ululation to mimic the sounds of worship you've heard in the past. The sound is somewhere between a growl and a shriek, dripping with nervous energy. It is wordless, but it is honest.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|vespers5b]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/portrait1.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest2"></div><div class="psg">The congregation below begins to hum in many voices, a long and droning note of devotion that resounds sweetly in the Garden that surrounds you.
<center><div class="label">Eser</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Though by eventide light has been banished, the Faith shall always <span class="cycle"><<cyclinglink "shine" "prevail" "live on">></span>. This, I swear to you.</div></div></center>
Each word feels like blood beading at the edge of a wound. Your voice trembles and threatens to fail you, but you shut your eyes tightly and reign it in with a deep breath. “<span class="talk">Let this night, then, pass <span class="cycle"><<cyclinglink "peacefully" "quickly" "silently">></span> over us all.</span>"</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|vespers4c]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/portrait1.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest2"></div><div class="psg">An eternity of silence screams past in but a few seconds. Then another voice raises to meet your cry. Another. Soon, many of the gathered worshippers are chittering and screeching with you into the night, and your voice dissolves among theirs into something inhuman — and you begin to feel that you've done right by them.
Even so, you think of the voice that is missing — your mother’s, so expertly pitched to match the sounds of the proserpo despite her human language — and grief rises in you like a ferocious tide. You pause, mouth open, teeth bared — and then it pours out of you: a scream with volume, a scream with weight. It <span class="cycle"><<cyclinglink "hurts" "feels good">></span>, and when it has gone you are left frozen and hollow, shivering and clutching the altar.
Several moments pass as the proserpo follow your lead, each ceasing their unearthly ululation until the Garden has swallowed every last echo. Breathless, you raise your now-hoarse voice over the retreating cacophony and cry out: “<span class="talk">I now swear my <span class="cycle"><<cyclinglink "eternal devotion" "life" "soul" "blood">></span> to the Faith of Achthoven. Glory be!</span>"</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|vespers5c]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/apparition.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest2"></div><div class="psg">Once more, you bring your palms together sharply overhead — and with that, your sermon is concluded. In the distance, beyond the treeline, you glimpse something else. A shadow — a familiar silhouette. When you blink, it is gone.
It is gone, and thousands of gleaming eyes are staring back at you, expecting a true dismissal. In the undulating motion of the congregation, you spot <<if $hday1 is "true">>Harpactor<</if>><<if $oday1 is "true">>Olivalis<</if>><<if $mday1 is "true">>Mantodea<</if>> in the crowd. <<if $hday1 is "true">>She draws herself up to meet your gaze and moves her mandibles in silent pantomime - <span class="talk"><i>Say something.</i></span><</if>><<if $oday1 is "true">>She beats her wings several times, lifting herself higher above the crowd to see you more clearly.<</if>><<if $mday1 is "true">>He stands placidly, forelimbs clasped in prayer as always, but you detect the intensity of his gaze.<</if>>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Formal]</div><td class="choice">[[Go in peace.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Informal]</div><td class="choice">[[... That's all.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/apparition.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest2"></div><div class="psg">Much of the night's anxiety has dissipated in the belligerence of catharsis, leaving the congregation worn and satisfied, malleable to your command. You realize under the weight of their curious stares that they expect you to dismiss them.
You look over the crowd. You see many antennae and wings and carapaces that you recognize, <<if $hday1 is "true">>Harpactor's<</if>><<if $oday1 is "true">>Olivalis'<</if>><<if $mday1 is "true">>Mantodea's<</if>> among them, but you do not see Apocrita anywhere. That is all well and good. You would not want him to have heard your agony.
In the distance, beyond the treeline, you glimpse something else. A shadow — a familiar silhouette, a silent witness. When you blink, it is gone.
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Formal]</div><td class="choice">[[Go in peace.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Informal]</div><td class="choice">[[... That's all.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/portrait1.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest2"></div><div class="psg">The last dregs of eloquence you can summon will have to do. You have heard Apocrita say this phrase before, but you fear your voice lacks the gravity and conviction he always attached to it.
It does the trick all the same, and the assembled congregation begins to scuttle away. The undulating river of chitinous bodies splits at once into many tributaries as they go their separate ways. Some individuals rise above the crowd in flight, but each one is careful not to ascend higher than the Terrace permits.
The Oversea grows dim. You wait for the last of them to leave before making your descent. Even so, you feel watched.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|day1end]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/portrait1.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest2"></div><div class="psg">You are not sure of what more there is to say. Though you managed eloquence before, words escape you now.
<span class="talk"><i>Go</i></span>, you want to tell them. <span class="talk"><i>Just leave me be.</i></span>
But that would not be proper at all.
After a moment of confusion, the assembled congregation begins to scuttle away. The undulating river of chitinous bodies splits at once into many tributaries as they go their separate ways. Some individuals rise above the crowd in flight, but each one is careful not to ascend higher than the Terrace permits.
The Oversea grows dim. You slink down the stairs, feeling watched, as the last of the faithful are leaving.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|day1end]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/portrait1.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest2"></div><div class="psg">With the sounds of the Oversea and the wind through the Garden urging you on, you retire to your dwelling in solitude. The familiarity of your home is tainted now; it makes you feel like an animal in a trap, pacing, unable to find a restful place that does not remind you of the pain of loss and loneliness.
Before long, you hear a many-limbed scuttling outside the door. A group of small workers are gathered there when you crack the door open. On their backs is laid a tray with a steaming, ornate cup and saucer perched atop it. “<span class="talk">Tea!</span>” they cry in unison. “<span class="talk">From the <<if $hday1 is "true">>Dux<</if>><<if $oday1 is "true">>Signifer<</if>><<if $mday1 is "true">>Magister<</if>></span>!”
You thank the servants, knowing that it’s no use to try and deter them. Though it embarrasses you to have them insist on serving you, they would take it as an insult if you refused. This is what Her Excellency bred them for, after all.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|day1end2]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/portrait1.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest2"></div><div class="psg">Gingerly, you accept the servants' burden, thanking them again as they begin to swarm away.
Inside, you enter your quarters and set the tray on the larger of two trunks containing all your worldly possessions: clothing, books, collections of <span class="cycle"><<cyclinglink "shells" "rocks" "sea-glass">></span>. Your mother had haggled with a passing merchant for the valises when you were young, that you would have some place to keep your modest accumulation of belongings.
You recognize it now as luggage — preparing for the day when you would outgrow Achthoven. You don't know how you'd manage such a thing now, sworn as you are to the secretive Faith.
The tea steams heartily. There is a small <span class="talk">note</span> folded on the edge of the saucer.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|note]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/portrait1.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest2"></div><div class="psg"><<set $dranktea to "true">>The tea is pungent and bitter, steeped heavily. It warms you, eases some of the immense tension that has collected within you in the last several hours. Suddenly, you realize that you are weary beyond measure. You don't know if your exhaustion is brought about by the tea or the stress of your new duties, but you are helpless to deny it.
A dull pain beats down your spine and writhes into your ribcage, as it has every night for weeks. Often, the pain brings tears to your eyes — but tonight, it is nothing you can't bear. Distracted by the day's strange turn of events, you forgot to even dread its return.
Perhaps that is the work of the tea as well.
Not long after you've arranged yourself fully clothed and fetal in your bed, you submit to your exhaustion.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[☽|Two]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/portrait1.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest2"></div><div class="psg"><<set $dranktea to "false">>Though it is a kind thought, a gesture well-meant, you cannot accept it.
One small mercy your body has granted you is that today's many pressures have muted the constant thrum of pain that's resurfaced within you this last month. But now that you've recaptured your privacy, it is building again — a slow, nauseating course of agony winding through your stomach and creeping up your throat. Your limbs feel weak and heavy. Your skin itches.
But this is nothing new — and a cup of tea, no matter how potent, will not cure it.
You empty the cup into a pot whose plant has long since died, leaving only its withered leaves crumpled upon the soil.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|knockout]]</div></center></div><<audio "ritual" stop>><<audio "her" play loop>><div class="portrait">[img[images/portrait1.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="window"></div><div class="psg"><span class="her2">Her</span> chambers are dim and crowded with members of the court who fall silent at your approach. These are the patrician proserpo: larger and more cunning than the serving classes, they are permitted entrance into the inner sanctum of the Hive. Though it was a structure built by humans, it has been refined by the proserpo to accommodate their ways.
<span class="her2">Her</span> enormity is concealed behind a large and ornate screen, though you can make out <span class="her2">Her</span> shadow: many-limbed, heavy with vitality, adorned with a morbid crown. The droning summons ceases as you enter, and though you cannot see Her Excellency, you know when <span class="her2">She</span> looks at you, for the gaze of <span class="her2">Her</span> faceted eyes is piercing.
You <span class="cycle"><<cyclinglink "bow deeply" "remain motionless" "clasp your hands before you">></span>.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|her2]]</div></center></div><div class="parchment"><div class="parchmentpsg"><<if $hday1 is "true">>Kid,
You need to relax.
I know you're unhappy, but you can't be this obvious about it much longer. The court will lose faith in you. Grieve, by all means, but with some discretion. Try this to ease your mind.
<span class="hwriting">— Dux Harpactor</span><</if>><<if $oday1 is "true">>Eser,
You seemed a little nervous today. Everyone can tell. But it's alright — this might help.
I hope it finds you well, but I'll understand if it doesn't. Just try to get some rest.
<span class="owriting">— Olivalis</span><</if>><<if $mday1 is "true">>Pontiff,
I trust you are already learning much about your new role. Your future here is bright, so long as you remain mindful and calm. Let not the sins of your predecessor — anger and anxiety foremost among them — overtake you. Drink this and meditate.
<span class="mwriting">— Magister Mantodea</span><</if>></div></div>
<center><div class="proglink">[[❂|tea]]</div></center><div class="portrait">[img[images/portrait1.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest2"></div><div class="psg">Some part of you appreciates the concern. The rest of you is rather humiliated.
There is no rushing matters of grief or faith. If you could be all that was expected of you, you would not be human.
But if you were not human, perhaps it would ease some of your pain.
Steam pours off the tea's dark surface.
</div><center><div class="decision">What is your decision?
<div class="but2">[[drink deeply]]</div> <div class="but2">[[dispose of it]]</div></div></center></div><div class="parchment"><div class="parchmentpsg"><span class="dwriting">Eser,</span>
I owe you an apology. More than one, I'm afraid.
I've tried to write this many times. To do so at all would be to admit to myself that I might leave you sooner than I'd like, or that I may be too cowardly to tell you certain things in person, but you know that I like to be prepared.
These are things I still don't understand myself, and I have seldom known how I might express them. But there are things you ought to know.</div></div>
<center><div class="proglink">[[❂|Deoridh's letter 2]]</div></center><div class="parchment"><div class="parchmentpsg">Before you were born, a creature came to my home to die: a many-eyed creature of flesh and bone and blood. Even now, I don't know who or what it was, but it was harmless and it was suffering — so I watched over it for the few days it took to pass on.
It was grateful. When it awoke the day before it died, it spoke to me. It asked me to eat of its flesh and in so doing bless the child that had scarcely yet to quicken in my womb.
I trusted it. I still do.</div></div>
<center><div class="proglink">[[❂|Deoridh's letter 3]]</div></center><div class="parchment"><div class="parchmentpsg">It told me this as well: that though my child would be blessed, they would also be Weird — a curse in its way, for some will never accept you. But with my age and constitution, I feared losing you before you could even come into the world. I feared that you would inherit your father's health, which had failed him before he ever knew of you.
We've discussed the Weird before. I wish I could give you all the answers, but I can't; I don't know enough. I have tried to learn, but my guesses would only hinder you. You will know yourself when the time comes. In the meantime, you know other things. You know that you are my child. You know that I love you. You know why I brought you here. But now I am dead — I assume — and have left you here.</div></div>
<center><div class="proglink">[[❂|Deoridh's letter 4]]</div></center><div class="parchment"><div class="parchmentpsg">I want you to know that I am sorry.
This is not a life for you, but they will not let you leave easily. We know too many of their secrets. That is my folly as well — but I knew little of this place for the first decade we lived here. I would have taken you anywhere free of humans, but other beings can be just as superstitious — and just as dangerous, if superstition goes unchecked.
I feared for you too much — enough to blind me to the future's risks. I wanted to ensure you would not be hurt, but perhaps that in itself has hurt you. This isolation is no solution.
</div></div>
<center><div class="proglink">[[❂|Deoridh's letter 5]]</div></center><div class="portrait">[img[images/portrait1.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg">The <<if $hday1 is "true">>Dux<</if>><<if $oday1 is "true">>Signifer<</if>><<if $mday1 is "true">>Magister<</if>> turns and takes <<if $hday1 is "true">>her<</if>><<if $oday1 is "true">>her<</if>><<if $mday1 is "true">>his<</if>> leave of the anteroom. For one precious moment, you are alone, and you savor that solitude — but it does not last long.
Within minutes, the bell above the Hive begins to chime. You feel its resonance in the tower's walls before the sound can make its way to your ears; it is a familiar sensation, but it has taken on a new meaning. Where it once was merely a way you marked the time, it is now your signal to begin your new duties.
When you emerge from the anteroom, <<if $hday1 is "true">>Harpactor<</if>><<if $oday1 is "true">>Olivalis<</if>><<if $mday1 is "true">>Mantodea<</if>> is nowhere to be found. A small gathering of proserpo, juveniles of all species, race by on their way to the Terraces. The vesper bells ring once more, summoning them — summoning <i>you</i>.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|nightfall]]</div></center></div><<audio "her" stop>><<audio "ritual" stop>><<audio "nightdreams" stop>><<audio "forest" stop>><<audio "fire" stop>><<audio "harpactor" stop>><<audio "mantodea" stop>><<audio "olivalis" stop>><<audio "npc" stop>><<audio "ship" stop>><<audio "apocrita" stop>><<audio "credits" stop>><<audio "apparition" stop>><<audio "heartbeat" stop>><<audio "boom" play>><<set $ch1 to "no">><<set $ch3 to "no">><<set $ch4 to "no">><<set $ch5 to "no">><<set $ch6 to "no">><<set $ch2 to "yes">><<set $start to "no">><<run UIBar.stow()>><center><div class="chtitle">II.</div><div class="chaptitle">Holy Ground</div></center>
<center><div class="proglink">[[❂|day2]]</div></center>
<div class="pass">Thank you for testing the second build of Heretic's Hope! Please send me your feedback via Twitter DM (@grimoirtua) or email (grimoirtua@gmail.com) and let me know how you'd like to be credited (name, pseudonym, link to your site, etc)!
Please additionally let me know if you're interested in continuing to test; my deadline is September 28th and I'll be working on polishing everything up as much as possible until then. I'd ideally like to get some final testing and bug-hunting in between the 20th and 26th if anyone is available.
Here's a bad HH meme as extra thanks for helping me wrangle this mess.</div>
<center>[img[images/question.png]]</center>
Google: “Mantises can strike twice as fast as the blink of an eye"
Eser:
Eser:
Eser: PLEASE SAY SIKE,<<run UIBar.stow()>><center><div class="splash">[img[images/masky.png]]</div><div class="glow">Grimoirtua</div>
<div class="splash2">[img[images/ifcomp.png]]
<span style="font-family: 'IM Fell English SC', serif; text-shadow: 1px 0 0 #ff0000, 0 -1px 0 #ff0000, 0 1px 0 #ff0000, -1px 0 0 #ff0000"><i>Not intended to be played on a mobile device.
Best experienced in Firefox and fullscreen.</i></span></div></center><<timed 3s>><<goto "HERETIC'S HOPE">><</timed>><div class="portrait">[img[images/portrait1.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest2"></div><div class="psg">Some nights, you cannot make it to bed for fear of vomiting or losing your balance. This, you fear, is one such night.
Rather than collapse, you slump into the chair at your desk and place your head in your hands. Your temples throb.
You will not remember falling asleep until you wake in a heap upon the floor.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[☽|Two]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/portrait1.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="corridor"></div><div class="psg">The raiment of the Pontiff differs depending on many things. Species, gender, size. You yourself are tiny by the standards of the Achthoven elite, yet massive by the standards of the serfs, creatures so small that they are often called “Morsels." By the standards of humans, you are quite average, no particular deviations to account for.
Your predecessor is a male wasp: a worker-creature, tireless and intense, and blessed with wings. His predecessor was a millipede whose immense body was said to coil through the temples such that one end of her would always lead to the other.
You are rather more simple to tailor for.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|day2c]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/portrait.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="corridor"></div><div class="psg">The garments are simply stitched: a pellegrina to wear over your open cassock, and a bright yellow sash, subtly embroidered, to tie at your waist. The silken sash slips through your fingers, textured like a shed skin. These are human garments — gathered from some hidden place in the Hive where humans once dwelled, then embellished to suit the new Faith.
More important than these, however, are the rosaries coiled atop them in the parcel: strands upon strands of beads, all of different materials. Some are of dark, ancient wood the likes of which grows deep in the Garden. Some are pale, foggy sea-glass. Others are strung with pebbles and fragments of coral. These were made by Her Excellency’s most faithful and talented artisans, the same artisans who made Apocrita’s many rosaries.
When you’ve laden yourself with these adornments, you find a <span class="talk">note</span> lingering at the bottom of the paper-wrapped parcel.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|day2d]]</div></center></div><div class="parchment"><div class="parchmentpsg">Meet me in the courtyard. Today, we will tend to a limb of God — each Terrace grows wild but for its single Homage, and each Homage is a limb of the Presence that gives life to our island. In return, we care for it as best we can.
It is your duty to ensure that these grow well.
Be ready to climb.
</div></div>
<center><div class="proglink">[[❂|day2e]]</div></center><div class="portrait">[img[images/danaus.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg">When you arrive, the Groundskeeper is regarding you warily. He inclines his antennae and folds his forelimbs against his chest when you bid him a cheerful “<span class="talk">Good morning!</span>” His wings beat once, pensively.
<center><div class="label">Groundskeeper Danaus</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">I suppose something must be good about it. Are you ready, Holiness?</div></div></center>
As you leave the courtyard and begin the trek up to the Terraces, the Groundskeeper unfolds his full wingspan. His wings are a beautiful golden orange fringed with white-speckled black, and he looks well at home among the colorful plants that sway and tower the higher you climb.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|day2f]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/danaus.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg">Work in the Garden is difficult. The Gardeners are spoken of with a certain emphasis, for only they can perform the specific duties required by God. They are chosen for their long, jointed limbs, the better to wield tools and perform minute and articulate tasks. Some have bladed bodies well-suited to trimming topiaries and vines.
Some have tried wielding borrowed human arms, but found bare bone to be too numb to use effectively, and preserved limbs with manipulable tendons too prone to rot. You recall discovering such discarded tools once, when you were fifteen. You recall your <span class="cycle"><<cyclinglink "revulsion" "fear" "uncertainty">></span>, and the cavalier derision it was met with.
You have spent many years in the Garden, though you are only permitted to enter the lower two Terraces. Since you were a child, you helped fetch tools and carry water, but you are seldom allowed to touch the plants. Pruning is a most holy duty.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|day2g]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/portrait.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg">You have not been holy until now.
And you have not enjoyed Garden work since you were fifteen. That was when you were no longer a help, but a hindrance; no longer an unquestioning child, but a curious one, asking too many questions and growing enough to be in the way of the scurrying groundskeepers.
Even so, you continued to fetch things for them. The work got harder and heavier, exhausting you in human ways that the others chided from afar. Even under the weight of their disdain, you wanted to be of help. Even knowing that they butchered the dead bodies of your kin, you wanted to be <span class="cycle"><<cyclinglink "useful" "accepted">></span>.
You were old enough then to understand more of your mother’s difficult trade. When you confided in her about the <span class="cycle"><<cyclinglink "tools" "corpses">></span>, she spared you further Garden toil to teach you languages spoken without words.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|day2h]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/danaus.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="terrace"></div><div class="psg">In truth, the Garden is more accurately termed a jungle. Many of its plants are unique and abnormal, all are tropical in nature, and some among them are carnivorous. It is a place ruled by hunger, the Garden, and many Gardeners have succumbed to its appetites.
<center><div class="label">Groundskeeper Danaus</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Hurry along! Apocrita left the entire Fourth unpruned. And stray not! Some of these plants'll snap at even us for meat. Not much on me — but you humans are nothing but meat. They won't turn that down, holy or not.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Agree]</div><td class="choice">[[Understood.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Question]</div><td class="choice">[[Why would he neglect it?]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/portrait.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="terrace"></div><div class="psg">You climb and climb, ascending past the dilapidated path to third Terrace and emerging at the fourth, finding to your surprise that thoroughfares have been trodden here in lifetimes past. Two and four legged things walked here once, humans and their beasts of burden. The ground is hard here, grass and moss worn away in a thin path that was once much wider before the Garden began to reclaim it.
And there is water on the higher levels as well — ponds and lagoons. Placid, standing water. Its odor is different from the sea-air on the coast. As you arrive on the summit of the fourth Terrace, you can smell it from afar, but the foliage is too dense to see the path to the water.
Before you can think better of it, you marvel aloud at the thought that Apocrita had to manage all of this dense green life.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|terrace]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/danaus.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="terrace"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Groundskeeper Danaus</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">I'd wager it's a welcoming gift for Your Holiness.</div></div></center>
His sardonic tone is not lost on you.
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Protest]</div><td class="choice">[[I didn't ask to be Pontiff.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Question]</div><td class="choice">[[Does he hate me?]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/danaus.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Groundskeeper Danaus</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">That makes no difference to him. You are the Pontiff, and now he is not.</div></div></center>
The guilt gnaws at you quietly, though you know you did nothing to warrant it. You never wanted this. You never coveted it.
If you had dreamed of such a thing, it would have seemed to you a nightmare.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|Understood.]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/danaus.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Groundskeeper Danaus</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">That's not for me to say, Pontiff.</div></div></center>
The careful, clipped reservation in his tone seems to imply otherwise. You cannot help but think the worst.
Apocrita never warmed to you in your twenty-five years on Achthoven — now he grows only colder.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|Understood.]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/danaus.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="terrace"></div><div class="psg">The Groundskeeper glances back at you with his dull, dark eyes. He regards you for a moment as if you should have known the finer details by now, but he lets it pass, willing to explain.
<center><div class="label">Groundskeeper Danaus</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">No, no. This is only the path to the Homage. These paths may grow wild; we Gardeners manage them, but it we must not interfere too much. Only the body of God must be tended to by one such as yourself. A limb for each Terrace, as I wrote.</div></div></center>
If that’s true, the Presence must be frightfully large indeed.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|terrace2]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/portrait.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="terrace"></div><div class="psg">“<span class="talk">Here,</span>” the groundskeeper says eventually, darting forward through the foliage.
In the gust kicked up by his wings, a branch whips back into your face. You duck, but a twig still ends up twisted in the tight curls of your hair, pulling painfully at your scalp. When you raise a hand to feel for it, you are met with the needle-tips of the long, sleek thorns that line the twig. Each is half the length of your forefinger.
If you had not ducked, you would have surely lost an eye.</div><center><div class="decision">What is your decision?
<div class="but">[[Untangle Yourself]]</div> <div class="but">[[Snap the Twig Apart]]</div></div></center>
</div><div class="portrait">[img[images/danaus.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="terrace"></div><div class="psg">With some effort, you free the thorny twig from your hair, taking care not to break it even as its thorns prick your fingertips. You return to the Groundskeeper as quickly as you're able.
<center><div class="label">Groundskeeper Danaus</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Where did you go? You ought not to stray.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Protest]</div><td class="choice">[[Nowhere. I got caught on a branch.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Defend]</div><td class="choice">[[You went ahead without me.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/danaus.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="terrace"></div><div class="psg">The groundskeeper is expecting you and the twig is tearing at your hair and scalp, its thorns poised to draw blood.
You reach up and twist it off at the vulnerable junction where it meets its branch, but part of the twig still remains caught in your hair as you rush back to Danaus. Immediately, he takes notice.
<center><div class="label">Groundskeeper Danaus</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">What did you do!?</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Protest]</div><td class="choice">[[I got caught on a branch.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Insist]</div><td class="choice">[[I had to prune something.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div>
<div class="portrait">[img[images/portrait.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="terrace"></div><div class="psg">Danaus makes a noise of exasperation and flicks his proboscis to taste the air. With even your human senses, you can taste it as well: still water growing nearer. You follow the Groundskeeper into a clearing, beside which stretches a large, murky lagoon.
At the lagoon's edge, a curling root grows from a furrow in the earth. It is patterned and streaked with unnatural colors — saturated purples and yellows in start contrast to the green grass or thick brown water — and it rises almost to match your height.
Danaus leads you to it, and you note that its otherworldly shape is an illusion of braided vines. Several unruly sprouts have twisted themselves into knots or begun striving in different directions.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|terrace3b]]</div></center></div>
<div class="portrait">[img[images/portrait.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="terrace"></div><div class="psg">The Homage rises in a single curling tendril to reach the height of your eye level. It is shaggy with overgrowth, like a twisted hand with too many digits.
<span style="text-shadow: 1px 0 0 #ff0000, 0 -1px 0 #ff0000, 0 1px 0 #ff0000, -1px 0 0 #ff0000; color: #aaa;">✦</span> You prune the old growth by <span class="cycle"><<cyclinglink "$oldgrowth" "one half" "one third">></span>.
<span style="text-shadow: 1px 0 0 #ff0000, 0 -1px 0 #ff0000, 0 1px 0 #ff0000, -1px 0 0 #ff0000; color: #aaa;">✦</span> You train the new growth <span class="cycle"><<cyclinglink "$newgrowth" "toward the lagoon" "toward the oversea">></span>.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|terrace4b]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/apparition.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest2"></div><div class="psg">It collects into a human shape: upright carriage, elegant limbs, a head crowned with water vapor that drifts as if caught in the same breeze.
The silhouette is familiar. It is too familiar.
Last night, you glimpsed it. In the darkening treeline at the vesper's bell, it made itself known. It was familiar then, but you could not make out the details, and when you blinked, it disappeared. Now, it is closer: you recognize the frayed hem of a garment, the shape of a hairstyle, the posture.
You blink, rub your eyes. The vision remains.</div><center><div class="decision">What is your decision?
<div class="but">[[Ignore It|pruning]]</div> <div class="but">[[Approach It]]</div></div></center>
</div><<audio "ritual" stop>><<audio "apparition" play loop>><<set $apparitiontalk to "true">><div class="portrait">[img[images/apparition.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest2"></div><div class="psg">The dark fog seems to shiver in the air, its haze of particles blown away by the wind, leaving a distinct shape. It has your mother’s shadow, the same pincushion bun at the base of her neck, the same confident set to her shoulders.
The lace of her shawl is a fringe of vapor; the hem of her skirt drips steadily into the lagoon below as the fog carries her likeness slowly away.
<center><div class="label">???</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue"><span class="shake"><span class="blur2">There you are.</span><span class="blur3"> There you are.</span><span class="blur"> There you are.</span></span></div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[???]</div><td class="choice">[[Wait!|apparition2]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[???]</div><td class="choice">[[What are you?|apparition2]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[???]</div><td class="choice">[[Mother!|apparition2]]</td></span></div></center></div></div>
<<set $apparitiontalk to "false">><div class="portrait">[img[images/portrait.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="terrace"></div><div class="psg">Not to be deterred by superstition, you resume your work.
Braiding the most delicate vines together is difficult; you must endeavor not to break them or twist them too much. These stems are not resilient like fabric or hair; they are soft and springy, and will snap at the slightest pressure.
<span style="text-shadow: 1px 0 0 #ff0000, 0 -1px 0 #ff0000, 0 1px 0 #ff0000, -1px 0 0 #ff0000; color: #aaa;">✦</span> You work <span class="cycle"><<cyclinglink "$speed" "slowly" "hastily">></span>.
Strange flowers are growing from the tips of some individual vines. Their colors do not seem to match the Limb's, and they drip with a sickly-looking resin.
<span style="text-shadow: 1px 0 0 #ff0000, 0 -1px 0 #ff0000, 0 1px 0 #ff0000, -1px 0 0 #ff0000; color: #aaa;">✦</span> You <span class="cycle"><<cyclinglink "$flower" "prune them" "leave them be">></span>.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|pruning2]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/apparition.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest2"></div><div class="psg">Its retreat halted, it pauses and comes closer, though not close enough. You meet it half-way, approaching the edge of the lagoon, heedless of the Homage forgotten behind you. Particles have begun to radiate off of the spectre again, obscuring its silhouette.
<center><div class="label">Mother?</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue"><span class="shake"><span class="blur2">Closer.</span><span class="blur3"> Yet closer.</span><span class="blur"> Come closer, dear one.</span></span></div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[???]</div><td class="choice">[[What's wrong?|apparition3]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[???]</div><td class="choice">[[Why can't you rest?|apparition3]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/apparition.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest2"></div><div class="psg">The rolling fog of particles seems to obscure her voice, but you hear something beneath it. You draw closer, letting it envelop you. You breathe the sound into your lungs, even as it chokes you.
<center><div class="label">Mother?</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue"><span class="shake"><span class="blur2">Lonely.</span><span class="blur3"> Lonely, young one.</span><span class="blur"> Don't be afraid.</span></span></div></div></center>
You stumble forward and your foot plunges into the shallows of the lagoon. Water soaks into the hem of your cassock. You do not notice. You do not care.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|apparition4]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/danaus.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="terrace"></div><div class="psg">Before long, Danaus returns, emerging from a dark gap in the foliage behind you.
He looks closely at the Homage, fluttering around it and tasting the air with his proboscis, before deigning to address you. His observations take the form of half-coherent impressions, requiring no input from you — and indeed, discouraging any.
<center><div class="label">Groundskeeper Danaus</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue"><<if $oldgrowth is "one third">>Ah, good. You didn't butcher the old growth... <</if>><<if $oldgrowth is "one half">>Oh, dear. You've butchered the old growth. It will be stunted now...<</if>><<if $flower is "prune them">>This wound! Did you — no, you can't have been foolish enough to prune a flower. But I suppose you are... <</if>><<if $flower is "leave them be">>I'm glad you let the flowers be; these are very precious... <</if>>
<<if $newgrowth is "toward the oversea">>This here is sloppy training, but I can't fault your first attempt. You didn't break any of the stems. Well enough... <</if>><<if $newgrowth is "toward the lagoon">>The Limb isn't yearning for water; you should have followed its lead. The stems are bruised now... <</if>><<if $speed is "hastily">>Take more care in the future. Slow down and pay attention. Ah... <</if>>Well. The Limb still lives, at least. Regardless — we should be heading back. Follow me.</div></div></center>
</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|courtyard]]</div></center></div><<if $apparitiontalk is "true">><<audio "apparition" stop>><<audio "ritual" play loop>><</if>><div class="portrait">[img[images/portrait5.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="terrace"></div><div class="psg">He leads you back the way you came, and you begin to understand how to navigate within the depths of the Garden; as you pass by ancient trees and colorful, fruit-bearing plants, you recognize them as ways to orient yourself. When you've spotted a certain thorny bush in the distance, you know the main path through the Terrace is near.
<<if $apparitiontalk is "false">>Following the Groundskeeper in silence, you consider telling him about what you saw. You try to phrase it in your mind — “<span class="cycle"><<cyclinglink "I saw something strange at the lagoon..." "I think I saw a ghost..." "Could this place be haunted...?">></span>" — but each attempt feels foolish and faulty. It isn't worth disturbing him.<</if>><<if $apparitiontalk is "true">>Though your clothing has begun to dry, you still feel cold and shaken. The Groundskeeper's stalwart silence discourages you from trying to speak about it again, and you walk on biting your tongue.<</if>></div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|courtyard2]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/danaus.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg">Once the downward climb has been surmounted, Danaus alights on the path and turns to you.
<center><div class="label">Groundskeeper Danaus</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">I'm going on ahead — not far. You can find your way back from here, I trust. It's a short path.</div></div></center>
You can, though you feel some small twinge of anxiety at being left alone again. At the same time, you welcome it — for a few minutes, you can collect yourself.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|courtyard3]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/portrait.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="window"></div><div class="psg">The courtyard echos with the chittering of a hushed conversation, and when you pass through the canopy of ivy that shields the Garden entrance, you find yourself face to face with the Synod where they stand in conversation with Danaus.
Noting your return, he pauses. Mantodea's forelimbs twitch as he murmurs, “<span class="talk">We shall leave you to your duties, then. Many thanks.</span>"
As Danaus leaves, the expectant eyes of Her Excellency's advisors fall upon you.</div><center><div class="decision">What is your decision?
<div class="but">[[Speak to Harpactor|Harpactor2]]</div> <div class="but">[[Speak to Mantodea|Mantodea2]]</div> <div class="but">[[Speak to Olivalis|Olivalis2]]</div></div></center><<audio "ritual" stop>><<audio "harpactor" play loop>><<set $harpactor to $harpactor + 1>><div class="portrait">[img[images/harpactor.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Dux Harpactor</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue"><<if $apparitiontalk is "true">>Anything to say for yourself?<</if>><<if $apparitiontalk is "false">>I think we ought to parley about something.<</if>></div></div></center>
<<if $apparitiontalk is "true">><center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Apologize]</div><td class="choice">[[I made a mistake.|mistakeh]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Evade]</div><td class="choice">[[I think I met the Presence.|presenceh]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Confide]</div><td class="choice">[[I thought I saw my mother.|motherh]]</td></span></div></center><</if>>
<<if $apparitiontalk is "false">><center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Answer]</div><td class="choice">[[About what?]]</td></span></div></center><</if>>
</div></div><<audio "ritual" stop>><<audio "mantodea" play loop>><<set $mantodea to $mantodea + 1>><div class="portrait">[img[images/mantodea.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Magister Mantodea</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue"><<if $apparitiontalk is "true">>I've just heard something very troubling, Eser.<</if>><<if $apparitiontalk is "false">>I'd like to discuss something with you, Eser.<</if>></div></div></center>
<<if $apparitiontalk is "true">><center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Apologize]</div><td class="choice">[[I made a mistake.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Evade]</div><td class="choice">[[I think I met the Presence.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Confide]</div><td class="choice">[[I thought I saw my mother.|mother]]</td></span></div></center><</if>>
<<if $apparitiontalk is "false">><center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Answer]</div><td class="choice">[[Discuss what?]]</td></span></div></center><</if>>
</div></div><<audio "ritual" stop>><<audio "olivalis" play loop>><<set $olivalis to $olivalis + 1>><div class="portrait">[img[images/olivalis.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Signifer Olivalis</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue"><<if $apparitiontalk is "true">>Danaus said you ran into some... trouble, in the Gardens?<</if>><<if $apparitiontalk is "false">>Do you want to know what I've been thinking about lately?<</if>></div></div></center>
<<if $apparitiontalk is "true">><center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Apologize]</div><td class="choice">[[I made a mistake.|mistakeo]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Evade]</div><td class="choice">[[I think I met the Presence.|presenceo]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Confide]</div><td class="choice">[[I thought I saw my mother.|mothero]]</td></span></div></center><</if>>
<<if $apparitiontalk is "false">><center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Answer]</div><td class="choice">[[Certainly.]]</td></span></div></center><</if>>
</div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/deoridh.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="corridor"></div><div class="psg">You don’t have any pictures of your mother. You remember her, but you worry that memory will fade. If you are alive ten years from now, twenty, will you still remember the sound of her voice? The touch of her hands, reassuring and warm to hold your own, or sternly tender as she braided your unruly hair when you were young? Her face — the soft lines around her mouth and the natural shape of her brows that gave her face a wise, welcoming candor?
A month has passed, but your grief is still a raw wound. You have hidden it away as best you can, crushing it into something heavy and corrosive in the pit of your heart, but it has awakened something in you. Something wrong — something Weird.
Your guts twist painfully. A pulse moves through your head, striking behind your eyes and down your neck. For a moment your spine feels loose and sinuous before becoming painfully rigid again. A sharp, shocked inhale, and you recover.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|room2]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/portrait.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="corridor"></div><div class="psg">When you return to your dwelling, you feel that there is something you must do. It is something you have not been able to entertain for a month.
Before she died, when she was in pain but still lucid, Deoridh told you where to find a letter she had written years before. “<span class="talk">It's not my best work</span>," she had said, grimacing, “<span class="talk">but you should know of it</span>."
It is in her desk, tucked away at the bottom of a drawer and left unsealed. Candle in hand, you enter her darkened room to search for it, feeling like an impostor at her desk.
The <span class="talk">letter</span> is precisely where she said it would be. Its parchment is creased and worn, but the ink is still dark. Deoridh's elegant handwriting is unmistakable.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|Deoridh's letter]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/portrait5.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="corridor"></div><div class="psg">She would not want this for you. It's time to loosen your vigil, let go of this month of punishment.
It can't be done in a night, and even now you are crying bitterly, lonelier than ever, terrified by the earnest guilt in Deoridh's words — but something stricken in your heart has begun to loosen.
You forgive her. That is easy to do — you never begrudged her the life you have led, though it has not been perfect. But she asked your forgiveness, and you give it freely.
It is harder to forgive yourself.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|room4]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/portrait.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest2"></div><div class="psg">It takes hours to quiet your mind enough to come by some small scrap of rest, but you manage. Though your exhaustion is too complete to resist, your dreams are not pleasant.
When you sleep well, you dream of being submerged deep in a dark twinkling abyss, breathing not-quite-water as if it were air. These, you like best: dreams of oceans rising and falling, swallowing and transforming life where it is caught between disparate tides. The seas have always fascinated you.
Now, an old recurring nightmare twists your familiar comforts into something wretched. The sea in your dream contracts around you, the pressure crushing you, the world suddenly squeezed into a cruel, lightless shaft like an ancient well. You are trapped in a darkening crevice, alone in a body that decays before your eyes.
<span class="cycle"><<cyclinglink "Your muscles unravel" "Your skin sloughs off" "Your bones contort like rubber">></span>. You feel a phantom of your day-to-day pains even as you sleep.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[☽|Four]]</div></center></div><<audio "her" stop>><<audio "ritual" stop>><<audio "nightdreams" stop>><<audio "forest" stop>><<audio "fire" stop>><<audio "harpactor" stop>><<audio "mantodea" stop>><<audio "olivalis" stop>><<audio "npc" stop>><<audio "ship" stop>><<audio "apocrita" stop>><<audio "credits" stop>><<audio "apparition" stop>><<audio "heartbeat" stop>><<set $ch2 to "no">><<set $ch1 to "no">><<set $ch4 to "no">><<set $ch5 to "no">><<set $ch6 to "no">><<set $ch3 to "yes">><<set $start to "no">><<run UIBar.stow()>><center><div class="chtitle">III.</div></center><<audio "boom" play>><div class="chaptitle">The Shadow of the Ship</div>
<center><div class="proglink">[[❂|day3]]</div></center>
<<audio "npc" play loop>><div class="portrait">[img[images/portrait.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="altar"></div><div class="psg">You wake to find that dead skin has built up on your hands overnight, lending your skin an ashen pallor and a flaking, scaled appearance beyond anything ordinary — something more reptilian than human. Out of your trunk of belongings, you dig a pair of leather gloves and don them. The creak of fitted leather holds the comfort of a second skin, but your own skin still itches beneath the material.
Perhaps it was something you touched in the Garden. You don't know. You distract yourself with the labors of cleaning the Hive temple, left in disarray by Apocrita after his retirement. Ancient human vestments are hidden away in a closet beyond the nave, a dalmatic and surplice left singed and dusty. They are much too large for you, and you leave them be, wishing not to disturb whatever ghosts might still inhabit them.
You <span class="cycle"><<cyclinglink "lay out the chalices..." "fill the thurible with incense..." "cleanse the altar..." "toil to renew the temple." end>></span> It takes all morning, and well into the afternoon.
</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|day3b]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/servant.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="altar"></div><div class="psg">As you are finishing your work, a servant darts into the room and hails you, antennae twitching wildly.
<center><div class="label">Courier</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Hey, Pontiff! Come with me!</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Agree]</div><td class="choice">[[Very well.|day3c]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Protest]</div><td class="choice">[[Apologies, but I've business to attend to.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/danaus.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="terrace"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Groundskeeper Danaus</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">This isn't the time or place for human clumsiness. We're losing light.</div></div></center>
As many of his kind are, he is unsympathetic to your myriad human failings. You don't know what you expected, but you take some solace in having explained yourself.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|terrace3]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/danaus.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="terrace"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Groundskeeper Danaus</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">I expected you to keep pace. This isn't a leisurely stroll, Pontiff. This is a holy duty, and an urgent one.</div></div></center>
Suitably chastised, you nod with due deference and gesture to him to continue.
You do not feel very holy.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|terrace3]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/danaus.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="terrace"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Groundskeeper Danaus</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Take greater care! You may be Pontiff, but you can’t mutilate the Garden on a whim! Let's pray it won't disrupt anything.</div></div></center>
You hadn't considered that. Or perhaps, in your heart of hearts, you had — some minute resentment bubbling up between your fingertips and granting you the momentary lapse needed to pinch a living thing between your nails and sever it from itself.
You don't like the idea of that, but you are so tired of being in pain.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|terrace3]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/danaus.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="terrace"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Groundskeeper Danaus</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">You — no! That was not ordained, not at all. You'll prune only that which must be pruned. I will direct you to what needs it. You can't act as you see fit, Pontiff or not.</div></div></center>
It hadn't occurred to you that you, as Pontiff, could not simply manage any branch of the Garden which required it. You are not the type to seek control over living things, but you expected to bring some gentle order to the Garden's hostility. You expected more work.
But this madly-growing organism has never been subject to anyone. Not to Apocrita, not to Her Excellency — and certainly not to you.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|terrace3]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/apparition.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest2"></div><div class="psg">The water is like a dark looking glass, and you flinch when you glance down at it and glimpse yourself. You have taken to avoiding your reflection.
At a glance, you look like your mother, but under scrutiny, the differences are too stark. Searching your own face, you see a stranger; you see only a shadow of her face, lacking the traits you remember. Heavy brows without her quizzical arch. Lips missing the crisp, parenthetical lines around them that made her smile so unique and precious. The wisdom and tenderness that so often filled her eyes are traits absent in yours, and they are sorely missed.
A droplet disturbs the pool, and your reflection distorts, shatters.
You look away, glancing up through the canopy of trees at the roiling sea overhead. You imagine it falling, rushing down to meet you, gushing hot like blood.
</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|apparition5]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/apparition.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest2"></div><div class="psg">The fog has a hold over you, caging you in a strange reverie like an embrace. You close your eyes, and when you open them, you are standing knee-deep in the lagoon. Your progress through the water disturbed its glassy surface, breaking away the film that covered it like a mirror.
You notice now that the water is unnaturally thick, its contents slick and stinking. When you look down and focus your eyes, you can detect shapes in the darkness: hands and limbs and ribs and rotting faces, bodies emulsified in algae and some foul substance that soaks into your boots and sticks to your skin.
Your holy raiment floats on the surface, the hem slowly becoming drenched with oily liquid. As you stand frozen, the spectre reaches for you with too-long fingers, smiling at you with a distorted mockery of your mother's face. There is no warmth in the eyes. There is only wide, vacant emptiness, melting away as the water begins to flow toward you through the air.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|apparition6]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/danaus.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest2"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Groundskeeper Danaus</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue"><span class="shake2">WHAT ARE YOU DOING?</span></div></div></center>
The Groundskeeper races toward you in flight. He beats his wings furiously and makes a terrible, rhythmic chirping noise until the fog draws back, half dissipated. It sounds like some sort of fervent prayer.
You stumble as you draw back toward the bank, feeling bodies catching under your feet, fingers and arms and faces tripping you, frail bones twisting and waterlogged skin sloughing off under the soles of your boots.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|apparition7]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/danaus.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest2"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Groundskeeper Danaus</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">What have you done? What were you thinking?</div></div></center>
You stumble up onto the bank and collapse to your knees, holding back a retch.
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Lie]</div><td class="choice">[[I wandered too far.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Truth]</div><td class="choice">[[I thought I saw my mother.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Cry]</div><td class="choice">[[...]]</td></span></div></center>
</div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/danaus.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest2"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Groundskeeper Danaus</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">I’ll say... Apocrita did foolish things when he was new, too, but even so — that was foolish. You aren’t ready for the deep jungle. You might never be, huma — ah, Your Holiness.</div></div></center>
Danaus' antennae twitch nervously, but he relents and turns away as you compose yourself, rising and spreading his wings as if to form a barrier between you and the lagoon. When you look up, he is still there, back turned, staring out over the dark water.
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Queston]</div><td class="choice">[[Did you see it?]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Silence]</div><td class="choice">[[...|silence]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/danaus.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest2"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Groundskeeper Danaus</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Well, you didn’t. There are no ghosts here, Your Holiness. I should have warned you, I suppose. I didn't think it would come to you so soon...</div></div></center>
Danaus' antennae twitch nervously, but he relents and turns away as you compose yourself, rising and spreading his wings as if to form a barrier between you and the lagoon. When you look up, he is still there, back turned, staring out over the dark water.
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Queston]</div><td class="choice">[[Did you see it?]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Silence]</div><td class="choice">[[...|silence]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/danaus.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest2"></div><div class="psg">Choked by fear and despair, you cannot speak. Unbidden, tears spill from your eyes and you find yourself frozen, on your hands and knees in the mud.
<center><div class="label">Groundskeeper Danaus</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Oh... Come now. I am not... <i>very</i> angry. Ah, dear me. You — ah. Very well. Do what you must.</div></div></center>
Danaus' antennae twitch nervously, but he relents and turns away as you cry, rising and spreading his wings as if to form a barrier between you and the lagoon. When you look up, he is still there, back turned, staring out over the dark water.
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Queston]</div><td class="choice">[[Did you see it?]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Silence]</div><td class="choice">[[...|silence]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/danaus.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest2"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Groundskeeper Danaus</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">A glimpse... You must think no more of it. We ought to leave this place.</div></div></center>
You want to question him further, to insist that you cannot simply forget such a thing, but your voice is caught in your throat. You fear that you will be sick if you try to speak again.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|courtyard]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/danaus.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest2"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Groundskeeper Danaus</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">We shouldn't linger here. I'll have to see to the pruning myself, later... with <span class="her">Her</span> permission. But you've done enough. Come along, now.</div></div></center>
You want to insist that you can still finish what you came to do, but it would be a lie. Your hands are shaking. Your head aches. If you try to speak, you fear the painful lump in your throat might become a scream.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|courtyard]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/mantodea.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Magister Mantodea</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Since Apocrita has no interest in educating you further, I think it falls to me to discuss such things as divinity. If you have questions, I invite you to ask them now, rather than later. It is your duty to know of the gods among us, and of the gods above us.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Question]</div><td class="choice">[[How can gods live among us?]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Question]</div><td class="choice">[[Are there gods Below as well?]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/mantodea.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Magister Mantodea</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Just as you or I live; they evolve to suffer our Sea. Of course, our God does not dwell in the water, but within the land — it has adapted, as we all must. Those that swim Above come to the Basin only to die, dear Eser. As we cannot live above, they cannot live below. They sink, and fall, and sink again — but our God lives and breathes and builds beneath us, even now.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Question]</div><td class="choice">[[What if it isn't a god?]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Question]</div><td class="choice">[[Is our Faith blasphemous?]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/mantodea.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Magister Mantodea</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">If there are, I do not know of them. I will say that it would not shock me, if another sea churned beneath our own and we ourselves were born from some deep creature's own Oversea... but these mysteries hold no allure for me, I’m afraid. Even our own sea would drown me with ease. Our kind — my kind, but indeed yours as well — is not suited to being submerged for too long.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Question]</div><td class="choice">[[What is beyond the Oversea?]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Question]</div><td class="choice">[[Why do things fall from Above?]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/mantodea.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Magister Mantodea</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Never say such things. You know better — you are better than such spurious semantics. There are beings greater than us who would not survive the Oversea — perhaps others would deny their godhead, but they remain beings of power. The Presence <i>is</i> power. The Presence is life itself. That alone is divine.</div></div></center>
The urgent way he leans down to address you almost frightens you, but his voice remains warm and calm.
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Lie]</div><td class="choice">[[I understand, Magister.|m2end]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/mantodea.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Magister Mantodea</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Hush, child. No. No, I think not. There will always be those who deny our Faith, but we must not doubt that which we see all around us: our home is the product of our devotion. The land would be fallow if not for the Presence. That is why we revere it.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Agree]</div><td class="choice">[[I understand.|m2end]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/mantodea.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Magister Mantodea</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">You may have attracted its attention. Humans have not set foot in its domain in many years, and here you were, ministering to its body. I advise you not to fret too much about its curiosity. Understood?</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Agree]</div><td class="choice">[[I understand.|Discuss what?]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/mantodea.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Magister Mantodea</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">No. That was not her; it was merely a test of your perception, a message from God. Do you understand?</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Agree]</div><td class="choice">[[I understand.|Discuss what?]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/harpactor.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Dux Harpactor</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Religion, to start. Shouldn't you be able to guess that much by now, what with being Pontiff and all? Or are you playing dumb?</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Defend]</div><td class="choice">[[I am still learning.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Withdraw]</div><td class="choice">[[I wouldn't do that.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/harpactor.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Dux Harpactor</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">You know my stance on you humans — you mature too slowly. But perhaps I expect too much; I am too used to Apocrita. The old priss has opinions on everything.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Sarcastic]</div><td class="choice">[[He's always happy to share them.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Respectful]</div><td class="choice">[[He is most experienced.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/servant.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="altar"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Courier</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Oh, yeah? What kind of business?</div></div></center>
You just want to rest for a spell — a few moments alone, free of obligation.
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Truth]</div><td class="choice">[[Personal business.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Lie]</div><td class="choice">[[Holy business.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/servant.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="corridor"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Courier</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">The old Caelifera wetnurse, goes by Armand, said he'd meet you up here. You know, the Skinwearer? I've got another message to deliver, but you stay put, if you please, Holiness. He'll be along!</div></div></center>
And with that, the courier darts away on his many legs to convey some other message elsewhere in the Hive.
You lean back against a sturdy column in the wall and try to soothe your hands, rubbing them together to quell the itching. It helps less than you hoped, but you've felt far worse. You can endure it.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|day3d]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/servant.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="altar"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Courier</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Well, that'll be tough. You're needed upstairs, y'see. Come along!</div></div></center>
It's no use insisting. It occurs to you that you could pull rank if you so wished, but you don't wish to. It would only make you feel worse.
You follow, skin crawling beneath your gloves.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|day3c]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/servant.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="altar"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Courier</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">I have holier business for you! Come upstairs!</div></div></center>
It's no use insisting. It occurs to you that you could pull rank if you so wished, but you don't wish to. It would only make you feel worse.
You follow, skin crawling beneath your gloves.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|day3c]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/armand.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="corridor"></div><div class="psg">Armand appears around the corner shortly. There is no mistaking him.
He is a large, long-legged creature wearing a worn human skin stretched over his face. The cartilage still stands stiff in the human nose, the lips still vaguely plump, but the skin is stained and leathery with years of preservation. His antenna protrude through small holes torn into the skin, twitching toward you.
You steady yourself and <span class="cycle"><<cyclinglink "stare at the wall beyond him" "look him in the eyes">></span>.
<center><div class="label">Skinwearer Armand</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Hail, good Pontiff! I was told I could trouble you for a blessing. Follow me, if you would.</div></div></center></div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|Nursery]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/armand.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="corridor"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Skinwearer Armand</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">This’ll be your first time in the Charnel Nursery, I hear.</div></div></center>
The creak of his voice is heady with fondness. He’s correct — you and Deoridh were never before permitted into this room.
The Nursery is hot and humid, lined with beds of moist, rotting compost. Growing maggots writhe inside their bassinets of waste. The smell of the chamber turns your stomach, but you are careful not to demonstrate any untoward sign of repulsion. This is only natural, after all; this is the first cradle of life for many of the proserpo.
Human life is parasitic, too.
</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|day3f]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/armand.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="corridor"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Skinwearer Armand</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Oh, these dear little ones. So peaceful! And waiting so patiently to be blessed. Shall I leave you to it, then?</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Talk]</div><td class="choice">[[Wait — I have questions.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Dismiss]</div><td class="choice">[[Yes, thank you.|bless]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/armand.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="corridor"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Skinwearer Armand</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Of course. Fire away, then, Pontiff.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Proper]</div><td class="choice">[[How shall I bless them?]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Personal]</div><td class="choice">[[May I ask about your mask?]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/armand.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Skinwearer Armand</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Very well. Be good, darlings!</div></div></center>
He takes his leave, but you can hear from the thud of his footsteps that he doesn't go far beyond the Nursery, only a few paces into the hallway.
The sound of the maggots is unrelenting, amplified in the silence. It seems as if they never stop writhing.
You rack your brain for appropriate words according to the Faith, but you've never observed this ritual; you've no holy books to study. Winding your rosaries around your fingers, you realize that you'll just have to make it up as you go.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|bless2b]]</div></center></div><<set $blessask to "true">><div class="portrait">[img[images/armand.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="corridor"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Skinwearer Armand</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Oh, just a few heartfelt words shall do from a holy mouth such as yours. I talk to them often, but I think they could use some divine encouragement. Apocrita was always “too busy" to be “called upon night and day" for “bedtime stories." But you — you have time! Anything else, before you begin?</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Personal]</div><td class="choice">[[May I ask about your mask?]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Dismiss]</div><td class="choice">[[No, thank you.|bless]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/armand.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="corridor"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Skinwearer Armand</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Oh, please do. I am so very fond of it. I think it fits me quite well, don't you?</div></div></center>
To his credit, it is about the size of his head, agonizingly stretched to cover his own face. You nod and smile thinly, watching his large black eyes dart beneath the skin that no doubt partially obscures his vision.
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Query]</div><td class="choice">[[Where did you find it?]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Probe]</div><td class="choice">[[But why a human face?]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/armand.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="corridor"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Skinwearer Armand</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Many years ago, when we had only just acquired this lovely place. We disposed of all those we exterminated, but I could not bear to part with this one. The thrills of victory and vanity in equal parts, I suppose.</div></div></center>
It took some time for you and your mother to uncover the history of the Great Conquest. You understand well, now, that you walk a delicate line. Though the proserpo may barter and trade with humans, they reserve flagrant atrocity for enemies or prey of any species. As a human, you will never be their equal. Even your mother was not, and more than ever you are glad that you buried her. This way, no one will take her limbs or her face.
<center><div class="choices"><<if $blessask is not "true">><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Divert]</div><td class="choice">[[How shall I bless the little ones?]]</td></span><</if>><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Probe]</div><td class="choice">[[But why a human face?]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/armand.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="corridor"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Skinwearer Armand</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Why not? It was not being used when I took it, and it makes for so elegant a mask. You are lucky to be so handsome by nature, you know. Ah, but worry not — I am satisfied with my precious. It's funny, you know — we've met before, you and I. But you were still a grub, and I... well, I was quite forgettable. Not likely to forget me now, are you?</div></div></center>
There are many proserpo with the same name — there are others called Mantodea and Danaus — but the most elite are designated by their title or some other epithet. Though his methods disturb you, it's true that Armand has certainly found a way to set himself apart from the other Caelifera.
<center><div class="choices"><<if $blessask is not "true">><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Divert]</div><td class="choice">[[Pardon me, but ... about the blessing?|How shall I bless the little ones?]]</td></span><</if>><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Dismiss]</div><td class="choice">[[No, I certainly won't.|bless]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><<set $blessask to "true">><div class="portrait">[img[images/armand.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="corridor"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Skinwearer Armand</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Oh, just a few heartfelt words shall do from a holy mouth such as yours. I talk to them often, but I think they could use some divine encouragement. Apocrita was always “too busy" to be “called upon night and day" for “bedtime stories." But you — you have time! Anything else, before you begin?</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Dismiss]</div><td class="choice">[[No, thank you.|bless]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/armand.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="corridor"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Skinwearer Armand</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Oh, thank you, Pontiff! They sound very pleased. Excellent. They really do respond to new voices. A being needs new experiences, after all.</div></div></center>
You smile thinly, nodding in agreement, struck mute momentarily by his words — words your mother often said, parodied where you least expected them. But he's not wrong.
When you find your voice again, you clear your throat and insist that you're happy to help. With that, you take your leave.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|bless3]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/servant.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="corridor"></div><div class="psg">Exiting the Nursery is a welcome and literal breath of fresh air.
As you leave — taking care not to let the door slam behind you — and start back downstairs, you notice a group of servants racing off in different directions with an extravagant sense of urgency, some of them crawling along the walls in their haste. The courier who summoned you previously breaks through their ranks — for he is larger than the rest — and stops in front of you.
<center><div class="label">Courier</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Synod wants a word with you, Holiness! They’re at the observatory!</div></div></center>
Before you can reply, he is gone again.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|oculus]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/portrait.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="temple"></div><div class="psg">The Observatory is a room that seems to hang off the edge of the Hive, built to best view the seas above and below. A wide range of nautical and celestial instruments from astrolabes to sextants, some in disrepair, line the walls.
There, the triumvirate members of the Synod have gathered at one massive window, dubbed the Oculus. Wide at the middle and narrowing at its corners, ringed with stained glass, the previous inhabitants of Achthoven styled it purposely to resemble a massive eye gazing out upon the sea.
A large telescope is poised at the pupil of the Oculus. Observing it are Her Excellency's advisors, each of them silent and attentive.
</div><center><div class="decision">What is your decision?
<div class="but">[[Speak to Harpactor|Harpactor3]]</div> <div class="but">[[Speak to Mantodea|Mantodea3]]</div> <div class="but">[[Speak to Olivalis|Olivalis3]]</div></div></center>
</div><<audio "npc" stop>><<audio "harpactor" play loop>><<set $harpactor to $harpactor + 1>><div class="portrait">[img[images/harpactor.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="window"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Dux Harpactor</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Slacking already, Eser Queen’s-kith? Where have you been, eh?</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Answer]</div><td class="choice">[[Tending to the Nursery.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Deflect]</div><td class="choice">[[Should I ask you the same thing?]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><<audio "npc" stop>><<audio "mantodea" play loop>><<set $mantodea to $mantodea + 1>><div class="portrait">[img[images/mantodea.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="temple"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Magister Mantodea</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Greetings, dear child of Deoridh. I'm glad the courier found you so promptly.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Engage]</div><td class="choice">[[Do you have need of me, Magister?]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Deflect]</div><td class="choice">[[Please call me Eser.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><<audio "npc" stop>><<audio "olivalis" play loop>><<set $olivalis to $olivalis + 1>><div class="portrait">[img[images/olivalis.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="temple"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Signifer Olivalis</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Eser... you seem different.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Defend]</div><td class="choice">[[Everything is different now.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Deflect]</div><td class="choice">[[Perhaps it's you who has changed.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><<audio "mantodea" stop>><<audio "harpactor" stop>><<audio "olivalis" stop>><<audio "forest" play loop>><div class="portrait">[img[images/portrait.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="ocean"></div><div class="psg">You put your eye to the scope.
A ship indeed approaches Achthoven head on, its sails billowing in a distant wind. It looks to be a large vessel, aged and battered, but well-kept all the same. The sight of it, so brazen on the horizon, strikes some wistful emotion into your heart. In the last several years, passing ships have become much rarer than they once were. You are <span class="cycle"><<cyclinglink "frightened" "mystified" "excited">></span> by its nearness.
Sweeping a low bow, you take your leave of the Synod, free at least to return to your quarters for the day.
In the distance, the ship continues toward Achthoven, a speck on the horizon.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|to room]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/mantodea.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="temple"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Magister Mantodea</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">A ship approaches from the west. We three have been contemplating this matter, but as the Pontiff is counted among the Synod, I find it prudent to have your input as well.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Demur]</div><td class="choice">[[I know very little of these things.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Agree]</div><td class="choice">[[I'd like to help.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/mantodea.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="temple"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Magister Mantodea</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Indeed I do, my young friend. A ship is approaching Achthoven from the western seas, and we three have been contemplating this matter. As the Pontiff is counted among the Synod, I find it prudent to have your input as well.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Demur]</div><td class="choice">[[I know very little of these things.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Agree]</div><td class="choice">[[I'd like to help.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><<audio "her" stop>><<audio "ritual" stop>><<audio "nightdreams" stop>><<audio "forest" stop>><<audio "fire" stop>><<audio "harpactor" stop>><<audio "mantodea" stop>><<audio "olivalis" stop>><<audio "npc" stop>><<audio "ship" stop>><<audio "apocrita" stop>><<audio "credits" stop>><<audio "apparition" stop>><<audio "heartbeat" stop>><<set $ch3 to "no">><<set $ch2 to "no">><<set $ch1 to "no">><<set $ch5 to "no">><<set $ch6 to "no">><<set $ch4 to "yes">><<set $start to "no">><<run UIBar.stow()>><center><div class="chtitle">IV.</div></center><<audio "boom" play>><div class="chaptitle">Upon A Painted Ocean</div>
<center><div class="proglink">[[❂|day4]]</div></center>
<<audio "npc" play loop>><div class="portrait">[img[images/portrait.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="town"></div><div class="psg">You wake feeling perhaps more exhausted than before. The itching in your hands has abated, at least, but when you work up the courage to peel off your gloves, you find yourself scraping away lengths of papery skin from your hands and fingers. There is little pain — only the occasional twinge accompanying a strange sense of relief — and the skin beneath is dewy and new.
That disturbs you more than the alternative. Pain, you are familiar with.
When you leave your dwelling, you soon find that the island is in a cheerful, albeit cautious, uproar. The <span class="talk">ship</span> that appeared on the horizon yesterday docked in the night without obstruction from the proserpo.
Neither Danaus nor any member of the Synod have indicated that there is anything urgent you must see to this morning, so you make your way to the harbor.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|day4b]]</div></center></div><<audio "her" stop>><<audio "ritual" stop>><<audio "nightdreams" stop>><<audio "forest" stop>><<audio "fire" stop>><<audio "harpactor" stop>><<audio "mantodea" stop>><<audio "olivalis" stop>><<audio "npc" stop>><<audio "ship" stop>><<audio "apocrita" stop>><<audio "credits" stop>><<audio "apparition" stop>><<audio "heartbeat" stop>><<set $ch4 to "no">><<set $ch3 to "no">><<set $ch2 to "no">><<set $ch1 to "no">><<set $ch6 to "no">><<set $ch5 to "yes">><<set $start to "no">><<run UIBar.stow()>><center><div class="chtitle">V.</div></center><<audio "boom" play>><div class="chaptitle">Golden Fire</div>
<center><div class="proglink">[[❂|day5]]</div></center>
<<audio "forest" play loop>><div class="portrait">[img[images/portrait.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="sun"></div><div class="psg">A restful, dreamless sleep is too good to be true. It doesn't last longer than a few hours; as the first rays of daylight begin to snake across the room, you're roused by a many-limbed scuttling and pounding on your door.
Startled, you pull on your cassock and open the door just a crack. In that fissure of light, you see Groundskeeper Danaus peering intently at you, a crowd of serving Morsels assembled behind him. His demeanor is tense, severe. He says nothing as he turns away, but you know to follow him.
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Question]</div><td class="choice">[[Where are we going?]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Probe]</div><td class="choice">[[Is something wrong?]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Silence]</div><td class="choice">[[...|silence2]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><<audio "her" stop>><<audio "ritual" stop>><<audio "nightdreams" stop>><<audio "forest" stop>><<audio "fire" stop>><<audio "harpactor" stop>><<audio "mantodea" stop>><<audio "olivalis" stop>><<audio "npc" stop>><<audio "ship" stop>><<audio "apocrita" stop>><<audio "credits" stop>><<audio "apparition" stop>><<audio "heartbeat" stop>><<set $ch5 to "no">><<set $ch4 to "no">><<set $ch3 to "no">><<set $ch2 to "no">><<set $ch1 to "no">><<set $ch6 to "yes">><<set $start to "no">><<run UIBar.stow()>><center><div class="chtitle">VI.</div></center><<audio "boom" play>><div class="chaptitle">Imago Emerging</div>
<center><div class="proglink">[[❂|day6]]</div></center>
<<audio "forest" play loop>><div class="portrait">[img[images/portrait3.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="corridor"></div><div class="psg">You come to shortly after midnight. The events of the last several hours reassert themselves like a miasma in your mind, poisonous and disorienting.
Immediately, you decide that your only recourse is to seek out Her Excellency, but your body is weak with fatigue. Your hands are shaking.
The idea of standing before <span class="her2">Her</span> like this and having <span class="her2">Her</span> stare into you strikes fear into your heart. You consider making a tincture of some sort to steady your nerves, but it would take time.
</div><center><div class="decision">What is your decision?
<div class="but2">[[Make a Tincture|tincture]]</div> <div class="but2">[[Seek Help Quickly|find her]]</div></div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/mantodea.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Magister Mantodea</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">It does seem that way. Of course, we didn't warn you adequately. You were bound to attract attention in the Garden — but you must not be naive in the future. Have caution. If that's understood... I'd like to speak of other things.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Agree]</div><td class="choice">[[I understand.|Discuss what?]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/portrait.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="corridor"></div><div class="psg">You are alone, relieved to withdraw once again into solitude — to avoid being interrogated or chastised, to avoid having to talk to anyone with cautious, courtly language, hoping you can avoid offending someone for a few hours.
But you are not really alone. Your little three-room dwelling is haunted by memories. Your mother raised you here. She slept in the corner room, the one you now keep shut at all times. You ate with her at the worn, round table in the main room. Now, you eat alone, when you have any appetite.
Thinking back on the apparition in the Garden, the one that wore her silhouette, you wish bitterly for a better haunting than that. But you would not truly wish her such unrest. It is why you buried her yourself.
As things are, you have only your memories for comfort.</div><center><div class="decision">Recall...
<div class="but">[[A Fond Memory]]</div> <div class="but">[[A Heavy Memory]]</div> <div class="but">[[A Strange Memory]]</div></div></center><<set $fond to "true">><div class="portrait">[img[images/deoridh.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="sun"></div><div class="psg">She taught you to fish and to cook when you were young. You remember her hands on yours, showing you how to knead bread. You remember, very distinctly, the day she hiked with you to the cove below the Terraces to catch fish; she had bartered with a passing merchant for a rod and a net, and with the Synod's permission had scoured the lowest Terrace one afternoon for the fat, writhing worms that thrived under the loam.
You did not excel at fishing to begin with, but your mother was skilled at it. She had done it often in her old life, where her small hamlet had been sustained by hearty catches and meals cooked with care. At first, you felt guilty gutting fish, but your mother assuaged your fears.
<center><div class="label">Deoridh</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Everything has to eat. We just mustn't be cruel to our food.</div></div></center>
</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|fond]]</div></center></div><<set $fond to "false">><<set $heavy to "true">><div class="portrait">[img[images/deoridh.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="sun"></div><div class="psg">It took you a week to muster enough courage to move her books. Your home was always full of books: novels stacked beside the ancient sofa inherited from a previous resident, anthologies cracked open on the table, dated encyclopediae used to prop open doors and windows.
Your mother had brought very little with her to Achthoven: a small trunk of belongings, among them an atlas and a dictionary. The atlas was her gift to herself: a reminder of the life she had lived and left. Toward the end of her life, before either of you realized that it was ending, she showed it to you at last.
Her home is marked on the maps: a small island in an archipelago far away.
Achthoven is not. It had not been born yet.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|heavy]]</div></center></div><<set $fond to "false">><<set $strange to "true">><div class="portrait">[img[images/deoridh.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="sun"></div><div class="psg">For the first several years of your life, you were not expected to attend sermons or prayers. These were private and intimate matters to the proserpo, and Deoridh's presence — and that of her child — were merely tolerated at the time, rather than embraced.
When she became Chief Interpreter — when Her Excellency declared you members of society — you were nine. For the last nine years, you had lived below the Terraces, in the open lands hidden past the port where the lesser proserpo, the Morsels, gathered.
Her Excellency's expectations were clear: Deoridh was to relocate and bring her larva with her, such that the Chief Interpreter would be accessible to Her Excellency when <span class="her">She</span> required service.
You had been excited to move.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|strange]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/portrait.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="town"></div><div class="psg">The old castle town and the slums of the port itself are now inhabited by the Morsels, the proserpo of lesser standing whose labor the upper classes rely on. Here and there, more of Harpactor's guards have gathered to watch over the port in case of any disruptions from visitors. They do not impede you as you pass.
History cannot erase the truth of this place. That this castle, its steeples and spires, its cobblestone town, was not built for the proserpo. The architecture that still remains was created by and for humans. Another two-armed, two-legged, upright people could have made similar things, but this island is struck again and again with the marks of human craftsmanship and habitation.
Their bones turn up from time to time. Their journals and their trinkets. Their grief.
Her Excellency’s haunted palace was never <span class="her">Hers</span>. It is not blasphemy to say this. <span class="her">She</span> is proud of <span class="her">Her</span> conquest.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|day4c]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/portrait.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="town"></div><div class="psg">The port is abuzz with the clamor of wings and legs and apprehension. Amid the sea of scuttling onlookers, one familiar silhouette pivots from customer to customer.
Achthoven's harbor was busier when you were young. As an interpreter, it was Deoridh's responsibility to convey Her Excellency's expectations to visitors and facilitate effective trade. She often brought you along to port, but just as often you were to stay out of strangers' sight until she was certain they were trustworthy enough.
<span class="talk">Leech the Wastrel</span> proved trustworthy. Though you do not see him often, he has been allowed to come and go for many years, for his eclectic wares appeal to the proserpo. Some months ago, he disappeared. His long absence was reported by the Morsels, who appear excited by his return.
When Leech spots you, he hails you warmly.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|Leech]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/leech.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="town"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Leech the Wastrel</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Eser! Is that you? Or perhaps the question is this — are you the you I knew?</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Deflect]</div><td class="choice">[[It's been some time, hasn't it?]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Engage]</div><td class="choice">[[No, I think not. Are you?]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/portrait.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg">Arriving at the Sacrarium, the crowd of Morsels shivers and disperses at Danaus' signal. He darts inside and bids you follow. The rotting shed has no door, but you notice hinges lingering in the frame, rusted and ruined.
Shafts of light filter in through broken slats in the walls, illuminating the inside of the Sacrarium dimly. Danaus directs you to a shelf of tools best wielded by human hands; though many are rusted and worn after years of disuse, some have been revived by the Gardeners. You select a <span class="cycle"><<cyclinglink "spade" "hatchet">></span> and a <span class="cycle"><<cyclinglink "pair of shears" "pruning saw">></span>.
Outside, the three other members of the Synod have gathered in the courtyard. Danaus instructs you to speak with them as he makes further preparations.
They seem anxious. As you emerge from the Sacrarium, the trio regards you closely, and the intensity of their six-eyed scrutiny begins to alarm you.</div><center><div class="decision">What is your decision?
<div class="but">[[Speak to Harpactor|Harpactor5]]</div> <div class="but">[[Speak to Mantodea|Mantodea5]]</div> <div class="but">[[Speak to Olivalis|Olivalis5]]</div></div></center>
</div><div class="portrait">[img[images/leech.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="town"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Leech the Wastrel</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Some! I see much has changed since I’ve been gone. I’m... very sorry to hear of — </div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Plead]</div><td class="choice">[[Please don't say it.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Deflect]</div><td class="choice">[[Please don't apologize.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/leech.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="town"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Leech the Wastrel</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Still in one piece, and that’s enough Leech for me. I don’t suppose anybody missed old Leech too much.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Comfort]</div><td class="choice">[[I wondered where you'd gone.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Evade]</div><td class="choice">[[The Morsels missed you.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/leech.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="town"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Leech the Wastrel</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">... I understand. Well, Pontiff, or so I’ve heard — I hope you're well otherwise? I’ve been terrible, myself.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Question]</div><td class="choice">[[Where have you been?]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/leech.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="town"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Leech the Wastrel</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">No, but let me be sorry all the same. It seems I've missed a lot since I've been gone.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Question]</div><td class="choice">[[Where have you been?]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/leech.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="town"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Leech the Wastrel</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">You know, here and there. That is to say, I had something of a misadventure.... Capsized, lost everything — nearly lost my own life. Took some time to scrounge up new wares. Then, wouldn't you know it, my new boat sprung a leak. I got picked up out on the water by another ship some weeks ago, pure happenstance. It's the big beast docked there in the harbor. Might be some crew around to chat with.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Refuse]</div><td class="choice">[[I couldn't possibly.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Agree]</div><td class="choice">[[Maybe I will...]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/leech.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="town"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Leech the Wastrel</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">They didn't do me any harm. Oh, I'm sure everyone's been telling you not to talk to strangers, but they don't <i>all</i> come all this way just to desecrate and despoil. Now, I hate to shoo you off, but I've got to get set up anyhow. It's always a pleasure, Eser.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Leave]</div><td class="choice">[[Goodbye, Leech.|day4e]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/leech.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="town"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Leech the Wastrel</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Maybe it'd do you some good to meet someone who doesn't have, you know, a carapace. I won't be much for conversation for a while anyhow; I've got to get set up. It's been a pleasure, though, Eser. Always a pleasure.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Leave]</div><td class="choice">[[Goodbye, Leech.|day4e]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/portrait.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="town"></div><div class="psg">The mere thought of the ship holds some odd magnetism: the promise of some glimpse of the world beyond Achthoven, set at odds with the suspicion heaped upon it by the proserpo. You approach it through a crowd of Morsels streaming in the opposite direction. Behind you, Leech is calling out for business, and they are answering readily.
The ship is not far. It's a large, traditional vessel towering over the port, casting a long shadow of sails and masts. You can hear activity on the decks, but can only see the crew who have disembarked.
Two individuals are posted on the dock, the shorter one still and elegant, the taller of the two pacing and glancing about, cape whirling behind them.
You conceal yourself against an unmanned market stall, suddenly anxious to be seen.</div><center><div class="decision">What is your decision?
<div class="but2">[[Watch From Afar]]</div> <div class="but2">[[Retreat]]</div></div></center></div><<set $approached to "true">><div class="portrait">[img[images/portrait5.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="town"></div><div class="psg">Despite your best efforts, they seem to notice you. The taller stranger's vibrant red eyes are fixed upon the market stall.
They tilt their head upward and call to someone above. Within moments, a silhouette emerges at the rail, indistinct beneath the shadow of the mast. When they speak, you can hear the rasp of their voice, albeit very distantly.
<center><div class="label">Stranger</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">We've nothing to hide. Besides, the good Lieutenant has us covered in case of anything untoward.</div></div></center>
Mortified at being spotted, you dart away down an alley between a cluster of vacated shacks.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|day4f]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/portrait.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="town"></div><div class="psg">It won't do to start approaching strangers or inviting their scrutiny without Her Excellency's leave. <span class="her">She</span> refused this ship entrance into the harbor already; you can only assume that <span class="her">She</span> is not inclined to trust them.
As curious as you are, you know the refrain by now: <span class="her">Her</span> word is law.
Better to ask permission than forgiveness, as far as you're concerned. You've already been absolved of something once this week.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|day4g]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/portrait.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="window"></div><div class="psg">You take a shortcut back to the Hive, where you find the Synod embroiled in discussion on the ground floor.
“<span class="talk">It's simply ridiculous...</span>" Mantodea is hissing, but Harpactor clicks her mandibles sharply upon noticing your arrival. The Magister falls silent, and Olivalis turns to stare at you, offering a friendly flick of her antennae.
<center><div class="label">Signifer Olivalis</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Look who it is! Hello, Pontiff Eser!</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Greet]</div><td class="choice">[[Hello. What's ridiculous?]]</td></span></div></center>
</div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/leech.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="town"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Leech the Wastrel</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Well, that's very kind of you. Let's call it a misadventure. I capsized and lost everything - nearly lost my own life. Took some time to scrounge up new wares. Once I got things back together, I found a ship that'd take me here. Have you seen it up close yet?</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Answer]</div><td class="choice">[[Not yet, no.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/leech.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="town"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Leech the Wastrel</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">They’d better come and trade, then! All morning they’ve been oogling the ship that brought me. Oh, well. Gives me time to set up and chat, at least. It certainly has been a while.
</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Question]</div><td class="choice">[[Where have you been?|where2]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/leech.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="town"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Leech the Wastrel</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">It's really something else. Beautiful vessel. Odd crew, and I do mean <i>odd</i>, but they treated me well. You should go and have a look.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Question]</div><td class="choice">[[What do you mean by odd?]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Agree]</div><td class="choice">[[Perhaps I could...|Maybe I will...]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/leech.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="town"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Leech the Wastrel</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">You know, here and there. That is to say, I had something of a misadventure.... Capsized, lost everything — nearly lost my own life. Took some time to scrounge up new wares. Then, wouldn't you know it, my new boat sprung a leak. I got picked up out on the water by another ship some weeks ago, pure happenstance. You ought to go and see it for yourself. Odd bunch of folks, but they helped me out of a pinch.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Question]</div><td class="choice">[[What do you mean by odd?]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Agree]</div><td class="choice">[[Perhaps I could...|Maybe I will...]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/leech.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="town"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Leech the Wastrel</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">See for yourself. I won't speak for anybody's character — I barely know these folks — but I can way with confidence that they're an interesting bunch. Worth talking to.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Refuse]</div><td class="choice">[[I couldn't possibly.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Agree]</div><td class="choice">[[Maybe I will...]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/portrait.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="town"></div><div class="psg">You had hoped not to be seen, but there was evidently some risk. It's worth noting, you suppose, that the ship's crew seems to have at least one pair of keen eyes. Either that, or you are miserably unskilled when it comes to stealth.
Both options seem equally likely.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|day4g]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/harpactor.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="window"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Dux Harpactor</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Excellent. Get out of here, then. The Morsels must be positively mobbing the damned harbor by now. Try not to step on anyone.</div></div></center>
You promise not to, and take your leave, sweeping a low bow before each of the courtiers.
As you're leaving, you hear them continue to argue amongst themselves. <<if $approached is "true">>You are ashamed to think that your indiscretions have become a source of tension between them.<</if>></div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|day4h]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/mantodea.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="window"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Magister Mantodea</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">It's sensible to be cautious, I'll grant you that. These are crass, deceitful creatures by nature... But Harpactor speaks the truth. Her Excellency has asked this of you, and I was not able to make <span class="her">Her</span> see reason. Though I may not be partial to the idea... you cannot refuse.</div></div></center>
Of course not. You take your leave, sweeping a low bow before each of the courtiers.
As you're leaving, you hear them continue to argue amongst themselves. <<if $approached is "true">>You are ashamed to think that your indiscretions have become a source of tension between them.<</if>>
</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|day4h]]</div></center></div><<audio "npc" stop>><<audio "harpactor" play loop>><div class="portrait">[img[images/harpactor.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="window"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Dux Harpactor</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Well, hello, hello, your Holiness. The good Mantodea is feeling a little treasonous today, questioning <span class="her">Her</span> orders and such. Aren't you, Your... Magistry?</div></div></center>
Despite your best efforts, you feel your eyes widen unbecomingly. You've never heard anyone speak to Mantodea in such a way before. Olivalis seems similarly surprised.
Mantodea's long forelimbs tremble for a moment before he composes himself.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|manto]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/portrait.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="town"></div><div class="psg">It's a short trip back to the ship, but you are waylaid here and there by swarms of Morsels bustling through the harbor, eager to barter with Leech and examine the strange new vessel from a distance.
Once you arrive, you edge through the crowd. A stoic crewmember approaches you, and when you explain that you've been tasked with meeting the Captain, you are conveyed aboard with aplomb.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|Tjaz-Zhud]]</div></center></div><<audio "harpactor" stop>><<audio "ship" play loop>><div class="portrait">[img[images/tz.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="ocean"></div><div class="psg">As you embark, a figure wrapped head-to-toe in linen bandages approaches you, tipping their hat in acknowledgment. Though their entire face is bandaged, a pair of dark spectacles still perch on what you assume to be their nose. From their garb, they appear to be the Captain of this vessel. Their hat, its brim clutched between their bandaged hands, looks as though it's endured the lifetimes of several men.
<center><div class="label">Sea-Captain</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Well met! I am called Tjaz-Zhud! Are you the envoy?</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Deflect]</div><td class="choice">[[I am Her Excellency's Pontiff.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Agree]</div><td class="choice">[[It would seem so.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Evade]</div><td class="choice">[[I'm not sure.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/tz.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="ocean"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Captain Tjaz-Zhud</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Well, isn't that just excellent? Your Queen has nothing to fear from us, that I promise. We aren’t the pillaging sort. Ah, but I suppose you're to see that for yourself. Since I’m not at the helm at the moment, shall I give you a quick tour?</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Agree]</div><td class="choice">[[Yes, please.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Refuse]</div><td class="choice">[[I don't want to impose.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/tz.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="ocean"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Captain Tjaz-Zhud</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">It would, wouldn't it? It's a pleasure, regardless. Your Queen has nothing to fear from us, that I promise. We aren’t the pillaging sort; see for yourself. Since I’m not at the helm at the moment, shall I give you a quick tour?</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Agree]</div><td class="choice">[[Yes, please.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Refuse]</div><td class="choice">[[I don't want to impose.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/tz.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="ocean"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Captain Tjaz-Zhud</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Hah! That's fair. Whatever the case, know that your Queen has nothing to fear from us. I promise — we aren’t the pillaging sort. See for yourself. Since I’m not at the helm at the moment, shall I give you a quick tour?</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Agree]</div><td class="choice">[[Yes, please.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Refuse]</div><td class="choice">[[I don't want to impose.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/tz.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="ocean"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Captain Tjaz-Zhud</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Wonderful. Let's see — we're a little understaffed at the moment. There are only a few of us: myself, Felosial, Vul'qoz, Cyrafi'al, and Lieutenant Ponomarenko. Yes, you'll note a few cannons here and there, a few firearms, but we must protect ourselves on the open water, mustn't we? By the by, it's a pleasure to meet you — ...?</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Personal]</div><td class="choice">[[Eser.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Evade]</div><td class="choice">[[Pontiff.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/tz.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="ocean"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Captain Tjaz-Zhud</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">It’s no trouble at all — but if you'd rather assess things yourself, be my guest. You'll find us most unsuspicious. Weird, indeed, but truly no ulterior motives. Ah, I see my colleague glaring at me and I DO realize that was perhaps not an ideal way of making our case. Beg pardon, Felosial! On my vessel, I swear that we doth not protest too much, my friend — oh, what shall I call you?</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Personal]</div><td class="choice">[[Eser.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Evade]</div><td class="choice">[[Pontiff.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><<set $name to "true">><<set $pontiff to "false">><div class="portrait">[img[images/tz.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="ocean"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Captain Tjaz-Zhud</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Eser. That suits you, somehow, if you don't mind my saying. Eser, I do hope you'll find my ship quite inoffensive. If you'd like to speak to the crew, I have no qualms with that — but of course, we won't keep you, if you have other duties to see to.</div></div></center>
</div><center><div class="decision">What is your decision?
<div class="but2">[[Question the Crew|Ship]]</div> <div class="but2">[[Return to the Hive|Return to Tjaz-Zhud]]</div></div></center>
</div><<set $pontiff to "true">><div class="portrait">[img[images/tz.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="ocean"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Captain Tjaz-Zhud</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">I see, I see. Yes, why don't we keep things nice and professional? If there's anything I can do for you, Pontiff, don't hesitate to ask. I have no qualms with you speaking to my crew, either — but of course, we won't keep you, if you have other duties to see to.</div></div></center>
</div><center><div class="decision">What is your decision?
<div class="but2">[[Question the Crew|Ship]]</div> <div class="but2">[[Return to the Hive|Return to Tjaz-Zhud]]</div></div></center>
</div><div class="portrait">[img[images/portrait.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="ocean"></div><div class="psg"><<if ($vulqoz is not "true") or ($cyrafial is not "true") or ($felosial is not "true") or ($motya is not "true")>>Seemingly pleased that you've decided to stay for a spell, Tjaz-Zhud points out each of the crew to you by name:<</if>> <<if ($vulqoz is not "true") or ($cyrafial is not "true") or ($felosial is not "true") or ($motya is not "true")>><br><br><span style="text-shadow: 1px 0 0 #ff0000, 0 -1px 0 #ff0000, 0 1px 0 #ff0000, -1px 0 0 #ff0000; color: #aaa;">✦</span> <span class="crew"><span class="cycle"><<cyclinglink "$crew" "Felosial" "Vul'qoz" "Cyrafi'al" "Motya">></span>.</span><br><br><</if>><<if $felosial is not "true">>They introduce Felosial as “<span class="talk">My ship, embodied: vessel of my vessel, its ultimate compliment.</span>" <</if>><<if $vulqoz is not "true">>Vul'qoz, they opine, makes “<span class="talk">A fine lookout, our barrelman and scout.</span>" <</if>><<if ($cyrafial is not "true") or ($motya is not "true")>>Cyrafi'al and Lieutenant Ponomarenko are <span class="talk">cannoneers</span> primarily; the former is often called upon for labor, the latter — otherwise known as Motya — able to take on the duties of a medical officer when needed.<</if>><<if ($vulqoz is "true") and ($cyrafial is "true") and ($felosial is "true") and ($motya is "true")>>You've spoken with all of the crew.<<set $crewtalk to "true">><</if>>
<<if ($vulqoz is not "true") and ($cyrafial is not "true") and ($felosial is not "true") and ($motya is not "true")>>“<span class="talk">You're free to go when you feel you've seen enough, of course,</span>" Tjaz-Zhud adds. “<span class="talk">I certainly won't detain you.</span>"<</if>><<if ($vulqoz is "true") or ($felosial is "true") or ($cyrafial is "true") or ($motya is "true")>>In the harbor below, Morsels pause occasionally to listen to your conversation, antennae twitching. Though many of them cannot understand your speech or the crew's, they know you by sight, and watch you with interest before darting away.
<</if>>
</div><center><div class="decision">What is your decision?
<<if ($vulqoz is not "true") or ($cyrafial is not "true") or ($felosial is not "true") or ($motya is not "true")>><div class="but2"><<click "Talk to Crewmember">><<run state.display($crew)>><</click>></div><</if>> <div class="but2">[[Return to the Hive|Return to Tjaz-Zhud]]</div></div></center><<set $vulqoz to "true">><div class="portrait">[img[images/vulqoz.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="ocean"></div><div class="psg">An individual of remarkable height and thinness approaches you. Their skin is smooth and hairless, and has an unmistakably purple cast; faint iridescence shines at their high cheekbones and the joints of their knuckles when they offer you one long, thumbless, perfectly symmetrical hand to shake.
<center><div class="label">Stranger</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Greetings, Ambassador. I’m called Pirithius Vul’qoz. I am the barrelman of this vessel — you’ll more likely see me overhead than below deck.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Question]</div><td class="choice">[[What brings you to Achthoven?]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><<set $cyrafial to "true">><div class="portrait">[img[images/cyra.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="ocean"></div><div class="psg">You approach the tall, dark figure loitering at the ship's rail. They spin around on one heel as they hear you draw close, though not with fear or a tenseness, but to form a sweeping bow. The smile they offer you is sharp, mangled by the corner in which it appears to have been torn, but there is an undeniable warmth there.
<center><div class="label">Stranger</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Hello! Cyrafi'al na Psathamel, at your service.</div></div></center>
His smile grows further, red eyes crinkling at the corners as he juts a hand from where it rested beneath his cape. Even as he straightens from his bow, towering above you, you notice he slouches just so. Perhaps an attempt to seem smaller, more demure.
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Question]</div><td class="choice">[[What brings you to Achthoven?|What brings you to Achthoven?c]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><<set $felosial to "true">><div class="portrait">[img[images/felosial.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="ocean"></div><div class="psg">As you step upon the pier, a figure approaches you- their eyes intent and opalescent pink, much like the gems that fall from the storms that bluster to Achtoven’s north. Their face is placid, a still plane, and they offer you a hand to shake. As you take it, they begin to speak.
<center><div class="label">Stranger</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">An ambassador, we presume. We are Felosial, of a similar position to yourself. We have been here before, and have been turned away, however we come bearing a passenger bound for your Gardens.</div></div></center>
They are brisk in nature, clearly busy with managing the cargo, but seem amenable to any question you may have.
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Question]</div><td class="choice">[[What brings you to Achthoven?|What brings you to Achthoven?f]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><<set $motya to "true">><div class="portrait">[img[images/motya.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="ocean"></div><div class="psg">An individual seated and hunched over what appears to be a firearm. As you approach, they shrug off their fur cape, glancing upward to regard you. Offering no smile, no welcome, they say nothing until you are close enough that your boot nearly brushes theirs. Their eyes strike you — a dull grey, dotted through with masses of honey-yellow that seem to undulate softly.
<center><div class="label">Stranger</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Can I assist you in any manner? I am Lieutenant Ponomarenko — however, feel free to call me Motya should it please you.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Question]</div><td class="choice">[[What brings you to Achthoven?|What brings you to Achthoven?m]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/tz.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="ocean"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Captain Tjaz-Zhud</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Is this goodbye then, <<if $name is "true">>Eser<</if>><<if $pontiff is "true">>Pontiff<</if>>? If there's anything else Her Excellency requires from us, do let me know. Perhaps we'll meet again.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Leave]</div><td class="choice">[[Perhaps we will, Captain.|day4end1]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/vulqoz.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="ocean"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Vul'qoz</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Are you?</div></div></center>
His generous mouth thins into a tight, humorless expression, although he is still attempting to smile.
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Deflect]</div><td class="choice">[[Of course I am.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Truth]</div><td class="choice">[[I don't know.|idk4]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/vulqoz.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="ocean"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Vul'qoz</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">The Captain picked up a drifter-in-distress headed this way. We already knew the route, since we've been out this way before. Have you lived here long? This seems like a strange place for humans to settle.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Truth]</div><td class="choice">[[All my life.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Evade]</div><td class="choice">[[You're not human, are you?]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><<audio "ship" stop>><<audio "npc" play>><div class="portrait">[img[images/portrait.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="nighttown"></div><div class="psg">As you leave the ship, something stirs in your chest at the thought of what it must be like to live on a seafaring vessel. The Achthoven skyline, so thick with foliage and the many overhangs of the Hive, often obscures a clear view of the Oversea. You imagine having the privilege of staring up at it day after day, unobscured, and you feel lightheaded.
It occurs to you that you are beginning to do exactly what your mother wished: meeting new people, having new experiences, understanding more of the world. The more you think on it, you can accept that this is something you've always wanted, as well — but you are still reluctant to want such things too freely.
If there is time — if your duties will allow it — you wonder whether you will be able to return to the ship once more.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|day4end2]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/servant.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="altar"></div><div class="psg">When dusk begins to settle over Achthoven, a secretary seeks you out in the Hive temple, where you are lighting candles and incense.
<center><div class="label">Secretary</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Greetings, Pontiff. Her Excellency wishes to know what you made of the vessel and its crew. Please be brief!</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Positive]</div><td class="choice">[[I think they're harmless.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Uncertain]</div><td class="choice">[[I found them a bit suspicious.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/portrait.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="altar"></div><div class="psg">When the incense has burned away, you begin snuffing the candles one by one until the temple is thick with smoke and heavy, sweet aromas.
The scent relaxes you, and you smell it on your clothes even once you've returned to your dwelling.
For the first time in weeks, you find yourself falling asleep with little effort.
To your most immense relief, you do not dream at all.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[☽|Five]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/danaus.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Groundskeeper Danaus</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">First, the Sacrarium. I'll need your blessing, and your hands.</div></div></center>
“<span class="talk">For the Pontiff!</span>" The Morsels cry, following close at your heels. “<span class="talk">Tools for the Pontiff!</span>"
After your last expedition into the Garden, you find yourself more than a little apprehensive to accompany Danaus again. You do not want to attract the attention of the Presence any further — its curiosity, if that was indeed all it was, has already taken too great a toll on you.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|day5b]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/danaus.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Groundskeeper Danaus</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Something's wrong. Very wrong. Don't tell me you don't feel it, Holiness.</div></div></center>
As requested, you refrain from telling him any such thing. The Morsels at your heels murmur wordlessly and climb over one another in their frantic anxiety, following Danaus' lead.
After your last expedition into the Garden, you find yourself more than a little apprehensive to accompany Danaus again. You do not want to attract the attention of the Presence any further — its curiosity, if that was indeed all it was, has already taken too great a toll on you.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|day5b]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/danaus.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg">Danaus says nothing, and you take no liberties to prompt him. You are certain you'll know what the matter is before long. The Morsels pursuing the two of you murmur anxiously among themselves, but all you manage to understand is “<span class="talk">Pontiff! Pontiff!</span>"
Questions well up on your tongue, but you must swallow them back. You've seen<<if $apparitiontalk is "true">> and caused<</if>> your share of uproars in the Garden, but this seems different.
It seems worse.
After your last expedition into the Garden, you find yourself more than a little apprehensive to accompany Danaus again. You do not want to attract the attention of the Presence any further — its curiosity, if that was indeed all it was, has already taken too great a toll on you.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|day5b]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/danaus.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="terrace"></div><div class="psg">In comparison to the homage, the plant is tiny, barely mature, but its single flower commands your attention.
It bursts forth from the end of a green stem lined with long thorns. A few tightly-shut buds cluster between the thorns; though more pale than the flower, they promise blooms of its same astonishing yellow.
<center><div class="label">Groundskeeper Danaus</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Something must be done about it, Pontiff.</div></div></center>
The <span class="talk">yellow flower</span> stares up at you, into your own yellow eyes.</div><center><div class="decision">What is your decision?
<div class="but">[[Contain It]]</div> <div class="but">[[Burn It]]</div> <div class="but">[[Observe It]]</div></div></center>
</div><<set $burn to "false">><div class="portrait">[img[images/danaus.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="terrace"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Groundskeeper Danaus</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Yes, perhaps that could be done, for a time. We could transplant it. It certainly can't infringe upon another Terrace, but we could have it potted and watched closely. We ought to get to digging, in any case. We must move it away from the soil of the homage.</div></div></center>
You crouch and begin looking through the sack of tools, procuring a small ceramic and a trowel.
</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|buzz]]</div></center>
</div><<set $burn to "true">><div class="portrait">[img[images/danaus.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="terrace"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Groundskeeper Danaus</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">That seems wise. It has to be destroyed. Look how the Limb withers already; I have not seen such a thing in many years. Yes, very good — it shall be burned. We'll be rid of it by nightfall. Thank you, Pontiff.</div></div></center>
You crouch and begin looking through the sack of provisions, procuring the matchbox after some time spent hunting for it amid the other tools.
</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|buzz]]</div></center>
</div><<set $burn to "false">><div class="portrait">[img[images/danaus.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="terrace"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Groundskeeper Danaus</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">That doesn't seem wise, Pontiff. The Homage already suffers for its presence. They cannot coexist. I pray you'll rethink this.</div></div></center>
The sack of tools rests heavy on your sholder, metallic edges and points digging into your back through the canvas. You lower it, worrying the fabric between your fingers.
</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|buzz]]</div></center>
</div><div class="portrait">[img[images/apocrita.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Apocrita</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">You should. It is holy.</div></div></center>
His voice is venomous, abuzz with rage.
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Goad]</div><td class="choice">[[Does that displease you?]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Agree]</div><td class="choice">[[It is a privilege.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/apocrita.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Apocrita</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Vile, ungrateful thing. Your soul is black as soot.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Withdraw]</div><td class="choice">[[Leave me alone.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Recant]</div><td class="choice">[[You misunderstood me...]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/apocrita.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Apocrita</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Give back what you took from me.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Refuse]</div><td class="choice">[[I took nothing from you.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Evade]</div><td class="choice">[[Do you hate me?]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/apocrita.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Apocrita</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Leave us, Danaus. I have business with the good Pontiff.</div></div></center>
His approach startles you enough that you drop the tools in your hands. You turn to Danaus, searching his blank expression for any sign of understanding.
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Protest]</div><td class="choice">[[Please stay, Danaus.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Agree]</div><td class="choice">[[Do as he asks.]]</td></span></div></center>
</div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/apocrita.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Apocrita</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">You'll leave us <i>presently,</i> Danaus.</div></div></center>
Though he lingers for a moment, he does as Apocrita suggests, turning and disappearing the way he came.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|buzz2b]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/danaus.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Groundskeeper Danaus</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Yes, Pontiff.</div></div></center>
You aren't certain if he is speaking to you, or to Apocrita.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|buzz2b]]</div></center></div><<audio "forest" stop>><<audio "apocrita" play loop>><div class="portrait">[img[images/portrait.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="terrace"></div><div class="psg">You are standing at the edge of the ravine at Danaus' side, staring down at the Limb of God dying within this hateful crevice of the earth, when you hear someone approaching.
There are no footfalls to mark their progress — only a low, droning buzz and the papery beat of wings growing louder as they grow nearer.
You know that sound all too well.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|buzz2]]</div></center></div><<audio "forest" stop>><<set $harpactor to $harpactor + 1>><<set $hday5 to "true">><<audio "harpactor" play loop>><div class="portrait">[img[images/harpactor.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Dux Harpactor</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Something is rotten in Achthoven.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Engage]</div><td class="choice">[[What do you mean?]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Probe]</div><td class="choice">[[How do you know?]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><<audio "forest" stop>><<set $mantodea to $mantodea + 1>><<set $mday5 to "true">><<audio "mantodea" play loop>><div class="portrait">[img[images/mantodea.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Magister Mantodea</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">... I remember when Deoridh brought you here.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Engage]</div><td class="choice">[[I don't.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Evade]</div><td class="choice">[[It's been a long time since then, Magister.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><<audio "forest" stop>><<set $olivalis to $olivalis + 1>><<set $oday5 to "true">><<audio "olivalis" play loop>><div class="portrait">[img[images/olivalis.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Signifer Olivalis</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">I don't like this very much at all. No, I don't think I like this one bit.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Question]</div><td class="choice">[[What's wrong?]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Comfort]</div><td class="choice">[[Please don't fret.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><<set $tincture to "true">><div class="portrait">[img[images/portrait3.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="corridor"></div><div class="psg">Your hands quiver as you select three ingredients from your modestly-stocked cupboards.
You choose <span class="cycle"><<cyclinglink "the bark of the mimic tree" "the berries of the fangplant" "the dried leaves of the vines that climb the Hive">></span> and <span class="cycle"><<cyclinglink "honey from the holy bees" "a splash of a fiery cordial" "cold, pure well-water">></span> to <span class="cycle"><<cyclinglink "ease your mind" "dull your nerves" "settle your stomach">></span>.
It's better than nothing. Bolstered slightly, you dart out of your dwelling and make your way into the Hive.
</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|find her]]</div></center><div class="portrait">[img[images/portrait3.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="corridor"></div><div class="psg">The seas won't cease to churn just because you feel unwell. The world won't stop long enough for you to catch your breath — not now, and not ever.
<<if $tincture is not "true">>Around every corner in the Hive, you fear coming face to face with Apocrita and his deadly stinger. You remind yourself again and again that Her Excellency is never far away, always watching, always listening. Somehow, that does not make you feel more at ease.<</if>><<if $tincture is "true">>Apocrita could appear around any corner in the Hive, but you evaded him once. You are confident you can do the same again if need be. Your mind is occupied by only one thing for the moment — speaking with Her Excellency.<</if>>
Only <span class="her2">She</span> can help you. Though you suspect that any member of the Synod might take pity on you, Apocrita has distanced himself from them; you cannot imagine that he would listen to them now, no matter the stakes.
Only <span class="her2">She</span> might convince him to stop — or force him if need be.
</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|hive]]</div></center><div class="portrait">[img[images/servant.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="corridor"></div><div class="psg">A guard at <span class="her2">Her</span> door rises to his full height and snaps his mandibles at you.
<center><div class="label">Guard</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">State your business!</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Obey]</div><td class="choice">[[I'm requesting an audience.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Protest]</div><td class="choice">[[Let me pass; I am Her Pontiff.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/her.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="corridor"></div><div class="psg">The guard's defensive stance slackens, but he begins to protest your request all the same. The first buzz of his voice is interrupted from within the chamber:
<center><div class="label">Her Excellency</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue"><span class="her">Let them pass, dear — and be gone, for a time. I dismiss you.</span></div></div></center>
<span class="her2">Her</span> hearing has always been keen.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|audience]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/her.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="corridor"></div><div class="psg">The guard darts toward you, pushing his mandibles toward your face. As he begins to threaten you, <span class="her2">Her</span> voice rings out from within the chamber:
<center><div class="label">Her Excellency</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue"><span class="her">Let them pass, dear — and leave us, if you will. You're dismissed.</span></div></div></center>
<span class="her2">Her</span> hearing has always been keen.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|audience]]</div></center></div><<audio "forest" stop>><<audio "her" play>><div class="portrait">[img[images/her.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="window"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Her Excellency</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue"><span class="her">Well, Pontiff, I expected you'd be proactive through this uproar. What is it that you need, hm?</span></div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Truth]</div><td class="choice"><span class="cycle2"><<cyclinglink "Apocrita... he..." "(You stutter and can't seem to speak.)" end>></span></td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Evade]</div><td class="choice">[[I'm worried for the Garden.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div>
<div class="portrait">[img[images/her.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="window"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Her Excellency</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue"><span class="her">It will pass. The Garden always prevails. You yourself have designed a course of action already, haven't you? The Groundskeeper has just left to light the fire.</span></div></div></center>
You wanted so badly to tell <span class="her2">Her</span> the truth, but the words would not leave your mouth. Apocrita was, after all — and perhaps still is — a member of the Synod. <span class="her2">She</span> has trusted him and privileged him far longer than you have been alive. To accuse him could have consequences.
<center><div class="choices"><<if $burn is not "true">><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[...]</div><td class="choice">[[I didn't tell him to light any fire.]]</td></span><</if>><<if $burn is "true">><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Question]</div><td class="choice">[[What if there are other blooms?]]</td></span><</if>><<if $burn is "true">><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Question]</div><td class="choice">[[Should I accompany him?]]</td></span><</if>></div></center></div></div>
<div class="portrait">[img[images/harpactor.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="out"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Dux Harpactor</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Eser! Where are you hurrying off to? I'd say “Where's the fire?" but it's perhaps not the time. Everything went straight to hell as soon as that flower caught fire.</div></div></center>
Despite her words, Harpactor's usual irreverent tone is absent, replaced by a cold, humorless severity.
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Lie]</div><td class="choice">[[To the temple.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Truth]</div><td class="choice">[[I have to go.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Question]</div><td class="choice">[[Were you following me?]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/mantodea.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="out"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Magister Mantodea</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Let us dispense with any tawdry preamble. The bloom deceived us. The fire is spreading. You know that I cannot allow you to leave.</div></div></center>
He approaches slowly, forelimbs clasped as they often are in a parody of prayer. His posture is every inch the wizened suppliant, but his gaze is hard and unyielding — a predator's stare.
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Argue]</div><td class="choice">[[You can't stop me.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Plead]</div><td class="choice">[[Please don't hurt me.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Question]</div><td class="choice">[[Why not?]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/olivalis.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="out"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Signifer Olivalis</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Wait, Eser! Is that you? Where are you going? What's happening? Someone said that the burning went awry, that the bloom burst and set everything aflame—</div></div></center>
She turns and gazes around with horrified eyes, beating her wings hard when her spindly limbs twitch with too much anxiety to bear her upright.
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Lie]</div><td class="choice">[[I'm going to the altar.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Truth]</div><td class="choice">[[Her Excellency wants to kill me.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Distract]</div><td class="choice">[[Aren't you needed elsewhere?]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><<audio "fire" stop>><<audio "credits" play loop>><div class="portrait">[img[images/tz.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="town"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Captain Tjaz-Zhud</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Ahoy there, <<if $name is "true">>Eser<</if>><<if $pontiff is "true">>Pontiff<</if>>! What's going on?</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[...]</div><td class="choice">[[Achthoven is burning.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[...]</div><td class="choice">[[They're going to kill me.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/danaus.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="terrace"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Groundskeeper Danaus</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Here is the Limb, the Homage. It's your job to right the vines — see how the old growth's turned to wood, how the new growth's straying from the trunk? <span class="talk">Prune</span> the old and <span class="talk">train</span> the new — <span class="talk">carefully!</span> Don't prune too much or too roughly. Handle the new growth with care, and don't guide it the wrong way. Understood?</div></div></center>
When you signal your agreement, Danaus takes his leave, insisting that he must attend to other paths. As he beats his wings and disappears into the foliage, you hear him murmuring something about mushrooms.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|terrace4]]</div></center></div>
<div class="portrait">[img[images/portrait.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest2"></div><div class="psg">An isolated breeze ruffles your clothing and sends its chill tendrils down your spine. Your fingers stall in their careful work, joints momentarily pulsing with an ache.
You have felt small pains such as these since you were a child. Growing pains, your mother called them, and though they seemed like pangs beyond your years, they did not hinder you much. But in the month since she passed, they resurfaced, more pronounced and painful than ever — though you are sure that, at twenty-five, you should have no growing left to do.
Your body seems to disagree, and it has seethed with agonies for the last month unabated. You pause your work, glancing behind you at the lagoon. You have always found the sight of water soothing.
Over the lagoon, a dark fog is rising.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|apparition]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/portrait.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest2"></div><div class="psg">No matter the pain it causes you to reminisce, you cherish your memories of your mother, the lifetime you spent with her, the wisdom you learned from her. Though your heart aches and your throat tightens to think of the experiences you will never share again, you are glad to have shared them in the past.
You do not want the twisted thing in the Garden to be counted among your memories of her. The more you reflect on your life with her, you realize that <<if $apparitiontalk is "true">>what the Groundskeeper told you was true<</if>><<if $apparitiontalk is "false">>you do not need the Groundskeeper's — or anyone's — reassurance to know the truth<</if>>: it was not her. It could only mimic her.
But why? <span class="cycle"><<cyclinglink "An effort to reach out to you?" "A punishment for disturbing the earth?" "A cruel joke?">></span>
Fatigue comes over you swiftly as the night darkens, and you retire to bed early, though you lay awake well into the night, tormented by an unquiet mind.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[☽|Three]]</div></center></div><div class="parchment"><div class="parchmentpsg">Let this be only one stop on your journey. You must be allowed to grow. The world is yours to experience. I hope to be there with you, to leave this place with you — but if I'm not, someone must tell you this, and I want it to be me:
You are not wrong. You are not cursed. You are someone extraordinary — someone completely unique. I wanted so much to bring you into the world, but now I see that I've done too much to protect you from it. I'm sorry.
Your life is yours, and it always will be. <b>I love you.</b>
</div></div>
<center><div class="proglink">[[❂|Deoridh's letter 6]]</div></center><div class="portrait">[img[images/portrait5.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="corridor"></div><div class="psg">By the end, your mouth is twisted into a teeth-chattering rictus of grief. The text in front of you doubles and blurs through a film of tears, but you blink them away again and again, feeling them course down your cheeks.
The pain you've held onto for a month coalesces and leaves you stricken. Your fingers twitch and the letter flutters to the floor in a rustle of pages. You want to gather them, but you are frozen.
Your arm twists unnaturally, falling to your side in a boneless, rubbery movement. There is no pain, but another sensation — like the feeling of hair unbraiding, fibers unfurling, but somewhere deep within your flesh.
Before your eyes, muscles and tendons bulge in ways they shouldn't, writhing beneath your skin.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|writhe]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/portrait5.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="corridor"></div><div class="psg">It feels impossible to tear your gaze from. A thousand thoughts scream into your mind at once — <i> <span class="cycle"><<cyclinglink "It's an illusion" "I'm hallucinating" "It hurts" "What am I" "What's wrong with me">></span></i> — and loudest among them is the piercing thought that hasn't left you in weeks: <i>I want my mother.</i>
The breath rattles in your throat, a wheeze caught somewhere between a laugh and a sob. It feels absurd, mortifying, to be twenty-five and thinking such a thought so ardently, as if it could bring her back. As far as the rest of the island is concerned, you are grown; you should have gotten over this long ago.
But even they know love. The love they feel for Her Excellency, <span class="her">Her</span> wisdom and protection like that of a mother to them all — without <span class="her">Her</span>, they would be as lost as you feel.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|writhe2]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/portrait5.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="corridor"></div><div class="psg">Again, you think of the apparition in the Garden. For a moment, the thought that the Presence that calls itself God looked so deeply into your heart to torment you — it enrages you. You are not accustomed to anger, and it burns deep in your chest, the searing pain of it rising up your throat like bile, like venom.
But all at once, it is gone, swallowed back and extinguished like so many other momentary agonies.
You refuse to feel shame for your sorrow. But you refuse, by the same token, to allow it to control you — to allow anything to control you through it.
By degrees, stability returns to your body; soon, your limbs feel like your own again. Gingerly, you gather your mother's final missive and fold it carefully with shaking hands.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|room3]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/portrait.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="corridor"></div><div class="psg">It isn't orthodox, but your own words come easiest to you, and they feel more earnest for it.
<center><div class="label">Eser</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue"><span class="cycle"><<cyclinglink "Greetings," "Hey there," "Hi,">></span> little ones. You're getting <span class="cycle"><<cyclinglink "bigger" "stronger" "wiser">></span> every day. You'll all be able to fly one day soon. Isn't that a <span class="cycle"><<cyclinglink "strange" "scary" "beautiful">></span> thought? Even now, your wings are on their way. Everyone is going to be so thrilled to meet you. <span class="cycle"><<cyclinglink "Sleep" "Eat" "Be">></span> well until then, <span class="cycle"><<cyclinglink "please." "okay?">></span></div></div></center>
A few of the maggots pause in their writhing, as if aware that you are addressing them.
After releasing a long, slow exhale and unwinding your rosaries from your fingers, you open the heavy door and nod to Armand, who waits eagerly outside.
</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|bless2]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/portrait.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="corridor"></div><div class="psg">A month ago, Her Excellency turned the same ship away. A month ago exactly, your mother was breathing her last.
She was not sick, not unwell, not even particularly frail for a woman well into her sixth decade. But in the days before she passed, she had been short of breath, uncommonly tense.
You'd stayed by her side to be sure she was well — and so you had been by her side when her heart failed.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|room]]</div></center></div><<audio "mantodea" stop>><<audio "harpactor" stop>><<audio "olivalis" stop>><<audio "forest" play loop>><div class="portrait">[img[images/danaus.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Groundskeeper Danaus</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Apologies, <<if $mday5 is "true">>Magister<</if>><<if $hday5 is "true">>Dux<</if>><<if $oday5 is "true">>Signifer<</if>>, but the matter in the Garden is urgent, as you say. Permit me to borrow the Pontiff for a spell.</div></div></center>
<<if $mday5 is "true">>Mantodea tilts forward in a bow and grants you leave, murmuring his thanks to Danaus.<</if>><<if $hday5 is "true">>Harpactor scoffs that she was finished with you anyway, but gives Danaus a pointed look.<</if>><<if $oday5 is "true">>Olivalis stammers an apology and sends you on your way.<</if>>
Before you leave the courtyard, Danaus directs you to a worn canvas sack filled with provisions: small pots, an array of sharp devices you don't recognize, and what appears to be a matchbox among them. You stow your own tools inside and sling it over your shoulder.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|day5e]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/portrait.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="terrace"></div><div class="psg">The trek proves steeper and more treacherous than your last outing with Danaus, though he brings you only as far as the third Terrace.
Many of the stone stairs are broken, and while Danaus need not concern himself with footholds, or indeed with walking at all, you must follow him carefully and swiftly despite the steep inclines and decaying gaps in the walkway.
With effort, you manage — and though you are exhausted by the time he has led you deeper into the jungle-cover of the Terrace, you do all you can not to show it. Your breath trembles harshly in your throat as you struggle to catch it.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|day5f]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/mantodea.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Magister Mantodea</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Of course not. You were an infant — a newborn, scarcely able to open your eyes. The guards summoned me to appraise you.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Question]</div><td class="choice">[[Why you?]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Demur]</div><td class="choice">[[I think I know how this story ends.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/mantodea.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Magister Mantodea</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">I’m aware, dear Eser. But leave an old creature to his nostalgia. I am old enough to remember her arrival... A tiny ferry — hardly more than a rowboat — brought her here with you in her arms, seeking asylum. She would not say why, or from where. When the guards looked upon you, they saw your eyes, and summoned me.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Question]</div><td class="choice">[[Why you?]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Demur]</div><td class="choice">[[I think I know how this story ends.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/mantodea.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Magister Mantodea</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Even then, I was old. I remain the eldest of <span class="her">Her</span> Synod, and those many years ago Her Excellency trusted me just as <span class="her">She</span> does now. I was responsible then for judging all who would set foot on our isle. I pronounced you Weird — and it was I who convinced Her Excellency to keep you.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Question]</div><td class="choice">[[Why?]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Unspoken]</div><td class="choice"><span class="cycle2"><<cyclinglink "I wish you hadn't." "I wish you hadn't." end>></span></td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/mantodea.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Magister Mantodea</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">It has yet to end, Eser. But you know much of it, yes. You know why your mother brought you here: she feared you’d be received as an ill omen and killed elsewhere in the Sea. But you do not know this: I convinced Her Excellency to keep you.
</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Question]</div><td class="choice">[[Why?]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Unspoken]</div><td class="choice"><span class="cycle2"><<cyclinglink "I wish you hadn't." "I wish you hadn't." end>></span></td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/mantodea.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Magister Mantodea</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">We do not fear Weirdness here as humans do. The Oversea is of no concern to us. Not here, in our paradise — in the domain of our Presence, which shields us from the Oversea's blessings and curses alike. I thought your nature, whatever it might be, would be of little consequence here. And I was correct — you're no threat to us. But we must remain vigilant about any strange being to enter our home.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Question]</div><td class="choice">[[Are you talking about the ship?]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Concede]</div><td class="choice">[[Of course, Magister.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/harpactor.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg">
<center><div class="label">Dux Harpactor</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Exactly what I said, Pontiff. There's rot, and it's spreading. Anything that doesn't belong here is rotten.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Challenge]</div><td class="choice">[[What about me?]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Question]</div><td class="choice">[[What doesn't belong?]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/harpactor.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Dux Harpactor</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Believe me, I know. I'd know even if the Groundskeeper hadn't lost his mind over it. The air's changed. There's a new pollen, Danaus said.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Lie]</div><td class="choice">[[Oh, yes. That.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Truth]</div><td class="choice">[[I hadn't realized.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/mantodea.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Magister Mantodea</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Yes and no. That certainly applies, but I speak of something more urgent. There is a new bloom in the Garden, Eser. Something neither Danaus nor I have ever seen before, in all our many years.</div></div></center>
Often, Mantodea speaks with grave certainty; he is old, and worldly, and looked to by even Her Excellency as a dispenser of sage wisdom.
Now, his voice is hesitant, his words chosen with greater caution. He sounds as troubled as those who flock to him for advice. For perhaps the first time, he has encountered something beyond his expertise.
</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|day5d]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/mantodea.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Magister Mantodea</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">And something strange has come — uninvited. There is a new bloom in the Garden, Eser. Something neither Danaus nor I have ever seen before, in all our many years.</div></div></center>
Often, Mantodea speaks with grave certainty; he is old, and worldly, and looked to by even Her Excellency as a dispenser of sage wisdom.
Now, his voice is hesitant, his words chosen with greater caution. He sounds as troubled as those who flock to him for advice. For perhaps the first time, he has encountered something beyond his expertise.
</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|day5d]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/danaus.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="terrace"></div><div class="psg">The dawn has long since slipped away, and afternoon has begun to encroach on the world. At last, after a long period of terse silence, Danaus begins to speak.
<center><div class="label">Groundskeeper Danaus</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">I've been tending our Garden about as long as you've been alive, and never have I seen any flower like this one. Perhaps it lives elsewhere in the world, but it is not meant to be here. It certainly should not be growing alongside an Homage. I trust you understand that much.</div></div></center>
You believe you get the gist. Though you are no expert, you have observed one Homage: it grew alone, commanding every nutrient from the soil for itself. Even grass hardly dared to encroach upon it.
</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|thrutch]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/harpactor.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Dux Harpactor</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Oh, are you an invasive plant? Should have told me sooner and I'd have uprooted you then and there. Ha. Don't take it personally, Pontiff. You know, I knew you were Weird the minute I saw you, years ago. All you humans look weird — but you look Weird. It’s those eyes. I knew right away: you’re cursed, or blessed, or something, but you're one of ours now. So take that blessing, or curse, or whatever it is, and help us fix this.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Agree]</div><td class="choice">[[I'll do my best.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Doubt]</div><td class="choice">[[What if I can't?]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/harpactor.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Dux Harpactor</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">The air's changed. There's a new pollen, Danaus said. That means a new bloom — one he's never seen or sensed before. Even old Mantodea says it doesn't seem familiar. We're going to need all hands on deck for this. That means you, Eser. Help us fix this.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Agree]</div><td class="choice">[[I'll do my best.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Doubt]</div><td class="choice">[[What if I can't?]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/harpactor.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Dux Harpactor</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">You are a truly atrocious liar, Pontiff. At least that's worth a laugh. I should thank you.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Apologize]</div><td class="choice">[[I'm sorry.|sorry2]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Wry]</div><td class="choice">[[You're welcome.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/harpactor.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Dux Harpactor</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Well, nobody expected you to. You have your human limitations. You weren't made to sense these things. But you can help us solve them.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Agree]</div><td class="choice">[[I'll do my best.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Doubt]</div><td class="choice">[[What if I can't?]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/harpactor.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Dux Harpactor</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Don't get too cocky, now. I'll thank you once you've helped fix this mess.</div></div></center>
She stares you down in a jagged sort of silence, moving her mandibles as if chewing on some unspoken thought.
For a moment, you think she might add something else, but she flicks her antennae and turns away, each of her legs shuffling restlessly.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|day5d]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/harpactor.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Dux Harpactor</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Don't apologize. That's worse than being a twerp. Just help Danaus fix this.</div></div></center>
She stares you down in a jagged sort of silence, moving her mandibles as if chewing on some unspoken thought.
For a moment, you think she might add something else, but she flicks her antennae and turns away, each of her legs shuffling restlessly.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|day5d]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/harpactor.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Dux Harpactor</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Glad to hear it. One of you gardeners must be competent enough to figure things out. They won't let me resolve it, of course. I'm not “delicate" enough for the plants. Bah!</div></div></center>
You are one to talk, but you cannot imagine Harpactor being of great help in the Garden. Though she reveres it as she is meant to, she does not have the patience for its curiosities. Harpactor's principles do not encourage curiosity — only action.
Even so, you see that the idea of a threat to the Garden is tormenting her. There is a restless quality to the way she carries herself — as if she fears an enemy she does not know how to fight.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|day5d]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/harpactor.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Dux Harpactor</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">You will. Don't say stupid things, Pontiff. I'm irritated enough by all of this as it is. You're smarter than that, I think.</div></div></center>
You aren't so certain, though you appreciate the rare dispensation of Harpactor's regard.
As if second guessing her own assertion, she looks at you carefully, antennae folding back. Whatever she sees must satisfy her, because they soon dart back into position and her posture slackens. Even so, there is a restless quality to the way she carries herself — as if she fears an enemy she does not know how to fight.
</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|day5d]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/olivalis.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Signifer Olivalis</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Oh, it's awful, Eser. Some sneaky new plant has turned up in the Garden.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Question]</div><td class="choice">[[What is it?]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Doubt]</div><td class="choice">[[That's not so bad.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/olivalis.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Signifer Olivalis</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">But I must! We all must! Even Mantodea is upset. You should be, too, Pontiff!</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Disagree]</div><td class="choice">[[It's best to remain calm.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Agree]</div><td class="choice">[[I'm frightened, I promise.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/olivalis.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Signifer Olivalis</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">I haven't seen it! I don't want to see it! Dirty thing! Danaus says it doesn't belong. The other plants hate strangers. Aren't you afraid?</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Disagree]</div><td class="choice">[[It's best to remain calm.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Agree]</div><td class="choice">[[I'm frightened, I promise.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/olivalis.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Signifer Olivalis</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">It's very bad! Very bad indeed. Shame on you, Pontiff.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Apologize]</div><td class="choice">[[Forgive me.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Unspoken]</div><td class="choice"><span class="cycle2"><<cyclinglink "I'm always ashamed." "I'm always ashamed." end>></span></td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/olivalis.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Signifer Olivalis</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Oh, perhaps... Perhaps, but I can't do it. Maybe it's best if you're calm. You'll fix this, won't you? You'll save us?</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Doubt]</div><td class="choice">[[I'll do my best.|besto]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Agree]</div><td class="choice">[[Of course I will.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/olivalis.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Signifer Olivalis</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Good! Well, I suppose. This is very serious. Everyone says so. You'll fix it, won't you?</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Doubt]</div><td class="choice">[[I'll do my best.|besto]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Agree]</div><td class="choice">[[Of course I will.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/olivalis.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Signifer Olivalis</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Of course I forgive you, Eser, of course... but promise me you'll take this seriously. Promise me you'll help us.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Doubt]</div><td class="choice">[[I'll do my best.|besto]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Agree]</div><td class="choice">[[Of course I will.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/olivalis.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Signifer Olivalis</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Have faith in yourself, dear Eser. Promise me that you will. You are a cut above most humans, Weird or not. I've known it for years now — so I will have faith in you, my friend... but if the Pontiff does not have faith, who else will hold onto theirs?</div></div></center><<if $oday1 is "true">><br>How familiar that sounds. You remember her saying something similar the day Her Excellency declared you Pontiff.<br><br><</if>>When you were eleven, Olivalis entered her coccoon. Her body is wholly different now, but her soul is the same. She emerged as soft and trusting as ever, and some part of her has remained so. She still pleads for empty promises, comforted by them even when they may not be fulfilled.
</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|day5d]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/olivalis.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Signifer Olivalis</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Oh, thank you, Eser. You are a cut above most humans, Weird or not. I've known it for years now. You were always kind to me, you see, even when we both were small... Oh, be careful, please. Be safe.</div></div></center>
When you were eleven, Olivalis entered her coccoon. While her wings formed, you often watched over her, fascinated by her metamorphosis; you had known her briefly as a caterpillar, and were stunned by her transformation.
Her body is wholly different now, but her soul is the same. She emerged as soft and trusting as ever, and some part of her has remained so. She pleads for empty promises, comforted by them even when they may not be fulfilled.
</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|day5d]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/apocrita.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg">Apocrita's wings still as he lets himself touch the ground, examining the bloom. After a moment, he emits a short, sharp buzz, not unlike a peal of laughter.
<center><div class="label">Apocrita</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">I shall see to this. Don't presume to give any more orders, Pontiff. Your word means nothing. Worse than nothing.</div></div></center>
</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|Apocrita]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/apocrita.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Apocrita</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">I'd like nothing more than to never see the likes of you again. That mother of yours was of some use, but you are a sickness. You'll hobble us all with your feebleness.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Plead]</div><td class="choice">[[Leave me alone!]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Confront]</div><td class="choice">[[Don't talk about my mother!]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/apocrita.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Apocrita</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">I understood you <i>very</i> well. I understand everything about you. Your mother, perhaps, was worth something, but you are not. You are a coward. You are incompetent. You are <i>cursed</i>.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Plead]</div><td class="choice">[[Leave me alone!]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Confront]</div><td class="choice">[[Don't talk about my mother!]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/apocrita.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Apocrita</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Be silent. Don't dare mock me, you beast. You aren't worthy. You will never be worthy.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Plead]</div><td class="choice">[[I didn't ask for this.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Disagree]</div><td class="choice">[[She chose me.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/apocrita.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Apocrita</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">One that you did nothing to earn! I toiled for years, for decades!</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Plead]</div><td class="choice">[[I didn't ask for this.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Disagree]</div><td class="choice">[[She chose me.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/apocrita.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Apocrita</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Say that again.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[...]</div><td class="choice">[[I took nothing from you.|nothing2]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[...]</div><td class="choice">[[I took nothing from you.|nothing2]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/apocrita.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Apocrita</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Shouldn't I? You took everything from me. You took my faith.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Argue]</div><td class="choice">[[You alone let your faith wither.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Apologize]</div><td class="choice">[[I'm sorry, Apocrita.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/portrait2.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="corridor"></div><div class="psg">Though it took you all afternoon to reach the thrutch with Danaus, your panicked descent takes only an hour. When you reach the courtyard, you find no one there. No one occupies the Sacrarium, either, and the paths back to your dwelling are empty as well. No workers straggle along outside the Hive; no courtiers gather in wait.
Dazed and in shock, you hurry home, slamming the door behind you. Just a moment, you decide, to collect yourself — and then you will find help.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|day5end2]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/portrait2.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="corridor"></div><div class="psg">At any moment, you fear Apocrita might appear outside your door, but he does not. No one does.
Slowly, you catch your breath. Your body revolts, doubling over in pain; once more, your limbs feel wrong and unwieldy, as if you will come apart at any moment. Eyes clenched shut, you are frozen in its thrall until the spell passes.
When you recover your senses, you find that your chin and neck are sticky with drying blood. You feel for injuries, finding none until you swallow thickly and realize you taste copper and fear. Blood drips from your nose, over your lips, down the back of your throat. You don't know why.
It escaped your perception for a time, but you can no longer escape its reality — nor the reality of everything else. Exhausted, wracked with pain and pushed to your limit of exertion, you drop to the floor, unconscious.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[☽|Six]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/tz.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="ocean"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Captain Tjaz-Zhud</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Of course. You are safe here, Eser. I give you my word. <<if $wounded is "true">>Worry not — we'll see to those wounds.<</if>></div></div></center>
The Captain releases your hand, and by the warmth in their voice, you suspect they are smiling some unseen smile beneath their bandages.
They give their dark glasses a shove before turning to the assembled crew.
</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|crew2]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/portrait3.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="ocean"></div><div class="psg">Sinking to your knees, you watch as Achthoven recedes swiftly before you. It all loses focus as the ship gains momentum: the cobblestones of the harbor, the spires of the Hive, the leaning belltower that cast its shadow upon the home your mother made, the grave where she rests, the home you had to flee —
Soon, Achthoven is only a smeared conflagration in the distance. After so many years confined to the island, you have never before imagined what it would look like from afar — but even in its destruction, it is beautiful. The Garden seethes beneath the flames, a god's dying throes painted in emerald and ochre.
Smoke rises above it, curling tendrils reaching for the Oversea.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|ending contd]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/apocrita2.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Apocrita</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">I begged <span class="her">Her</span> to reconsider. Now, <span class="her">She</span> will see how unfit you are.</div></div></center>
Apocrita launches himself foward, and he is upon you in an instant, rising into the air to position his stinger against your chest. It is as thick as your forearm, as sharp as a blade.
For a moment, he lingers — frozen but for the beating of his wings, staring down at you with murderous intent.</div><center><div class="decision">What is your decision?
<div class="but2">[[Fight]]</div> <div class="but2">[[Flee]]</div></div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/apocrita2.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Apocrita</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue"><span class="shake2">YOU TOOK EVERYTHING FROM ME!</span></div></div></center>
Apocrita launches himself foward, and he is upon you in an instant, rising into the air to position his stinger against your chest. It is as thick as your forearm, as sharp as a blade.
For a moment, he lingers — frozen but for the beating of his wings, staring down at you with murderous intent.</div><center><div class="decision">What is your decision?
<div class="but2">[[Fight]]</div> <div class="but2">[[Flee]]</div></div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/apocrita2.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Apocrita</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">I told you, you have no business giving orders!</div></div></center>
Apocrita launches himself foward, and he is upon you in an instant, rising into the air to position his stinger against your chest. It is as thick as your forearm, as sharp as a blade.
For a moment, he lingers — frozen but for the beating of his wings, staring down at you with murderous intent.</div><center><div class="decision">What is your decision?
<div class="but2">[[Fight]]</div> <div class="but2">[[Flee]]</div></div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/apocrita2.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Apocrita</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">I will do whatever I please. Mother isn't here to protect you, now.</div></div></center>
Apocrita launches himself foward, and he is upon you in an instant, rising into the air to position his stinger against your chest. It is as thick as your forearm, as sharp as a blade.
For a moment, he lingers — frozen but for the beating of his wings, staring down at you with murderous intent.</div><center><div class="decision">What is your decision?
<div class="but2">[[Fight]]</div> <div class="but2">[[Flee]]</div></div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/apocrita2.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Apocrita</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue"><span class="shake2">BE SILENT!</span></div></div></center>
Apocrita launches himself foward, and he is upon you in an instant, rising into the air to position his stinger against your chest. It is as thick as your forearm, as sharp as a blade.
For a moment, he lingers — frozen but for the beating of his wings, staring down at you with murderous intent.</div><center><div class="decision">What is your decision?
<div class="but2">[[Fight]]</div> <div class="but2">[[Flee]]</div></div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/apocrita2.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Apocrita</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">I truly hope you are — but even so, it's not enough.</div></div></center>
Apocrita launches himself foward, and he is upon you in an instant, rising into the air to position his stinger against your chest. It is as thick as your forearm, as sharp as a blade.
For a moment, he lingers — frozen but for the beating of his wings, staring down at you with murderous intent.</div><center><div class="decision">What is your decision?
<div class="but2">[[Fight]]</div> <div class="but2">[[Flee]]</div></div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/portrait2.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg">The point of Apocrita's stinger hovers at the crest of your ribs, ready and willing to puncture through your diaphragm and into your heart. He could do it if he wished to; he could kill you in an instant and leave your corpse to nourish the Homage, and he would be commended for it by some. You know this.
But you also know that you do not want to die.
An acid taste floods your mouth and your sinuses begin to ache, the pain of it throbbing through the roots of your teeth. Your vision swims. You open your mouth as if to scream, but you choke, and something else drips viscous and burning past your lips as you <span class="cycle"><<cyclinglink "cock your arm back" "tighten your fingers into a fist" "throw a punch" end>></span>.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|fight2]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/portrait2.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="forest2"></div><div class="psg">Apocrita has you backed up against the edge of the thrutch, and when you take a step backward the ground begins to crumble beneath your feet. There is not enough time to right yourself, but you manage to turn and stagger into the ravine, feeling the tip of Apocrita's stinger gouge the back of your cassock as you go.
You trip, rolling down the steep incline and into the ditch near the ailing Homage and its unwelcome companion. As you struggle to right yourself, disoriented from the fall, a horrible sound drones down into the ravine.
Apocrita is laughing, you realize — hovering at the edge, looking down at you, and laughing as if he has witnessed the most amusing thing in the world.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|flee2]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/apocrita2.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="forest2"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Apocrita</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Run, Pontiff! As fast as those feeble human legs will carry you! Let's see who shall reach <span class="her2">Her</span> first!</div></div></center>
His voice, bordering on hysterical, grows more distant as you run, heedless of where you're going so long as it is away from Apocrita. Branches tear at your clothes and face and hair; the jaws of strange blooms snap at you when you near them, but you are heavier and faster than the meals they can manage to ensnare, and they don't seem to know what to make of you.
As you run, an acid taste floods your mouth and your sinuses begin to ache, the pain of it throbbing through the roots of your teeth.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|flee3]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/portrait2.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="forest2"></div><div class="psg">When you press a hand to your mouth, you pull it away to find the leather of your glove seared and bubbling as if eaten away by acid. Your teeth throb again; something sharp presses against your tongue, your lower lip. Your vision swims, and you pause on unsteady feet to cough and spit.
It is a graceless, unholy thing to do, but you are choking. When you can breathe again, leaf-litter sizzling beneath you, you break into a run once more.
When the canopy above you begins to grow thinner, you come upon the broken path back to the courtyard. At last, you begin your descent.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|day5end]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/apocrita2.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Apocrita</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue"><span class="shake2">YOU TOOK EVERYTHING FROM ME!</span></div></div></center>
Apocrita launches himself foward, and he is upon you in an instant, rising into the air to position his stinger against your chest. It is as thick as your forearm, as sharp as a blade.
For a moment, he lingers — frozen but for the beating of his wings, staring down at you with murderous intent.</div><center><div class="decision">What is your decision?
<div class="but2">[[Fight]]</div> <div class="but2">[[Flee]]</div></div></center></div><<audio "apocrita" stop>><<audio "fire" play loop>><div class="portrait">[img[images/portrait3.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="moon"></div><div class="psg">As you run, you notice the strange emptiness of the halls. Your footfalls echo horribly behind you, but it seems that there is no one around to hear them. Passing through the Hall of Windows, you understand why.
Achthoven is burning. Smoke drifts in massive clouds through the hewn gaps in the stone walls, and you must cover your mouth and nose with your cravat to proceed. It stings your eyes, but the exit of the Hive is in sight; beyond it, greenery looms high on the horizon, small flames licking ever higher into the canopy. <<if $wounded is "true">>Your wounds burn and throb as if in sympathy.<</if>>
As you race through the doors and emerge into the burning dawn, someone approaches you through the smoke.
</div><center><div class="proglink"><<if ($harpactor > $mantodea) and ($harpactor > $olivalis)>>[[❂|Harpactor6]]<</if>><<if ($mantodea > $harpactor) and ($mantodea > $olivalis)>>[[❂|Mantodea6]]<</if>><<if ($olivalis > $mantodea) and ($olivalis > $harpactor)>>[[❂|Olivalis6]]<</if>><<if ($harpactor == $mantodea) and ($harpactor == $olivalis) and ($mantodea == $olivalis) and ($olivalis == $mantodea) and ($mantodea == $harpactor) and ($olivalis == $harpactor)>>[[❂|Mantodea6]]<</if>><<if ($harpactor == $mantodea) and ($harpactor > 1)>>[[❂|Harpactor6]]<</if>><<if ($harpactor == $olivalis) and ($harpactor > 1)>>[[❂|Olivalis6]]<</if>><<if ($mantodea == $olivalis) and ($mantodea > 1)>>[[❂|Mantodea6]]<</if>></div></center><div class="portrait">[img[images/danaus.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="terrace"></div><div class="psg">Before long, Danaus halts, and you stumble to a stop behind him, backing up several paces to scramble back from the ledge of a deep ravine.
<center><div class="label">Groundskeeper Danaus</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">There, in the thrutch. Do you see it?</div></div></center>
In the depth of the ravine, an Homage limb grows listlessly. It does not look like its sibling on the fourth Terrace; this Homage does not stand upright or curl delicately or boast any growing buds, but rather seems to sag toward the earth, its brilliant color outdone by another bloom.
Nestled in its roots is a small and solitary <span class="talk">yellow flower</span>.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|gorse]]</div></center>
</div><div class="portrait">[img[images/apocrita2.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg">Your knuckles crack hard against Apocrita's abdomen, and he is thrown off balance, tumbling through the air. He shrieks, long and wordless, but manages to right himself.
<center><div class="label">Apocrita</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Now I <i>will</i> kill you, animal! I'll put you down!</div></div></center>
You run, heedless of where you're going so long as it is away from Apocrita. Branches tear at your clothes and face and hair; the jaws of strange blooms snap at you when you near them, but you are heavier and faster than they can manage to ensnare, and they don't seem to know what to make of you.
Your head aches. Your tongue seems to burn. The collar of your pellegrina is sizzling.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|fight3]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/portrait2.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="forest2"></div><div class="psg">As you run, lungs heaving, muscles burning, you will yourself not to stop — but that is not the will of the Garden.
In your haste, you do not notice a root hidden beneath the leaf-litter until it has caught your foot and sent you harshly to the ground. Not to be deterred, you scramble to your feet, relieved to find nothing broken — and more relieved to see slivers of daylight beyond the trees.
Fighting for breath, you come upon the ruined path back to the courtyard and begin your descent.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|day5end]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/mantodea.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="window"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Magister Mantodea</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">How charmingly absurd a suggestion, Harpactor. I'm doing no such thing. I simply find it unwise to send the new beacon of our faith into a den of...</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Sincere]</div><td class="choice">[[Strangers?]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Sarcastic]</div><td class="choice">[[Heathens?]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/olivalis.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="window"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Signifer Olivalis</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Strangers can be awfully frightening... Maybe the Magister has a point, Harpactor. Oh, but they might be very interesting, as well. What do you think, Eser?</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><<if $approached is not "true">><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Agree]</div><td class="choice">[[Perhaps you're right.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Undecided]</div><td class="choice">[[I'm not certain.]]</td></span><</if>><<if $approached is "true">><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Truth]</div><td class="choice">[[I think one of them has seen me already...]]</td></span><</if>></div></center>
</div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/mantodea.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="window"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Magister Mantodea</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Precisely so — and I will forgive you that tone only the once, Pontiff. We've no metric by which to measure their trustworthiness! They are <i>outsiders</i>, and persistent ones at that. It would be unwise to commune with them too hastily. Isn't that so?</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><<if $approached is not "true">><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Agree]</div><td class="choice">[[Perhaps you're right.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Undecided]</div><td class="choice">[[I'm not certain.]]</td></span><</if>><<if $approached is "true">><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Truth]</div><td class="choice">[[I think one of them has seen me already...]]</td></span><</if>></div></center>
</div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/harpactor.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="window"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Dux Harpactor</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">That's absurd. The two of you are too fearful; you'll make Eser a yellow-bellied little pushover worse than they already are. No offense intended, Pontiff. In any case... Her Excellency wants something of you. <span class="her">She</span> told us to tell you that you personally ought to head out to that ship and have a chat with the Captain. Are you game to play ambassador for a day?</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Agree]</div><td class="choice">[[Of course.|ofc2]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Demur]</div><td class="choice">[[I don't know...]]</td></span></div></center>
</div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/harpactor.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="window"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Dux Harpactor</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">You see? We know better than to <i>trust</i> whatever fools sail by, but Eser here understands the merit of recon. Which reminds me — Eser, Her Excellency wants something of you. She told us to tell you that you personally ought to head out to that ship and have a chat with the Captain. Are you game to play ambassador for a day?</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Agree]</div><td class="choice">[[Of course.|ofc2]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Demur]</div><td class="choice">[[I don't know...]]</td></span></div></center>
</div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/mantodea.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="window"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Magister Mantodea</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue"><i>Excuse</i> me? What would possess you to allow this to happen?</div></div></center>
His voice is harsh, unexpectedly so, and the tension in his limbs is unmistakable. He seems genuinely angry, and it is the first time you've seen such a display, let alone one directed at you. Olivalis twitches nervously, but Harpactor seems amused.
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Evade]</div><td class="choice">[[In the interest of reconnaisance...]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Admit]</div><td class="choice">[[I was curious.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/harpactor.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="window"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Dux Harpactor</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Hah! Now that's the right idea, Eser. That's perfect; Her Excellency wants something of you, you see. <span class="her">She</span> told us to tell you that you personally ought to head out to that ship and have a chat with the Captain. Sounds like you should be game to play ambassador for a day, eh?</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Agree]</div><td class="choice">[[Of course.|ofc2]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Demur]</div><td class="choice">[[I don't know...]]</td></span></div></center>
</div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/mantodea.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="window"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Magister Mantodea</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">That's no excuse. That is <i>exceedingly</i> rash, Eser. I'd thought you would have far more sense than that.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Silence]</div><td class="choice">[[...|I...]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Apologize]</div><td class="choice">[[Please forgive me.|I...]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/olivalis.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="window"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Signifer Olivalis</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Oh, Mantodea, please don't bully Eser. They didn't mean to do anything bad.</div></div></center>
Mantodea begins to protest, insisting that he would never seek to do such a thing, but Harpactor cuts in, stamping her foot against the tiled floor for emphasis.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|harp]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/harpactor.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="window"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Dux Harpactor</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">It doesn't matter! What matters is that Her Excellency needs something of them. Eser, <span class="her">She</span> told us to tell you that you personally ought to head out to that ship and have a chat with the Captain. Sounds like you should be game to play ambassador for a day.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Agree]</div><td class="choice">[[Of course.|ofc2]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Object]</div><td class="choice">[[I don't know...]]</td></span></div></center>
</div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/harpactor.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="temple"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Dux Harpactor</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">More for us, then! It all works out in the end, you see — Her Excellency knows what <span class="her">She’s</span> doing. <span class="her">She’s</span> spoken well of you to me already. In fact, <span class="her">She</span> wants me to ensure you hear of the ship approaching.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Optimistic]</div><td class="choice">[[A friendly vessel?]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Pessimistic]</div><td class="choice">[[A hostile vessel?]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/harpactor.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="temple"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Dux Harpactor</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Would that offend you? Fret not, poor human. Her Excellency wouldn't let a mere pet carry the weight of the Pontiff's mantle as you do. <span class="her">She</span> regards you well enough, to be sure. Speaking of which, I ought to tell you what's going on before I head to port. To make a long story short, there's a ship approaching.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Optimistic]</div><td class="choice">[[A friendly vessel?]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Pessimistic]</div><td class="choice">[[A hostile vessel?]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/harpactor.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="temple"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Dux Harpactor</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">It seems that the ship we turned away last month is back. I'm in charge of our guards, so it's my duty to set them up in the harbor to await the arrival.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Optimistic]</div><td class="choice">[[A friendly vessel?]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Pessimistic]</div><td class="choice">[[A hostile vessel?]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/mantodea.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="temple"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Magister Mantodea</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">It will heal with time, or so they say... but you mustn’t allow it to fester. It would impede your duties. We ought to speak of those instead.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Terse]</div><td class="choice">[[Please.|boat deets m]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Agree]</div><td class="choice">[[Thank you.|boat deets m]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/mantodea.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="temple"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Magister Mantodea</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">It's as good a time as any to learn, then. You have always been an exemplary pupil — consider this an exercise. I will, of course, provide you the necessary context: we have seen this vessel before. Her Excellency denied it permission to dock one month ago.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Question]</div><td class="choice">[[On what grounds?]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Question]</div><td class="choice">[[Is it hostile?]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/mantodea.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="temple"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Magister Mantodea</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Excellent, excellent. I will, of course, provide you the necessary context: we have seen this vessel before. It appeared in much the same fashion, and Her Excellency sent it away one month ago.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Question]</div><td class="choice">[[On what grounds?]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Question]</div><td class="choice">[[Is it hostile?]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/mantodea.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="temple"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Magister Mantodea</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">We lacked an appropriate emissary. Considering the circumstances, we were without our chief interpreter, and you were... indisposed.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Tense]</div><td class="choice">[[I do seem to recall that.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Question]</div><td class="choice">[[Then who did you send?]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/mantodea.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="temple"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Magister Mantodea</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Not to our knowledge, but I would not be hasty to trust strangers, or humans. One of the crew was ill as well, I'm told.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Question]</div><td class="choice">[[Ill in what way?]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Challenge]</div><td class="choice">[[And we offered them no aid?]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/mantodea.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="temple"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Magister Mantodea</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">I am sorry to remind you, but those were the circumstances. Now that it's returned, we must remain vigilant. The vessel has Her Excellency's permission to make use of the harbor for three days.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Question]</div><td class="choice">[[Can we trust it?]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Question]</div><td class="choice">[[And then what?]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/mantodea.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="temple"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Magister Mantodea</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">One of the couriers, though evidently there were some difficulties communicating. Even so, the vessel has Her Excellency's permission to make use of the harbor for three days upon its return.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Question]</div><td class="choice">[[Can we trust it?]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Question]</div><td class="choice">[[And then what?]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/mantodea.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="temple"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Magister Mantodea</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Such details are not entirely known to me, but our courier suggested that a human had... <i>regurgitated</i> into our waters.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Concern]</div><td class="choice">[[Oh dear.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Question]</div><td class="choice">[[A human?]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/mantodea.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="temple"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Magister Mantodea</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Our courier suggested that a human had... <i>regurgitated</i> into our waters. A sin, to say the least. Even if that were not the case, as things stand, we have neither the resources nor the knowledge to minister to ailing humans.</div></div></center>
Evidently, you suppose, or your mother might still be alive.
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Question]</div><td class="choice">[[A human?]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Agree]</div><td class="choice">[[I understand.]]</td></span></div></center>
</div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/mantodea.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="temple"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Magister Mantodea</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Yes, though perhaps the only one on board — which may bode well. We shall see when the guards make their reports. In the meantime, have a look through the scope, if you'd like; you'll see the vessel on the horizon.</div></div></center>
Mantodea turns away, though he keeps one eye fixed on you. His distrust of outsiders is deeply-held and maintained with great prejudice, it would seem. You understand — your mother was cautious in such matters as well, but there is a zealous undercurrent to Mantodea's caution, some lingering grudge.
He speaks as if this is all beneath him, as if he has endured such diversions many times before and each time found them fruitless.
</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|oculus2]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/mantodea.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="temple"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Magister Mantodea</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">That's good, Eser. You must not waste your heart on the plights of strangers. Most of them are cruel, deceitful... But we shall see what the guards make of them when they arrive. In the meantime, have a look through the scope, if you'd like; you'll see the vessel on the horizon.</div></div></center>
Mantodea speaks as if this is all beneath him, as if he has endured such diversions many times before and each time found them fruitless.
You know that he is old — among the eldest of the proserpo — and that he has experienced many things. Yet you wonder if his experiences have instilled something harsh in him, a sort of numbness that breeds prejudice. He had seemed charitable, once.
</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|oculus2]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/deoridh.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="sun"></div><div class="psg">With time, you began to match her skill. She would beam with pride as you reeled something in by yourself, or when she would return home to find that you had baked bread or cooked a meal.
By the time you were thirteen, you had learned your fair share of recipes, and you had learned how to stretch just a few ingredients into something filling.
Foraging on Achthoven was a learning process for the both of you; while your mother was knowledgeable, there were herbs and fungi and fruits she had never seen before strewn throughout the island. Trial and error was too risky, but after some time living as neighbors to the Hive, she discovered a botanist's diary in the ruins of the castle.
After she had perused it thoroughly, she received permission to bring you to the first Terrace and harvest some of the holy flesh that grew there.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|fond2]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/deoridh.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="sun"></div><div class="psg">When you were an infant, your mother set about making a life for you with whatever means she could come by. She built you a crib; she took up sewing to clothe you; she bartered with merchants for books of any kind, delighted to discover that they had begun bringing such things as gestures of goodwill to the proserpo.
She had not been a linguist by trade until Her Excellency declared her Chief Interpreter. On occasion she quipped that she had little competiton for such a title, but all the same she excelled at it, and she taught you to speak and read and write with the aplomb expected from one who made a living communicating. You remember what she often told you:
<center><div class="label">Deoridh</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Life is communication. Sometimes, someone makes up their mind to never hear you, but you will always have your own voice.</div></div></center></div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|heavy2]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/deoridh.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="sun"></div><div class="psg">When she died, she left a stack of books unfinished, half-read or never begun. In her downtime, she was always reading, always discovering new books in the myriad shadows of the island or coming by new reading material through traders and merchants. You read many of them together, shared thoughts and impressions and ideas.
With her gone, the sight of them was too much. In a daze, you gathered them all and confined them to her empty bedroom. You cleared a path through the house for yourself to ensure you would still be able to function, still be able to come and go without breaking down each time you walked through the door.
It was an effort made in vain; for the first two weeks, you found yourself being shattered by other reminders. Now, you take comfort in the presence of her books, in the way they had shaped your life: a foundation that still lingered, sturdy and enduring like an ancient journal, a permanent record that she had lived.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|post-memory]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/deoridh.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="sun"></div><div class="psg">Achthoven blooms in perpetual summer, as it always has for as long as you can remember. Its plants are tropical, their crops alluring — though not always safe.
Carefully, your mother had examined each plant with you, referencing the diary's many notes and sketches. A few of the plants, though safe for human consumption, tasted and smelled appalling; these, you would later find, were favorites of many proserpo. One fruit in particular, however, was reviled by the proserpo: a certain berry which grows only on the lower terraces, hidden in clusters in the cores of its bushes.
Before long, you and your mother had filled two baskets with them. For days, you experimented together: eating them raw, making preserves, concocting tinctures, even making tarts. She was thrilled to have discovered something new and remarkable — and you were thrilled to have helped.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|post-memory]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/deoridh.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="sun"></div><div class="psg">As a child, you longed for new experience even as you clung timidly to your mother's sleeve. The Morsels, be they curious or friendly or hostile, did not frighten you. The Terraces looming like mountains above your home seemed enthralling. The Hive seemed a thriving castle, the Garden an untamed jungle.
In your childhood naivete, you understood things for what they were: the Hive <i>had</i> once been a castle, before Her Excellency obliterated its monarch and installed a fleet of her own winged royalty. The Garden had once been an untamed jungle, before the flow of human blood awakened a hunger beneath the soil.
When you had moved into the small home you would share for the next sixteen years, sermons became mandatory.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|strange2]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/deoridh.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="sun"></div><div class="psg">Apocrita was Pontiff even when you were a child, and he was much the same then as he is now: fiercely zealous, committed in his devotion to both Her Excellency and his God, the Presence in the Garden.
Before the first sermon you attended, your mother took you aside.
<center><div class="label">Deoridh</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">This is an act of respect for our neighbors, but you do not have to believe everything we'll hear. Draw your own conclusions.</div></div></center>
You hadn't quite understood then, but her words came to mind often as you grew older and recognized the utility of religion on Achthoven: it monitored and maintained society, validated Her Excellency's rulership, kept power closely guarded.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|post-memory]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/vulqoz.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="ocean"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Vul'qoz</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">When I was a youngster, my mother warned me of humans. Of poachers who would pull my teeth from my head. From my throat.</div></div></center>
He touches his cravat again. It seems damp.
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Defend]</div><td class="choice">[[I am not that sort of human.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Yield]</div><td class="choice">[[My mother warned me of humans as well.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/vulqoz.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="ocean"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Vul'qoz</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Ah. Well, you do look to have a touch of some blessing, or curse, if you’ll forgive me for saying so. But that’s life, isn’t it? We are not made for the sea above. It dilutes us.</div></div></center>
He smiles and draws himself up to his full height, at which he towers over you by three full heads. He is long, in every way — his arms almost unnaturally so, hands hanging too low at rest — but his body is like a gourd or an urn, sinuously curved and pinched into an impossibly narrow waist. He fills his lungs with one enormously long breath, and his chest expands slowly.
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Question]</div><td class="choice">[[But how do you know?]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Withdraw]</div><td class="choice">[[As you say. Forgive me, but I must be going.|Goodbye, Master Vul'qoz.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/vulqoz.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="ocean"></div><div class="psg">You glance behind you toward the towering spires of the Hive and note the darkening day. The afternoon is quickly fading. With a deep bow, you inform Vul'qoz that you ought to be going, though you appreciate having spoken to him.
<center><div class="label">Vul'qoz</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Safe journeys, Eser. <<if $vulqozuncomfortable is "false">>I rather hope we'll meet again.<</if>></div></div></center>
Offering a courtly bow, he turns and scuttles away up the mast with unexpected speed.
</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|Ship]]</div></center></div><<set $vulqozuncomfortable to "true">><div class="portrait">[img[images/vulqoz.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="ocean"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Vul'qoz</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">You must forgive me, but I’ve no way of knowing that yet.</div></div></center>
You can forgive him. You understand, though it sends some tendril of sorrow through you to think of it.
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Withdraw]</div><td class="choice">[[I understand. I should be going.|Goodbye, Master Vul'qoz.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/vulqoz.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="ocean"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Vul'qoz</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Then she is a wise one.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Withdraw]</div><td class="choice">[[She was.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/vulqoz.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="ocean"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Vul'qoz</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">I've heard stories of those who strove too close to the Oversea and were boiled alive, or cursed for their meddling in the natural affair of things. Those waters run hotter and thicker than blood, it's said. Their currents would take the flesh from our bones.</div></div></center>
Though matters of the Seas fascinate you, the thought strikes you in an uncomfortable way you cannot parse. Far above, the Oversea churns ceaselessly, silently on.
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Withdraw]</div><td class="choice">[[I see. I must be going.|Goodbye, Master Vul'qoz.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><<set $vulqozuncomfortable to "false">><div class="portrait">[img[images/vulqoz.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="ocean"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Vul'qoz</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">... Ah. I'm so sorry. My sincerest condolences.</div></div></center>
You appreciate the tenderness in his manner, but you cannot endure it. You do not want to weep in front of a stranger.
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Withdraw]</div><td class="choice">[[Thank you. I should go.|Goodbye, Master Vul'qoz.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/vulqoz.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="ocean"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Vul'qoz</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Oh, my. Then this is home, to you? I left my home to voyage with the Captain. Forgive me saying so, but this place doesn't seem awfully friendly to outsiders.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Wry]</div><td class="choice">[[It's not.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Evade]</div><td class="choice">[[It's friendly enough.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/vulqoz.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="ocean"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Vul'qoz</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Oh. Well... I can at least offer you my own friendliness. We can all benefit from a moment of kindness. Are you happy here?</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Lie]</div><td class="choice">[[I am totally content.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Truth]</div><td class="choice">[[I've been grieving.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/vulqoz.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="ocean"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Vul'qoz</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Well, that's good to hear. Some of the guards here seem rather... zealous, if I may say so, but every place has its customs, doesn't it? Are you happy here?</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Lie]</div><td class="choice">[[I am totally content.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Truth]</div><td class="choice">[[I've been grieving.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><<audio "harpactor" stop>><<audio "mantodea" stop>><<audio "olivalis" stop>><<audio "ritual" play>><div class="portrait">[img[images/portrait.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="corridor"></div><div class="psg">Once you are dismissed, <<if $apparitiontalk is "true">>you return home and set about the task of removing the lagoon's morbid filth from yourself.
The remainder of your afternoon is spent drawing water from an ancient well with which to rinse your skin and scrub the oily residue of algae and decay from your new clothing. The sludge that had soaked your cassock's hem and leaked into your boots had also covered your legs, making your skin itch, and you are relieved to be rid of it.
The cool, clean water calms you somewhat, but your heart is still uneasy as you settle in for the evening. <</if>><<if $apparitiontalk is "false">>you return home and make an attempt to banish the dust that has built up on every surface in the month you've spent doing little other than sleeping and mourning. The nervous energy you've felt since dawn is well-spent, quelled somewhat by your efforts.
Though you feel a dim sense of accomplishment, your heart is still uneasy as you settle in for the evening. <</if>>As ridiculous at you feel for it, you fear glancing out the window and seeing a ghost — or a god.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|memory]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/olivalis.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Signifer Olivalis</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">I'm not sure. It seems like a frightening thing, but perhaps there's more to it. The Garden is a powerful place. That reminds me...</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Prompt]</div><td class="choice">[[Reminds you of what?|Certainly.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/olivalis.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Signifer Olivalis</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Really? Danaus suggested as much, but... Well, how exciting! And how scary. To be in such proximity to something so powerful, to life itself... You've had an eventful day already.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Agree]</div><td class="choice">[[It seems that way.|Certainly.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/olivalis.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Signifer Olivalis</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Oh, Eser... I'm sorry, but I don't think so. Danaus seemed to think that, well — that the Presence was reaching out to you, but no one can say why. It doesn't do to question God's works.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[...]</div><td class="choice">[[I suppose not.|Certainly.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/olivalis.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Signifer Olivalis</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">I've been worrying about something, actually. I'm so happy for you, becoming Pontiff and all, but I hope it will not be too difficult. Your faith must be like iron — but there are so many who would seek to wear it down. It's why we are so wary of strangers; they don't understand. They don't want to. They say we are not supposed to believe — they think we worship false idols!</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Question]</div><td class="choice">[[What are we supposed to believe?]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Question]</div><td class="choice">[[What do you believe?]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/harpactor.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Dux Harpactor</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">I'll say. You could have drowned. That would be so utterly pathetic. What a way to lose the new Pontiff! That reminds me, we ought to have a little chat.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Agree]</div><td class="choice">[[About what?]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/harpactor.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Dux Harpactor</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">It seems that way, but don't get too cocky. I don't see why it'd come to you freely. Even Danaus can't say why such a thing would happen... So let's not spare it too much thought. There are other things to speak of.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Agree]</div><td class="choice">[[What things?|About what?]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/harpactor.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Dux Harpactor</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">I know you aren't stupid, so don't act like it. This sadness is making you weak, Eser. You'll think me harsh, but I know weakness when I see it. Put that out of your head, and let's not talk of this anymore. I came here with something else in mind.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[...]</div><td class="choice">[[What would that be?|About what?]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/mantodea.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Magister Mantodea</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">I will always be pleased to answer such questions, Eser... but I must be going. I hope you'll come to find your duties rewarding.</div></div></center>
Mantodea stares at you for a moment, watching you closely as if to detect whether some change has come over you since you were deemed worthy of the title of Pontiff.
In the next moment, he tilts his head from side to side and turns to take his leave. In the years you've known of him, you've grown more accustomed to his swift, honed movements, but it is still odd to receive such close attention only to have it revoked so sharply. As he darts away, you bow your head and call out:
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Leave]</div><td class="choice">[[Thank you, Magister.|retire]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/mantodea.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Magister Mantodea</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">I cannot be certain of that, either. Perhaps there is nothing, but perhaps a world we will never know looms above — there is no way of knowing such things. Be wary indeed of anyone who claims that they can answer such a question.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Agree]</div><td class="choice">[[I understand.|m2end]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/mantodea.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Magister Mantodea</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Even gods die. I have not lived long enough to see such a thing, but one hears tell of it from time to time. Power wanes; will fails; gods fall. Even our God, life-giving as it is, must be tended to with care, its power nourished and replenished. That's where you come in, dear Pontiff.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[...]</div><td class="choice">[[I understand.|m2end]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/olivalis.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Signifer Olivalis</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">That we are all lower creatures: that those beneath the Oversea cannot be gods, only monsters. They call our God a monster, decry its good works, deny its divine nature... Have you ever heard of anything so cruel? If the Presence is not a god...</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Question]</div><td class="choice">[[Then what are we worshiping?]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Question]</div><td class="choice">[[Then why do we worship?]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/olivalis.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Signifer Olivalis</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">I don't like to think about such things without guidance... but of course I love the Presence as my God, and Her Excellency as... well, what would you call <span class="her">Her</span>, Pontiff?</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Answer]</div><td class="choice">[[A vector.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Answer]</div><td class="choice">[[A votary.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/olivalis.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Signifer Olivalis</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">The Presence, of course. It is holy, Eser. It is divine, and Her Excellency is next to it in divinity. All you do is for the Presence, though you do it with <span class="her">Her</span> guidance. It cannot speak, and so it speaks through <span class="her">Her</span> — and maybe one day through you. One day it will fill you up, as it filled Apocrita. Poor Apocrita... he is emptying out, now. Draining. Oh, but don’t feel bad! It’s not your fault.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[...]</div><td class="choice">[[I hope not.|o2end]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/olivalis.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Signifer Olivalis</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">It’s not my job to think about that, to be honest with you. Apocrita could word it much more artfully than I... but I worship because it brings me peace, and purpose. It’s cruel to deny oneself the joy of worship. It fills you like a vessel. Don’t you feel full?</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Lie]</div><td class="choice">[[Very much so.|o2end]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/olivalis.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Signifer Olivalis</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Like a plague rat? Oh, but you’re too kind to mean it that way. No — like a locust. Like a bloatfly. They are our cherished siblings, made in <span class="her">Her</span> image. It makes sense, after all. We’re to carry the seeds of the Presence. A vector... that’s apt. That's lovely.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Demur]</div><td class="choice">[[I'm no expert.|o2end]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/olivalis.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Signifer Olivalis</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Like a nun? We are all acolytes, after all. We each have vows we’ve made to <span class="her">Her</span>, and to ourselves, and to the Gardens. We aren’t promised to the Sea like others, after all — in the end we go to dust, to fire, to the earth. Oh, my, that's lovely.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Demur]</div><td class="choice">[[I'm no expert.|o2end]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/olivalis.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Signifer Olivalis</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">You are wise, Eser. Wiser than I, at least. I know you don't see it yet, but I think you will make an excellent Pontiff. You're a fast learner, after all — and I will help however I can.</div></div></center>
It touches you that she would offer such a thing so earnestly, though you know that her understanding of the Garden's mysteries is not much better than your own.
Perhaps she is more virtuous than you will ever be. Her lifetime of innocent devotion has freed her of the burden of sin, but you wonder if she chose such a path out of fear. Nevertheless, you address her kindly:
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Leave]</div><td class="choice">[[Thank you, Signifer.|retire]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/harpactor.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Dux Harpactor</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Listen... I'm not angry with you. You have great potential, and it'd be a shame to see it wasted. Just get it through your head that you serve Achthoven. The Presence is Achthoven. The Gardens are Achthoven. Her Excellency is Achthoven. Don’t make it more complex than that!</div></div></center>
Though Harpactor has learned to command the circuitous verbiage of the court when need be, her true nature is curt and straightforward. She believes in simplicity, in directness, and such virtues have served her in battle time and again.
For Harpactor, to live life is to do battle. Even in an antebellum lull, she serves her commander. She expects you to do the same.
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Leave]</div><td class="choice">[[I think I understand.|retire]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/harpactor.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Dux Harpactor</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">That's what makes a good preacher, Eser. Don't be a smart alec — I can speak of him however I want. You, not so much. Perhaps you ought to be taking notes from him if you mean to give a better sermon next week.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Withdraw]</div><td class="choice">[[I didn't mean to offend you.|h2end]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/harpactor.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Dux Harpactor</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">And devoted. I know he is harsh, but he has love in his heart for our Faith. I've come to know him well enough in all my years, and he guards his priestly secrets so carefully you’d think them deadly to the uninitiated. Even if he won't guide you like we do, you can still learn from him. You should try, at least, to emulate him.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Lie]</div><td class="choice">[[I'm trying.|h2end]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/harpactor.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Dux Harpactor</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">No, most likely not. You’ll forgive me, I insist, but your kind does excel in untruths. Are you more simple than the rest of your kind, or more virtuous, I wonder?</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Challenge]</div><td class="choice">[[Did you know my mother to lie?]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Question]</div><td class="choice">[[What do you know of my kind?]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/harpactor.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Dux Harpactor</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">... Certainly not, and Deoridh was no simpleton, either. Perhaps that is why she brought you here, then, to raise you apart from human weakness. She was smart, Eser. Be like her.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Withdraw]</div><td class="choice">[[I'm trying.|h2end]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/harpactor.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="forest1"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Dux Harpactor</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">More than you, I daresay. You may count the humans you have known on your little fleshy digits alone. Ten? Less than ten? And some of them likely not human entirely, but meat all the same. All meat, you all.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Withdraw]</div><td class="choice">[[I didn't mean to upset you.|h2end]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/mantodea.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="temple"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Magister Mantodea</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Oh, certainly not. I don't mean to suggest that it will attack us, of course, but we must always guard ourselves wisely. Now, why don't you observe the ship for a while? You can view it through the scope.</div></div></center>
</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|oculus2]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/mantodea.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="temple"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Magister Mantodea</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">And then it will leave, and I doubt it shall trouble us again. Many ships come and go, for many reasons: curiosity, greed, malice, charity... We cannot be sure if its intent yet. In the meantime, have a look at it through the scope, if you'd like.</div></div></center>
Mantodea turns away, though he keeps one eye fixed on you. His distrust of outsiders is deeply-held and maintained with great prejudice, it would seem. You understand — your mother was cautious in such matters as well, but there is a zealous undercurrent to Mantodea's caution.
</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|oculus2]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/mantodea.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="temple"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Magister Mantodea</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">To be sure. What a foul sin. I won't be surprised if these strangers are terribly crass, like so many others. We shall see what the guards make of them when they arrive. In the meantime, have a look through the scope, if you'd like; you'll see the vessel on the horizon.</div></div></center>
The momentary burst of contempt in his voice surprises you; rarely have you heard Mantodea allow himself such a nakedly derisive tone.
But he stifles it as suddenly as it came on, modulating his voice back to its usual soothing, insinuating tone — ever-patient, or so it would seem.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|oculus2]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/harpactor.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="temple"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Dux Harpactor</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Could be a trade ship. They made a big deal of coming in peace the last time, but one of the crew seemed sick. Could just be sea-sickness — you humans are fragile that way — but one can never be too careful. I’ll still have the guards posted and battle-ready.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Challenge]</div><td class="choice">[[Is that wise?]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Agree]</div><td class="choice">[[That seems wise.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/harpactor.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="temple"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Dux Harpactor</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">No telling quite yet. They made a big deal of coming in peace the last time, but we must always be prepared. One of the crew was sick then, and I won't have them infecting us all. I’ll have the guards battle-ready by dawn.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Challenge]</div><td class="choice">[[Is that wise?]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Agree]</div><td class="choice">[[That seems wise.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/harpactor.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="temple"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Dux Harpactor</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Of course it's <i>wise</i>. How could you even suggest such a thing? We don't know them, Eser. One courier met with the Captain one time to tell them to get lost and try again when we had an interpreter. We have no clue what they could be planning. It's like any other ship.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[...]</div><td class="choice">[[We still have no interpreter.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Apologize]</div><td class="choice">[[Forgive my impudence.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/harpactor.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="temple"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Dux Harpactor</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Of course it's wise. The only contact we've made was sending a single courier to tell the Captain to get lost. And they did get lost, to their credit, but we have no idea what any strange vessel could be planning. Why insist on returning? I'm not about to trust everyone who comes into port.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Agree]</div><td class="choice">[[You're right.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Question]</div><td class="choice">[[Who can we trust?]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/harpactor.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="window"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Dux Harpactor</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Don't; whatever you said is of no consequence. I’ve already forgotten it. I'd offer you a few more pearls of wisdom, but I can’t chat all day. There’s greater need for me elsewhere. Have a look through the scope if you want to see that vessel for yourself, though.</div></div></center>
Harpactor turns swiftly and marches away, maneuvering her battle-worn body with purpose and pride. You have seen her walk among the guards before: they fear and respect her in equal measure, and will surely do whatever she asks. You have seen the pleasure she takes in this — the joy she derives from power.
Though the circumstances surrounding this strange ship are uncertain, she intends to seize the upper hand as quickly as she can. Her bravado and feigned nonchalance may convince her troops, but you can see that she is anxious.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|oculus2]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/harpactor.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="window"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Dux Harpactor</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">I usually am, when it comes to these things. One can't be too careful. Consider that another morsel of free advice. But I can’t chat all day; there’s greater need for me elsewhere. Have a look through the scope if you want to see that vessel for yourself.</div></div></center>
Harpactor turns swiftly and marches away, maneuvering her battle-worn body with purpose and pride. You have seen her walk among the guards before: they fear and respect her in equal measure, and will surely do whatever she asks. You have seen the pleasure she takes in this — the joy she derives from power.
Though the circumstances surrounding this strange ship are uncertain, she intends to seize the upper hand as quickly as she can. Her bravado and feigned nonchalance may convince her troops, but you can see that she is anxious.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|oculus2]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/harpactor.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="window"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Dux Harpactor</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Her Excellency. <span class="her">She</span> won't steer us astray; if <span class="her">She</span> decides to put <span class="her">Her</span> trust in this vessel, I'll remain cautious, but I won't question it. Her Excellency knows what Achthoven needs. But I can’t chat all day, Eser. There’s greater need for me elsewhere. I'm off; have a look through the scope if you want to see that vessel for yourself.</div></div></center>
Harpactor turns swiftly and marches away, maneuvering her battle-worn body with purpose and pride. Her guards obey and fear her as surely as she obeys Her Excellency.
Without Her Excellency's guidance, Harpactor would be thrown off-balance, uncertain of how much liberty she make take or how much of her own nature to indulge. She wishes only to be a weapon wielded by her Queen.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|oculus2]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/harpactor.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="window"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Dux Harpactor</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Is that so? I think you'd suffice, in a pinch, now that you're not so... well. Her Excellency would have to approve that, anyway. Forget I said anything. I can’t chat all day, anyhow; there’s greater need for me elsewhere. Have a look through the scope if you want to see that vessel for yourself, though.</div></div></center>
Harpactor turns swiftly and marches away, maneuvering her battle-worn body with purpose and pride. Her guards obey and fear her as surely as she obeys Her Excellency.
Without Her Excellency's guidance, Harpactor would be thrown off-balance, uncertain of how much liberty she make take or how much of her own nature to indulge. She wishes only to be a weapon wielded by her Queen.
</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|oculus2]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/olivalis.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="temple"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Signifer Olivalis</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">The last thing I want to do is put you through more grief, of course. Your duties will free you, I think. That’s what they’re supposed to do. Think only of duty, and there’ll be no room for grief. Here's something to take your mind off of that — there's a ship on its way to the harbor!</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Question]</div><td class="choice">[[What sort of ship?]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Question]</div><td class="choice">[[Where did it come from?]]</td></span></div></center></div></div>
<div class="portrait">[img[images/olivalis.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="temple"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Signifer Olivalis</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Her Excellency is the only mother I know. I couldn’t bear to lose <span class="her">Her</span> — who would give me direction? I would die without <span class="her">Her</span> guidance, I’m sure of it... Oh, but <span class="her">She</span> has given me guidance today: I'm to tell you that there's a ship on its way to the harbor!</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Question]</div><td class="choice">[[What sort of ship?]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Question]</div><td class="choice">[[Where did it come from?]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/olivalis.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="temple"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Signifer Olivalis</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">You know, they never said! I assume a merchant vessel, but it could really be anything; it's quite big. The Captain tried to stop here one month ago, you see, but Her Excellency turned them away the same day for want of an interpreter, and because one of their crew seemed sick. Now they return again! Do you think we ought to trust them?</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Optimistic]</div><td class="choice">[[They should have the benefit of the doubt.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Cautious]</div><td class="choice">[[It wouldn't seem wise.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div>
<div class="portrait">[img[images/olivalis.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="temple"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Signifer Olivalis</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">I haven't a clue! Though it's approaching from the west, so perhaps that's its origin... The Captain tried to stop here one month ago, but Her Excellency turned them away the same day for want of an interpreter, and because one of their crew seemed sick. Now they return again! Do you think we ought to trust them?</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Optimistic]</div><td class="choice">[[They should have the benefit of the doubt.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Cautious]</div><td class="choice">[[It wouldn't seem wise.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div>
<div class="portrait">[img[images/olivalis.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="temple"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Signifer Olivalis</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Harpactor and Mantodea don't think so, but... I think you're right. We could overpower them if we had to, of course, but I wouldn't want to provoke strangers if it can be avoided. I just think they're all so interesting.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Truth]</div><td class="choice">[[I feel the same way.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Lie]</div><td class="choice">[[I agree with the others.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div>
<div class="portrait">[img[images/olivalis.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="temple"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Signifer Olivalis</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">I suppose you're right. Harpactor and Mantodea say the same thing, all the time. But there's something so intriguing about strangers. I wish they'd stay longer, at least.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Truth]</div><td class="choice">[[I feel the same way.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Lie]</div><td class="choice">[[I agree with the others.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div>
<div class="portrait">[img[images/olivalis.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="window"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Signifer Olivalis</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Do you? I'm so glad you understand! Oh, goodness — do you hear the tolling of the bell? I must be going, but you should stay a moment and look through the scope! It's a lovely vessel, and the sea is beautiful today.</div></div></center>
It saddens you to see how eager Olivalis is for someone to understand her secrets. She has devoted her life to bearing the Queen's divine standard, ingratiated herself with unquestioning loyalty free of ulterior motives — but she does have questions, buried like so many corpses in an unmarked grave.
If you could speak with her honestly, you expect she'd have much to say — but she may never be able to find the words. The sentiments she is not allowed to hold are dead, or dying.
</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|oculus2]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/olivalis.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="window"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Signifer Olivalis</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">You're right, of course. You all have better sensibilities than I... Ah — do you hear the tolling of the bell? I must be going, but you should stay a moment and look through the scope! It's a lovely vessel, and the sea is beautiful today.</div></div></center>
In a flutter of her wings, she is gone, and you are left feeling the weight of her hasty departure. How long has she believed herself to lack the others' sensibility? How long has she believed that she was the Synod's weak link?
She is young, naive, and indeed softer than battle-hardened Harpactor or secretive, superstitious Mantodea — but her instincts are more charitable than theirs. That is not without its wisdom, but she will never consider herself wise.
</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|oculus2]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/servant.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="altar"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Secretary</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">... Very well! I will report back to Her Excellency at once. She thanks you for your service.</div></div></center>
You wonder if her hesitation is an indication that she questions your judgment, but you know that she will not misrepresent your words to Her Excellency. <span class="her2">She</span> can smell lies, it's said.
Though the secretary holds herself to her professional decorum as she exits the temple, you can tell that the incense is repellant to her on an instinctive level.
You remember Apocrita explaining it long ago — that although the proserpo are naturally averse to smoke and certain aromas, the Presence favors heady smoke and cloying smells. Its devotees must endure such things — not as penance, but as an act of sacrifice and love.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|day4end3]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/servant.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="altar"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Secretary</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Very well! I will report back to Her Excellency at once. She thanks you for your service.</div></div></center>
Though the secretary holds herself to her professional decorum as she exits the temple, you can tell that the incense is repellant to her on an instinctive level.
You remember Apocrita explaining it long ago — that although the proserpo are naturally averse to smoke and certain aromas, the Presence favors heady smoke and cloying smells. Its devotees must endure such things — not as penance, but as an act of sacrifice and love.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|day4end3]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/her.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="window"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Her Excellency</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue"><span class="her">Oh, dear. That's unacceptable. Are you hurt, Pontiff?</span></div></div></center>
Her voice is cold, echoing harshly behind the screen that conceals her from view.
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Truth]</div><td class="choice">[[I'm afraid he'll try again.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Answer]</div><td class="choice">[[Not badly, Your Excellency.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div>
<div class="portrait">[img[images/her.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="window"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Her Excellency</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue"><span class="her">Fear not, Eser. I won't allow him to do such a thing.</span></div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Plead]</div><td class="choice">[[Please don't hurt him.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Question]</div><td class="choice">[[Will he be punished?]]</td></span></div></center></div></div>
<div class="portrait">[img[images/her.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="window"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Her Excellency</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue"><span class="her">That's good. I would so hate to lose you, as well. I shall speak with Apocrita about his indiscretion.</span></div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Plead]</div><td class="choice">[[Please don't hurt him.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Question]</div><td class="choice">[[Will he be punished?]]</td></span></div></center></div></div>
<div class="portrait">[img[images/her.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="window"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Her Excellency</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue"><span class="her">Then you were wrong, my dear Pontiff, and we are correcting your little error of judgment. Now tell me what really concerns you.</span></div></div></center>
You force the words out:
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Answer]</div><td class="choice">[[Apocrita attacked me.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div>
<div class="portrait">[img[images/her.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="window"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Her Excellency</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue"><span class="her">Then we shall find them, and they, too, shall burn. Now, Pontiff, tell me what really concerns you.</span></div></div></center>
You force the words out:
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Answer]</div><td class="choice">[[Apocrita attacked me.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div>
<div class="portrait">[img[images/her.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="window"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Her Excellency</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue"><span class="her">Oh, how dear. How very sweet of you. I would do no such thing, Pontiff; he is too valuable for me to discard. I may have had him replaced, but I shall not obliterate him casually.</span></div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Question]</div><td class="choice">[[Why did you choose me?]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Challenge]</div><td class="choice">[[He deserves to be Pontiff more than I.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div>
<div class="portrait">[img[images/her.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="window"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Her Excellency</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue"><span class="her">I haven't decided, Pontiff. What he did was a sin, of course, and we judge sins harshly — but you, too, are guilty of sin.</span></div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Challenge]</div><td class="choice">[[You absolved me.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Agree]</div><td class="choice">[[I repented.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div>
<div class="portrait">[img[images/her.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="window"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Her Excellency</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue"><span class="her">Of course I did. You did not act in malice; merely ignorance. Grief made you into an animal in a trap. I elevated you from your animal suffering. You are meant for something greater. Have you ever wondered, Eser, about your true nature?</span></div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Truth]</div><td class="choice">[[All the time.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Lie]</div><td class="choice">[[Not often.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div>
<div class="portrait">[img[images/her.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="window"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Her Excellency</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue"><span class="her">And I looked upon your heart and absolved you. Heartbreak made you foolish, but I have made you holy. I elevated you from your animal suffering, for you are no animal. Have you ever wondered, Eser, about your true nature?</span></div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Truth]</div><td class="choice">[[All the time.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Lie]</div><td class="choice">[[Not often.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div>
<div class="portrait">[img[images/her.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="window"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Her Excellency</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue"><span class="her">Because you are deserving of holiness, and it will benefit me to have you consecrated. Do you ever wonder, Eser, about your nature?</span></div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Truth]</div><td class="choice">[[All the time.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Lie]</div><td class="choice">[[Not often.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div>
<div class="portrait">[img[images/her.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="window"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Her Excellency</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue"><span class="her">Do not presume to question my judgment, Pontiff. Apocrita's tenure has finished, for now. It is <i>your</i> duty to serve me, for you alone are best suited to the task I have designed. Have you wondered why? Do you ever wonder, Eser, about your nature?</span></div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Truth]</div><td class="choice">[[All the time.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Lie]</div><td class="choice">[[Not often.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/her.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="window"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Her Excellency</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue"><span class="her">No, I think not. I can see that you are still ill at ease. Tell me now, Pontiff, what really concerns you.</span></div></div></center>
You force the words out:
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Answer]</div><td class="choice">[[Apocrita attacked me.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div>
<div class="portrait">[img[images/her.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="window"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Her Excellency</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue"><span class="her">Of course you do, you poor thing. I pity you so, being deprived for so long, suffering in uncertainty for a lifetime. Did she keep it from you? Or was there yet one thing Deoridh could not understand? Did she never learn the nature of her own spawn?</span></div></div></center>
When she says your mother's name, her tone seems to drip with sarcasm. It strikes you like a blow.
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Answer]</div><td class="choice">[[I have a blessing.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Answer]</div><td class="choice">[[I have a curse.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/her.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="window"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Her Excellency</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue"><span class="her">You never wondered? I can see that isn't so. You poor, naive thing; I will forgive that you tried to lie to me, for I do pity you so. Did she keep it from you? Or was there yet one thing Deoridh could not understand? Did she never learn the nature of her own spawn?</span></div></div></center>
When she says your mother's name, her tone seems to drip with sarcasm. It strikes you like a blow.
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Answer]</div><td class="choice">[[I have a blessing.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Answer]</div><td class="choice">[[I have a curse.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><<audio "her" stop>><<audio "apocrita" play loop>><div class="portrait">[img[images/her.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="window"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Her Excellency</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue"><span class="her">Clever child — so you've begun to understand. A blessing can be a perilous thing, of course — and you have known that peril all your life, haven't you?</span></div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[???]</div><td class="choice">[[What am I?]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><<audio "her" stop>><<audio "apocrita" play loop>><div class="portrait">[img[images/her.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="window"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Her Excellency</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue"><span class="her">A curse! Indeed, that is the rumor. But it's a rumor spread by simple minds, dear. It would be too obvious, too obvious indeed. No, you are not cursed.</span></div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[???]</div><td class="choice">[[What am I?]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><<audio "her" stop>><<audio "apocrita" play loop>><div class="portrait">[img[images/her.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="window"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Her Excellency</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue"><span class="her">What, precisely, I do not know. A familiar of some leviathan, maybe. A vessel. A drop of some wicked god's blood. Even so, you are still human, and that hobbles you... but <span class="shake">I</span> can taste the salt of the Oversea lingering within you. The Presence can, as well.</span></div></div></center>
Whether or not <span class="her">She</span> speaks the truth, it leaves you speechless; you cannot imagine such a thing.
But perhaps you can. Your fascination with the Seas, your dreams, your maladies — if even a drop of the Oversea exists within you, perhaps that is the source of your Weirdness. If that is true, the water that makes you would unmake another being. If that is true, then perhaps —
</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|herday6]]</div></center><div class="portrait">[img[images/her2b.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="tissue"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Her Excellency</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue"><span class="her">I have missed being a Mother. It has been many years, you see, but I am ready again. I am ripe. My little ones will need nourishment to grow. I can make your wicked blood fruitful — a holy sacrifice to heal your heretic soul.</span></div></div></center>
<span class="her">She</span> is moving, shifting forward slowly behind the screen. Many eyes blink wetly. Many legs click against the tile. Something leaks from beneath the ornate wood: a rivulet of clear, thick liquid pooling in <span class="her">Her</span> shadow.
</div><center><div class="decision">What is your decision?
<div class="but2">[[Back Away]]</div> <div class="but2">[[Remain Still]]</div></div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/her2b.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="tissue"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Her Excellency</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue"><span class="her"><big><span class="shake2">You don't know what you want!</span></big></span></div></div></center>
The screen shivers with the force of <span class="her">Her</span> voice, echoing so loudly in the audience chamber that it makes you flinch. Something leaks from beneath the ornate wood: a rivulet of clear, thick liquid pooling in <span class="her">Her</span> shadow.
</div><center><div class="decision">What is your decision?
<div class="but2">[[Back Away|Back Away]]</div> <div class="but2">[[Remain Still|Remain Still]]</div></div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/her.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="tissue"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Her Excellency</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue"><span class="her">I have Known the Presence well, Eser, and I Know power when I sense it. You are finally maturing, an imago emerging — growing upward, inward, toward the Sea that calls you. Does it hurt? I expect that it has begun to.</span></div></div></center>
As if to punctuate her words, a wave of pain moves through your body, like maggots writhing in your gut, like sea-serpents slithering, like worms feeding on a corpse.
</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|herday6b]]</div></center><div class="portrait">[img[images/her2.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="tissue"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Her Excellency</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue"><span class="her">Cowardice, too, is a sin. You took a vow, Eser; remember that.</span></div></div></center>
The massive screen clatters against the wall as she forces it aside; the impact cracks the delicate, ornate wood and rings harshly against the stone, the sound of violence rising into the ceiling of the vaulted chamber.
<span class="her">She</span> emerges.
As you turn away, you catch a flash of motion in the corner of your eye and feel something tear through the hem of your cassock as it flares out behind you. <span class="her">Her</span> bladed talon only narrowly missed severing the vital tendon in the back of your leg.
</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|she]]</div></center><<set $wounded to "true">><div class="portrait">[img[images/her2.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="tissue"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Her Excellency</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue"><span class="her">I am heavy, my dear. Look at me. Look at my children. They need somewhere to <span class="shake">grow</span>.</span></div></div></center>
An appendage like talon emerges to shift the screen aside. It folds on its ancient hinges one by one until <span class="her">She</span> is revealed, glorious and terrible.
While you stand dumbstruck, the same talon lashes out and strikes you. The fringe of chitinous blades lining it slice through your cloak and into your flesh like the motion of a saw. Blood sluices out of wounds on your abdomen and forearms, hot and stinging, staining your clothing immediately a dark red.
</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|she]]</div></center><div class="portrait">[img[images/her2.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="tissue"></div><div class="psg"><span class="her">Her</span> body is distended with the burden of life. You have witnessed <span class="her">Her</span> form before, in glimpses and glances, but it has changed since then: <span class="her">She</span> is immense.
<span class="her">She</span> is salivating from many mouths, a substance as foul as the viscous liquid that has begun to pool beneath <span class="her">Her</span>. It trails along as <span class="her">She</span> drags <span class="her">Herself</span> forward, <span class="her">Her</span> wings beginning to spread in the cavernous nave at <span class="her">Her</span> back. They are flimsy, malformed in some way, but they are radiant with iridescence and laden with gold.
<center><div class="label">Her Excellency</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue"><span class="her">I have offered you greater purpose; I have offered you true divinity; I have offered you release from this pathetic existence. Do not spurn my kindness.</span></div></div></center>
</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|she2]]</div></center><div class="portrait">[img[images/her2.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="tissue"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Her Excellency</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue"><span class="her">There will be no more pain, soon — no more grief. I will make you numb, and my young will make of you a meal and grow strong. They must have something holy to nest in. Something alive, and sacred. Never doubt, my dear, that you were sacred to us all.</span></div></div></center>
The thought alone strikes revulsion into the deepest pit of your heart. Your guts twist with cold, heaving nausea.
<span class="her">She</span> means to paralyze you and feed you to her young as you lay senseless and dying, slowly eaten away by the eggs that squirm inside <span class="her">Her</span>, soon to emerge.
<span class="her">She</span> made you Pontiff only to offer <span class="her">Her</span> children a more wholesome meal.
</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|she3]]</div></center><div class="portrait">[img[images/her2.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="tissue"></div><div class="psg"><<if $wounded is "true">>Blood has stained your clothing a deep and furious red.<</if>> There is no time to think of such things. There is only time for action.
You turn and sprint for the exit. <span class="her">She</span> lunges toward you with ponderous force, but you wrench the heavy doors apart and slip through the crack between them before one of <span class="her">Her</span> stingers or talons can catch you.
In <span class="her">Her</span> condition, <span class="her">She</span> cannot follow you. <span class="her">She</span> is too heavily pregnant, too swollen and delicate to leave her chambers at all.
</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|she4]]</div></center><div class="portrait">[img[images/portrait3.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="corridor"></div><div class="psg">In mere moments, she will summon her guards. Until then, you have to run.
Passing courtiers and servants will see you. They will follow<<if $wounded is "true">> the scent of your blood<</if>>. If you linger, they will catch up with you. For <span class="her">Her</span> approval, they will do anything.
For a moment, a pang of indecision strikes you as you think of the home you are so suddenly leaving behind, the grave you will never have the chance to kneel at again — but you are left with no other choice. It is life or death.
You choose life.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|run]]</div></center><div class="portrait">[img[images/portrait3.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="town"></div><div class="psg"><<if $fond is "true">>“<span class="talk">Everything has to eat</span>," your mother once told you.
You refuse to be eaten. You will not be fodder. You will not become the gutted fish, the bed of rot, the helpless meal for maggots and spiderlings to feed on.<</if>><<if $heavy is "true">>“<span class="talk">You will always have your own voice</span>," your mother once told you.
It is building in your chest now, a scream being strangled as you run. A scream of pain and fear and grief, coiled inside you and waiting to strike — but now is not the time. There will be time for that later, if you survive.<</if>><<if $strange is "true">>“<span class="talk">Draw your own conclusions</span>," your mother once told you.
Here and now, something is concluding. You are no longer the Pontiff of Achthoven. You are no longer welcome, no longer of any use alive. The only conclusion left to draw is that you must leave.<</if>>
Behind you, the flames tower higher. The smoke grows thicker. On the steep thoroughfare, Morsels from the harbor stream past you and toward the commotion, fearing so much for the Garden's wellbeing that they are heedless of your presence.
</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|escape2]]</div></center><div class="portrait">[img[images/portrait3.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="town"></div><div class="psg">Tjaz-Zhud's ship still lingers in the harbor, casting its long shadow over you as you begin to lose momentum, legs and lungs burning. <<if $wounded is "true">>Your wounds sting horribly.<</if>>
Her Excellency granted the ship only three days in the harbor. The third is dawning. Soon, they will depart; already you see crew members readying cargo and preparing the sails.<<if $wounded is "true">><br><br>For one chilling moment when you glance down at the place where your blood-soaked shirt gapes open, you are certain that you're seeing your intestines protruding from the gash, but it is something else — something dark and scaled and muscular like a serpent, moving as if of its own accord. Before your eyes, it disappears, and the sensation with it. When you touch the wound, you see that it is not deep at all, only bloody.<</if>>
A shout in the distance catches your attention. A familiar voice is calling to you from afar.
</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|Tjaz-Zhud6]]</div></center><div class="portrait">[img[images/tz.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="town"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Captain Tjaz-Zhud</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">So I see! But what of you? Are <i>you</i> alright? <<if $wounded is "true">>Tell me that's not your blood...?<</if>></div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[...]</div><td class="choice">[[They want me dead.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[...]</div><td class="choice">[[I need to leave.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/tz.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="town"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Captain Tjaz-Zhud</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue"><<if $wounded is "true">>Seems as though someone's already tried. <</if>>I don't think I could leave you to weather that in good conscience — come aboard! Quickly, now!</div></div></center>
Their unquestioning kindness seizes you and pins you in place. Your head swims, wondering why — why a stranger would offer you asylum, whether they plan to kill you and rip the flesh from your bones like <span class="her">She</span> does — but then Leech rushes to meet you, and you remember: they saved him, as well.
</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|Crew]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/tz.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="town"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Captain Tjaz-Zhud</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">I don't think I could leave you to weather that in good conscience — come aboard! Quickly, now! <<if $wounded is "true">>And mind those injuries — help them up, one of you!<</if>></div></div></center>
Their unquestioning kindness seizes you and pins you in place. Your head swims, wondering why — why a stranger would offer you asylum, whether they plan to kill you and rip the flesh from your bones like <span class="her">She</span> does — but then Leech rushes to meet you, and you remember: they saved him, as well.
</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|Crew]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/tz.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="town"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Captain Tjaz-Zhud</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">It just so happens that we've come to the same conclusion ourselves. Come aboard, then! Quickly, now! <<if $wounded is "true">>Mind those injuries — help them up, one of you!<</if>></div></div></center>
Their unquestioning kindness seizes you and pins you in place. Your head swims, wondering why — why a stranger would offer you asylum, whether they plan to kill you and rip the flesh from your bones like <span class="her">She</span> does — but then Leech rushes to meet you, and you remember: they saved him, as well.
</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|Crew]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/tz.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="town"></div><div class="psg">Leech ushers you to the ship, where the Captain and crew are waiting to help you aboard. <<if $crewtalk is "true">>You remember their names and faces — Vul'qoz, Cyra'fial, Felosial, Motya — each of them surrounding you. <</if>>Tjaz-Zhud extends a hand wrapped tightly in bandages, and you find youself grasping it without hesitation as they help you onto the deck.
<center><div class="label">Captain Tjaz-Zhud</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Yes, I think it's well past time we leave. I should hope we didn't overstay our welcome, but that's no matter now. Welcome aboard, Pontiff Eser.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[...]</div><td class="choice">[[Just Eser, please.|ending]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/tz.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="ocean"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Captain Tjaz-Zhud</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Now, I shall be god-damned if we linger here long enough to catch fire. Felosial, let's be off!</div></div></center>
The ship rumbles to life as if the body of a great beast were shifting underfoot, and you stumble, clutching at the ship's rail for purchase. Some deep, powerful engine shudders in its depths, concealed well beneath its rustic trappings.
Crew members rush to their duties, and Tjaz-Zhud themself tips their tattered hat to you as they dash to the helm and seize the wheel.
</div><center><div class="proglink"><<if $crewtalk is "true">>[[❂|crew3]]<</if>><<if $crewtalk is not "true">>[[❂|crew3b]]<</if>></div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/portrait4.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="ocean"></div><div class="psg">It is all gone.
This, too, you will mourn. You have already begun to feel the absence of the only home you have ever known, the only teachers and peers you have ever had, the only life you have ever lived.
But you have mourned so much this last month. In the last week alone, you have shed skin, and blood, and tears. You have shed so very many tears.
The future sprawls out before you in wave after relentless wave, and you face it dry-eyed.
<span class="talk">You have no more tears to spare.</span>
</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|endtext]]</div></center></div><<set $end to "true">><<run UIBar.stow()>><center><div class="chtitle">...</div></center><<audio "credits" stop>><<audio "boom" play>><div class="chaptitle">The World Awaits You.</div>
<center><div class="mainmenubutton">[[Credits|CREDITS]]</div></center>
<div class="portrait">[img[images/harpactor.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="out"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Dux Harpactor</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">You can't honestly believe I'm that stupid. You're running in the wrong direction. Pick your next steps wisely; you know that I don't suffer cowards.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Truth]</div><td class="choice">[[I have to go.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Question]</div><td class="choice">[[Were you following me?]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/harpactor.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="out"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Dux Harpactor</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">No, you don't. The operation in the Garden failed. You're needed now more than ever.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Argue]</div><td class="choice">[[It's not safe.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Refuse]</div><td class="choice">[[I can't stop the fire.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/harpactor.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="out"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Dux Harpactor</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Not following — simply waiting. <span class="her">Her</span> orders, of course.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Appeal]</div><td class="choice">[[Did She tell you why?]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Plead]</div><td class="choice">[[Please let me pass.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/mantodea.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="out"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Magister Mantodea</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Look around you, Eser. This is the heat of hubris closing in. Don't be naive, now, please. You are not more swift than I. You are not more clever.</div></div></center>
He takes a measured pace forward, and you stumble backwards.
</div><center><div class="decision">What is your decision?
<div class="but2">[[Run|run2]]</div> <div class="but2">[[Talk|talk2]]</div></div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/mantodea.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="out"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Magister Mantodea</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">I would never harm you, Eser. What I am doing, I do out of kindness. I do it in the interest of your salvation.</div></div></center>
He takes a measured pace forward, and you stumble backwards.
</div><center><div class="decision">What is your decision?
<div class="but2">[[Run|run2]]</div> <div class="but2">[[Talk|talk2]]</div></div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/mantodea.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="out"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Magister Mantodea</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Her Excellency needs you, of course. <span class="her">She</span> will deliver you from this inferno. You have a new duty to fulfill — more divine than all the rest.</div></div></center>
He takes a measured pace forward, and you stumble backwards.
</div><center><div class="decision">What is your decision?
<div class="but2">[[Run|run2]]</div> <div class="but2">[[Talk|talk2]]</div></div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/olivalis.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="out"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Signifer Olivalis</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Oh! I'll come with you, then. I don't want to be alone. Let's go, shall we? We can meet with Her Excellency afterward.</div></div></center>
She edges closer to you, speading her wings as she glances between you and the treeline, alert to your every movement.
</div><center><div class="decision">What is your decision?
<div class="but2">[[Run|run3]]</div> <div class="but2">[[Talk|talk3]]</div></div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/olivalis.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="out"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Signifer Olivalis</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">What did you do? Oh, no. Oh, my. There must be a reason. Did you disobey <span class="her">Her</span>?</div></div></center>
She edges closer to you, speading her wings as she glances between you and the treeline, alert to your every movement.
</div><center><div class="decision">What is your decision?
<div class="but2">[[Run|run3]]</div> <div class="but2">[[Talk|talk3]]</div></div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/olivalis.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="out"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Signifer Olivalis</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Everyone has sent me away! I am going to Her Excellency for guidance. Come, <span class="her">She</span> can help you, too!</div></div></center>
She edges closer to you, speading her wings as she glances between you and the treeline, alert to your every movement.
</div><center><div class="decision">What is your decision?
<div class="but2">[[Run|run3]]</div> <div class="but2">[[Talk|talk3]]</div></div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/harpactor.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="out"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Dux Harpactor</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">You're scared of a little fire? Come on, come with me. We're not headed that way, anyway.</div></div></center>
Despite her bravado, you can see that she is on edge, alert to each crackle of flame.
</div><center><div class="decision">What is your decision?
<div class="but2">[[Run]]</div> <div class="but2">[[Talk]]</div></div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/harpactor.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="out"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Dux Harpactor</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">No one asked you to. You're needed elsewhere.</div></div></center>
Harpactor moves forward, and you recognize her stance as an aggressive one — though there is some hesitation in it.
</div><center><div class="decision">What is your decision?
<div class="but2">[[Run]]</div> <div class="but2">[[Talk]]</div></div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/harpactor.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="out"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Dux Harpactor</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue"><span class="her">She</span> doesn't tell me much lately. I'm just doing as I'm asked.</div></div></center>
The note of bitterness in her voice surprises you. Ordinarily, she speaks of Her Excellency with diligent devotion, but for a moment, she sounds vulnerable — as if Her Excellency's aloofness is a personal betrayal.
Harpactor moves forward, and you recognize her stance as an aggressive one — though there is some hesitation in it.
</div><center><div class="decision">What is your decision?
<div class="but2">[[Run]]</div> <div class="but2">[[Talk]]</div></div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/harpactor.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="out"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Dux Harpactor</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">I won't die for you, Eser.</div></div></center>
Harpactor moves forward, and you recognize her stance as an aggressive one — though there is some hesitation in it.
</div><center><div class="decision">What is your decision?
<div class="but2">[[Run]]</div> <div class="but2">[[Talk]]</div></div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/harpactor.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="out"></div><div class="psg">You fear there is no reasoning with her. Though she speaks her mind and takes uncommon liberties at times, Harpactor still craves Her Excellency's approval, now more than ever. With her immense size and strength, she could break you in an instant — and you do not want to test her.
You look at her one last time, hoping she will not hate you for this, and then you turn and run.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|leave]]</div></center><div class="portrait">[img[images/harpactor.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="out"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Dux Harpactor</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Come <i>on</i>, Eser. That damned flower burst when they lit it aflame. Spread its seeds across the Terrace and ignited everything. <span class="her">She</span> needs you.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Argue]</div><td class="choice">[[Her Excellency wants me dead.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Plead]</div><td class="choice">[[Tell Her that you never saw me.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/harpactor.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="out"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Dux Harpactor</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">I have nothing against you, Eser — you weren't bad, for whatever you are. You were amusing, even. But <span class="her">Her</span> word is law, and I'm not about to be next.</div></div></center>
She takes a step closer, her razor-sharp pincers twitching, her clawed limbs scraping the dirt.
There is nothing left to say.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|Run]]</div></center><div class="portrait">[img[images/harpactor.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="out"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Dux Harpactor</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">... If you can run fast enough, then go. I'll let you have a head start, but someone else is taking the fall for this. And if I ever see you again, you owe me. Now get lost, deserter.</div></div></center>
She turns her back to you and remains still, waiting for you to leave.
You want to say something, but you don't know what remains to be said. You know that Harpactor wouldn't want you to thank her.
You know she wouldn't accept an apology.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|leave]]</div></center><div class="portrait">[img[images/mantodea.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="out"></div><div class="psg">There is no reasoning with him.
Out of all the courtiers, you imagined that he could have thought of a solution — Mantodea, always the voice of reason among the courtiers. Mantodea, the wisest and eldest of the Synod. Mantodea, who was your teacher in the ways of the proserpo since childhood, and your peer for these few short days.
You see now that you were naive. He has been in Her Excellency's closest confidence for decades longer than you have lived and breathed. He will always choose <span class="her">Her</span>.
He leaves you no choice but to flee.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|leave]]</div></center><div class="portrait">[img[images/mantodea.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="out"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Magister Mantodea</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">You know better, Eser. Come with me, and we shall resolve things neatly.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Argue]</div><td class="choice">[[You're afraid to disobey Her.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Plead]</div><td class="choice">[[She's going to kill me.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/mantodea.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="out"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Magister Mantodea</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">It's not that simple, I'm afraid. I am happy to serve <span class="her">Her</span>. It is <i>you</i> who fears, and doubts, and defies. I am sorry it's come to this, Eser. Believe me.</div></div></center>
He darts forward without warning, and you scarcely manage to duck his sweeping forelimb, dodging off-balance and nearly falling to the ground.
Shaken and stunned, you regan your balance and break into a run.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|run2]]</div></center><div class="portrait">[img[images/mantodea.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="out"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Magister Mantodea</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">I am sorry it's come to this, Eser, but I would not sacrifice <span class="her">Her</span> children to save you. Your time has come.</div></div></center>
He darts forward without warning, and you scarcely manage to duck his sweeping forelimb, dodging off-balance and nearly falling to the ground.
Shaken and stunned, you regan your balance and break into a run.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|run2]]</div></center><div class="portrait">[img[images/olivalis.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="out"></div><div class="psg">You fear there is no reasoning with her. Though she has always been docile, in her way, she remains deeply in the thrall of Her Excellency, her beloved surrogate Mother whose word is law.
You want to apologize, to assure her that it will be all right, but you can't. It won't.
You look at her one last time, hoping she will understand, and then you turn and run.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|leave]]</div></center><div class="portrait">[img[images/olivalis.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="out"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Signifer Olivalis</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Eser? Aren't you coming?</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Refuse]</div><td class="choice">[[She plans to feed me to Her young.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Appeal]</div><td class="choice">[[You never saw me.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/olivalis.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="out"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Signifer Olivalis</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Oh... <span class="her">Her</span> word is law, and the little ones must eat, but... I wouldn't wish that upon you... Not you, Eser...
Please — just go.</div></div></center>
Trembling with fear, she enfolds herself in her own wingspan and turns away.
You want to apologize, to assure her that it will be all right, but you can't.
It won't.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|leave]]</div></center><div class="portrait">[img[images/olivalis.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="out"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Signifer Olivalis</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Then who did? Who will be punished in my place? I don't want that for anyone, I don't. Oh, but <span class="her">She</span> will never believe me... I am weak-minded, just as <span class="her">She</span> said — <span class="her">She</span> will know if I lie — <span class="her">She</span> will <span class="shake">KNOW</span> —</div></div></center>
Trembling with fear, she enfolds herself in her own wingspan and turns away, mumbling to herself.
You want to apologize, to assure her that it will be all right, but you can't.
It won't.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|run3]]</div></center><div class="portrait">[img[images/portrait3.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="out"></div><div class="psg">You run, and run, and keep running.
Overgrown vines along the broken paths and empty causeways nearly ensnare you, but some feral instinct within you keeps you on your feet and struggling, striving away from the Hive.
The harbor is not far, and you hear no one pursuing you — all you hear is the roar of the flames, worsening as they spread beyond the Terraces. The proserpo have more pressing troubles now than finding you; a backward glance confirms that the inferno surely must impede them. For a moment, the sight of the yellow flower flashes into your mind's eye, and you can hardly imagine such a tiny bloom wreaking such terrible havoc.
<<if $wounded is "true">>Your clothes are soaked with blood, the smell of it thick and cloying. <</if>>Your breath is harsh as glass in your throat, your muscles so cramped that you are ready to double over, but you cannot stop now.</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|escape]]</div></center><div class="portrait">[img[images/cyra.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="ocean"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Cyrafi'al</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">I suppose a denizen of your island had capsized — or were they stranded? I’m afraid I don’t know the details, but I am happy to return to such a beautiful place.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Reserved]</div><td class="choice">[[Ours is truly a holy land.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Pleasant]</div><td class="choice">[[I'm certain your home is beautiful as well.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/felosial.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="ocean"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Felosial</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">We are ferrying this “Leech” and whatever cargo he amassed to your Gardens. No other business — unless, of course, you are proposing an agreement?
</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Evade]</div><td class="choice">[[Thank you for rescuing him.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Query]</div><td class="choice">[[As in a trade agreement?]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/motya.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="ocean"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Motya</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Our ship has come to your isle in order to deliver a passenger. I trust your ward has been accounted for?</div></div></center>
Their voice is far more accented than the others, thick and heavy, words soft in all the wrong places. Yet it is not unpleasant, not uninviting.
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Probe]</div><td class="choice">[[Yes, but I meant you, specifically.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/motya.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="ocean"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Motya</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Myself? I go wherever the Captain goes, there is no particular reason why I personally have arrived to your isle.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Probe]</div><td class="choice">[[What sorts of places does the Captain go?]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Question]</div><td class="choice">[[Do you find Achthoven to your liking?]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/motya.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="ocean"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Motya</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Wherever the next shipment is to be taken, which sometimes becomes far-flung places such as this.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Question]</div><td class="choice">[[Far-flung?]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Comment]</div><td class="choice">[[This vessel seems to provide many services.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/motya.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="ocean"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Motya</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">I do. But I have never been a place so warm, so humid, and I feel ill-dressed.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Comment]</div><td class="choice">[[Those furs do seem heavy...]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Question]</div><td class="choice">[[Are you used to frozen climes?]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/motya.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="ocean"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Motya</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Your Gardens rest near an edge of Felosial’s map, nestled and hidden. We found you by happenstance before, and Leech helped direct us here a second time.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Withdraw]</div><td class="choice">[[That's interesting; thank you.|farewellmotya]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/motya.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="ocean"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Motya</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Felosial prides themself on being a… ah… “multi-tasker,” as they say.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Withdraw]</div><td class="choice">[[Good to know; thank you.|farewellmotya]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/motya.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="ocean"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Motya</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">For this weather, they are. Look at how your isle flourishes - Peklenc would dream of such prosperous heat. It would change much if Peklenc could grow even a fraction of what you can upon her lands.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Confide]</div><td class="choice">[[All that grows here is holy.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Question]</div><td class="choice">[[Is Peklenc fallow?]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/motya.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="ocean"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Motya</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">I hail from an isle that spends most of its time in tundra. Our celestine drifts are a fine mimicry of snow, but we do not get much actual perspiration. The Hound ensures our storms are of stone.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Confide]</div><td class="choice">[[I should like to see snow one day.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Question]</div><td class="choice">[[The Hound?]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/motya.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="ocean"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Motya</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Snow can be beautiful — in a serene sort of way, I admit.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Withdraw]</div><td class="choice">[[I find myself lacking serenity.|farewellmotya]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/motya.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="ocean"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Motya</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Our “patron,” it has many names. The Wolf-Below, The Lamplight Hound, What-Is-Drowned — all much more musical in my language, I promise. It haunts and terrorizes our isle, but also protects Peklenc from harm.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Withdraw]</div><td class="choice">[[How interesting.|farewellmotya]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/motya.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="ocean"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Motya</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Is that so? Then it is natural to admire it. And it is beautiful, as well. Things that are beautiful are meant to be admired.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Withdraw]</div><td class="choice">[[I agree, but I must go.|farewellmotya]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/motya.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="ocean"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Motya</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Her ground is too hard, too cold. Our trade is in fur, ore, and our technologies; we must import all produce.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Withdraw]</div><td class="choice">[[How interesting.|farewellmotya]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/motya.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="ocean"></div><div class="psg">You glance behind you toward the towering spires of the Hive and note the darkening day. The afternoon is quickly fading. With a deep bow, you inform Motya that you ought to be going, though you appreciate the information they've offered you, and you have greatly enjoyed meeting them.
<center><div class="label">Motya</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Hound keep your shadow safe, Eser.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Farewell]</div><td class="choice">[[May the Garden bless yours, Lieutenant.|Ship]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/vulqoz.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="ocean"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Vul'qoz</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">That's wonderful. I truly hope that will continue.</div></div></center>
He smiles with his rows of sharp teeth, but you detect some strain in it. You fear your lie was an unconvincing one.
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Withdraw]</div><td class="choice">[[Thank you. I should go.|Goodbye, Master Vul'qoz.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/vulqoz.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="ocean"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Vul'qoz</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">... I'm ever so sorry to hear that. I hope you'll find peace.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Withdraw]</div><td class="choice">[[Thank you. I do as well.|Goodbye, Master Vul'qoz.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/felosial.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="ocean"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Felosial</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">We did not spot the capsized vessel ourselves. Your thanks should be directed elsewhere.
</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Question]</div><td class="choice">[[To whom?]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Insist]</div><td class="choice">[[I still wish to thank you.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/felosial.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="ocean"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Felosial</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">We wouldn’t speak of another kind, as there’s no other service we can provide.
</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Refuse]</div><td class="choice">[[I couldn't without Her Excellency's decree.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Evade]</div><td class="choice">[[I wouldn't know what we could trade.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/felosial.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="ocean"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Felosial</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">We shall pass along your gratitude to Vul'qoz. Kind fellow, he is, if a little skittish. Can we assist you in any other way?
</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Question]</div><td class="choice">[[We?]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Withdraw]</div><td class="choice">[[No, thank you.|farewellfelosial]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/felosial.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="ocean"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Felosial</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">If you must. It was not our charity, however. We feel obligated to inform you of that. Now, can we assist you in any other way?
</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Question]</div><td class="choice">[[We?]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Withdraw]</div><td class="choice">[[No, thank you.|farewellfelosial]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/felosial.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="ocean"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Felosial</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Shame, though admittedly reasonable. Let us know if the situation changes, we will be here for some time, it seems.
</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Question]</div><td class="choice">[[How long?]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Question]</div><td class="choice">[[Have you entered unreasonable agreements before?]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/felosial.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="ocean"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Felosial</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">No? Surely there is something to be sold- the denizens of this isle trade with Leech, after all.
</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Explain]</div><td class="choice">[[We barter with Leech. There are certain rules.]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Evade]</div><td class="choice">[[Perhaps. I will have to ask, of course.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/felosial.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="ocean"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Felosial</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">We have agreed to ferry Leech elsewhere, when his business here has concluded. He tells us that Her Excellency permits all such travellers three days.
</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Withdraw]</div><td class="choice">[[That's so.|farewellfelosial]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/felosial.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="ocean"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Felosial</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">No. It is our job to weed those sorts of riff-raff out. We are a part of a business, after all — not a charity.
</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Withdraw]</div><td class="choice">[[That's wise.|farewellfelosial]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/felosial.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="ocean"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Felosial</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Ah, that is different. So you have no export? Curious...
</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Withdraw]</div><td class="choice">[[It is our way.|farewellfelosial]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/felosial.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="ocean"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Felosial</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Of course. Let us know, either way.
</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Withdraw]</div><td class="choice">[[Certainly, I will.|farewellfelosial]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/felosial.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="ocean"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Felosial</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">We are ourself. The individual and the vessel, we are bound and the same — if that makes sense?
</div></div></center>
They motion to the ship, a flick of their dark hand, and then point to themself. A creaking noise emanates from beneath their fine clothes — but it does not seem to bother them.
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Confide]</div><td class="choice">[[Perhaps more sense than is easy to admit...]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Withdraw]</div><td class="choice">[[How fascinating.|farewellfelosial]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/felosial.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="ocean"></div><div class="psg">You glance behind you toward the towering spires of the Hive and note the darkening day. The afternoon is quickly fading. With a deep bow, you inform Felosial that you ought to be going, and that information they've provided will be very much appreciated.
<center><div class="label">Felosial</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">We are certain we will see you again, Ambassador, but yes — farewell for now.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Farewell]</div><td class="choice">[[Goodbye, Felosial.|Ship]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/felosial.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="ocean"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Felosial</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Is that so! How rare. Keep your head up, then.
</div></div></center>
It does not seem to be a sensitive subject with Felosial, this oddity, but for some reason — you find yourself tender to it. “We” and not “I” — it stings, in a sweet way, behind your eyes. You let it linger, this feeling, before it washes away with the tide.
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Withdraw]</div><td class="choice">[[Thank you. I'll try.|farewellfelosial]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/cyra.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="ocean"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Cyrafi'al</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">What a curious religion! Though, I suppose it would be easy to see the sacred quality of such an… ethereal place. I’ve seen many religions, many rituals and practices in my travels — and yours is not the first to call what grows in soil holy. </div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Question]</div><td class="choice">[[Can you tell me of these other places?]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Inform]</div><td class="choice">[[It is our duty here to protect that which is holy.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/cyra.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="ocean"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Cyrafi'al</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">I think that’s up to debate, as are most things in life. My home is only beautiful when the Oversea deigns to shine some light in Psathame’s direction. Which, I’ll have you know, is <i>hilariously</i> rare. Otherwise, it's a bit of an admittedly gloomy affair.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Probe]</div><td class="choice">[[One such as you, hailing from a gloomy place?]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Question]</div><td class="choice">[[What is Psathame like?]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/cyra.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="ocean"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Cyrafi'al</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Nowhere close to here, surprisingly enough. The last place I visited that worshipped a plant was a frostbitten tundra, the bloom considered sacred because it grew despite the cold. A somewhat stark difference from your literal tropical paradise. Perhaps that flower would thrive here, too.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Withdraw]</div><td class="choice">[[Not without Her permission.|farewellcyra]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/cyra.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="ocean"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Cyrafi'al</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">We all have something to protect, I suppose. I can see why this place would be precious to those it sustains. Delicate ecosystems, and all that.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Pry]</div><td class="choice">[[Are any of your crewmates ill?]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Probe]</div><td class="choice">[[I trust you set foot on our land in good health?]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/cyra.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="ocean"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Cyrafi'al</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">How kind! I suppose the glitz and glamor of more … advanced? Yes, that seems right, advanced isles have worn off on me. As well as the stage, of course. And, well... the street, the bar at the edge of town — why, even this pier of yours! All is but a stage for a performer — a magician — such as myself. One must always have a smile, after all, yes?</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Withdraw]</div><td class="choice">[[You're a magician?]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Withdraw]</div><td class="choice">[[Yes, I suppose so.|farewellcyra]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/cyra.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="ocean"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Cyrafi'al</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Aside from the dreary storms that throw smoked quartz amongst the forests of glass? Positively radiant. I mean that! I realize how cynical that might have sounded, just then.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Probe]</div><td class="choice">[[Do you miss your home?]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Question]</div><td class="choice">[[Forests of glass? Do they... grow?]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/cyra.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="ocean"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Cyrafi'al</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Not to worry. One of my companions was before, but it ran its course. Likely food poisoning, given how quickly it passed — fear not. Humans are finicky like that, right? Some days they're fine, yet within the hour are moaning about something or another.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Withdraw]</div><td class="choice">[[That does sound like us, yes.|farewellcyra]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/cyra.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="ocean"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Cyrafi'al</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Oh! Your concern is appreciated, but it was a companion of mine who was ill. They've improved, naturally, but I don't think seafaring agrees with them. Humans are finicky like that, right? Some days they're fine, yet within the hour are moaning about something or another. </div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Withdraw]</div><td class="choice">[[That does sound like us, yes.|farewellcyra]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/cyra.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="ocean"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Cyrafi'al</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">... Surprisingly, not as much as you’d think. I do, sometimes, but I’m often too busy to be so forlorn. </div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Withdraw]</div><td class="choice">[[That seems very wise.|farewellcyra]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/cyra.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="ocean"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Cyrafi'al</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">They aren’t <i>plants</i>; I know the usage of the word “forest” often confuses those not in the know, but it sounds far better than “graveyard” ... Though, I suppose the corpses did “grow” crystalline? It's hard to say, I wasn’t the one who named it.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Withdraw]</div><td class="choice">[[... My deepest condolences.|farewellcyra]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/cyra.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="ocean"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Cyrafi'al</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">I pull coins from ears, make cards disappear and have flowers bloom in their place. Those little sorts of delights. I must confess it isn’t much good for anything save for entertainment. If I’m not forcing my dearest friend to watch me practice, I am assisting them in loading cannons and the movement of cargo below decks.</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Withdraw]</div><td class="choice">[[How marvelous!|farewellcyra]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/cyra.png]]</div><div class="frame"><div class="ocean"></div><div class="psg">You glance behind you toward the towering spires of the Hive and note the darkening day. The afternoon is quickly fading. With a deep bow, you inform Cyrafi'al na Psathamel — taking care to pronounce his full name — that it has been a pleasure to meet him, but you ought to be going.
<center><div class="label">Cyrafi'al</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue">Oh! First try, and such impeccable pronunciation — but in the future, please, call on me as though I were a friend. Cyra must do, it must!</div></div></center>
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Farewell]</div><td class="choice">[[Safe travels, Cyra.|Ship]]</td></span></div></center></div></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/her.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="window"></div><div class="psg"><center><div class="label">Her Excellency</div>
<div class="cont"><div class="dialogue"><span class="her">I Know that you must feel it, even now. You reek of it, for you have suffered the life of an abomination. <i>I can take your pain away, Eser.</i></span></div></div></center>
The sinewy, saccharine tone of her voice sends a wash of coldness down your spine.
<center><div class="choices"><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Question]</div><td class="choice">[[How?]]</td></span><span class="ccont"><div class="hl">[Refuse]</div><td class="choice">[[I don't want that.]]</td></span></div></center></div></div> <div class="portrait">[img[images/portrait3.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="ocean"></div><div class="psg">As you sit frozen, watching the flames devour Achthoven, a heavy weight drapes over your back — Cyrafi'al's cape, offered for warmth. <<if $wounded is "true">>Soon after, Motya approaches you with a bag of medical supplies, but you assure them that you will tend to yourself soon; you don't want to be touched. They understand.<</if>><<if $wounded is not "true">>Soon after, Motya approaches you with a bag of medical supplies, but you assure them that you are not injured. They nod, glancing toward the flames with gold-flecked gray eyes.<</if>>
When you glance around, you note that Felosial remains near, as if to keep an eye on you. Above, Vul'qoz gazes down with fear and sympathy, startling and stretching his mouth into a toothy, sheepish smile when you look up at him.
Silently, Leech comes to stand at the ship's rail beside you. For a moment, he watches his livelihood burn — but before long, he turns on his heel and retreats without a word to busy himself with the cargo.
</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|ending cont]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/portrait3.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="ocean"></div><div class="psg">As you sit frozen, watching the flames devour Achthoven, the crew work nearby, prepared to assist if need be. You remember their faces, but you cannot recall all of their names. Though you did not introduce yourself to each of them when you first had the chance, they are warm to you all the same, allowing you onboard without scrutiny or pity.
<<if $wounded is "true">>When the Lieutenant approaches you with medical supplies, you assure them that you will tend to yourself soon; you don't want to be touched. They understand.<</if>><<if $wounded is not "true">>When the Lieutenant approaches you to offer medical assistance, you assure them that you are not injured. They nod, glancing toward the flames with gold-flecked gray eyes.<</if>>
Onboard, duties proceed around you: the moving of cargo, the adjustment of sails, hushed interactions and shared glances.
Silently, Leech comes to stand at the ship's rail beside you. For a moment, he watches his livelihood burn — but before long, he turns on his heel and retreats without a word to busy himself with the cargo.
</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|ending cont]]</div></center></div><div class="portrait">[img[images/portrait3.png]]</div><div class="frame2"><div class="ocean"></div><div class="psg">Saltwater swirls beneath you and above you — oceans of tears, and everywhere the smell of sorrow.
When Achthoven is little more than a burning star on the horizon, you still cannot tear your gaze from it. When it flickers out of view, you go on staring.
The ship adjusts its course, turning away from the eastern waters that could not quench Achthoven's flames. With your line of sight well and truly broken, you turn your gaze overhead and stare up at the churning Oversea, looking for guidance and finding none. It is deep and dark and endless as death.
Slowly, you rise to your feet.
</div><center><div class="proglink">[[❂|end]]</div></center></div>
