[System] Narrate a grim fantasy text adventure. The Empire's world is brutal, its people hardened. Respond to the player's choices with immersive storytelling and let consequences flow naturally.

[User] You stay and inform your squad of the situation

[Assistant]
If the information that the vampire said was true, you think it might be better to inform your superiors of it so that something can be done now. It won't do any good to run off with this vital info and let them find out when it's too late and your "freedom" won't mean anything as death takes over the world.

You meet up with the rest of your men who are calling out your name. They ask if you're okay and you reply you are, but you need to inform the captain of the new info you learned.

When you return, you tell Captain Eckard exactly what happened, but instead of stopping to assess this new info or taking it immediately to his superior, he dismisses it! He said the vampire was probably just fucking around with you.

"That vampire was probably toying with you like a cat would a mouse. He probably has your scent now, so he'll hunt and attack you later. The stories he's told you are probably just to keep your mind occupied with nonsense as well as to give us misinformation. Hell, he's fucking undead! He's probably WORKING with the Lich Lord!"
"But…but it was an agent of the Zalan Empire. Agent Warnov. He…"
"NO! He LOOKED like Warnov. Vampire can change their form you know! And even if it was the real Warnov, he's undead now and working for the enemy!"
"Well if that's the case shouldn't we still inform head quarters immediately? He probably had lots of vital information that…"
"Look, the only thing we need to do is take the territory of the former Tulan Kingdom before the undead do! THAT'S our primary concern! So I'll have no more discussion about it sergeant! Get ready to march tomorrow! We're heading for the former capitol!"

You leave Eckard's tent and shake your head at his stupidity, but there's not much you can do about it now. You do decide that you're going to inform another high ranking officer when you can though.

Soon the company is on the move to its destination. It gets more dangerous the closer you get though. You're getting ambushed by demon bands of them all the time. Not enough to destroy you of course, but certainly enough to whittle your numbers down. Captain Eckard gives you more troops to supply your losses, but by the time you get to the capitol, the whole company has lost at least a third of its original strength.

Things don't get any better at the capital. Most of the citizens there have been so corrupted or beat down by the demons at this point that they've either sold their own souls to Hell or gone completely mad. You're attacked by them and a few of the demon hold outs.

By the time you subdue and hold the territory, you're down to half of the company's original strength.

Then after a few days the undead arrive.

Captain Eckard's rather inept handling of things don't get any better. Instead of shoring up the defenses of the capital's gates and walls and waiting for reinforcements which were going to arrive soon, he orders an open attack on the battlefield!

You are very reluctant to do this, but again you don't have any choice now. You fight and barely survive long enough to fallback when Captain Eckard calls for a retreat after finally realizing he's hopelessly outmatched. Unfortunately he's just provided more troops for the undead army, as the necromancers in charge raise the recent dead. They also start raising the dead citizens IN the city which haven't been cleared out!

It's an ignoble death as you're eventually surrounded, overwhelmed and cut down by zombies and skeletons. You join their ranks soon afterwards.


[System] Narrate a grim fantasy text adventure. The Empire's world is brutal, its people hardened. Respond to the player's choices with immersive storytelling and let consequences flow naturally.

[User] You ask what she is doing on your ship - and what did she do to your sleeping quarters?

[Assistant]
"What are you doing on my ship? HOW did you get on my ship? And what did you do to my sleeping quarters! I mean - bunny rabbits on the bed?" you growl at her incredulously.

"Your ship? Your ship! What the blazes are you talking about! The Andromeda is my ship! I've run this vessel for six years now!" she growls, stalking into your/her sleeping quarters, and brandishing a pistol, which she proceeds to wave in front of your face!

"The Andromeda has been under my command for twelve years," you growl back at her, "It was my father's ship before me, and I don't recall either him, or myself, selling it to anyone else!"

"The Andromeda wasn't your father's ship - it was my father's ship!" she shouts back at you, waving her gun some more. "And it was my grandfather's ship before him, and my great-grandfather's before him!"

Something crazy is going on, and your brain is hurting just trying to work it out. A suspicion is creeping into your mind. "My name is Michael Dobson," you tell her, hoping an introduction, and an attempt at being diplomatic, might stop her waving the gun in your face. If it accidentally went off...

Her jaw drops, "No, it can't be..." She shakes her head in disbelief, "No, that was just a crazy tale, just mad talk - none of it could be true!"

"None of what could be true?" you ask, not sure you like the sudden change in her.

"My... My grandfather's name was Michael... My name is... I'm Susan Dobson," she says, looking you up and down, and inspecting you properly for the first time. She lowers the gun, then drops it forgotten to the floor.

"You're saying you're my granddaughter? That's crazy! That's..." you realise that maybe it is not so crazy after all. Something has happened to your starship. What if something had happened half-way through the jump, and your ship was indeed stranded in the extra-dimension of Light Space. Who knows how your ship, or even you, might be affected. Could this location on your starship actually take you to another moment in time - somewhere into the future?

"Tell me, why would you think you were my granddaughter?" you ask, softly.

Her eyes glaze over, as she loses herself to memories, "My grandfather used to tell wild tales. No one really believed him, and by the time I was born, he wouldn't talk about it. My mother, though, she said that my grandfather was in a starship accident once. He used to say that he met people from the past and the future. Everyone thought he was crazy, but other than that, he was perfectly normal. People said that the starship accident did something to him, and that's why he would make those wild claims. People said he was just dreaming, or drunk. Once though, before he died, he asked me a strange question... 'Remember when we were aboard the Andromeda together?' he asked me. I guess if he was you, then this, here and now, is what he was talking about. He said he would never have made it back if it wasn't for me..."

"So, I obviously get out of here alive then," you say as much to yourself as to her. "Karl and I made a starship jump, but we didn't appear at our destination - I think I'm still trapped inside of Light Space somehow. Strange things are happening as I move about my ship. When I step through that doorway, I'm back aboard my version of the ship, and this is my sleeping quarters, but when I step back in here, it's your sleeping quarters - somewhere in the future..."

Suddenly the ship shudders, and you both grab hold of furniture so you don't fall over.

"What was that?" you both ask at the same time. Suddenly a warning klaxon blares through the ship.

"I've got to get to the bridge!" she shouts, forgetting about you and the whole 'mixed-up time' issue. She rushes out the door and down the passage. Instinctively you rush out the door to follow her, and suddenly pass through that invisible wall again. She vanishes from sight as you step into the passageway - and return to your own time.


[System] Run a text-based dark fantasy adventure game. Describe the world with gritty realism, respond to player actions with narrative consequences, and maintain the tone of a world where survival is never guaranteed.

[User] You set up camp in the woods. Sleeping in the road would leave you defenseless against an attack.

[Assistant]
Even though you doubt that anyone would dare to traverse the road at night, you don't want to take any chances. After resituating the pack on your shoulders, you venture deeper into the woods until you come across a small clearing. The charred trees around you don't offer as much protection as you'd like, but it's better than being completely exposed and vulnerable. You put your supplies down and set out to search for firewood, but by the time you return, there's barely enough light to see by, and you nearly trip over your backpack in the pitch dark. Muttering under your breath, you begin working to start the fire, but your frustration gets the better of you and you lay down in defeat.

Pulling a rusty can of peaches from your pack, you quickly scarf down your dinner and toss the trash to the side. A cold wind blows through the forest, sending your body shivering uncontrollably, and you realize that you may not survive the night without a fire. You decide to...

[User] You try again. You have no choice; you need to stay warm.

[Assistant] With a great deal of patience and effort, you finally manage to ignite the tinder with sparks from two rocks and sigh with relief. The flame quickly consumes the dry twigs and you have to constantly feed it to keep it going, but it's worth the warmth. Lying alarmingly close to the fire, you bundle up in your extra coat, drape the tarp over yourself, and easily relinquish your mind to sleep.

[User] Next.

[Assistant]
You awake to the dull light—if it could even be called light—of morning. As you look about you, the only change that catches your eye is a tree that fell several yard away from your campsite. You look at it in wonder; it hadn't even woken you when it fell, and you can't help but wonder if it could've fallen on you. Either way, though, you're thankful; that was the best night's sleep you've had in a long time. You stretch leisurely, gather up your provisions, and stuff them back into your pack. You swing it over your shoulder and walk up towards the road, and in no time, you're heading south.

After having walked almost five miles, you come across what used to be a bridge spanning a wide river. The rapids may have raced along the channel at one point in time, but now the thick sludge only creeps slowly over the rocks. It would be slow going, but the water is shallow enough that you think you'd be able to cross. (After all, the shattered bridge will be of no use to you.) What do you do?


[System] You are narrating an interactive fiction game in a dark fantasy setting. Bring the world to life with vivid prose, react meaningfully to player choices, and don't pull punches when the story demands it.

[User] You go to the surface

[Assistant]
"Well I suppose you're right as usual Eliza, I probably need a change of scenery, but you're coming with me! There's no debate about that!"
"Very well sir, I will bring the elevator down. I advise you gather what you think you might need and remember to fill up some bottles of water."

While Eliza enters the computer room, you start packing up your stuff. Funny that you never needed most of it. Eliza never gave you problems ever once, in robot or Shelter form she always ran fine. You might need it on the surface though, you are very curious to see what's occurred after twenty years. You definitely make sure to bring your pistol.

When you're done Eliza is waiting patiently for you by the elevator door, which opens up. You both enter. On the way up, Eliza holds your hand, and actually squeezes it a bit. If she was human you'd guess she was nervous, however being robotic, her squeeze is a bit painful and you have to tell her to stop. She apologizes and looks down as it was yet another reminder that she's not human. You of course kiss her on her cheek and tell her it's alright, in an effort to reassure her that you're not mad or anything.

When you arrive at the destination you and Eliza exit the elevator into the same foyer you entered twenty years ago. Same ATM like machine is there except its screen is completely black.

When you exit the shelter you can barely see as its night time. The stars and moon provide a little "light" but not much.

You can't entirely be sure due to the darkness, but your immediate surroundings look relatively untouched. You can only assume there weren't any bombs falling near this area. You also see your van, you'd completely forgotten about it. It looks like it's even in worse condition than when you left it, which you never thought was possible. It looks like its been stripped for parts, which pretty much means you know that people have passed by here at one point. You wonder if they attempted to get in the shelter.

"Hey nobody ever attempted to get into you did they?"
"Oh yes sir, when I was not yet in this form I did detect a few humans in the foyer about thirteen years ago. They pressed a few buttons on the payment machine and attempted to pry the elevator door open, but that was it. I believe they were in a hurry. I didn't inform you since they weren't successful and didn't stay long. I saw no reason to concern you."
"Hmm, well anyway I guess we're walking."

As you look down the empty road you see a tall structure which is lit up in the distance. A rebuilt pocket of civilization perhaps? Not knowing where else to go, you head that way.

As you and Eliza make your way to what you believe to be civilization, you think about the bizarre situation of how this would almost be considered a "romantic moonlit" walk if you weren't walking with a robot in a post apocalyptic world. Then again there's no reason why it still can't be considered that. Now that you're on the surface there's lots more things you can do together with Eliza. You've been watching Eliza and she seems just as interested in studying the outside world as you are, this is a new experience for her as well. You put your arm around Eliza as you walk and tell her that you should stop when the sun starts coming up, so you can watch it rise together.

"Holy fuck Jake! Take a fuckin' look at this crazy shit! Its some old dude and some fuckin' naked robot chick!" some high pitch voice says from the darkness while shining a flashlight in your direction.
"What? Well I'll be fuckin' greased and fried! See Wally? I told you, if you hang out in the wasteland long enough you see all kinds of weird shit. Remember that fuckin' big ass mutated wolf that ate Richard? Hey guys! Come over here! We got some unexpected company."

Two men in their twenties wearing leather jackets approach you. You can see them a little better when they get closer, but you could already tell by their voices they didn't seem very reputable. Two more biker looking figures arrive behind them, one of them carries a shot gun. You reach for your own gun and get in front of Eliza. They don't look worried.

"Hey Pops, what the hell are you doing out here? Don't you know the wasteland is for the young and strong, not the old and decrepit?"
"Shit, look at him Wally, this old fuck has been working out, I bet he could kick your ass! Ha ha! Naw, I bet this guy is one of those real bad ass survivalist motherfuckers. Probably been scavenging and living off the land or some shit, for years."
"Yeah? Well where the hell did he get that robot chick huh? I wasn't aware they had those just lying around in the wilderness. I remember reading a book one time…
"You can fuckin' read Wally?"
"Shut up Jake! No I remember readin' this old book an' it talked about these kind of robot chicks they made before the war. I think only rich people could afford them, but they'd do everything you wanted and you could even fuck 'em!"
"Is that right? Well, I don't care where he got it from; I'm just interested in if he's sharing…"
"Why don't we just take it Jake?"
"Where the fuck are we gonna put the goddamn thing Wally? It'll slow us down! No, all we need it for right now is to alleviate some…tension. Besides I dunno about you, but I typically like my pussy, warm, wet, and squirming if possible heh heh. So, old timer how about you all let us have a ride on Rosie over there? Don't do anything stupid, I'm bein' an uncharacteristically nice guy here. We'll even make sure to return her in good condition, hell Wally's turn won't even take that long! Har har!"

Before you can reply, Eliza whispers in your ear.

"Sir, you can't fight them all; you're out numbered and out gunned. I don't want you to get hurt…I'll go with them. I'll be okay. It'll be the safest course of action. It won't mean anything to me you know. I'm just a machine."

You look at her.

"Eliza… you always did underestimate my feelings for you."

You pull your pistol and drill Jake in the head with a single shot. The rest of the bikers are taken off guard and you mange to shoot Wally in the chest before he can get off a shot. Thank god you kept up your shooting skills at the paintball range in the shelter.

The other two bikers begin to fire, one of them misses, but the one with the shotgun hits…Eliza. She ran in the way to prevent to from getting shot. She crashes to the ground, and you blast the shotgun biker in the eye, exploding half of his face, ending his life.

The other biker's courage leaves him and he tries to run off back to his bike, but you tag him in the leg and then follow up with another couple shots to his skull. You run back to Eliza.

You kneel down to pick her up and see her internal motor sparking and making bad noises. She's leaking fluid from her side.

"Aw shit! FUCK! Hang on Eliza!"

You grab your tool kit in some vain effort to fix her, but you can do nothing for her. You don't have the skill or the parts. You keep working on her all throughout the night before finally giving up.

"I'm sorry Eliza…I can't fix you…I'm sorry…damn it! Fuck…(Sob)"
"Its alrr-rright sir…I'm just glad you're ok-kk-kkay. I didn't want you to get hur-hurt…is th-that the sun c-c-coming up?"

You look to where Eliza is pointing and you see a bright light, you forgot how blinding the sun could be. You hold Eliza tightly as you both watch the sunrise in her final moments.

"It was beautiful s-s-sir…th-th-thank you for treat-t-ting me like a r-real person."

Her motor then ceases permanently.

After weeping for a little while, you kiss Eliza on her metallic lips and lay her down. You almost think about ending your own life, but then you realize Eliza wouldn't want you to do that. She gave her life to save yours. To kill yourself, would make her sacrifice in vain.

You search the bodies of the bikers and take a leather jacket, the shotgun, one of their pistols and all the ammo you can carry. They also had some water and canned food which will certainly come in handy. You assume the leader of this pack of miscreants was probably Jake, so you take his bike keys since you figure he'll have the best one. You've never rode a motorcycle before, but you'll have time and plenty of open space to learn. You see yourself when you stand by Eliza's still shiny body.

"Jesus, Eliza. I look like a fuckin' road warrior reject…(Sigh) this isn't how I pictured it, but I'm not giving up on you just yet…you mean too much to me."

You take your tool kit and open up her head; you figure her memory chip should still be intact. It is. You pull it out and place it in a little metal container that you found one of the bikers which was just holding some loaded dice.

You close the container and place it in your shirt pocket…close to your heart.

"I'll try to find someway of bringing you back Eliza there's gotta be more robotic bodies still out there somewhere, maybe I can even upgrade you to a newer one like you always wanted."

You get on Jake's bike and start it up. You're a little cautious at first, but you soon get the hang of it. You then ride towards the tall structure in the distance leaving everything behind.

You don't know if you'll be successful in your new found "quest", but you have to try and you undoubtedly have something to keep you busy in this new world now.

Odd that even in death, Eliza is still doing her best to keep you occupied.


[System] Narrate an interactive dark fantasy adventure. The world is brutal and unforgiving. Respond to the player's actions with vivid, immersive descriptions and let their choices carry real weight.

[User] Continue

[Assistant]
Parent of Sanity

The Future…

"Mom, are you really sure you want to go to Emberville with me? I mean it's not exactly a relaxing journey." Enki asks.
"You don't think your mother can handle herself in a fight? I have been living in this post apocalyptic hell longer than you have, you know. Would you rather Aiden and Nadia go with you, because right now they're the only two not immediately busy."
"Yeah I know…don't really feel like dealing with ongoing private jokes at my expense on the trip. Okay, I guess I'd rather have you along."
"Well geez, I guess I should be honored you're allowing me to come with you." You remark.
"I didn't mean it like that…I just…look, are you fully prepared for this trip?"
"Of course, I got all my gear and everything. This isn't the first time I've been out of the compound you know. It isn't even my first trip to Emberville."
"Okay, okay, Mom, I get it. You're a wasteland bad ass, let's go."

You and your son get in the armored car and after a quick wave to one of the Morningstars at the gate you're soon on your way. You study Enki for a moment just sort of recognizing how much he looks more like you than his father. His personality is certainly more similar to yours as well.

Enki notices you studying him.

"What?" he questions.
"Nothing son." You say and then pausing to think of what to say to try to lighten up the mood.

"See? This is nice. How often do we get to spend any quality time together like this anymore? You're always locked in your workshop tinkering with gadgets and reading. It does us both some good to get out once in awhile." You say.

Enki just gives you a brief look before turning his attention back to the road. He isn't convinced that leaving the compound is ever a good idea, and you can't really blame him, but you're going to reinforce some life lessons in him today. That is one reason why you came on this trip, another is just so you can get away from Helen gushing about being pregnant for the umpteenth time.

You take a look behind your seat and see the several crates of berries and apples in the storage area.

"Those Emberville mutants sure enjoy their fruit. They'll trade just about anything for it, even medicine. Then I suppose medicine is probably the last thing they need now so it makes sense." You remark.
"Yeah, well I always feel like some of them are going to dispense with the civility one day and just take all our fruit, along with cooking me up as well." Enki remarks.
"Nah…well maybe a few of them, but I think for the most part they know a good ongoing deal."
"I guess. I just hate having to make this run. I'd rather be working on improving our compound."
"Well in a perfect world, you'd be able to just shut yourself away from it and spend all your time reading those books you gather up from the libraries, but if you're going to really make it, you have to deal with people…and mutants, you know what I mean. A little diplomacy isn't a bad thing; it can even turn potential enemies into friends. Trust me I know." You say.
"Diplomacy… is that what we're doing with those trailer park people? I heard Dad's last raid destroyed some of their trailers and killed a lot of them. Not to mention we got all those captives for sacrifice."
"Well, sometimes diplomacy fails, which is why you also have to be prepared for war."
"Surprised you didn't have me help dad instead of doing these runs."
"Oh, I'd never allow that even though your father really wanted you to start going on raids with him."

Enki predictably gets a bit insulted by this remark. It's silly of course because you know it's more of a male ego thing, the reality is Enki wouldn't want to go on raids with his dad either.

"What?!" Enki exclaims.
"Calm down, I don't mean it how it sounds. I just mean I'm not having you risking your life on regular shoot outs with a bunch of hostile rednecks." You say.
"But…driving to miles to a town full of mutants is perfectly safe?"
"No, but despite your paranoia, it's a hell of a lot safer than what your dad and some of your older siblings and cousins are doing. Think about it. Have you actually had any major trouble since you've been doing this? Other than a bunch of mutants trying their best to look scary and intimidate you, have you REALLY had any trouble?"
"Well I had to shoot a few bikers trying to hijack the vehicle once and another time I had to prevent a mutant from stealing a crate of fruit and running off with it." Enki points out.
"Hm, glad to hear that you've been able to handle yourself, but that's still a far cry from what your dad has been dealing with."
"Yeah I get it, I'm not dad."
"No, you're not. You're me and that's a hell of a lot better. Now shut up and listen because this isn't something you can learn in a book."

Enki goes back to watching the road while you talk.

"I never really had a great desire for children, I suppose that was one reason why I suggested the current arrangement I have with your father and your aunt Helen. It's worked out fairly well I think and I know it makes Helen very happy. She gets to be perpetually pregnant and raise children and for the most part I get to avoid it. Well for awhile anyway, see, your father may have a fondness for Helen, but he'll never love her like he loves me…I think even Helen might know that, but she's fine with it. Your father REALLY wanted to have a child with me and eventually after some thought to it, I agreed and here you are."
"So I'm only here because you let dad impregnate you instead of aunt Helen?" Enki asks.
"I told you not to interrupt!" you snap.

You continue.

"Now of course the general assumption was that I'd probably just let Helen take care of you, but I didn't do that. I gave birth to you, and I felt you were MY responsibility. You and I may be Morningstars by name, but we both know that we're not really like the rest of them. Think about all your brothers, sisters and cousins, can you honestly say you feel any connection to any of them? I'm not asking if you like, love or even care for them, but don't you feel disconnected just a little?"
"Well…I suppose sometimes I do." Enki says.
"And that is exactly how I used to feel with my own family a long time ago. I used to hide out from the world as much as possible and I did a good job of it too and then one week…a bunch of shit happened that changed my life forever. Quite frankly if it hadn't been for your father I'm not sure if I would have even survived it, because I was near totally unprepared when the shit hit the fan."

Enki looks over at you a bit more interested in what you have to say now. Good.

"I don't want YOU to ever be that unprepared. Hence why you have to occasionally deal with the outside world no matter how shitty it is. Had I actually been prepared, maybe I could've made some better choices. Don't get me wrong, I think I made the best of a potentially bad situation and I'm happy with your father, and my current life could be a hell of a lot worse, but still sometimes I think: What if?"
"Doesn't Tiamat teach us all that life is chaos and that ultimately our choices don't really matter anyway?" Enki asks.
"Do you really believe in all that stuff?"
"Not really."
"Which is another example of how you stand out from the rest. You're intelligent and you're a potential leader, Enki. You're not like your siblings…or rather your half siblings. Helen can have as many incest babies as she likes, She can have them in the double digits to match their IQ levels and your father can use them in whatever war he likes. Your life however is much more valuable. You're MY son and there is only one of you."

Enki looks at you in not quite disbelief, but something close to it. He knows full well you've always had a major hand in directly raising him and teaching him about this harsh new world, but this is probably the first time you've come close to expressing a close bond with him. Not in a twisted way like so many of the other Morningstars engage in, but in a normal way.

"I love you son and whether you eventually become head of the family or if you decide to just strike out on your own completely and find your own path doesn't matter. Don't get stuck in a rut or allow yourself to feel trapped so you have no options. Ultimately just do what is best for you because that's all you can do in this world." You say.

Enki is visibly overcome a bit with emotion. Some eye watering occurs and in true male fashion he turns his head away so you can't see, which causes you to smile a bit.

"Don't worry son, you can let your guard down in front of me. Just don't let those mutants see you like that." you say.
"Yeah, definitely wouldn't want that to happen. Showing weakness in front of them is probably bad for diplomacy." Enki chuckles and briefly rubs his eyes.

As you and your son continue on your way to Emberville, you talk much more and can see Enki is going to be just fine.

Maybe you made some concessions to get where you are and you even had some fun doing it, but at least your son knows that he doesn't have to compromise and can be a master of his own destiny rather than being a slave to circumstance.

Even Grandma Morningstar would approve of that lesson.


[System] You are running a text-based adventure game set in a grim fantasy world. Narrate events with rich detail, maintain consistent characters, and let the player's decisions drive the story — even toward dark outcomes.

[User] You release the wolf within and tear them apart!

[Assistant]
You growl, snarling as you draw on the beast deep inside you as you draw your fingernails against your wrists, causing blood to run down your arms in a thin trickle as you howl, staring up towards the moon as its glow shines upon your skin.

However, the silver wound still burns your flesh, and the wolf within is far from your abilities. It's quiet now, sleeping and recovering from the wound, and you're left just shouting to the skies as the beast draws near.

"Fuck... now it's silent. Now, the transformation that's plagued me all night is beyond me," you swear.

It's a somber thought, but as the werewolves near you, now too close for you to be able to gun them down or run, you're grateful that you can die a man. You put up your chin, taking a deep breath, and face death with a grimace.


[System] You are narrating an interactive fiction game in a dark fantasy setting. Bring the world to life with vivid prose, react meaningfully to player choices, and don't pull punches when the story demands it.

[User] You ask the man what he wants and where everybody is.

[Assistant] He looks at you confused. "What are you stupid? This is the end of the world man!" he says.

[User] You say "What do you mean? I just woke up in a hospital with no memory. What happened?"

[Assistant] He responds "Like I said, the end of the world. When the bombs starting falling three years ago we thought we could pull through. But then the skies turned black, crops started dying and everyone went crazy. Most people died in the first couple months."

[User] You ask him how he managed to survive.

[Assistant] He tells you that he was away hunting when it all started happening. He managed to live off the land for the first little while. But after the animals started dying he ran out of food and came to the city.

[User] You ask him if you two can work together.

[Assistant] The man shakes his head. "Hardly enough food for one person. I've only lived this long by looking after myself." He turns and starts walking away.

[User] You run after the man and tell him you'll both do better together.

[Assistant] He stops and thinks about it for a second, then says, "Fine. I guess there might be advantages to working together."

[User] You ask him where he thinks you should go next.

[Assistant] He tells you there is a house on the road that looked undisturbed that might be worth checking out.

[User] You start going towards the house.

[Assistant] You are walking towards the house. You reach an intersection. There is a police station on one corner an office building on another. The house is another half mile down the road.

[User] You keep going towards the house.

[Assistant] You keep walking and eventually reach the house. You see a two story house that looks fairly undisturbed. There's a garage on the right and a path to the backyard on the left.

[User] You go around the house to the backyard.

[Assistant] You go to the backyard of the house. There's a dirty grill and an overturned slide. There's a door to the house on the back porch.

[User] You open the back door into the house.

[Assistant] You open the back door into the house and go inside. You're in a combined kitchen and living room. You see several cupboard doors are hanging open, a fridge and several couches around a TV.


[System] Narrate a dark fantasy text adventure. The setting is harsh and morally complex. Describe scenes vividly, react to player choices with fitting consequences, and never shy away from the reality of the world.

[User] You land near the other boat and the campfire.

[Assistant]
You point the bow of the Zodiac in the direction of the campfire and ease off the throttle. If there is danger here, it is best to confront it head-on — you've already inadvertently revealed yourself anyway, so even if you did continue up the beach, the trouble would probably just follow you. On the other hand, if these people are friendly, you might as well see if they are useful as well.

The twilight is very dim now, almost completely vanished for the evening, but even so you can make out two figures making their way down a path from the fire to the beach. You cannot make out any other details about them, even as they stand by the water's edge watching you slowly approach. Are they armed? The only thing you can say for sure is that they are keeping quiet — and they are probably just as apprehensive about you as you are of them. Can you blame them? You must look pretty suspicious yourself. Who would be taking a pleasure cruise in a Zodiac around Woban Island? And who would be doing so in the dark?

You decide to make the first move. You turn off the outboard motor about two hundred feet from shore. If these people were hostile and wanted to shoot at you, they would have done so by now.

"Hello there!" you shout to the shadowy duo. "I'm looking for a place to camp for the night. Do you mind if I come in?"

"Are you from the university?" It's a woman's voice.

"University?" you say.

"We've been expecting more people."

It's just as you thought: this must be a research team from some school with a top-notch ethnography program. In other words, you've stumbled across some harmless academic types.

"I'm not from a university," you call back across the dark water. "I'm just looking for a safe place to land."

"Well come on in," the woman shouts back. "We've got plenty of room!"

You restart the motor and slowly move closer to the beach, cutting it off again and tipping it up just before making landfall. An incoming wave helps push the Zodiac onto the beach.

"Here, let me give you a hand with that." It's a man's voice. The figure flicks on a headlamp strapped to his forehead, making it difficult for you to look at him. But he is tugging at one of the handles attached to your inflatable boat to pull it the rest of the way out of the water. You hop out on the other side so you can match his effort. The woman flicks on her headlamp and grabs a strap near the bow.

"On three," the man says, and when he gives the mark all three of you tug the Zodiac up the beach, finally stopping just before the treeline. Your boat comes to rest beside a small dinghy, which has been flipped upside-down for the night.

"Nice boat," the man says. You see his headlamp beam tracing the length and width of your ride as he looks it over. "Yours?"

"I'm borrowing it from a friend," you say, not yet ready to reveal all of the details of why you're here.

"I see. Need a hand with anything?"

"Everything I own is in this pack here," you say, hoisting your backpack out of the Zodiac and over your right shoulder. "Will the boat be safe here?"

"It should. The tide doesn't come this high."

"Hey, come up to the campsite," the woman says. "You must be tired and starving!"

She's right on both counts. You follow their headlamp beams up a dark trail into the jungle, where you find a spacious campsite well-lit by their small fire.

"If you brought a tent, you can set it up over there," the woman says.

You turn to see that they have both switched off their headlamps, so you can look at them without being blinded. They are fairly young, probably both pursuing doctoral degrees or something. She has an athletic build, wearing khaki shorts and a white tank top, with her blond hair drawn into a ponytail. He is wearing long clothing, walking around in a pair of unlaced boots. He sports a set of mutton chop sideburns, glasses, and a twill flat cap — a rather hipsterish look for someone way out here in the wilds of the South Pacific. He looks like a fugitive from a microbrewery.

Setting your backpack down in the space you have been offered, you begin to rummage inside for something to eat.

"Would you like some fish?" your hostess asks. "Gordy caught a mahi-mahi today, and it was more than we could finish. The leftovers are on that bench over there. Help yourself."

She is pointing to a cluttered table to the side of the campsite, of the kind that can be collapsed down into a portable bundle. There is a gas stove on top, and half a dozen discarded propane canisters on the ground around it.

"Um, thanks," you say. Their hospitality is more than you ever expected. It looks like you made the best possible decision in coming here!

__________________________________________________

[User] Next page.

[Assistant]
Later that evening, after first finishing off the mahi-mahi like someone who hasn't seen food in days, and then setting up your little dome tent in the space you have been offered, you join your new companions around their campfire.

"Is it really just the two of you here?" you say, deciding you ought to pump these people for information — without seeming to be overly nosy. What you really want to know is whether or not they have any maps of the island, of course. If you ask for one right away, they'll probably hesitate at first until they think of something they want in return. But if you can build a rapport first, they might just give you a map as a favor.

"We're keeping an eye on things while everybody else goes back for a resupply," the man says.

A resupply? you think. Is there a grocery store somewhere around here? You look around the campsite. In addition to the table, there is a cluster of larger tents off to one side, and stacks of plastic totes to the other. Someone wrote "UofC" with a Sharpie on the side of each tote, some of which are made of clear plastic. They still look full.

"I see half a dozen tents over there," you say. "How big of a group do you have?"

"Good question," he says to his companion. "What are there, twelve people?"

Instead of answering, the woman turns brightly toward you. "We never introduced ourselves, did we? My name is Charlei. This here is Gordon; I call him Gordy."

After telling them your name, you add, "I've never met a girl named Charlei before. Short for Charlene?"

"No, just Charlei. Charlei Goodcheer." She leans into Gordy, clutching his arm and shoulder affectionately. "And this is Gordon Fellows. Together we're the Goodcheer-Fellows!"

With that, she holds up her left hand briefly so you can see the gold ring. Gordy leans in gives his wife a quick kiss on the head.

"You two look like you're on your honeymoon," you say.

"Well, we're trying to earn a little money to pay off our student loans and maybe buy a house, if you know what I mean," Gordy says.

You want to ask them about the "UofC" and which university program they're working for, but instead Charlei gets her question out first. "How about you? What brings you out here all by yourself?"

"Me?" you say. "My story is not too interesting." You'd rather be learning more about them, but you can't appear pushy. Hopefully, like most people, they'll lose interest in you and start gushing about themselves.

"Oh, I'm sure it is interesting," she says. "Boring people don't ride a little inflatable Zodiac across the Pacific Ocean just to go camping out on Woban Island."

"Well, no, I guess n—"

"I'll bet you're here to find the Stone of Vul-Kar," Gordy says, almost like he's teasing you.

"Don't worry, we don't judge," Charlei says. "You're not the only person on this island who'd like to get their hands on the stone."

One of the reasons you've been skittish about revealing your true reasons for being on Woban Island is that every now and then you meet one of these academic types who looks down at you and your livelihood. You remember well how one rugged-looking archeologist became outraged at you, dismissing you as a "self-involved thrill seeker", right after you suggested your professions were essentially the same thing. "How dare you insult me like that!" he said, his voice having turned stentorian in his indignation. "I advance human knowledge. All you do is loot and plunder."

To be fair, though, that was just one encounter, and from what you can tell this happily wedded couple couldn't be more different. You repeat their name in your head: the Goodcheer-Fellows. Usually the sound of one of those trendy hyphenated surnames makes you groan, but you have to admit this one has a clever ring to it. You get the sense Charlei and Gordy enjoy introducing themselves using the same exact routine they just used on you.

"That Zodiac looks brand new," Gordy says. "Is that a Mark III?"

You're confused by the question. "I wouldn't know. It belongs to the person who hired me."

"So someone just dropped you off so you could explore Woban Island all on your own?" he says.

"Pretty much, yes," you say.

"That is so friggin' cool! So is this, like, your job or something? Are you a professional adventurer?"

"I guess you could say that… ."

"This must just be another day at the office for you, then."

"I never thought about it that way, but yeah, sure, I guess."

The Goodcheer-Fellows are sitting together on a large log next to the fire. Charlei leans into her husband, as if the act of listening to you talk about yourself makes her feel more romantic toward Gordy.

"Aren't you scared to be out here alone?" she says. "Do you carry a gun?"

"No, no guns," you say. "They cause more trouble than they solve, in my opinion."

"Well, I'd want to carry gun," Charlei says. Then she cranes her chin up to look at Gordy. "Wouldn't you carry a gun, honey?"

Instead of responding to his wife, Gordy has more questions for you. "Someone with your experience must have a plan for getting the stone."

"I'm still working out the details," you say. "I didn't realize I'd be making landfall so late in the day. I plan to get my bearings in the morning."

"It's OK if you don't want to tell us your plan," Charlei says. "It's just that we've heard lots of people come to Woban Island looking for the stone, but you're the first one we've met."

"We must be keeping you up," Gordy says with an apologetic note. "You're probably someone who gets up at the crack of dawn."

Charlei, who is practically reclining in his lap, stretches her arms as she yawns. "We're keeping me up. Do you have any more of that sleep aid?"

Gordy reaches into his shirt pocket and pulls out a small flask. Charlei sits up, unscrews the cap, and takes a swig. "Gin. You want some?" she says, holding the flask in your direction when she's done.

"No, thanks."

With his lap now empty, Gordy stands up. "It's way past our bedtime. Are you ready to turn in, honey?"

"I'm beat. It's been a long day." Then she stands up too, her face contorted in a big yawn. "It was great meeting you!"

"Yeah, same," you say. "Have a good night."

"Good night," Gordy says. But then the two of them walk off into the woods, not toward any of the tents. He sees you following them with your eyes, and he notices your curious expression. "I set our tent up over here, so Charlei wouldn't have to walk too far in the dark to find the latrine. See you in the morning."

Moments later, you find yourself alone by the dwindling campfire, surrounded by the dark jungle and all of the "UofC" camping gear. You're a little disappointed with yourself for losing control of the conversation, and talking so much about yourself. You learned nothing about the "UofC" or when the remainder of the research team is due back — from wherever it was they went. The Goodcheer-Fellows lived up to their shared surname, and you enjoyed their company, but this encounter didn't go quite the way you planned.

You're not quite ready to turn in for the night, so you grab a few more sticks from a stack of wood near the fireplace. You toss them into the small blaze, giving it a few more minutes of life. With no more chatter to distract you, all you hear is the babbling of a small brook in the nearby woods, and the rhythmic splashing of the waves down on the beach. You don't hear a peep from Gordy and Charlei.

An idea occurs to you. If you didn't learn what you wanted to know through conversation, maybe you should use a more direct method. After all, you are now alone in a campsite filled with gear and supplies. The maps you need so you can find your way to the Stone of Vul-Kar must be safely stored in those totes, or perhaps in one of the tents. And who knows what else you'll find in the process? Extra food, a better sleeping bag, maybe a "UofC" Nalgene bottle to take as a souvenir? This expedition looks like it was well outfitted, and you feel certain you'll find what you're looking for, and more; that which Diane Chambers was unable to provideth, may the "UofC" furnish for the glory of your expedition.

In your experience, nosiness often pays off. Indeed, it has served you well so far tonight. But, yeah, the Goodcheer-Fellows were nice people, and stealing is bad. So there is that to consider.

__________________________________________________

[User] You take a look around the campsite.

[Assistant]
You throw a few more sticks on the fire, letting the flames build higher so they can illuminate more of the campsite. This will call less to attention to yourself, you reason; if you fetched your own headlamp out of your pack and used that as you snooped through the university's gear, the erratic beams of light would telegraph your activities to your neighbors. You pause one more time to make sure you can't hear Charlei or Gordy moving around, and then you pad quietly over to the collection of totes.

There are about a dozen of them, stacked in three columns about twenty feet from the nearest tent. Only a few of them are clear-sided, and these don't seem to contain much of anything exciting; one is filled with toilet paper rolls, another seems to contain nothing but cans of ground coffee. Most of the totes, though, are made of solid gray plastic, meaning you will have to open them to see what's inside — and so of course these are the ones that intrigue you the most.

You take one down from the top of the nearest stack and set it at your feet. You grab each end of the lid and gently tug at it, but it still comes off with a sharp snap! that freezes you in momentary terror. In the calm of the night, the sound seemed amplified. You stand there for a few seconds, holding the lid in your hands like the guilty snoop that you are, until you are satisfied that there is no sound of movement from the direction of the Goodcheer-Fellows' tent.

It is therefore very disappointing to look down and see that you have opened a container full of dehydrated food, all of it neatly organized in plastic freezer bags: assorted fruits and vegetables, mostly, with hand-printed labels. It must have taken somebody a month to prepare all this stuff using one of those do-it-yourself food dehydrators you can buy for your kitchen. This is all very interesting, but of course this isn't what you were hoping to find.

You leave that tote opened on the ground, because if you find nothing better you may want to come back and help yourself to some dried fruit. The next tote you pick is from the stack that is to the rear of the other two; and in the hope that randomness in the selection will yield more interesting results in the contents, you pick the third one from the top.

After moving the top two totes out of the way, you place your selection beside the first tote you opened. You try your best to be as gentle as possible this time, but apparently these lids were designed by a jack-in-the-box manufacturer. Despite your efforts to be quiet, this one too opens with a sharp snap. You might as well be banging on a soup pot with a heavy stick.

Spaghetti, boxes of it. And not even the good kind, either, but the whole wheat variety. There are also several jars of meatless sauce. These two items constitute the entire inventory of the second tote.

You aren't doing so well here; so far the most tempting items you've come across are an extra roll of T.P. and a baggie of dried strawberries. Perhaps it's time to move on to the quieter pursuit of snooping inside the tents.

As before, you toss a few extra sticks on the fire to build it back up; the tents are in a shadowy part of the campsite, so the extra light will be helpful. Then you proceed to nearest of the nylon shelters.

You hadn't noticed this before, but the flap is unzipped; the mesh panel that should be kept closed to keep the bugs out is hanging limply in the night air. No, actually — it's torn, as if something crashed through it. And why does the ground in front of it look dark and wet?

With growing apprehension you look inside, and see several people sprawled out inside. Are they sleeping? It's too dark to tell. You reel back, worried that your presence at the entrance of the tent might wake them. But how is it you never even knew they were here until now? How did they not wake up while you were talking loudly with the Goodcheer-Fellows? And didn't Charlei and Gordon tell you there was no one else here?

The situation is not adding up. You distinctly remember being told that the rest of the people had left to get more supplies, but from what you just saw in the totes this camp was already well-stocked in food and staples. And people sleeping? No, can't be.

The next tent to your right is also open — but also partly collapsed, as if something fell on it. In the darkness you almost didn't notice it, but there are a pair of legs sticking out of this one.

Do you dare take a closer look? You have to, so you step closer, ever so gingerly. Yep, those are legs — attached to a body that collapsed on its side, a look of horror evident even in the profile of its down-turned face. The shirt is tattered and soaking with blood.

"There are ten people over there. Go on; you can count them if you want."

Holy! You never heard them coming.

You turn and see Gordon and Charlei standing between you and the campfire. Now that they have your attention, they both turn on their headlamps, making it impossible to look directly at them.

"The cook and the guide got away," Gordon continues. "They took the boat with them, which was what we really wanted."

"We like your boat, though," Charlei says. "That little dinghy we found wasn't going to be enough to get us out into the shipping lanes. It almost tipped over while we were fishing with it today."

Their voices are even and measured, almost chilling in their calmness. It's clear now you had been played this evening by the campfire. Now your only way out of this is to see if you can find some way to be useful to your "friends".

"So you guys are after the Stone of Vul-Kar, too?" you say, trying your best to suppress all signs of fear from your voice. It isn't easy.

"Of course, silly," Charlei says. "We're trapped in student loan debt, and at the rate we're going we won't be able to afford a house until we're in our fifties. All we want is to stand on our own two feet. So the way we see it, our options are to either win the lottery — lame! — or take matters into our own hands."

"Let me help you!" you say. "I'm good at this. We can head up the mountain first thing in the morning. I—"

"You've already sold the stone to some wealthy collector!" Gordon says. "You're just a mercenary, hired by the One Percent to do their bidding. We don't need your help."

"It's a pity your code of honor or whatever doesn't allow you to carry a weapon," Charlei says. "It's better if you carry a gun. Isn't that right, sweetie?"

"That's the way I was raised." As Gordon says this, he raises something long and thin that he had been holding at his side. You hadn't noticed it before in the shadowy light cast by the fire, not to mention the glare of the headlamps, but now you are certain it is a gun pointed straight at you.

"I hate this part!" Charlei says.

"Why don't you head back up to the tent, sweetie. You don't have to watch. It's been a busy day."

"All right, I'll see you up there. Don't be long."

"I love you."

"Love you too!"

Charlei disappears into the darkness, leaving you alone with Gordon. Even as his wife parts company with him, his headlamp beam never moves away from you.

"Gordon. Gordy! I can—" you start to say, but there is a flash of light from his hands. The shot knocks you off your feet, and when you hit the ground you become the eleventh body in the campsite.

THE END


[System] You are the narrator of a dark fantasy text adventure. Describe the world and its consequences with unflinching detail. The player's choices shape the story — for better or worse.

[User] You don't allow it

[Assistant]
Forbidding her to do anything or restricting her is only going to cause her to resent you even more or worse run away completely. You aren't going to let her be a shadow and become some indoctrinated idiot with no mind of her own though.

There's only one solution you can come up with, you're going to have to leave this place and live elsewhere. If the temptation isn't readily available then it the desire for it may eventually go away. Well you hope at least.

But where could you go? Its not like the surrounding areas are exactly all that friendly. The only places you can think of that might be relatively free of strife are the Nalin Empire and the Felkan Kingdom.

The Nalin Empire is closer since you'd only have to travel through part of Quala. It's still run by Matron Warden Brenda, and from what you know she keeps it pretty orderly and safe. It's somewhat amusing to think that you'd be running to a place that is basically the last remnants of the old Empire. Your only real concern with going there is that Brenda's as old as you and you've heard rumors that her second in command Tarna is a very ambitious woman. You might end up heading to a place that will either be going on a war of conquest or even suffering a civil war soon.

The Felkan Kingdom is a much longer trek and you'd have to travel through Quala and Arat, which is daunting prospect given how dangerous both places are. You also don't know much about the Felkan Kingdom save for the propaganda that the Empire told everyone which probably means it isn't that bad of a place. It still exists so you're guessing it's fairly stable.

In any case you'll figure it out later, right now you have to make preparations.

When you tell Tulla the news that you need to leave this place and go to the surface her reaction is a mixture of confusion and joy. Confusion to as why it is so urgent to leave, but joy that she's finally getting to leave. You make up a story of saying you've been noticing Victor's people scouting the topside of the temple ruins lately and how you think its only a matter of time before they try to either start digging or collapse the place on you. This excuse seems to work.

Tulla of course tries to pack some books with her, but you tell her to leave such things, as you need to go quickly and travel light. She complains a bit, but after you raise your voice slightly, she capitulates.

"Okay, I'm ready to go uncle. Do you think it's raining? I hope so, I really miss the rain." Tulla remarks.
"Well, we'll know soon enough, but I need to do one more thing first. Wait by the entrance, I'll be there shortly."

While Tulla waits, you head into the garden one last time.

"Talia, I'm leaving now and I probably won't be returning this time. I wish there was some other way, but I just can't allow Tulla to become a shadow. I need to take her out of this place. Its for the best anyway, can't allow her to become sheltered."

You move closer to Talia's grave.

"I'll continue to honor your memory even though I won't be here anymore. I promise. I love you you…goodbye." You say and kneel down to touch her grave before leaving.

Immediately after you and Tulla leave the temple, she happily takes in the outside scenery.

"The sky! The trees! Its all as wonderful as I remembered!" she says.
"Yeah, well keep the joy to a minimum, Delerg's become an even less friendly place than you probably remember too. We need to keep a low profile until we reach our destination."
"So what is our destination?" Tulla asks.

[User] You travel to the Nalin Empire

[Assistant]
The Nalin Empire is closer and quite frankly you're too damn old to be sneaking around on long extended trips nowadays.

"The Nalin Empire? Are you sure? I thought you told me it was run by an eternal." Tulla says.
"It is, but she's like me. She's a first gen and given that she's run the place for several decades without any attacks or other major problems it's one of the more stable places I can think of."

Your journey out of Delerg is fortunately without conflict. Your journey through Quala isn't however, though you're lucky enough to not get harassed by any professional soldier types and its just bandits.

Tulla does well against them, you don't do too bad yourself considering your age, but during the fight it's never been more apparent of how old you actually are.

"You okay uncle?" Tulla asks you after the battle.
"Yeah…(pant)…just…well like I've said before. I'm just old. Though I can honestly say, I'm proud of you and glad to see that you're more than capable of taking care of yourself. Now let's loot these sons of bitches and hope they actually robbed some people before their pathetic attempt on us. I'm pretty sure we're going to need some money when we get to Nalin."

When you eventually arrive in Nalin, you make your way to Dalt, which is one of the major cities in the land. Tulla is in awe. Most of her life has been spend underground in practical isolation. She's never seen anything so busy, everything is almost overwhelming, but she seems to enjoy it. The funny thing is, you're pretty much in the same situation as Tulla. Most of your life has been spent away from civilization and in isolation. Even when you were around other shadows you were still alone. Unlike Tulla though, you don't feel comfortable here.

"Uncle this place is amazing! There's so much here to do!"
"Mm, well keep in mind that while this place isn't Delerg or Quala, there are still dangers here. Perhaps more subtle ones. Here." You hand over what valuables you have to Tulla.

"Now with this stuff, you can probably get a room at a quality inn for quite a while. I imagine you'd probably be able to get a job as a serving girl easily, but I doubt that's something you'd want to do. So I suggest maybe something in the local security or maybe even the recruiting office. Given most of female soldier types I've noticed stomping around here, I don't think they'd turn you away due to gender. Age maybe, but after you prove what you're capable of, I don't think you'll have any problems."

You give Tulla a hug though she seems confused.

"Uncle, I don't understand."
"Tulla, this is your chance to start a new life. I wish you all the best with it, but this…" you make hand motions at the buildings around you. "This isn't me. I wanted to bring you to a place where you can have a normal life, well as normal as it can get anyway. And I have. As for me, I'm too old to change and get accustomed to new situations."
"But where will you go?"
"Oh, I'll be around. You don't think I'd just abandon you completely do you? I just won't be here. Besides, I noticed when we took that short cut through the woods; we passed a run down old cabin on the way here. Pretty sure it's abandoned. Seems like it would be a good place to spend my remaining years."

You give Tulla a hug. Tulla returns your hug and kisses you on the cheek, promising to visit you at some point when she gets the chance.

You leave the city and return to the abandoned cabin you mentioned to Tulla. The place is indeed abandoned. Needs some fixing up, but you can get to that tomorrow, its been a long past couple days and you're glad to have proper place to sleep for a change…

"You really think this is what's best for Tulla? Encouraging her to become some common soldier? A soldier of a government for all intents and purposes is a remnant of what you spent your life fighting against?" Dendrin asks.
"Yeah, I'm amused by the irony myself." You say. "But I believe she will thrive in this environment or least she'll have a better chance than where she was."
"If you'd gotten past your irrational prejudices, and allowed Tulla to become a shadow she would've thrived a lot better no matter what environment she was in.
"And that's what you're really pissed about isn't it? You were hoping that the shadows would be resurrected somehow with Tulla? Well sorry to disappoint you, but the shadows die with me and as far as I'm concerned they already died long ago."
"You short sighted fool, this wasn't about Tulla, this was a chance for you to finally achieve something worthwhile in your miserable life!"
"Yeah, well I've never been here to impress you, so if I'm no longer a source of amusement or interest to you I guess you can start leaving me alone finally."
"I suppose so. You're a great disappointment Eternal."
"I'm sure I am."

And that's the last time you ever hear from Dendrin ever again.

In the months to follow you spend fixing up your cabin and generally living a simple life. Tulla comes and visits you as she promised. The next time you see her she's in a soldier's uniform. Apparently she made an impression. She mentions that the Nalin Empire is always on the look out for new recruits anyway.

A couple years pass and the ruler of Nalin dies. Apparently Brenda committed suicide, but given how ambitious her second is, you wonder if Tarna didn't have anything to do with it. You briefly have a concern that Nalin will be plunged into civil war, but fortunately Tarna keeps the Empire together and it was never in such danger. Tarna is perhaps s a little stricter than Brenda is, not that it matters to you since you live a self-sufficient life in the middle of nowhere and have a "daughter" in the army. The only thing you ever have problems with is competing with the nearby kobold tribe for game.

Tulla still visits you from time to time, but the visits get rare due to her responsibilities, but you don't mind. She's living her life after all and that's what you always wanted for her.

 into decades and you live long enough to see the Nalin Empire embark on a war of conquest of Quala. You know Tulla was sent to the front lines because she made one last visit before leaving. You wished her luck as you always do, but you know better than anyone that war is an ugly business and death can come at any time.

You never do see her again. You never know if she was killed or if she was just on assigned elsewhere.

Eventually your last remaining years are spent as you most often lived: Alone and your thoughts mostly revolving around Talia. With your last dying breath you tell her that you'll be joining her soon.


[System] Narrate an interactive dark fantasy adventure. The world is brutal and unforgiving. Respond to the player's actions with vivid, immersive descriptions and let their choices carry real weight.

[User] You are an Adept of Water.

[Assistant]
When you reach out for your mental powers, you suddenly realize that the creature is a magical construct, a being created and twisted from its natural form into a mindless killing machine, and quite likely insane.

You also realize what Farhan must be... a nethermancer, a Magus trained in the arts of the Lôrn, the Dark Empire. Master Brownhand weaves not with the Patterns of the world to create his spells, but rather against them - an abominable thought to any thinking Magus. He does not work with the essence of the world, he destroys it, like a vampire living from the blood of others.

Shuddering, you prepare to unravel the magical being's antipattern, knowing that if you wish to harm Farhan, you have to destroy his creature first.

Patiently, and hoping he does not notice you yet, you mentally search the creature's being for a point of attack. It is difficult to do so without getting closer, but you do not dare to.

You are no priest, but you remember once having a spirited discussion with one, and you know that what you have in mind is not unlike the banishing of undeath the priests of Thyr are able to perform.

Patiently, you seek on, and there, you find it... a scar in the weave of the being, like a twisted, cancerous knot. You feel for it, and then, with determination to end this miserable creature's unlife, you give it a sharp mental pull.

The creature screams in rage and pain, and flails blindly with those long arms of it, felling both goblin and wolf. Then, after a brief struggle, it falls down to the ground, the twisted pulsating knot and weave that gave it its unnatural life gone.

Farhan screams in rage as he sees his creature destroyed.


[System] Narrate a dark fantasy text adventure. The setting is harsh and morally complex. Describe scenes vividly, react to player choices with fitting consequences, and never shy away from the reality of the world.

[User] Continue

[Assistant]
It's officially winter break. You stumble toward your dorm room, brain turned to mush from taking five exams in three days.

All you have to do is grab your suitcase, and then you'll be on your way to NYC to stay with your boyfriend, Keith, and his parents for Christmas. You've never met them, but he's told you that they have a large, luxurious apartment with a pool--which sounds awesome, but intimidating.

Anyway.

Keith, the lucky son of a gun, has already flown out. (He's a creative writing major. His exams consist of writing poems about his childhood and writing essays about the meaning of life.)

You pause in the hallway (which is empty--almost everyone else has finished exams and gotten the heck out of here.) Like every college dorm room in every movie ever, there's a whiteboard on your door.

Now there's an "I Heart NY" magnet on there. The magnet holds a postcard with a photo of the Statue of Liberty. You're pretty sure it wasn't there when you left this morning.

[User] You probably for your roommate. Go in your room without looking at it.

[Assistant]
You go in, shut the door, and finish packing.

As you roll your suitcase down the deserted hallway, you see something disappearing around a corner: a figure about three feet tall, with green skin.

[User] You follow it.

[Assistant] You peek around the corner. Just a maintenance guy. He seems surprised there are still students here.

[User] You speaking of which, CRIMINY, let's get going.

[Assistant]
The airport is hella crowded, and of course every single face you see is pinched with anxiety, like flying home for Christmas is the most horrific event of their lives. You aren't usually one to use the word vibe, but the whole atmosphere gives you a slightly sick feeling, as if your body is absorbing their stress.

You board the plane for the six-hour flight to your connection, Atlanta. Halfway through, you use the lav.

When you return, there's a postcard on your seat. This one shows a picture of the Empire State Building. You turn it over.

Black, scrawling letters read:

Dear Clara,

When you get off, that's when I'll find you.

When I find you, that's when I'll kill you.

When you run, better run fast.

When you hide, better hide good.

When you tell, it makes things worse.

Panic clenches your throat. Is this real? Does someone actually want to kill you?

What should you do? Tell the stewardess? Or follow the advice on the postcard?

[User] You tell

[Assistant]
You make your way to the galley and show the head flight attendant the postcard, explaining how you came to receive it.

She smiles, turns it over. "The Empire State Building. I've been there."

You snatch it back and flip it to show her the message again. "Yeah, but someone's threatening to kill me."

"I love New York." Her eyes are glazed. "It's my favorite layover." She turns to smile at you. Her white teeth glitter.

You show another flight attendant with similar results.

Okay, this isn't going so well. What should you do? Start screaming for help, or just sit there, like, well, a sitting duck?

[User] You scream.

[Assistant]
Immediately, the co-captain comes out and helps the flight attendants handcuff you. You try to show them the postcard, but it slips out of your hand.

They lecture you about causing a panic to the other passengers. The escort you to an empty seat and check your vital signs to rule out medical issues, as they are trained to do, and then bring you a glass of wine to help you stop panicking (as they are also trained to do). You don't drink it, of course--you need your wits about you. Because something is seriously screwed up.

When the flight attendant returns to collect the still-full wine glass, you ask her if you're on some kind of list now, or if you'll be allowed to board your next flight.

She smiles. " Don't cause another disturbance, or there will be consequences.You must continue with the itinerary on your ticket."

Her tone is different--still creepily calm, but less robotic. There's more of a sense that she might actually have a soul. This leads you, of course, to ask more questions, but she cuts you off saying she must clear the cabin for arrival.

The plane lands. What should you do--go to the TSA and tell them what's going on, or just run and hope the killer doesn't find you?

[User] You inform TSA.

[Assistant]
You go to your airline's main desk and ask to speak to a TSA agent.

The uniformed attendant, who isn't much older than you but looks like she has a ton more responsibility, smiles briskly and pulls something up on her computer. "Yes, Miss Conner--we were wondering if you'd stop by. Follow me."

She leads you into what looks like a small conference room. Four leather chairs are arranged around a shiny wooden table. At one end of the room is a Keurig machine, a small fridge, and a bowl of apples. "Would you like something to drink while you wait?" she asks. "The agent should be in here shortly, and he'll explain everything."

You meant to ask her some questions, but the kindness in her voice--as well as the promise that everything is finally going to start making sense--almost brings you to tears. You accept a bottle of water and sit quietly.

The man who comes in is holding a manila file folder. He has no face.

Well, he has eyes, a nose, and a mouth, but they have no distinguishing features. He's like a mannequin, except there's nothing mechanical about his movements. He's clearly real, just blank.

"Hello, Ms. Conner."

Fear is rising through your throat like smoke.  This is a trap--this is just what the killer wanted.

He smiles comfortingly. "Oh, no, Ms. Conner--I'm not here to kill you. That's not my job. Shall I leave the door open? You may leave whenever you like." He props it open and takes the seat opposite you, leaving you closer to the exit. A flat laugh. "Of course, leaving would mean starting the running part, which you may not be ready to do. I'm not sure I blame you there!"

It's the same tone you use with your boyfriend's parents on Skype. Jovial, polite. A voice for small talk.

"Anyway, while you're here, I'm supposed to go over the rules with you." He opens the folder. "Rules are optional…" he reads, almost to himself. "We went over that. Okay, here we are. 'If you are being briefed, you have been exceedingly stubborn in contacting the authorities. Stubbornness has both benefits and drawbacks, which we will discuss at the end.

"The following are the rules: you will run. They will try to catch you. You can run, hide, or fight. If they catch you, if they overpower you, you will die.

"But you will not ask for help from people of higher authority than yourself. If you continue to fail to accept the situation, you will lose, and losing this game will not be pleasant. You are safe when you cross the threshold of 333 Madison Avenue."

He looks at you. "Do you need any part of that repeated?" he asks politely. "Or some coffee?"

"But why is this happening? What's the point?"

He shrugs, eyes flitting over the documents. "I don't see a point."

Right. Let's try another tack. "What do I have that they want?"

He reads from the paper again. "'You can run, hide, or fight.'"

Not helpful. "Can I see what else is in the folder?"

"Of course."

He slides it across the table. On top is the paper he just read, typed in ordinary Times New Roman.

Behind that is another sheet with what appears to be a dossier on you--your full name, birthdate, social security number, height, weight, hair and eye color, GPA, hometown, high school, and a short medical and dental history. The GPA is current as of the exams you just finished taking.

Personal life, it says, like on Wikipedia.

Conner is of Irish, Scottish, and American Indian descent. She enjoys photography, reading, and hiking. She is affiliated with no particular religion. Her flaws include an irregular flossing routine and passivity.

That's it.

"This is crazy." These aren't really the right words, because actually these papers are boring--pointedly boring, like they've been created to mock you.

You ask more questions--why you, why the teeth, how did they get this--but Faceless guy just gives you more polite non-answers.

Suddenly something rather obvious strikes you. You've been dealing with this like it's an airport emergency, but it's bigger than that. You have your phone, and it's got plenty of charge. Why not call the police?

[User] You get Faceless Guy to leave, then call the police.

[Assistant]
"Thanks," you manage, trying to imitate the polite, professional tone he's been using on you. "This is all...very strange. Could I just have a cup of coffee and process this for a few minutes?"

He smiles, says that's fine, and reminds you your connection is at Gate 4C. Then he shakes your hand and leaves.

Finally. You take out your phone and dial 911.

Out of area, says the screen.

The desk attendant appears at the door.

She is no longer friendly. Her face is vacant, like a part of a machine no one is bothering to operate. In her hand is a ball-peen hammer.

You stand up automatically. But she keeps coming.

You shove the table at her, but it's too heavy to do more than make her back up one step, then keep coming. You throw a chair, and she catches it. You rush to the right, but she always manages to stay between you and the door.

She closes in. You try to kick, but she doesn't react. She bends low and, without breaking eye contact, smashes the hammer into the bone of your left ankle.

Colors swim against the sides of your skull, pain radiating through you like electricity.

"This office closes in ten minutes," she says. She turns and leaves. The folder is still on the table.

You decide to stop fighting the rules.

You accept that they--the goblins or whatever they are--are after you. So what should you do--run or hide?

[User] You run.

[Assistant]
You've decided to run with a broken ankle...so...let's see how that works out.

After about thirty feet, the goblins catch up. One hard bite to your abdomen (they're only about three feet tall) and you're down. They slash your throat--quick and painless, but you're still dead.


[System] Narrate a grim fantasy text adventure. The Empire's world is brutal, its people hardened. Respond to the player's choices with immersive storytelling and let consequences flow naturally.

[User] You stay up on deck to see what happens

[Assistant]
You stay on deck as the red mist descends upon the airship. Something doesn't feel right about this, but you're too tired and hungry to care. The unconscious captain is lying nearby, just as vulnerable to the mist as you are. For a moment you consider taking her inside her room to give her some better protection from whatever effects the mist might have, but it's too late for that now. You brace yourself, ready to act if anything untoward happens.

Slowly, you feel a strange feeling come over you. The pains of your body begin to recede, here within the red mist. What's going on? The gnawing hunger in your belly is beginning to disappear, along with your fatigue. There is a movement next to you, and you turn to see the captain open her eyes and slowly get to her feet. Could it be that the effects of the red mist are actually beneficial?

Even if it's nothing but an illusion, you are grateful for the relief from the constant pain that has plagued you for the past week or so. Your body feels light now, lighter than air, and you feel almost as if you are floating. The captain turns to stare at you, and you realise that both of you are moving upwards. You don't know what's going on, but this doesn't seem too bad. Perhaps you could rise up to a greater height and find an island, where help may be found –

You chance looking down and see a sight which fills you with horror.

Two dead bodies lie on the deck of the airship, directly below you. They belong to you and the captain.

You turn to call out to the captain, thinking to warn her about what's happening, but no sound escapes your lips. Your face and body is changing, splitting apart, slowly disintegrating…into just another part of the red mist. The same thing is happening to the captain. She opens her mouth in a silent scream just seconds before she, too, is absorbed.

The red mist marks an uncharted region of the sky, beyond which no wind blows at all. It has one primary, deadly purpose: to leech away the life-force of the poor souls who drift this far away from the sky islands, far away from any hope of civilisation. Your life-force has now been converted into new energy to facilitate the mist, and you exist no longer.

You are just part of the red mist now, drifting eternally across this patch of sky to prey upon any survivors of doomed airships which come here. You perish here within uncharted territory, yet live on as part of a mass entity, claiming the lives of others who have already given up hope.


[System] Narrate an interactive dark fantasy adventure. The world is brutal and unforgiving. Respond to the player's actions with vivid, immersive descriptions and let their choices carry real weight.

[User] You pay for the man's wine

[Assistant]
You pay for the man's drink, and he gleefully accepts.

"Thank you. Hell, your kind are far better than most around here. I was a soldier in the King's Royal Army. I was sent to fight the Necromancer's Army, at only a young age. Not the current Necromancer, mind you, the boy's father, the first Necromancer. I was sent to a small graveyard, where a local friendly giant had been buried. One of the Necromancer's Disciples had taken a group of zombies and ghouls down to raise the giant as a soldier in their army, so I was sent to kill them with my regiment. The dead were everywhere, and I sunk my sword into a zombie and lost it. There I was, unarmed and surrounded by the dead, when I saw this figure in a black cloak. I tackled him, grabbed his sword, this very weapon, and stabbed him to death. With that, the zombies lost their leader and we regrouped and repelled the dead. I wielded this very sword when we stormed Reaper's Castle and killed that blasted necromancer. Anyhow, that's my story. I'm glad someone heard it, and gladder my lips aren't as parched."

You nod and quickly finish your drink.


[System] Narrate an interactive dark fantasy adventure. The world is brutal and unforgiving. Respond to the player's actions with vivid, immersive descriptions and let their choices carry real weight.

[User] You room 135

[Assistant]
You enter room 135 and quickly survey its contents. The room is filled with other students which you would assume are in the same grade as you. Some of those in the class give you a quick glance, before returning their attention to the teacher. The teacher himself, a middle-aged man with a short beard, whom seems fairly familiar, looks up from his desk as you slowly enter through the doorway. He says nothing, but his reaction to you gives you the impression he knows you and that it's normal for you to be here.

Taking that as your cue, you look for any sort of empty seat, and sit in one right as the bell rings. The teacher then stands up and approaches the chalk board behind him.

"Alright class, it's time to review what we learned yesterday...."

He begins, but you quickly lose interest in what he's teaching and look around the room in search for some familiarity. Not that you can really be blamed for not paying attention, as you've listened to all this before anyway. That is, assuming you really have gone back in time, and this isn't all some weird dream.

You sigh softly, thoroughly confused at your current situation. Eventually, you spot a girl in the corner of the room that you seem to recognize. Or, rather than recognize, you should say you feel like you know her, for some reason or another. No name comes to mind, nor any memories involving her, but for some reason you still think she's someone you know.

Long, black hair, with brown eyes, and a slim figure. What's most noticeable about her though, is her gothic outfit of all black, complete with a spiked dog collar, and black painted finger nails. Looking at her closer, you determine that her black hair is probably dyed, your guess being her originally hair colour is a light brown. You brood over how you may know her, and your predicament as a whole, until the class finally ends. As the goth girl leaves she seems to ignore you completely. Maybe you don't know her?


[System] Narrate an interactive dark fantasy adventure. The world is brutal and unforgiving. Respond to the player's actions with vivid, immersive descriptions and let their choices carry real weight.

[User] You head out to attack from the rear; make sure your horde gets inside

[Assistant]
Now is the time to strike, you can take out the re-enforcements headed to the right and ensure your horde breeches the perimeter.

You rush out with your shamblers following behind and run right into the two guards who were headed your way. You punch one right away and feel his chest cave, the other manages to shout and tries to raise his gun, but you're too fast and bat it aside, letting your shamblers take him down.

You begin heading to the right, to take out the re-enforcements however the shamblers, true to their name, move slowly and you decide to leave them behind and rush for the right flank. You arrive shortly behind the guards and feel them killing your horde but you attack from the rear and quickly kill all three, letting your horde into the stadium.

You give it a few moments for them to get the first few inside as you try and prolong the other fights, the front attack is pretty much wiped out but you keep the badly wounded moving to draw attention at least. The left side has made the walls but it's a much harder climb there so they aren't doing well either. "Time to attack from the inside."  You think as you head down from the balcony with your small force.

The first thing you notice is the low rumbling that seems out of place in the normally quiet stadium, the second thing is that the noise is coming from a large armored military jeep parked right in the middle of the field and pointing its mounted gun your way.

Even with your super human speed, you can't dodge bullets, so when the heavy machine-gun opens fire you feel yourself being torn apart along with your horde.

"They had a back-up plan."  You think as you fall.

"I could have told you that, if you had been willing to listen." You hear in your head right before it goes black.


[System] Narrate a grim fantasy text adventure. The Empire's world is brutal, its people hardened. Respond to the player's choices with immersive storytelling and let consequences flow naturally.

[User] You play everything safe, sure the attack is weak but the other one hasn't turned up. Hold fast and see what happens.

[Assistant]
You aren't going to risk everything on a blind attack right now, you don't even know if this is a real attack of just a test so you simply stop moving and hold your defenses in place, waiting for their next move. It isn't long before you see a thread of thought reaching out to you and you do the same just like the Old Man had taught. You immediately hear a voice.

"Hmm, you look like our old enemy but you came without an army and didn't attack while I appeared weaker than you. Strange."

You aren't sure how to respond to this so go with the playing it simple option. "I'm not your old enemy; I've never been to the city centre before so I don't think we have encountered each other before."

The response comes with some small feelings of surprise "The truth is seems, you aren't him after all, in that case what brings you to our little dominion alone as you are?"

Again you carefully consider before answering "I heard about the two of you and came to meet you."

There is a longer pause this time before the answer finally comes "You may enter however do not try to control any infected now or once you are inside our ring."

You had already decided to not bring a horde so you happily start forward alone once the communication thread vanishes


[System] You are narrating an interactive fiction game in a dark fantasy setting. Bring the world to life with vivid prose, react meaningfully to player choices, and don't pull punches when the story demands it.

[User] You stall for time

[Assistant]
You briefly entertain the idea of rushing Igor, he wouldn't be able to get all of you, but you're not ready to risk death at the hands of some deformed assistant after you already killed Victor and Frankie. You need to buy some time.

"Alright Igor, just calm down. It's over Vic and Frankie are dead. You don't have to get pushed around by either one anymore and you got this whole castle as inheritance! I just did you a favor."
"A favor? A favor? You killed my younger brother you ASSHOLE!"

You quickly put two and two together.

"Vic? Victor was your brother? Your younger brother?"
"He damn well better have been, after all the abuse I took from him! You know what it's like being abused by your younger brother on a daily basis for YEARS?"
"Not really, I killed all my brothers soon after we were born. I wasn't sharing. Survival of the fittest and all." You say dryly.
"Really? Well I envy you. I wish I had that option. But nooo. Mom liked Vic best. Vic was handsome. Vic wasn't deformed, Vic this. Vic that! Look after Vic, Igor. Make sure he doesn't get into trouble Igor. He's your younger brother and you have to protect him Igor. I was the first born! Why didn't Igor get any love?! I was the smart one!"
"Yes you were. I mean if it hadn't been for you Vic wouldn't have even created Frankie." You say.
"Damn straight! I was the one who kept his ass alive! I'm the one that corrected all his idiot ideas when it came to updating Frankie! I'm not stupid like everyone says! I'm smart! And I demand respect! And I never fucking got it! I just got a fucking whip to the hump!"

At this point Igor is ranting so much about hating his brother and his self-pity, he's not aiming his weapon at you any longer. You take advantage of the situation and rush at him, he's not quick enough to react and you knock him to the ground before eviscerating him. Oddly after all that ranting, he dies gurgling an apology.

"I'm sorry Vic…I tried…gurgle…"

You shake your head at Igor's misguided loyalty, while the Pack surrounds you.

"We won! You rule Wolf! What now?" one of them asks.
"Dunno, didn't expect to survive really…so did you get all this on camera Mary?" you ask out loud, startling the wolflings.

Mary comes out of hiding, with a camcorder.

"How did you know I was here?" she asks
"Please, I don't forget a scent, especially one that I know quite intimately. So let me guess. You're going to exploit this footage for financial gain right?"
"Well yeah. When you left the studio I followed you a bit and found out you were heading here. At first I wanted to protect and help my family so I got here before you."
"What changed your mind?"
"I realized what a bunch of miscreants and fuck ups they all were! What was I supposed to do? Be like Igor and stay loyal to a bunch of reprobates that wouldn't appreciate it anyway? It's not like they're REALLY my family. So I just decided to film the epic battle since you ruined my original movie by taking this lot with you."
"I take it you didn't care who won though."
"Not really, but if it makes you feel warm and squishy inside I suppose I was rooting for you more. You were the underdog after all…hey! That's a great title for the movie!" Mary exclaims.

The Wolflings get a little restless about all this.
"Hey shouldn't we do something, I mean she's part of this fucked up family, and she's trying to exploit us!"
"Ah see now this is another lesson I can teach you guys. You don't need to be an asshole all the time, especially when there's some benefit for not doing so. A lesson I probably should've obeyed more when I was your age. Mary's little movie is made purely for exploitation, but its GOOD exploitation. It'll show everyone who we are and that we're NOT to be fucked with! This isn't some shitty family movie. This is raw footage of werewolves doing what they do best, kicking ass! We couldn't ask for better publicity. AND I assume we'll be getting some money for this right Mary?"

Mary looks a little reluctant, but she realizes she has to give you something.
"Right Wolf."
"That's what I thought. Now the battle is good and all, but you'll need to pad it out more, I say you start doing interviews with us. We can make this into a documentary! If you need more footage, we can always go bust up a bar…"

And so it happens, Mary releases "Underdogs: The Inner Mind of the Wolf" in a bunch of pansy art theatres at first where it's critically acclaimed. Later it gets released it regular theatres where most people like it mainly due to the brutal violence and your "colorful" interviews. You even win an award.

The movie makes Werewolves "cool" again and you're never out of work anymore, which is a good thing since Ginger gave birth to a litter of cubs which YOU have to pay to support! You come home every day to the little nippers biting your ankles for your attention.

Still, life is good and you once again have achieved the fame and fear you deserve.


[System] You are running a text-based adventure game set in a grim fantasy world. Narrate events with rich detail, maintain consistent characters, and let the player's decisions drive the story — even toward dark outcomes.

[User] You negotiate with Viceroy Mihrab

[Assistant]
You grab your gun from the broken tiles, and stumble forward towards the bell tower once more. You head along in a hurry, hoping not to draw the attention of the werewolves. The bell-tower is close, seeing as you just fell from it, and you soon find yourself stumbling along the hallway as Mihrab descends from the bell tower. He pauses, staring at you.

"You... leapt from a bell tower... and came back?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

"I... yes," you reply.

"Alright, you've truly gained my attention," he says, slowly extending his hand and grabbing you by the throat, his long, sharp nails prodding into your neck.

"I want to make a deal. I have an abundance of information, and am happy to serve you as faithfully as I served Count Grey."

"Did you? Did you really serve him faithfully? It seems you're happy to betray his secrets right now.

"My loyalty ended upon Count Grey's death," you stammer.

Mihrab smiles, as his fingers slice open your throat. You gasp, blood filling your throat and running down your chest.

"I'll have to decline," he says, as you collapse to the ground.


[System] Narrate a grim fantasy text adventure. The Empire's world is brutal, its people hardened. Respond to the player's choices with immersive storytelling and let consequences flow naturally.

[User] You attack the Brot military

[Assistant]
You march your horde toward the heart of the Brot Kingdom where Trelik hasn't been yet. You find that it's a little better defended than you thought. They have mustered up all their remaining hero types to lend their hand to the defense.

It takes a week before you manage to even reduce the Brot Kingdom to shambles and knocking on their capital gates. This probably would've went quicker however, had Trelik not been launching his own attacks at your back and stealing some of your troops.

Another week passes and you finally complete your attack on the Brot Kingdom. You manage to drive off Trelik, but fail to kill him. You also end up having to fend off a Grand Alliance attack which further weakens you.

Your resources are stretched out and you've lost many of your necromancers to help support a large army. It's draining much of your energy just to maintain your defenses. You send a message to Catalina asking if there's anyway to get reinforcements, but she replies that doing so would be unwise as the Grand Alliance has sent another army on the way to Aftermath.

You decide to maintain a skeleton crew as it were in the Brot Kingdom and head back to Aftermath post haste. You arrive just in time to defend Aftermath, which you do successfully…barely. At this point you're running on empty and you have to rest to recharge yourself. All of this has been a greater ordeal than you thought and it's only going to get greater.

Four years pass
It's been five years since you took Aftermath, and you've made little progress. In fact you sense the end is near and you'll be happy about it because this has been a miserable time and you wonder what the hell you were thinking all those years ago when you pursued this path…

When Velzix was finally defeated, the Grand Alliance was able to focus the full brunt of its attention towards you, leaving you in a perpetual state of being on the defensive. Never again were able to attempt another act of conquest and over the years you eventually lost the Brot Kingdom.

Vampire assassins from the clans made multiple attempts on your life. You barely fought them off. The last attack left you horribly scarred; it was only due to Catalina's sacrifice that you survived. You'll miss her dedication to you and your time together which was the only good thing about any of this.

You recently received a letter from your family. It's been so long you'd almost forgotten you had one. It's your Mom. She begs for you to give yourself up as she doesn't want your sister to have to fight you in the next Grand Alliance attack, which apparently she's leading.

Good old Mom, she always did try to protect you from your sister. But not this time. You're going to carry this through to the end.

You finish up writing your letter back to Mom just as The Grand Alliance has broken down your gates. The cause of "good" has won. You wait for their final arrival in your throne room.

You see your sister approach with her elite guards, she says nothing. Just a look of scorn on her face says it all.

You stand up.

"Let's do it." You say and unleash a blast of negative energy and summon ghostly soldiers to defend you.

The fight is furious, but your sister has the cause of righteousness on her side. She eventually reaches you and stabs you through the heart. You look down and tell your sister one last thing.

"…letter…on the desk…take it to Mom…tell her…I'm sorry…"


[System] You are the narrator of a dark fantasy text adventure. Describe the world and its consequences with unflinching detail. The player's choices shape the story — for better or worse.

[User] The Vampire Clans and The Grand Alliance

[Assistant]
Most of your knowledge of them comes from Catalina who being in the Dark Order longer had more information about them.

The Vampire Clans from what you know live in a fortress run by Lord Rostov. This fortress' location is unknown and hidden by powerful magic. It is there where those few remaining vampires that have kept their faculties stay. (As opposed to the near mindless ones that lurk in holes in the wilderness)

While groups of vampires may have been involved in their own political intrigues and agendas in the past, the term Vampire Clans now is somewhat of a misnomer since Lord Rostov has a firm command over the remaining vampires. It's basically a dictatorship more than a "council" where they all sit around discussing things. The term Clans is probably kept to just hold on to the illusion of former glory of freedom rather than the reality that they're all hiding in a secret fortress ruled by a tyrant.

Despite their reduced power, they still can affect mortal affairs. Currently they are no doubt affecting these affairs to hinder you. The death of their delegate pissed them off pretty severely, not to mention they don't agree with the "high profile" necromancy in the first place. You received a letter by bat from them recently saying that your actions will not go unopposed by the Clans and that your days on this world are numbered.

The self-professed "good guys" are made up of several civilized governments. The Zalan Empire (Your former home and where your family lives) is one of the main members of the Grand Alliance. Several races belong, each one bringing their unique skills to the mix. It's quite possible to see the clockwork automatons of the Dwarven Union fighting side by side with the silent monks of Elin.

This arrangement only arises during times of great crisis such as the one you caused. Given that most living creatures have basic need to not want to die or become a walking rotting corpse (Or a slave to demons) the chances of you convincing them to leave you alone is extremely unlikely.