[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] Five pieces to the first hunter, three to the second

[Assistant]
"You give five pieces to the first hunter, three to the second."

"Yes, another answer! Gods, I really like you!"

"Is it right?"

The Fool shrugs, smiling at you.

"Who knows? I'll be off, anyway, my eyes are beginning to burn," he says, scratching at his burned up eyes. "Good luck in there. Shame it's not a silver mine, am I right?"

He smiles, grinning, as you snarl. He raises his hands defensively, shrugging.

"Fine, fine, I'll be on my way. Best of luck in there, Willy."

You don't even try to stop him, your gun feeling unnaturally heavy in your hands as you know the patchwork man's magic is at work here. As soon as the Fool disappears into the trees, your gun lightens in your hands, and you heave to stare off into the mineshaft, smiling.


[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 disbelieve Alex

[Assistant]
"Nice try Alex, but I'm not falling for it, now don't bother calling me again, because I won't be listening to anymore of your lies."
"Alright, suit yourself. I guess I better prepare for a change in landlords then. Pity, because I don't think Harry will be willing to let me just live down here, I guess I better prepare myself as well."

Alex disconnects and you don't hear from him again. You radio Vivica to let her know what's going on as well; she's behind you and will make sure to send a few people to harass Harry's men when they decide the lay siege to Pandora. Everyone spends time preparing and organizing for the battle that's sure to come.

A month passes and sure enough Harry's men come thinking its going to be an easy victory, but it's merely a stand off. They end up falling back and try to wait you out, but you still have the advantage for the most part though.

A couple more weeks pass and reinforcements arrive and armed to the teeth and despite the rugged terrain that prevents cars to come to this place, they managed to find some dirt bikes which whiz around Pandora while the riders nimbly dodge your fire while they toss grenades at (and sometimes over) the walls. Pandora is a lot less secure, and you're just glad Vivica's skirmishers are doing a good job at diverting the invasion force's attention and getting through with supplies, though you catch wind that Harry is sending even MORE reinforcements. You doubt if you can handle it, Marina doesn't want to leave, but even she sees that things are pretty grim, and is willing to leave if need be. You've already decided the place to retreat to would be the Farmhouse. If you're going to leave though, you need to do it now, because when Harry's second wave of reinforcements arrive, it will be impossible to break out.

[User] You leave

[Assistant]
"We're getting the hell outta here! Get everyone ready!" you tell Marina, before radioing Vivica, to tell her that you'll be arriving soon.

You and everyone else start gathering everything you can carry, and before opening the gates you purposely blow up some of the buildings in the base, particularly the building with the water filtering and recycling system. You might be running, but you'll be damned if they'll get the prize fully intact.

Due to the explosions, you throw the invasion force a little off guard, since they're wondering what the hell's going on. This works in your favor when you exit and make your risky escape.

"Split up and meet you know where!" you shout to everyone as you haul ass to the Farmhouse.

You, Marina and a few others stick together as you battle Harry's men who are in pursuit of you. Fortunately you know the lay of the land a little better, so your escape is fatality free by the time you make it to the Farmhouse. A few of the others who split up aren't quite as lucky, but most make it. You immediately tell Vivica to start beefing up the defenses.

The Farmhouse is relatively well defended, and even has two vehicles to help you. Its also further away, so by the time Harry regroups a large enough invasion force, you figure you'll be ready for him.

What you weren't ready for, was the hi-tech weaponry, Harry's men arrive with months later. Granted they don't have them per soldier, but they have enough to start laying waste to the Farmhouse and its surroundings. Apparently they grabbed the ones Alex told you about. Whether the Combine just took them and killed Alex, or Alex came to an agreement with Harry is unknown, but your guess is Harry just killed him and whatever cyborgs might've been down there. (Dictators aren't known to "share")

Some help comes from Ashtown, but it really isn't enough and given Ashtown's even further position away, it doesn't do much good. Eventually you hear from Ophelia on the radio who suggests that you are all welcome to come live in Ashtown, as they have plenty of room and wouldn't mind having some good warriors with a variety of skills. Reluctantly you accept, though you hate the fact you have to run again.

You, Marina, Vivica and the remaining survivors pile into the two vehicles in between attacks and drive off to Ashtown. No need for scorched Earth tactics this time since the Combine soldiers did a good enough job of that during their initial attacks.

Eventually you arrive in Ashtown, where you're welcomed, but now you have to remember, you're not in charge anymore and things are a bit different. You welcome the change though, after all the time of fighting non-stop and being in charge you're happy to be able to relax more often as the only problems Ashtown has is the occasional bandit attack which aren't organized or well lead. Everyday though, you expect the Combine to show up again, but a year passes without a sign of them.

One day you hear about the Combine again, from a wandering traveler who stops in Ashtown one day.  Word is, it's currently undergoing another regime change. Apparently, shortly after the Farmhouse was completely destroyed, someone named Damon shot Harry and took over, then just recently someone blew him up and now someone else is in charge. Even though the Combine still pursues the idea of conquest, it now constantly has problems with infighting, hampering many of their plans. For now they've been concentrating on trying to maintain control in the places they already hold.

It's quite possible the Combine will eventually turn its attention in this direction of conquest in your direction again, but you'll be ready as you always are, maybe you won't win, but you know you'll always survive to fight another day if necessary.


[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 punch him

[Assistant]
When Henry pushes you, you look confused at first, but then your expression turns to anger. Then your emotions soon follow...

You punch Henry straight in the nose causing it to explode in a gout of blood! Henry screams when he sees all that blood gushing from his nose. You don't just stop there though, you then take his pinky finger and break it. At this point you are drawing a crowd, while some others go to fetch a teacher.

You slam Henry's head into the hard ground until his skull cracks. Henry's already unconscious at this point, but you continue to kick him in the stomach until a teacher finally pulls you off, at which point to go quietly.

This act of wild unleashed anger gets you in severe trouble, namely prison for attempted murder. You don't seem to mind though, Its a structured environment that you're used to, and you welcome the chance to unleash your endless pent up anger on your fellow inmates.

Another day arrives in your cell you feel fury...


[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 use treachery

[Assistant]
Sneaks is correct, the Black Hooks are going to be just as big of an issue later on. Sure they may be just a bunch of obnoxious teenagers that are half assed thugs and thieves now, but eventually they're going to get smarter, better and more aggressive. And you already know that Marco has ideas about his gang eventually controlling the entire city.

"Yeah, it's grim business, but we probably should. We'll let the Black Hooks go charging in first. I'm going to try to keep Mara close to me, but if she should get away from me, I don't have to tell you that she isn't to be targeted. Also you need to make sure she doesn't see anyone killing a Black Hook member." you say.
"Goes without saying. So should we go over when and how we're going to plan this attack?" Sneaks asks.

You and Sneaks first go over the plans a few times, then you share this information with the rest of the Jicol Alliance, after sharing it with them, you share it with the Black Hooks.

You still aren't sure of when to attack since you want to make sure to get most if not all in one area and not have to chase any down, given how impatient Marco is getting and the fact that you're really never going to know for sure when the best time is, you just decide to do it sooner rather than later, especially since you're as ready as you all are going to get.

You spend the day before the attack mostly getting yourself mentally prepared for this. You haven't killed anyone since Klint and murder in general wasn't really something you ever wanted make a habit of doing. However, you do know it's within you to do it and you're going to have to do it multiple times soon. You just take into consideration that Mara is going to be in danger the whole time and you're going to have to kill in order to make sure she doesn't die.

Not that you think she's going to be helpless, but it's a better frame of mind to put yourself in if you're thinking that way for this task.

Your forces attack the ECS hideout at night. You tell the Black Hooks to take the lead and eliminate the outside sentries first.

They almost succeed in doing it stealthy, but of course some of them fail in a quiet kill and an alarm has already been raised.

The fight on the first floor isn't too bad, but by the time you get to the underground level which is like a maze, the Black Hooks are dropping like flies. Besides getting killed by Ebony Claws lurking around every corner, they're not paying attention to how trapped this place is. At the rate they're dying, nobody will have to bother stabbing any in the back.

The whole time this is going on, you're still trying to keep an eye on Mara who you've seen take out at least one person. You aren't sure if she's done that before or this is her first time. You guess you'll ask after this is all over.

Bullets, bolts, arrows, blades and traps of all kinds are dodged or blocked many times in this battle. The Ebony Claws fight back with everything they got, which includes several, fire powder bombs that take out a large part of your forces, enough to tip the odds in their favor mainly because the Black Hooks have been completely decimated and now the Alliance is starting to take the casualties.

While you planned on killing Marco yourself, he's already dead from getting blown to pieces by a firebomb. Say what you want about the guy, he actually was keeping the remaining Black Hooks from running away. You have no doubt that the run aways will be killed by Alliance members lagging behind, though you're starting to think that employing treachery might not have been the way to go about this.

Eventually you and Mara, reach what you believe to be an altar room of some sort. You see Nathan and his friend that came with him when they first met you.

"You fucking idiots. You have no idea of the deep shit you're all in. You really think even if you some how manage to kill all of us this day, that you're going to get away with it? Kill the bitch, I'm gonna take my time with this one." Nathan shouts while pointing at you.

Nathan at this point spout some sort of gibberish and become blurry and you're having a hard time focusing on him. It would seem that Sneaks wasn't entirely correct about none of their number having access to shadow magic.

I'll deal with the magic asshole, you cut the other one down and then help me!" you shout to Mara.

Nathan is moving at a speed that you can barely defend against. He slashes you across the face with his knife, kicks you in the balls and then slams you to the floor. He then punches you multiple times in the face before blinding you completely by stabbing you in both eyes.

You're left screaming and bloody on the floor and in darkness when Mara knocks Nathan off of you. Mara has only given you temporary relief since Nathan quickly dispatches her.

You crawl around on the floor and hear Nathan gloat about what he's done to you and how he's going to make you suffer even more, and that's when you hear a gunshot, followed by the slumping of a body. The gloating has ceased.

"MARA?! MARA?! Are you there!?" you scream out, hoping that she's still alive. Hoping she's the one that shot Nathan.
"She's dead I'm afraid." You hear Sneaks say.
"No!" you cry out. Between your physical pain and now your emotional pain, you're a gibbering wreck.

Sneaks, without another word reloads his flintlock and shoots you. Whether that's because he's a treacherous bastard or whether he was putting you out of your misery, you'll never know.

Doesn't matter since in those last moments, you wanted to die.


[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 letters to home (Random thoughts...)

[Assistant]
Dear Mom,

I meant to tell you this weird man from Zalan Intelligence offered me a job, a few months ago. Said I could be a "real" hero and a bunch of other stuff. Part of it sounded appealing, but something about him made me feel really uncomfortable.

I wonder if I'm just avoiding my "potential." Like perhaps I am supposed to be some great general or warrior, or whatever. But I just don't feel that desire within me. Now if I had been offered to give up all this army stuff and play at the Emperor's Palace as a regular job then I might've accepted!

Over these years as I've played for others and mainly for myself, I truly believe I really was meant to play music in this world. Just events didn't work out for me I guess, but even within this situation, I've still found a way to indulge in my passion and I suppose it's better than never being able to at all.

Who knows? Perhaps one day all of this will be over and I'll come out of this alive and manage to pursue music without hindrance.

I know that sounds a little uncharacteristically optimistic from me, but I guess I still have a little hope left after all.

Give my love to the rest of the family

Your son


[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 fire at the dead

[Assistant]
The advancing hordes of zombies are closer and more plentiful, you decide. Plus, the garbage people will have to fight them off as well. You get into a defensive stance with both hands on the gun, and open fire on the horde. The gun's clip has thirteen bullets in it; you manage to kill six zombies before running dry.

"Here," says Roger, tapping you on the shoulder. "Found more of them." he gives you another fully loaded clip. "We had a bag stashed under the seat," Roger explains. "For emergency." You ditch the empty clip and reload, before taking another shot.

You bring down twelve walkers this time, and notice that the garbage people are firing at the dead, too. In a moment, they'll fall back, you can get your people, and leave. Except you can't. It slowly dawns on you that the helicopter's still dead on fuel.

Meanwhile (and unbeknownst to you), the garbage people realize they're wasting bullets on the zombies, and go to take out the real threat- you. The leader approaches the cockpit, out of your view. He sneaks right up to the door and kills you, without you ever knowing.

If it's any consolation, none of your group made it out, either.


[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 run

[Assistant]
"They're escaping!" Sheriff Buckly roars at his allies.

You break into a sprint, heading away from the camp. You manage to make it to the trees, but you hear gunfire behind you. You turn your head slightly, seeing a spurt off blood go from the back of Lucy's leg as she collapses forward, skidding along the earth to a halt. Becca makes it to the trees next to you and stops.

"Shit, do we go back?" she asks in a terrified panic.

You look back. In the darkness, you might be able to get to Lucy and help her disappear into the trees. If you both reach the tree line, it'll be almost impossible for Sheriff Buckly to track you.


[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 force Dasha to go in first

[Assistant]
"You go in first. He'll be able to smell my blood sooner than yours. I'm a ghoul."

"Bullshit!" Dasha hisses. "Give me the gun, then I'll go."

[User] You give Dasha the gun

[Assistant]
You take a deep breath, bashing open the door with your shoulder, raising your rifle. Draven stands there, a sword in his hands and a grin on his face as he stands over a heavily injured Haygarth, who has been stripped naked and is covered in bruising and cuts.

"Don't you know how, freak? I said do it!" Draven shouts.

He swings his blade and smacks Haygarth in the side of the head with the flat of his blade, knocking Haygarth to the floor.

"Dance!" Draven laughs, before his eyes flicker to you. "Look who it is! One of Grey's ghouls and... I've no fucking idea who you are, but you look like a bleeder!"

Haygarth yells as Dasha raises her rifle. Draven roars as he charges forward, and Dasha both attempts to backpedal and aim. She trips on the stairs, firing off the gun. Unfortunately, she misses Draven. Even worse, the bullet ends up flying straight through your head.


[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 grab a torch and burn him

[Assistant]
The problem with this tactic, is you've neglected to remember that Frankie has been vastly updated whereas Mary wasn.'t. Titanium plating doesn't burn very well, as you find this out the hard way when you grab a nearby torch and shove it into Frankie's body. It doesn't do any notable damage. Frankie does some notable damage to you though.

He grabs your arm, breaking it in several places, and then takes the torch and sets YOU on fire, by shoving the flaming torch right through your body.

Fur seems to burn very well.


[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 shoot at it

[Assistant]
You fire at the figure, missing due to its weight making you unable to aim accurately. Without a noise you see the pale figure sprint away in an instant. You try to follow, but soon give up on that as you realize just how much faster than it you are.

With no more traps to set up, you return home.


[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 go with your plan

[Assistant]
While you're sure Gruz probably means well, you were put in charge of this mission and you're not going to second guess your own judgment, which has been sound so far in dealing with the situation.

"We'll proceed with my plan and split the team up into two strike forces with you commanding one of them." You say.
"As you say sir."
"Did the svelk report say they saw any actual shadows at any of these places?"
"Not at most of the locations as they seem to be just safe houses for normal rebels, but there was one in particular which seems to be more of an actual armed camp that they saw more than a few of shadows hanging around."
"Okay then, I'll take the svelk and attack that place first and your group can concentrate on the regular rebel locations."
"Are you sure you want to do that sir? I mean being alone with all the svelk?"
"I'm well aware of their treacherous nature, but as you just saw I am not intimidated by them. They just saw that as well. Besides, they're being paid well for this job and I trust that their greed along with my example of their leader is not going to incur any more disobedience or grand standing."
"Probably not sir, but just be careful."
"Noted. Anyway, let's get going we've got traitors to purge and I'm anxious to see it through."

You and Gruz get the troops ready. You give a quick briefing of the plan the pair of you take your respective groups and part ways. After a march through the swamp you reach your first target and it does indeed resemble a small military compound. It's really just a walled village though. You'd guess that this particular place is so far from normal civilization that this just went unnoticed and the shadows eventually just subverted the entire place or at least started placing sympathizers there.

You order the attack and all goes well. The svelk and yourself easily scale the walls though given how pathetic the opposition is though, you almost wonder if you couldn't have taken this place all by yourself. You still haven't seen any of the rumored shadows in this place though and that slightly concerns you. Did they already flee, or did they just cloak?

"Keep alert! There may be shadows still lurking about!" you shout as you cut down one of the rebels.

No sooner have you said that, when you sense something amidst the chaos. A feeling like you're being targeted…

Unfortunately you still don't know where the attacker is located until its too late. A female shadow decloaks and fires a bolt that sinks into your chest before you can move out of the way.

Shadow bolts tend to be dipped in a poison and this one is no different as you begin to feel the affects. Fortunately being an Eternal you're immune to it killing you, unfortunately it still is enough to start making you feel dizzy.

The female shadow is moving faster than anything you've ever seen and she's moving right towards you.

You order the svelk in a slurring tone to fire their crossbows, but nobody answers your call. You can't be sure if it's due to the fact that in the chaos nobody could hear or understand what you said or if the svelk have conveniently decided to not follow your orders. In any event you're on your own.

You block the shadow's attack with a force shield and follow up with a stream of fire from your other hand though the shadow easily dodges your attack. You feel two sharp pains in both of your sides and at first you think the shadow has moved so quick that she's gotten behind you to stab you, but it turns out it's a second shadow that has snuck up on you.

In the end it doesn't really matter as the result is the same and you collapse face first into the ground. A final blade through your back finishes you off for good.


[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 face the bullets

[Assistant] You close your eyes, and soon, the world is taken away. You hope to find a peace in death you could never find in sleep.


[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] Continue

[Assistant] The hospital seems to be completely empty. You wake up in an old rundown hospital with no memory of how you got there. You look around and see broken equipment lying around the room.

[User] You leave the hospital and see if there is anything outside.

[Assistant] Outside the hospital you see a worn down road and empty cars. Everything is strangely quiet and you start getting worried. You feel hungry and wonder when the last time you ate was.

[User] You try to find a working car.

[Assistant] You find a car with the keys in the ignition and try to start it. Nothing happens. You keep looking and find another car that looks like it might work. You manage to get the engine started.

[User] You drive around looking for any people or stores that might have supplies.

[Assistant] You drive around the town and see many boarded up buildings, but no people. Eventually you find a store that you think might have supplies.

[User] You go inside the store and see if there are any supplies.

[Assistant] It looks like the store has been ransacked and all the shelves are empty. You manage to find a package of granola bars and a flashlight behind the counter.

[User] You eat a granola bar.

[Assistant] You feel a little bit better. But you're still hungry.

[User] You eat another granola bar.

[Assistant] You feel better. You should probably save the rest of your food though.

[User] You leave the store and get back in the car.

[Assistant] As you leave the store you notice movement out behind your car. A man steps out with a hungry look in his eyes. His clothes are in tatters and he is carrying a crowbar.

[User] You run at the man and attack him.

[Assistant] You run forward to attack the man. His crowbar crashes into your chest and you fall to the ground. He kicks you a few times and then grabs your granola bars and runs off.

[User] You go after him.

[Assistant] You go after him. As you try and stand up though you realize you're in extreme pain. You think one of your ribs is broken. You manage to get yourself on your feet, but realize catching him is impossible.

[User] You look for something to wrap your chest with.

[Assistant] You walk back into the store and find a few shirts that you tear and wrap around your chest. It helps you feel slightly better. But you're still in a lot of pain.


[System] You are the game master of a dark fantasy text adventure. The world is dangerous and choices matter. Narrate with immersive detail and let the story unfold naturally from the player's decisions.

[User] You enter The Green Door With Spider Emblem, Endorsed By The Squirrel

[Assistant]
You choose the green door with the spider emblem, endorsed by the squirrel.  After all, what is more trustworthy than a cute little squirrel?  You enter and immediately thereafter the door slams shut behind you and locks in place.  It seems you haven't much of a choice but to move forward down the passageway.  It is exceptionally dark down here, but given that you are a sneak that is actually a good thing.  You suddenly find yourself stuck and after fidgeting around for a while you come to the sudden realization what it is that has trapped you and why the door has a spider emblem on it.  It seems you aren't the only one that enjoys sneaking around in the dark...

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 necromancy

[Assistant]
Many kingdoms, empires, city states, oligarchies, and the like exist on the continent, but even though they all compete with each other there is one pact that none of them break.

No dabbling in the dark arts ever. This means no summoning creatures unnatural to the world, but more importantly no Necromancy. Typically such a wide spread pact would normally be dismissed and broken by one government at some point in time, but so great was the threat long ago that for the good of all living creatures this one treaty has ALWAYS been upheld.

Long ago, there was a war called the Dead War. How it began exactly is unclear, but it was a time of great violence, chaos and horror. The very existence of life was nearly extinguished and it was only due to several heroes that the Great Lich Lord (His real name is lost to history) was finally defeated, putting an end to this threat.

Ever since those dark years, the art of Necromancy has been outlawed and any tome containing the teachings of it, destroyed. In the events of the undead being spotted, nearly no effort is spared to destroy such creatures. Most of the time such events are caused by simple magic leaks, or magical experiments that accidentally raise such undead creatures, but investigations are typically done, just to make sure there isn't a budding Necromancer at work.

"Higher" forms of undead such as Vampires still exist, but as can be expected they have been forced to hide, most have been reduced to being little better than ghouls that live in a dark hole in the wilderness and constantly having to stay one step ahead of nosey adventurers. Liches supposedly no longer exist, as any discovered Necromancers are killed long before they can reach such power.

Still rumors always abound about some Lich in some obscure part of the world that is slowly building up another undead force in yet another attempt to destroy all life.

The Dead War may long be over, but the fear of a second one will forever loom over the world.


[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 throw your axe at the horse

[Assistant]
The horses gallop forward, the knight's elbow tenses and he leans forward on the horse.  He seems intent on running your through.  As you ride forward you let him think this will be a jousting match….

Like a bolt of lightning, you draw the axe at your side, throwing it at the Imperials horse.  The axe embeds itself in its forehead, and it lets out a pained neigh.  You dip to the side as it lurches forward, the knight being launched off with a cry of dismay.

As he lands a sickening crunch sounds out.  The knight groans and tries to pull himself up, but his arm is twisted and bent horribly.  He buckles and falls onto the ground, a defeated sigh escaping his lips.

"Come on, knave," the knight says, not moving, "what are you waiting for you brute?"

Before you can ride forth to finish him, a loud cry emanates from the forest behind you.

[User] You for the Emperor!

[Assistant]
You turn your horse.  From out of the trees, an enormous group of humans comes rushing out, screaming and yelling.  You notice they are quite different from the knights. While some of them have the silver coats, most of them just have some kind of padding and the Imperial soldier robes.  Their boots, gloves, and helmets don't look anywhere near as nice as the knights'.

These must be the lowly soldiers of the Empire, but there sure are a lot of them.  You turn again as you see the lawless orcs bring up a cry, charging towards the humans.  You watch as your comrades also charge the humans, so you decide you should as well.

Galloping forward, you prepare your axe.  A battle of strength versus numbers, you decide that Gigalak will decide the winner today.

You trample a couple of humans, their cries ringing out.  The axe bites into another, and as he dies his sword nicks your arm.  You slash, hack, batter, and even punch one.  A dying soldier cries out, digging his dagger into your side.  You gasp and slam your axe handle into his eye, a squishing sound resounds as blood squirts out and onto your leg.  He lets out a blood curdling scream as he flails, soon going limp and falling to the ground.

With the dagger still in your side, you circle back, needing to fight through a few more soldiers to do so.  Panting, you see that the battle is being lost for the orcs.  But some still fight on, despite their injuries and overwhelming odds.

Chief Greusim charges into the middle of it, laying waste to soldier after soldier.  His mighty club denting helmets and cracking skulls, breaking arms and busting jaws.

You watch as he cries out, someone plunging their sword into his side.  Gasping, you ride forward to save him.  But there are too many soldiers to fight through, and before you can reach him the grunts pull Greusim from his horse, stabbing, slashing, punching, and beating.  You see his own club being raised to be used against him.

All the other orcs in your tribe watch as the chief goes down, along with the other orcs he had around him.

There's just too many, you'll never fight through them all.

"Fall back! Fall back!" some orc cries out.

As you all do so, the lawless orcs seem shocked as to why.  Before they can get away, the Imperial troops have swept them up and begin to butcher most of them.  Few escape, and you even swing one onto your horse as you ride away.

You all ride into the forest, lucky to have escaped death on this day.  The same cannot be said for many others.

You exchange glances with Rolomag, who nods and pokes his chin to the valley.  Although you don't like the idea, you all will have to go there to recover and make plans….


[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]
You jam your head into the corpse of your prey, tearing off mouthfuls of flesh as you lift your head and gulp down the flesh. You begin drinking down warm blood, feeling the thick liquid coating the inside of your mouth and throat as you enjoy the delicious meal. You tear through the prey's chest, pulling ribs aside to get to the delicious insides, allowing you to scoff down as much meat as you can fit in your mouth with every bite.

However, pain distracts you from your meal for a moment, as you feel the burning in your chest rapidly get worse. Your blood is beginning to feel like its boiling as your nerves are set alight. However, this pain does nothing to distract you from the terrible hunger that runs through your body.

[User] You focus on the pain

[Assistant]
You focus on the pain, feeling the burning sensation as your blood boils, your fur burns, your bones melt. It begins consuming you, letting out a pitiful howl that turns into a scream of horror. Your body starts shaking, tufts of fur start peeling off with strips of skin as you spasm. You smack your head against the cold ground as bones break and reform, as your body shifts and buckles and pain races through your flesh. You scream for help, a pitiful, desperate noise, as your fingernails begin to tear at your skin in a desperate attempt to stop your body from aching. Soon, you find yourself naked and sobbing, lying there in your human form once more.

For a second, you're dazed, the only sense that you can feel being the feeling of the cold of the night on your numb, bare skin. Then, the waves of sensation begin hitting you. First, the pungent smell of freshly carved up meat lying in front of you. Then, the soft gurgling of a dying creature. Then, the taste of flesh and blood that sits in your mouth, and the feeling of warm blood coating your face and throat, backed with the burning in your chest. You look down, and find yourself staring at what, minutes ago, was your prey.

The creature underneath you, your "prey", is a young fawn, barely a month or two old. It's stomach has been torn open, half its intestines torn clean out and the remaining half hanging out of its wound. The creature looks up at you with a pair of large brown eyes, staring at you innocently for a moment, as if confused as what's happening, the cold reality of its situation not yet dawning upon it.

You vomit, chunks of raw meat and blood-tinged puke spewing out onto the ground. You begin sobbing, staring down at the dying deer, its mouth moving slowly, almost as if its trying to say something. The creature gives you one final look, before lowering its head against the cold earth as the light behind its eye is snuffed out.

You stare at the fawn, trying to comprehend what happened. Its flesh is torn apart... looking so delicious. You feel the hunger returning for a moment. No! Fuck, it's raw flesh, and you're looking at it like it's a steak dinner! Jesus, what is wrong with you?

The burning in your chest intensifies, as you find yourself curled up in the fetal position. You're stuck between weeping and growling aggressively, your mind racing and shifting. You find your skin rapidly growing and losing hair, your muscles tearing and reforming rapidly as your body shakes and spasms violently.

You lie there for what feels like hours, trying to contemplate how you're feeling. Your body is wracked with pain, your mind struggling to find focus as you're filled with endless, ever-conflicting urges to run, to stay, to live, to die, to feed, to puke... it's hellish.

You lie there, shivering. Your skin feels cold while you still sweat like a pig. Then, you hear a growl.

You pull yourself up, looking around to find yourself staring at a dozen werewolves, prowling out of the trees to approach you, with the large Albino from earlier at the head of them. It slowly approaches, looking at you. The creatures seem to be lacking the usual aggressiveness werewolves have. They approach slowly, staring at you with inquisitive eyes.

"You! You fucking bastard!" you yell at the Albino.

The Albino lets out a rumbling growl, before a loud bark quietens him. The Albino steps aside, as a new werewolf emerges from the trees and takes the lead.

The creature has long black fur, its left eye a ragged mess of scars, its right eye focused on you. The creature growls slowly, its eye fixed on you, its facial muscles moving, its ears twitching, its body moving... its almost as if its speaking to you, in some bestial language of body language, rumblings and something supernatural. The beast within you seems to understand, and somewhere in the back of your subconscious you understand him, a deep, beast-like voice talking in your head.

"The transformation isn't complete," the one-eyed werewolf "says".

"You... I can understand you," you say.

"You must have an incredibly strong will to resist the change, little one."

One-Eye moves closer, prowling forward slowly, before sniffing. The creature winces, snarling.

"No... not willpower. Silver. You have silver in your veins. In your chest. Burning the beast within. Subduing it. It's going to take you a little longer for the transformation to be complete. Just fight the pain. Ignore it. Embrace the beast. Then, you can join our ranks."

"Fuck you," you say, letting out a moan of pain as your body contorts yet again.

"You're very lucky, human. Most of my brothers and sisters would've killed you. You've only been bit. You'll have the chance to join us. The time of the beast is coming, little one. Your kind destroy the forests we dwell in, drive our prey extinct, poison the air and waters, and walk around as lords of the land, not remembering that you... are a prey creature."

The other werewolves let out an array of angry growls.

"Tomorrow night, in the light of the full moon, we strike. We hit the humans, converting those we can to our cause. We will hit the power stations, the cell towers, the Hunter's Lodges... we will drive your kin back to being the prey animals you are."

"We won't let you bastards win," you snarl.

"You'll be one of us bastards soon enough. Come on, brothers and sisters, let's leave this poor fool to turn in his own times."

You watch as the werewolves retreat into the forest once more, leaving you alone. You lie there, trying to regain enough of your mind to get up.

You need to stop these creatures. Their plan is going to kill massive amounts of people, and do immeasurable harm. They're unlike other Werewolves, who are poor men plagued to be psychopathic killers. These creatures have a plan, and are determined to follow it as both humans and wolves. You need to take them down while you have the chance.

[User] You try to focus...

[Assistant]
You slow your breathing, focusing on the pain in your chest. You raise your head, wiping the puke and blood from your face as you try to ignore the hunger in your belly. You wince, trying to ignore the desires of the beast within, telling you to run, to hunt, to feed, to howl. You shake your head violently, trying to focus, as you take up a kneeling position. The cold wind chills your bones and gives you goosebumps, and

"You look to be in a bad state, friend," a voice says.

You look up, finding yourself staring up at a a young, grinning man with curly black hair and a thick beard. His eyes are red and puffing, and seem to be somewhat burned. His jacket is patch-work, made of many stitched up patches of various colors, with the rest of his outfit being suitably gauche in its coloring to accentuate the man's weird look. He looks down at you, smiling.

"You're either very hungover, or old Fenrir got his claws into you."

"Who are you?" you ask weakly. "I'm getting really shit sick of having people walk up to me."

"Oh, a fool, little else," the man smiles. "You look cold. I have a spare set of clothes, if you want."

Cautious, you nod slowly, as the man pulls of his backpack, opening it. You pause, noticing the stock of your shotgun sticking out of the bag. The Fool tosses you a set of boots, underwear, an undershirt, socks, pants, t-shirt and a coat. Staring at him, you hurry to get dressed, as the Fool hums a song to himself. When you're finished, you look to the bag. The Fool notices what you're looking at, smiling.

"That's my weapon."

"Finders keepers, losers weepers, old Willy, old boy," the man shrugs.

You pause, trying to calculate the chances of you grabbing your weapon before he can.

"I didn't tell you my name," you say softly.

"You didn't tell me my name either, but I know that," the Fool shrugs.

The Fool grabs the shotgun, pulling it out and holding it in his hands, running his hands along the barrel. He pauses, digging through his pockets for a moment, before pulling out a golden coin.

"Tell you what. I'll flip you for it. You call it, you get your gun back. You don't, I'll put you out of your misery and stop you from completely turning. Agreed?"

You consider lunging at the man, but he lowers the barrel of the shotgun, anticipating your move. His grin widens, revealing more and more shiny teeth.

"Agreed", you say.

"Perfect!" the Fool grins. "Call it in the air, Willy."

The man flips the coin, watching it spin in the air.

[User] You heads

[Assistant]
"Heads!"

The coin flips through the air ahead of you, as you step back, looking at the coin with interest. He steps back, leveling your own shotgun at you as he the coin lands in the dirt. The Fool peers down at it, tilting his head, before flipping the shotgun in his hands, grabbing the barrel and offering the stock to you.

"It's your lucky day, Hunter. Good luck to you."

You grab the shotgun, holding it in your hands and aiming it at the suspicious, patch coat man.

"Who the fuck are you?"

"An interesting question! Do you like riddles?"

"No."

The Fool frowns.

"So dull. You're a dull old fellow, aren't you? Perhaps I should be helping the wolves."

"Just tell me who you are, dammit! I'm a dying man, I don't have time for this."

The Fool opens his mouth to complain, before pausing, then shrugging.

"A slave I have been and shall remain

To a golden mistress I'm tied with invisible chains

Yet always I put on the same brave face

She keeps me her prisoner, but leaves me some space."

The Fool smiles at you for a moment, before raising an eyebrow.

"So... who am I?"

[User] A Hunter

[Assistant]
"You're... you're a Hunter, right? You must be."

"Unfortunately, no. You're out alone in these woods tonight. Well, I best be off. Good luck dealing with my boy tonight, Willy. Best of luck."

"Wait!" you growl, aiming your shotgun at him. "You move and I blow your brains out!"

The Fool sighs, shaking his head.

"I don't think you really know how this game works, do you?" the Fool says.

The Fool leans forward, placing his thumb against the shotgun barrel. He scratches at his puffy, burned eyes, sighing.

"You're not going to shoot that gun," he says simply.

With that, the Fool turns, strolling off into the woods. You try to aim your shotgun, but find your arms are incapable of moving, the numb, cold muscles refusing to work. All you can do is watch as the Fool disappears into the darkness.

When he's out of view, you snarl. You sniff the air, smelling the scent of prey, and... you try to focus on the pain for a moment, ignoring your bestial senses, before you smell something else. The smell of smoke, in the distance.

You pause, raising an eye. Smoke means fire. Fire means activity. There needs to be something in that direction.

[User] You head off towards the smoke

[Assistant]
You slowly begin walking in the direction of the smoke, keeping your mind on the burning pain in your chest. Your bullet holes and bite mark have already scabbed and scarred over, no doubt from the healing abilities the beast within has granted you. Still, the silver burns just as harshly, like flames trapped in your chest. It's a struggle trying to focus on the pain, to let it consume you and drive you into a violent psychosis, but you have no alternative. Whenever you try to ignore the pain, you can feel the monstrous urges return. The unending hunger, the desire to break free, the need to howl up at the sky, the lust for the power of the wild... you keep focused, and the burning pain continues.

As you walk, you notice just how tight your clothes feel on you. No, not tight. Surprisingly, they seem to fit you perfectly, by whatever abilities of the Patchwork Man. They're not tight. They're constrictive. You want to tear them off, to feel the wind on your fur and to tear off into the night. You want to taste flesh and blood, to feel the dirt shift under your paws. You want to answer the call of the moon.

You shake your head roughly, growling as you tighten your grip on the shotgun. The cool metal reminds you of who you are. A Hunter.

It's a long distance of angered, confused walking, but you soon see lights emerge from the darkness. Not the passionate burning of flames, but the synthetic light of bulbs. You take up a crouching position, slowly sneaking up to where the trees give way to a clearing.

A large wooden cabin sits in the center of the clearing, surrounded by bright lights that give light to the cabin. Standing at the edge of the lights, holding a semi-automatic rifle, is a human. The man has a thick beard reaching his chest and long, tangled hair. His arms are covered with tattoos, depicting old Nordic runes and wolf symbols. Interesting. He must be the werewolf-equivalent of a Thrall. You've never heard of such a thing, seeing as werewolves are usually too stupid and bestial to have human servants, but the werewolves you've seen tonight are definitely smart enough to have them.

The Wolf Servant seems to be guarding the cabin, which has light plumes of smoke drifting up from its chimney. He hasn't noticed you, and seems to the only guard in sight. You need to take him out to get inside.

[User] You sneak up on him

[Assistant]
You slowly edge towards the figure, moving slow and low through the darkness as you come up behind the guard. You feet move softly over the dirt and grass, as you rapidly approach the figure. As you near him, you see the servant's head twitch as he hears you, before you swing your shotgun, smashing the butt of the weapon into the man's head. He sinks to the ground with a grunt, before you raise your shotgun, smashing it into his head again, and again, and again, and again!

KILL! BREAK! SHATTER! SLAUGHTER! FEED! EAT...!

You stop yourself, looking down on the shattered skull beneath you, completely crushed. Gray brain matter and blood have spilled onto the ground, and you find yourself feeling sick as you look at what you've done.

"Come on, come on, you can do this," you growl to yourself.

You stand up, and jog ahead at a steady pace, shotgun in your hands. Staring through the shadows with unnatural sight, you spot another guard on the opposite side of the cabin, dressed in denim jeans and little else. He notices you as he raises his submachine gun, but you're faster, aiming your shotgun and firing your weapon. The scattering pellets smash into the guard and knock him from his feet, smacking into the ground.

Shit. Two guards down, but you've been forced to go loud. Quickly scanning the surroundings and seeing no other guards, it's time to quickly take over the cabin.

[User] You charge in through the door

[Assistant]
You move to the door of the cabin, ready to perform the door breaching actions you've done countless times before. Raising your shotgun, you fire twice, blowing out the door's hinges, before booting the door open.

As you rush in, weapon raised, you find a hatchet blade swinging at you far faster than you can dodge. The weapon slices into your throat, knocking you off your feet as you hit the ground with a thud, blood tearing out of the tear in your throat. A gun barrel is pointed at your chest, and in a quick few seconds there's a short flash and a long, long darkness.


[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 climb the steep trail.

[Assistant]
The idea of moving swiftly appeals to you most, and so if the trail leading up the steep slope is the only one available, then so be it. By keeping to the high ground, you'll probably also have a better view of your surroundings; one way or the other, traveling along the ridge should prove to be beneficial, even if the trail does not turn out to be as good as you would like.

Without any further ado, you strike off. The trail is indeed steep, with scrambles from ledge to ledge at times, and very little vegetation to shade you from the tropical sun. You've seen mountain goat trails that were not unlike this one — although unless goats can fly or build canoes, you doubt there are any on Woban Island. The climb is grueling, and your pack fits you as well as if you were carrying a load of encyclopedias. The heat is oppressive, and all the sweat that is oozing out of your pores makes you feel like a spaghetti strainer. Just fifteen minutes up the hill, you stop and take a long swig out of the first Aquafina bottle. Ten minutes later you are stopping for a second drink. If your day continues like this, you're going to quickly regret not taking all six of the liter bottles that Captain Mark had scrounged up for you.

On the other hand, the pauses allow you to enjoy the setting. Under different circumstances — like, if you weren't on a paid gig, or on an island crawling with three-eyed man-beasts eager to kill you on sight — this might be a pleasant day. (And now that you think of it, it might also help if you had all that top-quality gear you bought in Boston. And if you had better prospects for tonight other than a meal of pepperoni sticks while huddling under a blue plastic tarp shelter.) The island itself is beautiful, with miles of seemingly pristine beach below you, and seabirds squabbling noisily for perching rights on a rocky point about half a mile away. There are no buildings of any kind on land, at least not that you can see; if there is a native village or two somewhere out in that expanse of jungle, you see no such thing. The closest thing to a structure is the Big Papi itself, which sits on the ocean like a distant white seagull floating contentedly on the waves.

The ridge only rises about four hundred feet above the beach, and so despite the effort required to make the climb it is over relatively soon. Just as you theorized, the trail continues along the crest, through pockets of grass and thickets of small trees. Even in the wooded sections there is very little shade, and so you pass the day exposed to the sun. Heat assaults you from above and below, as it reflects off the rocky terrain. You feel as though you are trekking across an endless parking lot on a sunny day in August.

The trail that you are following seems like a long and lonely highway; two hours pass as you follow it toward the foothills, with no signs of any Wobans. But despite all that forward progress, there are reasons to be concerned. You are down to your second Aquafina bottle, meaning you need to start being very careful with your water intake. There are no streams on this arid ridgeline, no places to replenish your supply; the handful of ounces remaining in the clear plastic bottle are all that you possess.

And so when the ridge trail begins to descend into a verdant valley where the sound of running water echoes gently off the surrounding hillsides, you start to get excited.

__________________________________________________

[User] Next page.

[Assistant]
The excitement comes to an abrupt halt the moment you hear voices beside that stream. Knowing that you have no reason to trust anybody you might encounter on this island, you go into instant stealth mode. It sounds like there are several men ahead of you, and although you don't recognize any of the words, the voices are calm. The speakers are merely conversing among themselves, unaware of your presence. You creep forward, finding a place behind a large rock where you can observe the speakers unseen.

What you see chills you.

There are three men in colorful grass skirts standing in a small clearing beside the small stream, each casually holding a spear that is as long as they are tall. And these men are certainly tall, nearly seven feet so, with muscular bodies. The fingers that grasp the spear shafts are tipped with elongated black nails; those on the index fingers are curved and pointed, as if these people were descended from velociraptors. And on the forehead of each man, directly above the bridge of the nose, a third eye frowns at the world.

The Wobans seem to be concerned about something, although you are relieved it's not you. "'A'ole hiki ia'u ke mana'o hou i ha'awi hou ke alaka'i ia makou i ke kuleana kia'i," one of them says.

"Ma hope o ka mea a makou i hana ai ia ia, aia anei kekahi kumu e pono ai ia ia ka lokomaika'i ia makou?" says the Woban on the right.

"'A'ole wau ka mea nana i kau i ka nahe i kana 'au'au!" the Woban on the left says defensively.

"'A'ole, aka, 'o 'oe kahi me ka mana'o!" the first one says.

"No ke aha i makemake ai ke ali'i e kia'i i keia ana? 'A'ole e hele kekahi ma ane'i."

"Makemake paha ke ali'i ia makou e hele."

"He naaupo oukou. E hele mai na kanaka ma ane'i. Ke 'imi nei na holoholona haole ia Vul-Kar, a alaka'i ke ana i ka luakini."

"No laila makou e ku kia'i ai a hiki i kahi poina e ke ali'i no ka makou mea i hana ai."

"'Ae, 'o ia ko ka makou ho'opa'i."

You haven't the slightest idea what they're gossiping about, but they seem rather glum about something. Then they go silent, sitting on the ground facing each other. One draws a circle in the dirt with his black talon-like fingernail, and they each take turns idly tossing pebbles into the center, as if they were playing some kind of children's game.

Their presence poses a dilemma for you, though. The trail that you have been following cuts straight through this clearing where the three Wobans appear to be waiting for something (or someone). For you to continue following it toward the mountain, you'd have to carefully circle through the jungle to get around them unseen.

But then you notice something else interesting: the stream that lured you here appears to emanate from a dark cave in the hillside, just five yards from your hiding spot. There is enough small brush around it that you are pretty sure that you can crawl there unseen. You have no idea where that cave goes, or if it even goes anywhere, but if nothing else it looks like it would provide better cover while you wait for the Wobans to leave.

All you know is that you can't stay here. Should the Wobans start moving around, of if another happens to come down the trail, you will be spotted instantly.

__________________________________________________

[User] You circle through the jungle to get around the Wobans.

[Assistant]
As cool as it might be to explore that cave, that's not what you're here for. This trail seems to lead right where you want to go, and the sooner you can get to the Stone of Vul-Kar and then get off this island, the happier everyone will be. These three Wobans seem distracted enough with their game that it should be easy to get past them, so the best course of action is probably to just sneak through the woods, put the Wobans in your rearview mirror, and continue on your way.

You venture out from behind your rock and creep into the woods, following the stream down for a hundred feet or so. Refilling your two Aquafina bottles with clear water from the little stream, you watch and listen for indications that the Wobans have heard you. From here you can't see them too well, but you can hear them well enough. As before, they seem completely unaware of your presence, their conversation focused some aspect of their game.

With your water supply replenished, you move on through the woods, using the sounds of the three natives as the center point for your circular route. "'A'ole 'oe ke pa'ani nei e na lula!" one of them shouts, but you quickly figure out that it's not about you. "'A'ole 'oe e 'ike i ka mea au e 'olelo nei. Noho iho 'oe a pani 'ia," another one says, and the crisis seems to be over.

A moment later, your orbital route around the distracted Wobans brings you back to the trail, and you resume your journey.

The problem, though, is that you have apparently picked a rather high-traffic trail to follow into the island interior. Within minutes you come to a prominent junction, with a wide and well-worn path leading left and downhill, and an equally wide and well-worn trail continuing straight ahead and slightly uphill. For the moment you hear no voices, so you continue on the uphill route. But the path is filled with footprints of all sizes — and heading in both directions, as if you've come across a major Woban thoroughfare. Extra caution will be in order.

Ironically, you are paying so much attention to the footprints in the muddy surface of the trail that you don't notice the tattooed warrior sneaking up behind you. It is not until he bellows out a loud whoop! that you turn and see him, but by then it is much too late. Four other tattooed, three-eyed men emerge from the brush beside the trail, each with an enormous spear pointed directly at you.

"Ua loa'a ia makou kekahi mea 'aihue 'e a'e!" the largest of them says. "Hiki mai lakou i ka makou 'aina e like me kahi ma'i ma'i o na pepeke."

"'O keia ka lua a ka makou i hopu ai i keia la!" a fellow behind you says, sounding almost boastful.

"'Ae, e 'olu'olu nui ke ali'i i ka makou hana," the first Woban says.

None of this makes even the slightest sense to you, but you can figure out enough to see that you're about to be taken prisoner. Now that you're seeing them up close, the Wobans are huge; the smallest among them still rises head and shoulders above you, with sharp-tipped spears that are longer than the men are tall. Even without the third eye on their forehead these people would be intimidating; whatever evolutionary purpose else it might serve, the extra eye effectively triples the menace behind their glares.

Physically, you'd be outmatched by just one of these fellows; you have no doubts they could eviscerate you with ease with those "talons" they call hands. All that extra body mass that makes them so much larger must be invested in muscle, bone, and tendon. You are not going to best anybody here in a footrace or pin one down in a half nelson. Maybe trying to reason with them is an option, though, so you give that a shot.

"Look," you say, "I come in peace. All I want is to climb a mountain—"

Someone strikes you from behind, and you slump to the ground unconscious.

__________________________________________________

[User] Next page.

[Assistant]
When you come to, you are lying on a dirt floor with a throbbing ache in the back of your head. Getting up seems highly ambitious given your groggy state, so instead you flop over and lie on your back. From what you can gather, you are at the bottom of a pit, with an oblong view of a small patch of sky a good twelve or sixteen feet above you. You have no memory of how you got here, but that's not surprising considering the force of the blow you received. Nor is it a mystery how you got to this place: the Wobans knocked you out and dragged you here. But where is "here"? What do your captors want, and how might you get free?

"I see you're awake," a voice says from the foggy corner of your consciousness. "You're already better off than the last person they dumped in here."

It takes a moment to realize you are not listening to a conversation between other people, but that there is someone else in this pit who is talking to you. You try to lift your head and look around, but that just causes more pain.

"Here, let me help." A man rises from the shadows and steps over toward you. He puts his hands under your arms and lifts you back against the wall, propping you up into a sitting position. It is more than you feel capable of doing yourself at the moment.

"The Wobans seem to be doing some housekeeping, I think, and we're the rubbish. 'Make Woban Island Great Again,' that kind of thing."

"Water?" you say. "Where is my water bottle?"

"Not here, I'm afraid. No food, either. Just you, me, and a dead woman."

It's unfortunate about the water. Sitting helps, though, so you focus on breathing deeply and trying to center your perception on recognizable objects.

Your boots. You see your boots, way out there at the end of your legs. Your legs are muddy, with red marks where you got scraped up on something. You have no recollection of that. Beyond your legs… someone else's legs. The man who helped you. There is not much light in this pit, but you can make out a wiry figure, slender but athletic, like that of a runner or something. Not a runner — scratch that. He is wearing a black harness that encompasses his torso and upper legs. He is a climber.

"Thank you anyway," you say.

"Hey, no problem," the rock climber says. "I could go for a long drink of water myself."

A moment passes while you sit quietly, waiting for your head to clear. The man fidgets, though, like someone not accustomed to silence.

"What's your name?" he says, but you choose not to answer; you're not sure you are in any position to provide an accurate answer yet.

"I'm Gary Gaffney, and right now I'm wishing I never heard of Woban Island. I think maybe I need a better travel agent. How about you? What do you think of the hospitality here? By the looks of the way they roughed you up, I'm guessing your Trip Advisor review will be fun to read. I just hope I get to read it someday."

"How long… have you been here?" you say.

"Not much longer than you. I was here for some epic rock climbing. You see, there was this broad in Boston who hired me to, uh, get some pictures of the island. I'd tell you more about that, but maybe the less you know the better. For your own sake, I mean. But anyway, yeah, I came to climb. There is some awesome rock on this island, I'll say that much. You should see the highest peak — sheer cliffs on every side. It's a thing of beauty. I know some guys who like to free-climb Yosemite who would give their left nut for a shot at this place. The problem is, you know, the Wobans. These guys will take more than just a left nut."

"Stone of Vul-Kar," you utter weakly. "Did you find it?"

"So you know about that? I should've known. It's a small island, after all. I'll bet you anything that Mrs. Adventure here knew all about it, too. She must've thought the Wobans would be so impressed by her pith helmet they would respect her well-dressed professionalism and leave her be."

"Pith helmet?"

"Yeah, you should see this thing. At first I thought the British East India Company was making a comeback. Judging by the way it's split open, though, it didn't do her much good. I think she was still alive when they tossed her down here — barely. But she was in rough shape, and the crash landing didn't do her any favors."

"E ho'ike 'ia ka mea'ai i ke Ali'i!"

Wobans are gathering around the top of the pit, preparing to drop ropes down.

"It looks like our court date has arrived," Gaffney says. "Time to appear before the local magistrate."

__________________________________________________

[User] Next page.

[Assistant]
Three Wobans descend into the pit, each taking one of the prisoners: you, Gary, and the dead woman with the pith helmet. The body is hauled away once you reach the top, but your captors seem to have other plans for you and Gary.

The two of you are shoved toward the center of a large Woban village. It is late in the day, and the villagers seem to be preparing for a huge bonfire; there is a great heap of wood stacked near the center of town. Straw huts surround you, occupied by men, women, and children who for the most part wear only grass skirts and a few other simple adornments. Their village is situated beautifully in a valley high in the mountains; you can see forested slopes in three directions, each with its own cascading stream catching the evening light.

Above it all rises the island's highest peak, an impressive tower of rock that looms hundreds of feet above the valley. At the sight of it, your purpose here comes back to you. You remember now that the mountain is your destination; you were hired to find a way to the top and retrieve an item of extreme value. How ironic that the Wobans have helped you complete a portion of that journey.

"Didn't I tell you? I could spend the rest of my life here putting up new routes," Gary says, admiring the view of the mountain.

Your head is starting to clear, and you are coming to realize that your situation is dire. These people are known cannibals; if they are inviting you to a party, it's because you're to be the main entrée. As you are marched through the village, you sense the residents looking you up and down. Those extra eyes are no longer scowling; now they look eager, like they are assessing how well you might taste. The better to see you with, my dear.

The heart of the village is a big open space, with the pile of wood near the center, and a raised platform of earth upon which stands the largest hut of all. A man and a woman are seated before the hut, regally poised in feathered robes and wearing feathered headpieces. You and Gary are brought before the mound and forced to kneel.

"At least they haven't lost our luggage."

Gary nods his head to the left, and there before the mound is a small hut with an open entrance. Inside it you can make out a large backpack adorned with colorful rope and carabiners. You assume your modest book bag is in there, too. The packs seem unmolested, as if the Wobans have no interest in items they can't understand — or perhaps fear things they think are enchanted with dark magic.

The king in his feathered robe stands up and approaches the forward edge of the earthen platform like an actor on a stage. He looks over the two of you, all three eyes moving in unison as if assessing merchandise.

"Ua li'ili'i loa ka wahine," he says, his stentorian voice uttering words you have no way of understanding. "'A'ole lawa kana 'i'o e kako'o ia makou. Pono makou e loa'a hou na 'i'o."

The king gestures to one of the guards, who first forces Gary to his feet, and then you. Your talkative rock-climbing friend senses the gravity of this situation and remains quiet. The guard steps in front of Gary, eyes him up and down, and then does the same to you. When he's done, he grabs you by the back of the neck and shoves you a step closer to the king, who in turn subjects you to the most intense glare of your life. You can see now that in a staring contest with a Woban, you will always be outmatched on a three-to-two basis.

"Nau e koho!" he barks at you. "E koho i ka la au e makemake ai e make: I keia la? Apopo?"

You stand there waiting for him to continue; the king stands before you as if waiting for something from you as well.

"I keia la? Apopo?" he says more slowly.

"I think he's asking you a question," Gary says.

"I get that," you say. "I don't understand what, though."

"'A'ole hiki i keia holoholona ke 'olelo!" the king bellows to the gathered villagers, who respond with nervous laughter. Then he settles his eyes back on you. "He ninau ma'alahi ia. E koho i ka la au e makemake ai e make: I keia la? Apopo?"

His efforts to slowly enunciate the words aren't helping your ability to comprehend them. The best you can guess is that you are being asked to choose between two options.

"I keia la? Apopo?" the king says again, but this time he is stepping backward to rejoin his wife.

"I keia la or apopo?" you say.

"Ke pihoihoi nei keia," the king says, once more gesturing to the guard.

The warrior grabs you by your shirt. "I keia la! Apopo! E koho i keia manawa!" His words land like spittle on your forehead.

"Just choose one," Gary says. "Before they get mad. It's either 'i keia la' or 'apopo.' Your guess is as good as mine which is the right answer."

It's frustrating being forced to make a choice when you have no way of knowing what the consequences will be.

__________________________________________________

[User] You keia la.

[Assistant]
"All right, I'll choose 'i keia la,' although it really makes no difference to me," you say.

"I keia la?" the guard says.

"Yes, i keia la."

The guard turns triumphantly to the king. "Ua koho ka holoholona ke make i keia la!"

"A laila e lawe e luku 'ia," the king says dismissively.

"Well that seems to settle things," Gary says.

But the Woban guard grabs you by both shoulders and roughly marches you back into the cluster of huts. Everybody seemed content with your choice, so you have no idea what you've done wrong.

"Hey, i keia la! I keia la!" you say, but the guard only seems more irritated with you and grabs your shoulders even more tightly. His long claw-like fingernails are piercing your clothing and causing you much pain. You can feel blood dripping down your sides.

The villagers seem even more interested in you now than before, and some step forward as if to inspect you. But your guard acts as if he's on a tight schedule. "Ma waho o ke ala!" he shouts at them, and the people move sheepishly aside.

At the guard's forceful direction, you turn a corner and march directly toward one of the huts. At last you are about to find out what it is you have chosen. But your blood chills when the most massive Woban you've seen yet emerges from the straw shelter. He folds his arms as he watches your approach, and against his left shoulder you can see he is holding a short but sturdy stick. The wood is polished from years of use, and the blunt end is caked with dried blood.

Only then do you start to grasp the significance of "i keia la," as you approach the man with the cudgel: you have chosen to be tonight's dinner, and you are being led like a lamb to the slaughterhouse.

THE END


[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 might as well give up

[Assistant]
You accept your fate and let the little girl snap your neck, paralyzing you. She then pulls out a book of matches and using the power of her mind alone (and without even looking at what the matches are doing) she lights one and throws it onto your body just as she lets go.

Gameover, you died.


[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] Continue

[Assistant]
When you enter the room quietly, closing the door behind you with a soft click, the first thing you see is Cassamento standing on a platform with a console. He looks at Helena, who dangles over a pool of acid by a rope. There's a guard not too far away, but he's not going to be trouble; a chokehold puts him out for the count.

"Cassamento," you say, heading up the stairs to the platform, "It's over. Let her go."

"Hmph. I thought you'd be dead by now, you faceless freak," Cassamento spits, "But no matter. Now you get a front row seat to Huntress' death." He flips a switch on the button, and the rope snaps. Huntress begins to fall.

[User] You use your grappling hook to swing to the other side of the room, grabbing her before she hits the acid.

[Assistant]
Thinking fast, you pull out your grappling hook and fire, the hook fitting snugly onto a rafter. You don't give yourself time to see if it's holding on tight, however, and instead swing into the path of the falling Huntress. You grab her and pull her back to the platform, to safety.

Helena grunts slightly as she gets up. "Q. Thanks for the help." She looks at Cassamento. He backs away slowly.

Wordlessly, she pulls out her crossbow and aims at him.

[User] You stop her. She doesn't need to go down this path.

[Assistant]
"Huntress," you say, "Don't."

"Why, Q? Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill him right here, right now?" Huntress spits, crossbow still leveled at Cassamento's head.

"Killing one's enemies only lead to self destruction. Look at the path you were on. The reason no one trusted you was because of the fact that you killed. Eventually, you'll wind up alone, or dead. Is that really what you want?"

She squeezes the trigger slightly...

And lowers the crossbow. "No... That's not what I want at all."

You sigh in relief. She takes a pair of handcuffs out of her utility belt, cuffing Cassamento to the railing. "Let me gather up evidence, then we can head back to your apartment."

The two of you begin to walk away...

[User] You continue

[Assistant]
... But Huntress stops, and turns to the bound Cassamento. Her brown eyes meet his not dissimilar ones, staring into them. "... Why?" she begins, "Why did you do all this? What was there for you to gain?"

"Besides the obvious?" Cassamento replies, chuckling bitterly. "I would've gained satisfaction."

"I doubt you hate me that much just for interfering with your business."

"You've no idea how much I utterly despise you," he glares at her. It's enough to make even you shudder.

"Just tell me why," she says, aiming her crossbow at his head, "or I will kill you."

"Put that weapon down, Helena Rosa," Cassamento begins, "before you accidentally kill your father."

That gives the photo you found context.

"... Liar. You're not my father."

"Oh, but I am." He reaches his uncuffed hand into his back pocket, pulling out his wallet. After a moment of struggling he pulls out a photo, of himself and Huntress's mother. The two are obviously about to engage in sexual activity, Cassamento's hands fondling her breasts and her head craned to lay kisses along his neck. Huntress's eyes widen at the photograph. "Take a look at this, Helena."

"... W-wh... What's happening in that photo?"

"What do you think? We were about to conceive you."

Huntress takes a moment to compose herself, then lets out a breath. "Even... Even if you are my father, that doesn't explain why you want me dead."

"Because I hate you. I hate that you're alive while she is dead."

"There was nothing you could do," Huntress interjects, "the man shot her, not m-"

"Nonetheless, if it weren't for you, she'd be alive. If it weren't for you, that damn hitman wouldn't have misinterpreted my instructions..."

"What?"

"I hired the hit on your family. I told the man to spare the sister. I meant Tomaso's sister, your mother. He must have thought I meant you." He shakes his head, then stares at Huntress. "I had to avenge her."

Before you can react she's aiming the crossbow at Cassamento again, and it's only at your touch that she falters before dropping it. Instead, she opts to kick him in the face, knocking him out.

"Let's get the hell out of here," Huntress says. You nod, leaving the manor.

[User] You continue

[Assistant]
You leave the manor with Huntress, dropping off a flash drive full of evidence from Cassamento's files from his own computer (nix the information on Huntress' identity). Soon enough, her name is cleared for those crimes.

The next day, you tell Huntress, or rather Helena, that you're going to be heading back to Hub City before the week's out. She nods after a moment, then asks you: "Why did you do all this? Why'd you risk your neck to help me out?"

This is the moment of truth...

"Because I... Like you." You turn away, sure that you're going to face rejection.

Her eyes widen in surprise.

"Q... I'm... I'm sorry, but I don't feel that way about you." This is what you were expecting. Rejection. "Can we just be friends?"

"Of course," you reply, smiling. "I'd like nothing better."

[User] The End

[Assistant]
A Week Later...

As the train makes its way to Hub City, you smile, content with your time spent in Gotham. Sure, you didn't get Huntress to dramatically declare her love for you, but really it all worked out in the end. And, now that you think about it, both of you are better off this way. Friends. Friends works.

You take a look out the window, and see the Hub City skyline drawing closer. All you can think is how this was a hell of an adventure, and there are sure to be more on the way.

There ain't no rest for the wicked, after all.

THE END


[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 if not...

[Assistant]
You feel like your falling.  The mysterious hand releases your matted hair and you scream out in fear .

AAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!!

Splash!!

You find yourself at the bottom of the drainpipe and about 5 feet of what you could only think  of as sewage.  The water broke your fall as you try to make out what just happened. It is still pitch black but now you are soaked.

Slowly coming to your feet, you feel a presence of someone else close by you. A cool breeze coming from your right chills you to the bone.

"Who's there!!" you demand.

Who pulled you down into this dark, stank, sewer. You could have sworn you heard a voice just before you were pulled down here.

You start to make your way toward the breeze, arms outstretched like a lost, blind person.

"I have got to get out of here." you think.

[User] You plug your nose and follow the breeze.

[Assistant]
While following the breeze you begin to think of your Grandfather and his huge mansion you visited when you were a child.

"Could I have been wrong in hoping for lots of money after my he dies?" you wonder.

"I wish I never left the house. " "I'll never see my Grandfather now." you think.

A shutter of certain doom  fills your mind when you notice a light up ahead about 100 feet. It seems to  be bouncing around the air from side to side...almost hypnotically.

A sense of happiness and comfort starts to creep into your mind and an overwhelming need to follow the bouncing light just up ahead.

It kind of reminds you of an angler fish drawing in on it's pray...

[User] You follow the pretty, bright light.

[Assistant]
"There IS someone in here!!!" screams the bouncing light.

"Hurry, get a stretcher!" it says. "QUICKLY!!"

Stumbling out of the other end of the drain pipe you see the wrecked van on the side of the road. Two police vehicles, a fire truck, and the coroner's car are all surrounding the area. Puffs of smoke are all that come out of the once blazing van. Rain is still coming down hard and the rescue crews seem to be working fast.

The paramedic that spotted you stumbling around in the dark tunnel, turns off his flashlight and helps you onto a stretcher.Ttwo others begin wheeling you toward the paramedic van. You begin to feel lightheaded as they attach an oxygen mask to your face.

"Boy, his face got  chewed up pretty good." says one EMT to the other.

"Could he have been a survivor of this crash?" asks the other EMT.

"I don't know but I guess he has alot of questions to answer." the other replies.

They both close the doors of the paramedic truck and motion for the driver to take off. As the van slowly pulls away from the crash site you can still see out of the back windows.

A lightning flash momentarally reveals a figure of a clown standing at the exit of the drainpipe you just came out of. The clown is wearing a bright yellow suit and white gloves. His red hair is wet against his head and instead of a smile painted on his face, there is a evil grimace exposing rows of sharp, yellow teeth.

THE END

You reached the Stephen King "IT" ending.