[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 relocate

[Assistant]
It's not ideal, but maybe it's been a long time coming. You need to get out of here before you're unable to.

"We've got coin saved up. Not as much as I'd like, but enough for us to be comfortable for a while. I've heard of a port town far to the north on the mainland called Yiktolv that's supposed to be experiencing a growth boom. Lots of opportunities and such, but apparently very much still a frontier type environment meaning there shouldn't be much law crawling all over the place. Fairly certain two enterprising people like us could find something to do in such an environment." You say.
"Okay, I guess we better make the preparations then. I'm sure we'll be fine. Well, it's late and we probably should both get some sleep." Annah says,

You both head to bed, though you don't sleep much for several reasons. There's so much shit you need to get done.

You spend the next month fencing as much as you can and selling off items that have been in your possession for awhile now at a slightly lower rate. You also start giving Marco a bit more responsibility with the whole debt-collecting thing. At one time you just gave him orders on what you needed, but you start allowing him to see the actual books and lists.

Marco's smart enough to know something must be up if you're doing this. You give him a short explanation, which of course he's not exactly overjoyed to hear you leaving, but he's grateful that you're passing your business on to him.

"Remember, I'm handing this to you. Try not to let that asshole Nathan reassign you or some shit. You've got a crew. I mean maybe you're all going to be Syndicate one day, but I assume you had your closest ties with your fellow Black Hooks, so it isn't like you don't have any back up." You say.
"I understand and thanks." Marco replies.

After about two months, you and Annah are pretty much set and you have already made arrangements to board a ship mostly carrying fabric to Yiktolv. Normally such a cargo ship wouldn't take any old passengers, but enough coin talks. You really only want to take such a ship mainly because its potentially less of a target for pirates. After all you've got a trunk full of valuables, along with your family.

As concerned as you were in beginning about all this, you're starting to feel more hopeful about this new beginning. Even Annah is sort of looking on the bright side of this endeavor.

The day you're scheduled to leave, you, Annah and the twins make your way to the ship with a cart carrying your belonging, but you can't help have a feeling of unease.

The ship's crew takes your things and you board the ship with no problems, but you're still feeling anxious. You just sense something wrong.

And then it happens.

Just as the ship is about to leave, a bunch of shouting for it to stop along with threats occurs and then you glance over the side and see Nathan, along with several of his Syndicate men begin making their way up the gang plank. Behind them are Marco and several Black Hooks. He looks a little cowed.

Nathan just gives a intimidating glance at the captain of the ship who slinks away to his cabin while the rest of his crew also find a way of making themselves scarce.

Annah shields Emma and Evan and tells them to get behind her. Annah's good, but you're not sure with Nathan's shadow magic powers. And while Marco is here with some of his people, you can't really be sure he'd help if it really comes down to it. Pressure by a powerful organization can be effective.

"You planning on leaving before saying goodbye Annah?" Nathan addresses her as if you're not even around.
"Didn't know we needed to." You remark.
"I'm sorry, I didn't realize you wore the pants in the relationship."
"What?"
"Oh come on, while you may have run your petty crime ring of snot nosed teens before we arrived, everyone knows that Annah's the real threat here. Shit, I remember how Rook used to love telling stories about her in Holgard. If he wasn't a pillow biter I would have sworn he was in love with her. Of course that was before she decided to become a brood sow."
"Nathan, you call my wife a brood sow again, you're going to see just how dangerous I AM."
"Ohh! You hear that? The sound of a wounded ego. What do you think of your mentor Marco? You think he could take me?"

Marco doesn't answer and just looks down. Causing Nathan to get annoyed and walk over to him.

"Hey! I'm talking to you boy! Answer the fucking question!" Nathan says smacking Marco upside the head.
"Um, no sir." Marco answers meekly.
"You see that? Not even your star pupil thinks that highly of you, but as fun as all this is, let's get to why I'm here. Coin. Coin that belongs to the Syndicate."
"What're you talking about Nathan? I left instructions and lists with Marco about who owes coin. Not to mention I put aside this month's cut for the Syndicate and left it at the shop. Shit, I even left a little extra since I figured it would be a gesture of good will."
"Yeah? Well that's thoughtful. Wasn't that thoughtful lads? The problem is, your good will don't mean shit. Now you're not Syndicate and obviously you're too much of a pussy to join so honestly I don't give a shit if you leave. Saves me the hassle of having to kill you later since I never thought much of you anyway. In fact the only reason why I'm being THIS generous is despite Annah being a…mother now, I know she's still deadly with those pistols. I imagine right now, she could take out several of us if this turns unpleasant."

Nathan then turns to walk back towards your direction.

"However, as good as she is, she's not faster than me and more importantly she's not fast enough to save YOU. So to prevent this from turning unpleasant, all I'm requesting is you hand over ALL your coin. I know you've probably got a chest full of it. Call it your exit tax. Do that, and you can be on your way to wherever the fuck you're scurrying off to."

You are feeling an anger right now that you nearly can't contain. You almost aren't thinking straight. You look at Nathan's smug face and you just want to shoot it. You know the reputation of shadow magic and how effective it is. Even Annah has told you some of the things she's witnessed.

You're about to pull your pistol and he looks so eager for you to try. Still, he can't be THAT fast can he? Even if you missed, sure Annah would be able to…

You feel a hand on your shoulder, and you turn to look at Annah who just shakes her head a bit.

"We'll be fine." She says.

And those words seem to calm you enough to drop your hands to your side.

"Take your tax. It's in a black trunk below us." You say.
"Smart move listening to your woman. She knows all too well the penalties of trying to fuck over the Syndicate. That's how she got that lovely eye patch isn't it? Marco, go make yourself useful and go get the fucking trunk." Nathan says snapping his fingers at him.

Marco and the other Black Hooks head to the lower decks without another word. Meanwhile you go over to be closer with Annah and your children. Nathan of course takes this opportunity to continue to mock you both, presumably to still try to goad you into fight.

Soon, Nathan begins to get more irritated by the fact that Marco hasn't returned yet.

"Fucking hell, what is taking so damn long? Go see what those fucking idiots are doing." Nathan says to his men who head down below.

Next thing you know, the sounds of shouting followed by fighting can be heard. You can't believe it.

"What the fuck…" Nathan says and moves towards the stairway leading to below decks.

And that distraction is all the time Annah needs.

Without a word, she pushes you to the side, pulls her pistol and unloads it into Nathan. Three of the shots turn his head into a bloody mess before his lifeless body hits the deck.

"Quick, go help your minions, they might need it." Annah says and starts reloading.

This wasn't part of the plan, but you have to take advantage where you can. You go down below where you find the Black Hooks fighting it out with the Syndicate. Fortunately for the Hooks, they had the advantage of ambushing them, but it's still a good thing you're there to help.

After it's all said and done, you've killed them all, though not without casualties. Marco himself is wounded, but alive.

"You alright?" you ask.
"Yeah…ah…fuck." Marco replies.
"Hm. You realize you just dug a deep hole and jumped waist deep in shit right?"
"I know, but I just couldn't stand by and let him horse fuck you like that."
"Appreciated. I knew who you'd side with if it came down to it."
"Is that asshole dead?"
"Yeah, Annah filled him full of holes as soon as the fighting down here occurred. Turned his attention away just for a few seconds and that was it."
"Good. But what happens now? Are you still leaving?"
"Good question."

You motion for the remaining Black Hooks to help Marco and you head back to the upper decks where you find Annah trying to calm down a very worried captain. (Though oddly, your two children just stand by unaffected by the situation other than maybe curiosity)

"Relax captain, the Syndicate isn't going to take it out on you. This will all be taken care of. Just head back in your cabin and when you come back out in a few hours, everything will be fixed and you can be on your way." Annah says which the captain doesn't necessarily believe, but he's scared enough to be hopeful, so he does exactly what Annah says.

You approach Annah as she's then asking if Emma and Evan are okay.

"They seem disturbingly calm about all this, obviously going to grow up to be unfeeling killers like their mother." Annah remarks to you.
"I sure hope so. I know I'll feel safer." You respond.
"Speaking of safety, How exactly are we proceeding with all this? I mean what just happened is what you wanted to avoid."
"Yeah, I know, but shit happens. Guess we're staying now."
"What? You mean you want to stay and not head to Yiktolv?"
"What's the fucking point now? I mean we just carried out your plan, we might as well risk it now. If we go running off, I doubt even Rook would look kindly upon killing his representative here without at least replacing him. Not like Marco would be up for that task and the last thing I want to wake up one night in Yiktolv with Syndicate assassins surrounding me. If we get ahead of this, and Rook likes you as much as you and even Nathan said he does, well maybe we'll be okay."
"Oh, I think I can spin all this in a message to Rook. We might need to kick a little extra coin up to him this coming tribute though, just on the safe side."
"Well I figured, but we're sure as shit not paying all of it. Marco and his lot can contribute half that considering he got us into this in the first fucking place. I'd have them pay all of it, but I know those fuckers are still poor for the most part."

You and Annah look at one another.

"Well we tried to walk away didn't we?" Annah asks.
"Yeah. But things probably would have been the same in Yiktolv. I mean I suppose this way we don't need to start all over after all. Wasn't looking forward to that, let me tell you." You say.
"Maybe it sounds strange, but I feel more positive about our future than I did."
"Yeah, that sounds strange since we could very well be in more danger, but that's why I love you. Anyway come on and let's throw this asshole overboard. We're probably going to have to take care of any other Syndicate members that were loyal to him soon. They'll probably all be at the temple."

After a few month's time of "clean up" and coercion, things are settled on Jicol. When news finally reached Rook, he didn't mind Nathan's death and was glad to have Annah on board as his new representative on Jicol running things there. (You've always been seen as just part of the package even if you're actually handling more of the business side of things)

You officially become Ebony Claw Syndicate. You're supposed to get the tattoo, but you never do since you have the luxury of running things in Jicol and things are a little more lax there as far as "gang formalities" go.

While in the scheme of things, you might just be one cog in a larger organization; your simple days as common rogue are definitely over. In any case it doesn't seem so bad, and besides the fact that you have to split more time with Annah looking after your children, things run more or less smoothly and you're doing fairly well.

In fact you wonder why the hell you didn't just go with Annah's plan in the first place.


[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 telekinetically send furniture at the Troupe

[Assistant] You feel their presence, slowly picking up the couch with your mind. The furniture flies towards them, and you feel their Warp presence flicker and die. You slowly move around the room, moving slowly and quietly, before you send a statue to crush another. You continue to move and weave, sending objects to crush and impale the Troupe. It only takes a minute before you hear the last one scream in pain as the dragon statue crushes them. You spray fire into the air, illuminating the room, just as she dies. Now, time to get back to the objective.


[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] The Shadow Guard (History Lesson)

[Assistant]
The Shadow Guard are an elite branch of the Empire's security force. Technically they aren't military, but they do help out the rank and file soldiers when assigned to. Their main task is internal security of the Empire's core regions however. Much like anything concerning the history with the Empire, the shadow's history is also a little murky, but for as long as anyone can remember, the Shadow Guard have been serving since the early days of the Empire.

While the shadows are feared and respected by most across the normal population, the higher ranking military officials tend to be suspicious of them for various reasons. One of the major reasons being their religious nature as they are practically a religious order of "warrior monks".

While the shadows do serve the Empire and dedicate their loyalty to the Emperor, they also worship a deity of some sort and have always done so, indeed it is supposedly how they all maintain their more magical abilities. Something like this might normally be considered a threat and the religion stamped out, but given their order's utter dedication to the Emperor for centuries they have been given some allowances that most would not receive. Not to mention that they are absolutely vital at keeping the population in check nowadays.

The Shadow Guard's procedures for choosing new recruits are almost as strict as the Eternal process. Besides the usual demanding combat training, they also have to go through some sort of ritual, which the shadows keep very private. It has something to do with their religion though, and not everyone survives the process. If the initiate survives then he or she becomes a fully-fledged shadow and all the abilities and powers that come with it.


[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 memories (Ro-Man)

[Assistant]
Robot Monster: Ro-Man

If there's a bigger laughing stock of the galaxy, they must've died of shame, because it would be tough to top Ro-Man.

Ro-Man's appearance is comical enough, but his personality takes him over the edge. For the most part he comes across as a typical unflinching bureaucratic tight ass that does everything his superiors tell him to the letter. However he does have his own ambitions and plans but he's never competent enough to carry them through, since he can barely carry out plans of his superiors.

The incident that really destroyed his career was his failed invasion of Earth. After seeing that the Martians were so interested in the planet he convinced his superior called "The Great One" that they should invade it and that he should lead the invasion force. He said he just needed one ship to do it too. The Great One up to that point wasn't too impressed with Ro-Man, but he indulged the fool and said he'd get a promotion if he pulled it off. Ro-Man had it all planned out, he was going to WIPE out humanity (As he liked to say) and make the way clear for his own people to colonize. He developed a big death ray and everything.

What happened next made every failed invasion by the Martians look like military genius in comparison.

After he did all his long winded speeches, the governments of Earth pretty much dismissed him for the long winded blowhard he was and ignored him as a potential threat. Ro-Man was incensed and unleashed his "Death Beam" and destroyed every Earthling on the planet…

Or at least that's what he thought happened, what really happened is when he turned the damn thing on he caused a power outage in his ship due to his bad wiring. After fumbling around in the dark for awhile and putting in a new fuse, his lighting came back on. Unfortunately for him not all the rest of his controls went back on line, but of course this genius didn't think to make sure. When he checked his scanners they didn't detect any life on Earth. It never occurred to him that all Earthlings hadn't been WIPED out and his scanners just weren't working.

Thinking he'd succeeded in his plan he landed on Earth to check things out, but instead of landing some place that would've tipped him off right away like a major city, he landed in the boondocks, where he ended up running into some very frightened humans who he figured were the only survivors on Earth. He spent the next few months chasing them around trying to kill them, until he started to get a hard on for some of the young human girls and then he was just trying to commit intergalactic rape at that point.

What ultimately happened was some hunter caught sight of him and shot him in the ass with a heavy duty tranquilizer, thinking he was Bigfoot. (He wanted to capture him alive for a reward) When he woke up he was on the first saucer back home and deported in great shame. His planet was humiliated for his spectacularly idiotic failure. He was demoted several ranks after that and eventually just kicked off his planet and his citizenship revoked. Later he would go on to hire himself as a mercenary for other aliens often as an invasion consultant.

Needless to say he would get hired once and then have to find a new employer.


[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]
The thug is right in front of me, picking on people weaker than himself. The very definition of a coward. Attacks unarmed people, specifically chooses those that cannot defend themselves. It's people like this that make project: Eden sound like a good idea. He hasn't spotted me yet. He probably wouldn't if I glowed in the dark, dimwitted asshole. He has a knife, but it's not like that's much of a challenge, not for a Homo Perfectus.

REMAINING HEALTH: 100%

[User] You attack the thug from behind.

[Assistant]
I come at the thug from the shadows and punch him across his face. I seem to have forgotten to increase my strength, so the hit doesn't take him out. Panicing, he swiftly swipes the knife at me, and barely manages to slash my arm. I then deliver a second hit, and this one takes him out. The fact that a punk like him managed to get a hit at me is more painful than the actual wound.

REMAINING HEALTH: 85%

[User] You talk to the victim.

[Assistant]
I approach the civilian, who is still cowering on the ground.

"Are you alright?"

He looks up and sees who I am.

"I...yeah. Did you..."

"You should be safe now. I hope this reminds you that Gorgon city is not safe during the night."

"Right, yeah. Thank's again."

REMAINING HEALTH: 85%

[User] You leave.

[Assistant]
I've done what I can here. Best I go back home. It takes time, since most of it is just walking as I don't have the necessary speed to run across the rooftops, but I get there eventually.

REMAINING HEALTH: 85%

[User] You enter the apartment.

[Assistant]
I press the key into the slot and open the lock. I then push the door open, wobble towards the couch and hurl myself into it. I intentionally placed the couch there, I am always so tired after a ten-hour Shade marathon, which I take almost every day. The city is just as dark as before. Adam gave the scum of the Earth a second chance, and this is how they use it. Stealing and killing anyone or anything they can think of! After a few minutes of resting I decide to close the door. I don't want anyone in the building to see Shade sitting on the couch placed directly in front of the front door, do I? That would be inconvenient for me as Eve. Now, I should probably take care of this wound. Damn bastard getting a lucky shot.

REMAINING HEALTH: 85%

[User] You stop the bleeding.

[Assistant]
I immediately enter the bathroom and remove my jacket. Some blood has stained it, and it was slightly cut as well, but it has seen worse. I cover the wound with bandages and apply pressure onto it. Soon the bleeding has stopped. The wound is still there, but this fixes a majority of the problem.

REMAINING HEALTH: 85%


[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 turn back to the Truckee Lake Camp

[Assistant]
Soon after setting off Dutch Charley Burger and young William Murphy return, having decided they cannot keep up with the Snowshoe Party. Reed Teamster Milt Elliott returns from a visit to Alder Creek with the terrible news that Jacob Donner, Samuel Shoemaker, Joseph Reinhardt and James Smith have all died. Dutch Charley, a chubby individual is the next one: weakening steadily he dies in Louis Keseberg's lean-to soon after his return. You are all suffering now.

The cold is permeating every part of you. Every moment of every day you are hungry and at night the cold numbs your body. It is like being on fire and unable to put it out, one night it is worse than ever and you find all you want to do is give in, to walk out into the howling snow and die rather than go on suffering like this. Your companions are mere skeletons of themselves and despair is etched on every face.

What do you do?

[User] You venture out into the cold

[Assistant] You too do not survive the year. Rising from your thin blanket you stumble out into the cold. What you are searching for you do not know and never find out. Your body is found the next morning, half buried in snow.


[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 to the Tulan Border

[Assistant]
You don't like the sound of the Quillars and it doesn't really sound all that much safer. You decide that at the Tulan border you'll at least be with a few people you already know from boot camp and you'll be fighting something less scary. (Or at least human)

"I'll take the Tulan Border assignment sir."
"Hm, I'm surprised. Hope your skills come in of some use there. Here's your first month's pay, I suggest you live it up here in Zal, for the couple of days you have off before you leave."

You take the small bag and look inside. This will certainly help your family. You take a few coins for yourself and then ask if arrangements can be made to have your payment sent to your family from now on. He tells you yes, but asks that surely that you will still want some of it. You agree to just taking 10% of it. You don't need much.

"Sheesh, living bare minimum huh? Don't you want to eat anything other than military rations every once in awhile?" Kosser questions again.
"Nah. If I need extra food, I'll just hunt."
"You know there aren't many luxuries on the border, but when a traveling merchant shows up, you might regret not having enough money. You sure you don't want more?"
"Nope. I'll be fine. My family needs that money more than I do."
"Alright then, family man."

You exit the barracks and wander the city a bit. You find it very interesting. You sort of wish you could stay longer to take in more sights. However one thing catches your eye. A small store and in the window is a lute. Looks almost like the one you had before it was taken away from you in basic training. You haven't gotten a chance to play in six months and you'd really like to…

Hey you're a soldier now, you've proven yourself. You figure you can take one personal belonging with you to Tulan as long as you keep them packed properly. You enter the store and with the little money you have you buy the lute. You spend the most of the day and the next practicing it. You didn't forget as much as you thought. You also finish up writing a letter to your family and give it to a Zalan messenger carrier.

Finally the third day arrives for you to move out. A couple of officers arrive to take all of you. You're stopped though as you're picked out.

"Hold up you. What's that?"
"It's a lute sir."
"A lute? What the fuck do you think this is? An acting company? Get rid of that thing, you won't be needing that where you're going!"
"But…"
"You disobeying me soldier?"
"No sir!"
"Alright then, get rid of it!"

You sadly get rid of your lute which you never got to play and basically wasted your money on. You don't know what you were thinking anyway. You're in the damn army. You're going to be doing a lot of fighting and all of that, not playing some stupid instrument. You should've realized that the first time it was taken away from you in boot camp.

You've made this choice; you need to just put these dreams of being a "musician" out of your head right now. You weren't meant to be one, and all those years of deluding yourself in between real work were just fleeting dreams of a teenager. Time to grow up.

While you resign yourself to this mindset, you aren't particularly happy with it. When you get to the Tulan Border you're even less happy. Your first battle is filled with all the bad stuff that usually accompanies such things. It's definitely not a fun assignment and your only consolation is that you know your family is getting more financial aid for you doing this.

After a few months, you're absolutely miserable. You don't have your music to keep your mind off of the conditions and everything is bad here. The fort you're currently stationed at supplies only the bare minimum of living, no magical back up, the captain is a real asshole and the rest of those you serve with aren't too much better. Though so many are killed everyday that you never really grow to dislike (or like) anyone that much in that department. More are sent in and more die, it's like an ongoing cycle, everyone's so expendable in this ongoing border war that gets worse with each passing month.

It doesn't even come to your surprise when the day comes that you're mortally wounded while on patrol. One of the new soldiers tells you to hold on and that he'll get help, but you know he won't get any in time and it wouldn't matter anyway.

As you lay dying, your only regret is that you didn't get to play music like you always wanted to, and now you never will.


[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 become AN HERO

[Assistant]
Well I guess we all shouldn't be surprised that it would end like this.

In the traditional of overly dramatic An Heros you decide to make a suicide note first. If you still had the internet you would've really been able to take advantage of this momentous occasion, but ever since you gave up anime you lost that perk.

Anyway since you don't really have any friends or even any relatives that like you, you just write about how you can't go on due to your sick obsession with Patricia and then life isn't worth living, it sucks, blah blah blah…

After writing your emo faggotry, you now decide on how to kill yourself. Unfortunately your mom carries her gun on her at all times so you can't shoot yourself and you're probably too much of a fucking sissy to go out V-Tech style anyway.

You try hanging, but your inept ass can't tie a proper knot. Eventually you give up.

You head to the bathroom to find some pills, but your mom hasn't refilled her prescriptions lately. You just swallow what's left in the medicine cabinet, only to throw it all up five minutes later.

Undeterred in your quest to pwn yourself, you grab your mom's razor blades and slit your fucking wrists open (Down the road not across the street of course) at last accomplishing something worthwhile in your miserable life.

You begin to bleed out; surprisingly you don't even change your mind and try to desperately call 911. You just think about how you wasted your life in your mom's basement jerking off to anime and how if you hadn't tried to stop you probably wouldn't be in this situation now. You would've been content on living the life of a basement dweller not knowing any better. Gotta love the irony eh?

Eventually you die and leave a bloody mess for your mom to clean up when she gets home. You aren't really missed, and your letter was so drenched in blood that it was illegible, so nobody really knows why you killed yourself if anybody cared in the first place.

In other words you're not even amusing enough to be An Hero, you fail at life AND death!


[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 cindy (Your girlfriend)

[Assistant]
Cindy: Girlfriend

You met Cindy about a year and a half ago. How you missed each before all this time is mostly due to her focus in pediatrics. It's a relatively new field. Before it was seriously considered as a real branch of medicine; kids were treated like miniature adults, which sometimes lead to unfortunate "over medication."

Like most people who pursue the medical field she comes from a wealthy merchant family, though originally her family came from the Delantium Kingdom and moved here a long time ago mainly because her father didn't like all the new taxes imposed by the Kingdom. She still has extended family there and remains on good terms with them and hopes to move back some day since she's never cared much for Klyton, claiming that most of the city doesn't have the appreciation of the fine arts and is rather "low class" in general. (Even the rich Klytonians)

This sort of attitude is mostly due to her Delantium upbringing when she was young, but despite this she still wants to help the children of the less fortunate since she feels everyone still should get the chance to pull themselves out of the gutter. This is probably why she found you attractive. While you certainly had help, you did manage to pull yourself "out of the gutter" so to speak. Of course the few times that she visited the inn, she didn't make a good impression with most of your acquaintances there. She wasn't outright rude, but she was standoffish to a point where most of them considered her a snob (and a few others worse than that!)

You take it in stride for the most part. As long as she's not calling your mother a gutter whore, you're not excessively bothered by her slightly elitist ways.


[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 try to buy some time

[Assistant]
"Johnny, look. We didn't do anything to you, but if you felt that we offended you in anyway, then I apologize profusely. You can walk out that backdoor right now and nobody has to know about this." You say trying to aim the gun so you know you'll hit him with it, unfortunately he's moving around with Julie even more now.

"Yeah right. The National fucking Guard is patrolling out there right now, I'm not gonna get my ass shot off and stop trying to play psychologist, it won't work. I'm not interested in anything you two dyke whores got to say, so let's just skip to the good part!"

Suddenly Johnny slashes Julie's throat open. A gout of blood comes pouring out as Julie hisses and gurgles while clutching at her throat. The sight of this scares the shit out of you and it doesn't help that Johnny also gave her a little shove directly at you after he did it, which causes a nervous reaction of firing your pistol.

You don't hit Johnny though, you instead hit Julie and cut what little remained of her life even shorter. Her body falls on you and you scream when all the blood squirts all over you.

You attempt to push her off of you, but when you see Johnny looming over you, you try to bring your arm back up to shoot at him again, but this time he's got the advantage and he grabs your wrist, breaks it and takes the gun out of your hand before pistol whipping you in the face with it twice. Your head hits the floor as you lie there now with a broken nose.

"Stupid bitch. You all are stupid bitches. I don't know why I ever think I'm going to run into anything different. (Sigh) Still, I thought after your sister told me about you…I thought you might be…bah better get this over with, the fucking Guard probably heard those shots." Johnny says.

Your last moments are seeing Johnny's knife coming down several times on your face.


[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 pinpoint your aim

[Assistant]
If you can hit Lord Cleaver's shield just right, then you can knock him right off of his horse. You can do this. This is what you spent all those hours training for. You pinpoint your target and adjust your aim. The horses draw closer. You can see the roan courser's breath. Here it comes!

Crack! Thud! Crack!

Weightless, you are falling. A flash of pain. Blackness.

I have good news, bad news and worse news, hero. Good news: you managed to hit your target. That first crack was both of your lances splintering. Bad news: the thud was you hitting the ground. Worse news: the second crack was your skull splitting in two when it bounced off a rock.


[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 join the Dark Order

[Assistant]
As they say there is strength in numbers.

You head over to the campus to seek out Mr. Demar. You figure he'll be in his office. You knock and he tells you to come in and shut the door behind you. When you do, he's surprised to see you.

"Hello. This is bit of a surprise. You took my class two semesters ago and I would've thought that you'd be on vacation now instead of here. So what brings you to my office?"

You decide to get straight to the point.

"Mr. Demar, I want to join the Dark Order. I'm skilled in necromancy and I want to learn more. I think I'd make a worthy addition to your class."

Mr. Demar says nothing for a minute and just studies you before speaking.

"I see, and how do you know that I am the head of such an…organization."
"Well, uh I've heard rumors that's all…" you quickly say.
"Rumors eh? Such rumors going around about me would be very dangerous to my well being. Hope this isn't a common rumor."

You're silent to this statement, as you're unsure of what to say. Mr. Demar continues for you though.

"And tell me, if I was head of such an organization, you say I would want you? How is it that you are skilled in the ways of necromancy? How have you managed to train? Do you have access to the dead and possession of necromantic texts? How did you come across such things?"
"Well uh…I don't like to mention this…but I have an ancestor who served under the Great Lich Lord and a couple of books of his have been in my family's possession for centuries."
"Well now, necromantic tomes from the era of the Great Lich Lord himself! I am impressed. And you say you had an ancestor who served under him eh? That's even more impressive considering the Great Lich Lord eventually grew to loathe anything alive and only associated with the dead. That was why he was bringing death to the world in the first place. Such an ancestor would've had to been undead an unable to have children."
"Uh…well he had 'em before becoming undead."
"Okay, but his family would've had to join his fate and hence they also would've had no children."
"He…uh…liked prostitutes and…"

At this point Mr. Demar raises his hand to you. You instantly feel yourself paralyzed. You can only watch helplessly as he stands up from his desk.

"Stop. While this is amusing watching you squirm, I am a busy man. You want to know what I think? I think you recently stole those books from Big Red. I also think you recently killed three of my students in a certain warehouse in your attempts to gain more. While I might've considered you as Dark Order material if you'd come in here and told me the truth, I can't abide by liars, especially someone so poor at it. Such a pity."

With those final words, Mr. Demar causes your heart to explode.


[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 try to find a way to convince the Zealots you and Gideon aren't evil.

[Assistant]
Regardless of the fights you've had with Zealots in the past month, despite the fact that you have brutally slaughtered dozens of Zealots before tonight, you realize that it is extremely important that now you finally attempt at settling the differences between you and the Church.

"We're going to survive this, Gideon. We can do it."

He lazily looks at you, and the yawns, beginning to recline on the broken bench. "So, you've hatched a plan?"

"Yeah," you reply, remembering that David probably left his Walkie-Talkie somewhere... You begin to dive through various clothes and various knickknacks that the Wolves have stored. "Aha!"

"Wuh?"

"A Walkie-Talkie. If we can try to reason with the Zealots, don't you think we can maybe convince them to not kill us?"

He gets up, "You never told me you had one of those!"

You nervously scratched at your head, "I... Kinda forgot about it as well. But it's great use for now, Gideon."

He waves you off, "Doesn't matter, you'll never reason with them."

"It's worth a shot," you say, crossing your arms defiantly. You unfold your arms and turn on the radio-- then remember that this would be Zealot HQ. Now you just need to fake being a Zealot again and get the station of the incoming horde...

Click

You push the button in, too anxious to wait for the crackling static, "Quick, Ma'am, what's the Zealot's Combat Channel?"

It's the cool female voice, again, "Channel 40, why? Who is this?"

But you're already flipping the channels. Now, from 13 to 40...

Gideon sits up groggily, and watches you in silence. "Incoming Zealots!"

You release the button, and wait. A heavy, though articulate-sounding voice replies from the other end, "This is Chief. Who is this?"

"Friends. Or, at least, those who want to be. We are the last Creations around, and we want to talk to you."

"What do you wish to speak about, Demons?"

"Mostly about your usage of that term. We want peace, nothing else."

"Huh?"

"We- we know you're coming for us and our hideout. But we don't want to fight."

You wait several moments for him to answer. "Give me your name first."

"Err, Vamp."

Gideon chuckles in the background.

The man named 'Chief' gives a heavy sigh, "Right. And how do you want your meeting to be set up?"

"Any sort of meeting that doesn't include me being shot or speared by your guns sounds good."

"Funny. If you actually wish to do this then I'd wait outside for us to come."

"I... Think you misunderstand." You reply, rather certain about Chief's false attempt to mislead you, "Trying to kill us will not work out well for you. There are other Creations, actual evil ones that are heading for your city right now. If you don't stop them then you're city will be lost."

Static for a while. "Why do you not tell me this sooner?"

"... Do you even believe me?"

"Perhaps," he says, "We may send scout teams to check. But for now I'm interested in what you want to speak about. Are you a man of your word?"

"I try."

"Hmm..." Chief pauses, his low-voice ending awkwardly, "Give us ten minutes."

While you wait for him, Gideon just laughs, "I swear, vamp, if you pull this off then I swear..." He gets up with a wry smile.

"Let's just hope their scouts get good information." You reply, ironically trying to be as optimistic as possible. The chances are slim, but you think this could work out with your unlife intact.

Time passes, and while you didn't count how much you still worry that they may have ditched messaging and are just continuing their march to this area.

"Vamp, are you still there?"

You get out of your day-dream and push the button back to reply, "Yes."

"It... Seems you're right that at there are a band of unknown beings several miles behind us. But this doesn't mean as much as you would hope."

"Oh?"

"How many of you are there in all? What if there are actually much more Creations at your base?"

A reasonable suspicion,  "Then that's problematic for you. But I'd wager that your guys won't be able to take on the ten-or-so of the Creations on the way. So I think getting them first should be more important."

"Ah, but that is a good diversion for ten others to bypass us, eh?"

Ugh. You bring a palm to your brow, uncertain how to answer the perhaps rightfully paranoid commander.

He continues, "Still, you bring a solid point. I think you underestimate our capabilities, however. We will deal with both problems, but for now, how do you wish to meet?"

"I assume you know how to enter the well, correct?"

"Yes, we have figured out your trick."

"... Right, well, send yourself and several of your best man down there and we'll talk. There are only two Creations here, but I assure you we can defend ourselves from whatever harm you might wish to inflict on us."

"We'll be there."

And... Off.

Gideon looks to you, "What now, Vampire?"


[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] Continue

[Assistant]
For reasons far beyond normal human comprehension, you elect to compete in the joust: never mind the fact that you do not own a horse and have never held a lance in your life. Remember, dodging is against the rules in a joust, so you are not exactly playing to your strengths.

During a morning patrol, you and Jon discuss the upcoming tournament.

"I still think you should participate in the melee with me instead," says Jon. "But if you're dead set on jousting, you're going to need a horse."

"Any recommendations?" you ask.

"Jousting horses are expensive. You're either going to need a big loan or a big friend. And don't forget, if you lose the joust, you lose your horse and your armor."

"Can I use a quarter-horse? I bet old man Nathaniel David would let me borrow Bessy."

"Sure. You can ride out naked too, but you'll just embarrass yourself." Jon smacks you upside the head. "If you aren't going to take this seriously, don't even bother showing up."

You finish your patrol with Jon and head over to old man Nathaniel David's orchard before you visiting the moneylender in the next town. You know it is not wise to ignore Jon's advice, but you want to keep your options open. Old man Nathaniel David proves easy to find, he is humped over, shitting on a sapling when you arrive.

"Um, what are you doing David?"

"Fertilizing," he says with a massive grin. "What can I do for you lad?" He sticks out his hand for you to shake, which you begrudgingly accept.

"I decided to joust in the king's tournament, but I don't have a horse."

"Ah, well, I can't imagine you'd want to use any of the horses in the hamlet. Plow horses ain't going to win that for you, but I know you don't have much money. So if you want Bessy, you can have her, on one condition."

"What's that?"

"If by some miracle you win, you name my lil' pumpkin, Sally, Lady Fair of the Tournament. If you lose, you pay me back by marrying her. You're a good lad, and you'd make a fine husband for my girl."

You have seen Sally David before, strutting around. She has a fine body for a wench, but holy matrimony is her face hideous. It looks like someone took a rake and beat her bloody. You will have to mull this one over; these are high stakes. Even if you won, you could offend many important people.

"Alright, David, I'll keep the offer in mind," you say as you wave goodbye.

Old man Nathaniel David hitches up his trousers and nods. "You do that, boy."

The Baron's Road has been nice and calm ever since you took care of those trolls and bandits, and you arrive at the moneylender's office without incident. The moneylender's office is small and simple: one desk, two hard wooden chairs, and a few bookshelves. You have heard of these types before, and they are nothing but trouble. The moneylender skims over the pleasantries and bids you sit and begin your business.

"What can I do for you, friend?" he asks. His hair is dark and oily, eyes small and beady. An unnecessarily pointy goatee graces his chin. Yep, slap the evil and unscrupulous label on him.

"I need money for a horse to use in the joust. I'm one of the guys that killed those bandits and trolls on the Baron's Road awhile back."

"I know who you are," he snaps. "I also know you have no money and no experience jousting."

"How do you know that?"

"Because." He points at his goatee. "Now I will lend you the money if you agree to my terms."

"Which are?"

"If you win, I get 50% of the ransom and prize money. You keep the horse. If you lose, you become my personal slave for a year." The moneylender pulls, ink, quill and parchment from his desk. "We can get the contract signed right now."

[User] You you'll just go with Bessy.

[Assistant]
Probably not a great idea to borrow money from such an obviously evil character: you excuse yourself, leaving the moneylender fuming. He mutters something under his breath while stroking his goatee as you walk out the door. Perhaps you will cross paths with him again.

Your heart is still set on riding in the joust, so you head back to old man Nathaniel David's orchard and agree to his bargain. You spend the remainder of your free time preparing for the tournament. Jon coaches you as best he can, which is not very well since he has never jousted either, but you think you have the hang of it.

Bessy's training has mixed results. She works hard and seems to appreciate the change of scenery. You figure being a plow horse is probably pretty dull. She has spirit, but the old girl does a lot more plodding than charging. At least, she does not shy away when the other horse speeds toward her.

The day of the tournament dawns cool and crisp. Sweaty with excitement, you try to relax in your pavilion before your first match. You have already made water five times this morning, and you think you have to go again. So many things ride on the outcome of today's events, but you cannot think about that. The here and now is what is important. You watch squires scurry around the grounds, doing the bidding of Sir this or Sir that or some other random bastard. You fall into a daze and your thoughts wander.

Why don't I have a squire? Crap, I think I need to piss again. Dear lord, please grant me the strength and will to win today. I don't want to marry that troll Sally David. Have you seen her? Oh, is that who I think it is?

Sir Jamison Hill, The Iron Boar, approaches and shakes your hand: what an honor! Ser Jamison serves as the Baron's champion and is renowned throughout the kingdom for his tourney skills.

"I heard about how you helped take care of those bandits and trolls on the Baron's Road," he says. "The kingdom needs more fine young men like you. I expect to see great things from you today and in the future."

"Thank you, sir."

You want to talk some more with him – he certainly has plenty he could teach you – but the herald calls you for your first bout. You wave farewell and enter the lists, wishing you had taken the time to make water one more time.

"Are you ready girl?" you ask as you mount Bessy. Bessy snorts in reply. "That's the spirit."

Your first match is against Lord Isaac Cleaver, The Cleaver. The man has a penchant for the flamboyant. The sun gleams off his silver gilded armor as he rides into position on his roan courser: his shield emblazoned with his house emblem, a silver cleaver beheading a golden goose.

Not a very creative nickname, you think. Perhaps not, but it is the badassery of a nickname that is too be feared, not the cleverness.

The herald blows his trumpet, and you urge your horses on. Bessy hobbles along as fast as she can, but she is completely outmatched in speed by the roan courser. Everything else disappears as you focus on Lord Cleaver. The distance closes. You raise your lance and prepare to strike.

[User] You just hold the hell on

[Assistant]
There is no way you have gained enough skill to make a precise aim. Your best bet is too just hold on with the fury of hell and hope for the best. You grit your teeth; here it comes.

Crack! Both of your lances splinter on contact. The collision jars you, but you manage to hang in the saddle. What a rush. Your heart hammers in your chest, and the world snaps back into focus. The crowd screams and cheers. Flags twirl in the wind and a herald's trumpet booms. You turn around and see Lord Cleaver's squire helping him to his feet while another attendant runs down his horse. You won!

Jon rushes forward to greet you. "Fantastic, I never thought you could win riding that old draft horse! It looked like you were moving in slow motion compared to Lord Cleaver."

"Bessy and I may not be a fast duo, but we're tough as nails and hard as stone."

Jon chuckles. "Interesting, we'll have to have someone take care of that for you."

"What are you talking about?" you ask. Your face flushes red as you realization hits you. "Oh, damn it. You perverse bastard."

Jon snatches the reins from you and snarls. "Never call me a bastard again. Got it?"

"Uh, sure."

He helps you off Bessy and slaps you on the back. "Good."

I wonder what that was all about?

You head back to your pavilion and bask in your glory. The road ahead is still long and perilous, but you took another step down the path of success. You kick back to relax when the flap of your tent opens. In steps a gorgeous lass, with gingersnap hair and vicious eyes. She looks wild and… hungry.

"May I help you?" you ask.

"The name is Bell. I've been sent to help you with a little problem." She winks. "Your friend said you needed some refreshment before your next bout." She shakes her breasts free from her loose shift and steps fully into the tent.

Before the tent flap falls, you see the shady moneylender prowling around Sir Jamison's pavilion.

"Come on hero," she urges. "Don't keep me waiting."

[User] You say "Jump on top of me, baby."

[Assistant]
"Jump on top of me baby."

Bell does as you say. Two beings disappear and reemerge as one as the pair of you become lost in the heat of passion. Funny thing about passion: it often comes and goes without warning. In this case forty-seven seconds.

Bell giggles. "First time?"

You groan. "First time."

"No shame in that, darling. I'll be here when you get back. Practice makes perfect, am I right?"

You nod and step out of the tent.

"Holy shit, what the hell happened!?"

The entire fairground is on fire. The air is rank with burning flesh and hair. Bodies are everywhere. Horses whinny in agony. Those not too injured to flee scramble about in sheer terror. High above you see the evil moneylender, floating on a black cloud, cackling and tossing lightning bolts.

Bessy plods toward you. A bolt catches her in the flank and explodes into a fireball. She collapses to the ground and shrieks. Another bolt pierces her neck and her and she lies silent.

You hear the tent flap jostle, and you wheel around. You clutch Bell by the throat and dive-tackle her into the tent. "What the fuck is this?" you scream.

Bell claws at your hand, gasping for breath. You relieve pressure, but keep her pinned to the ground.

"I don't know." Tears well in her eyes.

"Liar."

"No, I swear. Your friend Jon sent me."

[User] You she's lying. Beat the truth out of her.

[Assistant]
"You lying whore!" You bash her head into the ground and clobber her with your fist.

"Stop, please. I don't know anything."

"Tell me the truth!"

"I am. Please, you've got to believe me."

Her pleas for mercy only anger you more. You know she is lying. "Last chance. Tell me what's going on. Who are you? Who sent you? What the hell is that floating madman doing?"

"I don't know."

You hit her again and again and again and again. You pummel the poor girl until her once fair face is a mask of blood and tears. The tent flap ruffles open and you spin around to see Jon step inside the tent.

He gapes. "What the hell are you doing?"

"She distracted me while the lunatic set the world on fire."

"No she didn't. I sent her to f-" he smacks his forehead. "Damn it all. What's done is done. We can worry about this later. Right now, we have to stop this lunatic. Come on."

You leave a broken Bell lying on the tent floor and follow Jon outside. Everything except your tent is in flames. The moneylender – perhaps it is time to start calling him a sorcerer – floats toward you on his cloud. You and Jon draw your swords.

"Why didn't he fry my tent too?"

"How should I know?" says Jon. "Let's just kill him and go into damage control mode."

[User] You demand the sorcerer explain himself

[Assistant]
No, this is too confusing and you have too many questions. You already stripped your honor by beating up an innocent whore. You can at least play the hero's role and make the evil sorcerer reveal the details of his plans.

"Explain yourself, fiend," you say, brandishing your sword.

The sorcerer floats closer on his cloud and shrugs. "Sure, why the hell not?"

Jon sits and crosses his legs.

"What are you doing?" you ask.

"Preparing for a monologue."

"Comfy? Good," says the sorcerer. "My name is Merek the Mad Mage of Misery. I pose as a moneylender to conceal my true operations as an evil wizard."

Jon sighs. "A cover that is now blown."

Merek the Mad Mage of Misery ignores Jon. "Ever since you walked into my office, I knew you had the makings of a hero. I knew of the unicorn fart, and I knew a hero had been born. I knew he was somewhere in this area, but not exactly where. You are that hero. It's in your eyes, your blood, your-"

"Urine?" you ask.

"Sure… The only person who could stop me was Sir Jamison and his magic sword and shield."

"I didn't know he had a magic sword and shield."

"You just met him, and stop interrupting me!"

"Sorry."

"As you can see, I have Sir Jamison's magic sword and shield nice and safe up here with me." Merek clinks the magical artifacts together. "I need to drink your blood to gain the power for my master plan to succeed. That is why I did not fry you and your tent. Once I extract your blood, I can complete my master plan."

"Which is?"

"World domination."

"You seem to be doing pretty well without my blood."

"Shut up and prepare to die!"

Bolts appear in Merek's hands as his cloud races toward you.

"Jon wake up, he's attacking."

"Huh, oh sure." Jon leaps to his feet. "Let's get this over with."

Merek hurls his bolts, which you and Jon dodge with ease. You slice Merek's arm off as his cloud whizzes past. Jon leaps onto the cloud and stabs him in the back.

"So that's what doing that feels like," says Jon as he yanks Merek off the cloud.

Black sparks shoot from Merek's body as he slams into the ground. The sparks shoot and dance, stitching his arm back on. He rises to his feet and cackles at the sky.

"Fools! Only a magic weapon can kill me. Ahhhhhhhhhargggggg"

Merek slumps over and falls face down in the dirt.

Sir Jamison bends down and pulls a dagger from Merek's back. "He forgot about my magic dagger."

Jon shakes his head. "I hope this doesn't become a thing."

The three of you do your best at damage control. Jon kills Bell, and the two of you bury her in a shallow grave, pretending she never existed. Merek managed to kill literally everything else in a three mile radius, so the three of you take over ruling the kingdom. Sir Jamison becomes King Jamison. Jon becomes Warden of the North. And you receive the honor of knighthood, vowing to keep your whore murdering lifestyle in the past.

You marry a buxom wench – seeing as all the noble Ladies are dead – and, in a strange twist of fate, have seven daughters who all grow up to be fabulous whores.


[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 dunno, sounds scary! Better stay in the basement!

[Assistant]
Alright, I understand, you have everything you want in the basement and even if you don't you don't have far to go get it. The outside world doesn't really hold any interest for you, so there's little point in going through the hassle of dealing with it. And living in the basement has worked out for you so far more or less, so why mess with success right?

But you must also understand that just hanging out in the basement for the rest of your life doesn't usually offer much in the way of excitement. At least not without some sort of outside stimulus anyway, and with all the rest of the drama going on in the house, everyone usually forgets about you and you happily stay out of it most of the time.

So this little story will come to an end right here.


[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 what have you been doing, you need to help them

[Assistant]
You have to help them, the Old man was clearly altering your thoughts to make you do what he wanted but you were originally human, becoming stronger doesn't change that so you should help the stadium survivors. You know that watching the haze so intently for a couple of hours brought this on but you feel like you know it's the right thing to do.

You have control of a couple of shamblers in their path and walk them out to try and signal but they are killed instantly by what feels like intense gunfire. "The old man wasn't kidding about the armored jeep at least."

You start running towards them, intending to warn them in person about the trap but almost immediately feel the old man attempting to sense your thoughts. You block him out but know it will only hold for a few minutes, he can't bring his full concentration onto you while controlling his horde.

You begin hearing them coming and are about to run out into the street when you remember the shamblers and instead hide behind a corner and start shouting to get their attention. You feel the pressure on you mind intensify and quickly send the order for all the infected you control to attack the old man's horde. You feel it subside slightly as he has to divert his attention again.

"Who's there?" you hear the convoy shouting to you. You step out. "It's me! Don't shoot!" You see all the guns pointed at you and the jeep slows but doesn't stop, the pressure is already returning to your mind, you have little time. "It's a trap, the harbinger has blocked the road off ahead, he has a huge army of infected ready to take you out." You were about to say more when you feel the Old man's mind slam into yours, your defenses hold but you are driven to your knees with the pain. You wince then speak again. "You have to change course, get away…" You feel the second mental attack and your defenses fail completely, the pain nearly blacks you out and you fall prone on the ground. You hear the Old man in your head. "Betraying me was a foolish mistake." You hear him say sadly before he leaves your mind.

You almost celebrate, "He couldn't finish me off" you think, you try and stand but feel too week from the mental attack and collapse again. You hear the Captain talking. "Bring him with us, but chain him up carefully. We change course, loop South near the city center to try and bypass any blockade."

You are about to rejoice, they were taking you with them. Sadly in your current mental state you couldn't sense the mutant dog behind you in the alleyway and in your physical state there is nothing you can do as it leaps onto your back and bites into your skull, crushing it instantly.


[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 memories (Martians)

[Assistant]
The Invaders: Martians

Martians much like Human comes in many shapes, sizes and colors. They are a technologically advanced race which is amazing considering how stupid they actually are. It makes you wonder if natural selection even occurred on the dismal red planet.

The first Martian invasion was impressive since humans weren't prepared for it. Unfortunately for all their advanced weaponry their medical science was probably in the fucking toilet…literally. They have to be the only galactic race of "conquerors" that lost a war because of dysentery. All the "War Machines" in the world couldn't protect them from all the air born germs that infest humanity (They really are filthy when you think about it). You'd think that they'd take this information and try to combat it with…uh you know inventing fucking vaccinations and penicillin. But did they do that? Nope. They tried to invade again this time they figured if they never got out of their machines at all they'd be safe. Unfortunately in order to invade a planet you HAVE to have ground troops to do it. So while they blasted the shit out of the Earth again they couldn't properly conquer it. So these geniuses spent the rest of the time arguing about what they should do until all their flying saucers ran out of fucking fuel and started falling out of the sky, crashing into shit.

At this point you'd think they'd just give up, but they didn't. The next failed mission involved them stealing human women to breed with them. They figured two things:

One was that they could replenish all their soldiers again that they'd lost in the last two invasions. The second idea was they figured they could create a hybrid that was more resilient to human germs.

The plan was doomed to failure in its typical Martian idiocy and this was a particularly spectacular one that nearly wiped them out permanently as well as effectively destroying them as a potential threat.

First of all the Martians had to get OUT of their machines in order to kidnap these women. Sure they finally developed protective suits at this point, but they were made of a thin and easily ripped material. Many Martians died attempting to steal away feisty housewives. Second of all they would've had to steal a lot more housewives than they did in order to replenish their severely depleted military (And male population in general) to say nothing of the fact they had to put up with the human women for at least 9 LONG months before they got a return on their "investment". The third problem was for some reason it didn't occur to them that the germs would still be ON these human women! Many Martians died after mating with these kidnapped housewives, not to mention an "Earth" plague hit the entire planet now. More dead Martians and lots of them. The kicker of all this, was most of the "hybrid" Martians that grew up tended to be very interested in their human heritage and would go back to Earth. (With their moms of course)

The only good thing that occurred was the survivors were now finally resistant to human germs. Little good it did now since half the planet died, and was in no position to invade anyone. (Luckily for them, humans were too busy fighting each other, or they would've surely been defeated had humans invaded Mars).

The Martians tried a few more stupid invasions later, but they never were really serious and by that time humanity had caught up to them technologically. (Thanks to salvaging the technology from all those immobilized war machines and flying saucers that fell out of the sky) Nowadays Martians are considered the intergalactic equivalent of rude hillbilly neighbors with lots of guns.

They bring a whole new meaning to term "REDneck".


[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 you're killing him.

[Assistant]
"You'll doom us all," the dragon pleads again.

"No, just you." And you hammer the sword into the dragon.

[User] You deja vu

[Assistant]
"You'll doom us all," the dragon pleads again.

"No, just you." And you hammer the sword into the dragon.


[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 agree; David can help you take on the city from the inside.

[Assistant]
"Alright," you reply with a nod, "David will definitely be a huge help, considering that he's familiar with the area, but..."

"But?"

You frown, "I hope you guys'll be safe. The Zealots, especially in number, aren't pushovers."

Ragnor smiles, and gives you a brotherly hug, "Don't worry Vamp, we'll manage. The Wolves aren't exactly pushovers either haha."

"I know." You grin, returning the hug. You imagine, that after all this ends-- the fighting, you can retire, and just live your unlife with your new family. A dream, perhaps, but it's something to hope for. Soon after Ragnor turns to leave, he suddenly looks back at you, pupils dilated.

"Wait a sec, David was a Zealot before you ghouled him, right?"

"Err, yeah."

"And he's still wearing his armor?"

"Everything but the helmet."

"You think they'd recognize him?"

A pause begins, and ends with laughter. Ragnor snaps at you and puts on a silly grin, and jogs ahead back to his groups. You don't know who will head the second group, but you hope that it won't matter. All you need to do is wreak havoc in the city, and stay alive. The assault groups will do the rest, hopefully without harm as well.

With David silently in tow, you continue on, analyzing the strong hold. Even from afar, the sleepless City is easily seen, and as you march on around the incoming Zealots, you can see how they set up the City's defense. Six sentries, commandeering strobe lights in a hexagonal circumference around the city, obviously looking out for unidentified enemies. Thankfully, flashing-Zealot armor is pretty identifiable, and so is David's face, assumably.

"David?" You call, looking to make sure he's listening. He nods in return, but doesn't speak. "You think the Zealots will recognize you if they see you?"

"Definitely, why?"

"Since that means that you can draw attention due to your disappearance while I kill the head-honchos."

"That's smart." He says, succinct as usual.

You quit trying to make conversation and, once you get close enough to the City, point at the Zealot commandeering the strobe light in front of you. "Can you kill him before he turns to a radio?"

David nods, and clicks on his blinking Cross-armor (you figure that it's to ward off friendly-fire) before he begins the march through the strobe light, waving his hands in the air and running to the Sentry. After several moments, you can see a wordless discussion taking place, starting with the sentry saluting and ending with him unconscious on the floor. When David turns the light a bit to the right, it gives you dark-space to walk through, unnoticed.

The two groups are not too far away, and you manage to wave to Cecilia and Ragnor before following David into the urban Church City. You pat David's back and consider your good decision making. But, once again, you just hope the others will be alright...

[User] You church City

[Assistant]
The strobe light aimed back to its original place and the Zealot downed by his own, you and David make your way to the barb-wire fence, and easily leap above it, too lazy to get the key from the Zealot. After David turns off his blinkers, you begin to pay more attention to the City only to realize that, from the inside at least, it isn't nearly as bustling as you thought it was. Perhaps that's because most of them went to raid the hideout. Gideon is still there...

You shake your head; you tried your best with that fool, now it's time to take what's yours; what the Creations deserve regardless of what the Church or the Professor think of them. Not weapons, not demons: just people. David waits for you to start walking again, tapping his foot eagerly. He doesn't speak much, but you can tell he enjoyed his time with the Wolves. Still, you'll always wonder what's inside his head, now as a ghoul.  You continue through the ghost-town, which for whatever reason has all of it's buildings rigged with neon lights, flashing. David leads you through the ugly urban landscape, and you keep a lookout for humans. Suddenly, you spot one, walking out of some sort of pub, walking unsteadily. You grab David by the cuff of his armor and quickly hide in the shadow of some sort of looming dumpster. With a finger to your lips, you wait until the man's back is turned before you sneak up on him, digging claws into his neck for a quick and silent death. The man falls to the ground dead, and you lick your bloody nails. David, unfazed, comes out of the shadows only to pick up the man, and silently position him into the trash. "That pub holds a great deal of Zealots. We need to move out before they see me."

You nod in return. At first you considered just going in and slaughtering the gathering of Zealots, but then realized that the light-weights Ragnor and his crew could handle, but the higher-ups are going to be an issue. David once again takes lead, and you prowl the streets, silently killing anything in your way, passing by buildings of all shapes and sizes, though most not even occupied.

Two buildings in particular stand out, however: one mansion with a giant blue Cross above the door; the other large and rectangular with an upside-down Cross, for whatever reason.You'd look through the windows to see what's going on inside, but the windows of both buildings seem to just reflect your own image, though you can only really discern your armor since your pale profile doesn't come out well in the reflection.

"The one with the holy-sword is Zealot-headquarters, the other one is the Chapel." David answers your thoughts, smiling at you. "I think it's in our best interest to enter and clear out both."

"Which do you suggest to do first?"

"Either one, sir. We need to kill Father Tomas and the Chief, both in their respective buildings. The Zealots who aren't on their way to the stronghold will be in both, though. But whichever we pick, we need to do it quick; Ragnor and the others will be making their move any moment now."

[User] You enter the Chapel.

[Assistant]
Not wasting any time, you turn to face the Chapel. Metallic and looming over you, with a large neon cross, still flashing. The door is a harsh steel, too old to cast a discernable reflection but maintained enough not to rust nor weaken. "How should we enter, then?"

"No backdoors to the Church. Only one direction if you follow God." David recites from behind you.

With a shrug, you continue onwards, going up a flight of concrete stairs, leading up to the looming steel door. You consider trying to bash the door in, but decide that knocking it and waiting for the door to be opened by whoever's inside would be an easier solution for getting in.

Clang

Your gauntlet taps at the metal. After a pause, you can hear noises on the inside of the Chapel, mostly worried murmuring. You quickly motion for David to go in front, right before a bald young man in ceremonial blue robe opens the door. In response to your ghoul's profile, the man just gapes for several moments before opening his mouth to speak. "Dave?!?"

"No... Not anymore." He states, walking into the Church. The man doesn't seem to even notice you, engrossed in seeing a living ghost instead. Inside, several other monks are gathered, all of them staring at David with awe. You take the opportunity to slink into the shadow, and wait.

"Behold! The blessed Lord brought our child back!" They cry, waving their hands in the air in synchronization. Up and down their hands go, until one with a cowl speaks up, "Brother David, where were you?"

Your ghoul stares at them with disdain, "I got lost, but was found by a group of humans."

They continue to gape. The cowled-one continues his interrogation, "Hmm? More humans, you say?

"Crazy enough, the humans were in our backyard this entire time. We just didn't recognize them."

"Whatever do you mean?"

"The Wolves, Vadim. They're good people."

Gasps erupt, and David's only looks down to his feet, and his hands ball up to fists. "They changed you, didn't they?" The one with the cowl points, and begins to chant in some sort of language which you are unfamiliar with.

Bored of their religious, antics, you make your presence known by jumping out of the shadows, and decking 'Vadim' with a right hook, sending him to the middle of the crowd of twelve-or-so Monks. David nods, and sends a sharp kick to the nearest Zealot surrounding him. Before you know it, it becomes a rowdy brawl of fists.

The monks may be very agile, but without any weapons nor armor you figure you or even David could take them out alone. Something tells you the alarms around the buildings weren't for show either-- you need to find the Father, quick!

[User] You abandon David to search the Church.

[Assistant]
"David, finish off these grunts as I find the big man upstairs." You call out, examining the building for the Father's Quarters.

David nods, "Up the stairs, to the left!"

Your head turns from right to left, looking for the set of stairs that will lead you to the Father. Finding the red-carpeted stairs, you begin your ascent, only to be stopped by a heavy-set Monk, who angrily shoves you backwards. "Get away, foul demon!"

He continues pushing, but you catch his left arm, and end squeeze-- Crack. He yells out in pain, and you manage to grab him by the cuff of his robe, only to throw him out of the way and into a wall. You run up the staircase, skipping steps to maintain speed. After reaching the end of the first staircase, you deftly,turn your body, not wasting any time by getting to the adjacent continuation of the stairs. Several leaps later, you reach the end of the stair case, only to be confronted by a terribly old man in a ceremonial blue robe, with a skullcap covering his no doubt balding head. His face is withered, and his frail eyes only compliment an extremely happy demeanor. This, you presume, is Father Tomas.

He stares at you, silent, and raises a large metallic cross from an opening of his robe, though he seems to be holding it the wrong way...

Wary of his silver weapon, you take a step to the side-- giving you room. "Father Tomas, it seems that I have finally had the honor to meet you."

"No, the pleasure is mine, Vampire. Fate has brought it that it is my responsibility to put you down, as well as your canine friends."

You glare at him in anger, and flick at your wrist; claws out, you get into a battle-stance. He, in turn, raises his shimmering Cross, wielding it as a sword.

"I wouldn't put up a fight, if I were you. I know for a fact that you Creations can't heal from a wound of silver, and as such you have no otherworldly advantage over me."

You laugh, "Except perhaps the age part."

The priest stops smiling and instead eyes you angrily, "I suppose you'll learn the hard way." He slowly begins to approach you, his sword, pulsating with some sort of unrecognizable energy, held high. You make a quick examination of your surroundings: the stair case from behind you, doors and other hallways to your right, though several meters forward and to your left is a ledge, where there's an at least three-story drop down to the first floor, where you can see David slowly whittling off the Monks. Perhaps you can use the ledge to your advantage...

You continue to parallel the insane priest, your claws at your side and your wits still intact. You need to make the first move, but how should you go about it? The man looks old, but something about him tells you that he's more than capable of wielding his weapon masterfully. Still, you're probably quicker than him, and a quick fight is all you need. Then again, you need to watch out for the silver sword, because if he gets a solid hit on you then you're done.

[User] You fight Aggressively.

[Assistant]
You continue to stand parallel to the Head-Zealot, slowly beckoning him closer to the side with a ledge. While you know you have to end the fight soon, you also know that this won't be an easy fight. The cackling priest advances, holding his heavy Cross out like a rapier, poking it at you, trying to get you to move back. Deciding that staying on the defensive won't save you from this mad man, you take action by leaping in his direction-- he grins, preparing to simply swing upwards to hit you, but manage to somersault out of the old man's swipe, and land a heavy kick to his face. He staggers backwards, his hand on his eye in a mixture of pain and anger. Tomas angrily sends another swipe with his sword at you, but you're already charging for him, pushing the old to the ledge that is now to your right with your forearm. The priest coughs, but quickly recovers.

Relentless, you send another barrage of jabs at him, moving close enough to him that his long-range won't be an advantage for him. A mixture of punches and claws manage to cut his robe to shreds, and he struggles to get you off of him-- to no avail. After a silly, pointless scuffle you manage to hold him right by the ledge, where a fall to the death would await him. Tomas holds up his silver cross, creating a pseudo-barrier between the two of you, but you just grab hold of it with your gauntlets, and shove him at the wooden slabs, and slowly increase pressure, slowly increase it. Several seconds more of pushing, and he won't have a choice of how his body breaks, as you'll secure his death in the fall. You shove once more...

Snap.

"There we go... See you in hell, bastard!" The wooden splinters open, and you find the two of you tumbling down at several meters, both grasping for eachothers' throats.

Unfortunately for you, the old man barely manages to grab hold of your hair and uses it as leverage to be just slightly above you...

You both fall with a heavy thud, your armored body crashing through the floor. You struggle to get out of it, as you find your armor almost embedded in to the rubble. Still, you manage to get up, and the sharp pang you feel in your head slowly begins to disappear.

As the dust clears, you find a bleeding Tomas with a bloody eye holding an unconscious David to the wall, his silver sword still gripped in his hands. His remaining useable eye stares right at you, and the priest begins to cackle further, "If you take even one more step towards me, I swear I will slay your disciple right now. But, if you leave me here to die in peace, not of a sinners hand, then I can promise that I will not kill him. Hmm, you like this deal?"

Your loyal ghoul stares at you blankly, and his shaking head can either be interpreted as a plea to let him live or to kill the priest. Or perhaps something else?

Stunned and still recovering, you try to make a decision with a clear head...

[User] You kill the Priest where he stands, because damn the consequences.

[Assistant]
"I'm sorry, David." You state, realizing that Tomas will be killing your ghoul regardless of your choices. With that in mind, you rush the bleeding geezer, hoping to catch him before he can finish off your ghoul. As you thrust your clawed hand at his head, he just barely manages to skewer David.

Never has a killing felt more rewarding. Your hand pierces the fleshy skin-- leaving a flayed face and a collapsed priest. With a grunt, you rush over to David's side, horrified by the gruesome hole in his chest.

You don't really say anything to him, as there is nothing more to say. He fulfilled his duty to you well, and his job, once the City will be taken over, will be easily replaced. But, for now, his death shall allow others of your kind to live. David smiles, and holds your hand firmly. Memories flash of your brief but powerful connection, Oh, and we just were getting close, too...

As David closes his eyes, you stand up, ready to continue your mission-- now, to Zealot HQ. You make your way through the piles of corpses to the front door of the Church, more angry than anything else at this point. By now you recognize that the sirens are still blaring, which means that Zealots should be piling up in the streets-- but the street you see has nobody walking. Though you do hear voices from somewhere far to the left, you can't help but notice that Zealot HQ has its door open.

Am I too late? You wonder, as you make haste by running into the building, looking around for someone to waste your adrenaline on. Inside, you see perhaps three half-dressed Zealots yawning and loitering about, seemingly confident that this is a false alarm.

This means nothing to you, and you rush one-- kick him into a nearby table, deck the other one with a heavy punch, and angrily bite into the last one's hand when he tries to strangle you from behind. It's over in a matter of minutes, but you suddenly feel like you're being... Watched.

"Bravo, Demon." Comes the voice. From across the room you can see a white-armored Zealot, taller and more sizeable than most you've seen. He carries with him a silver sword, less blunt than Tomas's though it doesn't seem to resonate with the same energy. "I see you were able to butcher my friends quickly enough, but somehow I doubt you'll manage to take someone like myself as easily."

"Who're you?" You roar, setting yourself in front of him.

"Zealot Karat, Chief of the Zealots." He grins, "At least, until the real Chief comes home from your clever diversion.

"If." You state, bluffing. I have no idea what happened with Gideon and the other Zealots... "If, he comes back."

Katar doesn't bother answering, and instead positions himself with his silver katana in an aggressive fighting position. Once again, you find yourself in a tactical situation that you need to decide how to approach. You need to be careful about his silver sword and make sure to finish the fight quickly, but he's probably more spry than that bastard, Tomas.

[User] You play it defensively, make sure that sword doesn't come near your body.

[Assistant]
Fueling your rage into reserve energy, to be used when necessary, you plant your feet to the ground, readying yourself for the Zealot.

Karat laughs, lazily letting his sword's tip fall to the ground. The man's bravery (or is it bravado?) astonishes you, "So, you fear God's might?"

"Maybe, but not your's." Comes your sharp answer.

"Then how come you haven't readied yourself to attack? Are you worried you won't make the cut?"

"I'm simply more confident in your ability to leave yourself open, thanks."

Karat shrugs, "Suit yourself, Vampire. Perhaps you shall find fear of God's servant instaed." With that, he raises his silver katana, it gleaming in the neon lights of the building. His stance confirmed, aggressive, he poises to attack. The white Zealot advances, giving a wide and open slash in the air to test you.

Of course, you pass with barely any effort-- just a turn of the neck. Karat laughs once again, and attempts to bum-rush you-- but your defensive stance gives you an advantage, and with clever foot work you grip his wrist, pull, and flip him onto a nearby table. It cracks under the pressure of an armored giant slammed onto it, but the Zealot gets back up and, still gripping his katana, sends a swift vertical cut down at you. You attempt to dodge, but you'd admit that you didn't expect him to get back up so fast, and the slash sticks into your shoulder-armor, just barely missing your skin.

As lucky as you were back there, now Karat has the initiative. He pulls the sword back, grabbing you with it and sending a heavy boot at your stomach. You begin to tip over, but you're sent backwards by a heavy, gauntleted punch to your nose-- which sends you back several feet and onto the ground. Your vision blurs slightly though you manage to get up before Karat manages to land a more accurate cut at your forehead, and manage to grapple him, using the core of your body to push him back. Your nose for some reason still bloodied, you continue to prefer close quarters, where your pinging head won't hamper your vision. Using the anger built up, you manage to grab hold of his helmet with both hands, and squeeze.

The man screams, much like your ghoul did not so long ago. They all do, the humans scream in pain, struggle and kick in their last moments. And as the helmet crumples up and the man goes limp, you embrace your inner demon and drink him dry. The blood is refreshing and your vision clears, but then you notice why his armor is so bright. Must be inlaid with silver...

You shrug. Does it really matter if the Zealots have been inlaying their weapons with silver? The Wolves can take care of themselves...

Regardless, realizing that there aren't any Zealots left in the building, you leave to see how the war is going. Mission Accomplished.

[User] You look for Ragnor and the others.

[Assistant]
You make your way outside of the building shaken but undeterred. The streets are empty, but you know that there are more humans in the houses, hiding. While the fighting itself may be dying down, you feel the need to go out and meet your courageous brethren, rather than have them come for you. You run down the steps and onto the concrete street, continuing back from where you came from, meanwhile trying to shove away distracting thoughts of your deceased friend. When this is done, we will honor you properly...

Eventually, you begin to notice armored corpses strewn about in awkward positions. Alternatively, you find a brown Wolf, whom you recognize as the Middle-eastern man, white-eyed and bloody by a curb. How many of us were lost this day?

You continue on in solemn silence when you reach the fence, and from beyond it you can see several more Wolven corpses. Frantically, you search for Cecilia-- Phew, none of them are blonde like she was. But still... This leaves perhaps eight of us left... Most likely the last of our kind.

"Vamp!" Comes a cry behind you. You turn around quickly to be hugged by an especially warm Cecilia, with Ragnor smiling with glee. You return the embrace, happiness overcoming the previous thoughts of dread.

"I'm glad to see your alright, man. We had a tough fight, but we fended the hordes of Zealots off. How did your fights go?"

You nod, "We... We killed Tomas and- and a man named Karat, called himself 'Chief'.  Either way, the place was deserted from Zealots by the time I came looking for you."

"Zealots? What about civilians?"

Cecilia joins the interrogation with the question you least wish to answer at this moment, "And where's David?"

"The Father killed him." You answer succinctly, still trying to get your mind off of it-- you don't want anymore nightmares. "I'm going to deal with the civilians soon, Ragnor. I have a plan for them."

Ragnor nods in turn, "Unfortunate, though he died a warrior's death. What shall you do with the civilians?"

"Ghoul them, use them to help rebuild this city. Once this works, we can make an entire civilization of Zealots, and then... Find the Professor and kill the bastard."

"Solid thinking. But what precisely is the next move?"

"Well, where are the surviving Creations?"

"Rampaging. Cecilia here was the only one of the virgins to be able to control their forms."

"Rampaging?"

"Err, yeah." Ragnor replies, confused, "What's the problem?"

"For the plan to work we need as many live humans as possible to rebuild. Ghouls, remember?" Without wasting anymore time, you begin to move back in search of the Wolves when you feel a heavy hand on your shoulder, holding you back.

"Woah there, Vamp. Are you sure you want to stop them? This is the first time they're in actual control of their lives. Plus, they're probably too tired to do any real damage. Just let 'em have their fun, alright?"

[User] You give in.

[Assistant]
You stop in your tracks and turn around. "Alright, Ragnor. But we need to go see where they are if only to get things up and running before the rest of the Zealots come back from the hideout."

Ragnor's eyes seem to pop out, "Shit! I forgot about them!"

Moving as quickly as possible, you follow your ears to and alley-way, where seven Wolves lay, peacefully licking the blood off their coats. You let out a loud sigh of relief after this, thankful that they didn't cause too much havoc after the fight was won and that they're all in one place. Several of them snarl at you but remain reserved enough so Ragnor can give them a fatherly rub on the head, making them relax. And, as they collectively relax, they slowly morph out of their animal-forms and back to their naked, wonderful selves.

This, your family, will be the parents of a new nation of Creations. A new beginning for your race.

[User] You counting from A.D.

[Assistant]
For both the humans and Creations of Church-City, now simply referred to as 'Home', everything changed after the Night of First-Blood. Twelve moons past and the event simply became what everybody began counting from. Today marks the first year since it happened, and the Ghouls, in all of this time, have slowly warmed up to the 7 apostles and yourself, dubbed the Messiah of Creation. You care little for the title, but the energy spent creating a hierarchy and stable society would be all for naught without a leader, and you-- decorated 'war' hero and leader of the Wolves was the unanimously voted candidate. Ragnor wasn't interested in the position-- the way he put it was, "I'd much rather lead others to fight than lead them to work."

As such, he mostly leads reconnaissance and other various missions while you worry about the boring stuff, such as feeding the hundreds of blood-thirsty ghouls, setting up scouting teams and doing fluffy 'moral support' meetings with your apostles. The scouting teams come with information about the surrounding areas and the status of the wildlife and animals in the desert, but you make sure they don't go too far out-- several scouts have been known to just disappear mysteriously.

Your methods can't be called 'moral' by any means, though they are efficient. Perhaps thirty of the least fit humans were spared from being ghoul, and instead were tasked with giving of their blood monthly. The ghouls didn't need more than an ounce per month in addition to other foods, though you found yourself needing much more. The humans gave to the point that they practically were ghouls themselves, but not quite. Too tired to revolt, but too useful to just kill.

Furthermore, you spent time looking through old files in the Zealot-labs, searching for more information on the Professor. What you found wasn't as much as you'd hope, just his name and several of his affiliations. No physical description or photo, just names, affiliations, and several of his experiments.

Still, you're hoping that when you finally crack the computer you'll be able to find more on him. Ragnor thinks it's a long-shot and stopped helping you sort through the files to figure it out, deeming it 'hopeless' and a 'waste of time'. Truth be told, he might have a point-- for all you know, the Professor could have died a while ago.

But there was one conundrum that among the time elapsed that you're all struggling to answer: what happened to the other Zealots? And Gideon?

The desert was periodically searched for any traces of them, but nothing turned up. Several times you've set out to search for Kelso

As much work as you had, you managed to do some more enjoyable things in your 'down time'.

[User] The Wolves. (Optional)

[Assistant]
Even though the Creations are now in control of their lives and aren't persecuted for existing, you've heard several reports from the younger ones about nightmares and need for emotional support. After a small discussion about it with Ragnor, you decided that it may be best to have weekly group sessions where everybody can 'talk'. It's silly and tacky but you go along with it. Morale is important.

One of the more memorable meetings was when you discussed the trauma induced from the Professor himself.

"He used to stick a needle in me!" the young Allen blurts out, breaking the ice. "He'd continually poke and pull out my blood until there was nothing left..."

Darla scoffs, "That's nothing, kiddo. The Professor-- he, he used to check if I could become..."

We all watched her closely, intrigued by what she may say, until, suddenly, Doria begins to tear up and bury her head in her arms. Ragnor awkwardly puts his hand around her in an attempt to comfort her, but to no avail.

"The Professor... He was a character." Ragnor begins, "I was brought to consciousness for several days, as he used to take me to spar-- no, fight to the death with his other mutants. Consistently the blonde bastard would take a mortally wounded Creation and perform more experiments on them, to check if he did it right. Still, there was something charismatic about the monster, charismatic; fatherly. Those who survived the fights were sent to far-off places to fight humans, and when we returned we'd be treated like kings until he stuffed us back into tubes."

Nordim remains silent, but perks his head up. His head shakes, but he says nothing. Shamino starts to speak, only to be shut down by Cecilia, who tightly grips Nordim's hand.

"Speak, young one." She whispers. Nordim nods, then opens his mouth. Nothing comes out, but eventually sounds can be made out.

"Professor Kurschner was like.... Like what Ragnor s-said, fatherly. Like, like a f-father to me. And, and... He used to give me treats... If I only hurt someone-- someone for him. I..." He stops, and proceeds to 'do the Darla' and buries his head.

Several gulps later, you begin to realize your displacement in the conversation. Why exactly is it that you are some sort of amnesiac? Everybody else seemed to remember something of the lab, but you know very little about anything. Only thing you know about yourself is that you're the only vampire left and that you somehow led 15 people to lead a rebellion against hundreds, only to win. Quite the accomplishment.

You shake your head out of the otherwise uninteresting memory. If only Ragnor had a better memory then we could track the Professor down...

Other notes you've gathered on your 'apostles':

Ragnor, your second in command and easily the strongest fighter in Home. At least, in his beast-form. He couldn't care less for this garbage, but goes through it for the team.

Cecilia isn't bashful about expressing herself to you, though it's obvious she'd rather do it in private rather than discuss it with everybody else. Still, she realizes the importance of this for the younger of the group, so that's good.

Shamino is large and dopey, but he's really enthusiastic, which is great since something as silly as this needs the support.

Simon is probably around sixteen years old and has been expressing discontent up until now. He seems to have warmed up after a couple of sessions of whining.

Darla is still heartbroken over your ghoul's death. It's odd, but you never noticed that she and David were close. Then again, it's only now that you've really been acquainted with the Wolves. More personally, at least. Either way, she appears to be benefiting from the sessions.

Nordim remains passive throughout all the sessions. Seems to share a resentment of any sort of authority and shudders when the Professor is discussed.

Allen is extremely young, adolescent. He appears to idolize you and Ragnor, which gives you an impetus not to disappoint.

As for you yourself, well, you try your best to act like a leader, though you've come to get bored of the place. The workload builds up and you don't want to bother anybody with your troubles.

Somehow, you get the feeling that the Demon is somewhere out there-- the Professor lives. While you can't be certain of this, you simply feel the likelihood of something big happening any day now. And so you wait, praying for the day where you can take revenge on him  for what he did to you:  manipulating you and your brethren to hurt others-- without even knowing it! He used us as vessels for his own crimes, then left us out in the desert to be hunted down by the Zealots. The bastard will pay for what he did to us...