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

[User] Continue

[Assistant]
So this is the Stone of Vul-Kar? It is certainly a large and hefty crystal, but more like a hunk of colored quartz than a priceless gem. But hey, it's Walter Berringer's money, and he can spend it on what he chooses. Right now you are just grateful for Gary Gaffney doing all the hard work for you, sparing you the need to climb the mountain. He deserved a better fate than what he got.

You have nothing to carry it with, though, so you turn to see if your borrowed book bag is in here too. But what you find is even better: your brand-new green REI backpack, the exact same one that Meredith stole.

It looks a little scuffed up, but otherwise it is still in good shape. You open a side pocket and find a six-inch knife that you've had since forever, and the folded-up military maps that Berringer procured back on Oahu. This is how you know beyond a doubt that this really is your own backpack, and not just someone else's look-alike. But that means…. You never got a good look at the woman in the pith helmet, but now with your stolen pack back in your possession, it makes sense that you had briefly shared the bottom of the pit with Meredith's broken body. You feel a chill go through you at the thought of it, but your employer will probably be pleased to hear the news.

So you place the Stone of Vul-Kar in your own pack and prepare to embark on your return journey. Meredith messed up all the strap settings, but that is easily rectified. What a doubly awesome discovery! You are reunited with your gear, and your mission is a success! Now it's just a matter of getting out of here.

However, that might be easier said than done. You are, after all, alone and in the dark of night, on an unknown part of the island. The quarter-moon will set soon, and when that happens you will have to fish out your headlamp if you don't want to grope your way through the lightless jungle. The Wobans must maintain several trails leading out of this village, but where do they go? Which one leads to safety, and not just into another trap?

The sound of moving water behind you catches your attention, and you turn to see a wide path leading down a bank. It brings you in a few hundred feet to the side of a wide stream — probably the combined output of those three waterfalls that you saw earlier, back when you and Gary were being led to an audience with the Woban king. This is interesting; all streams on this island logically must flow to the ocean, and the ocean is where the Big Papi is patiently waiting for your return. Therefore you have just found your way off the island! Even if this stream flows to the opposite coastline, all you need to do is make a quick call on the satellite phone to arrange a pick-up with Berringer.

The trail seems to turn and follow the small river downstream, right where you want to go. But then you notice that what you assumed was a log lying on the bank is actually a dugout canoe — a small craft for use on a small stream. This almost seems even better than the trail! Considering your poor luck so far following the Wobans' trail network, maybe you would fare better on the water. Sooner or later the Wobans are going to come looking for you, and you'll be harder to track if you aren't leaving footprints all over the place.

But who knows how navigable this stream is? The trail might lead you to more Wobans, but at least it will be easier to find your way.

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[User] You take the trail.

[Assistant]
This is no time to be taking chances with unknowns in the dark. You didn't work so hard to climb your way out of the pit just to risk getting drowned in some rapids. Besides, the strength in your arms is pretty much spent, and you're not sure how much use they would be when it comes to paddling a canoe. You are better off sticking to land, so you sketch out in your mind a rough plan to get down this trail as far as you can, find a place to take cover and get some sleep, and then reassess your situation in daylight.

It looks like the trail leading down the river is not too wide, suggesting that maybe you have lucked out and stumbled across one of the less well-traveled routes this time. Before you go too far, you fumble through your backpack, hoping Meredith didn't move your headlamp. It was in one of the upper pockets the last you saw it. Your hand feels several empty Clif Bar wrappers at first, but then it settles on the elastic band of the headlamp. You have no intentions of turning it on so close to the Woban village, but you do want to have it handy.

After putting the pack back on, you set off down the trail. It keeps close to the small river at first, which you can hear gurgling on your right, even if you can't always see it in the dark. There is one spot where the trail passes a large opening on the bank; you suppose the view must be stellar in the daylight, but now it's just "stellar" in the sense that you can see a sky full of stars above the calm water. The mountains you saw earlier are now inky silhouettes.

But you are not here to go sightseeing. You rush down the trail, with the river growing louder as you continue. Within minutes of passing the canoe you begin to hear splashes in the dark, suggesting you are no longer following a calm waterway, but a rugged and wild mountain stream. It's hard to imagine how useful the canoe would be here. The terrain is getting more rugged too; after almost tripping over the fifth unseen rock, you concede to the reality of your situation and flip on the headlamp. Hopefully there are no Wobans around to see this unnatural beam of light you're about to cast about their jungle.

It's a good thing that you did, though, because the trail is now going down an increasingly steep slope, with more roots and rocks in your way than you suspected. There is also a distinct roar somewhere up ahead, suggesting that you are nearing a powerful cataract. Indeed, a few minutes later you reach the top of a precipitous drop in the terrain, where both the river and the trail descend a massive rock ledge that must span the width of the valley. For the river, this means a waterfall of at least fifty feet, ending with a plunge into a boulder-filled pool.

The trail around the falls isn't less steep by any means. Rather than the free-fall made by the water, your route is a slower and carefully-controlled descent down a series of ledges — which might even appear like a giant staircase if you were, say, sixty feet tall. This is certainly a more extreme hike then you would normally prefer to make at [checking wristwatch] 12:48 A.M., and you would be more than happy to find that hiding spot any time now. The problem is, though, that when you reach the bottom of the ledges, the trail continues steeply down a rocky slope. Even if you did find a spot to stop, you'd probably go a-tumbling down the hill if you fell asleep in a place like this.

So you continue to work your way off the mountain. Despite your downhill direction, it is still a very laborious effort due to the rocks in your way that make your footing very unreliable; one misstep and you'll go sliding on your butt to a very painful landing. There is no way you could have successfully negotiated this terrain without the aid of the headlamp — although at this point you can't even tell if you're still on the trail. For all you know, the trail made a turn you didn't see, and now you're proceeding in some random direction.

But then, as you near what might be the bottom of this long and treacherous slope, your heart stops when you see another light ahead through the trees. For a second you think it's just the light of your own headlamp reflecting off the water, but that can't be; with all of the meanderings to avoid the steepest parts of the slope, you have wandered some distance away from the river. Then as you scrutinize the phenomenon a bit more closely, you see two people sitting around a small campfire. You can forgive yourself for not making the identification sooner, as there are quite a few trees between you and the campsite, and this is the last place you'd expect to find backpackers — not that these people are likely to be your average weekend warriors.

You immediately turn off your headlamp, but it's too late: the other people turn on their headlamps and come rushing toward you.

"Who's there?"

You have to admit, you are relieved to hear English instead of Wobani, but nevertheless you remain on high alert. It's hard to imagine encountering anyone helpful on this island.

The beams of light cast by their two headlamps quickly zero in on you. "You're in an awful hurry to get somewhere," the same voice says. "And might I add, why are you coming down the mountain? Most everybody else here is trying to get up it."

What's that supposed to mean? Have these two mysterious night lurkers figured out just by circumstance that you have the Stone of Vul-Kar in your possession? Or was that some kind of an attempt at humor?

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[User] You stay and talk.

[Assistant]
So here's the thing: this has been a really long day, and you are really tired — so tired, in fact, that you can't really tell if this person just made a veiled threat or a weak joke. Neither individual happens to be pointing a weapon at you, and that's more than you can say of anyone else you've met on this island.

"I've been running from the Wobans," you say.

"Wobans? Where?" the first man says. With his headlamp on, it's hard to get a good look at him, but you can see that he is short, dressed in a green-checked shirt with brown trousers, wears round glasses, and has the beginnings of a dark beard along his neck and chin.

"Right up this trail. Maybe another mile."

"They aren't coming after you, are they?" the larger man says. If you didn't know any better, you would guess that he himself was a Woban, in terms of his physical size and dress. Because of the blinding glow of his headlight you can't count the number of eyes, but the grass skirt and tattooed torso make you feel intimidated by his presence.

"I really, really hope not," you say.

"I mean, are you sure though?" the man with the glasses says. "If you're leading the Wobans straight to us…."

"I don't know," you say. "Probably not. The entire village was asleep when I snuck away."

"An entire village?" the tall man in the grass skirt says. You shield your eyes and see that he indeed only has two eyes. Still, you keep your distance.

"Yeah, there were hundreds of Wobans. They had taken three of us prisoner. So far as I know they… they ate the other two people, a woman and a guy. For some reason they were saving me for something else."

"That's horrific!" the short man says. "And you said they were asleep when you got away?"

"Yes."

"Well they still might come looking for you, and I don't want to be here when they come. Ligru, do you think maybe we should put out the fire and move our camp further into the bush?"

"That might be a good idea, sir," the tall man says. Could it be he's an Auri, from the next island over? From what you recall, the Auris were said to be very similar to Wobans in stature, but lacked the third eye. But for a member of a tribe that was first contacted just a few years ago, his English is remarkably solid.

"Then let's do it, my friend."

You're not sure, but you think you might have just fallen in with this duo for the night, and so you follow them over to their little campfire. But instead of extinguishing the fire and gathering up the small amount of gear that you see — a small, yellow-and-black Eureka! pup tent, a light blanket on a mat of woven reeds, a couple tin cups — the Auri tosses more sticks on the fire, and both men settle down next to it.

"Feel free to join us, friend," the short man says to you as he turns off his headlamp. "We've been trying to finish off a bottle of whiskey so we don't have to carry it any further up the mountain. Do you drink? Maybe it will help calm your nerves, after your harrowing escape from the clutches of the cannibals."

None of what is happening here comes anywhere close to what you were expecting, but you are too physically exhausted to dwell on the details. And to be absolutely honest, downing a shot of whiskey next to a campfire sounds like a heavenly idea. You doubt you'll get a better offer anywhere else.

Without saying another word, you take off the pack and set it on the ground beside the fire, and then sit back against the end containing your rolled-up sleeping bag.

"Ligru, pass over the bottle. I'm afraid we don't have any extra cups, though. Go ahead and drink right from the bottle; we won't judge."

You take the glass bottle from the Auri, who is sitting to your right; the gap between you is so large that you both have to reach to make the transfer. Pendleton. The bottle is still a third full. You do have a titanium cup of your own, but assuming Meredith didn't lose it, you'd have to dig into your pack to find it… and of course the Stone of Vul-Kar is resting on top of everything else that you are carrying. The last thing you want to do is reveal that to people you don't even know, so you remove the cap and take a long swig straight from the bottle.

"Thanks," you say.

"Keep it," the short man in green says. "I've probably had too much, and sometimes I swear the island is spinning."

Indeed, his speech is a little slurred, but not so much that you can't pick up the Eastern European accent. That's a part of the world that tends to blur together for you, but you'll rule out Russian for one simple fact: no one here is drinking vodka.

"I'm not going to pry into your background, because it looks as though you've had a rough evening," he continues. "But my name is Martian Pop, and my friend here is Ligru."

Martian Pop — you remember now the weird name on Berringer's list of competitors. You are disappointed in the pronunciation, though: Mar-TEE-yan.

"Ligru… He must be from Auri Island?" you say, addressing Pop.

"I'm from Oakland," the giant man says indignantly. "Ligru Washington."

"Yes, that's right," Pop says. "Ligru took my Polynesian Ethnology course last semester, and was probably the only student who paid attention. The rest always seem to be disappointed when they meet me on the first day of class. Many of them are just sophomores in need of some liberal arts credit hours. I think maybe they see my name and they misread it. They show up expecting Jeff Goldblum and Chaos Theory; instead they get me and a long discussion of Polynesian planting calendars."

"I liked your class, sir," Ligru says.

"As you can see, Ligru likes to dress and act the part," Pop says. "So I suppose one could be forgiven for mistaking him for an Auri Islander. You should show our guest that spear you found."

"Yes, sir," Ligru dutifully says. He gets up from the log he has been using as a backrest and walks over to what looks like a pole stuck in the ground. When he yanks it out, you can see the stone tip.

"We found this a couple days ago," Pop explains. "A genuine Woban spear, left on the side of the trail. Ligru has gotten quite good at using it, too. Show us, Ligru."

The tall man in the grass skirt readjusts his grip on the spear shaft, holds it horizontally over his shoulder, and then pitches it forward almost as if he were hurling a baseball. But the spear flies true, and lands in the middle of a tree that is so far from the fire it appears as little more than a dim apparition in the darkness.

"Impressive, isn't it?" Pop says.

"Not bad for a kid from Oakland," you agree.

Ligru returns to the campsite with the spear, plants it back in the same spot, and returns to his spot by the fire.

"All right, I'm ready for another hit of whiskey," Pop says. "Would you mind passing it over?"

As you are about to reach to your left around the fire to hand the bottle of Pendleton over, Ligru snatches it from you.

"Professor, I think you've had enough," he says.

"Don't call me professor!" The sudden change in Pop's demeanor makes you flinch. He closes his eyes and sighs, then wipes the side of his face with his fingers, although you can see nothing that needs to be wiped off.

When he calms himself, Pop stares into the fire. "It's extremely difficult to get a tenured position these days. Although that could change if I am able to bring back an artifact of significant value."

"Is that why you and Ligru are here?" you say.

"Isn't that why all of us are here?"

You look up from the fire and see that Pop is staring right at you when he says this, reviving your earlier fear that he has already deduced you have the Stone of Vul-Kar — based on the simple observation you were coming down the mountain range that everybody else is trying to climb.

"I suppose we're all here for own individual reasons," you say.

"And I'm glad your purpose was not to fill a cannibal's pot," Pop says, stifling a throaty chuckle. "But no, gallows humor aside, I think you mistake my meaning. We may like to think we have free will, but all of us are pawns in someone else's game. Ligru here serves me. I brought him to Woban Island because of his obvious physical strength — and I have witnessed his ability to use that strength against others to achieve his ends. And now his ends are my ends. And my end is to become the head of an ethnography department at a prestigious institution. At this point, I don't even care which."

"Sir…" Ligru starts to say.

"No, I shall have my say," Pop continues. "I have lived in America for nearly twenty years, and never once has anybody pronounced my name correctly on the first try. Martian Pop, as if I were some green-skinned alien singing 'go insane, go insane, throw some glitter, make it rain!'"

"Sir, you're not even making sense anymore."

"I suppose it would amuse everyone to know I have a cousin who thinks he owns the sun."

"Sir, it's time for bed. Here, let me help you into your tent."

Pop stands and lets his student help him toward the yellow pup tent.

"He was named for Virgil. I'm Martian, named for Martianus. Both of us named for respected Romans, except that his name translates better."

"You might want to take your boots off, sir."

"But I've got one up on him. None of my books have ever been published on Lulu. Is there any more of that whiskey?"

"The bottle's empty, sir." Actually, the bottle is still beside the spot where Ligru was sitting, and there is still a good three fingers's worth of whiskey left inside it.

"That's a shame. That was good stuff."

"Good night, sir," Ligru says, stepping back from the little tent. "We have a long hike ahead of us tomorrow."

"Yes, that's right. We have to find a way around the cannibal village. Unless it turns out…." And then Pop suddenly goes silent as the whiskey finally overtakes him.

Ligru returns to his spot between the log and the fire. He opens the bottle of Pendleton once more and downs the rest of the whiskey. "Where do you plan to sleep?" he asks as he sets the now-empty bottle down between you.

"Frankly, I think I could pass out right here at any moment," you say.

"You should be fine," Ligru says. "There will be no rain tonight."

"Hmm," you agree, your eyes already closing. Inside the pack against which you are sitting is a nice down sleeping bag and a roomy tent, neither of which have ever been used — and you are not motivated to use either of those things now, either. Not only do you lack the time and energy to formally move into a corner of this campsite, but you are deathly afraid to open your pack in the presence of either Ligru or his liberal arts professor, lest you confirm their suspicions about its contents.

Before you fall asleep for real, you push the pack backwards so you can lie against it while remaining close to the fire. The last thing you remember is Ligru tossing more sticks onto the fire.

__________________________________________________

[User] Next page.

[Assistant]
When morning arrives, you awake with a start. You have been dreaming that Pop and Ligru are rummaging through your pack, tearing all the contents out while you lie there alert but helpless, as if frozen by fear or indecision. Only when they find the Stone of Vul-Kar do you reach for the pack — and the sudden spasm in your arm is what wakes you. But the pack is right there behind you, exactly as it was when you fell asleep.

"My, we're awfully worried about that pack." It's Pop, sitting in his former spot beside the fire as if he never went to bed. "Don't worry, we didn't touch it."

You sit up and brush some of the dirt off your legs and shorts. Not only is the college professor sitting casually beside the fire, his back reclining against his own turned-around pack — legs extended, hands clasping a tin cup filled with a warm beverage — but Ligru is once again tending the fire, using one stick to move around the charred pieces of wood to make room for more fuel. It is almost like it was when you first joined them, but now in daylight.

"I thought you'd be long gone by now," you say.

"Us?" Pop says. "What makes you say that?"

"You mentioned having a long hike ahead of you today," you say.

"Oh, that. That can wait. We didn't want to leave you behind, not after the experiences you've had."

"Don't worry about me," you insist. "I've gotten this far; I can take care of the rest."

"You never did answer my question last night," Pop says.

"Question?"

"Yes. Where are you trying to go?"

You look around the campfire and see that both men are watching you with much interest. Pop's words may be expressing a polite concern about your well being on the surface, but you sense there is an agenda lurking underneath. Or are you just overreacting to that accent of his? The campsite is now cleaned up, with no sign of the yellow pup tent. Instead you see two backpacks, both ready for the day's trek: Pop is using his as a backrest, and Ligru's is sitting next to the spear.

"I'm just trying to get off the island in one piece," you say, trying to add a note of vulnerability to your voice. You need to throw these two off the scent, if indeed they really do think you have the Stone of Vul-Kar. "The Wobans can keep this place. Life is too short as it is already to be spending it running from cannibals."

"Yes, I suppose it is. But then you knew the risks when you came here, right?"

"But—" you start to say.

"But nothing," Pop cuts you off. "You came here for a purpose. We all did. None of us are here on vacation, just to post selfies with the natives on Instagram."

"I don't follow…."

"Don't play dumb — and don't take us for fools." Pop's voice has grown suddenly firm. "You came here in search of something valuable — so valuable that you'd risk getting eaten by three-eyed savages, if that's what you had to do to find it."

"Well look, now," you say, summoning your inner indignation. "I have no idea what you're talking about. But you didn't go through what I did last night. I was held prisoner with two other people, and after they dragged them away I never saw them again. It was sheer luck that I was able to get away—"

"And I suppose it was also by sheer luck that you were able to get away with that pack of yours, too," Pop says.

Ligru seems to be watching this exchange from the sidelines, as if waiting for a cue to get involved. You decide you need to be more aggressive in this conversation, and put Pop on the defensive for a change.

"You're the expert on Polynesian culture, Pop. So you tell me, do you think maybe these people might have left my gear alone because of some superstition?"

"First off, these people most certainly aren't Polynesian," Pop says with a bit of a huff. "Or Micronesian, or Maori, or Hawaiian, or anything even closely related to any other human population."

"That's interesting," you say. "Then what exactly are the Wobans?"

"Certainly nothing that Cook ever laid eyes on," Pop says.

Ligru speaks up for the first time this morning. "Weren't you saying the Wobans were their own separate species, sir?"

"Well obviously," Pop says. "Show me another human population that averages 2.2 meters in height, has claw-like digits, and of course looks at the world through three fully-functional eyes. This throws the whole evolutionary tree into disarray. Some have proposed that this species be called Homo teroculos, but I suspect that the Wobans aren't members of the genus homo at all, but rather some heretofore unknown offshoot of paranthropus."

How easy it is to derail an academic type by feigning interest in their pet subject matter!

"There you go!" you say. "We can't expect rational human behavior from people who aren't even human."

"I wouldn't go that far," Pop says.

"You haven't been their prisoner. I have. If you want to know why I'm eager to get off this island, then feel free to continue right up this trail for another mile. It leads right to the village — you can't miss it. They'll be happy to have you."

"That is a good point, sir," Ligru says from across the fire.

"So if you don't mind, I need to get going," you say. "I'm sorry to have held you up for so long. After what I went through, all I want more than anything is to get back to the States and schedule an appointment with my therapist."

You stand up and lift your pack, ready to hoist it onto your shoulders.

"Hold it!" Pop says, standing too. "Ligru, pfft."

The professor makes a hooking motion with his left hand, and Ligru immediately drops the stick he has been twiddling and takes a position behind you.

"What is this about?" you say.

"Enough of this nonsense," Pop says. "It's time for all of us to drop the pretenses and get down to business."

"Business?" you say, trying to maintain the same air of innocence — but finding it's hard not to be intimidated with someone as big as Ligru standing right behind you.

"Yes, business. I doubt that's such a strange concept to someone such as yourself, no? Two days ago, a massively large yacht shows up and anchors itself off shore. I said to Ligru, 'My, there must be one hell of a wealthy person on that boat.' And Ligru said, 'I'll bet you they're here to look for the Stone of Vul-Kar.' Then sure enough, the next morning we watched as not one but two small boats zipped away toward shore. And from what I could see through my binoculars, one of those people looked a lot like you."

"So yeah, I came here on a boat," you say. "This is an island. How did you get here?"

"You, my friend, are a mercenary, hired by the wealthy elite. You don't even possess the authenticity to come here to advance your own goals, as I do. You are here for but one purpose: to enhance the ego of someone whose sense of entitlement already knows no bounds. I'm sure you will be made wealthy if your mission is a success — so wealthy you'd risk your life among the cannibals, as you say. And now you'd have me believe you are returning to your master empty-handed? That when you met adversity, you ran for your life? How do you think that will be received when you return to that big yacht?"

"Pop, you have one hell of an imagination."

"That very well may be. Nevertheless, I'm afraid we can't let you leave here without knowing what's in your pack. It's quite possible you are in possession of something that I need very much."

It occurs to you that this would be a good time to use that gun that Walter Berringer gave you yesterday. Unfortunately, that's still in the little book bag that Captain Mark loaned you… and you left that back in the Woban village when you were reunited with your own backpack. This leaves you in the awkward position of being forced to choose between unappealing options, in a game where you clearly have the weaker hand. Either you can cave and give these weird goons what they want, or you can make a run for it — hoping that Ligru isn't as scary as he looks.

__________________________________________________

[User] You show them the Stone of Vul-Kar.

[Assistant]
This may be one of the lowest moments of your career: conceding defeat to a second-rate college professor and his pet student. But despite the deep sleep you just enjoyed, you know you are still physically exhausted and starved. You were only asleep for a few hours, and you still haven't had anything to eat. Add the fact that the last liquid you consumed was whiskey, and your assessment of your condition is not good. You can't see how you'd have any advantage in a test of strength or speed with Ligru.

"All right, you win," you say, dropping your pack on the ground.

"Obviously," Pop says. "Now do this slowly. I always like a good reveal."

Like most backpacks, this one features a hood that sits over the main compartment, with two straps holding it in place. You release the clips and let the hood fall backwards, and then pull on the drawstring to reveal the contents of the pack. The Stone of Vul-Kar is the first thing you see.

"Where is it? I can't see," Pop says.

You realize that from afar neither he nor Ligru can see inside the pack — so not only can they not see the crystal, but they are also unaware of the surprise you just found.

When you last looked at the contents of your pack last night, it was dark and you were in a hurry to flee the Woban village. You found the stone in Gary Gaffney's pack, immediately realized the fortunate position you were in, and stowed it inside your own reclaimed backpack without scrutinizing too much what else it contained. But it seems that Meredith made an addition of her own, before she gave up the ghost.

"It's so beautiful," you say, stalling for time as you reassess your situation. "I just want to look at it one last time."

"Oh for crying out loud," Pop says. "Just let me have it already."

"Since you put it that way…." What you pull out is not the crystal, but the handgun that could only have been left behind by the woman who absconded with your stuff yesterday.

"Well hey now!" Pop says.

"Ligru, stand next to your professor," you say.

The young man in the grass skirt dutifully moves around you, his hands raised as he joins Pop. "Looks like we've been fooled, sir," he says.

"Now, I've enjoyed the time I've spent with you fellas," you say. "But this game has gone on long enough. I have a delivery to make, and while I appreciate the offer I really don't need your assistance."

The gun feels awkward in your hand, but you try not to let your inexperience show. It won't be much of a threat if your two companions don't think you can use it.

"Let's be reasonable here," Pop says. "If you fire that thing, you're likely to bring the Wobans down on all of us."

His hands are raised, but he is taking a cautious step toward you. For once you have the upper hand, and you want to keep it that way. So you flip the safety switch and fire a shot at the ground in front of Pop — the Wobans be damned. You don't intend to stick around long enough to see them come, anyway.

"All right! All right!" Pop says. "I had no idea you were such a lunatic."

"There are five more shots where that came from," you bluff; you have no idea what Meredith left you inside the chamber. "If you leave me alone, I'll leave you alone. It's that simple."

You worry that Ligru might try and jump you while you shoulder your pack once more, but the big man really seems unsure of what to do. You are unable to fasten the buckles without taking your attention off your companions, so you let the pack hang from your shoulders like a dead weight.

"I'm serious!" you say. "If you follow me, I'll be very unhappy." To emphasize your point, you fire one more shot into the ground. Both Pop and Ligru jump slightly as a little plume of dust rises at their feet.

And with that you run. Last night, as you were descending the steep and rocky slope, you were concerned that you might have lost the trail in the dark. Now, in the morning light, the way couldn't be clearer. The trail leads down a gentle slope, but with so many rocks and roots that you could easily get yourself killed if you weren't paying attention.

However, running with the pack hanging loose on your shoulders just isn't going to do. It feels like running a steeplechase with a seven-year-old child riding piggyback.

So after about a minute down the trail, you stop to buckle the waist strap. As you do so you turn around and see Ligru following at a distance. His big, gangly body wasn't built for running, but that isn't stopping him from trying. You'd much prefer that he didn't, and so you consider the handgun in your right hand. It's no exaggeration to say you don't like these things, and that in your experience they cause more harm than good. But you remember Ligru's demonstration with the spear last night, and it won't do to let him get too close. So you lift the gun, aim it at your pursuer, pull the trigger, and…

Nothing happens. The gun clicks, but no shots are fired.

Damn you, Meredith! Did she really just load this thing with two bullets? Or maybe she fired the other four before hiding the gun inside your pack. The dead tell no tales, so you may never know.

But whatever the explanation, the gun is worthless now. You toss it into the jungle and resume your jog down the trail, trying to set the best possible pace despite the ruggedness of the route. At some point last night the trail veered away from the small river, but you are starting to hear it more loudly now, as if you were returning to its side. And then, just moments later, the trail leads you right to its bank.

Well this sucks! The river is flowing through a rocky trench, like a miniature gorge with V-shaped walls. The current is swift and violent as the entire flow is funneled through this tight space. The only way across is a single log that spans the gorge, from a dead tree that fell long ago and has been rotting ever since. It is about three feet in diameter, and some of the bark has sloughed off. The bare, exposed wood looks incredibly slick.

If you weren't running for your life from someone with a spear — and the proven ability to use it — you could probably take your time and scoot your away across this thing. But it's a good four feet above the water, and the price of losing your balance trying to cross in a hurry would be catastrophic. So perhaps it would be better to duck into the jungle and elude Ligru that way.

__________________________________________________

[User] You cross the log.

[Assistant]
If the log is going to be an obstacle for you, then it will be for Ligru, too. The advantage is that it you've done this type of thing before, whereas Ligru probably never had much of an opportunity to practice balancing on logs back in Oakland. Yes, there is a high probability of failure, but it's a risk you feel you can manage.

You step onto the near end of the log, finding that perhaps some of your fears might be exaggerated. The tree has been dead so long that the previous foot traffic has flattened a narrow walkway into the pliant, rotten wood. Still, it will not be an easy crossing. The best you can do is focus on the trodden portions of the log and ignore the frothing river below.

After a deep breath, you take the first step. When your boot grips the surface without slipping, you go ahead and take the next step, and the next. Despite appearances, the log makes a competent bridge after all. Nevertheless it is slow going, and it will take you a few minutes to cross the nearly hundred-foot-long span.

A problem arises, however, about two-thirds of the way across. You have reached a section of the log where the bark is still attached, and at first you expected the textured surface would offer added traction — making the rest of the crossing a cinch. But when you stepped on the corky covering, it slipped into the river in a huge sheet. The surface it exposed is just as slick and slippery as you feared, leaving a section about twelve feet long that will be almost impossible to cross standing up — at least not without the aid of some old-timey caulked boots.

"You didn't get so far after all, I see."

Turning, you see Ligru standing on the ledge behind you, holding his Woban spear.

"Feel free to join me, Ligru," you say, shouting over the roar of the river.

"Just give me the Stone of Vul-Kar, and I'll let you go," Ligru shouts back. "I'll tell the Professor you fell in. He'll never need to know."

"And you really think that after all this I'll just hand the stone over?" you say.

"I think when push comes to shove, you'll do what you need to do to save your own skin."

Interesting — when he isn't busy fawning over Martian Pop he is able to speak more than five words at a time. You still think that he is a gentle giant, so you decide to call his bluff.

"Ligru, you won't hurt me," you say. "Throwing that spear at a tree is one thing. Inflicting harm on a fellow human being is quite another."

"You think I learned how to be nice back on the streets of Oakland?"

"I think maybe you aren't as fierce as you want everyone to think you are."

"Well OK then," he says. "Allow me to show you how nice I really am."

He raises the spear horizontally above his shoulder just like last night, and then he pitches it forward — right at you. There is no time to react; for a split second you think of jumping in the river, but between the wild current and the heavy pack strapped to your body, you'd drown in seconds. So you stand there helplessly, remembering that scene in Jaws 3-D when someone fired a harpoon straight at the camera and you jumped in your seat at the illusion of a projectile hurled straight between your eyes. And if this is to be your final moment, how stupid is it to be remembering one of the worst movies ever?

But the spear sails past you, and instead of impaling you it lands with a dull thwack! in the log ahead of you.

Ligru is displeased with his failure to pick you off the log, so he mounts the far end and starts to come for you in person. This leaves you no option but to take your chances with the slick surface exposed by the bark. It is like trying to cross a tube of ice, but by being deliberate with your steps you do not slip. And the one moment when you do feel your balance faltering, you stable yourself by stepping on Ligru's planted spear. Two steps later and you're back on a textured section of the log, and at the first opportunity you jump off onto the opposite bank.

"Holy Christ!" Ligru shouts behind you. You turn just in time to see him slip off the log and tumble into the river. You wait a few seconds, but he does not resurface.

By some miracle, you have survived! It is still possible that Ligru will figure out a way to haul himself out of the river, so you decide not to linger.

__________________________________________________

[User] Next page.

[Assistant]
For the first time in nearly twenty-four hours, you are hiking along a Woban trail without the sense that you are in immediate danger. The villagers have not yet come looking for their lost meal, and if Ligru survived his plunge into the river you suspect he will have more pressing concerns than continuing to chase you. And without his overgrown student-henchman, Martian Pop can drop dead for all you care.

It is not exactly a leisurely stroll down the rest of the trail, but certainly the stress factor has decreased. For instance, without the need to constantly look over your shoulder you are free to notice the fact there are no footprints in this trail. Wherever it goes, this is not the type of major thoroughfare where you first got captured a day ago. But just as importantly, it is maintaining a steady course toward the ocean — wherein lies your salvation from this hellish place.

You fish out your compass and confirm what the position of the sun already told you: the trail is heading west, whereas your runabout is on the east side of the island. That will be a problem, but one that can probably be solved. As the trail continues to descend through the valley, and as the sound of the raging whitewater fades away, you spot a small rock knob rising a short distance above the trail. The forest canopy allows only a brief glimpse of the summit, but it is enough to see that it is only a couple hundred feet high, and barely two-tenths of a mile off the trail. It beckons as a watchtower from which you can finally get your bearings.

Indeed, scaling this rocky foothill proves to be quick and easy. It is rather warm on the exposed rock, but you find a ledge shaded from the tropical sun by the natural wall behind it, and from this vantage you enjoy a commanding view across the coastal portion of Woban Island: a series of rocky mountains to the south, a jagged headland beyond on the most distant portion of the shoreline, but then a long and uninterrupted section of oceanfront lowlands about a mile away. Assuming there are no further Woban villages along the way, you'll be there in less than an hour.

The scene is so pleasing that you decide to savor it. You fish out all the ready-to-eat food you can find in your pack, producing a smorgasbord of Clif Bars and packets of flavored tuna. All of this is washed down by the contents of the Nalgene that Meredith managed not to lose.

Next you pull out the maps that Berringer somehow procured from the Air Force, and you unfold the one that shows the southwestern quadrant of the island. It is a detailed topographic map, but now that you've seen Woban Island in real life you are more impressed by what it doesn't show: no trail network, no native villages. The map depicts the layout of the island, but says nothing about the dangers it contains. Someone should write a guidebook about this place, with the caveat that the best way to appreciate the island is from afar.

However, the map does show a blue line representing the one noteworthy river, which rises high in a mountain basin before plunging steeply into the western lowlands. And there, just a mile from the coastline, is the small knob that matches the description of the one on which you are sitting.

The last thing that you pull out of the pack is Berringer's satellite phone. Now that you know where you are, it's time to make that call to your employer. If he wants his prize, he's going to need to pick you up. There is only one number programmed into the phone's memory, so that is the one you dial. After a few rings, you hear a response on the other end as someone picks up the receiving phone. And then you hear Walter Berringer's voice.

"Meredith! How dare you—"

"I'm happy to report that I am not Meredith," you say.

"You!" he says. "You're the last person I expected to hear from."

"I'll try not to take that as a lack of confidence in my abilities."

"That's not what I meant," Berringer says. "As far as I knew, Meredith had the satellite phone. But nevermind. Please tell me your mission was a success."

"Indeed, I am in possession of a purple rock."

"And Meredith?"

"As far as I can tell, she'll never steal from you again."

"I can't wait to hear the details," he says.

"That's the thing. While I was successful, I came out on the wrong end of the island. If I gave you some lat-long coordinates, could you arrange to pick me up?"

"Well of course," Berringer says. "Just give us some time."

__________________________________________________

[User] Next page.

[Assistant]
You wait on the rocky summit until you see the Big Papi sailing into view, and then you return to the trail. The final mile of the hike leads you through the flat bottomlands, where the once-raging river now flows languidly between sandy banks. Your heart almost stops when you spy a hut directly ahead of you, but it doesn't take long to figure out it is in severe disrepair. The trail leads to what appears to be an abandoned fishing settlement, and judging by the collapsed structures, the toppled trees, and the ocean flotsam scattered everywhere you deduce this place was ravaged by a typhoon and the resulting storm surge. Not a soul remains.

Captain Mark is already waiting for you when you arrive at the beach.

"Good to see you again!" he says cheerfully as you stride across the expanse of sand. "I trust everything went well."

"Well? No," you say. "But successful? Yes."

"The boss will be pleased, then."

One of his crewmen takes your pack from you and stows it inside the landing craft — another one of those white inflatable runabouts.

"I'm glad to see you had another one of these stored on board," you say as you step inside yourself. "I was curious how you were going to get me off the island."

"Well, let's just hope we have no difficulties getting back to the yacht," Captain Mark says. "Otherwise we'll be fresh out of runabouts."

"I'm sorry about your pack," you say. "As far as I know it's still up in a village full of cannibals."

"No worries. I'll get another."

The best part about the ride back to the Big Papi is that is leading away from Woban Island. And twenty minutes later, when a crewman helps you out of the runabout and back onto the big boat's Sun Deck, the first thing you appreciate is how distant the island appears from this far out at sea.

Berringer is coming down the stairs from the main salon. He is decked out all in white: white trousers, a white shirt, a white vest, a white tie, and a white jacket. If he had a cigar and a white hat, he'd be Boss Hogg.

"Welcome back!" he says, extending his hand.

"It's good to be back," you say.

"I know you probably want to rest and clean up, but it's almost dinnertime. I took the liberty of telling Cookie to prepare a celebratory feast, which should be ready soon. In the meantime, I've poured myself a drink upstairs. Would you care to join me?"

You know there is no point in declining, so you agree.

"After you," Berringer says, following you up the stairs as a crewman carries your pack. "I feel like a little kid on Christmas."

You suddenly feel too grungy to be in the posh setting of the main salon, but Berringer doesn't seem to care in the least. "Would you like a bourbon?" he asks.

Not really, you think, but again you choose to go along with the spirit of the proceedings.

"Was it difficult scaling the mountain?" he says, sitting with a drink in hand.

"Turns out I didn't need to," you say. "It's a long story."

"One that I'll be happy to hear over dinner, I'm sure. Now, please, I would love to see the item."

The crewman has set your backpack beside you, so you open the top just as you did for Pop and Ligru this morning. The purple crystal is right where you left it, no worse for wear. But like you were handling a newborn baby, you gently lift it out.

"That's it?" Berringer says. The disappointment in his voice is palpable, and it causes you to doubt yourself. You never did make it to the main summit, so how would you know if this were the Stone of Vul-Kar or not? But what else could it be? Gary Gaffney found it, and then you claimed it. Berringer admitted back in Fenway that he had almost no foreknowledge of what the gem looked like, so who is he to complain?

You decide it's best not to say anything, and just let your employer examine his prize undisturbed. He moves to a seat closer to a window, and then turns on a lamp for extra light.

"It looks like a normal amethyst," he says, turning the stone around in his hands. "Colorful quartz. I've seen people use things like this as paperweights."

The mood in the room has suddenly grown more tense. The crewman who had carried your pack had been lingering just outside the doorway, as if hoping to overhear your conversation without being too obvious, but now he rushes down the stairs to help his mates on the Sun Deck with the runabout. Berringer sighs as he examines the crystal.

At last he holds it up in his right hand. "It's a fake!" he declares.

You squirm in your chair, not sure how to respond. "How can you be sure?" you finally say.

"I assume you didn't look at it closely while you were on the island," he says.

Well, no. It was dark when you found it in the wee hours of the morning, and then you spent much of today trying to safeguard it against Martian Pop and Ligru Washington. You considered yourself fortunate just to get it off the island; never once did it occur to you to take it out and study it.

When you don't say anything, Berringer reaches forward with the crystal. "Here, see for yourself."

So you take the purple stone that up until now you had been calling the Stone of Vul-Kar. You have no idea what you're looking for as you turn it over — but then you see a flat spot with lettering inscribed into the surface. You hold it closer so you can read the words — and then you wish you were still on the island, working your way up that goddamned mountain.

Marty's Rock Shop, Albuquerque, NM

"I'll tell Captain Mark you'll be needing the runabout again," Berringer says, and at that moment you realize your adventures on Woban Island are far from over.

THE END


[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 say "Creations? What did the Professor do to us?"

[Assistant]
"You and me both. The Professor was a nasty sort, creating freaks of nature to..." His face seems to strain, though for reasons you may or may not realize, "To... for a program, you see. The Government shut the facility down early enough, but he kept the creations up and running for a while longer. When the soldiers came to burn the place down, well, that's where you and I come in. Possibly others."

"There are more like me and you?" You ask, trying to absorb as much as you can before Kelso shuts up again.

"Maybe. I'd be surprised if that much survived the raid. But there are certainly other experiments that the Professor did. Chimera, Were-beasts, you name it. And, of course, 'vampires', like you."

"What about yourself? I thought you were a vampire as well?

"I'm a lot of things."

A pause in the conversation occurs, before you shake your head and continue the questionnaire, "Right... And why are the soldiers trying to kill us?"

"I told you already, the Church, lead by a certain priest named 'Tomas', believes we're demonic mutants created by the Professor. They think they're cleaning the world from us. That's what they've been doing for years, hunting down Creations on some sort of religious-killing spree. The facility which you woke up from was the last one before they destroyed it. Even though we live virtually forever, this is a curse, kid, and they realize that. As Creations, we're biologically forced to do things. We have to drink blood-- it's a necessity. The sunlight burns us, for our skin is too fair. What they don't realize is that we're also sentient beings. We were humans, once.

''And yet, the bastard that made us still lives somewhere out there. And I want you to help me find him. Furthermore, if we make a good enough team, we may even be able to overthrow the Church, for it's reach is strong. They're more or less the only ruling bodies the world has currently... Both of them, the Professor and the Church, are evils that need to be eradicated. We'll stop them both, just stick with me, kid."


[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 join Wood, Dick and Bill at the Hite Farm

[Assistant] You and your new friends go to Wood's farm and lie low for a few months. You are startled to read that Tucker Bassham has been arrested in Missouri and promptly named you and every other participant in the Glendale train robbery; soon after you read that Ed Miller's body has also been discovered in Missouri, allegedly killed by Jesse James. A few months later Jesse himself turns up at the Farm looking grim and full of plans for your next robbery.


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

[User] You go talk with Gil

[Assistant]
You take one look at Moreau's citizens and shake your head. There's no way you can whip these freaks into shape by yourself. Look at them, all peace and love and shit. There's a damn giraffe man kissing a damn bear woman. It's not right! You're too disgusted right now; you have to talk to someone normal!

You go to the nearby swamp, where you see Gil catching a small lizard and eating it.

"Well its good to see someone here, who's not a pansy ass herbivore." You say.

Gil looks up, perturbed at first, but surprised when he sees you.

"Wolf? What're you doing here?"
"Same thing as you, Moreau offered to set me up for life, if I help him. Though I don't see how that's possible with the freaks I just met."
"I know, tell me about it. I can't even get them to argue with me! I was calling them a bunch of ignorant land dwellers who should've been killed at birth like the freaks they were and they tried to do was hug me."
"Still don't like surfacer dwellers eh Gil?"
"Hell no! I wouldn't even be here, but I was getting really tired of moving every five minutes because humans feel the need to build a factory near my home. At least here, I know that's not going to happen and the freaks will know to leave me be."
"Assuming the freaks will still be here. The Martians will be taking over soon if we don't do anything." You remind Gil.
"I know, I know. They would be even worse neighbors than humans assuming they would still let me live here. (Sigh) Looks like I'll be moving again soon."
"Oh come on Gil, we gotta think up something. The Martians are a bunch of idiots. I can't give up just yet."
"Ah I should've suspected. You're here to prove you still got one fight left in you. The old Alpha Wolf syndrome."
"I'm not here just for that, but maybe that is part of it. So what the hell's wrong with that?"
"Nothing I suppose. It's your life. I just think it's a pointless and silly endeavor that gets you killed for no good reason."
"Oh fuck you Gil. We're natural born killers, we're designed to establish our dominance and be combative! You of all should understand that. You want to die an old fish in your sleep?"
"Sounds about right. Look Wolf, I know you've always subscribed to natural law, survival of fittest ideology and I do too. But you take it to the fucking extreme that it's ridiculous. Really I mean don't you feel that in your elder years that you'd just like peace and quiet? I never picked fights for the hell of it. It didn't make much sense. I mean shit, I've been fighting humans all my damn life, and I'm tired of it. I want to rest. I always just wanted to be left alone but the damn land dwellers wouldn't leave me alone."
"Gil, I learned a long time ago, no matter how much you try, shitheads are going to bother you. You can be a recluse like you and Moreau or be an anti-social asshole like me. It doesn't matter. Someone is going to fuck with you; someone is going to annoy you. All you can do is deal with it head on and make the best of it. What're you going to do Gil? Move when the Martians arrive? Then move again when some humans build yet another factory by your new home and just keep going like that until you die? You got a chance here to pretty much live your dream of a relatively peaceful undisturbed life here. It's not going to get any better Gil. All you gotta do is stand up to the Martians. Yeah, maybe you'll get killed, but it's better than constantly being on the run."

Your words have made sense to Gil. He can't really argue with your logic. This place probably is the best he's going to ever have it on this planet. He just needs to help get rid of the Martian threat.

"Well Wolf, I guess either way this is going to be my last fight. Alright what should we do next? Because attempting to train the freaks seems like it's doomed to failure."

[User] You ask Gil if he knows anyone else who can help

[Assistant]
If you actually had any friends you'd ask them if they could help, but since you don't, you ask Gil if he knows anyone.

"Not really." He says.
"Come on Gil, I mean you must know someone! There were a ton of aquatic sea monsters!"
"Oh yeah, we ALL know each other. Damn land dweller ignorance. I bet we all look alike to too you right?" Gil says annoyed.
"And I suppose you don't think we all look alike?" you retort.
"Alright nevermind. I don't know though, most of the beings I know, tolerate land dwellers even less than I do. And most of them can't even leave the water to begin with."
"I guess giant crabs and squids are out of the question then huh?"
"You guess right."
"Damn."
"Okay well, I DO have a cousin that might help, but we haven't spoken in years."
"Would he be of much help?"
"Oh he'd be more than enough help; he doesn't much care for aliens in general. In fact he doesn't like anyone and is very violent."
"Sounds like a great guy." You say.
"Hmm, yes I'm sure you and he have a few things in common. He's another that pointless picks fights and believes in proving his dominance whenever possible."
"Well get his ass over here!"
"I don't know if he'll come, we had a fight about something a long time ago hence the reason we haven't spoken."
"Gil, I know Moreau has at least one phone on this island. USE IT. NOW!"
"Alright, I'll try, but like I said I don't know if he'll come to help.

You and Gil make your way back to Moreau's freak town where the freaks still give you strange looks. You knock on Moreau's door.

"Hey Moreau! Open up, Gil's gotta use the phone."

Moreau looks as haggard as ever when he opens his door.

"Damn Moreau, you look like shit, you really need to take better care of yourself. Eat some fucking meat. Anyway, Gil has a bad ass cousin apparently that can help, he just needs to call him."
"Wolf, I don't know if he'll come, and now that I'm thinking about it, I don't know if I WANT him to come. He might still be pissed at me."
"Have some faith Gil."

Gil picks up the phone and starts pressing a million numbers.

"Where the hell does your cousin live, Gil?"
"Japan. Oh I got a tone…here he is. Hello Godzilla?"

"Your cousin is FUCKING GODZILLA?!" you ask.
"Oh even I've heard of him, heard he was giant lizard that routinely defeated other monsters and aliens. Surely he'll be able to help." Moreau says hopefully.

You look at Moreau in disbelief, he apparently has been such a recluse he hasn't even kept up on who the fuck Godzilla really is and the extent of his power. You know damn well if Godzilla comes here, the Martians will be destroyed, but so will everything else on the island!

"It's me. No don't hang up! Look I'm sorry about that! I didn't mean for that to happen! Come on I really need your help. I'm in a predicament and…"

You snatch the phone from Gil

"Dammit, no matter what shit happened between you two, you should at least know how your cousin's mind operates by now, Gil!" you say to Gil.

"Hello, Godzilla? Big fan. My name's Wolf you might know me, but it doesn't matter if you don't. Look there's a bunch of fucking Martians coming down to Earth thinking they're tough shit and acting like they're going to own the place. Yeah I know you're King of the Monsters here on Earth, but you know how all aliens are, they're arrogant bastards. Okay. Oh why thank you! That was my favorite role; I got to kill 17 humans in that one! Glad to see you have heard of me. Alright bye."

You turn to Moreau and Gil.

"He's coming." You say.

[User] You get the hell off the island

[Assistant]
You respect and even admire Godzilla for his abilities, but you're not a damn idiot! When Godzilla comes to kick ass, he goes into overkill. You don't want to be anywhere on the island when he arrives. You ask Moreau for your money.

"Alright Moreau, you said I could have my reward in cash, I'll be taking it now seeing as my work here is done."
"What?! You haven't done anything!" Moreau says.
"The hell I didn't, I got Godzilla to come here. He'll solve your Martian problem."
"Okay there's two things wrong with that statement. First of all YOU still aren't personally doing anything. Second of all Godzilla is Gil's cousin not yours, if anything he gets credit for this before you!"
"Yeah!" Gil remarks.
"That may be, but I'm the one who convinced Godzilla to come here! Gil was too busy stuttering and apologizing."
"Godzilla's not even here yet! I'm not paying you anything; you can wait until after he gets rid of the Martians."

Looks like Moreau isn't parting with anything until after the job is completed, but if you wait until after Godzilla does his thing there won't be anything left on the island to part with and that's assuming you can find some place to lay low to avoid the sheer destruction that's sure to come. (Even though Moreau seems to be ignorant of what's about to occur to his Utopia)

[User] You insist on getting paid

[Assistant]
You begin to get angry at Moreau's unwillingness to pay up.

"Moreau I'm going to ask you ONE last time, I want my money!" you snarl.
"You're not getting anything from me! And you can stop threatening me, because it won't work! I had to face angry tigermen and worse while attempting to turn this place into a Utopia! So you can just…"

You don't let Moreau finish that sentence; you take a swipe at him with your claws, knocking him down. He slams his head into his desk and looks very still. Gil goes over to check on him.

"He's dead." Gil says.
"Damn, I didn't mean to hit him so hard, I was just trying to scare him a bit."
"You dickhead! NOW what are we supposed to do?!"
"Will you relax, I'm sure he's got a safe or some place where he keeps the money, all we have to do is find it, it can't be far."
"I'm not talking about that! I'm talking about he was the only one who could fly the plane of the island! How the hell are we supposed to leave now that he's dead?! And do I need to remind you that my cousin is coming here? I didn't want to be here anymore than you did when he arrived especially since he's pissed at me!"
"Oh shit, I didn't think about that. FUCK! Wait a minute! What the hell are you worried about? All you gotta do is start swimming!"
"Hey asshole, it's the fucking ocean! SALTWATER! I can't survive in that shit. Not for that long anyway. I might as well be swimming in vinegar."
"Hold on you better just calm the fuck down, and watch your tone Fishboy."
"Fuck you mangy land dwelling dog! I should've never listened to you!"

Gil is just as pissed at you as you are with him right now and you both act on your anger. A fight between you both occurs in the office, and eventually out in the middle of the town. Moreau's freaks stand in disbelief, they're unaccustomed to seeing such violence in a long time, and the younger ones have never seen it at all. Most of them just stand out of the way as you and Gil attempt to kill one another.

You fight for a couple days, and then the Martians arrive. When they see that the island is still inhabited they go into their kill all Earthlings routine and start killing the citizens of the island with ease, until they're all dead. Meanwhile you and Gil are still beating each others brains out. The Martians decide not to interrupt and start placing bets; you're the odds on favorite since Gil is starting to dehydrate at this point.

Another day passes and Godzilla finally arrives. The Martians attempt to fight back, but this is fucking Godzilla. He merely sneezes at their beam weapons and their saucers. Then he crushes the remaining ones under foot, destroying most of the island in the process.

Then he notices Gil, and remembering whatever he did to piss him off, he decides to get some payback. Unfortunately you're in the way of his "payback" and you're both incinerated with one bellow of radioactive fire.


[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 letters to home (She's still alive!)

[Assistant]
Hey Mallack!

This letter is directly for you again. Glad you've been keeping these between us.

Anyway, I know it seemed silly to worry about a girl I just had a brief encounter with years ago for one night. But when I heard about the Brot Kingdom being destroyed by the Necromancer, I did wonder about Helena.

Well, I found out she's still alive! She stopped off in Fort Virtue not too long ago! She wasn't in Brot when all that shit went down. She was trading in the Azi Republic at the time.

When she arrived in Fort Virtue to trade, I recognized her and she seemed pleased to see me. She mentioned that she was pleased to see a familiar face for once and we spent a lot of time together for as long as she stayed. (And yes, we did THAT several times too.)

I wish things were different, or at least not the way they are right now. I definitely would want to pursue a more permanent relationship with her because we get along really well, but alas that's not to be. At least not at this time.

She told me she was heading to the Retlad Kingdom next; I hope she stays there because there's less fighting going on. Definitely no more Quillars there anymore. I dunno, I know it's minor and doesn't really make sense, but this little bit of info sort of put me in a better mood. I guess I'll be writing Mom a more upbeat letter as well soon.

Okay, well I hope everything's going good with you too. Keep watching out for the Kobolds and keep 'em out of that chicken coop!

Your brother


[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 will weave a minor charm to slow down the goblins.

[Assistant]
Water is not your most powerful element, but nevertheless you know enough about how to manipulate the fluids in a being to slow it down, hoping that this will give the guards enough advantage to slay the wicked creatures.

You close your eyes, concentrating, and hoping that Lucius can keep any stray arrows away from you, and channel the unaccustomed energies of Water through your body.
Gently but unstoppable, like the tide, the powers flow into the bodies of your enemies, burdening them, slowing them, and one by one you feel, through your bondage with Water, how the life form of one after the other is destroyed by the soldiers, who use the turn of events.

So absorbed are you in the unfamiliar enchantment, however, that you do not even hear the warning that Lucius screams to you, and the last memory of living that your soul carries to the netherworld is that of a blinding light and a searing pain, melting your skin and flesh and bones...


[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 leave

[Assistant]
The pixies have almost made you forget about what's really going on in the rest of the world…but you still know it's going on. Perhaps it's easier for them, as they have not had to experience the tragedies you've faced, but you know the destruction that's eventually going to come. You don't see any hope in their plan and if you stayed, and you still would never be able to completely relax. You could possibly be trapped as well.

However, you have no wish to bring more despair to these people. Let them live in illusions for as long as they can,

You wish you could.

It is with great regret that you tell them that you cannot stay. They attempt to convince you to do otherwise, but you've already made up your mind. Finally they accept your decision, but insist on repaying you for all your musical entertainment. They give you a small magical amulet. They tell you it can make you invisible for short periods of time.

You thank them and assure them that it will most definitely come in handy.

You leave the forest and head further away from the undead plague.

Nine years pass…

Twenty years of surviving this living hell.

Living in a cave in the mountains isn't as easy as it was in the Pixie forest, but it's probably a lot safer as far as undead are concerned. The biggest threats you've had to face are a few Cragmaws and Mountain Trolls. Once you ran into a couple of dwarves, so you assume that there may be an underground settlement somewhere in the area. You attempted to speak, but they just shot at you with their crossbows and told you to go away, saying that humans were the cause of the problem going on right now.

Your use your amulet when you can as it seems that the living have been just as willing to kill you as the undead. Then again, that's nothing new.

Every now and then you travel and scout around the area taking in the untainted countryside. You figure you should do it now before it's claimed eventually. The living exist here, which means death can only eventually follow. You just wonder how long it will take.

Sometimes you walk along the shore that's nearby. You look out past the vast blue and begin to wonder if there are any other places out there. You briefly entertain the idea of building a boat. You know that the globe was thoroughly charted centuries ago and that this is the only continent, but still you wonder if something wasn't missed. Of course you're probably just holding on to the false hope that you could theoretically go someplace else where death wasn't everywhere.

But there isn't such a place.

Lately something very odd has been happening and you have no idea what it is. You could swear that the landscape has been subtlety altering itself from time to time. Not permanently, but it seems to look "wavy" or "warped" briefly.

You initially chalk it up to your prolonged isolation and seeing things because of it, however you soon find out that it's more than just your mind playing tricks on you.

One day after you've done some hunting and bringing your catch back to your cave, you start noticing a severe slow down in your actions.

"What the fuck…" you say to yourself, except it comes out a lot slower. You don't experience for long, but the worst is yet to come.

A portal opens up in the sky and you immediately feel ill. You see a creature that you've never seen before and it's huge but it feels incredibly unnatural and it definitely isn't of this world. The dead animal that you're carrying suddenly melts into a black goo like substance. You jump back and nearly fall off the side of the mountain, which now feels like jelly under your feet rather than sturdy rock.

You don't know what's going here and you don't want to know. All you know is reality is starting to be seriously warped and you're ready to puke.

The tentacled creature doesn't seem to notice you, it's just surveying and floating in the air as the area around and beneath it changes. That still doesn't mean it won't attack eventually when it does notice you.

You immediately attempt to use your amulet, but nothing is happening. The creature or something else is nullifying your magic item.

Right now you're caught out in the open, your cave is close, but you're still not sure if you can get there in time and even if you do, would you be any safer? The other alternative is to make you way back down the mountain and try to escape that way. The problem with that plan is that everything is very wobbly right now and you're not feeling very steady.

[User] You run to your cave

[Assistant]
The creature is too big to fit in the cave if it tries to attack and you need to hide as soon as possible.

You make a run for it, gagging and stumbling the whole time. Eventually you do get to the cave. You don't think the creature even saw you.

You continue to fumble around in the dark cave that you call home. You can still hear weird noises coming from outside and you're desperate to drown them out as you feel like its doing something to your mind. In fact, you're feeling a little deranged.

"WHAT?! WHAT?! UNDEAD WEREN'T ENOUGH?! NOW THIS?! HAHAHAHA! YOU CAN'T KILL ME! I'LL SURVIVE! I SURVIVE EVERYTHING! Who am I here? Who goes there?"

You look around the cave and start seeing the rocky walls transform into writhing masses of worms. You grab your sword and start hacking away, only to fall to the ground half laughing and half crying.

"You don't understand…I've lost it all…(sob) why? WHERE ARE THE GODS? WHY HAVEN'T YOU STOPPED THIS?! DAMN YOU FUCKING ALL! Ha ha ha ha!"

You look into the small fire that lights your cave and see it change into a blue color. You begin to think you see faces in it.

"Randi? Is that you? I'm sorry…I could still save…"

You burn your hand badly when you shove it into the flames in some misguided attempt to save your sister who is not there. It's at this point; you realize you're losing your mind. You didn't survive this long just to lose that. You start trying to block out the sounds, but it's relentless.

And that's when you see your mandolin on the floor nearby. Music. It always takes you to another place. A better place. You can't play it right now with your burned hand, but your music is always with you. In your mind.

You begin to focus on one particular song in your head. You close your eyes think of yourself playing. The tune is nearly drowned out by the noise, but eventually the music gets louder and the creature's noise is getting quieter, until finally that's all you can hear.

You have no idea how long you do this for, but eventually you open your eyes again, and everything is normal. The walls are rock, the fire is red. Your hand still hurts, but it will heal.

You stay in the cave for days, unsure of what to make of all this. Ultimately you leave to explore cautiously, and everything outside seems normal as well. There is no sign that the creature was ever around. You don't know if it moved on, disappeared, or what.

Did you go temporarily insane? Did all of this really happen? You do know you burned your hand, so you're pretty sure it did on some level. In any event, you never want to encounter anything like that ever again. Death almost seems preferable than complete madness.

You're still shaken up by the experience for months to come but eventually you get over it. Just like you have with every other hardship you've faced.

Twenty years pass…

Forty years have passed and you feel death closer than ever. Old age has been taking its toll and while you're somewhat fit for your age you can't stop the ravages of time.

Still, it's not just that. It's the world in general. The place has slowly become a dead world, quite literally from what you've seen during your travels.

Eventually you abandoned your cave in the mountain when the dead began to congregate in the area. The dwarven settlement was probably attacked. You don't know, you didn't stick around. You continued to stay on the move.

After a few years of wandering, you noticed dead trees. Not unusual in the lands of the Great Lich Lord, but you were sticking to places at least on the outskirts of his domain. But it didn't seem to matter. His influence was obviously extending. The magic in your amulet no longer works, and you briefly thought of the pixies. You know they didn't survive.

Soon grass was no longer growing. Hunting was becoming scarce. Animals were dying out. It almost reminded you of when the farm was going through a rough patch, but this time there would be no recovery. You walked along another shoreline and saw fish and other sea creatures washed up dead in massive quantities.

You've had to fight undead monsters at almost every turn, always having to stay one step ahead before you're overwhelmed.

Even the air itself feels like it's harder to breathe no matter where you go.

Right now you're very far north, where nothing ever existed save ice and snow. You're living in yet another cave, but you're pretty sure this one is going to be your tomb. You haven't eaten in days, as you haven't spotted a living creature in days. You haven't seen another intelligent living creature in years.

It's very cold, and all you want to do is sleep now. You think you might have one or two more days left tops.

However, you're not allowed to leave just yet…

While you're drifting in and out of consciousness in your weakened state, you suddenly see a dark hooded figure by the fire. You know who it is.

"So…you've come for me personally? I didn't think I was important enough." you ask.
"You aren't really. Let's just say that I have a lot of free time and with less and less living now, I take a more personal approach whenever I can. Besides, given how remote this place is, I doubt if any of my necromancers could've found you anyway. That is if I hadn't killed them all."

The Great Lich Lord's voice doesn't sound anything like you thought it might. It's actually not very scary at all. Almost calm.

"Heh. I killed a necromancer once…" you say.
"You have my thanks then, one less treacherous fool that I didn't have to deal with."
"You didn't really need to come all this way you know, I think I was dying before you got here."

At this point the Great Lich Lord begins walking around your cave looking at your meager possessions. He immediately notices your very worn mandolin and picks it up.

"Please feel free to take it. I won't be needing it anymore." You say.
"Not sure what I'd do with it. I'm not musically inclined at all. I'm pretty much only good at killing things as you can tell."
"Yeah, you're great at that."
"My mistress Catalina likes music though; perhaps she might find it interesting. This looks very old, where did you get it?"
"Oh in a town that the demons destroyed when they lost their leader Velzix."
"Hah. Demons. I think everyone was glad when I got rid of those assholes." The Great Lich Lord remarks.
"That thing probably saved my life when I found it. Some weird ass vampire called Warnov wanted me to play for him. Said you were after him or something…"
"Yes. Vampires weren't my favorite people. Arrogant creatures. Well they're dead now. Excuse me, but did you say Warnov?"
"That was his name. Yes."

The Great Lich Lord is silent for a moment and then speaks again.

"I know who you are. I can't believe it's you, but I know who you are. I remember before I tracked down and killed old Warnov, he stated that he was glad he heard you play before he died. He also said that if I ever encountered you that I should insist that you play for me before I killed you. Something about your playing being beautiful or something. You also served in the Zalan Empire army. Weren't you supposed to be a hero or something?"

You laugh weakly.

"Mostly or something." You reply.
"Hm. I wonder if you ever met…" the Great Lich Lord then pauses for a moment. "…nevermind. It's the past and that no longer matters. So can you still play this thing?"
"Well of course, but…"
"Good. We're leaving this place then, got a job for you."
Before you can speak another word, you feel yourself teleported.

[User] One last song...

[Assistant]
You find yourself in a very ornate yet definitely dark chamber. All manner of symbols related to death exist here. You could only be in the Great Lich Lord's tower in Nuro. You never thought you'd ever be here. The last time you were anywhere near Nuro was forty years ago and things were much different.

"Welcome to Aftermath, my musical guest. As I said, I'm not much for music, but Catalina is and I'm sure she would love to hear you play. She…" The Great Lich Lord pauses again. "She hasn't been feeling well lately and I think this would help out. Just take seat in that chair over there. Here's your mandolin."

This almost surreal. You didn't expect your last moments on this world to be like this. Lacking any other ideas you slowly go over to sit on the chair, while the Great Lich Lord goes to get his mistress Catalina. They better hurry up because you feel like you've done more than knocking on death's door; you're quite literally in his home. The proximity of being so close to the Great Lich Lord is speeding up your death.

The Great Lich Lord soon arrives with Catalina and you look upon her. She's very beautiful. You had heard stories about her before decades ago when you were still serving in the army. She looks young, though she has to be much older. However, you can tell she's not exactly moving very fast and taking her time. It's apparent that despite her skill in necromancy that she's suffering from the effects of the Great Lich Lord's death aura. She must be powerful indeed to be able to withstand his proximity everyday. She must also love him very much to do it.

You briefly think of how someone could ever love such a being, or how such a being is even capable of love. But given how you see them interact, there it is.

This also starts to make you angry. Why are they allowed such a thing? They're the bad guys here. You never did anything wrong and you lost everyone you ever loved or cared about. You begin to tear up, but it's in frustration rather than sadness. All the past pain and suffering that you've ever experienced has come back to hurt you one last time.

"Okay, start playing." The Great Lich Lord says.
"No." you remark.
"What?"
"You heard me. No."
"I don't think you're in any position to defy me."
"Oh I think I'm in every position. What the hell are you going to do to me? I'm fuckin' dead already! You've already taken everything away from me! My friends and acquaintances died because of you! I lost my home because of you! My family and loved ones died because of you! I had to kill my own mother because she became one of your undead minions! My siblings, all fuckin' dead! All I have left is my music! And now you want me to give that away to you too? NO! I'll DIE with it!"

After this outburst the Great Lich Lord replies in kind.

"Insolent mortal! Do you forget who I am? You think dying will save you? Think again! I will kill you and raise you as a fucking zombie and MAKE you play for us in a pink dress if it so amuses me! Now play and perhaps that won't be your fate!"

The Great Lich Lord's voice now sounds more menacing. More like what you thought, but you don't care, you've got nothing to lose at this juncture. It is at this point Catalina steps in.

"I don't think that will be necessary dear. You just let me handle this. You go in the next room and cool off or something."

The Great Lich Lord agrees to this and hugs Catalina, before walking off. Catalina now walks towards you.

"You'll have to forgive my beloved's outburst. He goes a little over the top when it comes to me. Especially now. So much has happened. He's changed so much and continues to change even now. He doesn't express it, but I think it's always gotten to him."
"I don't have to forgive shit. Am I supposed to feel sympathy? He's caused all this…and you too! How can you stand by him? You're still alive! You could probably kill him and stop this before the entire world is dead!"
"Oh I doubt if I could, even if I so desired, which I don't. My feelings for him and the reasons…well the heart wants, what the heart wants. I sometimes worry about what he will do after I'm gone though. He's in great denial. He knows I cannot fight off his overwhelming aura forever. I suppose in some ways, bringing you here to play for me was some vain hope of making me feel better. And it will, in its own way…"

You still can't believe that she's trying to make them out to be the victims.

"Look I don't care about what the hell you two death freaks want, I know what the hell I've gone through and it's all your fault. Fuck the both of you. You haven't had to deal with the pain I've gone through."
"Perhaps not. But do you think you are the only one on this world who's suffered? What makes your life and those close to you so special? Nothing. You and everyone else whoever lived on this dying world are equal. You, your family, even me. The only person who isn't equal, is in the next room. We've all lost those close to us at some point. Yes, even my beloved and he'll lose another when I'm gone. We'll all be long dead and he'll probably still be on this world by himself with nothing to do. And that, I'm convinced will be the greatest suffering of all. Life without end? No thank you. When my time comes, I will embrace it."

You're very surprised to hear a necromancer say that.

"My beloved cannot help what he is. For whatever reason, he was gifted with the art of death. He's become it. It's his nature. You can't be angry with a force of nature. It has to simply be."

You want to argue, you want to fight, you want to bring up every moral debate you can think of, but to be quite honest you can't. Part of it is it wouldn't make any difference. Part of it is you're tired of fighting, you can't do it anymore and you don't have strength at this point. The other part is that in a way what she's said makes some sense and is correct.

It also makes you think about your "nature". It was to play music. You never got to live the life you wanted, but during your lifetime, music always seeped in somehow. It always found a way.

Catalina continues to speak.

"Now you certainly don't have to play. That's your choice. I will make sure that my beloved does not turn you into dress wearing zombie though. It would be a shame though. You are not completely unfamiliar to me. I do have some knowledge of who you are and I have heard stories of your playing. I would like to hear it played while you still had the passion and energy behind it. The living spark that can only invoke such things."
"…I'll play…" you say with a heavy breath that took some effort for you.
"You will?"
"Yes…what did you want to hear?"

Catalina smiles.

"I don't know, whatever you like I suppose. Just as long as it has a nice soothing melody."
"Okay then."
"Hold on, I must get my beloved before you start. I must ask though, what changed your mind to play?"
"Nothing. It's my nature."

Catalina soon returns with the Great Lich Lord and they both sit in their respective thrones. Catalina tells you to play, which you do so.

You watch the pair of them look at each other as you play. You would appear that Catalina is pleased with her "gift". You don't know about the Great Lich Lord, since you can't see his face, but you assume that if she's happy, then he's happy.

You see them hold hands and look at each other as you enter the second verse of the song. At this point you begin to close your eyes and just let the music and instinct guide your fingers. You can feel your life slip away, but it doesn't matter. You've been taken to a different place. A better place.

You smile and wave to your family. You can see them all so clearly. All of them are there. You're getting closer. They're ready to accept you with open arms.

Last verse. Not much energy left, but you're nearly there. You won't have to worry about anything anymore. Heart slowing down. You're with them now. Everything will be so good again. Your music has saved you one last time.

One last note.
One last breath.
You're home.

"Well, he certainly looked happier than he did earlier."
"Yes, yes he did. Set his body on fire dear."
"You don't want him around to play for you later?"
"No, I don't think that performance could ever be replicated."


[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 leave them

[Assistant]
You keep running, as Lucas swears loudly, cursing your name. You keep running, twisting your head back as you see the werewolf biting into Mikhail's throat. Lucas aims his gun, but clearly seeing the blood streaming from his throat, turns and follows you. As the werewolves are distracted with their prey, you continue sprinting towards the tower.

Unfortunately, you see one of the werewolves stand in the center of the village. It's larger than the others, its fur white and its eyes red. It stares at you for a second, before it lets out a powerful, booming howl. The other werewolves emerge from the buildings, blood matting their fur and dripping from their claws. The Alpha Male drops to all fours and begins sprinting away towards you, followed by the others.

"Shit! Shit! Shit!" Lucas says as he nears you, as you see the castle.

You sprint, the only noise being your heavy panting and the thudding of boots and clawed feet on the earth. You reach the castle, sprinting through the gates and past the carriages parked there. You see the portcullis' control wheel to your left, and the heavy wooden door to the keep to your right.


[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 nope, not dying here. Let him follow you.

[Assistant]
So he follows you. He follows you to your boyfriend's apartment--to the living room where you make small talk about your trip, into the bathroom while you pee, to the dining room where there is a lovely dinner prepared, into the bedroom where you and your boyfriend sleep. He follows you everywhere, little eyes tracing your every move.

Finally, you decide to fight him. It's like fighting air.

You try to ignore him. Sometimes it works, but mostly it doesn't. You can't sleep. You can't relax with friends. You can't even kiss Keith without getting uncomfortable.

Your friends notice your awkwardness, and Keith gets tired of being pushed away. Your grades suffer. You're alone more and more--alone with it. After about a year, your mind can't take it anymore. It lets go.

With medication, you become a mindless--if peaceful--mental patient. But whenever they take you off it enough for you to notice your surroundings, what you see is the goblin. Because he never leaves.


[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 join the wolves

[Assistant]
You ponder joining the Wolves with Ian for a minute. This certainly isn't typical behavior for him after all. After a brief inner argument, you determine that there has to be something more to this gang. Ian wouldn't throw his life away for no reason, and who knows, maybe him saying it's a 'gang' is just some self-imposed label. Maybe they act nothing like a gang.

"Yeah, sure man I'll join."

You reply. Ian smiles, clearly relieved.

"Thanks, for a second there I wasn't sure what you'd do."

He says with a bit of a nervous laugh. For a second there you weren't really sure what you'd do either. You take a few steps into the room and sit on a comfy looking recliner.

"So...what now? What exactly does this gang of yours do?"

You ask, as Ian places the beer he was previously holding back into the fridge. It seems he didn't plan on drinking it unless you did as well.

"Well, calling it a gang may have been a stretch. My brother made it up with his friends a while back, and I joined it pretty recently. So far we basically just all hang out together here every once in a while. A home away from home...kind of."

He says, trailing off a bit at the end.

"Hmmm. Cool."

You reply. You don't really want to pry any deeper into his reasons for being here, as you can kind of sense it's a sensitive topic, and you don't remember enough about the past, or rather the present, to be confident in your ability to not say something stupid.

The two of you hang out in the gang's headquarters for the rest of the day, until about the time when class would normally end. You don't do a whole lot, just sit around and talk, but it's kind of nice to just chill with Ian. On your way out, Ian says one more thing.

"Oh by the way, I can't make you an official member myself. You're gonna have to come back when my brother is here to do that."

"Sure, maybe he'll be here next time."

You reply as you return home. Once there, you find that neither your sister nor mother are aware that you skipped school today. The night passes and you lay in your bed, staring at your alarm clock, quite pleased that tomorrow is a Saturday.


[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 say "You shouldn't get too attached to her."

[Assistant]
You bite your lip awkwardly

"You shouldn't do this"

Your son stares at you incredulously

"I shouldn't love someone?"

"You are only making this harder for yourself"

Your son glares back at you

"I don't want to marry just anyone. I want to marry someone I care about"

You grab your son viciously by his shoulders

"Are you insinuating that I don't care about Catheryn!"

 Your son backpedals hurriedly

"Of course not, father you know I wouldn't-"

He searches for words

"I- I just... what if it doesn't work out for me? What if I don't love my wife?"

You let go of his shoulders limply

"I'm sure you'll love her"

Your son doesn't seem so convinced. He slips on his trousers and shirt and departs the stable master's quarters in silence, brushing past you on the way out.

You sigh tiredly and depart the stables alone.


[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 make it back to the truck

[Assistant]
You try to work your way out of the hole but it seems impossible. All of the earth around you is moving and swirling as if alive. Soon you are unable to reach the top of the hole as the mound moves over you... filling the hole.

You are crushed.

~THE END~

You have reached the "Gargoyles" ending.


[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 knock the gun from her hands

[Assistant]
You psychically knock the gun from her hands, grabbing her by the throat.

"You're coming with me. I'm planning on taking you and your cooks back to my vessel to cook drugs for me," you say.

"You realize if you try to force my men or I into shitty conditions or anything like that we'll just be able to poison the chems and have everyone of your customers after your head? We can end your entire career."

"I understand, I understand," you say. "I'm not trying to fuck you over."

"Fuck!" Zero says. "How do I know I can trust you?"

"Do I look so retarded you don't think I understand how easily you'd fuck me over.

"Fine," Zero says, biting her lip nervously before looking at her cooks. "Green Snakes, follow the psyker. What's the exit plan, then, psyker?"

A group of gang members charge in, wielding autoguns and a few lasguns, blocking your exit.

"Kill them, get to the shuttle," you say.


[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 go to California with Jim Younger

[Assistant] You travel with Jim out to California where the pair of you purchase a cabin, a tract of land and live a quiet life as farmers for two years. You continue to read about your companions committing more crimes but continuing to elude capture. Finally a letter arrives from Bob urging you both to return to Missouri where the Gang are planning their most daring crimes yet. "We'll have to go," Jim says with a great sigh. "I'll never forgive myself if the law catches or kills Bob and Cole like it did with John and I'm not there to help them." Reluctantly the pair of you leave your peaceful lives in California and in the summer of 1876 you return to Missouri to return to the outlaw life.


[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 try your key

[Assistant]
You might as well try your key, if it doesn't fit then you can ring the bell.

You try your key. It works! Maybe you live here after all.

It's pitch dark inside and you fumble around for a light switch on the wall, but apparently it doesn't work which already seems like something that would happen in your own house. Unable to achieve illumination that way, you see the silhouette of a lamp in the darkness and you head to it. Unfortunately you end up tripping over a bunch of shit in the dark, because apparently the furniture is arranged differently in this house.

You end up breaking the lamp in the process of trying to turn it on. You curse and just sit in the dark for a moment holding on to your bruised shin and knee. You then attempt to carefully get up since the last thing you want is broken shards of the lamp in your hand or anywhere else in your body.

Just as you're about to carefully make your way to the kitchen and turn the light on there, you hear a creaking noise. Sounds like it's coming from upstairs.

You go in that direction just in time to see a figure at the top of the stairs followed by the muzzle blast of a double-barreled shotgun. The impact throws you against the wall and you wheeze for breath and cough up blood.

"Got that fucking burglar!" you hear a vaguely familiar voice shout as you bleed out.
"George?! Is it safe?" another voice calls out. Sounds female and you can't believe you're hearing it after all these years…either of the voices actually. But especially hers…

Suddenly the upstairs light comes on which provides just enough illumination to shine down on you and the voice of who you now know belongs to your father becomes very panicked.

"OH SHIT! OH FUCK! BERTHA! BERTHA! CALL 911!" your father shouts and runs down the stairs nearly tripping the process.

He drops the shotgun and goes over to you, but you're already well on your way to death.

"Suzy! Oh my fucking god! I didn't mean to…what are you even doing here?! I thought you were visiting Saturday! I didn't even know you still had a key to the house! Oh shit! No! Hang on!"

While your dad attempts to hold you, your mother who apparently is also very much alive in this reality still doesn't quite know what's going on until she sees the carnage.

"SUZY! NO! GEORGE WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!?" your mom screams and runs down the stairs.
"I didn't know! I didn't know!" your father exclaims.

You can't talk or do anything except gurgle and choke on blood right now, but as the light begins to fade from your eyes and the life starts leaving your body, you watch your mother approach and tearfully embrace your bloody body.

And somehow seeing your mother one last time before you die doesn't make it quite so bad.

You just wish it had been under better conditions.