[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]
The next week involved quite a bit of socializing and preparation for the big day. Night by night you trained, and although the week didn't give you as much time as you wanted, it gave you enough to get a feel for the Wolves, make a start with the community, and most importantly, teach the young ones how to harness their frustration into power. Power, that will hopefully be enough to block the Zealots off, and beat them by matter of attrition.

You feel as though you've gotten on pretty good terms with both Gideon and Ragnor, both of whom are simply great guys. You've noticed that, despite their differing ideologies, they have utmost respect for each-other, which is rather pleasant to see. Something that always lay at the back of your mind, though, was that Ragnor claimed that he was going to raid the City, regardless of what choice the group took, but you never understood that. How was he going to do that without support?

Still, the only thing you really feel sad about is the lack of time you were able to have with Cecilia. Even though you've trained together, you really wish you could have talked to her more often, about things other than unleashing her concealed persona: the werewolf. But, you manage to keep yourself jovial enough knowing that if you succeed at stopping the Zealot onslaught, you'll have all the time in the world with your new love. Additionally, you might even be able to learn how to read the mysterious hieroglyphs when times of peace are near.

Bright lights ahead, but you just have to reach it.

As the week passes, you all begin sitting in a circle daily, discussing the plan thoroughly, and then send out scouts to see if the Zealots are sending their men to raid your headquarters. The plan is simple; when you are alerted of the Zealot present, you will block off the entrance with any object available, then hide in secluded corners in the dark maze that is the well, and slowly pick off the Zealots as they pass.

Today is one of those days, and you are warily waiting for the knock from the scouts. Any day now, the Zealots should be coming. Time passes; you do this twice a day, once in the morning and once in the evening, to see if they're preparing for a night-attack or not. You hope it's at night, as the Creations would have an advantage, probably. Additionally, you wouldn't have to worry about sun-tan lotion, the tube Kelso gave you will run out sooner or later. And so you wait, everybody around you waiting in silence.

You hear the codified knock: Clunk-clunk-clunk.

Someone lets out a sigh-- today isn't the day.

You go out to train once more, reviewing everything, and then turning back to refill on blood. Gideon gives you a broken plastic-cup with maybe an ounce of his blood. You drink it slowly, savoring the taste. It reinvigorates you, like usual, and you set down to meditate, waiting for nightfall.

That night...

Clunk-clunk-clunk-clunk

That's 4... Is tonight the night?

Ragnor's head poking out of the hatch confirms it, "Everybody, wake up, now!" Hearing this everybody assembles, bringing out spare Zealot armors and weapons. Indeed, even you're surprised by their efficiency tonight.

"Alright Wolves, tonight, we defend our home!" You announce, pumping your fist.

However, unlike most of your announcements, nobody but Gideon roars in applause. Ragnor approaches you with a laugh, "Sorry bud, I think we're making ourselves a new home, tonight."

"Huh?" You look around and it seems obvious that everybody but you and Gideon know what's going on.

Cecilia turns to you with a frown, "Sorry, love... but I can't live in this shit-hole any longer. I just... think it's time we took a stand. You understand, right?"

Gideon moves into the fray, sticking his finger into the taller man's chest, "What do you think you're doing, Ragnor? We, deh group, made a decision!"

Ragnor stares back at the hunchback, "Yes, and I made a re-vote, without the peer pressure the group is used to. Turns out, they trust the Church much less than you do, and think that surviving well is better than just surviving, uncertain if they'll get a next meal. We can be the new Human-race: 'Homo-Creatio,' us, the Wolves, Gideon. Think about it!"

Gideon just spits in disgust, "You fool! This is NOT how we're supposed to get continue! Ragnor, the humans "aren't much worse than we are, for there outlook is for survival as well. We can merge with them after showing how similar we are by not slaughtering them in their City!"

"I don't think so, friend. But if I were either of you, I'd join us for survival's sake only, no way can you survive the oncoming Zealots. I saw them-- several groups of ten and covering ground right now. It's either join us or meet your doom."

You look at Gideon, and his dark eyes just blink out, "Don't."

What it comes to, in the end, is whether you wish to join Ragnor and the rest to assault the city or stay by Gideon, alone and at the mercy of the incoming horde.

[User] You stand by Gideon.

[Assistant]
You take a step back, standing by Gideon's side. "I'm sorry too, Ragnor. But I simply don't think think this is the way to go."

Ragnor stares back at you intently, before shrugging, "Alright then, Vamp. I'm not going to force either of you. But what about your ghoul?"

"David?" You look around, searching for him. He is currently standing stiff by Ragnor's side, parallel to you. You're surprised you didn't take note of this already.

"Yeah. I've talked to him, and he seems to sympathize with our cause. But, since I still more than an iota of respect for you," Ragnor pauses, giving you time to understand, "I'd rather not cause strife from after death between us. So, may I ask for you to allow him to come with us?"

With a deep breath, you firmly reply back, "If he really wants to go, then he can follow you to oblivion."

"That is all I want from you, Vamp. See you in whatever hell we end up in, eh?" He smiles and takes a hand out to shake.

You wave him goodbye, but don't shake, "See you on the flip side, man. Good luck."

Ragnor suddenly stands with a more serious attitude, and turns to leave, the Wolf Encampment. Within minutes, Gideon and you are alone. Silence dominates the room for a long while before you speak up.

"Gideon, the Zealots are on their way right now. What are we going to do?"

The hunchback takes his time finding a nice seat to reply from on, "Convince them."

"Convince them of what?" You ask, baffled.

"Convince them that we're the least of their worries."

"You mean sabotage the assault?"

"Of course. You have a better idea?"

"... I can't say, yet. But I can tell you one thing, none of my plans would ever include the possibility of leading the Zealots to kill our brothers!" You bring your palm to your brow, "Seriously, Gideon, what kind of idea is that?"

"One that preserves the sanctity of life that doesn't leech off of others'."

"And you don't think they'll turn right around to kill us?"

"Hey, if you can convince them we aren't actually Demons from outer space, then we should try that out first, but for now I'm satisfied with dying with the knowledge that I helped save the human race."

[User] You try to bring attention to Ragnor's groups.

[Assistant]
"So you think the only feasible plan would be to divert there attention for the moment?" You frown, uncertain. The other option wouldn't make too much sense, considering that you fought with the Zealot army not too long ago, but this plan seems... distasteful, unattractive. You're betraying your brethren for those who believe you to be nothing more than a monster, people who believe that anything you do is without reason; good or bad, all mindless mistakes carried out by the Devil himself.

It's a scary thought to you-- people believe that about Gideon and me. While I'm not squeaky clean by any means, at least Gideon is willing to throw away everything just to save them!

Gideon begins to shuffle towards the hatch, "Come on, Vampire. We need to get the message out any way we can."

"Well, we still have a Walkie-Talkie that's probably useable."

He turns back to face you, and his eyes widen, "What? We do?"

"Y-yeah..." You reply, beginning to scavenge through the various in nicknacks the Wolves kept, and finding David's transceiver under the mess. "Nigh certain it still works, too."

He throws his hands up in return, "Then let's do that, genius." You grasp the radio firmly in your hand and get a vague feeling déjà vu as you once again dial it to the Zealot-channel. Click. It's on, sounding out static. You interrupt it with an additional button push when Gideon swiftly grabs it out of your hands. "What the hell, man!"

"I'm doing this." Gideon states, still pushing the button. "Zealots, do you hear this?"

The cool, female voice is back, "Err, hello?"

"This is Wolf-leader Gideon, Ma'am. I need you to call off the Zealots attacking our base, for your own sake."

"Um, we don't negotiate with evil, sir."

"No! God damnit Ma'am, I'm warning you because there are only two of us left in the hideout, the rest are on their way to attack your City right now!"

A pause. "We will look into it, then. Thank you for notifying us, whatever you are." You aren't able to identify her tone that well, but you hope it isn't sarcasm. Either way, she doesn't respond to Gideon's next reply, "Thank you."

The two of you sit down on a broken couch, unsure how to proceed further. "So, if they still raid our stronghold, it's over for us?"

"... Yeah. The way I see it, the best case scenario is that all the Wolves are wiped out by the C.E. Strike Force on the way. I just hope they find Ragnor and the rest after they get us."

"And you're okay with this?" You shout, baffled by this still.

He doesn't answer.

[User] You try to contact the incoming Zealots directly and try to get them to sympathize.

[Assistant]
With amazing agility, you turn around to send a powerful roundhouse kick to Gideon, making powerful impact-- just enough to have him on the floor, but not hurt too bad. Meanwhile, you grab the fallen transceiver and angrily scold him, "What is the hell is matter with you, Gideon?"

He doesn't respond, though he sits cross-legged on the floor, staring at the floor as a child would. You sigh, and try your own plan at survival.

Click

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

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

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

Gideon sits up groggily, and watches you in silence.

"Incoming Zealots!" You announce, then release the button, and wait.

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

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

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

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

"Huh?"

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

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

"Err, Vamp."

Gideon chuckles nervously in the background.

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

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

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

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

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

"... Do you even believe me?"

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

"I try."

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

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

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

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

"Vamp, are you still there?"

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

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

"Oh?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, we have figured out your trick."

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

"We'll be there."

And... Off.

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

[User] You prepare the meet-and-greet and hope for the best.

[Assistant]
"We prepare by meeting them at the bottom of the well, like good hosts," you reply with a laugh, "If they kill us then they kill us, if they don't then we have a chance at surviving."

Gideon sighs, "You think they'll be able to stop Ragnor and his men, at least?"

"The Zealot name, 'Chief' seemed confident, but I doubt it. In Wolf-form, the Wolves can easily rip apart anyone in seconds, regardless of armor. Unless they send more than half of their troops all the way back to fortify the city then they have an issue."

"Let's hope they do." Gideon says with a frown. Well, you can go hope by yourself, Gideon. I'm hoping we both survive this ordeal.

The two of you wait for a while, unsure how to proceed. Eventually, you both head down the hatch and into the concrete cavern that is under the well. You make your way past the claw-scratches and to the end, where you notice Ragnor thoughtfully closed the plate from on top, instead of leaving it open.

"This is it, Gideon. Our moment of truth." You begin to say, trying to start a conversation.

The hunchback just nods in return, staring upwards to the closed opening, waiting.

Many minutes pass-by, and when something like an hour passes you wonder whether they abandoned raiding the base at all. You idly stand, shaking in place.

Sand slowly begins to pour out of the holes  the plate, the the miniscule dots sprinkling on top of both you and Gideon. Soon, a vague blue light begins to peek in, and you know that the Zealots are here.

You hear a crackling thud, and soon the plate is kicked over and you notice several flashing figures hunching over the well.

"You there, below. You are, 'Vamp'?"

"One and the same." You call back, "The man beside me is Gideon. You wish to come inside?"

You see some finger pointing from the three men surrounding the well, and one extremely built character jumps from the top of the well, using his armor as a brake by trying to grab onto the surrounding wall. You laugh inside, realizing that he obviously didn't notice the ledges on the other side of the cylindrical opening.

The man takes off his helmet, and what you see surprising you, though you;re not sure why. "I am the Chief." The dark-skinned individual introduces himself, bowing slightly. "I have brought exactly 32 men here, and the rest to find and kill the Demons approaching the City. Now, what do you want, both of you?"

Gideon stares at the man with a wide smile, though he doesn't speak. You sigh once again, "We want you to not kill us, to be frank."

Chief laughs, and calls upwards, "Samuel, Zadok, come down and meet these two... Gentleman."

Soon after he announces it, the two men watching from above the well jump in from behind Chief, crashing into the concrete with a loud crack. The dust settles, and the man continues, "The two of you don't seem too bad, but even the Devil can act gracious-- but that's acting. How can you prove to us that you're actually willing of redemption? How can I trust you?"

The two men behind him near, and although they aren't quite up to his size, they don't seem nearly as friendly.

"Well, for one, we warned you about the other Creations... Wait, how much men did you send to apprehend them?"

"Truth." He nods, "30, why?"

That's 13 Creations against 30 mortals; they'll be slaughtered... You consider how to answer, but Gideon interjects, "Chief, the Wolves on their way aren't pushovers."

"And neither are our soldiers."

"No," Gideon continues, "I've seen their leader in action. He is merciless and faster than anything you've ever seen. Your precious City won't hold up!"

For the first time, Chief seems alarmed, "Wait... You are the only De-- Creations here?"

"Yeah. We have no time to waste, then. If you want our support in saving the city, then we'll need your promise of being vouched for." You state firmly.

Chief nods, while the others watch you both, silent. "You got it. Now let's get get back, before it's too late!"

"Alright then," you say, "Let's get out of here while we can." To show them the way, you rush ahead, using the ledges to climb. Gideon and the Zealots follow you up, where you find a horde of patient Zealots, waiting for orders.

Chief raises his hands and yells, "RETREAT BACK TO THE CITY, NOW!"

The Zealots' formation quickly changes and you begin your march to the city, hoping you get there in time...

[User] You epilogue.

[Assistant]
With silent haste, the troops march back to the City. The Chief's strict protocol helps bring the scattered clusters into more orderly groups walking in a rectangular form. You cover plenty of ground in a short amount of time, but the tension builds when a scout comes back with no report on where the Wolves are. By the time you all reach the City, it's darker than it seemed before...

Chief motions over to you, "You see, there?" He points to a corner of the City's hexagonal circumference, "The Sentries would usually be commandeering a light. But I don't see them now." He pauses to think, then speaks out in his powerful voice, "Enter Church-City in five groups of six! Never lose sight of a team member and ALWAYS watch your back. Also, remember to turn off your armor's flash. Now move out!"

Immediately, the Zealots begin to cluster together, forming the teams, and spreading out and marching into the City. Before his new team begins to enter the City, Chief brings you and Gideon over, "Now, how shall we stop the Creations inside?"

Gideon replies, "Especially now in the darkness, it'll be hard to defend against them. But otherwise it's find and then kill. Hope for the best, I suppose."

You don't have a much better answer. You can see that everybody on Chief's team is equipped with silver weapons, and that's the only weakness you know about. It all boils down to how much Wolves and Zealots are left inside.

With a sigh, Chief begins to lead his crew into the City while you and Gideon follow. Even in the darkness the City looks spectacularly flashy-- almost everything made of a flashy metal, with neon lights flashing up every corner. The clanging of metal boots on the harsh concrete makes any attempt of stealth completely pointless, but that doesn't seem to be the Zealot-style anyway. If anything, it looks like your team is looking for a fight. But, after marching through the otherwise quiet streets with no conflict, the group begins to relax slightly. Chief takes out his transceiver, and you can hear some muffled sounds coming from him-- but no response. You look around to notice only another group in a parallel street, but you don't see anybody else.

Several minutes pass, "Bizarre," Chief starts, "Only one out of the four other groups are responding. You think..." He trails off, but suddenly the world becomes more tense, and you all remain on high alert.

Out of nowhere, a huge blonde beast smashes through the metal door of what you can only suppose is a Church. The massive hulking figure is leaves a literal rip in the opening, and appears to be bleeding from the mouth-- though you're pretty certain it's not from itself. The werewolf stares in your direction, hungrily, and slowly begins to advance.

Terrified, the Zealots in your group begin to open-lightning on it-- though it doesn't appear to faze it in any way, aside from scorching its fur.

"Cecilia?" You yell, trying to distract it by waving your arms in the air. The beast pauses, but then continues pouncing in your direction. You quickly run up to it, and bring all your might into an air-splitting punch at the wolf's protruding jaw. It doubles over, but not before, in an act of desperation, making a huge swipe for the Zealots trying to spear it; about three Zealots were flung  several meters into the air and back to the floor, only not to wake up. Chief manages to sink the tusks of his rifle into the horrid beast before she turns back into your would-be lover-- Cecilia.

You spit, trying to make sure your emotions don't meddle with this. We must take back the City, for humanity's sake.

By now, even the other Group appears to not be responding... "Vampire... We aren't going to win this fight." Chief confesses, clutching at his healthy chest. "What do we do now?"

"You don't know that, Chief. There can't be too many Wolves left..." You reply slowly. As expected, the heavy bounding of paws is heard, and a black Werewolf, standing on its hind legs stares at the remaining of your group with its ruby eyes-- Gideon, Chief, and yourself. The surviving Zealots fled, no doubt to be killed by Ragnor: the black Wolf. With a horrible shriek of a howl, the Wolf slams it's paw into Chief, hitting awkwardly as he tries to dodge though sending him back long enough for the Wolf to focus on you, grabbing you with its paws-- digging his claws into your skin, and throwing your bleeding corpse almost an entire street.

Your body cuts itself on the concrete, and even though it heals itself you can feel the pain of a dislocated shoulder and a broken wrist and several ribs. You manage to get up, albeit slowly, only to witness an Albino Wolf wrestling with a darker one, both relatively similar mass but different in proportion. The white one (Gideon) seems to be shorter, though more muscular, while the stygian Wolf (Ragnor) manages to be taller and much more overbearing; much like how they are in their regular forms.

You run towards Ragnor, hoping to help Gideon out in the fight, but the white monster eyes you while it struggles against the darker one, it barks in your direction, as if telling you to get the hell out of this while they duke it out. As Ragnor sinks his teeth into Gideon shoulder, a horrible howl is let out-- and it soon becomes apparent that Gideon it outmatched.

Taken aback, you meekly help the Chief up-- who's mesmerized by the masochistic display going on by the two forces at work. Gideon grasps the younger wolf by its throat, and manages to get on top in the scuffle. The two continue to exchange blows, blood squirting out into the floor, until... Gideon slows down, and with a final, angry bark-- he is killed.

Ragnor feasts on his killed with a hungry lust; ripping at his enemy's fleshy neck, and happily ripping out and crunching on whatever bones he finds. While Chief continues to blankly stare, you decide that its time you took action on Ragnor, and with the rage built inside of you, the death of Gideon; the one honestly good person you've met, manage to take the Wolf off-guard with a bull-rush. You sink your own claws into the wolf-man's throat, hacking into it. The heavier and stronger animal attempts to crush your midsection with its bare hands before you can kill it, but your swipes prove affective enough with the additional injuries Ragnor got from the White Wolf.

As the fight comes to a close, you find yourself soaked in blood and on top of a dead, un-regenerating corpse. You find the Chief bowing down to the floor, praying in a language you don't understand. After several moments he stands, in shock. Unlike before, there are no sounds; just the deathly chill of the wind.

"What-- what now?" Comes his pathetic voice.

"We... We find the other Creations, and bring them to justice." You bring a bleeding hand to your brow, "Think about it; this can't be the only civilization left, and there are bound to be other Creations wishing to do harm to others. But you and I, we can stop them. We can find a way through the desert."

Chief nods, "But I don't think I can carry on with you, for I just... My legs... they aren't moving!"

With a grin, you sink your teeth into his neck, and suck-- but not too much, just enough to ghoul him. The salty blood isn't as enjoyable since after today's events, but you'd be lying if you weren't.... Thirsty.

The former-Zealot stands erect, ready to be at your command. "Shall we be off then?"

"We shall."

You have managed to survive in your undeath and leave a possible legacy, but the questions remain! What happened to Kelso? What about the Professor? What could have happened if you had chosen a different path?

[User] You restart

[Assistant]
Vampire.

Indeed, that is what Kelso called you. You can still hear his cold, baritone voice explaining it to you. Vampires in the tales of Fantasy are glamorized; nigh-immortal, sexually desirable, powerful. But, while you suppose you are some of those things, in truth, you are not much more than an albino with a lot of health issues. The sun, he said, will damage your skin more than anything else. Any sort of foodstuff can't be digested anymore by your barely functioning bodily systems. He claims to have an idea of what the 'Professor' was trying to do to us, but for whatever reason, he has dodged the questions anytime you ask.

Any information other than that, Kelso hasn't revealed. The irking thing is that it is obvious he knows what's going on, but he consistently acts as if it is in your own good you don't know what went on.

The nights have been hard since your escape from the Facility. Most nights you wake up shivering, after all the nightmares you've been dealing with. It's terrifying, and it only makes you wonder what horrible things were done to you at the Facility. You do know that they must have affected your ability to feel. No, not the wishy washy 'emotional' garbage you'd usually expect, but your sense of touch was dulled. While a lot of your senses have been heightened, that one stands out. You feel very little pain from your feet, which is odd; considering how you spent your time running over cracked glass just two days ago, but it seems to have healed recently.

---

Waiting. It should be sunrise by now. Kelso said you shouldn't get out, as you are a creature of the darkness now. He, on the other hand, has been out for the entire night and then some. You're not sure what Kelso is hunting for, but you know that you're beginning to get thirsty. More and more questions begin to build up, and no doubt the bastard won't answer half of them. Even while you ran with him through the night, running across various landscapes. Most are just a barren dessert, though every once in while you'd pass a half-buried house like this.

"Bright lights up ahead." He said. A city only several miles down. Kelso must have gone there for the clothes he mentioned, but you hope he's safe....


[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 kill Em All!

[Assistant]
You whirl quickly around pulling three throwing knives and letting them free at the charging warriors. Two of the three blades 'thunk!' into the Turric Swordsmen. One plunks deep in a man's chest and he staggers sideways before falling. The other knife slams into a warrior's arm causing him to howl in pain.

With four of the men left from the initial assault, you realize you are in a bind. You level your sword at the two melee warriors and try to stay out of the sight of the two crossbowmen.

A bolt 'thrums' by your ear. Another 'thuds' into a pillar to your left. You circle for position as one warrior heads towards your left side and the injured warrior with a knife sticking out of his arm circles to your right. The crossbowmen are reloading and another attack is imminent.

What do you do?

[User] You feint Right and Attack the Warrior to the left.

[Assistant]
Quickly, you move right and fake the warrior to your weak side, then cross the blade over and thrust it deep into the warrior on your left. The sword punctures the armor of the warrior and slides thickly into his belly where you feel the steel edge nestle in his spinal column and break through his back. The man instantly collapses like a stack of bricks taking your sword with it.

Rolling with the momentum, you duck under the whistling blade of the other warrior and tumble through bolts fired by the crossbowmen several meters distant. Before you even roll fully out of your crouch you pull two daggers and let them fly into the swordsman giving chase. One bashes into his face piercing his skull and the other strikes his leg. He falls lifeless like a bull shot in mid charge.

The crossbowmen, once trying to pick shots are now hurriedly trying to reload. you turn to them and pull short swords and charge them. They fumble their crossbows as you near them. Two vicious strikes later and you stand triumphant over five Turric corpses.

Catching your breath, you grab your weapons and check the bodies for loot. Seeing that your masters aren't probably going to be keeping you on the payroll, you may as well scrounge a little coin to prevent this from being a total loss. Three bags full of silver coins jingle in your hand and you put them in your pockets and turn to go.

You can either try to keep moving by skipping from building to building or you can choose to head into the dark alleyways across the street that heads to the ghettoes of Essitrea.


[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 it alone

[Assistant]
Decena's heart is in the right place, but you'd rather not waste anymore time. You can't imagine that if Zana was up to something sinister that you wouldn't have caught it by now, let alone that she wouldn't have acted by now. There are countless times she probably could've made an attempt on your life since she's been here.

However you do agree to Decena's insistence that she at least not be involved in the final process. If it'll make her a little less worried about the situation then you don't see the harm.

While Elam tells you up and down that he can't perform the procedure without Zana's assistance, Zana is actually fine with not being there and tells you that she understands that the Empress is just concerned for her husband's well being. Zana also says that despite Elam's insistence, she isn't excessively needed for the procedure. She says that for the final procedure; her main job was going to be reading gauges, monitoring dials and such. She says that the other safety supervisor Gregory can take over for her since he should be familiar with everything as well.

With everything settled, you spend your remaining two days enjoying your time with Decena who seems a little more at ease with the upcoming procedure due to your compromise about Zana. The time you spend with Decena, puts you in a more relaxed mood as well and you're definitely feeling more positive about it. You almost don't even know why you were concerned to begin with.

Eventually the day comes and Elam has everything ready (With Gregory standing by to monitor the machine and you return with Decena to complete the task you originally set out to do.

You're strapped to a table. Elam still says he'd feel more comfortable with Zana helping him, but reassures you that everything will go smoothly.

As you are prepared, you and Decena exchange one kiss for what will be the last time.

"Know that whatever happens, I'll always love you." She says.
"And I will always love you." You respond.

Elam injects you with a powerful reagent that knocks you out and the process begins.

The blackness takes you experience absolute nothingness…

And that is the last thing you ever experience for you never wake up from the procedure, which was successful at least for a moment.

When your brain was transferred everything was going well at first and steps were being taken to gradually wake you back up, but unfortunately it was during this process that the machine began to fail, break down and eventually explode.

The initial explosion killed Gregory who was already freaking out when the machine started acting outside the safety parameters. It also killed most of the supporting staff; including Elam who was desperately attempting to fix what he thought was wrong.

Decena survived the initial explosion, but only at a great cost. She ended up losing a part of her arm, a foot and most of her body and face heavily injured. She managed to hang on long enough to declare that Warrick and Brenda were officially in charge of the Empire when Kivan and others found her dying.

With her last breath to Kivan she told him:

"Have that…(cough wheeze) bitch Zana executed…I know…(wheeze) she did this…"

Warrick and Brenda's first course of action was to indeed track down Zana, who by this time had long escaped. Klemto and all the other gnomes insisted they knew nothing of this plan, but someone had to pay and unfortunately it was them.

The gnomes of New Dessel didn't go without a fight however and it took months before the mountain city was finally taken and even then groups of gnomes had managed to escape or even lock themselves in secret passages within the mountain to conduct guerilla attacks. Eventually Warrick had the airship fleet continually blast the mountain until it collapsed on itself making it useless to all and killing anyone still hiding inside.

As for Zana, she never was caught, but that was the least of the Empire's problems.

Her success of killing you (and Decena) along with New Dessel's extended siege inspired another rebellion. Warrick and Brenda might've been up to the task had they been a little younger, but when Warrick died of natural causes suddenly a few years later, it was a great blow to both the Empire and Brenda who took the death of a second husband hard. She eventually joined him a year later via suicide.

From there the downward spiral of the Empire was inevitable and in time records of the old regime were erased from history.


[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] The butler dunnit!

[Assistant] Feeling rather confident in yourself, you walk past the servants to stand next to the noblewoman at the head of the table. "I think I know who murdered you!" You tell her proudly, seeing her face light up just about as much as a pale white, ghostly face can. "It was…" But before you can finish your sentence, you feel cold, sharp steel plunging into your back and the young ghost woman screams as you fall to the ground in a pool of your own blood. Looks like you got it wrong. Still, look on the bright side, maybe some day some other poor sod will find themselves trapped in the tower and they'll get to solve the mystery of who murdered you! That side's really not all that bright is it?


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

[User] You run away

[Assistant]
There's undead all around you, fear coursing through your body and all you can think of is escape. You see a few others following orders, but their shots do nothing. Apparently the Necromancer has protected himself behind a more powerful magic shield than the cleric you saw die had. Even Wessel's spell dissipates before it.

You ignore your orders, you ignore your fellow soldiers, you ignore the attack on Nuro, and you run and you're not a bit ashamed to put your survival first.

The chaos of the fighting is bewildering and you don't really pay attention to what direction you're heading, you're just making a beeline to any destination not completely filled with zombies, ghosts, and skeletons. You look back, only to see more death. The hooded figure on top of the battlements calls down some sort of death cloud that begins to envelop the area you were previously in. The screams of the distant victims are horrible.

You feel like you're living a nightmare as you constantly bump into corpses, both moving and unmoving. Defensive chops with your sword do nothing to kill the unnatural creatures and only temporarily push them out of your way. It is only by sheer luck that you get away without getting killed.

You run further, leaving the carnage behind. You look back again to see if anything is in pursuit, but nothing is to your relief. Still, you're not comfortable and you continue to distance yourself until you can run no further and you must stop to rest.

It is at this point, you wonder what you're going to do. You wonder if going back to report to the nearest Zalan commander would be wise. Will they punish you for running away? The situation was hopeless, surely they couldn't...could they? And even if they don't, then what? Send you back in? That's definitely not appealing given what you've seen.

At this point you're really regretting your decision to join the army. You wish you could just leave. You want to go home.

Going AWOL back in Retlad wasn't really an option; you would've been hunted down. But now? You probably would be listed as a casualty. You could theoretically disappear and attempt to live anonymously and do what you wanted to do in the first place. Just travel and play. Your family would even be compensated for your death, but still…you'd hate to put them through the grief of it, if it isn't true.

Before you ponder your future options any further, you suddenly feel a pain in your side…you look down and see that you're bleeding. Apparently you were stabbed and didn't even realize it due to the adrenaline. You're feeling the pain now though and you attempt to stop the bleeding as much as you can.

Regardless of what you're going to do in the future, right now you have to find civilization to at least get fixed up. The problem is that you don't know where the hell you are. You look around for some possible landmarks, but you're not seeing anything familiar. Lacking any other ideas, you start walking in the general direction of where you think the Zalan Empire is located.

You walk for a few hours and the pain is getting worse. You start thinking that you might not get the chance to worry anymore about your potential future, but a farm house in the distance gives you a little hope and you press on.

You get close to the front porch and that's when you stop. The front door is broken off its hinges and a few windows are also broken. You also notice a leg lying in the grass near you. Worse, whatever did this is apparently still around judging by the loud voices you're hearing from inside.

"Ha ha! Human women are such squealers! Not as much fun as elven women though!"
"Oh that's real original. Why is everyone always got such a fucking hard on for elven women? Too damn fragile if you ask me."
"Go fucking rape a troll girl then."
"Huh. Easier said than done my unimaginative friend. I tried that once and almost got married."
"HAHAHAHA! See I told you this would be more fun than following Velzix…hey you smell that?"
"Yes, I did sense the smell of fresh human blood in the air. Do you suppose we missed one?"
"Only one way to find out!"

At this point you start to back away as quickly as you can. You can't even run due to the pain, but you try your best. Your best isn't good enough though, as the dwellers of the farmhouse have exited and seen you.

And as with everything that's been fucked up today, the ones that just exited the farmhouse happen to be demons. One is a bigger brutish looking sort, while the other is smaller yet definitely still more muscular than you.

"Well what do we have here? Wounded meat? I say he gets to that rock before you can catch him and pull out his heart."
"Hah! I'll take that bet!"

The bigger one starts to walk towards you, but will undoubtedly quicken his pace soon.

[User] You try to outrun the demon

[Assistant]
Fear griping your heart, you struggle and push yourself to run as fast as you can in your condition.

Soon something else is gripping your heart.

You look down at your chest and see your bloody still beating heart outside of where it is normally supposed to be. The demon fist holding it squeezes your heart a bit first before crushing it completely before your eyes. You die soon afterwards.

"Hah! I told you I could reach him before he got to the rock!" the demon laughs as he lets his arm slide out of your dead slumping body.


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

[User] You launch a surgical strike with unknown casualties

[Assistant] You decide to launch a surgical strike but you don't know the number of  casualties that would be injured . As you read through your plan for the final time you notice some old abandoned underground waterways  beneath the building.


[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 test Subjects (Year 63)

[Assistant]
Year 63

"And you're sure this is the only way?" you ask.
"My Emperor if I thought there was another, I wouldn't even be bothering you with this. I'm going to need these test subjects if I am going to pursue these theories." Elam remarks.

Elam's request really isn't unreasonable and it is for a good cause, its just one part of it isn't exactly going to be nice for Brenda to hear.

"Alright, I'll talk to Brenda and I'll get some of the Eternals that she's been training. She's probably not going to be happy about it though." You say.
"I do not understand my Emperor, does she not see some of them die in training?"
"Surprisingly not as many as you think. It's not like the old days back when I was an Eternal and only a few us survived the process. These kids today have several natural advantages along with accelerated healing abilities. They're hard to kill even when they're shooting each other in vital organs." You say.
"I didn't realize this new group was so resilient. That's good to hear though. I need them to survive this process, at least until they reach the age of puberty when I can see if they can reproduce."
"Hrm. Well in any case, Brenda's also gotten a bit too attached to our younger Eternal generations in her years of training. Sort of sees them as her children in a way. It won't be a problem of course because ultimately she doesn't have a choice in the matter and she'll see that this is best for the Empire anyway."

Just before you leave to break the news to Brenda, Elam asks another question.

"Before you leave my Emperor. What about the other test subject?"
"Oh, right. The magic source you need. Well despite Galen's whining, he's been a valuable asset to the Empire many times. This time shall be no different. So if you need him incapacitated, I'll see to that business as well."
"I thank you my Emperor."
"Don't thank me, just get me positive results." You remark before leaving.


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

[User] You let him guide you willfully.

[Assistant]
"I'll have mercy on you now, Zealot. But don't even dare try to cross me." You state, giving him the evil eye. He noticeably gulps, then nods. Kelso rubs at his chin, probably thinking about the other Creations. Your mentor likely knows the head of the Wolves, but if you'd guess that there is some sort of bad-blood between them. God knows what.

"So, what's your name?" You ask, trying to make communication easier.

"David, sir." David starts, getting onto his own two feet. "David Crowe... Son of the Lord."

You sigh, "Cut the bullshit, 'Dave'. Tell us all you know about the Wolves."

The Zealot tenses, as if worried about something. "I... The Wolves are on the other side of the Dunes, from where we are, we need to just go straight past the City, go several miles down East, and then search for a burrow, of sorts."

Kelso raises an eyebrow, "What is the Church planning to do? If they know such an  exact location, they must be planning on doing something."

David nods, "Yeah, the Church is planning on raiding the burrow, taking them by s confused.urprise and purifying them."

"Purification?" You ask, confused.

He rolls his swollen eye, "Death by burning. It is said that you abominations will be going to hell, but by burning your soul is destroyed, so you won't suffer. Unlike you two bastards, the Church keeps the World To Come in mind!" Kelso pushes him forward.

"Lead then."

He takes a deep breath, and leads you through the desert, passing the City that never stops flashing, and moving from there right. As you make the treacherously long walk, you notice the sun begin to rise. "Kelso! Do you still have the lotion?"

He nods, looking like he's glad you remembered. David chuckles nervously while you lather the lotion on your face, the only uncovered part of your body. Even while the sun reflects it's light off of your creamy-white head, you feel your skin itch. The lotion is definitely something to get used to. MAybe you could get a hat later so this wouldn't be as much of a problem.

You, Kelso, and David find the spot. At least, the spot David brought you to.

"So, where's the pit?" You call out, beginning to search around the area for it with Kelso.

David stays behind, "It should be there, somewhere."

[User] You continue searching for it.

[Assistant]
Odd. "Alrighty then..." You mutter,  searching the ground for any sort of opening. Several moments later you hear a boom as sand is pit at the back of your head, as well as the vague sound of someone screaming... Kelso?

Son of a bitch...

"IT'S A TRAP!" You manage to yell out before something horribly metal clamps on to your leg. "You're going to die for this, David!" You call out, though he's already limping away.

Shit, he probably still has a transceiver... As you leg heals enough to get unstuck from the clamp, you begin to sprint through the field of traps, mines exploding as you trigger them. Several burn your feet, but others give you just enough momentum...

You leap, easily catching up to the lying coward, and ruthlessly digging into the back of his skull with the momentum of the jump and the sharp ends of your gauntleted fingers, killing him almost instantly when you feel the mushy part inside (the brain?). Thirsty, again, you drink from the blood pouring from his head, barely realizing one of your feet were blown off in the explosion! Once you realize it, you begin to cough out all the blood you slurped in shock, unsure what to do. You see Kelso muttering in the distance, running away with more success than you are.

It doesn't take too long before the Zealots arrive, catching you red-handed, and finishing you off with several bursts of lightning.

You have died by the hands of the Church.


[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

[Assistant]
You live in a small apartment alone which is much more expensive and pisses off your Dad for having to spend the money, but your Mom managed to convince him that you need your privacy to study (She also managed to convince him that you shouldn't get a job as it would take away from your studies) However, you probably do more slacking than studying and lately you've been doing a lot more of it.

Normally you spend a lot of time in your apartment not doing too much of anything except writing about your thoughts in your journal. Sometimes you go out and try to socialize, but you find you don't have too much in common with anyone. Even in this giant melting pot of races, and cultures, you find most of them to all just be the same. Occasionally hormones kick in and you attempt to get laid, with varying success, but ever since your high school sweetheart died, you don't even feel like doing that too much anymore. She was supposed to come with you to Nuro Magic College. You and she had such plans, but of course those died with her. You often think that if she'd lived you'd be more motivated to try harder.

Life in general is beginning to feel like you're just going through the motions and "faking it". You feel like you're becoming more detached from the world, which probably explains why you've been dwelling on death a lot. Not really your own, but just in general. All this kind of thinking has got you wondering about Necromancy a lot lately.

It's getting down to crunch time and you don't know how you're going to face your parents about this semester. College hasn't been working out too well for you and given your recent unhealthy interest in Necromancy, chances are the rest of your life might not either.

Then again maybe it just might…


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

[User] You fix the Shelter

[Assistant]
You're not about to abandon your home, besides the surface is probably still unsafe who know what the hell awaits you up there. You begin working on fixing things starting with the water controls. Apparently Miranda was trying to turn off your dispenser, but only succeeded in turning off the water to your bathroom facilities.

About five hours in, your lighting goes out again. You're about to check it, then they come back on. You then hear the TV turn on by itself, with nothing but static. When you leave the computer room to see what's going on personally, the door slams shut. Then water dispenser turns on and leaks water all over the floor for awhile and then ceases. You go over to check it and your heart stops when you can't get it work. The food one doesn't work either. You begin to panic and then the door to the computer room opens up again.

Seizing the opportunity you run back in to fix whatever the hell is suddenly turning your shelter haywire, when on the computer screen you see in big letters.

*VIRUS ENACTED! ERROR! ERROR! TOTAL SYSTEM SHUT DOWN!*

You try to do something, but the hard drive is now completely fucked and all you get is error messages constantly appearing all over the screen. Miranda managed to send her virus before you could disconnect and though it took awhile, it's finally taking effect now, spectacularly.

The lighting goes out, the room door slams shut, the computer screen goes black and you're left in complete darkness and silence with no hope whatsoever. Miranda's threat has come true and this Shelter has become your tomb. Now you're left to die a slow lingering death.

It doesn't do any good to scream, but you do anyway.


[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 board a train

[Assistant]
You find a string of flatcars loaded with brand new pickup trucks. All of their doors are locked and you don't want to risk being spotted by hiding under one of them so you climb up in the bed of one and hunker down. You hadn't noticed it before, but your skin feels thick and rigid. You have your knees drawn up as tightly as you can in the old coat and it doesn't seem to be helping so you drag out Jane's blanket—carefully unraveling it from everything in the bag—and wrap yourself in it. As you gradually start to warm up, you watch the stars creep by overhead and can't help but yawn uncontrollably.

A peppering of raindrops on your face wakes you and you find that the train is moving. The sky overhead is mostly clear, but you happen to be under the one cloud that is leaking. You don't fancy the thought of getting soaked so you jump to your feet and cram the blanket into the bag.

The land is sweeping by at high speed and your heart skips a couple beats when your foot slips on the bumper while you're climbing over the tailgate. You fall on your butt before you can catch yourself and only after you realize that you are safe do you look over and see that you aren't anywhere near the edge of the flatcar. You roll under the back of the truck and pull the bag in behind you.

The orange sun hangs in the sky in front of you and to the right of the train. No! You are going the wrong way! There are huge dark mountains on the other side of the train. You drag out your map in the desperate hope that you are somehow mistaken and try to locate where you are. It doesn't show railroad tracks, but maybe you can figure it out some other way. There's a highway way out in front of you, but it is too far away to ever hope to be able to read the signs. Until you know what town or highway to look for on the map it is utterly useless.

You spend the next several hours watching the terrain sweep by knowing that you'll have to backtrack all these extra miles and your spirits keep sinking lower and lower. By the time the train begins to slow down you have regained your resolve. You absolutely refuse to give up. You've come this far and there's no turning back. There's nothing to go back to anyway. No matter what it takes, you are going to see this thing through to the end.

After jumping from the train you immediately turned and head back to the south. There wasn't anything in view when you came within sight of whatever that mountain town was and you didn't feel like hanging around waiting for something to come along.

You feel so exposed here. There's no cover of any kind along the tracks. The mountains appear to be close, but are, in fact, far away and whole communities—maybe cities, but it's difficult to tell—look like narrow white lines running along their base. Tiny, ant-like cars creep along on roads that you can barely make out if you squint really hard and the dessicated yellow grass fades to blue in the distance giving you the sense that you are on some tranquil sea. Even with everything so spread out and far away, you still feel the need to somehow conceal yourself and hunch over as much as you can get away with while still being able to walk fast.

Day turns into night and night into day. There's no need for clocks or calendars out here so you haven't the faintest idea how many days it has taken you to recover the lost ground of one simple mistake. It just all seems to blur together. You eat on the go and only stop for the occasional catnap—heading well away from the tracks so as not to be spotted from one of the many trains that whiz by. Even with being really conservative, you've still eaten the last of the melons and used up all of your water with no hope of replenishing either of them. You can't afford to make the long trek across the barren landscape to one of the towns for being spotted would definitely put the old kibosh on the whole shebang and everything you've done and went through so far would all be for naught.

As nightfall nears, you spot a small farmhouse not too far away from the tracks and decide to take a closer look. Leaving your bag near the tracks, you crawl on your belly up through the dried grass as far as you dare and try to spot a hydrant somewhere in the junk heap that passes for a yard. There are tires strewn around that may or may not belong to the half dozen or so old cars that are up on blocks. A discarded refrigerator sits propped against an old and rickety-looking wooden fence and there are a few mangy looking mutts staked out next to makeshift doghouses fashioned from oil drums whose tops have been removed. There's no sense in trying to fill your water jugs. The dogs would only alert whoever is inside and then your goose would be cooked.

Near the back fence, you spot an overgrown garden and can see quite a few freshly ripe tomatoes mixed in with the green ones clinging to the vine. Your mouth waters just thinking about those delicious fruits.

You kick back and wait for the residual sunlight to leave the sky and close your eyes for a few minutes. Every little bit of rest you can get here and there helps.

[User] You oases

[Assistant]
The lights just went off in the farmhouse so you crawl your way through the grass toward the garden—trying to keep as low to the ground as you can. It is full dark, but you can't take the chance that someone might catch a glimpse of you.

Something moves off to your right, but you can't see what it is. You just hope it isn't a snake and if it is, you hope it's moving away from you instead of toward you.

The dry grass crunches under your hands and knees so you slow your pace to not make any more racket than you can help.

You are so, so hungry. It's been days since you've eaten anything—anything at all.

The hard, dry ground suddenly becomes loose, damp earth and you look up to see three dim strands of barbed wire. On the other side, you can make out the dark shapes holding their orbs out to you.

You wriggle your way under the bottom wire. Halfway through, you reach up and pluck the first one you see, then another and another. They all look the same in this light so you grab as many as you can and bag them up in the bottom of your shirt.

You hear a bawl coming from the direction of house, joined by a couple more as the bulb above the back door flips on and the door is thrown open.

"What is it, boys?" you hear a man say, "What's out there?"

You are dragging yourself backward with your knees and shoving with your elbows when you see an orange flash near the house. You hear the boom a split-second later.

He's shooting at you!

You scamper with everything you have and don't stop until you're back on the other side of the embankment. You lay prone with your eyes peeled for any sign of movement coming over the rise and, when your heart finally slows, you look down at the single piece of fruit in your hand. At least it's something.

You take a bite and feel your face attempt to implode. The tomato isn't ripe, but it doesn't matter. It's food and moisture all in one and you've been without either for much too long.

After all the commotion and dogs' barking finally peters out, you creep back to retrieve your bag and continue on down the tracks.

You see the back of a big truck stop over on the highway up ahead of you about a mile or two away with a constant stream of vehicles coming and going. The moon is just coming up and from the glint on the tracks it looks like they might come really close to it. It would be a good place to fill up your water jugs. You might be able to blend in among all those people and them not even suspect that you are all alone out here.

You don't have a lot of money, but maybe you can find some food that you can afford with the little bit of change you still have in your pocket. A couple of cheese crackers or the peanut butter kind would go really good right about now.

When you get to a spot that is almost directly behind it, you set your bag down in the grass off to the side of the tracks and—taking just the jugs in hand—set off across the field. As you approach the crumbling asphalt of the back parking lot, you see a water faucet next to the pay air hose. What luck! You rush over and—after gulping down as much of the sweet liquid as you can—fill both jugs to the brim. You lug them back across the parking lot to the knee-high grass and set them down before heading around to the front of the building.

Before going in, you pull the bread wrapper out of your pocket and sit on a yellow concrete curb to count out the change. You need to know how much you have before going inside. At long last, you decipher that there's eighty-six cents—a small fortune. You still want to hold onto the dollar for a real emergency so you are only willing to spend the change. You've got to be careful not to spend all of it, though. You might really need it later on.

As you step through the front door, you are blasted by frigid air. You'd almost forgotten that such a thing even existed. Several pairs of eyes are on you, but you pretend not to notice.

"His mother should be ashamed of herself. Letting a boy get so filthy," a woman with her face stretched back in a bun says to her friend who only nods in agreement.

You glance down at your hands and can't tell where the dirt ends and your skin begins. She's definitely right about how dirty you are, but if she were a nice person, she wouldn't have said it loud enough for you to hear. Maybe you should clean up before doing any shopping.

You walk up to the stocky woman behind the counter and quietly ask "Do you have a bathroom?"

She squints at you before saying "Sure do. It's right down that hall over there."

"Thank you," you say, walking as quickly as you can so you can get out from under all the judgmental eyes.

It's a tiny little room with only a stainless steel toilet and sink. Above the sink is a cloudy mirror that reflects what little it has to and in the corner is a tall, skinny trash can with a flapper on top. You lock the door before stripping off you shirt and shorts so someone doesn't walk in on you. You do the best you can with wet paper towels and have to climb up on the sink to make sure you got everything off of your face and neck. After getting dressed, you sop up the floor as best you can. By the time you finally head back out the door, you are feeling fresh as the morning. The trash can, however, has seen better days.

You walk down each aisle slowly looking at what is offered. Too bad you don't have more money, because there is a lot of really good stuff you wouldn't mind having. You finally choose a big plain bag of tortilla chips that are marked "3/$1". It's big enough that it should last you a good long while.

The cashier eyes you with a smirk as you count out thirty-four cents to her. You can't help grinning back at her every time you make eye contact.

"Thank you, sir. Please come again," she says handing you back your bag of chips and giving you a wink.

You feel your face getting warm and you nod to her as you turn toward the door. You can't remember the last time you felt as relieved as you do now to get away from people. If it wouldn't seem suspicious, you would run.

Wrestling the two jugs while trying not to crush the bag of chips too much, you head back to the tracks and fetch your bag before continuing on your trek.

You come to a fork in the tracks and don't know which one brought you here. One continues on to the south and the other angles off into the distance in a more easterly direction and looks like it goes right through a distant town. If it's not just a mirage you might try hopping a train down there, but you aren't sure that it would be going the right way. Maybe there will be another town somewhere up ahead on the one stretching south.

[User] You continue south

[Assistant]
You've been walking south on this line for several days now and haven't actually run into a single town. It might've been better to wait for a train heading in this direction, but who could've guessed that it would be so far between settlements. It was never like this back where you grew up.

The land has gradually shifted from short grass to barren and rocky with only patches here and there so you know you're getting close to where you were before taking this unfortunate detour. It's not as easy going as it has been so far and you find yourself taking more and more rest breaks. It's much easier traveling around dawn and then again at dusk so you've been lying around and sometimes napping during midday and when it gets too dark to see snakes that might be in your path.

You've eaten over half of your chips and drank most of your water. You'll need to find somewhere to replenish your supplies so you don't end up back in the sorry shape you were in a couple of days ago.

Somewhere in the wee hours of the morning, you spot a mournful glow all by its lonesome out in the middle of nowhere some distance from the tracks. It takes a while for you to figure out that there is a house not too awful far from it, but it's hard to see since there are no lights on within. You decide to stroll on over to find out if it might be vacant, but catch a glimpse of a reflection about midway there. It looks like the windshield of a pickup. There's probably someone sleeping in the house.

Not wanting a repeat of the last time you tried to sneak food away from a farmhouse, you walk around until you find a shelf of rock jutting out of the ground that's just the perfect height for surveilling the place. It isn't too long before the sky begins to gray with dawn, but you wait until the sun is full up and watch the house down below carefully from your perch on the rocky outcropping. After a few hours of biding your time, it happens.

You watch as the old pickup pulls out of the drive and turns onto the highway. It's far enough away that you can't make out the driver and the cloud of dust billowing up from it soon makes it impossible to even make out the vehicle itself.

You don't see a garden growing anywhere and the yard is nothing but sand and rocks. There is a rectangular patch of weeds up against the side fence and it seems like the only place anything is growing at all. You sling your bag over your shoulder and walk carefully across the barren field, and then right up to the house like you owned the place.

You try knocking at the front door in case someone might be inside, but no one comes. You try to open it without any success. You find that all the windows and the back door are locked up tight as well.

You notice a pipe sticking up near the weed patch with a bucket hanging upside down over it. Sure enough, you find a spigot hiding under that little devil. You fill up your jugs again and drink what you can before turning your attention back to the house.

You don't really want to smash a window, but you are getting desperate. You pick up large stone and draw your arm back when you spot something in the reflection of the glass you are about to break. It looks like a large wooden door laying at a slight angle on the ground behind you propped up by a short concrete wall. You know exactly what it is — a storm cellar, just like the one at your grandmother's house. With any luck, there'll be jars and jars of canned food just like she stores in hers because it is cooler down there and they won't go bad nearly as quickly.

You trot over to it and drop the bag. You hook your hands under and heave with all your strength. The one at Grandma's has a cable attached to a bunch of window weights strung through a pulley which makes it much easier to open and close. You have to lift the full weight of this one and it doesn't give easily.

You stand it up to more than a forty-five degree angle, but can't get it to go any further without risking falling down the hole underneath it. You try to flop it on over, but you can't give it enough push and you are already at a rather precarious angle, yourself. If you could fling it on over, you'd probably wind up tumbling in head first.

Desperately, you look around for anything that might help and you are about to let the door go when you see a shovel leaning against the wall at the bottom of the steps leading down. You inch your way over to the top and carefully reach down with one hand while the door threatens to buckle your other arm. You manage to snag the end of it and drag it up enough that it tips over at your feet just as your other arm tires out, but you save the door from falling down and pinning the shovel by catching hold with your free hand and letting it rest against your chest while you take a minute to catch your breath.

You pick up the shovel, jab it into the ground as best you can and lower the door onto the handle. There's just enough room for you to slip through and over the side.

It takes a minute for your eyes to adjust. There are shelves down here along one wall, but not a single jar on them. You are about to turn around when you notice that they aren't exactly empty and look a little lumpy so you go over to investigate.

You've hit the jackpot! The shelves are covered in potatoes, onions and turnips—more than you could ever hope to eat.

Making a couple of trips, you gently drop several handfuls out the door and then clamber out behind them. You stand up and dust yourself off before picking up your bag. You are just starting to drop the vegetables in when you hear a low growl off to the side.

Slowly turning your head, you see the biggest hound you've ever seen in your life. He comes up to your chest and is at least as long as you are tall. You stare back at one another and neither of you make a move. You are trapped!

You can try to stand here and hope he decides that you aren't a threat or you can try to come up with something else.

[User] You distract him

[Assistant]
You look down at your bag and see the lone flipflop wedged in just inside the top beside the blanket. It gives you an idea. You're not sure it will work, but it's worth a shot.

You slowly reach in and—being extremely careful not to make any sudden movements—draw it out. You take a deep breath and hold it out in a trembling hand toward the massive beast. "Fetch?"

Keeping a wary eye on you, he leans forward and gives it a sniff before returning to his previous position. You can't tell one way or the other whether he's interested in it or not. Still, you have to give it a try.

You shake it lightly to get his attention. When his eyes leave you and train on it, you shake it more vigorously. You draw your arm back, snap it forward and just as you let go, you holler "Fetch!"

The flipflop sails across the yard while both you and he just stand there watching it glide. It skips a couple of times before spinning to a stop.

You look back at the hound and he looks back at you. He doesn't appear to be even the slightest bit impressed.

You have no choice now but to stand here and hope that he finally decides that you are not a threat.

[User] You wait him out

[Assistant]
After waiting for an eternity for the dog to do something, he finally does. He turns, walks stiff-legged over to the back porch and groans softly as he plops down. He looks so old to you now that your fear has turned to pity.

Keeping a wary eye on him, you start packing the vegetables into your bag. You hold out a turnip to eat on the way because you are half starving after all that hard work.

You don't want to overstay your welcome so as soon as you drop the last one in, you turn tail and head back the way you came toward the tracks.

You've walked nearly a mile when you hear a strange sounding cough behind you. You whirl around only to find the hound several paces away. He stops and stares up at you.

"Go home," you command, but he only looks at you. "Get!"

You take a couple of steps backward and he takes a couple forward. You think about picking up a rock and chucking it at him, but he's as big as you are. If you made him mad, you wouldn't stand a chance. The best thing to do would be to ignore him and he'll head back home on his own when he's darn good and ready.

Over the course of the day, you grow more and more comfortable around your new companion and when you stop for a rest you discover that embroidered in his faded collar are the words "Ol' Sam".

"It's nice to meet ya, Sam. I'm Billy. I bet you're hungry."

You pull out a handful of chips for Sam and a turnip for yourself to munch on. He greedily wolfs them down. You're tempted to give him more, but you can't afford to since they're the only thing you have that will keep the longest and he'll probably leave soon anyway.

When night comes and it gets too dark to see, you find a decent place to bed down and give Sam another handful of chips while you wash down an onion with lots and lots of water. You give Sam a drink in an old tin can that you found on the tracks earlier so he doesn't get too thirsty either.

Sam lays down alongside you and his body warmth is somehow comforting. You drift off to sleep more easily than you ever remember doing and don't stir even once in the night.

The sun is already peeking above the mountains when you wake. Even though you have kinks all over from sleeping on the ground, you feel absolutely wonderful. It's the first good nights sleep you've had in a long, long time.

After both of you have eaten lightly, you set off once again down the tracks. Sam isn't hanging back like he did yesterday. He walks right beside you—matching you step for step. You try to take it easy on the old guy and stop for regular rest breaks, but you cover a lot more ground than usual. The day just seems to fly by and by the time night comes, you are completely worn out.

You start looking for a good spot to sleep when Sam suddenly stops and lets out a hair raising growl. You flinch instinctively and look down at him—frozen in your tracks—and see the hackles standing up from the top of his head to nearly the length of his back. He isn't looking at you so you follow his gaze and see something really big and tan colored crossing the tracks up ahead. It is long and has a tail that looks as long as its body. It takes you a moment to realize that it's a cat. A big cat.

It pauses and stares at you for a few moments while Sam's growls steadily grow in volume and pitch. Something about that thing clamps you down deep in the core and you can't move a single muscle. Your skin tingles and your muscles burn. Then all at once the cat shoots off like a rifle shot across the field toward the mountains in tremendous leaps until it finally fades into the background.

Your legs let go and you crumple right where you stand. All your strength has evaporated and you feel cold chills running all through your body. It's a good thing Sam was here with you or that thing might've decided you were dinner. You throw your arms around his neck and squeeze with what little you have left in you. He just stands there looking in the direction the great cat ran and doesn't move.

When you find a spot and settle in for the night, you give Sam a double helping of tortilla chips. He finally eats the last one, but doesn't seem quite as interested in them as he did last night. You wish that you had something else you could give him, but he wouldn't like the raw vegetables nearly as much. The next time you see a gas station or store, you're going to buy him something with meat in it.

You lie down like you did last night and he stretches out against you just as he did before. You feel warm and safe and once again you sleep right straight on through.

Morning comes early and as you lie there stretching the kinks out, you notice that Sam isn't there. You sit up and call "Sam?" and don't hear anything.

You jump up and look all around as far as you can see and still there is nothing. "Sam!" Your ears prickle as you start to think the worst. You quickly shove those thoughts aside and jump to your feet.

You run up on the higher ground of the tracks and look all around. You finally spot him way back up the tracks walking back the way you came. "Sam!" He pauses for a moment without turning around and then continues on his way. You want to run after him, but that would only make it worse. He's been gone from his home too long already and just needs to go back. You watch him until he's little more than a speck before returning to collect your gear.

You're more wary as you go now. Your senses seem heightened and for the first time on this trip you feel more like a wild animal than a person. Your eyes are in a perpetual squint and are constantly sweeping over the terrain from one side to the other. Every far off movement of a bird or hare doesn't escape your notice and you feel more alive and in tune with the world around you than ever before. With the long nights returns the restlessness and you resume the catnaps during midday.

Where the track you've been following veers alongside another, you peer down the slope at the great train yard you'd left days ago. You've finally made it back and can continue on with your journey into the west.

You find a garden hose curled up on the side of the first house you come upon and there's no one in sight. You refill your water jugs and take off before someone spots you. You're well stocked up again for a while at least.

The train yard looks so different in the light of day. There are so many things going on and machinery loading and unloading the cars that you are a bit afraid to try to make your way through. You'll either have to bite the bullet or else skirt around it and hopefully find another opportunity somewhere down the line.

[User] You watch for an opportunity

[Assistant]
You decide that the best option would be to hide under the overpass up near the end where it meets the incline. There's a shelf that would offer you a nice vantage point to get the lay of the land. Taking your sweet time, you make your way over to it and then when you figure that the coast is as clear as it's ever going to get you skedaddle your butt up the slope as fast as your legs will carry you.

As you hike a leg over the short barricade, you smell cigarette smoke and hear a cough from not too far away.

"Well, well. What do we have here?"

You look up to see two slightly older boys looking down at you from one of the cubby holes up top. They hop down and stride up to you just as you pull your other leg over. Each one is at least a full head taller than you.

"What have you got there?" asks the heavier of the two, ripping your bag away from you.

"Give that back!"

"Or what, little man?"

"Or he'll kick your ass!" cries the other kid, laughing.

You lunge forward and attempt to wring the bag from him, but he gives it a yank and you lose your grip and go sprawling.

He starts pulling things out and pitching them to the side. "What's this?" He pulls out the treasure chest, drops the bag, and holds it up to his ear, shaking it as he and the other kid turn their backs you.

"Nooo!" you roar, "That's Jane's! You can't have it!", leaping onto the kids back and grabbing his face with both hands—his ear with one hand and the inside of his cheek with the other. Your legs instinctively grapple him around the middle while you heave back with both hands in violent jerks.

"Aaa-aaa-aah!" He tries to shake you off, but you have a death grip on him. There's no way he can get loose without getting his ear and cheek torn off, and his friend sure isn't stepping in to help. In fact, his friend looks terrified and confused and has taken a couple steps to the rear in wide-eyed panic.

"YOU CAN'T HAVE THAT! IT'S NOT YOURS!" you shriek just before you clamp down on the side of his neck with your teeth.

He screams bloody murder, dropping the treasure chest and strewing its contents, and starts raking at you with both hands. "Get him off! Get him off!"

The other kid swings over the side of the barricade and drops out of sight.

A warm trickle runs down your chin as you clamp down harder and sink your teeth deeper and deeper while you're flailing back and forth trying to rip his face open with your bare hands.

His screams turn to sobbing shrieks as he pounds in futility over his shoulder at you. He stumbles toward the barricade and just as he's about to go over you shove back with your feet, sending him tumbling over and down the slope. You land flat of your back, but jump right back to your feet in case he decides to come back for you.

The other kid is standing at bottom of the slope with eyes the size of goose eggs and looking like a deer caught in the cross-hairs. He rushes over and helps the kid with the bloody neck to his feet and they rush off across the tracks and toward the houses on the far side of the street.

"YOU CAN'T HAVE IT! IT'S NOT YOURS! IT'S JANE'S!" you scream down at them at the top of your lungs, letting the foamy spit in your mouth fly and run out however it feels like.

They don't look back.

The tiny hairs on the back of your neck and partway up your scalp still bristle and your heartbeat still pounds alternating white and dark patches in your vision. You take in deep lungfuls of air and let them out slowly to try to settle down. It helps some, but only slightly.

You can't stay here. You have to go before someone comes back to look for you. You start picking things up and cramming them into your bag as fast and as best you can.

You crawl back over the barricade, dash up the hill on the far side of the overpass and follow the high chain link fence that separates the highway from everything else. Then, when you think you've gone plenty far enough, you head off at an angle back toward the tracks—aiming for much farther down.

[User] You flight

[Assistant]
Even though it's risky with all the men down there, you decide to go ahead and chance it. You can't wait around here in case the boys come back with the cops.

You creep down behind a short row of buildings and look for a train aimed toward the west. There aren't any really close by, but there are a couple not too far away. They're mostly long strings of hoppers and in a few places there are sections of flatcars. All the boxcars seem to be locked up good and tight.

You're still trying to find just the right one when a large hand clamps down on your shoulder and whirls you around.

"You shouldn't be back here, boy," booms a deep gravelly voice.

You are staring into a drawn face covered by a dark beard with gray streaks down each side. Besides the withered face, he fills out his overalls with a body three sizes too big and could quite possibly be just as thick from front to back as he is tall.

"Let's see if we can't figure out who you belong to."

Despite your resistance, he propels you along in his meaty grip and it feels like your feet only touch the ground every second or third step. You manage to hang onto your stuff, but only barely.

He leads you through the door of one of the guard houses and says to the guy in uniform "I caught this kid prowling around out there. Do something with him, would ya?", shoving you forward. Without waiting for an answer, he revolves around on his heels and steps back through the door.

"We've found a young kid playing in the yard and need someone to come pick him up," says the guard to someone on the telephone. "I don't know. Never seen him before. Okay, I'll keep an eye on him until he gets here. Bye."

He hangs up the phone and turns toward you. "You got a name, kid?"

You just stare back at him. There's no way you're going to tell him anything.

"Okay… It might be a while, you want a soda or something?"

You just stand there with as blank an expression as you can muster even though you are stewing inside.

It isn't long before an officer arrives and hauls you down to the police station where you're forced to wait until they finally figure out who you are and where your home is. It takes them several hours and all the while you're watching for any opportunity to escape that never presents its self.

You're led to an unmarked patrol car and—after the officer in a business suit places your bag in the trunk—ushered into the passenger seat. "Climb in and make yourself comfortable, it's going to be a long ride."

You reluctantly climb in and he closes the door behind you. After he slides the key into the ignition he says "You can call me Jim, by the way. If you need anything, just say so."

He starts the engine and backs out of the parking space. You're just pulling out onto the street when you finally can't hold it in any longer. You already suspect what the answer will be, but have to give it a shot anyhow.

"I need to go to the Grand Canyon. It's real important. Can you take me there before you take me home?"

He looks over at you and perks an eyebrow. "Is that where you were headed? I must say that you made it farther away from home than anyone would've guessed. Why is it so important?"

"I have to go there for Jane. She died and never got to see it."

You see him swallow a huge lump in his throat. It takes him well over a minute before he can speak again. "I heard about your little friend from the officer I spoke to from back in your home town. He didn't know whether you'd just run off or if something bad had happened to you. The whole town's been combing the entire countryside for you." After wiping his eye with the back of his wrist, he brings his palm down hard against the steering wheel. And then he pounds it hard a couple more times. "I wish I could, son. I really do. But, that's nearly a whole state away in the wrong direction and they already know we're on our way."

You lean back against the seat and stare out the side window. You've come too far to be turned back now. All of your stuff is locked in the trunk so you have little choice but to sit here and accept your fate. The mile markers on the highway click by like the incessant ticking of a metronome arm.

It's hopeless. It's all over.

[User] You escape

[Assistant]
You can't go back. You just can't. You will not be put through that again. You have to do something—anything. You reach down and pull the door handle and shove the door out with your foot.

"What are you doing?! Stop that!"

"I'm not going back and you can't make me!"

He grabs a handful of your shirt, but you're not about to let that stop you. You strain with every ounce of your being and feel the fabric slowly begin to tear down from the neck. All at once it lets go and you leap from the door.

You soar through the air and it feels like you're flying. You've never felt so free before in all your life as you do right in this moment. This must be what birds feel like.

The wind pushes back hard against you and you start to go down. You see it coming and there's nothing at all that you can do to stop it. You hit the pavement just as you hear the brakes squeal on the car. The world tumbles over and over and you feel your bones exploding inside your flesh. Your skin burns briefly, but goes numb almost instantly. You try to suck in air and can't.

When you finally come to a stop, you hear hard leather soles clapping the asphalt and getting louder and louder as they approach.

"Oh my God! Oh my God! What did you do?!"

You see the horror slowly stretch its way across Officer Jim's face. And you see Jane standing right there beside him—smiling and beckoning to you. Those bright green eyes are the last thing you see in this world.

— The End


[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 south into Tennessee with Tom Webb

[Assistant]
You and Tom split off from the other two and ride south. For five days you make your way out of West Virginia and across Tennessee until you feel confident you have left your pursuit behind you but you are mistaken. One afternoon as you are trotting your horses along a rocky hill path several lawmen suddenly rise from behind several rocks to your right and level their rifles at you. "Throw up your hands gentlemen," one of the lawmen calls out. "You are under arrest."

After a moment's hesitation Tom raises his hands. He is between you and the lawmen giving you a little time and glancing to your left you see the hillside descends steeply into a tree-lined valley. You could spur your horse down into the valley but it would be very dangerous and if you horse trips or fall he could roll down the hill, killing you both. As the lawmen approach slowly and cautiously you know you only have seconds to decide.

[User] You surrender like Tom

[Assistant]
Meekly you raise your hands into the air and together with Tom you are taken into custody. Imprisoned in Nashville you are put on trial and witnesses from Huntingdon swiftly identify both of you as men who helped rob the bank. You both refuse to name your fellow outlaws and together you are both sentenced to eight years imprisonment for armed robbery. This effectively ends your outlaw career and until 1883 you are forced to perform hard labor in the prison.

Over the following years your companions are all captured or killed. Bill, Clell and Charlie are killed and Bob, Cole and Jim are captured following a failed bank robbery in Minnesota the year after your capture. Frank and Jesse remain at large for another six years until Jesse is murdered by a friend of his called Robert Ford while he hangs a picture on the wall and to avoid the same fate Frank surrenders himself. Finally the long years of prison end and in the winter of 1883 you and Tom are released. Frank soon after is acquitted after a series of trials and both of you decide to renounce your outlaw ways and enter into a peaceful retirement.