[Placeholder Title Screen]

Chapter 6

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*comment wordcount (new) 53k words
The abyss shifts.

It rises like mist and falls like rain, its ebb and flow obeying a slow, steady rhythm. In these fathomless depths abandoned by time, fragments of selves long gone float like stars against the night sky. And beyond that, a dark veil rises over the lip of the abyss, humming with power truer than gravity, faithfully parting the realms. It is the origin and the end. And it is here, in the realm where mortal debris gathers and drifts and morphs, that an alien consciousness sparks to life.

It does not belong. Its presence probes into the dark mass like talons, searching for seams in the veil, reaching beyond for something to hold onto. Despite the intrusion, the veil keeps to its rhythm, silent and obliging. The mountain would allow itself to be scaled, if one could survive the climb.

The spark of light seeps into the abyss and descends into its depths, illuminating the sea of fragments as it does. It floats slowly and purposefully, humming the words of an ancient plea in a thousand-voice chorus. The sea hums in acknowledgment of the ancient pact. It gives up parts of itself in answer, a hundred fragments slowly woven into one, like glass unshattering. Something rises from the darkness, then, a force moreso than it is a body, an intent rather than a form.

[i]It awakens[/i].

*page_break

You surface to a moment of gentle confusion, buoyed by something slick and solid and [i]strong[/i]. You have no eyes with which to see, no limbs with which to feel, and yet you know instinctively that you are—

Home. Home shifts like waves upon a shore, summoning from across its mass all your wayward pieces. Home tethers them to you, forges you into something both more and less than you once were. Home bids you to behold the intruder, who speaks in riddled melodies, who shines with glaring light.

The light bids you to join it. To ascend past the lip of the abyss, seep through the veil, and return…

Return where?

You are already home.

*label alreadyhome
*choice
    #We reach for the light. We are compelled by something...
        Something indescribable. A fierce surge of intent, radiating from your core and reaching towards the light. A burning desire for…
        *label lifevenge
        *choice
            #Life.
                You yearn to be bathed in light and color, for experiences beyond this shapeless, unchanging void. You yearn for the chaos of a full self, so unlike this existence, flowing as a piece obeying a greater whole. Something unpleasant roils within you, as if in warning—you have held life in your hands before, felt it course through your body, and it had brought you no shortage of misery.
                
                But it has also brought you…something else. The first warmth of true spring, leaves which tickle against your skin, the crackle of fire burning in the hearth. The warmth of another's soul, entwined against your own.
                
                And you yearn for it all.
                
                The light bids you to rise once more, and this time, you move to follow, scaling over walls of roiling darkness, cresting over the lip of the chasm. Your Self returns to you in bursts, memories of joy and grief, bonds woven and frayed. You drink it all in like nectar, letting the light lead you to a place both foreign and familiar, crackling with the warmth and light of a thousand suns.
                *goto itburns
            #Vengeance.
                Memories escape you in this place, slipping like sand between your fingers—but still you feel the pang of betrayal like a sharp knife to your essence, and the burning desire to see it repaid in kind. There is aught you can do here, a mere mote of dust floating through the abyss. For justice to be served, you must [i]live[/i].
                
                And live you will.
                
                The light bids you to rise once more, and this time, you move to follow, scaling over walls of roiling darkness, cresting over the lip of the chasm. Your Self returns to you in bursts, memories of joy and grief, bonds woven and frayed. You drink it all in like nectar, letting the light lead you to a place both foreign and familiar, crackling with the warmth and light of a thousand suns.
                *goto itburns
            #Vindication.
                Memories escape you in this place, slipping like sand between your fingers—but still you feel the weight of scornful words and detestation, wholly undeserved. You want nothing more than to put things to rights, give words to the story you had been so desperate to tell. The truth, naked and whole.
                
                None of it can be done with you as you are, a mere mote of dust shifting through the uncaring abyss. For the truth to come to being, you must [i]live[/i].
                
                And live you will.
                
                The light bids you to rise once more, and this time, you move to follow, scaling over walls of roiling darkness, cresting over the lip of the chasm. Your Self returns to you in bursts, memories of joy and grief, bonds woven and frayed. You drink it all in like nectar, letting the light lead you to a place both foreign and familiar, crackling with the warmth and light of a thousand suns.
                *goto itburns
    #We allow the light to carry us. We are curious...
        The light will change you.
        
        This truth you know in your core, as surely as you know this place to be home. If you let it carry you away, you will become something else, something tangible, something which understands the world in more than intents and sensations. And it feels…
        
        It feels as if you've been that before. Somewhere past the looming veil, existence awaits, beautiful and repulsive and vivid and weak. The light seeks to carry you there. To feel and to be, once again.
        
        But what compels you now?
        *goto lifevenge
    *disable_reuse #We seek only to be here. To be home.
        The light's melodies lose their pattern, becoming by turns static and discordant. The abyss looms below, ever the impassive observer, the mass of darkness ready to welcome you back into its embrace.
        
        Will you truly sink back into the depths?
        *choice
            #Yes...we will have peace.
                The light hums the last of its discordant song and stills, wafting in place before slowly disappearing out of view. The abyss keeps its oath, welcomes you back with stoic compassion, and you come apart.
                
                One final time, you feel a cold, fleeting sensation wash over you, and then nothing at all.
                *page_break
                *goto_scene ChapterX_TempEnd
            #Perhaps...we must reconsider.
                You let the light pull you forward, listen to its slow, labored melodies. It obliges your hesitance, awaits your answer.
                *goto alreadyhome

*label itburns
*page_break

[b][i]It burns.[/i][/b]

*fake_choice
    #I can't breathe.
        Pain sears through your lungs, red and angry, and you feel like you are at once drowning and catching fire. You gasp for air desperately, as if you had gone years without, but every breath drawn is new torture inflicted upon your chest.
        
        There is a rawness to your throat that prevents you from screaming, and though you want to flail from the pain your joints are all at once screaming in harmonious protest.
    #My tears won't stop.
        Your eyes feel like bleeding as tears stream down in profuse rivulets. You feel the sting of smoke and burning embers searing, carving into your lids, and it is all you could do to keep your eyes shut.
        
        There is a rawness to your throat that prevents you from screaming, and though you want to flail from the pain your joints are all at once screaming in harmonious protest. 
    #My veins are bursting.
        Pain sears through your bloodstream, red and angry, and your veins feel as if they've been at once desiccated and drowned in fire. There is no describing the torturous pain that bursts through your limbs and stomach and chest—it is only adrenaline that keeps you upright.
        
        There is a rawness to your throat that prevents you from screaming, and though you want to flail from the pain your joints are all at once screaming in harmonious protest.
    #My head is splitting open.
        The migraine comes on in a sudden burst and sets your ears to beating like a war drum. There is no describing the torturous pain enclosed in the confines of your skull, the way that it throbs and reverberates and nearly brings you to your knees.
        
        There is a rawness to your throat that prevents you from screaming, and though you want to flail from the pain your joints are all at once screaming in harmonious protest.
        
*choice
    #Is this hell?
        *goto thoughts
    #Am I still on the pyre?
        *goto thoughts
    #Is this some other memory?
        *goto thoughts
    #Lucid thought is beyond me—I can't think past the pain.
        *goto agony
    
*label thoughts
Your thoughts are
*goto interrupt

*label agony
Your agony is
*goto interrupt

*label interrupt
interrupted by the caress of a hand upon your jaw, and instinct forces your eyes open even as pain wracks through your whole body from the effort.

Your vision swims with the color of twilight, at first, the sight blurry and disorienting—but soon the figure in front of you comes into focus: a woman of bewitching beauty, with fine locks of pale blond hair perfectly framing her fine-boned features.

Against the light of faraway lightning, her red eyes seemed to glisten like blood.

*fake_choice
    #"Who are you?"
    #"Where am I?"
    #"What happened to me?"
    #"Get away from me!"
*set ktahlia 10
*set rtahlia 30
You open your mouth to speak, but the words die in your sore throat and you can do naught but wheeze. The stranger's expression remains almost unnaturally impassive, but there is a gentle warmth radiating from her palm, and you find that it soothes the pain as it travels down your jawline.

"It would be unwise to force yourself," she whispers. The words register distantly, like an echo rising above the din of a crowd, and it takes you a moment to realize that her fingers have traveled down, resting now on the base of your neck. The warmth coils and spreads through your collarbones, and somewhere in the thick haze of your thoughts you register it as mana. At her bidding it phases through you like waves against a shoreline. Wherever it passes, your body finds itself with a renewed sense of vigor, the pain receding into a dull throb. "I have done what I could, for the time being. Will you step forward?"

You do as the woman asks, and find that any pain and discomfort in your bones have melted away to nothing. Her magic feels categorically unlike theurgy—it is as if thaumed fire has traveled through your body, burned the rot away, and forged your bones anew—but all the same, it is unmistakable that you have been [i]healed[/i].

The woman nods at her handiwork. "Your blood serves you well, ${fname}," she remarks.

*choice
    #"You know who I am?"
        "So I do," she admits easily. "More than you would like, I suspect. Can you move?"
    #"Thank you for healing me."
        "Mm. You're welcome, I suppose," she says, smiling faintly. "Can you move?"
    #"Just so we're clear, I don't trust you."
        *set optimistic %- 15
        "I didn't think you would," she says, smiling faintly. "Can you move?"

You push yourself off the surface you'd been leaning against—a slab of gleaming black stone raised at a tilt, with raised, sturdy ridges along its sides. It puts you to mind of a coffin, a realization that leaves an unpleasant taste at the back of your mouth.

You gingerly step off the structure's base, feeling your body strain and creak with every movement. Blessedly, the sensation fades away quickly, as you feel remnants of the woman's magic working within you, relieving any discomfort as soon as you notice it.

*choice
    #"Who are you? What do you want with me?"
        "I am…an interested party," the woman says, giving you a quick scan. "There is much to explain, but it is not the time. I have done what I can for your body, but…well, you've faced quite the ordeal. It would be wise to reckon with what you went through before anything else."
        
        "I'd rest a lot easier if I know what in Jove's name happened to me. No, what you've [i]done[/i] to me."
        
        "I will answer your questions, in due time. It does me no favor to have you in the dark," she says, before turning around to leave. "But for now, I shall take you to your quarters. Come, ${fname}."
    #"You're no theurge, I take it."
        A strange look flickers in her eyes as you say the word [i]theurge[/i], though it passes so quickly that you doubt it ever existed. "You are correct. That was no theurgy." She trails off into a brief silence, as if to let you know she'd speak no more on the topic. "I have done what I could for your body, but…well, you've faced quite the ordeal. It would be wise to reckon with what has happened to you before anything else."
        
        You consider her words. "So you know everything, then?"
        
        She nods solemnly, before turning around to leave. "You will have questions, I suppose. I shall give you what answers I can in due time. But for now, I shall take you to your quarters. Come, ${fname}."
    #"I was dead, I'm sure of it. How am I alive?"
        "It is not a simple thing to explain," the woman replies smoothly. "But you have not been raised an undead, if that is your concern. No, you are very much alive—just with some…limitations."
        
        You eye her sharply. "And what precisely are these limitations?"
        
        "I've spoken overmuch as is," she replies. "Let us table this discussion for another time. I have done what I can for your body, but…well, you've faced quite the ordeal. It would be wise to reckon with what has happened to you before anything else."
        
        "I'd rest easier if I know what in Jove's name happened to me. No, what you've [i]done[/i] to me."
        
        "I will answer your questions, in due time. It does me no favor to have you in the dark," she says, before turning around to leave. "But for now, I shall take you to your quarters. Come, ${fname}."

Being that the only alternative is to stand dumbly in the middle of the dimly-lit room, you elect to do as the woman says. She leads you through the dark room, which you now see is a small, circular enclosure with ornate spell circles carved into the flooring. The chamber smells faintly of blood and petrichor, the air silent but for the sound of pelting rain outside. The woman takes you past a grand sandalwood door that stretches all the way up to the ceiling above, her long nails scratching against the surface as she pushes it open.

What awaits you beyond is a sight well beyond your wildest expectations.

*page_break

You step out of the dark room and into an expansive circular foyer, roughly the size of the Sienan ballroom but cast in a markedly different sheen. It is at once dark and gleaming: black obsidian walls reminiscent of the night sky, pulsing with a tapestry of faint light from iridescent crystal lamps affixed to the walls throughout. The light illuminates sections of painstakingly detailed tapestries and murals on the walls, depicting scenes of idyllic peace and glorious kings. You recognize the style—angular lines and exaggerated poses, muted backdrops splashed with vibrant colors at the forefront—from history books and scholarly replicas. But from the scale and detail of these works, you know them to be the real thing.

Highworks were once an elevated art form, celebrated throughout historical Arcadia as the crowning jewels of its society: religious tribute, artistic masterwork, and status symbol all pressed into one. But with the Sorcerium's fall, many of these highworks now exist only as piles of dust blowing across its ruined cities. And with Arcadia's celebrated highmasters dying in throngs under Salantir and Parami whips, the art of their creation are deemed to be long-lost.

The few pieces which survived the long years of Arcadia's oppression had been gathered and transported to a single place—the last sanctum of the Arcadians and their rarefied faith. Without a doubt, you find yourself in the Seat of Isha—heart of the Thulrum Diocese, and bastion of the Ishavak faith.

"I gather some of your questions have been answered," the woman says as she steps through the foyer, her gaze ever forward. "Welcome to the Thulrum Diocese."

*choice
    #I find panic rising in my chest. Arcadia's taken everything from me.
        *set emotional %+ 15
        *set preemotional %+ 15
        By Sister's admission, Arcadia had been the force behind every heinous act she'd committed, a persistent wind at her back blowing her ever forward. She spoke of a fallen people who sought to fell others in turn, ignoring the blind destruction their ambitions would require, the river of bodies between Kantena and Sienan. They were the reason Sister installed herself as queen of a broken and bloodied Param; and ultimately, they were the reason you had found yourself tied to the stake.
        
        You feel a chill run down your spine. What more do these people have in store for you?
        
        "You must dread and hate us," the woman says, her gaze unmoving from the path ahead. "You are well within your rights to do so. We have been far from gracious to you."
        
        You take a deep breath, carefully mulling your words before you speak. "So you admit it, then. Everything I suffered…you were at the center of it."
        
        "Were it not for us, you would likely never have found yourself on the stake. This we freely admit," the woman says grimly. "For what it's worth, you have our sincere apologies."
        *choice
            #"It rather sounds like you don't feel entirely responsible for what happened."
                She pauses for a while, considering. "We foresaw neither Mireil's assault on Sienan, nor the chain of events which resulted in your death," she says. "And yet, it does not erase our hand in the affair. We elevated Mireil and granted her resources, so that she may help us in achieving our goals. And though she committed acts well beyond what was asked of her, we cannot deny that we have benefited in the aftermath."
                
                You give the woman a sideways glance. "Are your goals so important that thousands need to die for them?"
                
                "Were that freedom came cheaply," the woman says. "Countless Arcadians have perished in Salantir mines and Parami wheat fields, mired with disease and suffering, stripped of their dignity. And if we must pay a blood price to see our people restored, living once more without fear, then we will pay it. We must."
                
                The woman pauses her steps and closes her eyes, before casting you a sideways glance. "I did not mean to burden you with our positions so soon. You are newly free from the jaws of death, and have much to chew upon as is. Once you have recuperated in full, I shall answer whatever questions you may have. For now, only know that we are sorry for our role in your suffering, and that we will do what we can to make amends."
            #"Speak plainly; what exactly are you apologizing for?"
                *set rtahlia %+ 5
                She pauses for a while, considering. "You doubtless have deduced this by now, but we were Mireil's patrons, for a time. We trained her in the ways of arcana, placed resources at her behest that allowed her to stage a takeover of Salantira," she says. "We foresaw neither her assault on Sienan, nor the chain of events which resulted in your death. But we set these things into motion, and we cannot deny that we have benefited in the aftermath."
                
                You give the woman a sideways glance. "The war left tens of thousands dead in three years. Was it worth it, in the end?"
                
                "We are a desperate people at the end of our rope, doing what we can to uplift ourselves from oppression," the woman whispers, at once soft and stern. "We understood that seizing our freedom would have a blood price. We accepted it, all the while learning to live with the consequences."
                
                "The guilt?"
                
                "And more," she says darkly. "But liberation is a cause worth fighting for. This I believe with all my being." The woman takes a deep breath, anger leaving her features as she exhales. "I should refrain from burdening you with our positions so soon. Once you have recuperated in full, I shall answer whatever questions you may have. For now, only know that we are sorry for our role in your suffering, and that we will do what we can to make amends."
            #"Duly noted."
                *set charming %- 15
                *set precharming %- 15
                The woman acknowledges your terse reply with a nod, seeming unsurprised. "I shall refrain from peddling our case to you, ${fname}. No matter our reasons, we have caused you a great deal of suffering. We will do what we can to make amends, though you may find our efforts wanting all the same."
                
                You give her a look. "It's good that you understand."
                
                "All too well. We draw up plans and schemes, knowing they come with a blood price, convincing ourselves that it will all be worth it," she says wryly. "I had thought my conviction unshakable. I am proven wrong every time I confront the carnage I wrought." The woman straightens her back, then, and what little vulnerability she had deigned to show goes out like a light. "I will answer what questions you have, should you wish to ask them. For now, I shall show you to your chambers."
    #I note the information solemnly. I'm not yet sure what this will entail.
        *set emotional %- 15
        *set preemotional %- 15
        By Sister's own admission, Arcadia had been the force behind every heinous act she'd committed, a persistent wind at her back blowing her ever forward. She spoke of a fallen people who sought to fell others in turn, wading through rivers of blood so that they might buy their freedom. Their cause is just, and their desperation understandable. But could that justify the heinous acts which laid waste to half the continent?
        
        Were that there was a simple answer. In enacting their plans, Arcadia has claimed the lives of countless innocents. But doubtless something needed to be done, when the horrors like the moonvein plague are regularly visited upon the powerless Arcadians.
        
        The woman notes your contemplative silence, her eyes meeting your gaze. "I must confess, I expected a less…gracious reaction," she says. "No one could blame you for dreading us, even hating us. We have hardly been considerate of you."
        
        "So you accept the blame for my death?"
        
        "Were it not for us, you would likely never have found yourself tied to a stake. This we freely admit," the woman says grimly. "For what it's worth, you have our apologies."
        *choice
            #"Whether or not I can accept them depends on the extent of your involvement."
                *set rtahlia %+ 7
                She pauses for a while, considering. "We are responsible for equipping Mireil with the means to ruin Sienan," she says. "We gave her power and independence, though what she did with them fell far from our expectations."
                
                You eye her warily. "What did you expect would happen instead?"
                
                "That she would use her talents in service of Arcadian liberation, using methods that do not put our people in the line of fire," she says. "Since your passing, there has been a significant increase in violence against Arcadians in both Param and Salantira. It is not lost on us that Mireil's public display of Arcadian powers—and her wanton use of them in the invasion—played a role in that."
                
                "And what of the Parami and Salantir lives she claimed? Do you regret that too?"
                
                The woman turns her head away. "I shall not be dishonest with you, ${fname}. We understood that the pursuit of liberation would carry a blood price. It is a difficult thing to come to terms with, and yet…" The woman purses her lips, and what emotion she had allowed you to see is immediately doused. "Forgive me. I did not mean to peddle our case like this. Let us revisit the topic another day; for now, I will show you to your chambers."
            #"If you were truly fighting for marginalized Arcadians, I hold no grudges against you."
                *set noble %+ 15
                *set prenoble %+ 15
                *set rtahlia %+ 15
                The woman's expression remains impassive, but the length of her pause is telling. "Few would sympathize with the Arcadian plight as readily as you have," she finally says.
                
                "I've witnessed the horrors Arcadians have had to endure firsthand," you say quietly, the carnage of Merdel flashing through your mind. Broken bodies in carts, stacked haphazardly atop one another, waiting to be dumped into mass graves. "I can understand the desperation."
                
                The set of the woman's lips look unexpectedly grim. "Were that liberation did not carry such a steep price. Many have bled and perished for our cause, ${fname}, on all sides. And yet, the fight to see a people freed is one worth fighting. This I believe with all my being," she says. "Forgive me. I did not mean to burden you with our positions so soon. We can revisit this topic at a later time, if you so wish. For now, I will show you to your chambers."
            #"Let's speak no more of that. I'd rather look to the future."
                *set rtahlia %+ 7
                "The future…" she mumbles, considering. "Then before anything else, I must be forthcoming with you, ${fname}. We intend to see all Arcadians freed from Parami and Salantir oppression."
                
                You give her a sideways glance. "A lofty goal. It won't be easy to achieve."
                
                "Nor will it come cheap," the woman replies. "You have doubtless gathered this by now, but our methods will not be peaceful. We have no intention of repeating Mireil's carnage, but blood will be shed all the same. This is not something we can avoid—not if we are to see the liberation of Arcadians within our lifetimes."
                
                "There are warlords with gentler positions than yours," you point out.
                
                "Were that I could follow in their footsteps," she says grimly. "Forgive me. I did not mean to burden you with these discussions so soon. We can revisit this topic at a later time, if you so wish. For now, I will show you to your chambers."
    #I'm oddly hopeful. I've met misfortune wherever I went, but Arcadia may finally be home.
        *set optimistic %+ 15
        You grimly recall that you had thought the same of Salantira, once, when you were newly free of Thaubal Altinier's designs. And you had gotten your hopes up once again when the White Fangs brought you to Sienan, making sweet promises of friendship which would survive whatever tribulations came your way.
        
        Twice now have those simple dreams been crushed, both times due to the Arcadian blood running in your veins, the powers they hold. Perhaps the only real shot for you to attain kinship—[i]true[/i] kinship, borne not of a desire to exploit you and your powers—would be those who share your bloodline.
        
        Would that be too much to hope for?
        *page_break
        The woman notes your contemplative silence, her eyes meeting your gaze. "I must confess, I expected a less…gracious reaction," she says. "No one could blame you for dreading us, even hating us. We have hardly been considerate of you."
        
        "So you accept the blame for my death?"
        
        "Were it not for us, you would likely never have found yourself tied to a stake. This we freely admit," the woman says grimly. "For what it's worth, you have our apologies."
        *choice
            #"You'll have to make it up to me, you understand."
                *set rtahlia %+ 7
                "Well enough that the opportunity exists," she says, smiling faintly. "It will take a while yet to restore your health, ${fname}. In the meantime, you will have full access to the Seat of Isha, and indeed, all of Thulrum. See for yourself the kind of people we are, the deeds we perform."
                
                "I'll be watching closely," you reply simply.
                
                "We welcome your scrutiny," she replies. "And yet…I must be forthcoming with you, ${fname}. Ours is a lofty goal, one that requires us to strike at the structures of power currently oppressing our people. Our methods will not be peaceful. We have no intention of repeating Mireil's carnage, but blood will be shed all the same. This is not something we can avoid—not if we are to see the liberation of Arcadians within our lifetimes."
                
                You mull her words over. "I'll judge that for myself."
                
                "That is all I ask." She straightens her back, then, and looks resolutely toward the path ahead. "Forgive me. I did not mean to burden you with our positions so soon. We will revisit this topic another time; for now, I will show you to your chambers."
            #"If you were truly fighting for marginalized Arcadians, I hold no grudges against you."
                *set noble %+ 15
                *set prenoble %+ 15
                *set rtahlia %+ 15
                The woman's expression remains impassive, but the length of her pause is telling. "Few would sympathize with the Arcadian plight as readily as you have," she finally says.
                
                "I've witnessed the horrors Arcadians have had to endure firsthand," you say quietly, the carnage of Merdel flashing through your mind. Broken bodies in carts, stacked haphazardly atop one another, waiting to be dumped into mass graves. "I can understand the desperation."
                
                The set of the woman's lips look unexpectedly grim. "Were that liberation did not carry such a steep price. Many have bled and perished for our cause, ${fname}, on all sides. And yet, the fight to see a people freed is one worth fighting. This I believe with all my being," she says. "Forgive me. I did not mean to burden you with our positions so soon. We can revisit this topic at a later time, if you so wish. For now, I will show you to your chambers."
            #"Let's speak no more of that. I'd rather look to the future."
                *set rtahlia %+ 7
                "The future…" she mumbles, considering. "Then before anything else, I must be forthcoming with you, ${fname}. We intend to see all Arcadians freed from Parami and Salantir oppression."
                
                You give her a sideways glance. "A lofty goal. It won't be easy to achieve."
                
                "Nor will it come cheap," the woman replies. "You have doubtless gathered this by now, but our methods will not be peaceful. We have no intention of repeating Mireil's carnage, but blood will be shed all the same. This is not something we can avoid—not if we are to see the liberation of Arcadians within our lifetimes."
                
                "There are warlords with gentler positions than yours," you point out.
                
                "Were that I could follow in their footsteps," she says grimly. "Forgive me. I did not mean to burden you with these discussions so soon. We can revisit this topic at a later time, if you so wish. For now, I will show you to your chambers."
    #I feel resolved. Arcadia is the best chance I have at vengeance against Param.
        If only you had the foresight to turn your coat then, before Param bled you dry and spat you out. If only you had taken your gifts and devoted it to your own ends, instead of those of a nation that put you to pyre while your war-scars were still scabbing over.
        
        You turn to look at the woman, grim and impassive. She affects a stoic demeanor, but you recognize the emotion simmering underneath. Muted rage, quiet desperation—so much like your own.
        
        You are unsure of how much you can trust her. But if nothing else, she stands directly opposite of Param, and you are in short supply of allies. If justice is to be served, then collaborating with her may be the best way forward.
        
        The woman eyes you carefully, her lips pulling into a thin line. "I understand that trust is in short supply between us," she says. "No one could blame you for hating us. We have hardly been considerate of you."
        
        "So you accept the blame for my death?"
        
        "Were it not for us, you would likely never have found yourself tied to a stake. This we freely admit," the woman says grimly. "For what it's worth, you have our apologies."
        *choice
            #"You have only revealed to me my former allies' true colors. No apologies needed."
                *set rtahlia %+ 15
                You had expected she would be gladdened by your words; instead, she appears pensive. "Be that as it may," she finally says, "we still caused you pain. And what debts we owe you, we plan to see repaid."
                
                You turn to regard her. "And how will you do that?"
                
                "If vengeance is what you seek, we will assist you. We have the manpower and resources necessary to pose a meaningful threat to Param," she says. "We also have a number of information that will be of significant personal interest to you, though I'll not burden you with them now. You may judge for yourself how valuable these things will prove; I am confident you will not find them wanting."
                
                "And what is it that [i]you[/i] want?"
                
                She mulls her words over for some time, but when she speaks, her tone is resolute. "We move to see a world where our kind no longer sits at the mercy of Param and Salantira. One in which no Arcadian shall have to suffer oppression and torture on account of the blood and talents flowing through their veins," she says. "As it stands, the biggest obstacles we have in achieving that dream lie in Param and Salantira. And so we will see their structures of power dismantled, that our people may find true freedom." The priestess heaves a long sigh, then, and schools her grim expression into something that could pass for neutral. "Forgive me. I did not mean to burden you with our positions so soon. We can revisit this topic at a later time, if you wish. For now, I will show you to your chambers."
            #"So long as you help me seek revenge against Param, nothing else matters to me."
                *set noble %- 15
                *set prenoble %- 15
                *set rtahlia %+ 10
                The priestess's lips pull into a thin frown, but she appears to take your words in stride. "You will not find our help wanting. This I can promise you," she says. "We have the manpower and resources necessary to pose a meaningful threat to Param. We also have a number of information that will be of significant personal interest to you, though I'll not burden you with them now."
                
                "Hardly sounds like something you'd give away freely."
                
                "Morbid though it may be, our goals are aligned, ${fname}," the priestess says. "My people and I move to see a world where we no longer sit at the mercy of Param and Salantira. We have tried for many centuries to broker some kind of lasting peace by appealing to their better nature, and found our efforts futile. There can be no freedom unless we seize it. And so we will count any enemy of Param amongst our allies."
                
                "Then you mean to plunge Arvanand into another war."
                
                "Not if we can help it, But if that is what it takes to see Arcadians finally standing tall and unbent, then we shall not shy from bloodying our hands." The woman seems to catch herself, then, and schools her grim expression into something that could pass for neutral. "Forgive me. I did not mean to burden you with our positions so soon. We can revisit this topic at a later time, if you wish. For now, I will show you to your chambers."
            #"I can promise you no forgiveness before i see for myself how you operate."
                *set rtahlia %+ 7
                Unexpectedly, the woman smiles at that. "I would not have it any other way," she says. "I am proud of the community we've built, what we've managed to do for our weak and marginalized. And it is all we ask that you evaluate us without prejudice."
                
                "And if I say that I seek vengeance against Param," you say, carefully eyeing her all the while. "Will you mobilize this community of yours to aid me?"
                
                The priestess closes her eyes. "You will not find our help wanting, if that is your wish," she answers. "We have had to fight for our place in this world—our very existence. We have the manpower and resources necessary to pose a meaningful threat to Param, and more that I'm sure will be of interest to you."
                
                You know all too well that such help rarely comes for free. "And what will seek in return?"
                
                She mulls her words over for some time, but when she speaks, her tone is resolute. "We move to see a world where our kind no longer sits at the mercy of Param and Salantira. One in which no Arcadian shall have to suffer oppression and torture on account of the blood and talents flowing through their veins," she says. "As it stands, the biggest obstacles we have in achieving that dream lie in Param and Salantira. And so we will see their structures of power dismantled, that our people may find true freedom." The priestess heaves a long sigh, then, and schools her grim expression into something that could pass for neutral. "Forgive me. I did not mean to burden you with our positions so soon. We can revisit this topic at a later time, if you wish. For now, I will show you to your chambers."

*page_break

The woman leads you down high-ceilinged halls and wide stairways, the night air flowing past open windows to nip at your skin. A few men and women of the cloth mill about the rooms as you pass by, either dutifully cleaning the halls or huddling together with voices low and hushed, leatherbound tomes in hand. Each of them pays the priestess an immediate nod of respect as she passes by—and affords you a similar courtesy after a moment of hesitance. None of them stops the priestess to ask about her guest, but you feel their gazes linger on you all the same, more curious than wary.

"You'll have to forgive them," the priestess says, chuckling. "It's been a while since our last new arrival. And even then, they typically come via the front gate." She rounds a corner, then, leading you to a narrow, marble-floored hallway with rows of mahogany doors on either side. She swings the door of the nearest room open, and you fall behind her to behold a single-occupant room, sparsely decorated and almost unnaturally clean. The moment you lay eyes on the bed and its spotless white sheets, your body immediately yearns to collapse into it.

A smile pulls at the priestess's lips as the though registers in your minds. You avert your gaze, feeling oddly bashful. Had you let your desires show on your face?

"You'll find that all the basic amenities are present," the priestess says, gesturing around the room. "There are clean clothes on the shelf—of simple make, in the style of our acolytes' garments—but they should do until we find time to introduce you to a local tailor. There are parchments and quills under the desk, and meals will be delivered to your doorstep thrice a day as you recover. That door in the back leads to the bathroom, or if you prefer, there is a larger, shared bathroom at the end of the hall. Should any problems arise, you may ask for one of the Quartermaster's acolytes. They will see to your needs."

You give her a nod and step sideways into the room, so that the priestess's path to the exit is unobstructed. You do not quite instruct her to leave, but you trust her to catch your meaning all the same.

*set ktahlia 2
The priestess nods obligingly, though she stops just short of the exit. "Ah, before I forget. My name is Tahlia. Within these halls, people call me the [i]ashai[/i]—'priestess' in Arcadian, though I'm sure you know that. I will steer clear of your affairs for the foreseeable future; should you have need of me, you need only ask to be escorted to the [i]ashai[/i]." She gives you one final nod before crossing the doorway and disappearing around the corner—and then you are finally alone again.

Alone, and [i]alive[/i].

Your mind pulls you in a hundred different directions—the people you left behind in Param, the magic that has retrieved you from death, the uncertain future waiting for you in Arcadia—and your heartbeat pounds harder and harder with each fresh thought racing through your head. Before they can threaten to overwhelm you, you forcefully drag yourself to bed—feeling the crisp sheets crumple underneath your weight—and slumber as if death were still waiting for you on the other side.

*page_break

…

*page_break
[i]You dream, as ever, in fits and starts, of cobblestone paths in a backwater town, of dampened cots on the campaign trail. You dream of @{specialvar raging fire, searing as it chews through armor,|hazy liquids, hissing as they chew through metal,|lustrous glyphs drinking in the midday sun,|ghastly spirits screaming murder in the dead of night,} of broken bodies and orphaned children and a pyre you don't deserve.[/i]

[i]Your mind wanders towards the @{pronvar boy|girl|child}[/i]
[i]that was ${fname},[/i]
*if (precharming > 50)
    *if (learning > 70)
        [i]ever studious and[/i]
    *elseif (charisma > 70)
        [i]ever beguiling and[/i]
    *else
        [i]at once secretive and[/i]
    [i]bright, always ready with a word of[/i]
*else
    *if (learning > 70)
        [i]ever studious and[/i]
    *elseif (charisma > 70)
        [i]at once beguiling and[/i]
    *else
        [i]ever secretive and[/i]
    [i]reticent, always ready with a word of [/i]
*if (preoptimistic > 50)
    [i]encouragement even when all hope is lost.[/i]
*else
    [i]caution even when the winds whispered of victory.[/i]
*if (leonrom)
    [i]A @{pronvar man|woman|mage} who had loved without measure; one who lost[/i]
    [i]${their} innocence in twin seas of emerald-green, who sought them out desperately even as smoke blotted ${their} vision.[/i]
*elseif (ilyarom)
    [i]A @{pronvar man|woman|mage} who had loved without measure; one who found[/i]
    [i]${their} faith mirrored in twin seas of sapphire-blue, who had bid ${their} love farewell so she would not suffer as ${they} did.[/i]
*else
    *goto sameperson
*label sameperson

[i]$!{they} @{plural are|is} standing in front of you now, the mage that wears your face;[/i]
[i]${their} eyes are solemn and blinding-white, ${their} hand stretched out into a beckon.[/i]
*temp emotion ""
*choice
    #I refuse to take ${their} hand. I am not that person anymore. [Reset Personality Meters]
        *set noble 50
        *set charming 50
        *set emotional 50
        *set optimistic 50
        *set statchange true
        *if (prenoble > 64)
            *set noblej true
        *if (prenoble < 36)
            *set pragmaticj true
        *if (precharming > 64)
            *set charmingj true
        *if (precharming < 36)
            *set reservedj true
        *if (preemotional > 64)
            *set emotionalj true
        *if (preemotional < 36)
            *set stoicj true
        *if (preoptimistic > 64)
            *set optimisticj true
        *if (preoptimistic < 36)
            *set cynicalj true
        [i]$!{they}[/i]
        [i]@{plural let|lets}[/i]
        [i]out a baleful hiss as you move away from ${them}.[/i]
        
        [i]"I am you," ${they} @{plural whisper|whispers}, low and insistent. "I am you. I am you. I will always be you."[/i]
        
        [i]$!{their} form disintegrates into a cloud of black mist, then, and in the blink of an eye the scene has twisted into one of swaying grass and a boundless night sky. Not-${fname} stands on an outcropping of land, ${their} back facing the edge of Arcadia, three paces from a free fall.[/i]
        
        [i]As ${they} @{plural turn|turns} ${their} gaze up towards the dancing twilight, the expression on[/i]
        [i]${their} face is one of…[/i]
        *choice
            #...boiling anger. $!{they} had suffered so much at the hands of the very people ${they}'d saved.
                *set emotion "anger"
                [i]Those blinding white eyes turn to regard you once more, your own expression reflected in their luminescence.[/i]
                *choice
                    #I am not ${them} anymore, but ${their} fury matches my own.
                        *set noble %- 15
                        *goto thefall
                    #Both this mage and ${their} sentiments are foreign to me.
                        [i]Instead, reflected in ${their} gaze is an emotion of…[/i]
                        *goto pickemotion2
            #...tender forgiveness. $!{they} can be at peace in the face of ${their} torment, when there is no one to blame but circumstance.
                *set emotion "forgiveness"
                [i]Those blinding white eyes turn to regard you once more, your own expression reflected in their luminescence.[/i]
                *choice
                    #I am not ${them} anymore, but ${their} serenity matches my own.
                        *set noble %+ 15
                        *goto thefall
                    #Both this mage and ${their} sentiments are foreign to me.
                        [i]Instead, reflected in ${their} gaze is an emotion of…[/i]
                        *goto pickemotion2
            #...quiet acceptance. It is unfortunate how things have turned out, but given the chance ${they} would do it all over again.
                *set emotion "acceptance"
                [i]Those blinding white eyes turn to regard you once more, your own expression reflected in their luminescence.[/i]
                *choice
                    #I am not ${them} anymore, but ${their} composure matches my own.
                        *set noble %+ 10
                        *set emotional %- 10
                        *goto thefall
                    #Both this mage and ${their} sentiments are foreign to me.
                        [i]Instead, reflected in ${their} gaze is an emotion of…[/i]
                        *goto pickemotion2
            #...pure devastation. To die a traitor's death, after all ${they}'ve done—the sting of betrayal cuts deep.
                *set emotion "devastation"
                [i]Those blinding white eyes turn to regard you once more, your own expression reflected in their luminescence.[/i]
                *choice
                    #I am not ${them} anymore, but ${their} desolation matches my own.
                        *set emotional %+ 15
                        *goto thefall
                    #Both this mage and ${their} sentiments are foreign to me.
                        [i]Instead, reflected in ${their} gaze is an emotion of…[/i]
                        *goto pickemotion2
            #...somber numbness. There is no use for emotions, when everything's already been said and done.
                *set emotion "numbness"
                [i]Those blinding white eyes turn to regard you once more, your own expression reflected in their luminescence.[/i]
                *choice
                    #I am not ${them} anymore, but ${their} solemnity matches my own.
                        *set emotional %- 15
                        *goto thefall
                    #Both this mage and ${their} sentiments are foreign to me.
                        [i]Instead, reflected in ${their} gaze is an emotion of…[/i]
                        *goto pickemotion2
            #...unbridled joy. To be granted a second chance at life is a blessing beyond ${their} wildest imagination.
                *set emotion "joy"
                [i]Those blinding white eyes turn to regard you once more, your own expression reflected in their luminescence.[/i]
                *choice
                    #I am not ${them} anymore, but ${their} exuberance matches my own.
                        *set optimistic %+ 15
                        *goto thefall
                    #Both this mage and ${their} sentiments are foreign to me.
                        [i]Instead, reflected in ${their} gaze is an emotion of…[/i]
                        *goto pickemotion2
            #...glum reluctance. After a lifetime of suffering, all ${they} had wanted was the tranquil peace of death.
                *set emotion "reluctance"
                [i]Those blinding white eyes turn to regard you once more, your own expression reflected in their luminescence.[/i]
                *choice
                    #I am not ${them} anymore, but ${their} apprehension matches my own.
                        *set optimistic %- 15
                        *goto thefall
                    #Both this mage and ${their} sentiments are foreign to me.
                        [i]Instead, reflected in ${their} gaze is an emotion of…[/i]
                        *goto pickemotion2
        *label pickemotion2
        *choice
            *if (emotion != "anger") #...boiling anger. I've suffered so much at the hands of the very people I've saved.
                *set noble %- 15
                *set forgiveleon "hate"
                *set joaquin +1
                *goto thefall
            *if (emotion != "forgiveness") #...tender forgiveness. I can be at peace in the face of my torment, when there is no one to blame but circumstance.
                *set noble %+ 15
                *set forgiveleon "forgive"
                *goto thefall
            *if (emotion != "acceptance") #...quiet acceptance. It is unfortunate how things have turned out, but given the chance I would do it all over again.
                *set noble %+ 10
                *set emotional %- 10
                *set forgiveleon "forgive"
                *goto thefall
            *if (emotion != "devastation") #...pure devastation. To die a traitor's death, after all I've done—the sting of betrayal cuts deep.
                *set emotional %+ 15
                *goto thefall
            *if (emotion != "numbness") #...somber numbness. There is no use for emotions, when everything's already been said and done.
                *set emotional %- 15
                *goto thefall
            *if (emotion != "joy") #...unbridled joy. To be granted a second chance at life is a blessing beyond my wildest imagination.
                *set optimistic %+ 15
                *goto thefall
            *if (emotion != "reluctance") #...glum reluctance. After a lifetime of suffering, all I had wanted was the tranquil peace of death.
                *set optimistic %- 15
                *goto thefall
                
        *label thefall
        *if (emotion = "anger")
            [i]"How dare they, how dare they," Not-${fname} chants, seething with a wild anger. "They will pay for this. I'll make sure they do."[/i]
            
            [i]And then, as if struck by an invisible force, ${their} body jerks backwards and teeters on the cliff's edge.[/i]
            
            [i]"[i]Save me![/i]" ${theyre} yelling, but you can feel no compassion for ${them}, for the sham that wears your face; your feet remain rooted to the ground. "[i]Save me, I've had enough of dying![/i]"[/i]
            
            [i]You watch as ${they} @{plural reel|reels} over the abyss, packed earth cracking where[/i]
            [i]${their} feet desperately scrape for purchase. But the very ground seems to reject ${them}, the brown soil roiling in waves as it twists and pulls away—and so the sham falls.[/i]
            
            [i]$!{their} anguished scream fades in the distance as ${they} @{plural plunge|plunges} into the night.[/i]
            *goto youwake
        *elseif (emotion = "forgiveness")
            [i]"Forgive them, forgive them," Not-${fname} implores, brows furrowed as ${they} @{plural plead|pleads} with you.[/i]
            [i]"They are good people; kind. They deserve your mercy."[/i]
            
            [i]And then, as if struck by an invisible force, ${their} body jerks backwards and teeters on the cliff's edge.[/i]
            
            [i]"[i]Save me![/i]" ${theyre} yelling, but you can feel no compassion for ${them}, for the sham that wears your face; your feet remain rooted to the ground. "[i]Save me, I've had enough of dying![/i]"[/i]
            
            [i]You watch as ${they} @{plural reel|reels} over the abyss, packed earth cracking where[/i]
            [i]${their} feet desperately scrape for purchase. But the very ground seems to reject ${them}, the brown soil roiling in waves as it twists and pulls away—and so the sham falls.[/i]
            
            [i]$!{their} anguished scream fades in the distance as ${they} @{plural plunge|plunges} into the night.[/i]
            *goto youwake
        *elseif (emotion = "acceptance")
            [i]"So be it, so be it," Not-${fname} chants, eyes closed as ${they} @{plural make|makes} peace with[/i]
            [i]${their} fate. "What else could be done? How else could I have saved their lives?"[/i]
            
            [i]And then, as if struck by an invisible force, ${their} body jerks backwards and teeters on the cliff's edge.[/i]
            
            [i]"[i]Save me![/i]" ${theyre} yelling, but you can feel no compassion for ${them}, for the sham that wears your face; your feet remains rooted to the ground. "[i]Save me, I've had enough of dying![/i]"[/i]
            
            [i]You watch as ${they} @{plural reel|reels} over the abyss, packed earth cracking where[/i]
            [i]${their} feet desperately scrape for purchase. But the very ground seems to reject ${them}, the brown soil roiling in waves as it twists and pulls away—and so the sham falls.[/i]
            
            [i]$!{their} anguished scream fades in the distance as ${they} @{plural plunge|plunges} into the night.[/i]
            *goto youwake
        *elseif (emotion = "devastation")
            [i]"How could they, how could they," Not-${fname} chants, ${their} features twisting with grievous sorrow. "I trusted them, I saved them, I gave them everything I had! Why must they kill me in return?"[/i]
            
            [i]And then, as if struck by an invisible force, ${their} body jerks backwards and teeters on the cliff's edge.[/i]
            
            [i]"[i]Save me![/i]" ${theyre} yelling, but you can feel no compassion for ${them}, for the sham that wears your face; your feet remains rooted to the ground. "[i]Save me, I've had enough of dying![/i]"[/i]
            
            [i]You watch as ${they} @{plural reel|reels} over the abyss, packed earth cracking where[/i]
            [i]${their} feet desperately scrape for purchase. But the very ground seems to reject ${them}, the brown soil roiling in waves as it twists and pulls away—and so the sham falls.[/i]
            
            [i]$!{their} anguished scream fades in the distance as ${they} @{plural plunge|plunges} into the night.[/i]
            *goto youwake
        *elseif (emotion = "numbness")
            [i]"So be it, so be it," Not-${fname} chants, eyes closed as ${they}[/i]
            [i]@{plural will|wills}[/i]
            [i]${themselves} to forget ${their} fate. "There is nothing to be done, nothing to regret. I will not let my past bind me."[/i]
            
            [i]And then, as if struck by an invisible force, ${their} body jerks backwards and teeters on the cliff's edge.[/i]
            
            [i]"[i]Save me![/i]" ${theyre} yelling, but you can feel no compassion for ${them}, for the sham that wears your face; your feet remains rooted to the ground. "[i]Save me, I've had enough of dying![/i]"[/i]
            
            [i]You watch as ${they} @{plural reel|reels} over the abyss, packed earth cracking where[/i]
            [i]${their} feet desperately scrape for purchase. But the very ground seems to reject ${them}, the brown soil roiling in waves as it twists and pulls away—and so the sham falls.[/i]
            
            [i]$!{their} anguished scream fades in the distance as ${they} @{plural plunge|plunges} into the night.[/i]
            *goto youwake
        *elseif (emotion = "joy")
            [i]"I'm alive, I'm alive," Not-${fname} chants, ${their} voice trembling with disbelief. "I've been through so much, endured so much pain—but despite it all I'm [i]alive[/i]."[/i]
            
            [i]And then, as if struck by an invisible force, ${their} body jerks backwards and teeters on the cliff's edge.[/i]
            
            [i]"[i]Save me![/i]" ${theyre} yelling, but you can feel no compassion for ${them}, for the sham that wears your face; your feet remains rooted to the ground. "[i]Save me, I've had enough of dying![/i]"[/i]
            
            [i]You watch as ${they} @{plural reel|reels} over the abyss, packed earth cracking where[/i]
            [i]${their} feet desperately scrape for purchase. But the very ground seems to reject ${them}, the brown soil roiling in waves as it twists and pulls away—and so the sham falls.[/i]
            
            [i]$!{their} anguished scream fades in the distance as ${they} @{plural plunge|plunges} into the night.[/i]
            *goto youwake
        *elseif (emotion = "reluctance")
            [i]"Leave me be, leave me be," Not-${fname} chants, ${their} voice trembling with disbelief. "I never asked for this. I don't want to suffer again!"[/i]
            
            [i]And then, as if struck by an invisible force, ${their} body jerks backwards and teeters on the cliff's edge.[/i]
            
            [i]"[i]Save me![/i]" ${theyre} yelling, but you can feel no compassion for ${them}, for the sham that wears your face; your feet remains rooted to the ground. "[i]Save me, I cannot bear the pain again![/i]"[/i]
            
            [i]You watch as ${they} @{plural reel|reels} over the abyss, packed earth cracking where[/i]
            [i]${their} feet desperately scrape for purchase. But the very ground seems to reject ${them}, the brown soil roiling in waves as it twists and pulls away—and so the sham falls.[/i]
            
            [i]$!{their} anguished scream fades in the distance as ${they} @{plural plunge|plunges} into the night.[/i]
            *goto youwake
    #Despite everything, I'm still me. I clasp ${their} hand in mine. [Retain Personality Meters]
        *if (prenoble > 64)
            *set noblej true
        *if (prenoble < 36)
            *set pragmaticj true
        *if (precharming > 64)
            *set charmingj true
        *if (precharming < 36)
            *set reservedj true
        *if (preemotional > 64)
            *set emotionalj true
        *if (preemotional < 36)
            *set stoicj true
        *if (preoptimistic > 64)
            *set optimisticj true
        *if (preoptimistic < 36)
            *set cynicalj true
        [i]$!{their} grip on your hands is as cold as ice.[/i]
        
        [i]"That's right," ${they} @{plural whisper|whispers}, low and insistent. "I am you. I am you. I will always be you."[/i]
        
        [i]$!{their} form disintegrates into a cloud of black mist, then, and in the blink of an eye the scene has twisted into one of swaying grass and a boundless night sky. Your other self stands on an outcropping of land, ${their} back facing the edge of Arcadia, three paces from a free fall.[/i]
        
        [i]As ${they} @{plural turn|turns} ${their} gaze up towards to the dancing twilight, the sentiment on[/i]
        [i]${their} face is all too familiar—it is the same emotion that's been swelling in your chest for days, burning insistently like a torch in the corners of your mind:[/i]
        *choice
            #Boiling anger. I've suffered so much at the hands of the very people I've saved.
                *set noble %- 15
                *set emotion "anger"
                *set forgiveleon "hate"
                *set joaquin +1
                *goto thefall2
            #Tender forgiveness. I can be at peace in the face of my torment, when there is no one to blame but circumstance.
                *set noble %+ 15
                *set emotion "forgiveness"
                *set forgiveleon "forgive"
                *goto thefall2
            #Quiet acceptance. It is unfortunate how things have turned out, but given the chance I would do it all over again.
                *set noble %+ 10
                *set emotional %- 10
                *set emotion "acceptance"
                *set forgiveleon "forgive"
                *goto thefall2
            #Pure devastation. To die a traitor's death, after all I've done—the sting of betrayal cuts deep.
                *set emotional %+ 15
                *set emotion "devastation"
                *goto thefall2
            #Somber numbness. There is no use for emotions, when everything's already been said and done.
                *set emotional %- 15
                *set emotion "numbness"
                *goto thefall2
            #Unbridled joy. To be granted a second chance at life is a blessing beyond my wildest imagination.
                *set optimistic %+ 15
                *set emotion "joy"
                *goto thefall2
            #Glum reluctance. After a lifetime of suffering, all I had wanted was the tranquil peace of death.
                *set optimistic %- 15
                *set emotion "reluctance"
                *goto thefall2
        *label thefall2
        *if (emotion = "anger")
            [i]"How dare they, how dare they," your other self chants, seething with a wild anger. "They will pay for this. I'll make sure they do."[/i]
            
            [i]And then, as if struck by an invisible force, ${their} body jerks backwards and teeters on the cliff's edge.[/i]
            
            [i]"[i]Save me![/i]" ${theyre} yelling, and instinct bids that you leap into action; yet control over your own body escapes you, and you remain firmly rooted to the ground. "[i]Save me, I've had enough of dying![/i]"[/i]
            
            [i]You can only watch as ${they} @{plural reel|reels} over the abyss, packed earth cracking where[/i]
            [i]${their} feet desperately scrape for purchase. But the very ground seems to reject ${them}, the brown soil roiling in waves as it twists and pulls away—and so the mage falls.[/i]
            
            [i]$!{their} anguished scream fades in the distance as ${they} @{plural plunge|plunges} into the night.[/i]
            *goto youwake
        *elseif (emotion = "forgiveness")
            [i]"Forgive them, forgive them," your other self implores, brows furrowed as ${they} @{plural plead|pleads} with you.[/i]
            [i]"They are good people; kind. They deserve your mercy."[/i]
            
            [i]And then, as if struck by an invisible force, ${their} body jerks backwards and teeters on the cliff's edge.[/i]
            
            [i]"[i]Save me![/i]" ${theyre} yelling, and instinct bids that you leap into action; yet control over your own body escapes you, and you remain firmly rooted to the ground. "[i]Save me, I've had enough of dying![/i]"[/i]
            
            [i]You can only watch as ${they} @{plural reel|reels} over the abyss, packed earth cracking where[/i]
            [i]${their} feet desperately scrape for purchase. But the very ground seems to reject ${them}, the brown soil roiling in waves as it twists and pulls away—and so the mage falls..[/i]
            
            [i]$!{their} anguished scream fades in the distance as ${they} @{plural plunge|plunges} into the night.[/i]
            *goto youwake
        *elseif (emotion = "acceptance")
            [i]"So be it, so be it," your other self chants, eyes closed as ${they} @{plural make|makes} peace with[/i]
            [i]${their} fate. "What else could have been done? How else could I have saved their lives?"[/i]
            
            [i]And then, as if struck by an invisible force, ${their} body jerks backwards and teeters on the cliff's edge.[/i]
            
            [i]"[i]Save me![/i]" ${theyre} yelling, and instinct bids that you leap into action; yet control over your own body escapes you, and you remain firmly rooted to the ground. "[i]Save me, I've had enough of dying![/i]"[/i]
            
            [i]You can only watch as ${they} @{plural reel|reels} over the abyss, packed earth cracking where[/i]
            [i]${their} feet desperately scrape for purchase. But the very ground seems to reject ${them}, the brown soil roiling in waves as it twists and pulls away—and so the mage falls.[/i]
            
            [i]$!{their} anguished scream fades in the distance as ${they} @{plural plunge|plunges} into the night.[/i]
            *goto youwake
        *elseif (emotion = "devastation")
            [i]"How could they, how could they," your other self chants, ${their} features twisting with grievous sorrow. "I trusted them, I saved them, I gave them everything I had! Why must they kill me in return?"[/i]
            
            [i]And then, as if struck by an invisible force, ${their} body jerks backwards and teeters on the cliff's edge.[/i]
            
            [i]"[i]Save me![/i]" ${theyre} yelling, and instinct bids that you leap into action; yet control over your own body escapes you, and you remain firmly rooted to the ground. "[i]Save me, I've had enough of dying![/i]"[/i]
            
            [i]You can only watch as ${they} @{plural reel|reels} over the abyss, packed earth cracking where[/i]
            [i]${their} feet desperately scrape for purchase. But the very ground seems to reject ${them}, the brown soil roiling in waves as it twists and pulls away—and so the mage falls.[/i]
            
            [i]$!{their} anguished scream fades in the distance as ${they} @{plural plunge|plunges} into the night.[/i]
            *goto youwake
        *elseif (emotion = "numbness")
            [i]"So be it, so be it," your other self chants, eyes closed as ${they} will ${themselves} to forget ${their} fate. "There is nothing to be done, nothing to regret. I will not let my past bind me."[/i]
            
            [i]And then, as if struck by an invisible force, ${their} body jerks backwards and teeters on the cliff's edge.[/i]
            
            [i]"[i]Save me![/i]" ${theyre} yelling, and instinct bids that you leap into action; yet control over your own body escapes you, and you remain firmly rooted to the ground. "[i]Save me, I've had enough of dying![/i]"[/i]
            
            [i]You can only watch as ${they} @{plural reel|reels} over the abyss, packed earth cracking where[/i]
            [i]${their} feet desperately scrape for purchase. But the very ground seems to reject ${them}, the brown soil roiling in waves as it twists and pulls away—and so the mage falls.[/i]
            
            [i]$!{their} anguished scream fades in the distance as ${they} @{plural plunge|plunges} into the night.[/i]
            *goto youwake
        *elseif (emotion = "joy")
            [i]"I'm alive, I'm alive," your other self chants, ${their} voice trembling with disbelief. "I've been through so much, endured so much pain—but despite it all I'm [i]alive[/i]."[/i]
            
            [i]And then, as if struck by an invisible force, ${their} body jerks backwards and teeters on the cliff's edge.[/i]
            
            [i]"[i]Save me![/i]" ${theyre} yelling, and instinct bids that you leap into action; yet control over your own body escapes you, and you remain firmly rooted to the ground. "[i]Save me, I've had enough of dying![/i]"[/i]
            
            [i]You can only watch as ${they} @{plural reel|reels} over the abyss, packed earth cracking where[/i]
            [i]${their} feet desperately scrape for purchase. But the very ground seems to reject ${them}, the brown soil roiling in waves as it twists and pulls away—and so the mage falls.[/i]
            
            [i]$!{their} anguished scream fades in the distance as ${they} @{plural plunge|plunges} into the night.[/i]
            *goto youwake
        *elseif (emotion = "reluctance")
            [i]"Leave me be, leave me be," your other self chants, ${their} voice trembling with disbelief. "I never asked for this. I don't want to suffer again!"[/i]
            
            [i]And then, as if struck by an invisible force, ${their} body jerks backwards and teeters on the cliff's edge.[/i]
            
            [i]"[i]Save me![/i]" ${theyre} yelling, and instinct bids that you leap into action; yet control over your own body escapes you, and you remain firmly rooted to the ground. "[i]Save me, I cannot bear the pain again![/i]"[/i]
            
            [i]You can only watch as ${they} @{plural reel|reels} over the abyss, packed earth cracking where[/i]
            [i]${their} feet desperately scrape for purchase. But the very ground seems to reject ${them}, the brown soil roiling in waves as it twists and pulls away—and so the mage falls.[/i]
            
            [i]$!{their} anguished scream fades in the distance as ${they} @{plural plunge|plunges} into the night.[/i]
            *goto youwake
*label youwake
*page_break You wake.

You jolt up in your bed in a breathless rush, your shirt clinging to your back, damp with sweat. The room spins into focus—dappled with morning light, warm, [i]real[/i]—and you feel your panic quieting in your chest. An unnaturally vivid dream, but a dream is all it is, in the end.

Far in the distance, the sun peeks over misty treetops and gently rolling hills, marking the start of a new day. Your seventh since coming to in that dark chamber, Tahlia's fingers trailing down your jaw. The days have passed by in a fluid daze since, your body slowly stitching itself back together, shaking off what remnants death saw fit to leave behind.

A kind-eyed, bespectacled man has been coming by your chamber at the end of each day, working minor feats of theurgy to aid you in your recovery. He does not give you his name—nor had you asked for it—and from his words, it soon becomes clear that the truth of your situation is kept private by Tahlia. The healer seems vexed with the nature of your 'illness', but does not prod for details—a sign, perhaps, of the loyalty Tahlia inspires in her people. He instead only knows you as an Arcadian hailing from another nation, having only arrived in the Thulrum Diocese.

Thulrum, a fledgling theocracy granted independence by Salantira some decades past. It now serves as the last beacon of the Ishavak Faith, and home to Arcadian refugees who had long lived in mire and poverty under Parami and Salantir rule. A modest state subsisting off of tithes and magical research, it has regardless managed to offer a dignified refuge for Arcadians within its lands, making it one of Arvanand's more bustling cities in the process.

You rise to your feet, pausing to consider the state of your body. You have shed much of the fatigue that had lingered after your resurrection, and you seem to no longer be prone to fainting spells, as you had been in the first couple of days. Most importantly, mana flows relatively unobstructed through your veins. It was promised to you that a combination of theurgy and balanced meals would do the trick; it seems that promise rings true.

The sun crests over the horizon, flooding the room with beams of morning light. Outside, the morning breeze beckons, and you rise to greet its call.

*page_break

The city of Thulrum, you find, is a strange and discombobulating beast. You walk streets which snake around and feed into each other with neither rhyme nor reason, shops bursting with garish, blaring colors, mud-brick homes so tightly nestled against one another that you wonder how any of its residents can find air to breathe. Everywhere you go, it smells of meat and leaves and bodies and piss, and the din of casual conversation rises to inhuman volumes, its drive into your skull sharper than blades.

And yet for all the chaos that Thulrum offers, you [i]know[/i] that it is a modest city, a pale comparison to the likes of Sienan and Salantira City. But you are no longer your old self, so thoroughly attuned to the rhythms of cities. Instead, you had spent what felt like eternities as an insignificant mote in a still, silent abyss. And now, the world sees fit to hurl the whole of its brilliant chaos your way.

*choice
    #I feel wistful. This familiarity only serves to underline what I've lost.
        *set emotional %+ 15
        Everything about Thulrum—from its low, uniform skyline to its brightly-painted walls, crawling with overgrowth—is a far cry from the cities of Param, stone-carved and dotted with spires. But the [i]heart[/i] of it is the same: here is a land of chaos and freedom and opportunity, with every soul moving boldly to carve a brighter future. They ply their trades and hawk their wares and plod away under the midday sun, dreaming of the warm meal and softly-crackling hearth that awaits them at day's end.
        
        A group of travelers round the corner, swords at their hips and laughter on their tongue, and it takes everything you have to tear your gaze away. Foolishly, you hear echoes of the White Fangs in the cadence of their speech, the scrape of weapons against their scabbards. The group passes by you, blissful, unwitting of the turmoil they've caused. A touch of anger, unwelcome and irrational, bubbles up within you, and you push it down. As you must.
        
        Your White Fangs is dead, now—it had perished with you on the stake. Things can never be as they once were, and that simple bliss is something you will never be able to recapture. It is all you can do to move forward, to see what else lies around the bend.
    #I'm elated beyond words. I [i]missed[/i] this.
        You may have regained your life in some dark, quiet corner of the Seat, but it is only in the city that you are truly [i]alive[/i]. You make your way through crowds of warm bodies, drink in the sight of children playing in the streets. Thulrum had been all but leveled to the ground, once, when Param and Salantira both invaded the city and slew the dynasts which ruled over it. Its people had been herded out of the city in chains, leaving naught in Thulrum's wake but charred ruins and memories of what once was. And yet here it stands now, defiantly alive, home once more to a people once thought destined for collective ruin.
        
        You realize it foolishly optimistic, but you can't help but nurse the hope that one day, you can be as Thulrum is. Neither of you will be able to regain all you lost, but you can still be [i]something[/i] in the aftermath of tragedy, something bright and loud and meaningful. Come what may, you will guard that hope fiercely, see that your life is not wrested away from you a second time.
        
        But for now, you are wholly, indescribably content. You draw breath you need not fight for, walk streets free from the echoes of war. You find yourself, for the first time in a long time, curious of what comes next. Thrilled to move forward, to see what lies around the bend.
    #I suppress the urge to find a dark, quiet corner to curl up in.
        Everything about Thulrum is an assault to the senses. It is so vividly, painfully [i]alive[/i], despite the battles once waged within its walls, the homes once flattened to the ground. Someone in Thulrum has likely died in the time since you rose out of bed, and another will be clinging to their last vestiges of life. But the city bustles on, blissful and unwitting. What does the living care for the dying and dead?
        
        [i]Echoes of a memory surface in your mind—visions of a large crossing under the blaring sun, the jeers of a thousand voices, smoke blotting your vision and coiling in your throat. Leon's gaze, lingering in your mind long after the darkness obscures it, despair and rage and regret all pressed into one. And your desperate, futile wish—that things could be different, that the truth could come to light—[/i]
        
        Your feet grind to a halt in the midst of a busy street, drawing grumbles from the crowd around you as they snake past your form. You press your lips together and shake the thoughts from your mind. What's in the past shall remain there—you have a new lease on life, one you've seized from the depths of the abyss. And you're determined to move forward, to see what else lies around the bend.
    #It's a bothersome feeling, but one I'll no doubt adapt to before long.
        *set emotional %- 15
        Your earliest memory is that of Thaubal Altinier's underground laboratory, devoid of sound but for the hushed whispers of his test subjects. And when you were freed from its confines, you were thrust by turns into the glittering opulence of  Salantira Castle, the simple, solitary life of a wandering mage, the chaos of adventuring, and the ruinous carnage of war. Each time, you had found your footing and pressed onward, carving out a place for yourself in an ever-changing world.
        
        And you will do so again. This city, at once chaotic and serene, harbors the hopes and ambitions of Tahlia and her people, which may yet flame the fires anew. There will be time enough to get the lay of the land and find your place—within or without Arcadia's designs.
        
        [i]Echoes of a memory surface in your mind—a band of adventurers walking in step with one another, laughter on their tongue as they charge into the unknown. Whatever the world throws at them, they will greet with resolve; for in a world which constantly shifts and morphs, they will always have each other. And come what may, they will face it all together[/i].
        
        You shake your head, trying your utmost to banish the thought. Yoru White Fangs is dead, now—it had perished with you on the stake. And if there is one thing you have mastered in your tumultuous life, it is the art of adaptation, of leaving the past where it belongs. Of stubbornly moving ever forward, if only to see what lies around the bend.

*page_break

As it happens, what lies around the bend is your destination: a stout, expansive white building, almost mansion-like in its scale and layout. A well-kept front yard stretches some twenty paces in all directions, surrounding a wide path that twists around the main building and splits into a number of circular spaces. In these spaces, civilian merchants and Ishavak acolytes alike man wooden stalls which offer a variety of goods and services. A balding, hunchbacked man appears to hawk tinctures and minor magical devices, while the acolyte one stall over doles out beastly meat and byproducts, seemingly free of charge. Bodies crowd and congregate in this area—somehow even moreso than the city's central crossroads and the local market—and that serves as evidence enough that you're in the right place.

Nominally an outpost of the Ishavak Church and something of a central temple for the southern side of the city, the Common House has instead become a makeshift hub where much of the city's essential services is provided. Thulrum's fledgling independence meant that the city was disconnected from the transnational networks of guilds and organizations; as such, the Church carried out duties that would normally be left to the adventurer's guilds and merchant unions, among others. And it is here in the Common House that those duties are carried out.

There are any number of reasons as to why a newcomer to Thulrum would visit the place. But as for you, your primary motivation is…

*choice
    #If I want to see what makes Arcadia tick, this is the place to do it.
        Tahlia had no shortage of pride for the things she and her Church are allegedly doing for the people of Thulrum. The picture she paints—one corroborated by nearly everyone you've talked to over the course of the past week—is one of benevolent ambition and efficient management. And if any place is to lay bare the truth of her words, it would be the Common House.
        
        It's time to see whether reality holds up to her lofty claims.
    #After a week spent sleeping, this'll prove to be a nice change of pace.
        To hear the acolytes tell it, the Common House serves as Thulrum's beating heart, the long arm of the Archbishop's strength and benevolence. It is here that the Church's influence is most readily felt by the people, and so if your goal is to see the heart of the theocracy, where the border between church and believer blurs, there is no better place than here.
        
        It is time to see the true face of Thulrum laid bare.
    #I've heard that something interesting is happening today, with this place at its center.
        No one had told you as much outright—if you had to guess, Tahlia had instructed them to give you a wide berth until you decided to get up and smell the roses yourself. But from the murmurs you picked up traversing down the Seat of Isha's halls, and the rush of supplies being ferried down temple and city streets alike, it's clear some manner of event is being held in fair Thulrum.
        
        And all signs point to this place as its center.
        
You stride down the walkway and pass through the building's open doors, and very nearly lose your head for it.

*page_break

"Sorry!" calls out the voice behind the precarious stack of boxes, hoisted up by a pair of muscular arms which seem to tremble under the weight. "If i scraped you or something, take it up with Myst, that slave driver!"

"We wouldn't [i]have[/i] this problem if you had just showed up by sunrise—[i]like you were supposed to[/i]!" You turn your gaze to the source of the sound—a brown-haired, youngish-looking woman whose petite size seemed a mismatch to the sonic force of her bellow. "Honestly, would it kill you to—"

"La la la! I'm not listening!" Boxes calls back out as he shimmies his luggage into alignment. The very top one teeters dangerously off the edge, before mercifully snapping back into place. "You're just pissed that it's [i]me[/i] who came around instead of your beau—"

In the single blink of an eye, Myst's shoe has somehow materialized into her hand. "What was that? Get back here!"

"Make me, you witch!" Boxes looks over and sticks out his tongue before sagely making his escape, stack of boxes and all. Myst lets out a string of profanities after him, ceasing only when he disappears into the crowd of bodies by the gate.

*page_break

"Sorry that you had to see that," she says after a while, shoving her foot back into her shoe and stomping over to the large circular desk in the middle of the room. All around her, the hall is buzzing with activity, be it workers loading goods into boxes, scribes furiously recording transactions on parchments, or adventurers polishing their weapons in some corner or other. None of them gives much of a reaction to Myst's outburst—you'd guess it's something of a regular occurrence around here. "You've probably gathered this already, but my name's Myst. Quartermaster for the Ishavak Church. I run things around here, though you'd never know it, the way these imbeciles treat me. You the new acolyte?"

The question briefly gives you pause, and for good reason: the position of an Ishavak acolyte is not one so easily attained—certainly not over the course of a mere week. But a brief look at your garments—a pale hempen robe, sensible trousers, and a golden sash—could mark you as little else.

Perhaps you ought to explore the shops soon, find something a little less austere to wear. For now, you should do something about Myst and her expectant gaze.

*choice
    #I give her an easy smile. "Sure, let's go with that."
        *set charming %+ 15
        Myst tilts her head at that. "What's that supposed to mean?"
        
        "It's a bit of a long story," you say, before nodding at the stream of activity surrounding her. "And you seem a bit busy."
        
        Myst chuckles at that, before reaching for a stack of papers and dipping her quill into an inkpot. "I'm always busy—it's the one sure thing you'll find in Thulrum. People call me a slave driver, but I'm the one being worked like there's no tomorrow, you know?" Myst flips through her papers and signs off on some documents—complete with wax seals at the bottom, all official-like—but remains perfectly engaged in your conversation. You get the sense that the ability to multitask is of great import in her line of work. "Not too busy to help a newbie out, though. Assuming they need it."
        
        You give her a businesslike smile. "So you say, but I don't suppose the lady can leave her gilded cage."
        
        Myst sighs, longsuffering. "Well, I can always twist somebody's arm, if it comes down to it. You seem the sort that's easy to get along with, so it shouldn't be much of a problem," she says. "Say, you got a name I can call you?"
    #I shake my head, saying nothing further.
        *set charming %- 15
        Myst shrugs her shoulders at your silence. "Alright, well, suit yourself. You're a guest of the Church all the same, so it hardly matters either way."
        
        "I never said I was that, either."
        
        "What, did you steal those garbs from the Seat? Like the style of them, did you?" she says, chuckling. "No one voluntarily gets into those things unless it was freely provided for them. Really, if anything, you should be looking to swap out of them. Sooner, rather than later."
        
        You realize that despite her professed affiliation with the Ishavak Church, Myst's getup appears decidedly unpriestly. A comfortable-looking cotton shirt with the sleeves down to her forearm, a simple skirt that goes down to her knees, a bandanna tied around her wiry mess of hair. If you hadn't known better, you'd think her a Parami inkeep or tradeswoman, rather than a high official of the Ishavak Church.
        
        "All in due time, I suppose. Plenty of weavers in Thulrum, and you don't seem to be in a rush, eh?" Myst says, shrugging. "Say, I don't think I caught your name."
    #I tap my fingers on the desk. "You get a lot of those around here?"
        Myst gives you a look that signals she's noticed your sidestep, and is obligingly allowing it. "Every now and again. You'd make the fifth or so we've had this year," she answers. "They typically don't arrive a full one, though. Hardly any Ishavak temples left outside of Thulrum—ones that could train their own acolytes, at any rate. In that sense, I guess your case is a bit unique?"
        
        You hum noncommittally. "So you get a bunch of civilians instead, do you?"
        
        "Up to our eyeballs in 'em, though you're probably aware of that. You [i]are[/i] from Arvanand, yeah? Not a whit of Imperial in your accent," she replies. "This city adds a dozen to its headcount every day or so, it seems like. It's a good deal for both sides—the city gets a bunch of capable hands, eager to work, and the refugees get to make an honest, decent living. A real luxury for Arcadians in Arvanand."
        
        "Seems like all this hard work is worth it, then."
        
        She nods by way of confirmation. "Only reason I'm still doing it. Though most days I'm about ready to set fire to the damn city myself," she sighs. "But look at me pouring my heart out when I don't even know your name. You do have one of those, I'm assuming?"

It's a more loaded question than you imagine she intended. Myst seems affable enough, as does most anyone you've met in Thulrum so far—but this is still a foreign land, in the end, and the full scope of the Church's designs escapes you still. It may be prudent to call yourself something that doesn't establish an immediate link to Param's dead archmage, who just happens to share your age and coloring. Sure, thousands of people bore witness to your execution in Sienan Square, and true resurrection is a concept entertained only in old wives' tales. But is there any point to drawing more attention than strictly necessary?

(It might not even matter, you think wrily. For all you know, Myst may be playing the fool—she's a high-ranking official of the Ishavak Church, after all. Would Tahlia really keep the Demon of Sienan's secret from her?)

*choice
    #I give her a fake name.
        *comment current realname (variable fname) will be stored in variable realname
        *comment fakename will be stored in variable fakename
        *comment fname will be set as fakename
        *comment alias will be set as true
        You latch onto the first name that comes to mind, surprising yourself with how easily the lie rolls off your tongue.
        
        "You can call me…"
        *label aliaschoice
        *choice
            #"...Avir."
                Will you go by Avir?
                *choice
                    #Yes.
                        *set alias true
                        *set realname "${fname}"
                        *set fakename "Avir"
                        *set fname "${fakename}"
                    #No, I'll choose another name.
                        What name will you choose?
                        *goto aliaschoice
            #"...Celth."
                Will you go by Celth?
                *choice
                    #Yes.
                        *set alias true
                        *set realname "${fname}"
                        *set fakename "Celth"
                        *set fname "${fakename}"
                    #No, I'll choose another name.
                        What name will you choose?
                        *goto aliaschoice
            #"...Darial."
                Will you go by Darial?
                *choice
                    #Yes.
                        *set alias true
                        *set realname "${fname}"
                        *set fakename "Darial"
                        *set fname "${fakename}"
                    #No, I'll choose another name.
                        What name will you choose?
                        *goto aliaschoice
            #"...Ist."
                Will you go by Ist?
                *choice
                    #Yes.
                        *set alias true
                        *set realname "${fname}"
                        *set fakename "Ist"
                        *set fname "${fakename}"
                    #No, I'll choose another name.
                        What name will you choose?
                        *goto aliaschoice
            #"...Merran."
                Will you go by Merran?
                *choice
                    #Yes.
                        *set alias true
                        *set realname "${fname}"
                        *set fakename "Merran"
                        *set fname "${fakename}"
                    #No, I'll choose another name.
                        What name will you choose?
                        *goto aliaschoice
            #"...Paven."
                Will you go by Paven?
                *choice
                    #Yes.
                        *set alias true
                        *set realname "${fname}"
                        *set fakename "Paven"
                        *set fname "${fakename}"
                    #No, I'll choose another name.
                        What name will you choose?
                        *goto aliaschoice
            #"...Samir."
                Will you go by Samir?
                *choice
                    #Yes.
                        *set alias true
                        *set realname "${fname}"
                        *set fakename "Samir"
                        *set fname "${fakename}"
                    #No, I'll choose another name.
                        What name will you choose?
                        *goto aliaschoice
            #"...Yuthiel."
                Will you go by Yuthiel?
                *choice
                    #Yes.
                        *set alias true
                        *set realname "${fname}"
                        *set fakename "Yuthiel"
                        *set fname "${fakename}"
                    #No, I'll choose another name.
                        What name will you choose?
                        *goto aliaschoice
            #I call myself  something else.
                *input_text fakename
                Will you go by ${fakename}?
                *choice
                    #Yes.
                        *set alias true
                        *set realname "${fname}"
                        *set fname "${fakename}"
                    #No, I'll choose another name.
                        What name will you choose?
                        *goto aliaschoice
            #Actually, I think I'll give her my real name.
                *goto realname
    #I give her my real name.
        *label  realname
        *set alias false
        *goto namedone

*label namedone
"${fname}, eh?" Myst hums. "Good to have you with us. And on the Day of Arrival, too! Pretty fortuitous, if you ask me."

You perk up at that. "Day of Arrival?"

"Oh, you weren't aware?" Myst asks, tilting her head. "It's a festival of sorts we have here in Thulrum. Though I'm not surprised you haven't heard of it, considering you're not from around here. It's only been going on for the past ten years or so, and Thulrum is really barely on the map, isn't it?"

You nod along as Myst confirms your suspicions. This is your first time setting foot in Thulrum proper, but you could tell the air was charged with more enthusiasm than a regular day. From Salantira's Thelinsmas to Param's Eventide Ceremony, the hubbub and excitement of a festival—even one still in the making—is the same anywhere you go.

*temp arrival1 false
*temp arrival2 false
*temp arrivalcount 0
*label arrivalhub
*if (arrivalcount = 4)
    *goto postarrival
*else
    *goto arrivalqs
*label arrivalqs
*choice
    *disable_reuse #"What happens on the Day of Arrival?"
        *set arrival1 true
        *set arrivalcount +1
        "Oh, this and that. It's a little embarrassing to admit it, but we're kind of making it up as we go," she says. Myst dusts off a stack of papers and beckons one of her subordinates over, animatedly giving him instructions before turning her attention back on you. "The big thing is that Thulrum is supposed to be this haven for Arcadian refugees, right? But putting them up and giving them a life worth living isn't exactly a walk in the park. This little nation of ours is the size of a toenail, and we're not exactly sitting on piles of gold, either, so we're pretty limited in the amount of people we can absorb at any one time.
        
        "So, all that being said! We work hard year round to make sure that everything's in order: build new tenements, expand our farmlands, build up our food stores, the works. All in preparation of the Day of Arrival, when we welcome thousands of new residents into Thulrum." Myst is grinning proudly now, though her hands never stop working. "They'll arrive by caravan, and we'll treat them to a grand Thulrum welcome by the city gates. Then a parade down central street, followed by a welcome meal hosted by yours truly, featuring freshly-hunted local game. And after that, they're free to explore the city on their own. We'll have stands, free ale, fireworks, the whole nine leagues. And so as you can see," she says, violently shaking a stack of papers into alignment, "I'm quite swamped."
        
        You manage an empathetic smile. "Then should I get out of your hair?"
        
        "You're hardly a bother, considering the riffraff I have to deal with on a daily basis," Myst says, winking. "But if you want to explore on your own, don't let me stop you. We've got a little bit of everything in the Common House, so there's always something to see for a newcomer like yourself."
        *goto arrivalhub
    *disable_reuse *if (arrival1 = true) #"What do you mean by 'a little bit of everything'?"
        *set arrivalcount +1
        "Just what I said. The Common House is the biggest Church outpost in the city, and one that predates all of the businesses that currently populate the city. A place to sleep, a smithy, a public kitchen—you name it, everything was done here," she explains. "We still retain a lot of those services now, though we've obviously scaled back so as not to compete with the [i]actual[/i] businesses. You could get the standard Thulrum cider and a couple types of finger foods down at our tavern, or purchase simple bronze weapons at our smithy. But for the good stuff, you'd have to venture out to Thulrum proper."
        
        Her explanation catches you by surprise. "You have a tavern and a smithy here?"
        
        "Sure do. Doors three and four, respectively," she says, pointing down a long corridor that extends to the building's east side. "We also put up the local Adventurer's and Merchant's guilds—unaffiliated with the Arvanian ones, I should clarify. Then the butchery, the apothecary, the outfitter…and spare beds aplenty in the main wing, of course. A number of other services, too, but I wouldn't want to bore you."
        
        "Seems like a lot of work for a single institution to take on."
        
        "The Church is very well-staffed…in theory. But we're constantly working on rebuilding and expanding Thulrum, too, so in practice it's just me and a skeleton crew running the show." Myst laments her fate for all of two seconds before dutifully returning to her work. "But it's not all bad. We're taking care of people who had nowhere else to go, putting a much-needed smile on their faces. Pretty rewarding stuff, as far as day jobs go."
        *goto arrivalhub
    *disable_reuse #"It seems like this festival of yours is a pretty big deal."
        *set arrivalcount +1
        *set arrival2 true
        Myst grins. "We've been preparing for essentially a full year now, so everyone wants it to be perfect," she hums. "It stretches us a little thin financially, but what we get out of it is well worth the hassle."
        
        You give her a quizzical look. "And what's that?"
        
        "Joy and merriment, of course!" Myst says with a wide grin. "This city of ours has quite the fearsome reputation among Arcadians, you know. We're supposed to be this magical safe haven where people can go to finally live a normal, dignified life, experience the joys normally reserved for our betters. But with the expansions and renovations we're constantly up to, we're up to our eyeballs in construction costs…only gold enough to spare for one festival each year. So we do what we can to make it a real one to remember."
        *choice
            #"I see. You do good work out here."
                Myst visibly puffs up, looking more than a little proud. "And don't I know it," she says. "Though as much as I'd love to, I can hardly claim much of the credit. Everyone in the city is tossing their sweat and coppers in for this." Off in the distance, you  hear a yelp that sounds remarkably like Boxes, followed by the sound of something falling and crashing to the ground. The light and excitement in Myst's eyes promptly disappears. "It just so happens that some of them are better off untossed."
            #"That explains things. I've never seen so much commotion over a festival before."
                Myst hums thoughtfully. "You have to understand that many of the people here came on the Day of Arrival themselves. To be welcomed with such a grand gesture after being treated like refuse…well, it's no surprise that nearly everyone's tossed their sweat and coppers in for this." Off in the distance, you  hear a yelp that sounds remarkably like Boxes, followed by the sound of something falling and crashing to the ground. The light and excitement in Myst's eyes promptly disappears. "It just so happens that some of them are better off untossed."
        *goto arrivalhub
    *disable_reuse *if (arrival2 = true) #"Does that mean I'm also expected to help set things up?"
        *set arrivalcount +1
        Myst gives you an odd look. "You should take the time to rest today, I think," she says. "I imagine you'll be asked to work one way or another, but it won't be by me. I hardly have the authority for that."
        
        You feel your brows furrow. "What do you mean by that?"
        
        Myst appears to debate something in her head, before leaning forward and lowering her voice to a whisper. "You…you can use arcana, right?"
        
        [i]Arcana.[/i] It's a word you hadn't expected to hear here in all places—the power running through your veins, the curse you had never asked to bear. You snap your head up and look Myst in the eyes. The woman responds by tapping her fingers on the counter, looking a bit put out of sorts—as if uncertain whether she should've asked you anything at all.
        *choice
            #"Yeah, I can do that."
                Myst blinks at your response, apparently surprised that you volunteered the information so readily. "I realize how fickle this makes me sound," she says slowly. "But you probably shouldn't admit that so easily."
                
                You shrug. "I  hardly see why not, seeing as you've figured me out all the same."
                
                "Perhaps," she sighs. "There are only a handful of people like me, though. People who can tell, I mean. You have to be descended from one of the dynast houses—well, none of that matters. I should be grateful that you're so easygoing about this—I was prepared to direct you to the [i]ashai[/i] so she could confirm what I told you…"
                
                "Hold on," you interrupt her, furrowing your brows. "I never told you that I've met the [i]ashai[/i]."
                *goto safeassume
            #"And what's it to you?"
                "Nothing, I promise. I mean no harm, ${fname}," Myst says, holding her hands up as if to defuse the tension. "It's just…I felt you should know. That I can tell, I mean," Myst says. "I don't know if it's of any comfort, but only a few people can do so. You have to have a bit of dynast blood in you—well, none of that matters. It's just that this is the sort of thing people keep secret, and I feel it'd get us off on the wrong foot. If you didn't know that I knew, I mean."
                *goto lossforw
            #"I have no idea what you're talking about."
                Myst holds your gaze for a brief moment before shrinking back, her hands held up as if to defuse the tension. "I mean no harm, ${fname}. It's just…I felt you should know. That I can tell, I mean," Myst says. "I don't know if it's of any comfort, but only a few people can do so. You have to have a bit of dynast blood in you—well, none of that matters. It's just that this is the sort of thing people keep secret, and I feel it'd get us off on the wrong foot. If you didn't know that I knew, I mean."
                *label lossforw
                
                You find yourself at a loss for words. You have had little trouble keeping your arcana a secret for the vast majority of your life. In fact, had you not been forced to use it to escape Sienan, you likely would have taken this part of yourself directly to your grave.
                
                And yet here stands a friendly, unassuming-looking quartermaster—a glorified [i]receptionist[/i]—telling you that she can spot your nature with a mere glance. It's a lot to take in at once, and you feel your jaw clenching as you carefully consider what to say next.
                
                "You don't have to confirm or deny anything. I understand the distrust, really," Myst says. 'If you find the [i]ashai[/i] after this, she can probably confirm what I've told you."
                
                "I never told you that I've met the [i]ashai[/i]," you point out.
                *label safeassume
                
                "I figured it'd be safe to assume. You have her magic on you, after all."
                
                "What?"
                
                Myst points directly at your face. "She's used her arcana to change how you look to others. She does that for some of our new residents from time to time. When there's a worry that being recognized  by someone from their past life might bring about unwanted conflict."
                
                You blink at that, unsure how to process the information. Maintaining multiple appearance-altering glamors for indefinite periods of time is no small feat.
                
                "Yeah, it confuses me too," Myst admits, appearing to have taken your silence for befuddlement. "But such are the wonders of arcana, I suppose. Can't use it myself, so I don't know too much about the specifics. But these kinds of precautions have saved people a lot of trouble in the past, and the [i]ashai[/i] should be happy to take it off if you find you've got no use for it."
                *goto arrivalhub
                
*label postarrival
A younger girl tugs at Myst's shirt, then, murmuring what sounded like questions while pointing to a pile of boxes off to the room's right corner. Myst briefly answers her queries before waving her off, saying she'll join her in just a bit. "Looks like I'm needed elsewhere, ${fname}, but feel free to wander around the Common House if you want. Is there anything in specific you're looking for? I feel bad for abandoning you, so let me at least give you directions."

You give the question some thought. Given how diverse the Common House's operations are, there are plenty of ways for you to try and get the lay of the land. The tavern seems like it'd be a good place to talk to locals and listen in on conversations, get a finger on the city's pulse. Alternatively, the merchants' guild shop typically offer texts relevant to their area of operation—meaning you'd likely be able to purchase newspapers detailing Thulrum's current affairs, and perhaps even some primers on Arcadia. And finally, if you're interested in finding less…[i]overt[/i] ways of gathering information, there's a nonzero chance that you'd be able to find a netter in the adventurer's guild.

Which one draws your interest?

*choice
    #I'll ask for directions to the tavern.
        "Not a bad choice. First mug of ale's free on account of the festival," Myst says thoughtfully. "The taste isn't anything to get excited about, but it goes down nice enough. If you're looking for the [i]real[/i] good stuff, though, you'd have to hit up the Flying Pigs out in town. Take it from me—I'm there five nights a week."
        
        You blink. "I hadn't taken you for a drunkard."
        
        Myst laughs good-naturedly at that. "With how much work they throw at me, they should be grateful I don't drink on the job," she says, before pointing down a wide hallway north of the counter. "That's the main passageway, and you'll find the tavern right at the end. It's the biggest room in the whole building. You won't miss it even if you try."
        
        *if (charming > 50)
            You give her a smile by way of thanks. "You've been real helpful. Good luck with your work, Myst."
            
            The woman smiles and gives you a thumbs up. "Always happy to help a newcomer. You take care, now."
        *else
            You nod your head by way of thanks. "I'll get going, then."
            
            "And I should get back to work before the whole ship falls apart," Myst sighs. "You take care, ${fname}."
        
        And with that, you depart down the wide hallway and make your way towards the tavern.
        *page_break
        *goto tavernsegment
    #I'll see what the merchants' guild has to offer.
       "The merchants' guild, huh? It'll be a bit swamped today, you realize," Myst says. "Lots of money are being moved around today, on account of the festival. The line at the counters are probably downright disgusting right about now."
       
       You nod thoughtfully. Myst is likely referring to the savings counters—a system invented within the last decade, in which people can safely store their coins and withdraw them when the need arises. The White Fangs had opened one such account towards the end of your adventuring career, when it became too unwieldy to carry so much gold out to dangerous missions. Then the war came, of course, and the system all but fell apart when the Parami cities began to go under siege.
       
       *if (charming > 50)
           Luckily, you're not here for that—not when the only things you have to your name are a couple of silver pieces and the shirt off your back. "I'm looking to visit the guild shop, actually. I haven't been in Thulrum for long, so I want to look at some newspapers and history tomes, if they've got that in store."
           
           "Oh, then you're in luck. This week's papers came in just yesterday, if I remember correctly," Myst says. She the points down a wide hallway north of the counter, which is noticeably denser in traffic than anywhere else in the building. "That's the main passageway. Take the first left and go through the door, and you'll be in the guild room."
       *else
           Luckily, you're not here for that—not when the only things you have to your name are a couple of silver pieces and the shirt off your back. Not that Myst needs to know that, of course. "It's fine," you say, in lieu of giving her an explanation. "Just tell me where to go."
           
           Myst obliges you and points down a wide hallway north of the counter, which is noticeably denser in traffic than anywhere else in the building. "That's the main passageway. Take the first left and go through the door, and you'll be in the guild room."
           
       *if (charming > 50)
           You give her a smile by way of thanks. "You've been real helpful. Good luck with your work, Myst."
            
           The woman smiles and gives you a thumbs up. "Always happy to help a newcomer. You take care, now."
       *else
           You nod your head by way of thanks. "I'll get going, then."
            
           "And I should get back to work before the whole ship falls apart," Myst sighs. "You take care, ${fname}."
        
       And with that, you depart down the wide hallway and make your way towards the merchants' guild.
       *page_break
       *goto merchantsegment
    #I'll pay a visit to the adventurer's guild.
        Myst perks up when she hears your request. "The adventurer's guild, huh? Are you looking to take up a quest with them?" she says. "They put out a lot of hunting requests in preparation of the festival, but you missed the timing a bit. Still, it wouldn't hurt to take a look."
        
        You nod thoughtfully. Though the Thulrum adventurer's guild is divorced from the broader Arvanian network, it seems they get up to much of the same things. Hunting game and gathering herbs are some of the most common quests put up by the guild, and you've completed your fair share of them as part of the White Fangs. Most of your jobs back then had revolved around hunting down bandits and escorting merchant caravans, but you're on your own now, and it would be strange for Myst to point you towards such high-risk work.
        
        Her concern is misplaced, of course. Back when you fought under Leon's banner, you had mowed opposing soldiers down by the dozens before the front lines were even joined. And for all that Myst is apparently privy to your status as an arcanist, the kind of havoc you could wreak at your peak is likely beyond her comprehension.
        
        Regardless, what you're really looking for in the guild is an informant who'd be willing to engage in a trade of information. Someone outside the Church's sphere of influence, who could operate unfettered by their agenda.
        
        But what do you tell Myst?
        *choice
            #"I'll just take whatever they have left. I'm a bit strapped for coins, you see."
                "Sorry to hear it, but I'm sure you'll figure things out," Myst says. "If the guild hangs you out to dry, you can just come find me, ${fname}. We have budget enough to hire an additional worker, if only just barely."
                
                "Thanks for the offer," you reply. "I guess we'll see if it really comes to that."
                
                "I guess we will," she agrees, before pointing down a wide hallway north of the counter. "That there's the main passageway. Take the first right and go through the door, and you'll find the adventurer's guild."
            #"I'm just looking around. Not really looking to get back to adventuring just yet." 
                "Fair enough. It seems like a tough line of work, so I can hardly blame you," Myst says. "Though if you change your mind, I'm sure the guild master would be happy to have you. He's always on the lookout for new adventurers, says training up the rookies is a real pain in the backside."
                
                You furrow your brows. Back in Param, being a guild master is largely an administrative role, one that deals more with politics and finances than the adventurers themselves. "Your guild master handles rookies himself?"
                
                "A lot of the adventurers we get are former refugees, so they don't really have any experience under their belt," Myst explains. "The guild master used to be a bona fide knight out in Param, so he's taken it upon himself to whip these rookies into shape. He pretends like it's a bother, but anyone will tell you that he's real passionate about it. A real bleeding heart, though he'll whack you on the head if you say that to his face.
                
                "Anyway, the adventurer's guild just over by that way," she says, pointing down a wide hallway north of the counter. "Take the first right and go through the door, and you'll find the adventurer's guild."
                
        *if (charming > 50)
            You give her a smile by way of thanks. "You've been real helpful. Good luck with your work, Myst."
            
            The woman smiles and gives you a thumbs up. "Always happy to help a newcomer. You take care, now."
        *else
            You nod your head by way of thanks. "I'll get going, then."
            
            "And I should get back to work before the whole ship falls apart," Myst sighs. "You take care, ${fname}."
        
            And with that, you depart down the wide hallway and make your way towards the adventurer's guild.
        *page_break
        *goto adventuresegment

*label tavernsegment
*set thulrumbranch "charisma"
The first thing that hits you is the smell.

In hindsight, you should have known what to expect the moment you heard that free ale was being offered first thing in the morning. The crowd it would draw could not be anything other than what you now behold: the kind that forwent their morning wash, sprinted across the city under the morning sun, and elbowed their way into a favorable seat near the barkeep's counter. Incidentally, the tavern's layout is such that said counter was pushed up near the entrance, meaning that the first breath of air you inhale is a real pungent assault on the senses. You do your best not to retch, if only to refrain from adding your own sin to the tableau.

The second thing that hits you is an iron mug, powering through your battle-worn reflexes in your moment of distraction. It's a glancing blow, all told, only scratching you lightly on the side of the cheek, but the ale sloshing out of the mug and drenching your shoulder will doubtless prove an inconvenience. Before you can even ponder how to react, you are startled by the sound of shouting from the other side of the room. The same direction, you lucidly note, as the one from which the mug originated.

"These churchies think they can do whatever they want!" yells a burly, bearded man, the pink tint of his cheeks and the wet spot on his shirt both telltale signs of what he's been up to. "Think you're so high and mighty, do you? When you're just—[i]hic![/i]—riding the Archbishop's coattails!"

"The decisions were made in accordance with the Church of Ishavak's policies. Ones crafted by the Archbishop, in collaboration with the [i]ashai[/i] and the [i]talvar[/i]," replies the man standing opposite the drunk. Though evidently nonplussed at having to entertain the other man so early in the day, his tone remains civil and professional. From the garbs he dons, it's apparent that he's a reasonably high-ranking member of the Ishavak Church. He sidesteps a trembling punch from the drunk man, and the latter's momentum throws him off balance; he falls over and hits the wooden floor hard, cursing all the while. "This is highly unbecoming, Sir Rahn. You've caused an unseemly commotion during Thulrum's most important day. Not to mention," the clergyman pauses, throwing a glance your way. "it seems your rampage has caused great inconvenience to our new guest."

The priest's words only seem to stoke Rahn's anger, and he hoists himself onto his feet with a growl. "You another one of them, eh?" he says, pointing a meaty finger in your direction. "All you church types are the same! I bet you're here to screw me over, too!"

*choice
    #I let this Rahn have a piece of my mind.
        *set emotional %+ 15
        "Whatever bone you have to pick with the church, it's got nothing to do with me!" you exclaim, your voice matching Rahn's in volume. You stomp over to the source of the commotion, jabbing a finger into Rahn's chest as soon as you come face-to-face with him. "I'm just trying to enjoy the festival, same as anyone else. So what right does that give you to throw a mug at my face and get me drenched in ale? Huh?"
        
        Rahn goes red in the face and bats your hand away. "Who're you to talk to me like that, you punk?" he yells, spittle flying from his mouth. "I'm a proud citizen of Thulrum, born and raised! You think you can come in here from whatever ditch you crawled out of and tell [i]me[/i] how to behave? You should be grateful it wasn't the whole damn table I threw at you!"
        
        "Sir Rahn, that's quite enough," the priest beside him says gravely. "If you insist on this disorderly conduct, I will submit a plea to ban you from the Common House's premises."
        
        "Do it," Rahn growls, turning on the priest. "But before you do that, I'll make sure to give you both a piece of my—"
    #In lieu of entertaining his outburst, I examine the injury to my cheek.
        *set emotional %- 15
        Injury seems to be too strong a word, as it turns out. The patch of skin where the mug had collided is raised and stings a bit when pressed, but you will likely forget it ever existed within the hour.
        
        Rahn, drunk out of his mind, takes your silence as admission of guilt; he launches into a lengthy and passionate rant, riddled with enough curses that it would make a pirate blush. The whole of the tavern seems to turn their attentions on him as he yells to his heart's content. For your part, his insults enter one ear and leave the other without so much as registering in your brain. It would be beneath you to entertain his mad ramblings for even a second.
    #I use magic to lift the mug and return the favor to Rahn.
        *set noble %- 15
        It's difficult to feel too proud about what you're doing. You were once an archmage who turned the tide of entire battles with a flick of your wrist. And now here you are, in the middle of a tavern smelling like an ape's backside, using your hallowed art to hold your ground against a potbellied drunkard.
        
        But you never were one to take things lying down, and so you commit to the deed. What you cast is nothing so fancy as a spell—really, it's more a force of intent made manifest with mana—but all the same it wraps around the iron mug lying limp on the floor and launches it forward with great force. The mug sails through the air with a whoosh, catching Rahn in the jaw with such force that he staggers backward.
        
        "Argh, you!" he calls out, nursing his jaw with his hand. "You did that!"
        
        You regard him with some surprise. While it's not like you tried to hide your involvement, it's typically beyond the capabilities of a common person to trace the flow of mana back to you and recognize you as the culprit. It seems this Rahn has some experience dealing with mages—or, indeed, may be capable of magic himself. "So I did," you say brazenly, crossing your arms. "I'll consider us even."
        
        "That's it," Rahn slurs, his hands balling up into a fist. "When I get my hands on you—"
    #I deny being involved with the church in any capacity.
        "I'd thank you not to associate me with the church," you say flatly. "I'm only wearing this because I have no other choice."
        
        Rahn squints his eyes in distrust. "What, too poor for a visit to the outfitter?" he says, scanning you up and down. "Can't be. You're too put-together for that—not a speck of dirt on you."
        
        "Sir Rahn, that's quite enough," the priest beside him says while massaging his temple. "Whatever ${their} ties to the church may be, you owe ${them} an apology for your transgression."
        
        "I don't owe ${them} a rat's behind!" Rahn roars. "You churchies can't stop yapping about how important it is to be honest, but when push comes to shove, you lie as easily as everyone else, huh?" Sir Rahn grabs the priest by his collars and lifts, forcing the latter to stand on the tips of his toes. "Get off your blasted high horse. You're no better than anyone else, so why are you here playing god?"

*page_break "Rahn, you blasted [i]idiot[/i]!"

As one, all of the tavern's patrons swivel their heads to regard the source of the new voice: a stocky woman with greying blond hair and the gait of a warrior, come stomping through the entrance and making a beeline for Rahn. "I thought I told you to drop this," she says, scowling. "Why are you kicking up a fuss on the Day of Arrival? Lost your whole damn mind, did you?"

The shift in Rahn's attitude is nothing short of remarkable. He cowers at the sight of the woman, all his drunken bravado leaving him like hot air. If you didn't know better, you'd have sworn that the man had physically shrunk. "V-Vesna," he says with a shaky voice. "I-It's not what it looks like."

"Take me for a dimwit, do you?" Vesna answers, sounding angrier by the second. "I heard everything from down the hall. I thought you'd stay out of trouble just for today, spare my poor nerves so I could enjoy the [i]one day off[/i] I get the whole year, and this is what you go around doing?" The woman slams her knuckle into the top of Rahn's head, the sound of the impact so loud that you instinctively reach for your own. Jove, but this Vesna has a mean right hook. "You're going to apologize to everyone here, and then it's off to the house with you. If you so much as [i]think[/i] about going outside, I'll toss you out with nothing but your britches on, you hear me?"

Rahn meekly agrees to Vesna's demands and offer his apologies to the priest and you both. Twice, in fact—the first is one he does begrudgingly under his breath, while the second is an earnest, if desperate one, brought about by a second slam of Vesna's fist against his head. The latter then marches Rahn out of the tavern like a hunter walking her hound. In their wake, the tavern seamlessly returns into a jovial and relaxed atmosphere. You get the sense that what had just transpired was no rare occurrence.

The priest clears his throat to draw your attention. "I apologize for the commotion. You are a guest of the Ishavak Church, yes? I hope you will have a splendid time in Thulrum," he says. "I…should go and follow them, I think. While I don't think too highly of Sir Rahn, Vesna is a good woman. I should hate to see her jailed on account of murdering her husband."

You blink at his words, unable to tell whether or not he's exaggerating. Regardless, the priest excuses himself and ducks into the tavern's exit, leaving you thoroughly stumped in the middle of the packed tavern.

*page_break

"That Rahn is always kicking up a fuss. If lashing out at a priest was all it took to get your entire family approved for the relocation program, we'd be up to our eyeballs in new residents by now."

You turn to regard the source of the voice: a young, smartly-dressed man with slicked-back hair and an air of confidence about him. He's sitting at the tavern's largest table, which comfortably seats his party of ten; there are a couple of seats open still, including the one directly to his left. A curvaceous woman with pale hair and a vivid red dress sits on his other side, and smiles as she regards you with curiosity. "Sorry you had to see such an ugly side of Thulrum when you've only just arrived. I hope you won't take too much offense to the drunk ramblings of a desperate man," she says. "It's not like I don't understand where he's coming from. Putting your roots down in a whole new city without the church's help can be quite daunting. Still, if he feels that strongly about getting his whole family out of Silcur, he should at least make an effort to sponsor their relocation, instead of harassing the clergy just because he doesn't get his way."

"Ah well," the man responds, shrugging his shoulders. "I'm sure Vesna is giving him a good dressing-down right about now—and not in the fun way, eh?" He earns a punch on the arm for that, which he pointedly ignores. "Anyway, I doubt he'll make any more trouble in the near future."

"And that conveniently leaves us with you," the woman says to you, still smiling. "You came alone, did you? Why don't you have a seat with us?"

*choice
    #I happily take them up on the offer.
        *set optimistic %+ 15
        You internally celebrate your unexpected stroke of luck. Your goal in coming to the tavern had been to mingle with locals and get what information you could out of them, but that's easier said than done as a total foreigner to the city. You had expected to have to muscle your way into conversations for rumors and news; and yet, here is a table of ten who regards you with friendly smiles and good cheer. You'll be sure to make good use of this opportunity.
        
        "That'll be great, actually," you reply, affecting a bashful air. "I'm new to the city, so I don't really have anyone to hang out with. I was getting nervous that I might have to spend the entire festival just keeping to myself."
        
        "Oh, we can't have that now, can we?" the girl responds, tapping the table just in front of an empty seat. "From today onwards, you can consider us friends. We'll do what we can to help you get settled in!"
        
        The man next to her coughs into his hand. "Don't you think we're moving a little too fast? You might be making our guest here uncomfortable."
        
        "Then ${they} can tell me that ${them}self," she says, waving him off. "Stop being such a wet blanket."
        
        You laugh at their bickering and slide into the empty seat. The man grins at you congenially and flags down a barmaid before ordering a glass of ale on your behalf. "The brew here is nothing to write home about, but ale always tastes better when it's free," he says. "So, stranger, got a name we can call you?"
    #I don't know if this is a good idea.
        *set optimistic %- 15
        You regard the pair with some hesitance. While mingling with locals had been your goal in coming to the tavern, you had expected to have to wrangle your way into conversations, discreetly unearthing information about the state of Arvanand as you do. Perhaps everything that had happened to you has made you distrustful by nature; things just look a bit too [i]convenient[/i].
        
        Still, if the hope was that you would be able to keep a low profile while snooping around, Rahn has made quick work of that.
        
        "We don't bite, you know," the girl says, evidently amused by your hesitation. "It's just obvious that you're not from around town, so we thought we'd help you get settled in."
        
        You smile and take her up on the offer—if only not to draw even more attention to yourself. You take the seat next to the man, who grins at you and orders a glass of ale on your behalf. "The brew here is nothing to write home about, but ale always tastes better when it's free," he says. "So, stranger, got a name we can call you?"

You obligingly give your name, and the table goes around and gives their own introductions in turn. The man and woman who had talked to you call themselves Havan and Sarai, respectively, a pair of siblings who belongs to an unconventional performing troupe—a freakshow, Sarai had called it, before Havan pinches her hard on the arm and tells you that the term cirque is preferred. The rest of the table—which vary wildly in appearance and age, from a hulking, one-eyed man to an old lady who is so thin that you fear a strong gust would knock her over—apparently belongs to the cirque as well.

*page_break

"Demand for our show is high wherever there's a festival, so we travel a lot. We've been all over, really," says Lev, the cirque's youngest performer. The boy looks so young that you questioned whether he should be drinking at all, but Havan giddily informs you that he turned nineteen just the other day. "Most of us are born and raised in Thulrum, so we spend a lot of time here in our down season. It just so happens that the Day of Arrival lands right in the middle of it, so it all works out quite nicely for us."

You hum with interest. "So you'll be putting on a performance today?"

"Heavens, no," says Arbel, the old lady who—to your surprise—is unanimously recognized as the most skilled and daring acrobat of the whole lot. "It would hardly be right to have Sarai twisting herself up like weavebread on such an auspicious occasion." The weavebread in question responds by making an offended noise; if Arbel heard her, she makes no mention of it. "The Church organizes much of the entertainment provided on this day, and they do a good job of it, too. I should be very excited to see the play put together by the town's children tonight."

Lev nods enthusiastically. "I did them as well up until a couple of years ago. Everyone always works really hard on it, so you'd be in for a good show if you decide to stop by."

"But look at us blathering on," Havan says in between sips of his ale. "Conversations ought to be a two-way street, yeah? Tell us about yourself, ${fname}."

The moment of truth. This topic was bound to come up one way or another, and you've done your best to come up with a cover story that would fly with your new acquaintances. All that's left is to [i]perform[/i] it, to make sure they believe the fiction you weave, enough so that your mysterious origins won't present a problem for you down the road.

*choice
    #I keep things simple and uneventful in hopes of killing their curiosity.
        It's a time of upheaval and change, meaning that everyone who hasn't been living as a hermit in the woods has at least one or two things about them worth telling. In such a convoluted social landscape, the best way to keep out of sight would be to willingly get lost in the shuffle. Before the day is out, your new acquaintances will likely have met new people with their own exciting stories to tell. Who would pay any mind to a common scribe from some out-of-the-way town in the Parami north?
        
        That's the tale you weave for them, in the end. You had worked for a low-ranking noble who paid you far below the going rate on account of your Arcadian heritage; after a particularly harsh winter where you had not the coins to keep the fireplace going, you had decided enough was enough. Luckily, you had a chance encounter with a priest belonging to the Seat of Isha, and after listening to your pitiful story, he generously offered to sponsor your move to Thulrum.
        
        "I'll be looking into work opportunities soon, but I'm just taking things easy right now," you say, smiling. "It's been refreshing not to have some lord or other breathing down my neck, so I want to enjoy it while it lasts."
        
        "I know just what you mean," says Balgar, a gruff, muscular man who professes himself a sword-swallower. "I used to be a city guard out in Calinger, and half the time I have to resist the urge to shove my spear up the fief lord's behind."
        
        A rather graphic claim, but one that provides a convenient entry point to the discussion you were going for. "Calinger, huh? I heard the Salantir occupation took quite a brutal toll on the city. Are the reconstruction efforts going smoothly? It's a central location in Param, after all…"
    #I keep my story close to the truth. If I lie, it will only be by omission.
        Your new acquaintances appear the sort to be well-connected in the city, and so the story you tell them may well take on a life of its own outside of the tavern's walls. It's important that your story remains consistent; and for that specific purpose, nothing is better than a generous helping of the truth.
        
        You tell them the broad strokes of your life leading up to this point, omitting certain details and downplaying the extent of your prowess and achievement where possible. The image you paint of yourself is that of a Salantir mage apprentice who moved to eastern Param to help your aunt's business, and went on to become an adventurer out in Calinger. Then came the Salantir invasion, during which you were drafted into the Parami rebellion alongside legions of other adventurers; at the war's close, you found yourself following where the wind blew: west, to the Holy City of Thulrum.
        
        "You were in the Parami army?" Lev asks, a twinkle in his eyes. "Were you there when they retook Calinger? They say it was the most heroic battle ever fought—I wish I could've seen it with my own eyes."
        
        The truth is nothing so glamorous, of course. When you are knee-deep in the mire, dragging your legs through a sea of dead bodies, it is difficult to think of the carnage as something so romantic. Still, Lev is young, and Thulrum is far removed from the main conflict zones of the Parami-Salantir war. Most of what he knows of the Battle of Calinger likely came out the lips of some drunken bard, and so his naivety is entirely reasonable.
        
        "It was a difficult battle. We were only convinced that we won the day once the rebellion flag was raised over the battlements," you say vaguely, hoping to move on quickly from the subject. Besides, you know what you're here for, and the subject at hand makes for a convenient segue. "The city was thoroughly brutalized when we took over; I hope the reconstruction efforts are going well. By any chance, would you happen to know anything about that?"
    #I vaguely allude to a traumatic past I'm desperate to move on from.
        You've known them for all of thirty minutes, but your new acquaintances appear to be the decent, tactful sort; perhaps the best way to ensure they refrain from prying is to tug on their heartstrings. Besides, Thulrum as a whole is a kind of haven for Arcadian refugees. To have some sort of wretched past you're eager to leave behind is likely par for the course for a new arrival to the city. In that way, perhaps you will blend right in with the crowd.
        
        "It's a long story," you say, smiling wistfully. You hardly even need to put on an act; your life up to this point has hardly been a walk in the park. "Perhaps I'll tell you some other time."
        
        Most of the table catches your meaning and gives you an understanding nod, but you had failed to account for Lev and his youthful naivety. "We're hardly pressed for time," he says, looking genuinely baffled. "We just want to get to know—"
        
        He never does get to finish his sentence, as Sarai jabs her fork into the dish in front of her—some kind of sliced hard bread seasoned with local herbs—and stuffs it forcefully into Lev's mouth. "I'll apologize on our youngest's behalf. He's not the sharpest tool in the shed, but I assure you he means no harm."
        
        "It's no problem," you say, holding up your hands in a bid to pacify her. "I should've been clearer."
        
        "This dish sure is good, though," Havan says, helping himself to his own slice of hard bread. "Reminds me of this thing we had in Calinger. Brownrings, I think they were called?"
        
        The dish he had in mind must have been brownlings—hard breads dipped in a vegetable bisque—but you refrain from correcting him. There are more important things to attend to, now that Haven's given you a decent entry point to discussing current affairs. "I always wanted to visit Calinger, but I heard it was in quite a brutal shape after the Salantir occupation. Are the reconstruction efforts going smoothly? It's a central location in Param, after all…"

*set charisma %+ 25
*page_break
You steer the conversation expertly, turning your attention to different cities across Arvanand as naturally as you can manage. Thankfully, it's not a difficult task. The siblings and their cirque are extremely well-traveled as a result of their occupation, and they're only too happy to prattle on about the cities they've been to. The focus tends to be on superficial things like the weather and the local delicacies, but with a bit of prodding you manage to extract a fair amount of valuable information from them.

First, Thulrum remains as it ever has: a neutral state small enough in size and strength so as to be considered insignificant in Arvanian politics. Though it expertly avoids crafting overt ties to any one state, Thulrum appears to share a particular affinity with Salantira, with a significant volume of trade in magical stones and armaments, coupled with a growing interest in the Ishavak faith among the Salantir populace.

Second, Salantira has undergone massive internal strife following the war, and the nation's empty coffers served as the sole reason as to why it hasn't boiled over into a full-on civil war. As a result of the conflict, the old Grand Duke—revealed to be a mere puppet of his general Mireil—had been deposed and placed under house arrest, his post taken over by a distant relative who had loudly protested against the invasion of Param. Many members of Salantira's high nobility, which had aligned itself with the Grand Duke and his war council, were stripped of their land and wealth, becoming nobles in name only. A new class of nobles have taken their place, rising from the merchantry and—surprisingly enough—members of the Ishavak clergy, whose wartime sacrifices for the people of Salantira had made them so popular that they were granted nobility by the new Grand Duke.

And lastly, Param appears to be proceeding apace with its reconstruction efforts, bankrolled in large part by Salantir war reparations. The performers claim that a number of important castles and forts across Param had finished being rebuilt, and that the extravagance of the project had breathed much-needed life into Param's post-war economy. You further get the sense that the people by and large hold the monarchy in high esteem, as despite a few rocky controversies towards the start of his rule, Param has found an adept and even-handed ruler in King Leon.

*choice
    #I'm happy to see that they're doing well. That it all meant something.
        *set noble %+ 15
        An odd feeling pools in the pit of your stomach—equal parts pride, joy, and wistfulness. This had been what you were fighting for over the course of the war, the future you had saved by driving a knife into the saintess's heart. You were reviled as the worst of demons, but in the wake of your sacrifice, something beautiful had blossomed. Like flowers upon a charred grave.
        
        You've been through enough to know that you were never meant for happy endings. This, too, is something that you will learn to be content with. Just as you always have.
    #I scoff. So I'm the only one to get the short end of the stick.
        *set noble %- 15
        Try as you might to forget it, the memory of that day still burns brightly in your mind—the jeering crowd, the lick of fire against your skin, the frigid gaze of
        *if (leonrom)
            the man you had loved.
        *else
            the man you had once considered a confidant.
        Did his voice waver as he gave the order? Was there anything under his vindictive, righteous fury, or had that too been cast into the flames? 
        
        Whatever the case may be, it appears that Param has done nothing but thrive on the back of your sacrifice. A radiant bloom bursting from a charred grave, its scent sweet enough so as to make you vomit.
    #More than anything, I resent my execution being downplayed as some 'controversy'.
        *set emotional %+ 15
        It was not enough that Param repaid your devotion with a pyre; they now seem intent on purging you from history altogether. Perhaps your former companions thought this some form of kindness, that to be forgotten is better than to be remembered a fool who all but tied ${them}self to the stake. But what does that say of the worth of your contributions, the life you had laid down for their cause?
        
        Something settles in the pit of your stomach, leaden and sickly, and you dare not pair a name to the feeling.

*page_break

Conversation and ale continue to pour freely between the eleven of you, and it would be another hour or so before your peace is interrupted once more. Said interruption comes by way of Myst, who bursts through the tavern door in a breathless rush, her searching gaze flooding with relief as it settles on you. "${fname}," she calls out. "Thank goodness, you're still here."

You exchange confused glances with Havan before turning to regard her proper. "Is something the matter?"

"Yes," Myst says urgently, still heaving for breath. She glances over at your new companions and appears to ponder something, before meekly motioning for you to follow her out of the tavern. "There's something I have to discuss with you, if you could spare the time."

The gentleness of her phrasing appears to imply some trivial matter has occurred, but the look of pure panic etched onto her face tells another story. You suppose it would be prudent to follow her out, if only not to risk hysteria in the middle of a packed tavern.

You exchange quick goodbyes with the cirque, who politely affects an air of nonchalance for your benefit—though you still feel their gazes boring onto your back as Myst ushers you out of the room. Whatever it is Myst has summoned you for, it had better be worth it, considering she's all but stomped all over your efforts to keep a low profile.

'I apologize, ${fname}—I ought to have been more considerate," Myst leads. "But this is a matter of great urgency, and I really am out of options."

"You still haven't told me what's going on," you point out.

"Right, right, I'm sorry," she says. "We've received news that one of the caravans transporting refugees to Thulrum has been beset by bandits near the forest's outskirts. I've sent out a missive to organize a dispatch of temple knights, but I'm not sure they'll be able to reach the location in time." Myst draws in closer to you, then, her voice dropping to a whisper. "This is only my own conjecture, but are you a combatant, ${fname}? All the arcanists I know are great fighters, so if you'd be willing to buy some time for the knights, I can Spirit Gate you to the location—I know it's a lot to ask, but this has never happened before, so I'm shooting blind here, and—"

*choice
    #"Send me there straightaway. There's no time to lose."
        *set noble %+ 15
        Relief floods Myst's features, and she dips her head low in a gesture of gratitude. "Thank you, ${fname}. We won't forget this."
    #"I can do that, but what's in it for me?"
        *set noble %- 15
        "You'll be appropriately compensated, I swear it. I'd have to talk with the [i]ashai[/i] to get an exact figure, but I wouldn't ask you to risk your life for mere silvers," she says earnestly. "If you find the reward lacking, I'll pay the difference out of my own pocket. Please, ${fname}. I oversaw this operation myself, and I'd never forgive myself if anything bad happens to them."
        
        "I understand," you say, holding a hand up. "You had better keep up your end of the bargain."
        
        Relief floods Myst's features, and she dips her head low in a gesture of gratitude. "I will. Thank you, ${fname}. I won't forget this."
    #"You didn't think to guard the caravan? They've been through enough!"
        *set emotional %+ 15
        Myst wrings her hands together. "We hired an adventuring party as escorts. We've been working with them for years, but this is the first time that we've let them handle the caravan on their own. We'd usually have a couple of temple knights with them, but manpower is spread thin on account of the festival…" Myst shakes her head. "It's no excuse. This was sloppy work on my part, and I'll do everything in my power to make things right. ${fname}, if you're willing to go, I'll make sure you're compensated generously by the Church. And if you find the gold lacking, I'll pay the difference out of my own pocket. Just…please."
        
        You stare Myst down for a second before relenting. "Fine. Lead the way."
        
        Relief floods Myst's features, and she dips her head low in a gesture of gratitude. "Thank you, ${fname}. I won't forget this."
        
Myst tugs on your sleeve and leads you down a series of hallways which culminate in an isolated chamber, far removed from the Common House's main thoroughfare. As soon as the door slams shut behind her, Myst's mana begins to simmer in the air, twisting into a large magic circle which quickly morphs into a spirit gate.

"I'll send reinforcements after you quickly," Myst promises. "Isha-on-high keep you, ${fname}."

The air twists and churns under the weight of arcane power. You step into the spirit gate, feeling waves of mana cloaking over your form, and allow the spell to whisk you away.
*goto enduntitled

*label merchantsegment
*set thulrumbranch "learning"
"Welcome to the Goldmine! How can I help you today?"

You give a once-over at the woman behind the counter, who wears the perfect sort of businesslike smile better suited to gambling house tables than a shop counter. Her simple frilled shirt and no-nonsense bun gives off a workmanlike impression, but her lustrous hair and uncommonly healthy complexion implies that she's very well-compensated by the merchants' guild. Her nametag reads Golda, and you have to wonder if it's a fake name she has to take on for the job, given how committed the guild appears to be in driving their on-the-nose image home.

"I'm looking for your most recent newspaper. Some history texts, too, if you have them in store."

"We certainly do," she says. "This way, please."

Golda leads you down a path that snakes around painted shelves and displays, all of them filled to the brim with various knick-knacks. A brightly-colored liquid in a corked carafe is advertised as extract from the cevultin flower, local to Thulrum, and resting next to it is a journal said to be bound with the leather of a Thulrum beast. It appears the Goldmine is primarily a local specialty shop for visiting merchants, who would then presumably distribute the goods on their travels throughout Arvanand.

That said, the place is currently all but deserted, with only one or two others milling about the spacious shop—a stark contrast from the throngs of people just outside, whIch houses the merchants' guild proper. It appears that the merchants are wholly uninterested in taking their business out of Thulrum right now, on the cusp of the city's lone and doubtless profitable festival.

"This is the selection we have in store," Golda says as you come upon a wall-to-wall bookshelf lining the back of the shop. "Please feel free to browse at leisure. I believe what you're looking for is over there on the left side; if you find our selection wanting, I'll be happy to direct you to the dedicated bookstores we have in town."

You thank Golda for her help, and the woman retreats back to her counter at the front of the shop. For your part, you fetch off the shelf the most recent edition of the local newspaper—the Thulrum Times, its front page proudly reads—as well as a book that caught your attention…

*label bookselect
*choice
    #Of Dynasts and Men: An Account of Arcadia Before the Fall
        A flip through the book's pages tells you that the book contains exactly what it advertises: a historical account of Arcadia in the time just before Param and Salantira's joint invasion. It explores in significant detail the nation's culture and social structures, its economy, and the state of its magical advances. Many of the conclusions it presents, you realize, are agglomerated from word-of-mouth tales and what little scraps of information could be salvaged from the embers of a razed nation. The book must have taken an extraordinary amount of scholarly and archaeological work to put together, and that alone would justify its relatively steep price tag.
        
        Is this the book you will purchase?
        *choice
            #Yes, I'll purchase this book.
                *goto postbook
            #No, I'll purchase something else.
                You return the book to its place on the shelf and continue browsing.
                
                What title draws your interest?
                *goto bookselect
    #The Burning Seat
        Upon inspecting the book's contents, the titular Seat refers to the Seat of Isha, the very temple in which you were resurrected, which has long held a symbolic meaning for Thulrum and Arcadia as a whole. The book details the day when much of Thulrum was razed to the ground, leaving the Seat of Isha—protected by ancient magic beyond the ken of even the noblest Arcadian dynasts—stood alone, burning but undamaged, as its faithful died in scores around her. The book is told from three perspectives—a common Arcadian laborer, a Salantir soldier, and an Imperial merchant caught in the conflict—all of whom survived the siege of Thulrum and went on to record their tales in private letters and memoirs. Their wildly varying accounts of the day Thulrum burned are presented without commentary, and the reader is demanded to piece together the truth of what happened in accordance with their own beliefs.
        
        Is this the book you will purchase?
        *choice
            #Yes, I'll purchase this book.
                *goto postbook
            #No, I'll purchase something else.
                You return the book to its place on the shelf and continue browsing.
                
                What title draws your interest?
                *goto bookselect
    #Shades of the Arcane
        The book's subject matter is readily apparent from its title alone: Shades of the Arcane is a study of the lost art of arcana, which had formed the backbone of Arcadian power and influence—so much so that its society had been organized around it. Compiled in equal parts from esoteric magical research and old wives' tales, the book outlines the various miracles Arcadians of old were said to be able to manifest, including such fantastic feats as manipulation of spacetime and true resurrection of the dead. What information could be gathered regarding the art's foundational theorems are also presented—along with a hefty amount of disclaimers and competing opinions of leading experts in the magical field.
        
        Is this the book you will purchase?
        *choice
            #Yes, I'll purchase this book.
                *goto postbook
            #No, I'll purchase something else.
                You return the book to its place on the shelf and continue browsing.
                
                What title draws your interest?
                *goto bookselect

*label postbook
*set learning %+ 25
You take both items back to Golda, and she rings your purchase up with a smile. She recites that same parting line you hear at all the highbrow establishments—[i]thank you for your patronage, we hope to see you again![/i]—and informs you of an in-house seating section off to the corner, which you could peruse at leisure.

You take her up on the offer, opting for a table that leans up against the wall—one of five in the area, though yours is the only one occupied. You take out your purchases and reach for the newspaper first, briefly marveling at the quality of the print—neat black letters on pale brown parchment, likely produced with a magic-powered press. Its contents run the gamut—from the sort of interest stories and penny dreadfuls targeted at the common layman, to discussions on international politics which were generally popular among academics and nobility. You take particular interest in this segment, hoping to piece together whatever had happened since your execution.

It's a lot to hope for from a paper that only covers the events of the past week, but coupling it with things you've picked up in since awakening allows you to draw some conclusions. First, Thulrum remains as it ever has: a neutral state small enough in size and strength so as to be considered insignificant in Arvanian politics. Though it expertly avoids crafting overt ties to any one state, Thulrum appears to share a particular affinity with Salantira, with a significant volume of trade in magical stones and armaments, coupled with a growing interest in the Ishavak faith among the Salantir populace.

Second, Salantira has undergone massive internal strife following the war, and the nation's empty coffers served as the sole reason as to why it hasn't boiled over into a full-on civil war. As a result of the conflict, the old Grand Duke—revealed to be a mere puppet of his general Mireil—had been deposed and placed under house arrest, his post taken over by a distant relative who had loudly protested against the invasion of Param. Many members of Salantira's high nobility, which had aligned itself with the Grand Duke and his war council, were stripped of their land and wealth, becoming nobles in name only. A new class of nobles have taken their place, rising from the merchantry and—surprisingly enough—members of the Ishavak clergy, whose wartime sacrifices for the people of Salantira had made them so popular that they were granted nobility by the new Grand Duke.

And lastly, Param appears to be proceeding apace with its reconstruction efforts, bankrolled in large part by Salantir war reparations. The papers claim that a number of important castles and forts across Param had finished being rebuilt, and that the extravagance of the project had breathed much-needed life into Param's post-war economy. And to top it all off, satisfaction with the monarchy is at an all-time high, as despite a few rocky controversies towards the start of his rule, Param has found an adept and even-handed ruler in King Leon.

*choice
    #I'm happy to see that they're doing well. That it all meant something.
        *set noble %+ 15
        An odd feeling pools in the pit of your stomach—equal parts pride, joy, and wistfulness. This had been what you were fighting for over the course of the war, the future you had saved by driving a knife into the saintess's heart. You were reviled as the worst of demons, but in the wake of your sacrifice, something beautiful had blossomed. Like flowers upon a charred grave.
        
        You've been through enough to know that you were never meant for happy endings. This, too, is something that you will learn to be content with. Just as you always have.
    #I scoff. So I'm the only one to get the short end of the stick.
        *set noble %- 15
        Try as you might to forget it, the memory of that day still burns brightly in your mind—the jeering crowd, the lick of fire against your skin, the frigid gaze of
        *if (leonrom)
            the man you had loved.
        *else
            the man you had once considered a confidant.
        Did his voice waver as he gave the order? Was there anything under his vindictive, righteous fury, or had that too been cast into the flames? 
        
        Whatever the case may be, it appears that Param has done nothing but thrive on the back of your sacrifice. A radiant bloom bursting from a charred grave, its scent sweet enough so as to make you vomit.
    #More than anything, I resent my execution being downplayed as some 'controversy'.
        *set emotional %+ 15
        It was not enough that Param repaid your devotion with a pyre; they now seem intent on purging you from history altogether. Perhaps your former companions thought this some form of kindness, that to be forgotten is better than to be remembered a fool who all but tied ${them}self to the stake. But what does that say of the worth of your contributions, the life you had laid down for their cause?
        
        Something settles in the pit of your stomach, leaden and sickly, and you dare not pair a name to the feeling.

*page_break "Argh! None of this makes any sense!"

You startle out of your reverie, snapping your head to see that the table next to yours has found a new occupant. Said occupant—a teenage girl with long red hair tied into messy pigtails—flips one hand through a thick, leatherbound tome, her other hand scrawling a wild mess of ink on a ragged piece of parchment. She proceeds in that fashion for another few seconds, before slamming her quill against the table and holding her head in her hands. "There's no way this rune would fit the circle…Jove, I'd have better luck trying to scam a [i]kugen[/i]…"

A familiar figure walks over to the girl's crumpled form, then, her hand reaching down to grip the girl's shoulder. "Phia," Golda says sweetly, her evergreen smile taking on a rather sinister form. "I believe I had instructed you to be quiet."

Phia yelps in pain, her hand furiously batting against Golda's grip. "Argh, let go, you old bat!"

"Is that how you should talk to your aunt?" Golda replies, still smiling. "My sister has been quite lax on you. I'll be sure to see that rectified."

Phia lets out a string of increasingly creative profanities, and Golda immediately steps to place herself between you and the girl—as if to shield you from having to gaze upon a lowly aberration. "I do apologize for the disturbance, customer. There is a mage in the guild's employ who is capable of casting the Glyph of Silencing. If you wish, I will have them over shortly."

*choice
    #"No worries. Kids that age can be quite a handful, huh?"
        *set charming %+ 15
        Golda seems appreciative of your understanding; Phia, on the other hand, seems to take issue with your words. "Who are you calling a kid?" she calls out, sticking her head out beside Golda so as to look you in the eyes. "I'll have you know I turn fifteen this year, and I've secured an apprenticeship with the Noringia Mage Tower—"
        
        "Yes, yes, that's very impressive," Golda cuts in. "But it's not the tower master that will be feeding you tonight, is it? So if you don't want to find a toad in your dinner stew, I suggest you do as I say and work [i]quietly[/i]."
        *goto fineigetit
    #"Just make sure she quiets down. I can't focus with all this noise."
        Golda dips her head lightly. "My apologies. I assure you that she will be on her [i]very best behavior[/i]," she says, shooting a very sharp smile over at Phia as she does.
        
        Phia's crosses her arms, clearly dissatisfied. "I just don't see what the big deal is. How does anyone get any work done if they have to be conscious of every little thing? I bet you that in the Mage Tower—"
        
        "But we aren't in the Mage Tower now, are we, Phia?" Golda says sweetly. "And it's not the tower master that'll be feeding you tonight, either. So if you don't want to find a toad in your dinner, I suggest you do as I say and work [i]quietly[/i]."
        *goto fineigetit
    #"I can cast the Glyph of Silencing myself, if you'll allow it."
        *set noble %- 15
        Golda flinches at the offer, though her smile remains infallible. "If she continues to be a bother, you are welcome to do so," she says. "But I assure you that from now on, she will be on her very best behavior. [i]Isn't that right, Phia[/i]?"
        
        "So you're a mage, too?" the girl says, in lieu of answering Golda. "Which tower do you belong to? I'm apprenticing with the Noringia Mage Tower. The tower master scouted me himself!"
        
        "And I'll make sure he sees neither hide or tail of you this winter, if you don't stop bothering our guests," Golda says sweetly. "It's still me putting the clothes on your back and feeding you your meals, so if you don't want to find a toad in your stew tonight, you should do as I say and work [i]quietly[/i]."
        *goto fineigetit

*label fineigetit
        
Phia makes a face, but reluctantly relents. "Fine, I get it already. You're always so mean, Auntie."
        
Golda chuckles good-naturedly. "If that were the case, I would charge your mother ten gold a day for having to babysit her little hellraiser," she says, pinching the bridge of Phia's nose. "Now stop bothering the customers, alright? There's a good girl."
        
Phia mutters something under her breath that makes Golda's brow twitch, but obligingly returns to her studies. You catch a glimpse of her work as she turns her parchment over, and you're surprised to find that she's doing advanced runework, the type normally reserved for active battle mages. Of course, Salantira's royal tutors had you master it by the time you turned twelve, but it's still extraordinary that a mere apprentice could so much as grasp the underlying theory. And by the looks of her progress, Phia has advanced far beyond the basics and completed half of the first circle necessary to cast Sunflame.

*if (thaum > 75)
    Over the course of your career, the spell has become one you would use time and time again—so much so that you could likely complete the runework while being drunk out of your mind. If you wanted, you could easily solve Phia's conundrum and set her on her way towards completing the circle.
*elseif (thaum > 49)
    Even as one of the most powerful mages in Arvanand, full usage of the spell eludes you still. But the final layer of the spell is what trips you up, rather than these foundational early steps. If you wanted, you could easily solve Phia's conundrum and set her on her way towards completing the circle.
*else
    Even though mastery of thaum is easily one of your biggest weaknesses, these foundational early steps are still well within your scope of knowledge. If you wanted, you could likely help Phia find a way out of her conundrum and set her on her way towards completing the circle.

*choice
    #I offer to help her out.
        "Would you like some help with that?" you ask, looking over at the young apprentice.
        
        "@{pronvar With this circle, Mister?|With this circle, Miss?|With this circle?} Can you figure out what it does?" she says, looking equal parts curious and doubtful.
        
        "The Dragon's Head circle, with a Line of Heaven centerpiece. That's the intent, at least—your Line's configuration is faulty, and it's throwing off the rest of the layer."
        
        Phia's eyes widen comically, and she immediately rises and scrambles over to you, parchment and quill in hand. "You offered to help just now, right? You can't take it back!"
        
        "Phia, manners!" Golda calls out behind her.
        
        "You can't take it back, [i]please[/i]," Phia amends earnestly. "Help me finish this. I'll give you my share of the hunters' stew!"
        
        Said hunters' stew likely refers to the public potluck they'll hold in the city center, as part of the Day of Arrival's festivities. Hardly proper compensation for your level of magical expertise, and judging by the sigh Golda lets out, she knows it, too. Regardless, you pluck the parchment and quill from Phia's hands and begin to work on her problem. You make corrections to her runework, explaining the rationale as you go—and for all that the girl cringes as you destroy what she must consider a masterpiece, she listens intently all the same.
        
        At the end of it all, Phia sinks into the chair next to yours, having experienced such intense enlightenment that it left her dazed. "@{pronvar "Mister, you're|Miss, you're|You must be} a genius. My teacher would never have thought of doing it this way," she says.
        
        She's likely correct, you realize lucidly. Even among tower mages, not many would devote themselves to the study of magic in basest form: the thousands of runes which form the backbone of spellwork, as well as their countless interactions with one another. Most would rather default to true and tested configuration, forging them into magic through rote memorization in lieu of truly understanding the miracles they work.
        
        Of course, that means that true mastery would be beyond these mages' reach. But what need have they of that when even a mediocre, inflexible mage remains in consistently high demand?
        
        You glance over at Phia, the sparkle of excitement in her eyes as she pores over your corrections. There's a fire in her that's become increasingly difficult to find, and you can't help but feel pleased that you've played a part in keeping it alive.
    #I'll keep my nose out of her business.
        Golda retreats to her counter, leaving Phia to continue puzzling over her her work. She occasionally yanks at her hair and makes elaborately exasperated gestures, but by and large keeps her word to remain silent. For your part, you return to your own reading, hoping to get a better sense of how Arvanand has fared since the close of the war.
        
        You are not able to do so for long before Phia sheepishly tugs at your sleeve. As you turn your attention towards her, the girl could not even meet your eyes. "Um, please help me."
        
        You blink. "What do you mean?"
        
        "With this circle," she says, showing you the piece of parchment she's been working on. "You recognize what this is, don't you? I saw your eyes linger on it earlier. I mean, if it drew your interest, then you must know one or two things about it, don't you?"
        
        You lean an arm against the table. "And what if I do?"
        
        "Then…then I'll give you my share of the hunter's stew if you help me out," the girl says earnestly. She is likely referring to the public potluck they'll hold in the city center, as part of the Day of Arrival's festivities. Hardly proper compensation for your level of magical expertise, all told.
        
        *choice
            #"You should figure it out yourself. I'm busy."
                Phia pouts at your cold response, but obediently scoots back to her table, crestfallen. Your reasons for turning her away were hardly charitable, but you figure you might have done her a favor all the same. After all, no piece of knowledge sticks better than one gained through the sweat of your own brow. By giving her the easy way out, you may well be stunting her growth. Clearly, if she's messing around with the runes of Sunflame as a mere apprentice, she hardly needed an intervention.
                
                You catch a glimpse of Golda scowling at the edge of your vision, clearly displeased that Phia's seen fit to bother you yet again. She shoots you an apologetic smile, and you respond with a curt nod. If nothing else, you're just glad to finally get some peace and quiet.
            #"How about this? I'll give you a hint, but you'll finish the rest yourself."
                Phia nods eagerly at your offer, all but thrusting her parchment in your face. "Please tell me where I got it wrong."
                
                You give her work a once-over and find your suspicions confirmed: it's a Dragon's Head circle with a Line of Heaven as the centerpiece, as is demanded by Sunflame's first layer. But the runes she's used to form the Line of Heaven are faulty, such that mana would not be properly channeled to the rest of the layer.
                
                You trace a finger down the Line of Heaven, watching Phia's eyes widen as you pause on the faulty runes. "These would fit better on a summoning spell than an offensive one. Do you understand?"

                Phia considers your words for a brief moment before nodding enthusiastically. "Thanks!" she says giddily, before snatching the paper out of your hands and rushing back to her table. You catch Golda scowling at the edge of your vision; it looks like Phia might be in for another earful. Not that that's any of your business. You're just happy to finally get some peace and quiet.

*page_break

You spend another half-hour or so reading in the Goldmine, before you catch a rush of footsteps echoing down the hallway leading out. You flinch as Myst bursts through the door in a breathless rush, her searching gaze flooding with relief as it settles on you. "${fname}," she calls out. "Thank goodness, you're still here."

You rise out of your seat and move towards her. "Is something the matter?"

"Yes," Myst says urgently, still heaving for breath. 'We've received news that one of the caravans transporting refugees to Thulrum has been beset by bandits near the forest's outskirts. I've sent out a missive to organize a dispatch of temple knights, but I'm not sure they'll be able to reach the location in time." Myst draws in closer to you, then, her voice dropping to a whisper. "This is only my own conjecture, but are you a combatant, ${fname}? All the arcanists I know are great fighters, so if you'd be willing to buy some time for the knights, I can Spirit Gate you to the location—I know it's a lot to ask, but this has never happened before, so I'm shooting blind here, and—"

*choice
    #"Send me there straightaway. There's no time to lose."
        *set noble %+ 15
        Relief floods Myst's features, and she dips her head low in a gesture of gratitude. "Thank you, ${fname}. We won't forget this."
    #"I can do that, but what's in it for me?"
        *set noble %- 15
        "You'll be appropriately compensated, I swear it. I'd have to talk with the [i]ashai[/i] to get an exact figure, but I wouldn't ask you to risk your life for mere silvers," she says earnestly. "If you find the reward lacking, I'll pay the difference out of my own pocket. Please, ${fname}. I oversaw this operation myself, and I'd never forgive myself if anything bad happens to them."
        
        "I understand," you say, holding a hand up. "You had better keep up your end of the bargain."
        
        Relief floods Myst's features, and she dips her head low in a gesture of gratitude. "I will. Thank you, ${fname}. I won't forget this."
    #"You didn't think to guard the caravan? They've been through enough!"
        *set emotional %+ 15
        Myst wrings her hands together. "We hired an adventuring party as escorts. We've been working with them for years, but this is the first time that we've let them handle the caravan on their own. We'd usually have a couple of temple knights with them, but manpower is spread thin on account of the festival…" Myst shakes her head. "It's no excuse. This was sloppy work on my part, and I'll do everything in my power to make things right. ${fname}, if you're willing to go, I'll make sure you're compensated generously by the Church. And if you find the gold lacking, I'll pay the difference out of my own pocket. Just…please."
        
        You stare Myst down for a second before relenting. "Fine. Lead the way."
        
        Relief floods Myst's features, and she dips her head low in a gesture of gratitude. "Thank you, ${fname}. I won't forget this."
        
Myst tugs on your sleeve and leads you out of the Goldmine, taking you down a series of hallways to an isolated chamber, far removed from the Common House' main thoroughfare. As soon as the door slams shut behind her, Myst's mana begins to simmer in the air, twisting into a large magic circle which quickly morphs into a spirit gate.

"I'll send reinforcements after you quickly," Myst promises. "Isha-on-high keep you, ${fname}."

The air twists and churns under the weight of arcane power. You step into the spirit gate, feeling waves of mana cloaking over your form, and allow the spell to whisk you away.
*goto enduntitled

*label adventuresegment
*set thulrumbranch "intrigue"
Adventurer's guilds are always busy no matter where you go, and it seems the Thulrum branch is no different. Even on the day of a festival, throngs of people mill about the spacious room, swapping stories from the road and bragging about their latest accomplishments. The sight fills you with an odd sense of nostalgia—a longing for Calinger, the White Fangs, and the simpler times they represent. Adventuring is a risky, difficult job—one that doesn't even pay particularly well in the grand scheme of things. And yet many still choose it as the place where they cast their lot, and you've no doubt that the joy etched upon these adventurers' faces—wrought of freedom, camaraderie, and coins earned through the sweat of their brow—played a pivotal role.

You shake your head in a bid to banish the thoughts; you came here for a reason, and it's not to reminisce about days gone by. Instead, you turn your attentions on the guild proper, taking stock of its layout and the facilities available.

The guild's main section is comprised of three individual counters pushed up against the back of the room, all of them manned by a single worker. You recognize each of their functions easily enough, owing to your experience back in Calinger. The first counter will have to do with administrative work, such as registration and payment of fees, while the second is where one would go to report and turn in the results of their work. What you're here for, however, is the third counter, which is where requesters would go to submit their quests. With some luck and a bit of insider knowledge, this method will put you in touch with a discreet and capable netter.

*page_break But before that...

You make your way to the guild's eastern side, striding towards circular tables where adventurers stretch their legs after a long journey back to town. One of them calls out to you and offers you the empty seat next to them; you'd never seen the man before in your life, but this outgoing, overbearingly friendly attitude is common among the adventuring crowd. You had come prepared to force your way into one of these tables, so receiving an offer as soon as you enter feels serendipitous. Perhaps whatever divine responsible for making your life a living hell has finally decided to take pity on you.

You happily take the man up on his offer, scooting onto your seat with
*if (charming > 50)
    an easygoing smile.
*else
    respectful nod.
For his part, the man claps you on the shoulder and laughs boisterously, the sound carrying throughout the entirety of the chamber. "Welcome, welcome! Sit here, there's a good @{pronvar lad|lass|'un}," the man says. He is a bald, muscular man likely somewhere north of fifty, though his hulking form suggest that he can easily keep up with younger adventurers any day of the week. "New to town, are you? Ain't never seen you around here before!"

"Father, stop. You're creeping ${them} out," says the girl sitting across from you—the man's daughter, evidently. "I'm sorry about him. He wouldn't know personal space if it squared him in the jaw."

"Your words're a dagger to the heart, lass," the man replies, clutching his chest in a gesture of mock hurt. "Ain't nothing wrong with being a bit friendly, eh? Poor fellow could probably use a pal or two, someone who could show him the ropes around here."

"It would probably help if you'd introduced yourself first," the girl sighs. "I'm Hale, by the way, The big oaf is my dad Galvo, and this guy here," she says, pointing at a gaunt-looking man with shoulder-length black hair, "is Rys, our tracker. We're a hunting party active around these parts, though we pick up some other types of quests too from time to time. What about you? New resident, or just passing through?"

*choice
    #I tell her I'm a new resident.
        You're not sure yet what role Tahlia will have you take up in Thulrum, but these people will likely be seeing you around anyway. There's little point in lying to them. 
        
        "I moved into town this week," you say. "I go by ${fname}."
        
        *if (alias)
            "Good to meet you!" Galvo says, clapping you on the back for good measure. "The guild's always looking for able hands, and you look like you'd be good in a fight. You've got that gumption in your eyes."
        
        *else
            "${fname}?" Galvo says, eyes twinkling with recognition. You flinch a bit at the sight; surely he doesn't have you figured out? "I know a butcher by the same name up in Salantira. Can clean up an Elyssian carcass in under half an hour, if you could believe it!"
            
            You stifle a sigh of relief and fall back into the conversation. "Sounds like a handy person to have around. Have you tried getting them to come down to Thulrum? I hear the western forest is something of a harpy hunting ground."
            
            "Nah, he's got two kids he's raising in Salantira City. Cushy place to grow up, a fair bit better than it is out in these sticks," Galvo replies. "Besides, there's no use getting greedy. We've already got you! The guild's always looking for able hands, and you look like you'd be good in a fight. Got that gumption in your eyes, I can see it."
            
    #I tell her I'm just passing through.
        For all you know, it might even be the truth. You're sticking around in Thulrum because it's currently convenient, and there doesn't appear to be any pressing reason for you to leave. But the wind may take you elsewhere before long, depending on what Tahlia does.
        
        "I don't think I'll be around for very long," you tell them. "I'm a bit of a wanderer, you see."
        
        "Well, I'm glad we could catch you, then," Galvo says, grinning. "Thulrum's out in the sticks, in the grand scheme of things, so most adventurers would just skip straight to Tenerei. Gets a little stale here with the same faces all the time!"
        
"So where are you from, ${fname}?" Rys pipes up, glancing up at you as he polishes his dagger. "I've been trying to pin down your accent, but I'm coming up empty. You could be from anywhere, really?"

You're quick to recognize the opportunity. Here's your chance to spin that cover story you've been building on the way here. Something that'll paint you as a hapless newcomer—so much so that your newfound companions will jump at the chance to inform you on the state of Arvanand.

*choice
    #Tell them you came here from Leaf End, far in the Parami west.
        They always did say that the best lies are the ones closest to the truth. You speak of the days you spent in Leaf End, riddled with omissions and bold-faced lies, but in some ways still faithful to your experience. The ${fname} of your tale was abandoned as a child in the Esteram Forest, surviving only on account of an old hermit in the woods who pitied you enough to take you in and teach you magic. After his passing some years later, you made your way to the village of Leaf End, where you did whatever work would put food on your table, until eventually landing a steady gig as the innkeep's @{pronvar errand boy|errand girl|errand-runner}. 
        
        With some difficulty, you then spoke about enlisting for the Parami rebellion on the heels of the Salantir invasion, after which you sustained a combat injury that left you bedridden for months. You then retreated into a small village in the Parami east, and it's only after you made a full recovery mere weeks ago that you decided to go elsewhere and try for a fresh start.
        
        By the end of your story, your companions have been reduced to various states of emotional distress. Hale holds your hand in what appears to be a comforting gesture, while Rys pours a glass of ale out of a flask and passes it over to you. Galvo, you realize, is openly sobbing into his sleeve.
        
        "It hasn't been all bad," you assure them, trying to defuse the unexpected mood your story brought about. "I've met some really good people along the way, and now it's gotten me here! Right where I need to be."
        
        "You're a strong kid," Galvo says, still wiping at his tears. "Here's hoping it's a smooth road ahead for you. Isha-on-high knows you deserve it."
        
        "I appreciate it," you say, smiling. "Actually, about that—given my…circumstances, I'm pretty clueless about what's happened in Arvanand while I was in recovery. Any chance you could fill me in on that?"
        
        "Of course," Hale says, nodding enthusiastically. "You can ask us anything you want."
    #Tell them you grew up in Silcur, having left town on account of the plague.
        You feel a bit guilty for using the moonvein plague for your own ends, but you can only hope that the Arcadians of Merdel will forgive you for it, given what you did for their village.
        
        You spin your yarn with care. The ${fname} of your tale was born to a poor but happy family in Silcur, and you were taken in by a local mage following your parents' untimely death before your tenth year. Said mage had been down on his luck, on account of being Arcadians in a place where opportunities were refused to them, but still found a way to raise you properly and teach you a bit of magic. You and your master had been working towards opening an alchemist's atelier in Silcur, braving the discrimination you faced from the townspeople. Unfortunately, a mere few months before the shop was set to open, your master succumbed to the moonvein plague, and you left town in hopes of finding a fresh start elsewhere.
        
        You then spoke about having to journey from hamlet to hamlet, hoping to find a place where your meager magical skills would find some demand. Unfortunately, you were then caught up in the middle of the Salantir invasion, and were jailed on suspicion of being a mage for the Parami rebellion. It was only when Param retook Sienan that you finally gained your freedom, and ever since you've been traveling to find a new place to settle, away from Param and all the bad memories you can't help but associate with it.
        
        By the end of your story, your companions have been reduced to various states of emotional distress. Hale holds your hand in what appears to be a comforting gesture, while Rys pours a glass of ale out of a flask and passes it over to you. Galvo, you realize, is openly sobbing into his sleeve.
        
        "It hasn't been all bad," you assure them, trying to defuse the unexpected mood your story brought about. "I've met some really good people along the way, and now it's gotten me here! Right where I need to be."
        
        "You're a strong kid," Galvo says, still wiping at his tears. "Here's hoping it's a smooth road ahead for you. Isha-on-high knows you deserve it."
        
        "I appreciate it," you say, smiling. "Actually, about that—I've been traveling so much that I'm pretty clueless about what's happened in Arvanand in the year since I was freed. Any chance you could fill me in on that?"
        
        "Of course," Hale says, nodding enthusiastically. "You can ask us anything you want."
    #Tell them you've been living primarily in the woods, away from civilization.
        It's not like there's no [i]truth[/i] to that. Before you wound up on the doorstep of an inn all the way in western Param, you had lived nearly your whole life in the wilds, trying to escape the reach of Sister's influence.
        
        And so you spin your yarn with care. The ${fname} of your tale was born in a humble village near Param's southern coast, to a humble but happy couple who unfortunately did not live for very long. Orphaned at a tender six years old, you were then taken to live with your grandmother, a prickly old hermit who lived in a lone hut in the Esteram Forest. While she didn't give you much by way of attention and care, being in her periphery allowed you to pick up the tools of her magical trade. And so it was that when she passed away in your teenage years, you succeeded her as the eccentric alchemist of Esteram Forest.
        
        Following the outbreak of war between Param and Salantira, you were pressed into the service of the rebellion; for two years, you concocted potions and tinctures for them to be used on the field of battle. Unfortunately, when the Salantir invasion made footfall in the Esteram Forest and beat the rebellion back to Kantena, you were identified as a collaborator of the rebellion. You were then tossed into a Salantir prison and left to rot for a full year, only regaining your freedom after the liberation of Sienan. Ever since, you've been traveling to find a new place to settle, away from Param and all the bad memories you can't help but associate with it.
        
        By the end of your story, your companions have been reduced to various states of emotional distress. Hale holds your hand in what appears to be a comforting gesture, while Rys pours a glass of ale out of a flask and passes it over to you. Galvo, you realize, is openly sobbing into his sleeve.
        
        "It hasn't been all bad," you assure them, trying to defuse the unexpected mood your story brought about. "I've met some really good people along the way, and now it's gotten me here! Right where I need to be."
        
        "You're a strong kid," Galvo says, still wiping at his tears. "Here's hoping it's a smooth road ahead for you. Isha-on-high knows you deserve it."
        
        "I appreciate it," you say, smiling. "Actually, about that—I've been traveling so much that I'm pretty clueless about what's happened in Arvanand in the year since I was freed. Any chance you could fill me in on that?"
        
        "Of course," Hale says, nodding enthusiastically. "You can ask us anything you want."
        
And you do, feeling only a bit guilty for having exploited their sympathy. After all, were you able to tell them the truth of what happened to you, they would likely present an even stronger reaction.

You learn a good deal by leveraging your new companions' kindness. First, you are informed that Thulrum remains as it ever has: a neutral state small enough in size and strength so as to be considered insignificant in Arvanian politics. Though it expertly avoids crafting overt ties to any one state, Thulrum appears to share a particular affinity with Salantira, with a significant volume of trade in magical stones and armaments, coupled with a growing interest in the Ishavak faith among the Salantir populace.

Second, Salantira has undergone massive internal strife following the war, and the nation's empty coffers served as the sole reason as to why it hasn't boiled over into a full-on civil war. As a result of the conflict, the old Grand Duke—revealed to be a mere puppet of his general Mireil—had been deposed and placed under house arrest, his post taken over by a distant relative who had loudly protested against the invasion of Param. Many members of Salantira's high nobility, which had aligned itself with the Grand Duke and his war council, were stripped of their land and wealth, becoming nobles in name only. A new class of nobles have taken their place, rising from the merchantry and—surprisingly enough—members of the Ishavak clergy, whose wartime sacrifices for the people of Salantira had made them so popular that they were granted nobility by the new Grand Duke.

And lastly, Param appears to be proceeding apace with its reconstruction efforts, bankrolled in large part by Salantir war reparations. In particular, Rys claims that a number of important castles and forts across Param had finished being rebuilt, and that the extravagance of the project had breathed much-needed life into Param's post-war economy. And to top it all off, satisfaction with the monarchy is at an all-time high, as despite a few rocky controversies towards the start of his rule, Param has found an adept and even-handed ruler in King Leon.

*choice
    #I'm happy to see that they're doing well. That it all meant something.
        *set noble %+ 15
        An odd feeling pools in the pit of your stomach—equal parts pride, joy, and wistfulness. This had been what you were fighting for over the course of the war, the future you had saved by driving a knife into the saintess's heart. You were reviled as the worst of demons, but in the wake of your sacrifice, something beautiful had blossomed. Like flowers upon a charred grave.
        
        You've been through enough to know that you were never meant for happy endings. This, too, is something that you will learn to be content with. Just as you always have.
    #I scoff. So I'm the only one to get the short end of the stick.
        *set noble %- 15
        Try as you might to forget it, the memory of that day still burns brightly in your mind—the jeering crowd, the lick of fire against your skin, the frigid gaze of
        *if (leonrom)
            the man you had loved.
        *else
            the man you had once considered a confidant.
        Did his voice waver as he gave the order? Was there anything under his vindictive, righteous fury, or had that too been cast into the flames? 
        
        Whatever the case may be, it appears that Param has done nothing but thrive on the back of your sacrifice. A radiant bloom bursting from a charred grave, its scent sweet enough so as to make you vomit.
    #More than anything, I resent my execution being downplayed as some 'controversy'.
        *set emotional %+ 15
        It was not enough that Param repaid your devotion with a pyre; they now seem intent on purging you from history altogether. Perhaps your former companions thought this some form of kindness, that to be forgotten is better than to be remembered a fool who all but tied ${them}self to the stake. But what does that say of the worth of your contributions, the life you had laid down for their cause?
        
        Something settles in the pit of your stomach, leaden and sickly, and you dare not pair a name to the feeling.

Satisfied with the wealth of information you had gotten out of them, you bid the hunting party farewell and head over to the request counter. Getting the layman's perception of Arvanand's state of affairs is all well and good, but for matters of [i]real[/i] interest, there's no better place to start than a good netter.

The worker manning the request counter perks up as you approach and greets you with an overwhelmingly friendly smile. "Welcome to the adventurer's guild! Are you here to submit a quest?"

"I am," you answer. "I'm in need of some rare plants that grows in the forest around the city. Would it be possible to fill out the parchment myself?"

"Of course!" the worker chirps. He ducks down and rifles through what sounds like a storage cabinet underneath the counter—though his searching makes so much noise that you suspect it might be a full armory under there. When he surfaces once more, it's with a fresh, angry bump on the side of his forehead, though his smile never falters. He thrusts a piece of parchment and a quill to you—the fancy kind that magically repaints its bud with ink. "Here you are. Please let me know if you require any assistance!"

You take the items from him with a pleasant nod, and begin filling out the parchment. In reality, what you're doing is a bit of a long shot. Several netters work in cooperation with adventurer's guild branches in order to provide a relatively inconspicuous and accessible point of contact, and so this is typically how you went about contacting them when finding yourself in a new city. But Thulrum falls outside of the purview of Arvanand's broader adventurer's guild, and is directly affiliated with the Ishavak Church besides. There's a sizable chance that the flow of information is somewhat throttled as a result, and netters may have a difficult time finding their footing in the city.

And yet, it may well be worth a try. Most top-tier netters forgo such a crude, out-in-the-open method, and so you'll likely be saddled with someone comparatively greener in the business. But to establish relations with the guild takes no small amount of investment and mettle, and that will suit your purposes for the time being.

*if (profession = "intrigue")
    Of course, if you're looking for top-shelf information, none would be better than your old contact the Deacon. Unfortunately, his eastern network had fallen into disrepair during the Salantir invasion, and you don't know whether he's been able to get it back up and running again. Perhaps it's for the best. The Deacon is scarily good at his job, and despite how far-fetched your resurrection is, he may well be able to piece the truth together if given enough information to work with.

*set intrigue %+ 25
*page_break
You lay down the parchment and fill in your request: five bundles of rhita herb, three sprigs of devil's song, and five heads of silverberries. You turn it in to the clerk, and he quickly scans the contents.

"The devil's song would be more fragrant in the fall," he says. "Would you prefer to hold off until then?"

You fight the smile forming on your lips—it seems you've hit the jackpot. Based on what the clerk said, there's a netter currently residing in town, one who corresponds with their clients through letters. "I will. It's important that they are fragrant," you confirm.

The clerk's innocent smile remains evergreen as he makes a show of crossing out the devil's song from your list. "Very good. Please check back in two days. We should have the first delivery waiting for you then," he says.

"Thank you for your assistance," you reply, watching as the man pins your request to a wooden board next to him. He'll likely feed it to a fire once the charade is over, but for now, it's important to keep up appearances. "I'll be back in two days."

The clerk wishes you a good day and bids you farewell, and you begin to make your way towards the exit.

*page_break SLAM!

The guild's door slams open with great force, and you look over to behold Myst, wild-eyed and haggard. "${fname}," she calls out. "Thank goodness you're still here."

You furrow your brows, but obligingly approach her. "Is something the matter?"

"Yes," Myst says urgently, still heaving for breath. 'We've received news that one of the caravans transporting refugees to Thulrum has been beset by bandits near the forest's outskirts. I've sent out a missive to organize a dispatch of temple knights, but I'm not sure they'll be able to reach the location in time." Myst draws in closer to you, then, her voice dropping to a whisper. "This is only my own conjecture, but are you a combatant, ${fname}? All the arcanists I know are great fighters, so if you'd be willing to buy some time for the knights, I can Spirit Gate you to the location—I know it's a lot to ask, but this has never happened before, so I'm shooting blind here, and—"

*choice
    #"Send me there straightaway. There's no time to lose."
        *set noble %+ 15
        Relief floods Myst's features, and she dips her head low in a gesture of gratitude. "Thank you, ${fname}. We won't forget this."
    #"I can do that, but what's in it for me?"
        *set noble %- 15
        "You'll be appropriately compensated, I swear it. I'd have to talk with the [i]ashai[/i] to get an exact figure, but I wouldn't ask you to risk your life for mere silvers," she says earnestly. "If you find the reward lacking, I'll pay the difference out of my own pocket. Please, ${fname}. I oversaw this operation myself, and I'd never forgive myself if anything bad happens to them."
        
        "I understand," you say, holding a hand up. "You had better keep up your end of the bargain."
        
        Relief floods Myst's features, and she dips her head low in a gesture of gratitude. "I will. Thank you, ${fname}. I won't forget this."
    #"You didn't think to guard the caravan? They've been through enough!"
        *set emotional %+ 15
        Myst wrings her hands together. "We hired an adventuring party as escorts. We've been working with them for years, but this is the first time that we've let them handle the caravan on their own. We'd usually have a couple of temple knights with them, but manpower is spread thin on account of the festival…" Myst shakes her head. "It's no excuse. This was sloppy work on my part, and I'll do everything in my power to make things right. ${fname}, if you're willing to go, I'll make sure you're compensated generously by the Church. And if you find the gold lacking, I'll pay the difference out of my own pocket. Just…please."
        
        You stare Myst down for a second before relenting. "Fine. Lead the way."
        
        Relief floods Myst's features, and she dips her head low in a gesture of gratitude. "Thank you, ${fname}. I won't forget this."
        
Myst tugs on your sleeve and leads you out of the guild, taking you down a series of hallways to an isolated chamber, far removed from the Common House's main thoroughfare. As soon as the door slams shut behind her, Myst's mana begins to simmer in the air, twisting into a large magic circle which quickly morphs into a spirit gate.

"I'll send reinforcements after you quickly," Myst promises. "Isha-on-high keep you, ${fname}."

The air twists and swirls under the weight of arcane power. You step into the spirit gate, feeling waves of mana cloaking over your form, and allow the spell to whisk you away.
*goto enduntitled

*label enduntitled
*page_break
*goto_scene Checkpoint_6-1

*comment Go to the banquet.

*comment As soon as Tahlia steps off the stage, the banquet immediately devolves into a strange mixture of chaos and restraint. Many of the attendees immediately go for the food on offer, with children in particular shrieking with joy at the prospect


*comment #I gorge myself on everything there is on offer.
*comment #I eat in moderation, just enough for me to feel full.
*comment #I find myself lacking the appetite, after everything that's happened today.

*comment label commonhousehalls
*comment segment after coming back with Myst here