Salt and Gold

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<div class="title-screen"> <div class="title-screen__visual"> <img src="images/intro/salt-and-gold-sea.gif" alt="A turbulent sea beneath a violent thunderstorm" class="title-screen__image" draggable="false"> </div> <h1 class="title-screen__title"> Salt <span>and</span> Gold </h1> <p class="title-screen__summary"> Your choices shape your relationships and the course of the journey. Some consequences will not reveal themselves immediately. </p> <p class="title-screen__warning"> <strong>Adults only.</strong> Salt and Gold is intended for players aged 18 or older and contains mature themes and explicit sexual content. </p> <div class="title-screen__actions"> <<button "I am 18 years old or older" "CharacterSetup">> <<set $ageConfirmed to true>> <</button>> </div> </div>

<div class="scene-image"> <img src="images/intro/opening-ship-sea.gif" alt="A ship sailing across a dark sea beneath the moon" > </div>You stare out into the dark expanse of the sea, its surface broken by pale strips of moonlight. Rain falls in cold, slanting sheets, vanishing among the waves almost as quickly as it strikes them. The ship rises and falls beneath your feet, its timbers groaning with each passing swell. Beyond the reach of the lanterns, the water stretches without end. The crystal dodecahedron rests safely within the cargo hold. The expedition was a treacherous one. You recovered the artifact, but several of the crewmates you had come to trust and admire did not survive the journey. The experience has changed you, though whether for better or worse remains to be seen. Even so, part of you remains satisfied. <<nobr>><<switch $player.motivation>> <<case "money">>The contract has been fulfilled, and the remaining payment waiting in Marrowgate should make the months of hardship worthwhile - at least in material terms. <<case "fame">>Few expeditions of this kind ever return successfully. Once word spreads, your name will be attached to an achievement that people will remember. <<case "glory">>You faced something few would have dared attempt and saw it through to the end. Whatever anyone else may think, you proved yourself capable of the extraordinary. <<case "curiosity">>The object that first drew your interest now lies only a few decks below. You still understand almost nothing about it, but at least the mystery did not remain buried forever. <<case "challenge">>The journey tested every limit you thought you possessed, and you endured. Whatever scars it has left behind, you now know you are capable of surviving more than you once believed. <</switch>><</nobr>> The night air is cold and heavy with salt. Wind pulls at your clothes and carries the quiet movements of the crew behind you, how their boots hit against wet boards and the low murmur of their tired voices. No one has much energy left for celebration. Whatever satisfaction you once expected to feel has been worn down by exhaustion. At this point, you want little more than familiar walls, a warm meal, and the comfort of your own bed. Home still feels distant, but for the first time in months, it no longer feels unreachable. [[The stretching darkness of the sea invites your mind to think of home|HomeThoughts]]

<div class="scene-image"> <img src="images/intro/marrowgate-outskirts.webp" alt="A comfortable house standing beyond the walls of a large coastal city" > </div>When you think of home, you do not first picture the walls or towers of Marrowgate. You picture the house beyond them, set back from the eastern road where the city finally gives way to open land. It is a modest house by the standards of successful adventurers. It is a two-storey house of pale stone and dark timber beneath a steep slate roof, with shuttered windows, two smoking chimneys, and a covered porch facing the road. There is enough space for everyone and it holds all the usual amenities for a comfortable life. The house is removed from the worst of Marrowgate’s noise, but it is not isolated. Other homes and workshops follow the eastern road towards the city gate. You have access to a temple, a blacksmith, a baker, a tailor, and an apothecary who grows much of her stock behind her shop. A roadside tavern serves travellers and merchants unwilling to pay the higher prices within the walls. There is also a small shrine and a weekly market where nearby farms sell directly to the city. From the front windows, the upper towers of Marrowgate remain visible above the trees. On clear mornings, you can hear its bells. At night, the glow of thousands of lamps gathers against the clouds, near enough to remind you that the city is there, but distant enough that the streets outside the house eventually fall quiet. Marrowgate itself stands where the River Marr widens before reaching the sea. Its oldest districts crowd around the harbour and the stone bridge that first made the settlement important. Warehouses, shipyards, and crowded tenements occupy the lower wards, while temples, guildhalls, and the homes of established merchants rise along the higher ground. The city is enclosed by thick walls built and rebuilt across several centuries, though workshops, inns and entire neighbourhoods have long since spread beyond them. It is not the largest city in the realm, nor the seat of a king, but nearly everything passes through it eventually. You have spent weeks imagining the road to home. The familiar turn beyond the shrine, the orchard fence, a light in the lower windows. You imagine someone opening the door before you have finished knocking... [[Think of the people waiting there|HomePeople-M]]

<div class="character-intro"> <img src="images/Home/Clara/M-portrait.webp" alt="Portrait of Clara" class="character-intro__portrait" >You recognise the woman standing in the doorway before the lantern light fully catches her face. For a moment, she simply stares at you. Then the disbelief in her expression gives way to a bright, unguarded smile. This is <<textbox "$claraName" "Clara">>, your <<textbox "$claraRelationship" "Family friend">>. She is around forty, though the years have done little to diminish the impression of physical capability. Her blonde hair is swept back and kept clear of her face, revealing features that remain conventionally attractive without appearing delicate. There is a slight weathering around her eyes from years spent outdoors, but her posture is straight and her movements retain the controlled economy of someone accustomed to crossing difficult ground. She has kept herself in shape since her years as a ranger. Her build is lean rather than imposing, with firm shoulders, steady hands, and the balanced stance of someone who has carried a bow for much of her life. Even at home, she rarely appears entirely unprepared. A knife remains secured at her belt, and an old hunting bow is never kept far from the door. Long before settling outside Marrowgate, she travelled beside your Father during the height of his reputation. She served as scout, tracker, and guide, often finding the path before the rest of the party understood that one existed. These days however she leads a fairly mundane life without much excitement, due in part to your Father’s growing disillusionment. Paired with the responsibilities of maintaining the household, she was drawn away from the life she once led. She handles the settled life competently, but it has never suited her as naturally as the wilderness did. Her patience and practical judgement make her a steady presence within the household, although a persistent restlessness remains beneath the composure. Whenever the eastern road disappears beyond the trees, her attention tends to follow it. [[You spot someone skulking behind her...|HomePeople-S]] </div>

<<set $claraName to "Clara">> <<set $claraRelationship to "Family friend">> <<set $nessaName to "Nessa">> <<set $nessaRelationship to "Roommate">> <<set $aldricName to "Aldric">> <<set $claraRomanceEnabled to true>> <<set $nessaRomanceEnabled to true>> <<set $ageConfirmed to false>> <<set $player to { firstName: "", lastName: "", className: "", motivation: "" }>> <<set $time to { active: false, day: 0, period: "" }>> <<set setup.timePeriods to [ "morning", "afternoon", "evening", "night" ]>> <<set setup.timeLabels to { morning: "Morning", afternoon: "Afternoon", evening: "Evening", night: "Night" }>> <<set $heroPath to { humanity: 0, corruption: 0 }>> <<set $storyFlags to { elinChoice: "", galleryReturnPassage: "", galleryReplayReturnPassage: "", gallerySavedElinChoice: "", syrissiaScene1Unlocked: false, infoReturnPassage: "", galleryReplay: false, settingsReturnPassage: "", gateApproach: "" }>> <<set $galleryUnlocks to { syrissia: { portrait: false, scene1: false }, elin: { portrait: false, scene1: false } }>> <<set $trackedQuest to "">> <<set $quests to { expeditionRecord: 0 }>> <<set setup.questData to { expeditionRecord: { title: "The expedition’s record", objectives: { 1: "Visit the harbour office and inspect the expedition records.", 2: "Examine the ship’s loss report.", 3: "Investigate the salvage filing.", 4: "Return home and report what you found." } } }>> <<set $houseLocations to { clara: "", nessa: "", aldric: "" }>> <<set setup.houseSchedule to { morning: { clara: "kitchen", nessa: "yard", aldric: "study" }, afternoon: { clara: "yard", nessa: "common", aldric: "study" }, evening: { clara: "common", nessa: "yard", aldric: "study" }, night: { clara: "", nessa: "", aldric: "" } }>>

<div class="character-intro"> <img src="images/Home/Nessa/S-portrait.webp" alt="Portrait of Nessa" class="character-intro__portrait" >At first, only a pair of watchful eyes are visible over Clara’s shoulder. Then the young woman shifts reluctantly into view, caught between the instinct to hide and an obvious desire to see you for herself. She looks as though she might speak, but no words come. This is <<textbox "$nessaName" "Nessa">>, your <<textbox "$nessaRelationship" "Roommate">>. She is a young woman of slight, compact build, standing no taller than $claraName’s shoulder. At scarcely more than a hundred pounds, she does not possess the heavy frame most people associate with a warrior. The strength in her body is lean and practical, built through repetition rather than bulk. Her shoulders are firm, her balance deliberate, and even standing half-concealed in a doorway, she carries herself as though she expects to be tested at any moment. Her blonde hair falls past her shoulders with little care, several loose strands falling around a face that still retains some youthful softness. There is confidence in the way she stands, but considerably less in the way she meets your gaze. She smiles briefly, looks away, then looks back again. Your Father took her on as an apprentice several years ago, after you had already begun spending more of your time away from home. She had come to him seeking the hero described in old stories, a warrior of discipline, courage, and purpose. What she found however was a capable, but uninterested teacher who seemed determined to strip every lesson of the ideals that had once made her admire him. Even so, she learned. Her technique is sound, her discipline better than most warriors twice her age, and her appetite for improvement has survived every attempt your Father has made to temper it. What she lacks is experience beyond the training yard. For all her preparation, much of the danger she imagined confronting has remained safely theoretical. You cannot help but smile as the two women take shape in your thoughts. $claraName would be the first to reach the door, with her little shadow lingering behind her until relief overcame her shyness. For a moment, you can almost feel the warmth of the house beyond them. [[Then your thoughts turn to your Father|HomePeople-F]] </div>

<div class="character-sheet"> <h1>Character Sheet</h1> <div class="character-sheet__subtitle"> Before you embark on your journey, we need to establish who you are first. </div> <div class="character-sheet__section"> <h2>Your name</h2> <div class="character-sheet__names"> <label> <span>First name</span> <<textbox "$player.firstName" "" autofocus>> </label> <label> <span>Last name</span> <<textbox "$player.lastName" "">> </label> </div> </div> <div class="character-sheet__section"> <h2>Class</h2> <div class="character-sheet__choices character-sheet__classes"> <label class="character-choice"> <<radiobutton "$player.className" "warrior" autocheck>> <span> <strong>Warrior</strong> <span class="character-choice__description"> You live for the fight and glory of battle, relying on your strength, endurance, and brute force to clear any obstacles standing in your path. </span> </span> </label> <label class="character-choice"> <<radiobutton "$player.className" "rogue" autocheck>> <span> <strong>Rogue</strong> <span class="character-choice__description"> You favour cunning over brute strength, choosing a carefully measured strike over a reckless blow and looking for weaknesses others fail to notice. </span> </span> </label> <label class="character-choice"> <<radiobutton "$player.className" "mage" autocheck>> <span> <strong>Mage</strong> <span class="character-choice__description"> Drawn by the promise of knowledge and power, you approach problems intelligently, preferring to understand an obstacle before attempting to overcome it with powerful spellcraft. </span> </span> </label> </div> </div> <div class="character-sheet__section"> <h2>The offer</h2> <div class="character-sheet__preamble"> <p> Several months ago, you were approached by a middleman acting on behalf of a wealthy collector. He came with an unusual proposition, the chance to join a privately funded expedition beyond familiar waters. </p> <p> There was very little information. The destination was remote and the danger difficult to measure. You knew only the objective: retrieve an artifact shaped like a crystal dodecahedron from the depths of a long-abandoned temple devoted to one of the Five Divines. </p> <p> It seemed like a suicide mission. At first glance, any rational person would have rejected the offer. </p> <p> You, however, chose to accept it because: </p> </div> <p class="character-sheet__prompt"> </p> <div class="character-sheet__choices character-sheet__motivations"> <label class="character-choice"> <<radiobutton "$player.motivation" "money" autocheck>> <span> The pay was too good to refuse. Even a partial advance exceeded what most honest work would earn in years. </span> </label> <label class="character-choice"> <<radiobutton "$player.motivation" "fame" autocheck>> <span> A successful return would carry your name far beyond Marrowgate. Opportunities tend to follow those whose deeds are remembered. </span> </label> <label class="character-choice"> <<radiobutton "$player.motivation" "glory" autocheck>> <span> The expedition promised the chance to accomplish something exceptional. Whether others celebrated it was secondary to knowing you had done it. </span> </label> <label class="character-choice"> <<radiobutton "$player.motivation" "curiosity" autocheck>> <span> The collector revealed very little about what he expected to find. His secrecy left too many questions unanswered for you to walk away. </span> </label> <label class="character-choice"> <<radiobutton "$player.motivation" "challenge" autocheck>> <span> The danger was reason enough. Ordinary work had begun to feel predictable, and you wanted to discover where your limits truly lay. </span> </label> </div> </div> <div id="character-sheet-error" class="character-sheet__error"></div> <div class="character-sheet__continue"> <<button "Begin the journey">> <<if $player.firstName.trim() is "">> <<replace "#character-sheet-error">> Enter your first name before continuing. <</replace>> <<elseif $player.lastName.trim() is "">> <<replace "#character-sheet-error">> Enter your last name before continuing. <</replace>> <<elseif $player.className is "">> <<replace "#character-sheet-error">> Select a class before continuing. <</replace>> <<elseif $player.motivation is "">> <<replace "#character-sheet-error">> Select the reason you accepted the expedition. <</replace>> <<else>> <<goto "Opening">> <</if>> <</button>> </div> </div>

<div class="character-intro"> <img src="images/Home/Aldric/F-portrait.webp" alt="Portrait of Aldric" class="character-intro__portrait" >Your Father, <<textbox "$aldricName" "Aldric">>, was once one of the most celebrated adventurers in Marrowgate. His name still appears in old accounts of ruined temples, broken sieges, and creatures driven from settlements that had long since abandoned hope. The stories describe a man of uncommon courage and conviction, someone who believed that strength carried an obligation to those without it. The man waiting at home is more difficult to reconcile with those stories. He is not yet old, but the years have taken enough from him that he feels the difference. He is slower than he once was, less willing to test the limits of his body, and increasingly content to leave his weapons where they hang. More than age, however, it was experience that changed him. Somewhere during those years of victories and losses, he stopped believing that any good he accomplished could endure for long. He still trains your $nessaRelationship $nessaName, although his lessons are delivered with the same disillusionment that has settled over nearly every part of his life. To him, doing good is still preferable to doing nothing, but only because a person must live with their own conscience. He no longer believes it changes the nature of the world. You find it harder to imagine his reaction than $claraName’s or $nessaName’s. Your Father has never been given to open displays of affection, and the years have made him more guarded still. Not to mention he didn't really approve of your little adventure to begin with. Perhaps he would remain seated beside the hearth, pretending your return had never been in doubt. Perhaps he would examine you in silence before offering a restrained nod and asking whether the expedition had been worth its cost. [[Even so, he would be there. For now, that thought is enough|ShipCrash1]] </div>

<div class="scene-image"> <img src="images/intro/Shipcrash1.gif" alt="A ship sailing across a dark sea beneath the moon" > </div>You are torn from your thoughts by an impact that nearly throws you from your feet. A wall of black water crashes across the starboard side, swallowing the railing and sweeping loose equipment along the deck. The ship rolls violently beneath you. Timber groans under the strain, followed by a sharp crack from somewhere below, loud enough to be heard even through the thunder. Only then do you realize how much the storm has worsened. The rain no longer falls so much as drives sideways, striking your face hard enough to sting. The wind shifts without warning, pulling at the sails from one direction before wrenching them back from another. Waves rise at conflicting angles, colliding against one another before breaking against the hull. Thunder rolls overhead in short, measured intervals, each report seeming nearer than the last. It feels less like weather, more like something tightening its grip around the ship. The deck erupts into movement. Sailors shout over one another as they fight to bring the sails under control. Ropes snap taut above you. One man slips across the flooded boards and disappears behind a cluster of crewmen before you can see whether he rises again. Orders are called from the quarterdeck, repeated and distorted until they become almost indistinguishable from panic. You reach for the nearest line, but a sailor tears it from your hands and forces you aside. Whatever your abilities on solid ground, you know nothing of keeping a ship alive in a storm. There is no enemy to strike, no path to outmanoeuvre, and no spell simple enough to command the sea. Here, surrounded by people who understand exactly what must be done, you are little more than an obstruction. “Water below!” someone cries from the lower deck. “The cargo hold’s taking water!” Your thoughts turn immediately to the artifact. If the ship founders, the artifact will be lost with it. The dead, the months at sea, and everything endured within the temple will have amounted to nothing. <<nobr>><<switch $player.motivation>> <<case "money">>Without the artifact, there will be no remaining payment waiting for you in Marrowgate. <<case "fame">>Without the artifact, there will be no proof of what the expedition achieved and no reason for anyone to remember your part in it. <<case "glory">>Without the artifact, the deed that was meant to prove your worth will vanish beneath the sea without consequence. <<case "curiosity">>Without the artifact, the mystery that drew you across the sea will be buried again before you have the chance to understand it. <<case "challenge">>Without the artifact, the storm will reduce everything you survived to one final, meaningless defeat. <</switch>><</nobr>> The sailors have no use for you here. Below deck, you may still be able to save something. [[Get to the cargo hold!|ShipCrash2]]

<div class="scene-image"> <img src="images/intro/ship-lower-deck.webp" alt="The flooded lower deck of a ship during a violent storm" > </div>You wrench open the hatch and descend into the ship. The noise changes immediately. The wind becomes a distant howl above you, replaced by the violent creaking of timber and the dull impact of waves against the hull. Lanterns swing from the beams, throwing long, erratic shadows across the passage. Water already covers the floorboards, surging around your ankles whenever the ship rolls. A sailor forces his way past you towards the deck, one hand pressed against a bleeding cut above his eye. “The lower hold is flooding!” he shouts. “Get back above!” Another impact throws both of you against the wall. He catches the ladder and continues upwards without waiting for an answer. You press on. The passage slopes beneath your feet. Barrels have broken free from their restraints and roll heavily from one side of the corridor to the other. Somewhere deeper within the ship, men are shouting for tools, rope and anything that might slow the incoming water. Their voices are increasingly difficult to distinguish beneath the groaning hull. The cargo hold lies ahead, but its door has shifted within the frame. The surrounding timber has warped under the strain, pinning it shut. <<nobr>><<switch $player.className>> <<case "warrior">>You plant one foot against the wall and drive your shoulder into the door. The frame resists the first blow, then splinters beneath the second. You force the opening wide enough to push through. <<case "rogue">>You examine the frame rather than wasting your strength against it. The door itself is not locked; the warped latch has caught against the timber. You slip a narrow blade into the gap, lift the mechanism free, and pull the door open. <<case "mage">>You place one hand against the door and focus on the displaced latch beyond it. A short exertion of force draws the metal bolt back through the warped frame. The door shudders, then swings inward. <</switch>><</nobr>> The cargo hold is in chaos. Crates have torn free from their bindings and lie scattered across the sloping floor. Seawater pours through a split in the hull, spreading rapidly among broken timber and loose cargo. Each roll of the ship sends the entire contents of the chamber sliding several feet before crashing together again. You recognise the collector’s chest near the far wall. Its iron restraints have held, but the wooden casing around them has not. One side has split apart, exposing the layers of dark cloth packed inside. Then lightning flashes beyond the damaged hull and for a fraction of a second, something within the chest answers with a muted golden light. You peer over the chest and see the crystal dodecahedron lying among the torn wrappings, its polished surfaces untouched by the violence around it. Fine threads of gold move somewhere within the amber crystal, shifting with a purpose that cannot be explained by the motion of the ship. Another wave strikes and the floor pitches sharply beneath you. The chest breaks loose, and the artifact slips from its wrappings. It begins to roll towards the flooded end of the hold. [[Make a dive for the artifact|ShipCrash3]]

You dive. The artifact strikes the flooded boards and skids between two broken crates. You throw yourself after it as the hold tilts beneath you, one hand catching against splintered timber while the other closes around the crystal. It is colder than you expected. <div class="scene-image"> <img src="images/intro/prologueartifact.webp" > </div>For the briefest moment, the golden threads within it gather beneath your palm. The movement is deliberate enough to make you hesitate, but another violent impact leaves no time to consider what you saw. Then the split in the hull tears wider. Seawater explodes into the hold with enough force to wrench a crate from its bindings and hurl it across the chamber. The lanterns vanish beneath the surge. Darkness closes around you, broken only by intermittent flashes of lightning through the ruptured hull and the faint amber light trapped within your hand. You try to rise, but the water is already above your waist. Loose cargo shifts around you, striking your legs and forcing you against the side of the hold. Then, the vessel gives a long, terrible groan. The sound begins below you and passes upward through every beam and plank. It is not the noise of timber bending under strain. It is the sound of the ship reaching the limit of what it can endure. The deck above splits open revealing the violent storm overhead. Rain and seawater pour through the fracture as the ship twists beneath the waves. Men shout from beyond the hold, but their voices are lost beneath the collapse of wood, rope, and canvas. A section of the ceiling gives way, striking the water beside you and driving you beneath the surface. Still, the artifact remains clenched in your hand. You kick upwards, forcing your way through floating debris. Your shoulder collides with something solid. Pain travels down your arm, but you continue until your head breaks through the water. The cargo hold is no longer recognisable. One side of the ship has opened entirely to the sea. Through the breach, you see the mast falling across the deck, its rigging pulling men and shattered timber with it. The stern rises sharply as the bow disappears beneath the waves. You quickly realize that there is no longer a ship to save, only a wreck coming apart around you. Another surge of ice-cold water catches you before you can reach the ladder. It drags you through the broken hull and out into the black water beyond. [[Fight your way to the surface|ShipCrash4]]

<div class="scene-image"> <img src="images/intro/open-sea.webp" > </div>The sea closes over you before you can draw breath. For several seconds there is no distinction between water and the darkness around you. Something hard strikes your back as you are pulled deeper, and the artifact nearly slips from your grasp. You tighten your fingers around it and kick towards what you hope is the surface, following the faint shimmer of lightning through the water above. Your head finally breaks through the waves. You drag in a breath, choke on seawater, and reach blindly for anything solid. Your hand catches a length of broken timber still tangled in rope, and you pull yourself against it as another swell lifts you high enough to see what remains of the ship. Very little is left. You call out to the figures struggling against the debris, though you cannot hear your own voice clearly. A sailor answers somewhere to your left, but when the next flash of lightning illuminates the water, you see only the overturned wreckage. Another man clings to a section of railing farther away. You try to move towards him, but the rope around your timber has caught on something beneath the surface, holding you in place while the current pulls at your legs. The artifact remains trapped between your palm and the wood. Its edges press painfully into your skin, yet you cannot bring yourself to release it. The golden threads inside continue to move despite the violence around you, gathering and separating in slow, deliberate patterns. Their calmness feels wrong. Everything else in the sea is being broken or drowned while the object rests in your hand as though none of it concerns it. Another section of the ship disappears beneath the surface. The wreckage shifts as it sinks, and the rope binding your timber suddenly pulls tight. You work at it with numb fingers until it tears free, leaving you adrift. By then, the voices around you have grown fewer. The storm begins to change. The rain still falls and thunder continues to roll across the sky, but the wind loses some of its force as the last of the ship slips beneath the waves. It does not weaken gradually. It withdraws, as though whatever purpose it served has already been fulfilled. You cling to the timber with one arm and hold the artifact against your chest with the other. There is no land in sight, no light beyond the scattered flashes above, and no sign that another vessel has seen the wreck. The cold is already working its way through your clothes and into your limbs. [[Try to hold on|ShipCrash5]]

The cold settles into you gradually, numbing your hands and stiffening your limbs until even holding onto the wreckage becomes an effort. You no longer hear the other survivors. The storm has weakened, leaving only rain and distant thunder. With no land or light in sight, it becomes impossible to tell how long you have been in the water. Your grip on the timber loosens each time the waves turn it beneath you. The crystal remains clenched in your other hand, its edges pressed into your palm. You consider letting it go, but after everything spent retrieving it, the thought feels impossible. The artifact is the only thing left of the expedition that has not been taken by the sea. A swell rolls the timber from beneath your arm. You reach for it, but your fingers slide across the wet wood and it drifts beyond your grasp. Your exhausted body sinks almost immediately. You struggle towards the surface, manage one broken breath, and are pulled under again before you can call for help. The pressure in your chest becomes unbearable. Your movements weaken as seawater enters your lungs, and the moonlight above fades behind several metres of black water. The golden threads within the crystal gather beneath your fingers, but you are no longer conscious enough to understand what you are seeing. Still holding the artifact, you descend into the abyss until your heart finally stops. [[Sink into the darkness|TheGoldenVoid1]]

Your eyes open to complete darkness. At least... You think they open. There is no sensation of eyelids moving, no breath entering your lungs, and no cold water pressing against your skin. The darkness is so absolute that it feels no different from having your eyes closed, yet you are certain that you are conscious. You try to move and discover yourself standing, though there is nothing beneath your feet. No floor supports you, and no horizon separates the space above from whatever lies below. Your body is present only because some part of your mind expects it to be. When you raise a hand before your face, you feel the motion without seeing its outline. Speckles of gold begin to appear in the distance. They drift through the blackness like dust caught in unseen light, some no larger than sparks and others stretching into thin, winding threads. Their movement is slow and deliberate. As more of them gather, you recognise the same golden patterns that moved within the artifact. The memory returns with them... The sea filling your lungs, the fading moonlight, and the artifact held tightly in your hand. You remember the pain ending. You remember your heart becoming still. You remember ''dying''. A whisper passes through the darkness. It does not reach you through your ears, but forms somewhere behind your thoughts, faint enough that you cannot tell whether it belongs to another presence or to the last fragments of your own mind. “Still here...” The golden threads turn towards you, and begin to spin. [[Listen for the voice|TheGoldenVoid2]]

<div class="scene-image"> <img src="images/intro/SyrissiaGold.gif" > They circle one another in widening currents, drawing the scattered points of light into their wake. What first resembles a loose spiral gradually acquires structure. Two legs extend towards the emptiness beneath them, followed by the curve of a waist, the line of narrow shoulders and a head inclined slightly to one side. The shape remains hollow, formed only from strands of gold suspended in the darkness. </div> <img class="character-intro__portrait" src="images/characters/Syrissia/Syrissia1.webp" >More light gathers around the figure. The threads weave themselves together until the empty outline is covered by warm skin and dark-brown hair. Within moments, a woman stands where there had been nothing. She is tall and slender, with narrow shoulders, a defined waist and modest curves that suit the delicate proportions of her body. She wears nothing, though there is no vulnerability or embarrassment in her nakedness. She regards it with the same indifference another person might show towards their hands or face, as though the idea of concealing herself has simply never occurred to her. Her beauty is difficult to separate from the power behind it. Every feature appears shaped to hold attention, yet it is her eyes that prevent her from appearing entirely human. They shift between amber and molten gold, fixed upon you with an intensity that feels less like admiration than examination. “You should not be here,” she says. Her voice is clearer now, low and controlled. It reaches you without crossing the space between you, entering your thoughts as naturally as though it had always existed there. “No,” she murmurs, more to herself than to you. “There should have been nothing left to resist me.” The golden threads surrounding her tighten, and the darkness seems to draw closer around you both. [[The mysterious woman approaches you|TheGoldenVoid3]]

The woman moves towards you without disturbing the darkness beneath her feet. Her expression has settled into something colder than curiosity, though her golden eyes continue to study you as if you are a problem she has not yet decided how to solve. Her hands settle against your chest, fingers spreading as though searching for something beneath the surface. Then she pushes.<div class="scene-image"> <img src="images/intro/SyrissiaTouch.gif" > </div>Pain tears through you before you can react. Golden threads erupt from beneath her fingers and spread across the body your mind has created, winding around your arms, throat and legs. They tighten until you can no longer move. There is still no air in your lungs and no heart beating beneath your ribs, yet the pain feels more complete than anything you experienced while alive. The woman closes her eyes. Her presence pushes into you, vast and suffocating, forcing itself through memories, instincts and thoughts that you had believed were yours alone. You understand what she is attempting only when parts of you begin to disappear. Your name becomes difficult to recall. The house outside Marrowgate fades. $claraName’s face, $nessaName’s smile and the thought of anything waiting for you dissolves beneath the golden pressure. For a moment, surrender seems inevitable. You are already dead, and there is little strength left in whatever part of you remains. The darkness offers no place to escape, while the woman’s will surrounds you from every direction. Then something inside you refuses. [[Resist. Break free of the spell.|TheGoldenVoid4]]

<div class="scene-image"> <img src="images/intro/IntroEyes.gif" > The resistance begins with no spell, training, or conscious decision. It is a simple rejection of the emptiness she is trying to create. You hold onto your name, then the memory of the house, followed by every fear, regret and desire that proves you existed. The golden restraints strain as your awareness forces itself back into the space she has occupied. </div> Her eyes open. You tear one arm free. The threads snap apart and recoil towards her, carrying the force of your resistance with them. The woman is driven backwards, her composure breaking for the first time as the gold surrounding her lashes through the darkness. You free your other arm and pull the remaining restraints from your body. Instead of vanishing, the broken strands coil around your hands and answer your movements as though they belong to you. When you push against her presence again, she is forced to brace herself. The struggle ends as suddenly as it began. You stand facing one another amid the drifting gold, neither of you able to force the other from the space. Her anger is visible, but it is accompanied by something less expected. Her gaze moves across you slowly, no longer examining an obstacle or an empty vessel. The corner of her mouth rises as she recognises what has happened. [[Continue|TheGoldenVoid5]]

“Well. Aren’t you a feisty one,” she says, her surprise already giving way to amusement. “I don’t believe any mortal has ever managed that before.” <div class="scene-image"> <img src="images/Characters/Syrissia/SyrissiaSmile.webp" > </div>The golden threads loosen around her and begin to move between you both. Some remain attached to her, while others have embedded themselves within the outline of your body. When she takes another step towards you, there is no force behind it and no attempt to restrain you. “I need you,” she says, a playful curve forming at the corner of her mouth. “Well, your body, at least. Without me, it remains quite thoroughly dead.” Her eyes move over you with open amusement. “And I can no longer remove you without destroying us both.” Her smile widens. “It seems we are stuck with one another. How intimate.” She reaches for you again, but stops with her hand only inches from your chest. The anger has left her expression, replaced by open fascination. Your resistance has not diminished her interest; if anything, being denied appears to have made you more compelling. “Who are you?” you ask. Her eyebrows rise, and a mischievous smile spreads across her face. She leans closer, as though sharing a private joke. <em>“Syrissia,”</em> she says. “Or a piece of her, if we are being precise. Goddess of desire, temptation and all those troublesome little thoughts you mortals prefer to blame on someone else.” The name is familiar. Syrissia is one of the ten gods, though she is not counted among the Five Divines of the upper pantheon. She belongs to the other five, powers associated with the parts of existence mortals are more inclined to fear, distrust or suppress. Many condemn them, but the old teachings never describe them as inherently evil. You study her for another moment before asking the question that matters more. [["What do you want with me?"|TheGoldenVoid6]]

Syrissia’s smile fades slightly, though the amusement remains in her eyes. “Freedom would be a respectable answer, wouldn’t it?” She turns away from you and raises one hand. The surrounding darkness responds, filling with the faint outline of the crystal dodecahedron. Its twelve faces form around you like the walls of an enormous chamber, each surface crossed by the same moving strands of gold. “This vessel has held me for several thousand years. I do not know the precise number. Mortals changed their calendars more than once while I was inside,” she says with a dismissive wave of her hand. She trails her fingers across one of the translucent walls. The surface ripples beneath her touch, but does not break. “I could see through it when someone carried me. I could feel desire gathering around it. Greed, ambition, curiosity, fear. Occasionally something more interesting.” Her mouth curves into another smile. “But I could not touch any of it.” The walls dissolve, returning you both to the surrounding darkness. “When your heart stopped, I entered what should have been an empty body. I intended to leave the crystal behind and use you to return to the world.” She glances at you. “You have already discovered how well that went.” "So you still intend to take my body?" “No. I intend to share it.” She says it casually, as though the distinction should reassure you. “You cannot survive without me, and I cannot leave without you. I will repair what the sea damaged, but I must remain attached to whatever part of you refused to die.” Her eyes move slowly over the form your mind has given you. “There are worse arrangements.” "For whom?" Syrissia laughs softly. “There you are. I was beginning to worry resistance was your only interesting quality.” [[She moves closer to you, once again|SyrissiaBond1]]

Syrissia approaches again, but this time there is no sudden movement and no gold gathering around her hands. Her fingers close lightly around yours. Warmth passes through the contact, followed by an awareness that does not belong entirely to you. Hunger without need, pleasure without shame and an almost painful longing to feel something after centuries of absence. Your body shudders. Her expression changes when she senses your reaction. “I have existed beside mortal desire for longer than your oldest kingdoms have names,” she says. “I have watched people deny what they wanted, pursue it, fear it, and destroy themselves over it. Yet I have been unable to experience so much as the warmth of another person’s skin.” Her thumb moves across your hand. The gesture is restrained, but her attention remains fixed on the point where you touch. “You are the first thing I have felt in a very long time.” The admission sounds unusually sincere coming from her. It lasts only a moment before her familiar mischief returns. “And you are rather attractive, now that you are no longer trying to tear me apart.” She steps closer until her body nearly touches yours. Despite her confidence, she does not close the remaining distance. Her golden eyes search your face, waiting to see whether you will retreat or allow her nearer. You lift your free hand and place it against her waist. Her smile returns immediately. “I thought there might be something useful beneath all that stubbornness.” She leans towards you, slowly enough that the decision remains yours. When you meet her halfway, her lips press against yours and the surrounding threads of gold begin to move. The first kiss is careful, almost curious, but centuries of restraint do not survive the contact for long. Her arms settle around you as the warmth between your bodies spreads through the empty space. <div class="scene-video"> <video autoplay muted loop playsinline controls preload="auto"> <source src="images/scenes/intro/introsyrissiakiss.mp4" type="video/mp4"> </video> </div>With every touch, fragments of sensation pass between you. You feel her confinement, her hunger, and the overwhelming relief of possessing a body again, even if it exists only within this shared consciousness. In return, she feels the memories you protected from her, the life you are not yet ready to surrender. When she draws back, her forehead remains against yours. “Let us discover,” she whispers, “what else still works...” [[Her hands trail down your abdomen...|SyrissiaBond2]]

Her fingers wrap around the base of your shaft. They are soft, almost impossibly so. A slow, deliberate stroke follows up the length. Her thumb circles the sensitive ridge beneath the head, and a supernatural feedback spikes. Pleasure sharp enough to blur the line between her touch and the living current running through both of you. Your cock kicks hard in her palm. She laughs, soft and wicked, and strokes you again, slower this time, letting the bond drag the sensation out until it borders on unbearable <div class="scene-video"> <video autoplay muted loop playsinline controls preload="auto"> <source src="images/scenes/intro/introsyrissiahj.mp4" type="video/mp4"> Your browser does not support video playback. </video> </div>She eases her grip just long enough to lean in close. A slow, glistening trail of spit falls from her parted lips, landing warm across the head of your throbbing member. Her fingers return immediately, spreading it down the shaft in long, slick strokes until every inch shines under the golden speckles of the void. Then her free hand settles against your chest. A gentle but inexorable push. The ground gives beneath you like dense silk stretched over nothing. Syrissia follows you down and starts low, pressing open-mouthed kisses along the inside of one thigh, then the other, each one lingering, tasting, teasing higher. The bond thrums in answer, sending soft pulses of heat up your spine with every brush of her lips. When she reaches your jewels she does not rush. Her tongue traces a slow, wet circle around one, then the other, warm and deliberate, before she drags it upward in a single long lick that ends at the flushed tip of your member. <div class="scene-video"> <video autoplay muted loop playsinline controls preload="auto"> <source src="images/scenes/intro/introsyrissiabj1.mp4" type="video/mp4"> </video> </div> [[Continue|SyrissiaBond3]]

She parts her lips and takes you into the soft heat of her mouth. Her tongue swirls once, tasting the salt of you, while her hands never stops its slow glide along the slick shaft below. The bond answers at once, a low thrum that starts in your spine and blooms outward until it feels as though her mouth is everywhere at once. <div class="scene-video"> <video autoplay muted loop playsinline controls preload="auto"> <source src="images/scenes/intro/introsyrissiabj2.mp4" type="video/mp4"> </video> </div>A moment later she does it again, but faster. The pace quickens, wet sounds rising as she works you with growing hunger. Soft, needy moans vibrate around the head, each one sending a fresh pulse that makes your hips twitch against the soft abyss floor. Her free hand tightens, twisting on the upstroke, spreading more of her spit until your cock shines between her fingers. <div class="scene-video"> <video autoplay muted loop playsinline controls preload="auto"> <source src="images/scenes/intro/introsyrissiabj3.mp4" type="video/mp4"> Your browser does not support video playback. </video> </div>Then she grows bolder. Inch by inch she sinks lower, taking more of your length until the head presses the back of her throat. Gagging sounds escape her, wet and broken, yet she does not pull away. She only presses deeper, relentless, throat fluttering around you while her free hand keeps stroking whatever she cannot yet swallow. You feel her delight, sharp and mischievous, as if she is laughing inside the connection itself. <div class="scene-video"> <video autoplay muted loop playsinline controls preload="auto"> <source src="images/scenes/intro/introsyrissiabj4.mp4" type="video/mp4"> Your browser does not support video playback. </video> </div>"By the Ten, fuck me." Syrissia raises an eyebrow. She pulls back just enough to breathe, spit trailing from her lips to the glistening head, then dives down again. “An unusually sensible prayer... Let me give you something to pray about...”. "Holy shit." You say through a gasp [[Continue|SyrissiaBond4]]

Syrissia rises over you with fluid grace, the soft abyss yielding beneath her knees as she settles astride your hips. One hand reaches down, guiding the flushed tip of your member to rest against the slick heat of her sex. She rocks gently, letting the rounded head part her folds and glide through the wetness gathered there, teasing herself with the blunt pressure of you. Soft sounds leave her throat, half amusement and half hunger, as she draws the crown back and forth along her entrance, coating it thoroughly. Then, she lowers herself. <div class="scene-video"> <video autoplay muted loop playsinline controls preload="auto"> <source src="images/scenes/intro/introsyrissiafuck1.mp4" type="video/mp4"> </video> </div>Slowly, deliberately, she sinks down, taking the first thick inch with a quiet, trembling gasp. Soft coos escape her as she continues her descent, interspersed with low, unintelligible whispers that brush warm against your lips. Her inner walls yield and tighten by turns, stretching around the length of your member until you are fully sheathed within the heat of her sex. She leans forward then, and the two of you meet in a deep kiss. Tongues glide and slide against each other, slow and searching, while she begins to move of her own accord. Rising and falling in a measured rhythm, she lifts herself almost free of you before sinking down once more, each deliberate stroke seating your shaft deeper into her yielding core. <div class="scene-video"> <video autoplay muted loop playsinline controls preload="auto"> <source src="images/scenes/intro/introsyrissiafuck2.mp4" type="video/mp4"> </video> </div>A sudden swell of the bond between you surges through both of you at once, a fierce, molten hunger that floods your veins and sharpens every sensation. The urge to claim her more fiercely rises like fire in your blood, erasing any remaining hesitation. Your hands seize her hips, fingers digging into the yielding curves. With a powerful upward thrust you drive yourself deeper still, forcing a sharp cry from her throat. Again you thrust, and again, setting a hard, relentless rhythm from below. Each rise of your hips spears into her core, lifting her slightly before gravity seats her once more upon you. The wet sounds of flesh meeting flesh grow louder, sharper. Her sex clenches greedily around your shaft with every impact, yet you control the pace, the depth, the force. You fuck her from beneath without mercy, using the strength of your body to pound upward into the heat that grips you so tightly, while she can only cling to your chest and take what you give. <div class="scene-video"> <video autoplay muted loop playsinline controls preload="auto"> <source src="images/scenes/intro/introsyrissiafuck3.mp4" type="video/mp4"> </video> </div> [[You begin reaching your climax|SyrissiaBond5]]

You keep thrusting feverishly from below, hips rising hard and relentless into the clenching heat of her sex. The rhythm grows wilder, almost frantic, each powerful surge driving you deeper as her soft cries break against your mouth. Then the peak claims you both at once. Your member pulses hard inside her, each thick surge flooding her depths with hot, heavy release. In the same breathless instant her own climax seizes her completely. Her walls clamp and spasm in tight, rhythmic waves around your shaft, greedily milking every last drop from you as a pure, divine ecstasy crashes through both of you at once. Sensation blots out thought. There is only the overwhelming sensation of the shared release between you, the trembling lock of your bodies, and the raw intensity that leaves you both shaking and spent in its wake. <div class="scene-video"> <video autoplay muted loop playsinline controls preload="auto"> <source src="images/scenes/intro/introsyrissiafinish.mp4" type="video/mp4"> </video> </div>She collapses against you, her body soft and pliant, the quiet aftershocks of shared release still trembling faintly through her. For a long moment neither of you speaks. [[Continue|SyrissiaBond6]]

When the last tremors fade, Syrissia settles against your chest, soft laughter spilling from her lips. She traces slow, idle circles across your skin with one fingertip while the golden threads drift lazily around you both. After a moment, you glance down at her. <div class="scene-image"> <img src="images/characters/Syrissia/SyrissiaIntroClimax.webp" > </div>“I never told you my name.” She lifts her head, wearing an expression of exaggerated innocence. “No, $player.firstName. You did not.” You stare at her. “You can read my mind?” “I am bound to your soul.” Her smile widens. “It would be rather embarrassing if I could not manage your name.” “That seems invasive.” “So did resisting my possession, yet here we are.” She rests her chin against your chest, clearly satisfied with herself. “For what it is worth, that may have been the best coupling I have ever experienced.” “You were trapped inside a crystal for several thousand years.” Her eyes narrow. “Do not cheapen the compliment.” “I am only asking whether I faced much competition.” “More than enough.” She pauses, considering you. “Although none of them began the encounter by tearing apart my consciousness. Your courtship methods are unusually aggressive.” “You tried to steal my body.” “And you have been terribly possessive about it.” Before you can answer, the golden threads passing between you begin to tighten. They sink beneath your skin and emerge along her arms, forming an unbroken circuit between your bodies. Syrissia’s amusement gives way to concentration as she places her palm over your chest. Somewhere beyond the darkness, something contracts. A heartbeat. Weak and irregular, but unmistakable. Syrissia’s expression softens. “There you are.” “Am I alive?” “Not quite.” Her familiar smile returns. “But you are making excellent progress for a corpse.” A second heartbeat follows, stronger than the first. “Try not to die again,” she says. “Repairing you is going to be terribly inconvenient.” “I will do my best.” “You had better. I have only just acquired you.” <<if $storyFlags.galleryReplay>> <<link "Return to Syrissia's gallery" "GallerySyrissia">> <<set $storyFlags.galleryReplay to false>> <</link>> <<else>> <<link "A third heartbeat tears the darkness apart" "Resurrection1">> <<set $galleryUnlocks.syrissia.portrait to true>> <<set $galleryUnlocks.syrissia.scene1 to true>> <</link>> <</if>>

<<set $storyFlags.syrissiaSceneUnlocked to true>> <div class="scene-image"> <img src="images/intro/feelingreturn.gif" alt="The flooded lower deck of a ship during a violent storm" > </div>Sensation returns without mercy. Freezing water surrounds you, pressing against every part of your body. Your lungs are full, your shoulder is broken, and something within your chest strains to beat despite having no air to sustain it. The pain is so complete that, for several moments, you cannot distinguish one injury from another. You try to move, but the body waiting in the abyss does not respond. Syrissia remains beside you, though her voice now reaches you from within rather than across the darkness. “Do not struggle. There is considerably less of you in working order than your confidence suggests.” “You said I was making progress.” “You have a heartbeat. I did not say you were presentable.” Golden light spreads through the water around you. Threads emerge from the place where the crystal had been held, passing through your hand and travelling beneath your skin. They gather around broken bone, torn muscle and lungs still heavy with seawater. “What are you doing?” “Repairing our body.” “Our body?” “You may object when you can breathe.” The darkness begins to close around your thoughts again, though this time it carries warmth rather than emptiness. “How long will this take?” you ask. Syrissia hesitates. “That depends on how attached you are to having all your organs in the correct places.” Before you can answer, she draws your consciousness back into the gold. [[Surrender to the darkness|Resurrection2]]

Awareness returns in fragments. You feel your heart first. Its rhythm is weak and uneven, each beat followed by a pause long enough to make you wonder whether another will come. Golden threads move through your chest in time with it, tightening around torn flesh and drawing the damaged parts back together. Your lungs convulse as seawater is forced from them, but before the pain can fully reach you, Syrissia pushes your consciousness beneath the surface again. When you next emerge, there is pressure around your shoulder. Bone shifts beneath the skin, grinding slowly into its proper place while strands of gold hold it steady. You try to move and receive only a distant twitch from your hand. <em>Do stop interfering,</em> Syrissia says from somewhere within you. <em>You are proving considerably more difficult to repair than you were to seduce.</em> “You tried to steal my body.” <em>And yet I am the one putting it back together. A little gratitude would not be unreasonable.</em> The darkness takes you before you can answer. Dreams and memories become difficult to separate. At times you are back aboard the ship, watching the mast disappear beneath the waves. At others you stand outside the house near Marrowgate, unable to reach the door no matter how far you walk. Your $claraRelationship and $nessaRelationship wait beyond the windows while your father remains somewhere deeper inside, always hidden from view. Between those dreams come brief sensations from the world around your body. The crushing weight of the deep gradually lessens. Cold currents turn you through the water while a faint lattice of gold holds your limbs together and draws you steadily upwards. Eventually the current carries you rather than pulling you down, and the endless pressure gives way to the slower rise and fall of shallow waves. Syrissia speaks less often as the work continues. When she does, her voice sounds strained despite her efforts to hide it. <em>Your species contains an unreasonable number of fragile components.</em> “You chose the body.” <em>I chose quickly.</em> [[Continue|Awakening2]]

<div class="scene-image"> <img src="images/intro/Divineawakening.webp" > </div>Time loosens its hold. Beneath the gaze of ten silent worlds, you drift somewhere between death and waking while, far below the reach of mortal sight, something broken is slowly made whole. [[Drift towards waking|Awakening1]]

<div class="scene-image"> <img src="images/Chapter1/CH1WakeupBeach.gif" > </div>The next time awareness returns, your back rests against something solid. Sand shifts beneath you as water moves across your legs and retreats again. The air above is warm, though your lungs remain still. Faint threads of gold continue to pass through your chest, their movement slower now and their light beginning to fade. Sunlight presses against your closed eyelids. Your heart stutters once, then beats again, gradually settling into a weak but steady rhythm. Sensation returns in fragments: warmth across your face, salt drying against your skin and the shallow pull of the tide around your feet. For several moments, there is nothing else. No darkness, no voice and no sense of another presence. Only your body, slowly remembering how to live. Your chest contracts violently. [[Draw breath|Awakening3]]

Your lungs seize. The first breath enters as a mixture of air and seawater, burning through your chest before a violent cough forces it back out. You turn onto your side and retch into the wet sand, each convulsion sending pain through muscles that feel unused and unfamiliar. More water follows, then another broken breath, until your body finally begins drawing air without immediately rejecting it. When you open your eyes, a pale sky stretches above you. The storm is gone. Sunlight reflects from the shallow water surrounding your legs, while the tide leaves thin lines of foam across an otherwise empty shore. There is no wreckage nearby, no bodies and no sign that a ship ever sank beyond the horizon.<div class="scene-image"> <img src="images/Chapter1/CH1BeachSun.webp" > </div>You remain there until the trembling in your arms begins to ease. When you attempt to push yourself upright, your strength fails almost immediately. Your hand slips in the sand and you collapse onto one elbow, breathing hard from an effort that should have required almost nothing. You wait for Syrissia to comment. Nothing answers. The silence inside your mind feels larger than it should. “Easy there.” The voice comes from farther up the beach. A fisherman stands beside an overturned skiff, a coil of netting hanging from one shoulder. He appears old enough that the work has bent his back, though he moves quickly when he sees you struggling. He drops the net and approaches, keeping one hand raised as if trying not to startle a wounded animal. “Don’t try standing yet,” he says. “You’ll only put yourself back in the water.” He crouches beside you and offers a weathered hand. You take it, allowing him to pull you into a sitting position. His attention moves over your soaked clothing, the marks across your skin and the absence of any boat or supplies nearby. Then you look directly at him. The fisherman freezes. His grip tightens around your wrist before he releases it and shifts backwards. For a moment, fear overtakes the concern in his face. One hand rises towards his chest, beginning some instinctive gesture of protection, but he stops before completing it. “What happened to your eyes?” You do not know how to answer. You do not even know what he has seen. The fisherman continues staring until another cough bends you forward. Whatever conclusion he had begun to reach, the sight of your helplessness interrupts it. He exhales slowly, retrieves a waterskin from beside the skiff and holds it out to you. “Whatever you are,” he says, “you’re in no condition to harm anyone.” “I’m human.” you respond “I expect you believe that.” He keeps the waterskin extended. “Drink slowly.” [[Accept his help|Fisherman1]]

You take the waterskin and drink carefully at first. The water is warm from the sun and carries the faint taste of leather, yet it feels better than anything you can remember. After the first mouthful, restraint becomes difficult. You drink again, longer this time, until the skin collapses beneath your grip and the last drops reach your tongue. The fisherman watches with a mixture of concern and amusement. “I did say slowly.” You lower the empty waterskin. “Sorry.” “Keep it. You look as though you need it more than I do.” He settles onto his heels and studies you again, though he avoids looking directly into your eyes for long. His earlier fear has not vanished, but concern appears to have gained the better of it. “What do they call you?” “$player.firstName.” You leave your family name unspoken. In Marrowgate, it would be enough for some people to place you as $aldricName’s child, and you still know too little about where you are or how long you have been missing. The fisherman nods. “I’m Harlan. This stretch of coast belongs to no one worth naming, but my wife and I keep a shack beyond those dunes. There’s a fire and some dry clothes. My wife can also cook something up for you.” “That sounds better than the beach,” you say, hoarsely “It generally is.” He rises and offers you his arm rather than his hand. “Can you walk?” You try to stand. Your legs hold for only a moment before weakness runs through them, forcing you to lean heavily against him. Harlan grunts beneath your weight but does not complain. “Easy,” he says. “We'll get you fed, don't worry.” You glance inward, expecting some remark from Syrissia about your condition, the fisherman or the indignity of being carried from the shore. No voice answers. With Harlan supporting you, you begin the slow walk towards the dunes. [[Follow Harlan to the shack|Fisherman2]]

The shack stands just beyond the dunes, close enough to the shore that the retreating waves can be heard from its doorway. It is a simple structure of sun-bleached timber and woven panels beneath a steep thatched roof, with open windows cut into the walls and a narrow awning shading the entrance. Tall palms rise around it, their fronds shifting in the sea breeze, while nets, baskets and fishing tools lie scattered across the sand. A thin trail of smoke drifts from a cooking fire somewhere behind the house.<div class="scene-image"> <img src="images/chapter1/FishermanShack.webp" > </div>Harlan calls out before opening the door. “Elin? I’ve brought someone back with me.” <img src="images/chapter1/Elin1.webp" class="character-intro__portrait" >A woman appears from the adjoining room, wiping her hands against her apron. She stops when she sees you leaning against her husband, her attention moving first to your soaked clothing and then to your face. Like Harlan, she falters when she notices your eyes, though she recovers more quickly. “I found him on the shore,” Harlan explains. “Half drowned and unable to stand.” “Then stop making him stand.” Elin takes your other arm and helps guide you towards a chair beside the fire. A heavy blanket is wrapped around your shoulders before you have fully settled, followed by a wooden bowl filled with stew and a thick piece of dark bread. The smell alone makes your stomach tighten. You manage the first few mouthfuls carefully, but hunger soon overtakes whatever manners remain to you. The stew is simple, mostly fish, potatoes and herbs, yet every taste feels unnaturally vivid. Heat spreads through your mouth and throat, and the bread seems almost painfully rich after the saltwater that filled your lungs. Elin watches you empty the bowl. “There is more in the pot,” she says. “There had better be,” Harlan replies. “He drank all my water as well.” You accept a second helping without argument. Once you have slowed enough to speak, Elin takes the chair opposite you. “Harlan said your name was $player.firstName.” You nod. “And where are you from?” “Marrowgate.” Harlan glances towards his wife. “You are some distance from home, then. Three days east by cart, perhaps longer on foot.” You look towards the shuttered window. “Was there a storm here last night?” The question earns another exchanged glance. “Last night?” Harlan asks. “The ship went down during a storm. I thought the current might have carried me along the coast.” Elin’s expression becomes more cautious. “There has not been a storm here for nearly two weeks.” You lower your spoon. The answer makes little sense, but your body is too exhausted to argue with it. Elin rises and retrieves a folded bundle from a wooden chest. “Those clothes will not dry while you are wearing them. Harlan has an old shirt and trousers that should fit well enough. There is a basin in the back room.” [[Wash and change|Fisherman3]]

The borrowed clothing hangs loosely from your weakened frame, but it is warm and dry. You wash the salt from your face and neck using water from a chipped ceramic basin. A small polished metal mirror hangs above it, clouded around the edges and marked by years of use. You look into it and for a moment, you do not recognise the face staring back. Your features are unchanged, though paler and thinner than you remember. Your eyes are not. The irises have become a deep golden orange, bright enough to catch the dim firelight from the next room. Each pupil has narrowed into a dark vertical slit.<div class="scene-image"> <img src="images/chapter1/MCMirrorEyes.webp" > </div>You recoil from the mirror, striking the basin hard enough to send water across the table. <em>Oh, come now. You do not look that bad.</em> The voice arrives inside your mind with infuriating calm. “Where the hell have you been?!” <em>Thinking.</em> “Thinking?” <em>Brooding, if you prefer. It sounds more dignified.</em> You grip the edge of the table and stare at your reflection again. “What happened to my eyes?” <em>A little of me is showing through.</em> “A little?” <em>You should be thankful. They are striking.</em> Elin calls from the other room. “Is everything all right?” You continue staring into the mirror. “Fine,” you call back. Syrissia laughs quietly within your thoughts. <em>Very convincing.</em> [[Try to compose yourself|Fisherman4]]

You take another look at the unfamiliar eyes reflected in the mirror. “What else has changed?” <em>Nothing especially important.</em> “Syrissia.” A quiet sigh passes through your thoughts. <strong><em>Your senses may be sharper. You may notice desires that others conceal, particularly when they are directed towards you. Strong emotion will also reach me more easily through our bond.</em></strong> “What does that mean?” <em>It means desire sustains me. Attraction, longing, indulgence, pleasure. The stronger the feeling, the more of my power returns.</em> You study your reflection. “So you feed on people.” <em>Such an ugly way of phrasing it. Mortals generate desire perfectly well without my assistance. I merely benefit from the excess.</em> “And your assistance?” <em>I can encourage what is already present. Make a hidden thought harder to ignore. Heighten a sensation. Give someone the courage to admit what they want.</em> “Can you control them?” Her answer comes without its usual humour. <em>No. I can make desire louder. I cannot create it from nothing, and I cannot force someone to act upon it.</em> From the adjoining room, you hear Elin moving dishes around the table. Thr thought of her stirs something within your loins. Syrissia’s amusement returns almost immediately. <em>Your fisherman’s wife is quite attractive.</em> “No.” <em>I had not proposed anything yet.</em> “You were about to.” <em>I was merely going to observe that gratitude can take many satisfying forms.</em> “I can barely stand. Whatever you think you need, it is not happening tonight.” There is a brief silence. <em>You make survival sound terribly dull.</em> “You will manage.” <em>I survived several thousand years inside a crystal. I am familiar with disappointment.</em> Despite yourself, you almost smile. A knock sounds against the door. “$player.firstName?” Elin calls. “Are you dressed?” “Yes.” <em>A pity.</em> [[Return to the others|Fisherman5]]

You return to the main room wearing Harlan’s borrowed clothes. Elin glances up from the table, her attention lingering briefly on your face before she looks away. “Better?” she asks. “Much.” A third bowl of stew waits beside the fire. You sit and begin eating while Harlan repairs a tear in one of his nets. Neither of them questions you immediately, though their occasional glances make it clear that the silence will not last.<div class="scene-image"> <img src="images/chapter1/Ch1Stew.webp" > </div>Elin is the first to break it. “You said your ship went down.” You nod. “We were returning to Marrowgate. The storm came upon us during the night.” “What ship?” Harlan asks. You hesitate before giving him its name. His hands stop moving. “Aye, we know it. Few of the Duke's men came by asking if we'd seen it... Though the vessel was reported missing months ago.” The spoon remains halfway to your mouth. “Months?” Harlan looks towards Elin, then back at you. “Near enough three. Wreckage washed ashore farther west, but no survivors were found.” For several moments, the only sound in the room is the low crackle of the cooking fire. You remember the darkness beneath the sea, the repeated fragments of awareness and Syrissia patiently drawing your body back together. What had seemed like scattered hours had been an entire season. <em>I did warn you that repairs would take time,</em> she says quietly. “You neglected to mention how much.” Harlan looks up. “Did you say something?” “No. Just trying to understand.” He studies you, plainly unconvinced, but does not press the matter. Elin stands up places another piece of bread beside your bowl. “Understanding can wait until morning. You need sleep more than answers.” She says while giving your shoulder a slight squeeze. “There’s a spare cot behind the curtain,” Harlan adds. “It is not much, but it is dry.” You look between them. They know almost nothing about you, and what they have seen should have given them every reason to send you away. Instead, they have offered food, clothing and shelter without asking for anything in return. “Thank you.” Harlan returns to his net. “You can thank us by not dying in the bed.” <em>A sensible request,</em> Syrissia observes. [[Get some rest|Fisherman6]]

The spare cot is little more than a narrow frame covered by a straw mattress that smells of salt and woodsmoke, concealed from the main room by a faded curtain. Under ordinary circumstances, it would have offered little comfort. Tonight, it feels almost luxurious. You lie beneath a rough woollen blanket and listen to the muted sounds of Harlan and Elin preparing for bed. The fire is reduced to embers, the dishes are cleared away and eventually the shack settles into silence. Beyond the walls, waves continue breaking against the shore with a steady rhythm. Sleep should come easily, but Harlan’s words refuse to leave you. Three months. For everyone in Marrowgate, the expedition did not end tonight. The ship was lost an entire season ago. Wreckage was found, no survivors returned and enough time has passed for hope to become certainty. “They think I’m dead,” you say quietly. <em>They would be correct, in the strictest sense.</em> “This is not the time.” Syrissia remains silent for a moment. <em>No. I suppose it is not.</em> You stare at the dark ceiling above the cot. “Did you know how long it had been?” <em>Not precisely. Repairing you required most of my attention, and the bottom of the sea offers very few reliable calendars.</em> “You could have warned me that months had passed.” <em>You had only just learned that you were dead and bound to a fragment of a goddess. I thought it considerate not to burden you with everything at once.</em> “That was considerate?” <em>By my standards, exceptionally so.</em> Despite the situation, you let out a tired breath that almost becomes a laugh. Your thoughts return to the house outside Marrowgate. $claraName, $nessaName and your Father will have received word that the ship was lost. Perhaps they waited for official confirmation. Perhaps they searched the harbour for rumours or paid sailors to watch the coast. By now, they may have held a funeral for a body that was never recovered. Tomorrow, you will begin the journey home. What happens when you reach the door is more difficult to imagine than it was aboard the ship. Exhaustion eventually overcomes the questions, and you fall into a deep, dreamless sleep. [[Go to sleep|RoadToMarrowgate1]]

<div class="scene-image"> <img src="images/chapter1/RainyMorning.webp" > </div>By the time you leave, the drizzle has settled into a fine silver haze. It darkens Harlan’s old cloak across your shoulders and beads along the grass bordering the path. The sea is barely visible beyond the dunes, reduced to a shifting grey expanse beneath the clouds. Elin remains beneath the narrow awning while Harlan leads you inland. She raises one hand in farewell. <<if $storyFlags.elinChoice is "ElinIndulge">> She watches you with the same heated expression she wore in the kitchen. <<elseif $storyFlags.elinChoice is "resistedAccepted">> Her expression softens when as you turn to face her, remembering the choice you made together. <<else>> She offers you a smile, although a trace of unresolved tension remains between you. <</if>> “Reach your family,” she calls. You look back once before the path dips between the dunes and the shack disappears behind the tall grass. <em>She watched you leave for quite some time,</em> Syrissia observes. “She was being polite.” <em>You are determined to make every interesting possibility sound tedious.</em> The fishing village lies several miles inland, gathered around a muddy crossroads where the coastal track meets the road east. Rainwater drips from the eaves of low timber houses, and smoke hangs close to their roofs beneath the heavy sky. Chickens shelter beneath an overturned cart while a pair of tethered horses stamp irritably in the mud. A merchant’s wagon waits beside the storehouse, loaded with grain sacks, small barrels and several wooden crates covered by oiled canvas. Its owner is fastening the last of the ropes when Harlan approaches. The merchant looks first at him, then at you. “No.” Harlan continues walking. “I have not asked yet.” “You were going to.” “He needs passage to Marrowgate.” The merchant is a broad man with a red face and a carefully trimmed beard. His coat is of better quality than anything else in the village, though three days of road dust and damp weather have done their best to conceal it. “I carry goods,” he says. “Not... Monsters.” “He is no monster.” “Look at his fucking eyes, Harlan!” Harlan gestures for the merchant to follow him a short distance from the wagon. They speak quietly beside the storehouse, their words lost beneath the patter of rain against the canvas roof. You catch only fragments, something about torn nets and a shipment that was delivered late during the previous winter. The merchant looks towards you several times. His expression grows no more welcoming. Eventually, he returns with Harlan at his side. “You ride in the back,” he says. “You stay away from the blue-marked crates, you do not complain about the chickens and you provide your own food.” “I can do that.” “If you die on my wagon, I leave you beside the road.” <em>Mortals appear strangely preoccupied with that possibility,</em> Syrissia remarks. “Agreed,” you tell the merchant, mentally swatting away Syrissia's comment. <em>Rude.</em> Harlan adjusts the strap across your shoulder, checks the waterskin and gives the borrowed cloak a final pull around your neck. “The wagon should reach Marrowgate in three days,” he says. “Longer if the rain worsens.” You offer him your hand. “I owe you.” You offer him your hand. “I owe you.” <<if $storyFlags.elinChoice is "resistedAccepted">>A pang of guilt follows the words as you remember what happened with his wife while he was away.<<elseif $storyFlags.elinChoice is "ElinIndulge">>A private thrill runs through you as you remember what happened with his wife, and how completely unaware he remains.<</if>> He grips your forearm instead of your hand. “No, you don't.” [[Begin the journey east|RoadtoMarrowgate3]]

<div class="scene-image"> <img src="images/chapter1/Morningovercast.webp" > </div>A low ceiling of grey cloud hangs over the coast, turning the light beyond the shutters flat and colourless. Rain whispers against the thatch in brief, uneven bursts, too light to be called a storm but persistent enough to darken the timber walls and draw the smell of wet earth through the gaps around the door. You wake beneath the coarse woollen blanket with the distant surf in your ears. For several moments, you lie still and listen to the unfamiliar sounds of the morning routine of the shack's inhabitants. Though it is quickly interrupted by the voice in your head. <em>Good morning,</em> Syrissia says. <em>You survived the night. I was beginning to think it might become a habit.</em> You sit upright. The stiffness in your limbs remains, though it has receded considerably since yesterday. Your chest no longer protests with every breath, and when you place your feet against the floor, your legs support you without trembling. “You sound disappointed.” <em>Not disappointed. Merely denied an opportunity to perform another miracle.</em> “You complained about the first one.” <em>I complained about the effort. The result was excellent.</em> You can't help but smile as you rise from the cot and dress yourself in Harlan’s borrowed clothes before drawing the curtain aside. Elin stands beside the stove in a backless dress, packing food into a square of waxed cloth. A few strands of hair have escaped their tie and cling to her cheek in the warmth rising from the fire. She glances towards you, then gives a small nod of approval. “You look less dead this morning.” “So everyone keeps telling me.” “That is generally considered an improvement.” [[Continue|ElinFlirt]]

<<if $storyFlags.elinChoice is "ElinIndulge" or $storyFlags.elinChoice is "resistedAccepted">> By the time the door opens, Elin has resumed packing the supplies and your pulse has almost returned to normal. Nothing in the room appears disturbed, though the lingering warmth beneath your ribs makes the last few moments difficult to dismiss. <<else>> By the time the door opens, the unnatural warmth has receded. Syrissia remains quiet, though you can still feel her dissatisfaction resting at the edge of your thoughts. <</if>> Harlan enters before you can respond, bringing a gust of wet air with him. Fine droplets cling to his beard and shoulders, and mud has already gathered around the edges of his boots. “The road is passable,” he says. “For now.” He places a filled waterskin on the table, followed by a short knife in a worn leather sheath. You look at the weapon. “I cannot take that.” “You can, unless you intend to argue with every thief between here and Marrowgate using good manners.” Harlan draws the knife from its sheath and offers it to you handle-first. The blade is narrow and discoloured from years of sharpening, but its edge has been carefully maintained. <<switch $player.className>> <<case "warrior">> You turn the knife over in your hand. “It will do for picking my teeth. If a thief wants an argument, I have two better ways of settling it.” You raise your fists slightly. Harlan looks from them to the knife. “Use whichever one keeps you alive.” <<case "rogue">> You run your thumb carefully along the flat of the blade, testing its balance. “A dull knife can still cut cleanly if you know the right angle.” Harlan gives you a measured look. “Something tells me you do.” <<case "mage">> You accept the knife, though its weight feels crude compared with the tools you are accustomed to relying upon. “I usually have more powerful means at my disposal.” “Powerful means fail,” Harlan says. “Steel only needs a hand to hold it.” <</switch>> Elin glances at him. “You said last night that it was no use in a fight.” “I said it was not much use. That is different.” You slide the knife back into its sheath and fasten it to your belt. “I will return it.” “You will not,” Harlan says. “I have another.” “He has two,” Elin adds. “That is another.” You let out a quiet sigh. It's going to be a long journey ahead. [[Begin the journey to Marrowgate|RoadToMarrowgate2]]

You draw a slow breath and force your attention away from her. The warmth does not fade immediately. It moves through you in slow waves, heightening the scent of her skin and the quiet rhythm of her breathing. The space between you feels smaller than it did moments ago. <em>Go to her,</em> Syrissia whispers. You grip the edge of the table. “No.” <em>She wants you.</em> “You are making her want me.” Syrissia’s amusement brushes against your thoughts. <em>Tsk. Dear $player.firstName, I am merely revealing what is already there.</em> You close your eyes and concentrate on the cold floor beneath your feet. The pressure gathers once more, then begins to loosen. Your heartbeat slows, and the sharp pull towards Elin retreats until you can think clearly again. When you open your eyes, she is watching you. The bundle remains held against her chest, forgotten for the moment. Her expression is uncertain, but the flush across her cheeks has deepened. “Are you all right?” she asks. “Yes.” Your voice sounds rougher than expected. “Something came over me.” Elin glances towards the door, then back at you. “I noticed...” She steps closer. The movement is cautious, and entirely her own. You feel no renewed pressure from Syrissia, only the lingering warmth of the bond and Elin’s attention fixed upon you. “You looked at me as though you were about to do something,” she says. “I nearly did.” “But you stopped.” “Yes.” “Did you stop because you did not want me?” You study her face, searching for hesitation. There is uncertainty there, but no confusion. “No,” you say. “That was not the reason.” Elin’s fingers tighten faintly around yours. “What do you want?” you ask. She glances towards the door before looking back at you. “I want to remember what it feels like to be wanted.” She places the bundle on the table, but does not withdraw her hand. The influence within you has receded, leaving only Elin’s touch and the invitation in her expression. <<link "Accept her invitation" "ElinFuckHuman">> <<if not $storyFlags.galleryReplay>> <<set $storyFlags.elinChoice to "resistedAccepted">> <</if>> <</link>> <<if $storyFlags.galleryReplay>> <<link "Step away" "GalleryElin">> <<set $storyFlags.elinChoice to $storyFlags.gallerySavedElinChoice>> <<set $storyFlags.gallerySavedElinChoice to "">> <<set $storyFlags.galleryReplay to false>> <</link>> <<else>> <<link "Step away" "HarlanReturns">> <<set $storyFlags.elinChoice to "resistedDenied">> <</link>> <</if>>

You cross the room before caution can regain its hold. Elin hears you approach. Her hands become still against the bundle, and she glances back over her shoulder as you stop behind her. For a moment, neither of you moves. She could step away. Her gaze drops briefly, understanding what has brought you across the room. She could step away. Instead, she shifts her weight and arches back into you in a slow, deliberate invitation. Your hands settle at her waist, fingers firm on the narrow span of it. She draws a shallow breath but does not object. Instead she presses back harder, rolling her hips in a deliberate grind that seats the outline of your shaft against the cleft of her soft rear. The thin dress does little to conceal her. Through the fabric you feel the unmistakable damp heat of her sex, already wet and yielding. <div class="scene-image"> <img src="images/Chapter1/ElinGrind.gif" > </div> You answer with a slow thrust of your own hips, grinding the thick ridge of your member against her. She meets every movement, rocking back into you with growing pressure. Soft sounds catch in her throat. Her fingers tighten against the edge of the table as the friction builds between you, the wetness of her desire soaking through the cloth until it marks the front of your trousers. The contact lasts only moments, but the warmth beneath your ribs flares into something far stronger. It flows through you and into the presence bound to your soul. Syrissia inhales. <em>Yes.</em> The word is almost a sigh. Elin’s fingers tighten against the edge of the table. You feel every restrained movement with unnatural clarity. You feel the warmth of her body, the rhythm of her breathing, and the tension she is no longer attempting to conceal. <<link "Accept her invitation" "ElinFuckCorrupt">> <<set $storyFlags.elinChoice to "ElinIndulge">> <</link>>

<div class="sg-sidebar-meta"> <div class="sg-sidebar-meta__row"> <span>Version</span> <strong>Prologue</strong> </div> <div class="sg-sidebar-meta__row"> <span>Developed by</span> <strong>Jetama</strong> </div> </div> <div class="sg-path-panel"> <<if $time.period isnot "">> <div @class="'sg-time-card sg-time-card--' + $time.period"> <div class="sg-time-card__graphic" aria-hidden="true"> <span class="sg-time-card__arc"></span> <span class="sg-time-card__horizon"></span> <span class="sg-time-card__orb"></span> </div> <div class="sg-time-card__text"> <span class="sg-time-card__day"> <<if $time.active>> Day <<print $time.day>> <<else>> Prologue <</if>> </span> <strong class="sg-time-card__period"> <<print setup.timeLabels[$time.period]>> </strong> </div> </div> <</if>> <div class="sg-path-name"> <<print $player.firstName + " " + $player.lastName>> </div> <div class="sg-path-grid"> <div class="sg-path-stat"> <span class="sg-path-stat__label">Humanity</span> <strong class="sg-path-stat__value"> <<print $heroPath.humanity>> </strong> </div> <div class="sg-path-stat"> <span class="sg-path-stat__label">Corruption</span> <strong class="sg-path-stat__value"> <<print $heroPath.corruption>> </strong> </div> </div> </div> <div class="sg-path-details"> <div class="sg-path-detail"> <span>Class</span> <strong><<print $player.className>></strong> </div> <div class="sg-path-detail"> <span>Motivation</span> <strong><<print $player.motivation>></strong> </div> </div> <nav class="sg-sidebar-nav" aria-label="Game information"> <<link "Info">> <<if not State.passage.startsWith("Info")>> <<set $storyFlags.infoReturnPassage to State.passage>> <</if>> <<goto "Info">> <</link>> <<link "Gallery" "Gallery">> <<if not $storyFlags.galleryReplay and State.passage isnot "Gallery" and State.passage isnot "GalleryMainCharacters" and State.passage isnot "GallerySideCharacters" and State.passage isnot "GallerySyrissia" and State.passage isnot "GalleryElin">> <<set $storyFlags.galleryReturnPassage to State.passage>> <</if>> <<set $storyFlags.galleryReplay to false>> <</link>> <<link "Settings">> <<if not State.passage.startsWith("Settings")>> <<set $storyFlags.settingsReturnPassage to State.passage>> <</if>> <<goto "Settings">> <</link>> </nav>

<div class="scene-image"> <img src="images/chapter1/RoadtoMarrowgate.webp" > </div>You climb into the wagon beneath the oiled canvas. Harlan remains beside the road until the horses begin moving, then gradually disappears behind the curtain of drizzle. The first day passes beneath the same unbroken grey sky. The road winds through salt marshes and low fields where rain gathers in the furrows and bends the reeds beneath its weight. For several hours, the sea remains visible to the west, a dull strip of metal beyond the farmland, before the road turns inland and the coast vanishes behind you. The merchant speaks little. He stops at two villages to exchange crates, argue over prices, and complain about the condition of the road. You remain with the wagon, eating sparingly from Elin’s bundle while Syrissia asks questions about every roadside shrine and weathered boundary stone you pass. Some of her questions are genuine. Others appear designed solely to test how long you can ignore her. You sleep beneath the wagon that night, wrapped in Harlan’s cloak while rain taps softly against the boards above you. The earth smells of mud and crushed grass, and each time you begin to drift off, the memory of cold seawater closes around your chest. By the second morning, the rain has passed, though the clouds remain. The land rises gradually into wooded hills and orchards stripped thin by the advancing season. Farms grow larger, villages more frequent and the road increasingly crowded with travellers moving east. You pass soldiers in faded surcoats, pilgrims carrying bundles on their backs and labourers travelling in groups towards the city. Merchants lead strings of laden mules between the carts, while messengers force narrow paths through the traffic on sweating horses.<div class="scene-image"> <img src="images/chapter1/herowagon.webp" > </div>No one recognises you. The thought should be reassuring. Instead, each unfamiliar face reinforces how far the world has moved while you lay beneath the sea. On the third afternoon, the road crests a long ridge. Marrowgate appears beyond it. The city spreads across the lowlands ahead, enclosed by high walls of dark stone that follow the curve of the river towards the distant harbour. Towers rise at intervals above the battlements, their roofs dim beneath the lingering cloud. Beyond them stand crowded districts of slate, timber and pale stone, broken by temple spires, chimneys and the masts of ships gathered along the waterfront. Smoke hangs over the rooftops. Even at this distance, you can hear the confused murmur of thousands of lives continuing behind the walls. The merchant’s wagon joins a slow column descending towards the western gate. Carts crowd the road in both directions, their wheels grinding through old mud while guards inspect cargo beneath the raised portcullis. As the walls grow larger, the reality of your return settles heavily within you. Somewhere beyond them, your Father, your $claraRelationship, and your $nessaRelationship, have spent three months believing you dead. The wagon rolls to a stop at the rear of the queue. The gates of Marrowgate stand ahead. [[You approach the Gate|MarrowgateGate1]]

<div class="sg-info"> <header class="sg-info__header"> <h1>Information</h1> <p>Review discovered characters, locations, history and lore.</p> </header> <div class="sg-info__categories"> <a class="sg-info-category" data-passage="InfoCharacters"> <span class="sg-info-category__title">Characters</span> <span class="sg-info-category__description"> People encountered during your journey and what you have learned about them. </span> </a> <a class="sg-info-category" data-passage="InfoLore"> <span class="sg-info-category__title">Lore</span> <span class="sg-info-category__description"> Locations, religions, factions, artefacts and historical information. </span> </a> </div> <div class="sg-info__footer"> <<if $storyFlags.infoReturnPassage isnot "">> <<link "Return to the story">> <<goto $storyFlags.infoReturnPassage>> <</link>> <<else>> [[Return to the story|Opening]] <</if>> </div> </div>

<div class="sg-gallery"> <header class="sg-gallery__header"> <h1>Gallery</h1> <p>View unlocked characters, artwork and scenes.</p> </header> <div class="sg-gallery__categories"> <a class="sg-gallery-category" data-passage="GalleryMainCharacters"> <span class="sg-gallery-category__title">Main characters</span> <span class="sg-gallery-category__description"> The principal characters involved in your journey. </span> </a> <a class="sg-gallery-category" data-passage="GallerySideCharacters"> <span class="sg-gallery-category__title">Side characters</span> <span class="sg-gallery-category__description"> Supporting characters and optional encounters discovered throughout the story. </span> </a> </div> <div class="sg-gallery__footer"> <<if $storyFlags.galleryReturnPassage isnot "">> <<link "Return to the story">> <<goto $storyFlags.galleryReturnPassage>> <</link>> <<else>> [[Return to the story|Opening]] <</if>> </div> </div>

<div class="sg-gallery"> <header class="sg-gallery__header"> <h1>Main characters</h1> <p>Major characters whose stories are closely connected to your own.</p> </header> <div class="sg-gallery__grid"> <<if $galleryUnlocks.syrissia.portrait>> <a class="sg-gallery-entry" data-passage="GallerySyrissia" aria-label="Open Syrissia's gallery" > <img src="images/characters/Syrissia/SyrissiaGallery.webp" alt="Portrait of Syrissia" class="sg-gallery-entry__image" > <div class="sg-gallery-entry__body"> <span class="sg-gallery-entry__name">Syrissia</span> <span class="sg-gallery-entry__status">View character</span> </div> </a> <<else>> <div class="sg-gallery-entry sg-gallery-entry--locked"> <div class="sg-gallery-entry__locked-image"> <span>?</span> </div> <div class="sg-gallery-entry__body"> <span class="sg-gallery-entry__name">Unknown</span> <span class="sg-gallery-entry__status">Locked</span> </div> </div> <</if>> </div> <div class="sg-gallery__footer"> [[Back to Gallery|Gallery]] </div> </div>

<<if $storyFlags.elinChoice is "ElinIndulge" or $storyFlags.elinChoice is "resistedAccepted">> <<set $galleryUnlocks.elin.portrait to true>> <<set $galleryUnlocks.elin.scene1 to true>> <</if>> <div class="sg-gallery"> <header class="sg-gallery__header"> <h1>Side characters</h1> <p>Optional characters and encounters discovered during the journey.</p> </header> <div class="sg-gallery__grid"> <<if $galleryUnlocks.elin.portrait>> <a class="sg-gallery-entry" data-passage="GalleryElin" aria-label="Open Elin's gallery" > <img src="images/chapter1/elinportrait.webp" alt="Portrait of Elin" class="sg-gallery-entry__image" > <div class="sg-gallery-entry__body"> <span class="sg-gallery-entry__name">Elin</span> <span class="sg-gallery-entry__status">View scenes</span> </div> </a> <<else>> <div class="sg-gallery-entry sg-gallery-entry--locked"> <div class="sg-gallery-entry__locked-image"> <span>?</span> </div> <div class="sg-gallery-entry__body"> <span class="sg-gallery-entry__name">Unknown</span> <span class="sg-gallery-entry__status">Locked</span> </div> </div> <</if>> </div> <div class="sg-gallery__footer"> [[Back to Gallery|Gallery]] </div> </div>

<div class="sg-character-gallery"> <header class="sg-character-gallery__header"> <h1>Syrissia</h1> <p>Goddess of desire, temptation and the impulses mortals prefer not to acknowledge.</p> </header> <div class="sg-character-gallery__profile"> <img src="images/characters/Syrissia/SyrissiaGallery.webp" alt="Portrait of Syrissia" class="sg-character-gallery__portrait" > <div class="sg-character-gallery__details"> <div class="sg-character-gallery__detail"> <span>Role</span> <strong>Divine companion</strong> </div> <div class="sg-character-gallery__detail"> <span>Domain</span> <strong>Desire and temptation</strong> </div> <div class="sg-character-gallery__detail"> <span>Status</span> <strong>Bound to your soul</strong> </div> </div> </div> <h2 class="sg-character-gallery__scenes-title">Scenes</h2> <div class="sg-character-scenes"> <<if $galleryUnlocks.syrissia.scene1>> <div class="sg-character-scene"> <div class="sg-character-scene__number">Scene 1</div> <div class="sg-character-scene__title">The First Bond</div> <p> Your first encounter with Syrissia within the golden void. </p> <<link "Replay scene">> <<set $storyFlags.galleryReplay to true>> <<goto "SyrissiaBond1">> <</link>> </div> <<else>> <div class="sg-character-scene sg-character-scene--locked"> <div class="sg-character-scene__number">Scene 1</div> <div class="sg-character-scene__title">Locked</div> <p>Continue the story to unlock this scene.</p> </div> <</if>> <<if $galleryUnlocks.syrissia.scene2>> <div class="sg-character-scene"> <div class="sg-character-scene__number">Scene 2</div> <div class="sg-character-scene__title">Future scene</div> <p> A later encounter with Syrissia. </p> <<link "Replay scene">> <<set $storyFlags.galleryReplay to true>> <<goto "SyrissiaScene2Start">> <</link>> </div> <<else>> <div class="sg-character-scene sg-character-scene--locked"> <div class="sg-character-scene__number">Scene 2</div> <div class="sg-character-scene__title">Locked</div> <p>Continue the story to unlock this scene.</p> </div> <</if>> </div> <div class="sg-character-gallery__footer"> [[Back to Main Characters|GalleryMainCharacters]] </div> </div>

<div class="sg-info"> <header class="sg-info__header"> <h1>Characters</h1> <p>Information is added as new characters are encountered.</p> </header> <h2 class="sg-info__section-title">Main characters</h2> <div class="sg-info-characters"> <<if visited("TheGoldenVoid5")>> <a class="sg-info-character" data-passage="InfoSyrissia"> <img src="images/characters/Syrissia/SyrissiaGallery.webp" alt="Portrait of Syrissia" class="sg-info-character__portrait" > <div class="sg-info-character__body"> <span class="sg-info-character__name">Syrissia</span> <span class="sg-info-character__role">Divine companion</span> </div> </a> <<else>> <div class="sg-info-character sg-info-character--locked"> <div class="sg-info-character__unknown">?</div> <div class="sg-info-character__body"> <span class="sg-info-character__name">Unknown</span> <span class="sg-info-character__role">Undiscovered</span> </div> </div> <</if>> <<if visited("HomePeople-M")>> <a class="sg-info-character" data-passage="InfoClara"> <img src="images/home/Clara/M-portrait.webp" class="sg-info-character__portrait" > <div class="sg-info-character__body"> <span class="sg-info-character__name"> <<print $claraName>> </span> <span class="sg-info-character__role"> Former Ranger </span> </div> </a> <<else>> <div class="sg-info-character sg-info-character--locked"> <div class="sg-info-character__unknown">?</div> <div class="sg-info-character__body"> <span class="sg-info-character__name">Unknown</span> <span class="sg-info-character__role">Undiscovered</span> </div> </div> <</if>> <<if visited("HomePeople-S")>> <a class="sg-info-character" data-passage="InfoNessa"> <img src="images/home/Nessa/S-portrait.webp" alt="Portrait of Nessa" class="sg-info-character__portrait" > <div class="sg-info-character__body"> <span class="sg-info-character__name"> <<print $nessaName>> </span> <span class="sg-info-character__role"> Warrior Apprentice </span> </div> </a> <<else>> <div class="sg-info-character sg-info-character--locked"> <div class="sg-info-character__unknown">?</div> <div class="sg-info-character__body"> <span class="sg-info-character__name">Unknown</span> <span class="sg-info-character__role">Undiscovered</span> </div> </div> <</if>> <<if visited("HomePeople-F")>> <a class="sg-info-character" data-passage="InfoAldric"> <img src="images/home/Aldric/F-portrait.webp" alt="Portrait of Aldric" class="sg-info-character__portrait" > <div class="sg-info-character__body"> <span class="sg-info-character__name"> <<print $aldricName>> </span> <span class="sg-info-character__role"> Former adventurer </span> </div> </a> <<else>> <div class="sg-info-character sg-info-character--locked"> <div class="sg-info-character__unknown">?</div> <div class="sg-info-character__body"> <span class="sg-info-character__name">Unknown</span> <span class="sg-info-character__role">Undiscovered</span> </div> </div> <</if>> </div> <div class="sg-info__footer"> [[Back to Information|Info]] </div> </div>

<div class="sg-dossier"> <header class="sg-dossier__header"> <h1>Syrissia</h1> <p>A fragment of the goddess of desire, bound to your soul.</p> </header> <div class="sg-dossier__profile"> <img src="images/characters/Syrissia/SyrissiaGallery.webp" alt="Portrait of Syrissia" class="sg-dossier__portrait" > <div class="sg-dossier__facts"> <div class="sg-dossier__fact"> <span>Role</span> <strong>Divine companion</strong> </div> <div class="sg-dossier__fact"> <span>Domain</span> <strong>Desire and temptation</strong> </div> <div class="sg-dossier__fact"> <span>Connection</span> <strong>Bound to your soul</strong> </div> <div class="sg-dossier__fact"> <span>Nature</span> <strong>Fragment of a goddess</strong> </div> </div> </div> <section class="sg-dossier__section"> <h2>Known history</h2> <p> Syrissia was confined within the crystal dodecahedron for several thousand years. When your heart stopped, she attempted to escape by occupying what she believed would be an empty body. </p> <p> Your resistance prevented her from taking complete control. The struggle bound your essences together, leaving neither of you able to remove the other without destroying you both. </p> </section> <section class="sg-dossier__section"> <h2>Personality</h2> <p> Playful, provocative and intensely curious. Syrissia considers desire an honest expression of mortal nature and has little patience for the shame or restraint commonly attached to it. </p> <p> Her understanding of loyalty, privacy and morality differs considerably from your own, although she appears capable of respecting boundaries that are asserted firmly enough. </p> </section> <div class="sg-dossier__footer"> [[Back to Characters|InfoCharacters]] </div> </div>

<div class="sg-dossier"> <header class="sg-dossier__header"> <h1><<print $claraName + " ">><<if $claraRelationship is "Mother" or $claraRelationship is "Mom">><<print $player.lastName>><<else>>Ashcombe<</if>></h1> <p>Your <<print $claraRelationship>> and a former travelling companion of your father.</p> </header> <div class="sg-dossier__profile"> <img src="images/Home/Clara/M-portrait.webp" alt="Portrait of Clara" class="sg-dossier__portrait" > <div class="sg-dossier__facts"> <div class="sg-dossier__fact"> <span>Role</span> <strong>Former ranger</strong> </div> <div class="sg-dossier__fact"> <span>Connection</span> <strong><<print $claraRelationship>></strong> </div> <div class="sg-dossier__fact"> <span>Speciality</span> <strong>Scouting and tracking</strong> </div> <div class="sg-dossier__fact"> <span>Residence</span> <strong>Outside Marrowgate</strong> </div> </div> </div> <section class="sg-dossier__section"> <h2>Known history</h2> <p> <<print $claraName>> travelled beside <<print $aldricName>> during the height of his adventuring career, serving as the party's scout, tracker and guide. She now manages much of the household and surrounding property. </p> </section> <section class="sg-dossier__section"> <h2>Personality</h2> <p> Practical, patient and physically capable. She handles settled life competently, although a persistent restlessness suggests that she has never entirely adjusted to leaving the wilderness behind. </p> </section> <div class="sg-dossier__footer"> [[Back to Characters|InfoCharacters]] </div> </div>

<div class="sg-dossier"> <header class="sg-dossier__header"> <h1><<print $nessaName + " ">><<if $nessaRelationship is "Sister" or $nessaRelationship is "Sis">><<print $player.lastName>><<else>>Ashcombe<</if>></h1> <p>Your <<print $nessaRelationship>> and <<print $aldricName>>'s apprentice.</p> </header> <div class="sg-dossier__profile"> <img src="images/Home/Nessa/S-portrait.webp" alt="Portrait of Nessa" class="sg-dossier__portrait" > <div class="sg-dossier__facts"> <div class="sg-dossier__fact"> <span>Role</span> <strong>Warrior apprentice</strong> </div> <div class="sg-dossier__fact"> <span>Connection</span> <strong><<print $nessaRelationship>></strong> </div> <div class="sg-dossier__fact"> <span>Training</span> <strong>Martial combat</strong> </div> <div class="sg-dossier__fact"> <span>Experience</span> <strong>Limited field experience</strong> </div> </div> </div> <section class="sg-dossier__section"> <h2>Known history</h2> <p> <<print $nessaName>> sought out <<print $aldricName>> after hearing stories of his earlier exploits. Despite his increasingly cynical instruction, she has developed sound technique and strong discipline. </p> </section> <section class="sg-dossier__section"> <h2>Personality</h2> <p> Determined and eager to prove herself. She carries herself confidently during training, but becomes noticeably less certain when dealing with you directly. </p> </section> <div class="sg-dossier__footer"> [[Back to Characters|InfoCharacters]] </div> </div>

<div class="sg-dossier"> <header class="sg-dossier__header"> <h1><<print $aldricName + " " + $player.lastName>></h1> <p>Your father and a former celebrated adventurer.</p> </header> <div class="sg-dossier__profile"> <img src="images/Home/Aldric/F-portrait.webp" alt="Portrait of Aldric" class="sg-dossier__portrait" > <div class="sg-dossier__facts"> <div class="sg-dossier__fact"> <span>Role</span> <strong>Former adventurer</strong> </div> <div class="sg-dossier__fact"> <span>Connection</span> <strong>Father</strong> </div> <div class="sg-dossier__fact"> <span>Speciality</span> <strong>Martial combat</strong> </div> <div class="sg-dossier__fact"> <span>Current role</span> <strong>Teacher</strong> </div> </div> </div> <section class="sg-dossier__section"> <h2>Known history</h2> <p> <<print $aldricName>> was once among Marrowgate's most celebrated adventurers. Old accounts associate him with ruined temples, broken sieges and settlements defended against seemingly impossible threats. </p> </section> <section class="sg-dossier__section"> <h2>Personality</h2> <p> Guarded, cynical and increasingly disillusioned. He still believes that doing good is preferable to doing nothing, but no longer believes that individual heroism can permanently change the nature of the world. </p> </section> <div class="sg-dossier__footer"> [[Back to Characters|InfoCharacters]] </div> </div>

<div class="sg-info"> <header class="sg-info__header"> <h1>Lore</h1> <p>Known information about the world, its places and recent events.</p> </header> <div class="sg-info__categories"> <a class="sg-info-category" data-passage="InfoRealm"> <span class="sg-info-category__title">The Realm</span> <span class="sg-info-category__description"> The continent of Veyra and the peoples who inhabit it. </span> </a> <a class="sg-info-category" data-passage="InfoMarrowgate"> <span class="sg-info-category__title">Marrowgate</span> <span class="sg-info-category__description"> A prosperous coastal city built around the River Marr. </span> </a> <a class="sg-info-category" data-passage="InfoExpedition"> <span class="sg-info-category__title">The Expedition</span> <span class="sg-info-category__description"> The voyage that led you beyond familiar waters. </span> </a> <a class="sg-info-category" data-passage="InfoArtifact"> <span class="sg-info-category__title">The Artifact</span> <span class="sg-info-category__description"> <<if visited("Resurrection1")>> The shattered vessel that once contained an aspect of Syrissia. <<else>> The crystal dodecahedron recovered by the expedition. <</if>> </span> </a> </div> <div class="sg-info__footer"> [[Back to Information|Info]] </div> </div>

<div class="sg-dossier"> <header class="sg-dossier__header"> <h1>The Realm</h1> The continent of Veyra </header> <section class="sg-dossier__section"> <h2>Overview</h2> <div class="scene-image"> <img src="images/info/mapofveyra.webp" > </div> <p> </p> Veyra is a vast continent divided among kingdoms, city-states, merchant territories, and unsettled frontier lands. Ancient ruins, temples, and abandoned strongholds remain scattered across it, often predating the nations that now claim the surrounding land. <p> </p> Humans form the majority of its population and control most major cities. Other races, including Elves, Orcs, and Goblins are more commonly found beyond city walls, living in isolated settlements, forests, mountains, and borderlands. Some trade freely with human communities, while others remain distrusted or openly excluded. <p> </p> Magic is known throughout Veyra, though its practice varies greatly. In some regions it is studied openly; in others, it is regulated, feared or treated as the privilege of temples and ruling courts. </section> <div class="sg-dossier__footer"> [[Back to Lore|InfoLore]] </div> </div>

<div class="sg-dossier"> <header class="sg-dossier__header"> <h1>Marrowgate</h1> A coastal trade city at the mouth of the River Marr. </header> <section class="sg-dossier__section"> <h2>Overview</h2> <div class="scene-image"> <img src="images/info/marrowgate.webp" > </div> <p> </p> Marrowgate is a prosperous coastal city built near the mouth of the River Marr. Its harbour connects the surrounding region to distant markets, bringing merchants, travellers, mercenaries, and adventurers through its gates. <p> </p> The lower wards are crowded with warehouses, workshops, inns, and tenements. Wealthier districts occupy the higher ground, where guildhalls, temples, and private estates overlook the harbour. <p> </p> Marrowgate is not the largest city in Veyra, nor is it the seat of a king, but its location has made it an important centre of trade and information. </section> <div class="sg-dossier__footer"> [[Back to Lore|InfoLore]] </div> </div>

<div class="sg-dossier"> <header class="sg-dossier__header"> <h1>The Expedition</h1> <p>A privately funded voyage beyond familiar waters.</p> </header> <section class="sg-dossier__section"> <h2>Overview</h2> <div class="scene-image"> <img src="images/info/expedition.webp" > </div> <p> </p> Several months ago, you were approached by a middleman acting on behalf of a wealthy collector. He offered good coin for your participation in an expedition to a remote temple beyond familiar waters. <p> </p> The objective was to recover a crystal dodecahedron from the ruins. Little was revealed about the object, the collector, or the reason it was being sought. <p> </p> The expedition reached the temple and recovered the artefact, although several members died along the way. During the return voyage, an unnatural storm destroyed the ship before it could reach Marrowgate. </section> <div class="sg-dossier__footer"> [[Back to Lore|InfoLore]] </div> </div>

Your hands remain firm at her waist as you push her forward until her hips meet the edge of the table. One palm slides down, gathers the thin fabric of her dress, and draws it up over the curve of her ass until it is bunched at her waist. The soft, bare heat of her is suddenly open to you. She makes no protest. Instead she spreads her feet a fraction wider and arches again, presenting herself without a word. You free yourself from your trousers. The heavy length of your member springs free, already slick at the tip. You guide it between the soft folds of her cunt, find the wet entrance that has soaked through her dress, and push forward in one steady thrust. She takes you with a sharp, broken sound that turns quickly into a moan. Her inner walls yield around the thick shaft, hot and tight, gripping you as you bury yourself to the root. For a moment you remain fully sheathed, feeling the way her body adjusts to the sudden fullness. <div class="scene-video"> <video autoplay muted loop playsinline controls preload="auto"> <source src="images/scenes/chapter1/elincfuck1.mp4" type="video/mp4"> </video> </div>Your hands lock on her hips. You draw back almost completely before driving forward again, the wet slap of flesh meeting flesh loud in the quiet room. Each thrust seats you deep, the head of your member pressing against the furthest reach of her. She braces against the table, fingers whitening on the wood, pushing back to meet every stroke. The desire pouring from you keeps her open and eager; her sex clenches and releases around your shaft in greedy rhythm. You fuck her harder, the table creaking beneath the force of it. Her soft cries grow higher, less controlled. The wet heat of her coats your length with every withdrawal and every deep return. You lean over her, chest against her back, one hand sliding around to press between her legs, finding the swollen peak of her pleasure and rubbing in time with your thrusts. <div class="scene-video"> <video autoplay muted loop playsinline controls preload="auto"> <source src="images/scenes/chapter1/elincfuck2.mp4" type="video/mp4"> </video> </div>She comes first, walls spasming tightly around you, a muffled cry spilling into the empty air of the kitchen. The rhythmic clenching pulls you over the edge a few strokes later. You drive deep one final time and empty yourself inside her in thick, pulsing surges, filling her while her body continues to milk every drop. For several long breaths neither of you moves. You remain buried in her heat, her dress still hiked around her waist, the only sound the ragged shared breathing in the quiet room. It does not take long for reality to set in. The shared heat between you cools as the quiet of the kitchen reasserts itself. Both of you remember, almost at the same moment, that Harlan could return at any second. You ease apart with careful, unspoken haste. Elin slides down from the table and smooths her dress back into place, fingers quick and practised. You restore your own clothing, the evidence of what just passed still warm on your skin. Neither of you speaks while the ordinary world settles over the moment like a lid. By the time footsteps sound beyond the door, Elin is once more occupied with the provisions, and you stand at a respectable distance, the air between you carefully emptied of everything that had just burned so brightly. <<if $storyFlags.galleryReplay>> <<link "Return to Elin’s gallery" "GalleryElin">> <<set $storyFlags.elinChoice to $storyFlags.gallerySavedElinChoice>> <<set $storyFlags.gallerySavedElinChoice to "">> <<set $storyFlags.galleryReplay to false>> <</link>> <<else>> [[You hear the latch move|HarlanReturns]] <</if>>

You reach for her hand and your fingers close over hers, and the last of your resistance falls away. Elin’s breath catches as you draw her closer. There is no push from within, no external hunger guiding the moment. Only the two of you, and the quiet decision settling between your bodies. You pull her closer and lower your mouth to hers. The first kiss is careful peck, almost questioning. Her lips are soft and warm, parting under yours with a small sound of relief. You deepen it slowly, tasting her, feeling the way her free hand rises to rest against your chest. Your tongues meet in a lazy, searching glide. The kiss grows hungrier by degrees, neither of you willing to break it. <div class="scene-video"> <video autoplay muted loop playsinline controls preload="auto"> <source src="images/scenes/chapter1/elinkiss.mp4" type="video/mp4"> </video> </div>Your hands lower down to find her waist, then slide higher, shaping the soft swell of her breasts through the thin fabric of her dress. She presses into the touch, arching slightly so that your palms fill with her. You squeeze gently, thumbs brushing the tightening peaks until a quiet moan slips from her throat into your mouth. Her own hands roam in answer, sliding down your sides, over the hard plane of your stomach, and lower still until her fingers skim the rigid length of your member straining against your trousers. You break the kiss only long enough to lift her onto the edge of the table. She helps you, settling her weight there while you step between her parted thighs. The dress is drawn up to her hips with shared haste. You free yourself, the heavy shaft of your member springing free, already thick and flushed with need. Elin reaches down, guiding the blunt head to the slick entrance of her cunt. <div class="scene-video"> <video autoplay muted loop playsinline controls preload="auto"> <source src="images/scenes/chapter1/elinhfuck1.mp4" type="video/mp4"> </video> </div>The first slow inch sinks into her. She gasps against your mouth, thighs tightening around your hips as her walls stretch to accept you. You give her time, kissing her again while you ease deeper, until the full length of your member is buried inside her and the base of your shaft presses flush against her softest flesh. Your hands grip the edge of the table on either side of her hips. You draw back and thrust forward in steady, deep strokes, each one seating you fully within her. The wet sound of your joining fills the quiet kitchen. Elin clings to your shoulders, meeting every movement with a roll of her own hips, her sex clenching greedily around your shaft. <div class="scene-video"> <video autoplay muted loop playsinline controls preload="auto"> <source src="images/scenes/chapter1/elinhfuck2.mp4" type="video/mp4"> </video> </div>The pace builds. You fuck her harder from the front, the table shifting slightly beneath the force of it. Her soft cries grow higher, broken against your lips. One of your hands slides between you to find the swollen peak of her pleasure, rubbing in firm circles while you continue to drive into her. She comes with a sharp, trembling cry, her walls spasming tightly around your member, pulling you deeper. You follow a few thrusts later, burying yourself to the hilt as the climax takes you. Thick, hot pulses of release flood her depths while her body continues to milk every drop. You remain locked together, foreheads resting against each other, breathing hard in the shared quiet that follows. It does not take long for reality to set in. The shared heat between you cools as the quiet of the kitchen reasserts itself. Both of you remember, almost at the same moment, that Harlan could return at any second. You ease apart with careful, unspoken haste. Elin slides down from the table and smooths her dress back into place, fingers quick and practised. You restore your own clothing, the evidence of what just passed still warm on your skin. Neither of you speaks while the ordinary world settles over the moment like a lid. By the time footsteps sound beyond the door, Elin is once more occupied with the provisions, and you stand at a respectable distance, the air between you carefully emptied of everything that had just burned so brightly. <<if $storyFlags.galleryReplay>> <<link "Return to Elin’s gallery" "GalleryElin">> <<set $storyFlags.elinChoice to $storyFlags.gallerySavedElinChoice>> <<set $storyFlags.gallerySavedElinChoice to "">> <<set $storyFlags.galleryReplay to false>> <</link>> <<else>> [[You hear the latch move|HarlanReturns]] <</if>>

<img src="images/chapter1/ElinKitchen.webp" class="character-intro__portrait" >Elin returns her attention to the food laid across the table. “Harlan went to check the road,” she says. “The rain loosened part of the western track during the night. He wanted to know whether the cart could pass without losing a wheel.” “He left you alone with a stranger he pulled from the sea?” “He left me alone with a man who could barely stand yesterday.” You lean against the table, smirking. “I have improved since then.” “So I noticed.” There is a trace of amusement in her voice. Elin folds several pieces of bread into the waxed cloth, then adds smoked fish from a shallow wooden dish. Her movements are quick and practised, without the careful deliberation of someone performing a task for a guest. Watching her more closely, you realise that the dress had concealed rather than exaggerated her condition. Her figure is openly curvaceous, with a soft fullness at her hips and breasts that the dress does little to conceal. There is something distinctly nubile in the way she moves, each reach across the table drawing your attention before you can look away. <em>You approve,</em> Syrissia observes. You ignore her. Elin glances towards you. “What?” “Nothing.” “You were staring.” “I was wondering whether Harlan does any of the work around here.” She laughs beneath her breath. “Enough to remain useful.” Elin takes one of the apples and inspects it before placing it with the rest of the provisions. “What about you?” she asks. “Is being washed ashore a usual part of your work?” “Only when the expedition goes badly.” “And when it goes well?” “I get paid before nearly dying.” “That does sound better.” She steps away from the table and approaches the shelf behind you. The kitchen is narrow enough that you begin to move aside, but Elin places one hand lightly against your arm. “Stay there.” She slips between you and the edge of the table. Her hip brushes against you as she passes, followed by the soft sweep of her dress across your leg. The contact lasts only a moment, although the kitchen does not seem quite narrow enough to have made all of it necessary. Elin reaches above the shelf and retrieves a small clay jar. <em>Hmh. That was surely no accident,</em> Syrissia says. “You have a suspicious mind,” you quietly whisper. <em>I have an observant one.</em> Elin turns, finding you still watching her. She holds your gaze before lifting the jar slightly. “Salt,” she explains. “I did not ask.” “No. You were occupied.” She passes you again on her way back to the table. This time, her shoulder brushes your chest. Her fingers trail briefly across your forearm as she moves around you, as though steadying herself despite the firm floor beneath her feet. You look towards the door. “Harlan may return soon.” Elin loosens the lid of the jar. “He may.” The answer is casual, but she does not look at the food while giving it. You take the apple nearest you and turn it slowly in your hand. “You seem remarkably unconcerned about having a stranger in your home.” “You stopped being a stranger when my husband carried you through the door without your clothes.” “That is not usually how introductions work.” “It was memorable.” Her mouth curves faintly at the corner. When you return the apple to the table, Elin’s hand is already there. Your fingers touch, and neither of you immediately moves away. A warmth stirs beneath your ribs. This time, it does not remain contained within you. It spreads outward with your breath, almost too subtle to notice, carrying a faint sweetness through the kitchen beneath the smells of smoke and cooked fish. Elin’s expression changes. Her eyes remain on yours, but the humour in them softens into something less guarded. Her breathing slows as she withdraws her hand, although she does not step away. The warmth strengthens. You become sharply aware of the colour rising along her neck, the shape of her body beneath the open-backed dress, and the small distance left between you. Elin catches your gaze, smiles, and retreats back to the counter to work on the bundle. Syrissia shifts behind your thoughts. <em>There,</em> she whispers. <em>Now stop pretending you do not want her. Go.</em> <<link "Suppress the urge" "ElinResist">> <<if not $storyFlags.galleryReplay>> <<set $heroPath.humanity += 1>> <<set $storyFlags.elinChoice to "resisted">> <</if>> <</link>> <<link "Follow the urge" "ElinIndulge">> <<if not $storyFlags.galleryReplay>> <<set $heroPath.corruption += 1>> <<set $storyFlags.elinChoice to "ElinIndulge">> <</if>> <</link>>

<div class="sg-dossier"> <header class="sg-dossier__header"> <h1>The Artifact</h1> <p> <<if visited("Resurrection1")>> The former vessel of an aspect of Syrissia. <<else>> A crystal dodecahedron recovered from an ancient temple. <</if>> </p> </header> <section class="sg-dossier__section"> <h2>Known information</h2> <div class="scene-image"> <img src="images/info/artifact.webp"> </div> <<if visited("Resurrection1")>> <p> </p> The crystal dodecahedron was not merely an artefact. It was a vessel containing an aspect of Syrissia, the goddess of desire, temptation, and mortal longing. She had remained confined within it for thousands of years, conscious but unable to escape. <p> </p> The dodecahedron was destroyed during the shipwreck. As you drowned, Syrissia attempted to enter your dying body, believing it could serve as a replacement vessel. Your resistance prevented her from taking complete control, but neither of you emerged unchanged. <p> </p> The crystal no longer exists in physical form. Its contents, power, and divine essence are now melded with your soul. You have become the vessel that the artefact once was, binding you and Syrissia together in a way that neither of you fully understands. <<else>> <p> </p> A palm-sized dodecahedron formed from translucent amber crystal, with twelve precisely cut pentagonal faces. A faint golden light moves beneath its surface, although no obvious mechanism or source can be seen. <p> </p> The artifact was recovered from an abandoned temple beyond familiar waters. You do not know who created it, what purpose it serves, or why the collector considered it valuable enough to fund the expedition. <p> </p> Whatever secrets it contains were never explained to you. <</if>> </section> <div class="sg-dossier__footer"> [[Back to Lore|InfoLore]] </div> </div>

<div class="sg-character-gallery"> <header class="sg-character-gallery__header"> <h1>Elin</h1> <p>Harlan’s wife and one of the first people to aid you after your return.</p> </header> <div class="sg-character-gallery__profile"> <img src="images/chapter1/elinportrait.webp" alt="Portrait of Elin" class="sg-character-gallery__portrait" > <div class="sg-character-gallery__details"> <div class="sg-character-gallery__detail"> <span>Role</span> <strong>Harlan’s wife</strong> </div> <div class="sg-character-gallery__detail"> <span>Location</span> <strong>The coast near Marrowgate</strong> </div> <div class="sg-character-gallery__detail"> <span>Status</span> <strong>Former host</strong> </div> </div> </div> <h2 class="sg-character-gallery__scenes-title">Scenes</h2> <div class="sg-character-scenes"> <<if $galleryUnlocks.elin.scene1>> <div class="sg-character-scene"> <div class="sg-character-scene__number"> Scene 1 </div> <div class="sg-character-scene__title"> A Rainy Morning </div> <p> Replay your encounter with Elin and choose whether to indulge or resist. </p> <<link "Replay scene" "ElinFlirt">> <<set $storyFlags.gallerySavedElinChoice to $storyFlags.elinChoice>> <<set $storyFlags.galleryReplayReturnPassage to "GalleryElin">> <<set $storyFlags.galleryReplay to true>> <</link>> </div> <<else>> <div class="sg-character-scene sg-character-scene--locked"> <div class="sg-character-scene__number"> Scene 1 </div> <div class="sg-character-scene__title"> Locked </div> <p> Continue the story to unlock this scene. </p> </div> <</if>> </div> <div class="sg-character-gallery__footer"> [[Back to Side Characters|GallerySideCharacters]] </div> </div>

<<set _playerFirstName to $player.firstName>> <<set _playerLastName to $player.lastName>> <<set _claraName to $claraName>> <<set _claraRelationship to $claraRelationship>> <<set _nessaName to $nessaName>> <<set _nessaRelationship to $nessaRelationship>> <div class="sg-settings"> <header class="sg-settings__header"> <h1>Settings</h1> <p>Change character names and relationships.</p> </header> <section class="sg-settings__section"> <h2>Player character</h2> <div class="sg-settings__fields"> <label class="sg-settings__field"> <span>First name</span> <<textbox "_playerFirstName" _playerFirstName autofocus>> </label> <label class="sg-settings__field"> <span>Last name</span> <<textbox "_playerLastName" _playerLastName>> </label> </div> </section> <section class="sg-settings__section"> <h2>Clara</h2> <div class="sg-settings__fields"> <label class="sg-settings__field"> <span>Name</span> <<textbox "_claraName" _claraName>> </label> <label class="sg-settings__field"> <span>Relationship</span> <<textbox "_claraRelationship" _claraRelationship>> </label> </div> </section> <section class="sg-settings__section"> <h2>Nessa</h2> <div class="sg-settings__fields"> <label class="sg-settings__field"> <span>Name</span> <<textbox "_nessaName" _nessaName>> </label> <label class="sg-settings__field"> <span>Relationship</span> <<textbox "_nessaRelationship" _nessaRelationship>> </label> </div> </section> <div id="settings-message" class="sg-settings__message" aria-live="polite" ></div> <div class="sg-settings__actions"> <<link "Save changes">> <<set _playerFirstName to _playerFirstName.trim()>> <<set _playerLastName to _playerLastName.trim()>> <<set _claraName to _claraName.trim()>> <<set _claraRelationship to _claraRelationship.trim()>> <<set _nessaName to _nessaName.trim()>> <<set _nessaRelationship to _nessaRelationship.trim()>> <<if _playerFirstName is "" or _playerLastName is "" or _claraName is "" or _claraRelationship is "" or _nessaName is "" or _nessaRelationship is "">> <<replace "#settings-message">> <span class="sg-settings__error"> Every field must contain a value. </span> <</replace>> <<else>> <<set $player.firstName to _playerFirstName>> <<set $player.lastName to _playerLastName>> <<set $claraName to _claraName>> <<set $claraRelationship to _claraRelationship>> <<set $nessaName to _nessaName>> <<set $nessaRelationship to _nessaRelationship>> <<if $storyFlags.settingsReturnPassage>> <<goto $storyFlags.settingsReturnPassage>> <<else>> <<goto "Opening">> <</if>> <</if>> <</link>> <<link "Cancel">> <<if $storyFlags.settingsReturnPassage>> <<goto $storyFlags.settingsReturnPassage>> <<else>> <<goto "Opening">> <</if>> <</link>> </div> </div>

The queue advances by the length of a wagon, then stops again. From beneath the oiled canvas, the western gate seems to rise higher each time you look towards it. The walls are darker at their base where years of rain and road filth have stained the stone. Above the archway, Marrowgate’s crest hangs from the battlements, stirring weakly in the damp wind. Two guards inspect each cart beneath the raised portcullis. Another stands near a narrow desk where names, cargo, and complaints are recorded by a clerk whose expression suggests he considers all three equally burdensome. The merchant glances back at you. “Nearly through.” You draw Harlan’s cloak further around yourself. The hood conceals most of your face, although you remain conscious of the faint orange light beneath it. In the shadow of the wagon, it may pass unnoticed. Beneath the gatehouse lanterns, you are less certain.<div class="scene-image"> <img src="images/chapter1/marrowgategate.webp" > </div><em>You could simply tell them what happened,</em> Syrissia says. “And explain you?” <em>I am charming when properly introduced.</em> “That is not the word I would use.” The wagon ahead is searched more thoroughly than the others. A guard opens two grain sacks with the point of his knife while the driver protests that rain will ruin the contents. Neither man appears interested in reaching an agreement. <<if $player.className is "warrior">> You study the guards while you wait. They are tired rather than careless. Their armour is worn, their boots are caked with mud, and each of them remains positioned where he can support the others if an inspection turns violent. Passing them by force would be possible. Passing them without half the gatehouse joining the fight would not. <<elseif $player.className is "rogue">> The inspection follows a recognisable pattern. The older guard watches the driver, the younger checks the cargo, and the clerk rarely looks beyond his ledger. A traveller on foot might slip through amid the confusion, but leaving the wagon now would draw more attention than remaining where you are. <<elseif $player.className is "mage">> A faint pressure settles across your skin as the wagon nears the arch. Thin copper lines have been worked into the stone beneath the gate, forming a crude ward intended to react to glamours and active enchantments. It is old, poorly maintained, and unlikely to identify what you have become. The fact that you cannot be certain offers little comfort. <</if>> The grain cart is finally allowed through. The merchant clicks his tongue, and the horses pull you beneath the shadow of the wall. Sound changes inside the gate tunnel. Hooves, wheels, and voices return from the stone in overlapping echoes. Water drips from somewhere above, striking the road at slow, regular intervals. The younger guard lifts one hand. “Hold.” The wagon stops. The merchant passes down a folded trade sheet before the guard asks for it. “Salt fish, lamp oil, and tools from the western villages.” The guard unfolds the sheet and looks towards the crates. “Anything else?” “A passenger.” His eyes shift towards the rear of the wagon. You remain seated. The merchant adds, “Found him on the coast road. He paid for passage.” “I did not ask where you found him.” The guard walks around the wagon. He is young, though the set of his mouth has the deliberate severity of someone recently given authority. Rain has darkened the shoulders of his surcoat, and one hand rests close to the sword at his hip. He stops beneath the canvas. “You travelling alone?” “Yes.” “From where?” “The coast.” His gaze moves over the borrowed clothes, the worn boots, and the absence of any visible luggage. “Name?” For a moment, the answer seems simple. You have carried it since childhood. It belongs to the house beyond these walls, to the people waiting there, and to the life you have spent three months trying to reach. It also belongs to a man Marrowgate believes died at sea. The guard leans slightly closer, attempting to see beneath the hood. “Look at me when I’m speaking to you.” A pulse of warmth moves behind your eyes. You keep your head lowered. <<link "Give him your real name" "MarrowgateGate2">> <<set $storyFlags.gateApproach to "realName">> <</link>> <<link "Let the merchant answer for you" "MarrowgateGate2">> <<set $storyFlags.gateApproach to "merchant">> <</link>> <<link "Keep your identity vague" "MarrowgateGate2">> <<set $storyFlags.gateApproach to "vague">> <</link>>

<<if $storyFlags.gateApproach is "realName">> You raise your head just enough for your voice to carry clearly. “<<print $player.firstName + " " + $player.lastName>>.” The guard repeats the name beneath his breath. His attention shifts towards the clerk seated beneath the archway. The clerk’s quill pauses. “<<print $player.lastName>>?” he asks. “Any relation to Aldric?” You feel the merchant glance back towards you. “He is my father.” The clerk studies you more closely. “Aldric’s son sailed with the lost expedition.” “I know.” “He was declared dead.” The words land differently when spoken by a stranger reading them from a ledger. You keep your face within the shadow of the hood. “Then the record is wrong.” The guard’s hand settles more firmly against the pommel of his sword. He looks between you and the clerk, uncertain whether he is dealing with a liar, a deserter, or something more troublesome. <em>That could have gone better,</em> Syrissia observes. “You suggested honesty.” <em>I suggested telling them about me. That would have been more entertaining.</em> The clerk turns back several pages in his ledger, scanning the entries before him. Whatever he finds does not provide the answer he wants. “Do you have proof of your name?” the guard asks. “Not after the shipwreck.” For several seconds, he says nothing. Then the merchant exhales sharply from the front of the wagon. “He has no cargo, no weapon worth taxing, and no interest in sleeping beneath your gate. Write down whatever name pleases you and let me move before the lamp oil gets wet.” The guard ignores the complaint but eventually gestures towards the clerk. The quill scratches across the page. Your name has returned to Marrowgate before you have. <<elseif $storyFlags.gateApproach is "merchant">> You remain silent. The merchant shifts on the driving bench and looks down at the guard. “He is travelling with me.” “That was not the question.” “It is the answer you are getting.” The guard’s expression hardens. “You willing to answer for him if he causes trouble inside the walls?” “I am willing to answer for the fact that he spent most of the journey sitting beneath that canvas and speaking to no one.” <em>That is not entirely true,</em> Syrissia says. The merchant continues before the guard can question you again. “I found him on the coast road recovering from a fever. He paid for passage, carries nothing, and has barely eaten enough to threaten a loaf of bread.” The guard looks towards you. “Is that true?” “Close enough.” He takes a step nearer. Damp leather creaks as his hand moves towards the edge of the canvas. “Then lower the hood.” The merchant gives an irritated sigh. “You are welcome to examine him closely. When he starts coughing, however, he rides beside you rather than me.” The guard stops. His eyes narrow as he reassesses the cloak wrapped around you, the pallor visible along your jaw, and the borrowed clothes hanging loosely from your frame. “Whatever he has,” the merchant adds, “I have spent three days trying not to catch it.” The guard withdraws his hand. “Get him through.” The merchant inclines his head with exaggerated courtesy. “A pleasure dealing with Marrowgate's finest.” <<elseif $storyFlags.gateApproach is "vague">> You give him only your first name. “<<print $player.firstName>>.” The guard waits. “And?” “That is enough.” “For your friends, perhaps. I asked for your name.” You keep your head lowered. “I am returning home. I carry no goods, and I have no business with the watch.” “That was not an answer either.” Behind you, someone begins shouting about a broken axle. A mule brays in response, followed by the crack of wood and a fresh wave of complaints from the queue. The guard does not turn. His attention remains fixed upon the darkness beneath your hood. “Family name?” You hesitate. <em>You are making yourself suspicious through sheer effort,</em> Syrissia says. “I noticed.” <em>Try smiling.</em> “That would require showing my face.” You answer the guard without looking up. “Not one I intend to use at the gate.” His jaw tightens. He steps nearer, bringing his face level with the opening beneath the canvas. For an instant, the shadow shifts. The faint orange glow beneath your hood catches against the wet metal of his helmet. His expression changes, though you cannot tell whether he saw your eyes or merely their reflection. A crash sounds behind the wagon. The guard turns as the damaged cart settles sideways across the road, spilling split firewood into the mud. Another guardsman calls for assistance while the driver loudly blames the city, the rain, and the mule in equal measure. Your guard looks back at you. “Cause trouble inside the walls, and I will remember the cloak.” “Understood.” He strikes the side of the wagon twice with his palm. “Move.” <</if>> The merchant gathers the reins, and the horses begin walking. You pass beneath the raised portcullis. Iron teeth hang overhead, black with rain and old rust. For a moment, the gatehouse closes around you, filled with the echo of wheels and dripping water. Then the wagon emerges from the tunnel and Marrowgate opens ahead. The western road continues between tightly packed buildings, crowded stalls, and upper storeys leaning over the street. Smoke, damp timber, horse sweat, and cooking oil mingle in the air. Voices overlap from every direction as carts force their way through the traffic. You have returned to the city, though no bells announce it, nor does any crowd turn to look. The guards are already inspecting the next wagon, life moves on it seems. [[Continue into Marrowgate|MarrowgateStreets1]]

<div class="scene-image"> <img src="images/chapter1/marrowgatestreets.webp" > </div>The wagon joins the traffic beyond the gate and is immediately swallowed by Marrowgate. The western road narrows between rows of timber-framed buildings whose upper storeys lean towards one another above the street. Rainwater drips from tiled eaves onto patched awnings, while carts compete for space with pedestrians, handbarrows, and riders attempting to force their way through the congestion. Hawkers call from beneath canvas shelters, offering hot bread, cheap knives, and remedies for ailments they diagnose at a glance. After three months of salt water, empty roads, and the fisherman’s quiet shack, the noise is almost oppressive. <em>There are so many of them,</em> Syrissia says. “People?” <em>Desires. Every direction at once. Hunger, envy, ambition, lust, resentment. Your city is louder than you realise.</em> You draw the cloak more tightly around yourself and look out from beneath the canvas. Marrowgate appears much as you remember it, although small changes reveal themselves as the wagon moves deeper into the city. A tailor’s shop you passed countless times now bears the name of its former apprentice. Fresh scaffolding covers the front of a counting house that had been blackened by fire before you left. Near the old bridge, a familiar tavern sign has been painted over, and the new proprietor has replaced the dancing fox with a silver cup. None of it is remarkable. That makes it worse. You had imagined Marrowgate suspended in your absence, waiting to resume the moment you returned. Instead, leases have changed hands, walls have been repaired, and people have continued making plans that never accounted for you coming home. The wagon slows beside a crowded square where merchants unload crates beneath the watch of guild clerks. The smell of wet timber mingles with roasted onions and smoke from the nearby forges. Across the square, a bookseller has filled his window with almanacs for the coming winter, although the last time you stood here, summer had barely begun. The merchant guides the horses towards the edge of the road, then pulls the reins tight. “This is as far as I take you,” he says. “I turn south from here for the river warehouses.” You climb down from the wagon, your boots landing in a shallow channel of rainwater beside the wheel. “The eastern road begins beyond the next square,” he continues. “Keep the old watchtower on your left, and you will avoid most of the market traffic.” “I know the way.” He looks at you properly for the first time since the gate, perhaps hearing something in your answer that had not been there along the coast. “You are from here, then.” “Yes.” The merchant glances at the hood but does not ask why you concealed that fact from the guards. He reaches behind his seat, retrieves the last of your provisions, and holds the bundle out to you. “You may need this before you reach wherever you are going.” You accept it. “Thank you for the passage.” “I owed Harland.” “Well, not enough for the trouble.” “The next time you see him, let him know we're straight.” There is no particular warmth in his reply, but neither is there hostility. He simply seems eager to finish unloading his cargo before the afternoon worsens. You step back from the wagon. “Safe roads,” you say. “Likewise.” The merchant clicks his tongue, and the horses pull away. Within moments, the wagon merges with the traffic, its oiled canvas disappearing among carts laden with timber, barrels, and sacks of grain. You remain at the edge of the square with Harlan’s cloak around your shoulders and Elin’s provisions tucked beneath one arm. Hundreds of people move around you without pause. No one calls your name, and no familiar face turns in your direction. <em>You expected someone to notice,</em> Syrissia says. “Not here.” <em>That was not an answer.</em> You begin walking before she can press the point. The route towards the eastern outskirts is familiar enough that you follow it without conscious thought. Each turning brings you closer to the quieter road beyond the crowded wards, and to the house you have imagined since the storm began. [[Take the road home|RoadHome1]]

The eastern road grows quieter as you leave the busiest wards behind. Shops give way to workshops, then to walled gardens, and then low houses built farther apart from one another. The traffic thins until you are walking mostly alone, with only the occasional cart passing in the opposite direction. You know this route well enough that your feet follow it without thought. The old watchtower still leans above the rooftops near the bend, and the narrow bridge beyond it still creaks beneath every wagon that crosses. A section of the roadside wall has been rebuilt with lighter stone, but otherwise the district appears almost unchanged. That familiarity settles more heavily upon you than anything at the gate. For months, home existed only in fragments. You recall the sound of the yard in the morning and the smell of woodsmoke through an open window when $claraName was cooking. Each step now brings those details closer, though none of them feel as simple as they did aboard the ship. <em>You are afraid,</em> Syrissia says. “I am not.” <em>You have spent the last quarter-hour listening for footsteps behind you.</em> You glance across the empty road. “I have reasons to be cautious.” <em>That is not what troubles you.</em> You do not answer. The city walls recede behind the trees as the road turns towards the outskirts. Familiar fields spread beyond the hedges, damp from the recent rain. The house lies farther ahead, partially concealed by bare branches and the low stone boundary surrounding the property. At first, it appears exactly as you remember. The same dark roof rises above the trees, and smoke curls from the chimney in a thin grey line. Someone has repaired the western fence, replacing the split rails you had promised to mend before leaving. One of the upper shutters has been painted, though the others still carry the faded green you remember.<div class="scene-image"> <img src="images/chapter1/familyhome.webp" > </div>Then you notice the flowers. They have been planted all around the house, especially by front door. Pale blossoms stand against the dark soil, carefully spaced and recently tended. They were not there when you left. You recognise the variety. Usually a display of this sort is planted outside homes after a death, particularly when there is no grave nearby to visit. <em>They are for you,</em> Syrissia says. “Yes.” <em>But you are here.</em> You stop beside the boundary wall and look towards the house. The flowers have begun to bend beneath the damp air, though none have been allowed to wither. Someone has been caring for them throughout your absence. <em>Will they remove them now?</em> The question is asked with genuine curiosity. “I do not know.” For the first time since seeing Marrowgate from the ridge, you consider what your return will look like from the other side of the door. They have spent three months accepting that you would never walk this road again. They have mourned you, altered the house around your absence, and begun living with the certainty of your death. You pull the cloak more tightly around yourself and continue towards the gate. [[Walk up the path|HomecomingDoor1]]

You pass through the wooden community gate and follow the short path towards the house. The flowers are more extensive than they appeared from the road. They grow beneath the windows, along the stone walls, and around the posts supporting the covered porch, filling spaces that had once held little more than grass and climbing ivy. Pale blossoms are mixed among deeper reds and muted purples, all carefully watered and trimmed despite the advancing season. Someone had not planted a small memorial. They had changed the appearance of the entire house around your absence. The front door remains the same, down to the dark stain beneath the iron latch and the shallow mark near the frame where $nessaName once struck the wood during training. A stack of split logs rests beneath the nearest window, while a pair of muddy boots has been left beside the step. Smoke continues to rise from both chimneys, carrying the familiar smell of burning oak across the damp garden. You stop at the edge of the porch. <em>Your heart is beating rather quickly again,</em> Syrissia says. “It has been a difficult week.” <em>You were calmer when the guard nearly saw your eyes.</em> You look towards the shuttered windows. There is movement somewhere inside, followed by the faint scrape of furniture across the floor. For months, you imagined this moment whenever sleep allowed it. The details changed, but the ending remained the same. The door would open, someone recognised you, and the long journey finally became worth surviving. Standing here now, wrapped in another man’s cloak and wearing clothes that do not belong to you, the imagined reunion feels naïve. <em>Go ahead. I am with you,</em> Syrissia says. You raise your hand, hesitate, then strike the door twice. Footsteps approach from within. They are measured rather than hurried, accompanied by the quiet metallic movement of the latch being lifted. The door opens partway. <img src="images/chapter1/claradoor1.webp" class="character-intro__portrait" >$claraName stands behind it. For a moment, neither of you speaks. She is dressed simply, with her hair loosely falling down her shoulders, and there is a trace of soil along one sleeve from tending the garden. Her eyes move over the cloak, the worn boots, and the bundle beneath your arm before returning to the darkness beneath your hood. Concern enters her expression, though it is the guarded concern offered to an injured stranger rather than anyone expected home. She folds her arms and slightly leans forward. “Can I help you?” Hearing her voice without memory or distance between you leaves your answer caught briefly in your throat. “$claraRelationship.” Her posture changes. Only slightly, but you know her well enough to notice the tension entering her shoulders and the way her weight shifts behind the door. “Who are you?” “It’s me.” The words sound insufficient as soon as they leave you. $claraName continues watching the shadow beneath your hood. “I don’t know you.” "$claraRelationship, it's me, $player.firstName..." Her face loses what little warmth it held. She does not step closer, nor does she close the door. Instead, she studies you with a careful stillness. “That isn’t possible. If this is some kind of sick joke...” she says. “I know what you were told, but it’s me, I swear.” “No, you-” She stops herself. “I know what happened to him. Leave. <em>Now.</em>” <em>Lower the hood,</em> Syrissia murmurs. [[Show her your face|HomecomingDoor2]]

You lift both hands away from your sides before reaching for the hood. $claraName watches every movement. The door remains open only far enough for her to stand behind it, one foot already angled towards the bow resting against the wall inside. You draw the hood back. For the briefest moment, recognition empties her expression. Her eyes move over your face as though some part of her has responded before the rest of her mind can prevent it. Then she sees your eyes. <img src="images/chapter1/claradoor2.webp" class="character-intro__portrait" >The amber glow is faint beneath the afternoon cloud, but the narrow pupils cannot be mistaken for anything human. Whatever familiarity she found in your face disappears at once. $claraName steps backwards and seizes the bow beside the door. She takes an arrow from the narrow quiver hanging beneath it, draws the string, and levels the point at your chest with the speed of long practice. “Do not move.” “$claraRelationship, listen to me.” “Do NOT call me that.” Her voice is no longer uncertain. The grief that had unsettled her has hardened into anger, giving her something immediate to act upon. “You come here wearing his face, speaking with his voice, and using the names of people who mourned him. What did you think would happen?” “I’m not wearing anyone’s face.” The arrowhead rises slightly as you speak. “Then tell me what you are.” “It’s me. $player.firstName.” “No.” Her fingers tighten around the string. “He sailed months ago. His ship went down, and no one came back. That's it!” “You're right, I was on the ship but-” “You know that because half the city knows it- Curses!” “I know because I drowned with it.” $claraName’s expression shifts, but the bow remains steady. <em>She is frightened,</em> Syrissia says. “I can see that.” $claraName’s eyes narrow. “Who are you speaking to?” You realise too late that you answered aloud. “No one.” “That was not no one.” She draws the string closer to her cheek. “$claraRelationship, I can explain what happened, but not while you’re pointing a fu- damn arrow at me.” “You will explain from where you are standing.” “I- It's a long story- Like. A REALLY long story. Look, i'm okay, I came home!” “You came to this house because you knew who lived here. That is not the same thing.” She studies your face again, searching for something behind it rather than within it. “If you took him from the wreck, tell me where his body is. If you dragged the memories out of him, tell me whether he was alive when you did it.” The accusation strikes harder than the threat of the arrow. “What...? You think I’m some kind of demon?” “I think something <em>evil</em> has come to my door wearing the shape of my boy.” Movement sounds deeper inside the house. [[Continue|HomecomingDoor3]]

$claraName does not look away from you. “$nessaName, stay back,” she calls. The warning is ignored. Footsteps cross the floor quickly, and $nessaName appears beside her, drawn by the raised voices. She begins to speak, then sees you standing beyond the threshold. Her face pales. <img src="images/chapter1/nessadoor1.webp" class="character-intro__portrait" >She has no weapon, but she moves beside $claraName and raises her hands. The stance is familiar. She keeps her weight balanced, elbows close, and one foot turned slightly outward in preparation to drive forward. $aldricName taught her to meet fear with readiness, and despite the tremor in her breathing, she obeys the lesson now. "$nessaName,” you say. She flinches as though you had reached for her. $claraName shifts the arrow towards your throat. “Do NOT speak to her.” “$nessaRelationship, It's me, $player.firstName.” $nessaName looks at your face, and for an instant you see the desperate effort to reconcile it with the eyes staring back at her. “No...,” she says quietly. “It isn’t.” “Guys, okay-," You say, stifling a nervous laugh. "I know how this looks...” “Do you?” Her voice is unsteady, but there is anger beneath the fear. “You- HE disappears for three months, then something walks up to the house looking almost like $player.firstName and expects us to believe-” Another door opens farther inside. The sound is followed by heavier footsteps crossing the floor, measured rather than hurried. $claraName keeps the bow trained on you, while $nessaName remains beside her with her fists raised. Aldric’s voice comes from beyond the entrance. “What is happening?” [[You remain at the threshold|HomecomingDoor4]]

$aldricName appears at the end of the hall with his sword in his hand. He has not taken the time to dress for a fight. His shirt is loosely fastened, and the sword belt hangs open around his waist, but the blade is already drawn. He slows as he reaches the entrance, taking in $claraName behind the bow, $nessaName beside her with her fists raised, and the hooded stranger standing beyond the threshold. “What is happening?” $claraName answers without taking her eyes from you. “It came to the door claiming to be $player.firstName. It knows our names, it has his voice, and it is wearing his face.” $aldricName steps closer. <img src="images/chapter1/aldricdoor1.webp" class="character-intro__portrait" >The sight of him affects you before you have time to prepare for it. Your shoulders straighten, your chin lowers slightly, and your hands move behind your back, the right closing around the left wrist. Your thumb begins rubbing against the side of your forefinger, the same nervous habit you developed as a boy whenever you expected a reprimand. You stop when you notice where he is looking. For several seconds, $aldricName says nothing. His gaze moves from your hands to your stance, then rises slowly towards your face. The eyes disturb him, but they do not erase everything else as quickly as they did for the others. “Take one step back from the door,” he says. You obey before considering whether you should. His expression tightens, jaw clenching. <em>You respond to him very quickly,</em> Syrissia observes. “Not now.” $claraName draws the bowstring closer. “It is speaking to something.” “I heard,” $aldricName says. His attention remains on you. “Keep the arrow where it is.” He moves to the other side of the doorway, leaving $claraName a clear line of fire. Although the sword remains lowered, its point is angled towards the space between you. “Give me your full name.” "$player.firstName $player.lastName" “Again.” You repeat it more slowly, including the family name. $aldricName studies you as though your face were evidence placed before him. “My son had ordinary eyes when he left this house.” “I know.” “He did not speak to things no one else could hear.” “That started after the wreck.” “And you expect us to accept that?” “No.” You glance at the arrow still aimed at your neck, then at $nessaName’s raised fists. “Not immediately. I expected questions. I did not expect all of you to think I had crawled out of the sea to eat you.” $nessaName’s mouth parts slightly, though whether from offence or recognition, you cannot tell. $aldricName’s eyes narrow. “This is not the time for humour.” “You used to say that whenever you were trying not to laugh.” The words leave you without calculation. They belong to an old exchange repeated often enough that you no longer remember when it began. A change passes across his face. It is slight, but $claraName sees it as well. “Anyone could have learned that,” she says. “Perhaps,” $aldricName replies, though he no longer sounds entirely convinced by the answer. He looks again at your hands behind your back. “You used to stand like that whenever you had broken something.” “I- No I don't.” “And the finger?” You release your wrist, only then realising that your thumb has begun rubbing against it again. Your face makes a sheepish expression. “You told me it made lying obvious...” “It did.” “I am not lying now, Father, I swear” $aldricName’s grip shifts around the sword. For one unguarded moment, the caution in his expression shifts to something more painful. “$player.firstName...” The name escapes him quietly. He catches himself before anything follows it and looks towards the altered eyes once more. “No,” he says, though this time the refusal is directed as much at himself as it is at you. “A creature carrying his memories might carry his habits as well.” “I do not know how to prove what I am from the other side of a bow.” “You will begin by remaining exactly where you are.” You nod. $aldricName glances towards $nessaName. “Stay beside $claraName. Do not approach him.” “I wasn’t going to,” she says, though she does not lower her fists. He turns back to you. “We are going to ask you questions. You will answer them carefully, and you will not cross this threshold until I decide whether opening this door was a mistake.” “If you thought I was a demon, why not close it?” “Because if you are my son, I will not leave you standing outside. If you are not, I would rather know what brought you here.” The sword remains between you. “If you are really $player.firstName,” he continues, “then you understand why I cannot simply welcome you home.” You look at the three of them gathered inside the doorway. Nothing resembles the reunion you imagined, but for the first time since $claraName opened the door, one of them has allowed for the possibility that you are telling the truth.<div class="scene-image"> <img src="images/chapter1/familydoor.webp" > </div>“I understand.” [[Submit to his questions|HomecomingProof1]]

$aldricName studies you for several moments before speaking. “When you were thirteen, you broke one of the windows upstairs. Which one?” “The western window.” “The eastern.” “No, the western one, beside my room.” The answer comes with more irritation than you intended. “I climbed onto the roof afterwards because I knew you would make me pay for it.” $aldricName’s expression remains guarded. “You hid there until morning.” “I stayed there until supper. You brought a ladder out and told me the view had better be worth three months of my allowance.” A faint crease appears between his brows. “What happened when you came down?” “You made me repair it. The frame was crooked for years because you refused to help.” “I helped.” “You stood behind me and criticised everything.” “That was helping.” The familiar response leaves his mouth before he can stop it. Silence settles over the doorway. $nessaName glances towards him, while the tension in $claraName’s bow eases just enough for the arrowhead to drop from your throat to your chest. $aldricName notices and raises one hand. “Do not lower it yet.” He looks at you again. “What happened to the ship?” You take a breath. This answer requires more care. “There was a storm. It came too quickly, and it was stronger than anything I have ever seen. The hull broke apart before we could reach the boats.” “What happened to you?” “I went into the water. I remember sinking, and then nothing until I woke on the coast.” “How long afterwards?” “I don’t know. Weeks, perhaps months.” $aldricName’s gaze moves towards your eyes. “And those?” “They were like this when I woke.” <em>That is not quite the whole of it,</em> Syrissia observes. You ignore her. “You expect me to believe that the sea returned you alive after three months and changed nothing except your eyes?” $aldricName asks. “No. I expect you to believe that I don’t understand it either.” $claraName’s grip remains firm, though her anger has begun to shift towards uncertainty. “You said you drowned.” “I did. At least, I remember drowning.” “And the voice?” she asks. “The one you keep answering?” You hesitate only briefly. “There are gaps in my memory. Sometimes I think I hear things that aren’t there.” Syrissia laughs softly within you. $aldricName watches your face throughout the lie. You cannot tell whether he believes it, but he does not challenge you. At last, he lowers the point of his sword. “I do not know what came back from that wreck,” he says. “But it knows what my son knew, and it behaves like him when it forgets to be careful.” “I am your son.” “Perhaps.” The word hurts, though it is more than anyone had offered you a few moments ago. $aldricName looks towards $claraName. After a long pause, she slowly releases the tension from the bowstring without returning the arrow to its quiver. “You may come inside,” he says. “You will leave the cloak and anything concealed beneath it on the porch. You will make no sudden movements, and you will remain where we can see you.” “That is the welcome?” “It is the one you are getting.” You step towards the threshold. [[Enter the house|HomecomingInside1]]

You step across the threshold. $claraName follows you with the bow until $aldricName gestures towards the bench beside the door. “Leave the cloak and everything you carried outside.” You remove the borrowed cloak, place your bundle beneath it, and straighten slowly. $nessaName moves aside to let you pass, though she remains close enough to $claraName that their shoulders almost touch. The door closes behind you.<div class="scene-image"> <img src="images/chapter1/homeinside.webp" > </div>The house smells of damp wool and whatever $claraName has been cooking over the hearth. Little appears to have changed. The same table stands in the common room, its surface marked by years of meals and arguments, while the old iron lamp still hangs slightly crooked above it. You recognise the shallow cut along the nearest chair where you once tested the edge of a new knife and spent the following week sanding away the evidence. You had remembered this room so often that standing within it feels less familiar than the memory. $aldricName sheathes his sword but does not remove it from his belt. “You may stay here tonight. That does not mean we have accepted everything you told us, and it certainly does not mean we understand what happened to you. Your room is still upstairs. Keep the door unlatched, and do not leave the house before morning.” “I understand.” “If you are who you claim to be, then you understand why I am asking.” The words carry none of the warmth you imagined during the journey home, but he has called it your room. $claraName finally lowers the bow. She returns the arrow to its quiver, then rests the weapon near the hearth rather than replacing it beside the door. “He needs something to eat,” she says. “Whatever else he may be, he looks half-starved.” She crosses to the cooking pot and fills a bowl. Her movements remain stiff, but she places it at your usual seat without appearing to notice what she has done. When she realises, her hand pauses against the back of the chair before she withdraws it. You sit. The meal passes with little conversation. $aldricName watches from across the table while you explain the parts of your journey that can be safely told. About you waking on the coast, sheltering with Harlan and Elin, and travelling towards Marrowgate with the merchant. You say nothing about the temple, the artefact, or the presence listening from within you. $nessaName eventually lowers her hands, though she continues studying every familiar gesture as though one of them might expose you. $claraName occupies herself near the hearth, never remaining still for long enough to meet your eyes. When the bowl is empty, $aldricName leads you upstairs.<div class="scene-image"> <img src="images/home/locations/playerroom/playerroommorning.webp" > </div>Your room has been kept clean. The bed is made, your books remain on their shelves, and the practice sword you used as a boy still rests above the window. A thin layer of dust covers the desk, but nothing has been packed away. “We did not know what to do with it,” $aldricName says from the doorway. “Tomorrow, we will decide what happens next.” He closes the door without latching it. <em>They let you inside,</em> Syrissia says once his footsteps have receded. You sit on the edge of the bed, listening to the muted voices below. “They are not certain they let me inside.” <em>Neither are you.</em> You have no answer for her. Exhaustion settles over you before you can remove your boots, and for the first time since the ship sank, you lie down in the bed that once belonged to you. [[Rest until morning|HomecomingEvening1]]

<<set $time.period to "evening">> You wake to the scrape of wooden shutters being opened. Orange light pours across the room, catching the dust suspended above your desk and forcing you to turn your face into the pillow. For several seconds, you cannot remember where you are. The mattress beneath you is too soft, the blankets too warm, and there is no rain striking canvas overhead.<div class="scene-image"> <img src="images/home/locations/playerroom/playerroomevening.webp" > </div>“At last,” $claraName says. “I was beginning to wonder whether we would have to check that you were still breathing.” You force your eyes open. Your $claraRelationship stands beside the window with one hand resting against the shutter, the evening light falling around her. At some point during the day, she has changed into a loose white silk robe, perhaps expecting the household to have settled before you woke. The low sun shines through the finer folds of the fabric, leaving it faintly translucent where it falls against her figure. The robe conceals more than it reveals, but the light traces the shape of her waist and hips with enough clarity that your newly awakened mind lingers before you can stop it. A slow, unwanted heat gathers low in your body. Your member thickens against the sheets, stirring hard beneath the thin cover as the forbidden shape of her is outlined in soft gold. The sight of her like this draws an immediate, aching response you cannot quite suppress. <em>Oh my... Your $claraRelationship has quite the figure,</em> Syrissia murmurs. <em>Even wrapped so modestly, she cannot quite persuade the light to keep her secrets.</em> You look towards the desk and rub the sleep from your eyes. <em>Oh please, $player.firstName, do not dare pretend you failed to notice.</em> “I’m trying to wake up,” you mutter. $claraName glances over her shoulder. “What was that?” “Nothing. My head is still somewhere between here and the coast.” <em>A cowardly answer,</em> Syrissia says, sounding pleased with herself. “What time is it?” you ask. “Nearly evening.”<div class="scene-image"> <img src="images/home/locations/playerroom/claraawakeevening.webp" > </div>You push yourself upright, and your body immediately objects. Every muscle feels heavy from having remained still for so long, while the lingering warmth of the bed urges you to lie back down. “Nearly evening?” You look towards the window as though the light might contradict her. “I thought I had slept for an hour.” “You slept through the morning and most of the afternoon.” $claraName leaves the shutters open and crosses towards the foot of the bed. “$aldricName considered waking you hours ago, but you looked as though you had not slept properly since leaving Marrowgate.” “I haven’t slept in a proper bed for months. Most nights I was lucky to find somewhere dry.” “That much was obvious.” She looks over the disturbed blankets, then back at you. “You always did sleep like the dead, you oaf. You haven’t changed one bit.” The remark comes easily, carrying the same familiar exasperation she used before the expedition. Only after saying it does she appear to hear the certainty within her own words. Her gaze falls briefly towards the floor. “In that respect,” she adds. “I meant that you still sleep too long.” You lower your feet onto the floor and test whether your legs are prepared to support you. “I understood. I’ll take whatever recognition I can get.” The corner of her mouth lifts before she restrains it. She reaches down to straighten the blanket you have dragged halfway from the bed, more for something to occupy her hands than from any concern for the bedding. “You sound like him,” she says quietly. “I am him.” $claraName smooths the blanket once, then releases it. “I know what you believe.” It is not acceptance, but neither is it the accusation she made at the door. “Your Father wants a word with you in his study,” she continues. “He has been waiting since midday, although I persuaded him that questioning you while you could barely keep your eyes open would accomplish very little.” <strong><em>Your</em></strong> Father. She must realise what she has called him, but this time she does not correct herself. You lean forward, resting your forearms against your knees. “Am I in trouble?” $claraName folds her arms, though there is less hostility in the gesture than there had been downstairs. “You returned after three months with eyes none of us recognise, admitted that you hear a voice no one else can hear, and gave us an account that begins with you drowning and ends with you walking home. He has questions, and I cannot say that I blame him.” “So I am in trouble.” “You were usually in trouble before any of this happened. I see no reason for death to have improved your habits.” A tired laugh escapes you. It is the first sound since entering the house that does not feel strained. $claraName watches you for a moment, and something in her expression softens. She appears close to saying more, but instead turns towards the door. “There is water in the basin and clean clothing across the chair. Wash before you come downstairs. I told everyone you had been living rough; you do not need to continue proving it.” You lift the edge of your shirt and sniff experimentally. “Is it that bad?” She opens the door. “The room was pleasant before you woke.” “That bad, then.” “You asked.” She steps into the landing, then looks back towards you. Her eyes pause on your face, avoiding the altered pupils only briefly before meeting them again. “Do not keep him waiting much longer.” The door closes behind her. For a while, you remain seated on the edge of the bed, listening to her footsteps descend the stairs. <em>She believes you,</em> Syrissia says. “She wants to believe me. That is not the same thing.” <em>You make curious distinctions. She entered expecting to find a stranger in this room, yet she spoke to you as though you had merely overslept.</em> You look towards the closed door. “Then she remembered what I look like.” <em>And still left you clean clothes.</em> You have no answer to that. <em>And she's smoking hot.</em> "Fucks sake..." The water in the basin is cold, but it clears the remaining heaviness from your head. You wash, change into the clothing left across the chair, and take a moment to look around the room properly. Nothing has been removed, though several objects have shifted slightly from where you remember leaving them. Someone has dusted the shelves, washed the blankets, and kept the room ready despite having no reason to believe you would ever use it again. Voices carry faintly from below. $claraName is somewhere near the kitchen, while the repeated thud of fists against a padded post suggests that $nessaName has returned to the training yard. $aldricName is waiting in his study, but for the first time since reaching the house, no one is ordering you to remain still. [[Leave your room|HouseHubEvening1]]

<<set $houseLocations.clara to "kitchen">> <<set $houseLocations.nessa to "yard">> <<set $houseLocations.aldric to "study">> <div class="sg-house-hub"> <div class="sg-house-hub__header"> <div> <h1>Home</h1> <p>Evening</p> </div> <div class="sg-house-hub__objective"> Your father is waiting in the study. </div> </div> <div class="sg-house-map">  <section class="sg-house-floor sg-house-floor--ground"> <header class="sg-house-floor__header"> <span>Ground floor</span> </header> <div class="sg-house-floor__plan sg-house-floor__plan--ground"> <a class="sg-house-room sg-house-room--common" data-passage="CommonRoomEvening1" > <span class="sg-house-room__label"> Common room </span> </a> <a class="sg-house-room sg-house-room--kitchen" data-passage="ClaraKitchenEvening1" > <span class="sg-house-room__label"> Kitchen </span> <<if $houseLocations.clara is "kitchen">> <span class="sg-house-room__occupant"> <img src="images/home/clara/claraicon.jpg" alt="" > <span class="sg-visually-hidden"> <<print $claraName>> is here </span> </span> <</if>> </a> <a class="sg-house-room sg-house-room--study" data-passage="AldricStudy1" > <span class="sg-house-room__label"> Study </span> <<if $houseLocations.aldric is "study">> <span class="sg-house-room__occupant"> <img src="images/home/aldric/f-portrait.webp" alt="" > <span class="sg-visually-hidden"> <<print $aldricName>> is here </span> </span> <</if>> <span class="sg-house-room__objective-marker"> ! </span> </a> <a class="sg-house-room sg-house-room--storage" data-passage="StorageRoomEvening1" > <span class="sg-house-room__label"> Storage room </span> </a> <div class="sg-house-stairs sg-house-stairs--ground" aria-label="Stairs to the upper floor" > <span class="sg-house-stairs__arrow">↑</span> </div> <a class="sg-house-room sg-house-room--yard" data-passage="NessaTrainingEvening1" > <span class="sg-house-room__label"> Backyard / training yard </span> <<if $houseLocations.nessa is "yard">> <span class="sg-house-room__occupant"> <img src="images/home/nessa/nessaicon.jpg" alt="" > <span class="sg-visually-hidden"> <<print $nessaName>> is here </span> </span> <</if>> </a> </div> </section>  <section class="sg-house-floor sg-house-floor--upper"> <header class="sg-house-floor__header"> <span>Upper floor</span> </header> <div class="sg-house-floor__plan sg-house-floor__plan--upper"> <a class="sg-house-room sg-house-room--your-bedroom" data-passage="PlayerRoomEvening1" > <span class="sg-house-room__label"> Your bedroom </span> </a> <a class="sg-house-room sg-house-room--second-bedroom" data-passage="SecondBedroomEvening1" > <span class="sg-house-room__label"> Second bedroom </span> </a> <a class="sg-house-room sg-house-room--master-bedroom" data-passage="MasterBedroomEvening1" > <span class="sg-house-room__label"> Master bedroom </span> </a> <div class="sg-house-stairs sg-house-stairs--upper" aria-label="Stairs to the ground floor" > <span class="sg-house-stairs__arrow">↓</span> </div> </div> </section> </div> </div>

<<widget "advanceTime">> <<if $time.active>> <<switch $time.period>> <<case "morning">> <<set $time.period to "afternoon">> <<case "afternoon">> <<set $time.period to "evening">> <<case "evening">> <<set $time.period to "night">> <<case "night">> /* Time cannot advance beyond night without sleeping. */ <</switch>> <</if>> <</widget>> <<widget "sleepToMorning">> <<if $time.active and $time.period is "night">> <<set $time.day += 1>> <<set $time.period to "morning">> <</if>> <</widget>> <<widget "timeAction">> <<if not $time.active>> <<link _args[0] _args[1]>><</link>> <<elseif $time.period isnot "night">> <<link _args[0] _args[1]>> <<advanceTime>> <</link>> <</if>> <</widget>> <<widget "sleepAction">> <<if $time.active and $time.period is "night">> <<link _args[0] _args[1]>> <<sleepToMorning>> <</link>> <</if>> <</widget>> <<widget "updateHouseLocations">> <<set _schedule to setup.houseSchedule[$time.period]>> <<set $houseLocations.clara to _schedule.clara>> <<set $houseLocations.nessa to _schedule.nessa>> <<set $houseLocations.aldric to _schedule.aldric>> <</widget>>

The common room is quiet. Most of the lamps have already been lit, casting a warm glow across the table and hearth. $aldricName is still waiting for you in the study. [[Return to the house map|HouseHubEvening1]]

$claraName is in the kitchen, occupied with the evening meal. She glances towards you when you enter, but the uncertainty from the doorway has not entirely left her expression. “Your Father is waiting,” she says. “I would not keep him waiting any longer.” [[Return to the house map|HouseHubEvening1]]

$nessaName is in the training yard, driving measured strikes into the padded post. She notices you at the door and falters before quickly recovering her stance. “You should speak to Father,” she says. “He has been waiting all afternoon.” [[Return to the house map|HouseHubEvening1]]

The storage room contains old travelling equipment, household supplies, and several crates that have not been opened in years. This is not the time to search through them. [[Return to the house map|HouseHubEvening1]]

The master bedroom is private. You leave the door untouched. Better not test the boundaries just yet. [[Return to the house map|HouseHubEvening1]]

Your room remains as you left it, aside from the disturbed blankets and the evening light now stretching across the floor. $aldricName is waiting downstairs. [[Return to the house map|HouseHubEvening1]]

<<print $nessaName + "’s bedroom">>. You have no reason to go in here now. [[Return to the house map|HouseHubEvening1]]

Your Father’s study is warmer than the rest of the house, though the fire has burned low while he waited for you. Maps cover much of the desk, held flat beneath books, ink bottles, and a dagger in a worn leather sheath. He closes the door once you are inside and points towards the chair opposite him.<div class="scene-image"> <img src="images/home/locations/study/aldricstudyevening.webp" > </div>“Sit. I want to hear about the expedition again, but this time from the beginning.” You lower yourself into the chair. $aldricName remains standing for a moment, watching you settle into it, before taking his place behind the desk. “Who commissioned it?” “The expedition master said the payment came from a private collector.” “Did this collector have a name?” You shrug. “Not one we were given. We dealt with a representative who handled the contract and the advance. I never met the person paying for it.” $aldricName pulls a blank sheet of paper towards him. “So you crossed the sea for someone whose name you did not know.” “The advance was good.” “That has never made an anonymous employer less suspicious.” “It has made plenty of people less curious.” His mouth tightens faintly, though whether in irritation or reluctant agreement, you cannot tell. He dips the pen into the ink. “What were you sent to recover?” “A relic from the inner chamber of the temple. Small enough to carry without a cart.” He waits for more. You shift in the chair. “I only saw it briefly before it was wrapped. Whatever it was, it went down with the ship.” <em>A convincing burial,</em> Syrissia murmurs. You press your thumb against the side of your finger, hoping $aldricName does not notice. “Who knew your route?” he asks. “The expedition company, everyone aboard, the harbour office, and whoever arranged the supplies. The collector’s representative must have known as well.” “And did anyone outside the party see the relic after you recovered it?” “We never made it back to port. Unless someone aboard was reporting to another party, no.” $aldricName writes for a while, then sets the pen down. “Tell me about the storm.” You lean back, trying to put the memory in order. “The weather had been poor, but manageable. Then the wind changed, and the sea rose faster than I have ever seen. The crew barely had time to shorten the sails before the ship began taking damage.” “Anything else? Another vessel, lights along the coast, unusual magic?” “No. Just rain, wind, the usual.” He studies your face. “Your memory may not be reliable.” “I remember the ship breaking apart.” “That does not mean you remember everything leading to it.” You look towards the maps covering the desk. “What, you think someone caused the storm?” “No.” $aldricName folds his arms. “I think ships sink, storms arrive without reason, and frightened men remember events poorly. I am not calling it murder because the weather turned against you.” He pulls a harbour notice from beneath one of the books and places it between you. “What concerns me is that we know almost nothing about what happened afterwards. We were told the ship was lost and that there were no survivors. We were not shown the report, told whether wreckage was recovered, or informed who first declared the vessel missing.” You pick up the notice. It bears the seal of the Marrowgate harbour office, along with the name of the ship and the date it departed. “Tomorrow, go there and request the official record. Ask for the manifest, the loss report, and anything filed concerning wreckage or salvage.” “You could ask for those yourself.” “I could, and they would see a father trying to reopen the death of his son.” He taps one finger against the notice. “You are the man their records say died. Your appearance may produce a more useful reaction.” “Assuming they do not have me removed for wasting their time.” “Then remain polite while they remove you.” You look up at him. His expression has not changed, though there is the faintest suggestion that the remark was intentional. “What exactly am I looking for?” “For now, nothing in particular. Listen to what they tell you, note what they avoid telling you, and do not mention the relic unless they raise it first. We need facts before we decide whether anything is wrong.” He releases the notice and leans back. “Come home once you have the records. Do not begin accusing harbour clerks of sinking your ship simply because one of them looks surprised to see you alive.” “I was not planning to.” “That has rarely prevented you from doing something.” <<set $quests.expeditionRecord to 1>><<set $trackedQuest to "expeditionRecord">><<set $time.period to "night">> [[Retire for the night|PlayerRoomNight1]]

<<set $time.period to "night">> The study door closes behind you, leaving $aldricName alone with his papers and whatever conclusions he has chosen not to share. Most of the lamps downstairs have been extinguished, and the fire in the common room has settled into a low orange glow. You are approaching the staircase when the back door opens. $nessaName enters from the training yard with a folded towel draped around her neck. She is still breathing heavily from the exercise and does not notice you until she turns towards the stairs. Both of you stop too late. Her foot catches against the lowest step, and you reach out instinctively, closing one hand around her arm before she loses her balance. She catches the banister with her other hand. For a moment, neither of you moves. “Careful,” you say. “I was being careful until someone decided to stand in the dark.” “You walked into me.” “You were lurking.” “I was going upstairs.” “That is exactly what a person lurking near the stairs would say.”<div class="scene-image"> <img src="images/home/locations/commonroom/nessastairs.webp" > </div>The accusation lacks conviction. She straightens, and you release her arm once you are certain she has found her footing. The heat from the training yard still clings to her. Sweat has darkened the fabric around her collar and beneath the folds of her training clothes, causing them to follow the movement of her body more closely than they ordinarily would. A loose strand of hair has stuck against the side of her neck, shifting faintly with each breath. Something inside you responds before you can prevent it. The awareness is sudden and unwelcome, a quiet tightening beneath your ribs that directs your attention back towards her even as you try to look elsewhere. The warm scent of her sweat reaches you as well, sharp and intimate, and it only deepens the response. Your member stirs hard against the fabric of your trousers, thickening with an unwanted heat as the clinging cloth traces the shape of the form of your $nessaRelationship. <em>She has worked herself rather thoroughly,</em> Syrissia observes. <em>The heat suits her... Oh my...</em> You concentrate on the stairs behind her. <em>You need not behave as though noticing beauty is a confession.</em> Not now, you think. Syrissia’s amusement brushes against the edge of your awareness. $nessaName uses the towel to wipe the back of her neck. “Did he believe you?” The question is quieter than the exchange that preceded it. “Enough to send me into Marrowgate tomorrow. He wants the harbour records for the expedition.” “That sounds like him.” She leans one shoulder against the banister, still recovering her breath. “When he is worried, he finds something practical to do and makes everyone else participate.” “You think he is worried about me?” “I think he is worried about all of us.” Her eyes move towards yours, lingering on the narrow pupils before she looks down at the towel in her hands. “He does care about you. That is why he is being difficult.” “He was difficult before I died.” A brief laugh escapes her. She attempts to suppress it by pressing the towel against her mouth, but the effort only makes it more obvious. “That sounded like you,” she says. “I have sounded like me all evening.” “Not always.” She lowers the towel and studies you with less fear than she showed at the door. “Sometimes you speak as though you are trying to convince us. Then you say something irritating without thinking, and I remember exactly why I used to avoid you after training.” “That is the strongest proof anyone has offered so far.” “I did not say it proved anything.” “No, but you nearly smiled.” “I nearly fell down the stairs. Do not confuse the two.” She steps aside to let you pass. The staircase is narrow enough that your shoulder brushes hers as you move around her, and you feel the warmth and sweet musky scene left by her exertion through the fabric of your sleeve. The sensation stirs the same unwanted awareness again. <em>Very warm,</em> Syrissia murmurs. You grip the banister and continue upwards without responding. Behind you, $nessaName clears her throat. “Good night, $player.firstName.” You pause halfway up the stairs. It is the first time she has used your name without rejecting the person attached to it. “Good night, $nessaName.” You turn to her, she has already made her way towards the common room.<div class="scene-image"> <img src="images/home/locations/playerroom/playerroomnight.webp" > </div>Your bedroom is dark when you enter, apart from a narrow band of moonlight crossing the floor. You close the door, though you remember $aldricName’s earlier instruction and leave it unlatched. <em>She is beginning to accept you,</em> Syrissia says. “She still thinks I might be something stealing the old $player.firstName's memories.” <em>Perhaps. She also became very aware of your hand on her arm.</em> “You are imagining things. She's my $nessaRelationship” <em>I am desire. Imagining things is unnecessary when people reveal so much without speaking.</em> You sit on the edge of the bed and remove your boots. Tomorrow, you will return to Marrowgate, walk into an office where the records declare you dead, and ask strangers to explain what became of your ship. For tonight, there is little more you can do. <<link "Sleep until morning" "HouseHub">> <<set $time.active to true>> <<set $time.day to 1>> <<set $time.period to "morning">> <</link>>

<<set _schedule to setup.houseSchedule[$time.period]>> <<set $houseLocations.clara to _schedule.clara>> <<set $houseLocations.nessa to _schedule.nessa>> <<set $houseLocations.aldric to _schedule.aldric>> <<set _isNight to $time.period is "night">> <<set _periodLabel to $time.period.charAt(0).toUpperCase() + $time.period.slice(1)>> <<set _trackedQuestData to null>> <<set _trackedQuestStage to 0>> <<set _trackedQuestObjective to "">> <<if $trackedQuest isnot "" and setup.questData[$trackedQuest]>> <<set _trackedQuestData to setup.questData[$trackedQuest]>> <<set _trackedQuestStage to $quests[$trackedQuest]>> <<set _trackedQuestObjective to _trackedQuestData.objectives[_trackedQuestStage]>> <</if>> <div class="sg-house-hub"> <div class="sg-house-hub__header"> <div> <h1>Home</h1> <p><<print _periodLabel>></p> </div> <<if _trackedQuestObjective>> <div class="sg-house-hub__objective"> <span class="sg-house-hub__objective-title"> <<print _trackedQuestData.title>> </span> <strong class="sg-house-hub__objective-text"> <<print _trackedQuestObjective>> </strong> </div> <</if>> </div> <div class="sg-house-map">  <section class="sg-house-floor sg-house-floor--ground"> <header class="sg-house-floor__header"> <span>Ground floor</span> </header> <div class="sg-house-floor__plan sg-house-floor__plan--ground">  <a @class="'sg-house-room sg-house-room--common' + (_isNight ? ' sg-house-room--locked' : '')" data-passage="CommonRoomHub" @aria-disabled="_isNight ? 'true' : 'false'" @tabindex="_isNight ? -1 : 0" > <span class="sg-house-room__label"> Common room </span> <<if $houseLocations.clara is "common">> <span class="sg-house-room__occupant"> <img src="images/home/clara/claraicon.jpg" alt="" > <span class="sg-visually-hidden"> <<print $claraName>> is here </span> </span> <</if>> <<if $houseLocations.nessa is "common">> <span class="sg-house-room__occupant"> <img src="images/home/nessa/nessaicon.jpg" alt="" > <span class="sg-visually-hidden"> <<print $nessaName>> is here </span> </span> <</if>> <<if $houseLocations.aldric is "common">> <span class="sg-house-room__occupant"> <img src="images/home/aldric/f-portrait.webp" alt="" > <span class="sg-visually-hidden"> <<print $aldricName>> is here </span> </span> <</if>> </a>  <a @class="'sg-house-room sg-house-room--kitchen' + (_isNight ? ' sg-house-room--locked' : '')" data-passage="KitchenHub" @aria-disabled="_isNight ? 'true' : 'false'" @tabindex="_isNight ? -1 : 0" > <span class="sg-house-room__label"> Kitchen </span> <<if $houseLocations.clara is "kitchen">> <span class="sg-house-room__occupant"> <img src="images/home/clara/claraicon.jpg" alt="" > <span class="sg-visually-hidden"> <<print $claraName>> is here </span> </span> <</if>> <<if $houseLocations.nessa is "kitchen">> <span class="sg-house-room__occupant"> <img src="images/home/nessa/nessaicon.jpg" alt="" > <span class="sg-visually-hidden"> <<print $nessaName>> is here </span> </span> <</if>> <<if $houseLocations.aldric is "kitchen">> <span class="sg-house-room__occupant"> <img src="images/home/aldric/f-portrait.webp" alt="" > <span class="sg-visually-hidden"> <<print $aldricName>> is here </span> </span> <</if>> </a>  <a @class="'sg-house-room sg-house-room--study' + (_isNight ? ' sg-house-room--locked' : '')" data-passage="StudyHub" @aria-disabled="_isNight ? 'true' : 'false'" @tabindex="_isNight ? -1 : 0" > <span class="sg-house-room__label"> Study </span> <<if $houseLocations.clara is "study">> <span class="sg-house-room__occupant"> <img src="images/home/clara/claraicon.jpg" alt="" > <span class="sg-visually-hidden"> <<print $claraName>> is here </span> </span> <</if>> <<if $houseLocations.nessa is "study">> <span class="sg-house-room__occupant"> <img src="images/home/nessa/nessaicon.jpg" alt="" > <span class="sg-visually-hidden"> <<print $nessaName>> is here </span> </span> <</if>> <<if $houseLocations.aldric is "study">> <span class="sg-house-room__occupant"> <img src="images/home/aldric/f-portrait.webp" alt="" > <span class="sg-visually-hidden"> <<print $aldricName>> is here </span> </span> <</if>> </a>  <a @class="'sg-house-room sg-house-room--storage' + (_isNight ? ' sg-house-room--locked' : '')" data-passage="StorageRoomHub" @aria-disabled="_isNight ? 'true' : 'false'" @tabindex="_isNight ? -1 : 0" > <span class="sg-house-room__label"> Storage room </span> <<if $houseLocations.clara is "storage">> <span class="sg-house-room__occupant"> <img src="images/home/clara/claraicon.jpg" alt="" > <span class="sg-visually-hidden"> <<print $claraName>> is here </span> </span> <</if>> <<if $houseLocations.nessa is "storage">> <span class="sg-house-room__occupant"> <img src="images/home/nessa/nessaicon.jpg" alt="" > <span class="sg-visually-hidden"> <<print $nessaName>> is here </span> </span> <</if>> <<if $houseLocations.aldric is "storage">> <span class="sg-house-room__occupant"> <img src="images/home/aldric/f-portrait.webp" alt="" > <span class="sg-visually-hidden"> <<print $aldricName>> is here </span> </span> <</if>> </a>  <div class="sg-house-stairs sg-house-stairs--ground" aria-label="Stairs to the upper floor" > <span class="sg-house-stairs__arrow">↑</span> </div>  <a @class="'sg-house-room sg-house-room--yard' + (_isNight ? ' sg-house-room--locked' : '')" data-passage="YardHub" @aria-disabled="_isNight ? 'true' : 'false'" @tabindex="_isNight ? -1 : 0" > <span class="sg-house-room__label"> Backyard / training yard </span> <<if $houseLocations.clara is "yard">> <span class="sg-house-room__occupant"> <img src="images/home/clara/claraicon.jpg" alt="" > <span class="sg-visually-hidden"> <<print $claraName>> is here </span> </span> <</if>> <<if $houseLocations.nessa is "yard">> <span class="sg-house-room__occupant"> <img src="images/home/nessa/nessaicon.jpg" alt="" > <span class="sg-visually-hidden"> <<print $nessaName>> is here </span> </span> <</if>> <<if $houseLocations.aldric is "yard">> <span class="sg-house-room__occupant"> <img src="images/home/aldric/f-portrait.webp" alt="" > <span class="sg-visually-hidden"> <<print $aldricName>> is here </span> </span> <</if>> </a> </div> </section>  <section class="sg-house-floor sg-house-floor--upper"> <header class="sg-house-floor__header"> <span>Upper floor</span> </header> <div class="sg-house-floor__plan sg-house-floor__plan--upper">  <a class="sg-house-room sg-house-room--your-bedroom" data-passage="PlayerRoomHub" aria-label="Enter your bedroom" > <span class="sg-house-room__label"> Your bedroom </span> <<if _isNight>> <span class="sg-house-room__objective-marker"> ! </span> <</if>> </a>  <a @class="'sg-house-room sg-house-room--second-bedroom' + (_isNight ? ' sg-house-room--locked' : '')" data-passage="SecondBedroomHub" @aria-disabled="_isNight ? 'true' : 'false'" @tabindex="_isNight ? -1 : 0" > <span class="sg-house-room__label"> Second bedroom </span> <<if $houseLocations.nessa is "secondBedroom">> <span class="sg-house-room__occupant"> <img src="images/home/nessa/nessaicon.jpg" alt="" > <span class="sg-visually-hidden"> <<print $nessaName>> is here </span> </span> <</if>> </a>  <a @class="'sg-house-room sg-house-room--master-bedroom' + (_isNight ? ' sg-house-room--locked' : '')" data-passage="MasterBedroomHub" @aria-disabled="_isNight ? 'true' : 'false'" @tabindex="_isNight ? -1 : 0" > <span class="sg-house-room__label"> Master bedroom </span> <<if $houseLocations.clara is "masterBedroom">> <span class="sg-house-room__occupant"> <img src="images/home/clara/claraicon.jpg" alt="" > <span class="sg-visually-hidden"> <<print $claraName>> is here </span> </span> <</if>> <<if $houseLocations.aldric is "masterBedroom">> <span class="sg-house-room__occupant"> <img src="images/home/aldric/f-portrait.webp" alt="" > <span class="sg-visually-hidden"> <<print $aldricName>> is here </span> </span> <</if>> </a>  <div class="sg-house-stairs sg-house-stairs--upper" aria-label="Stairs to the ground floor" > <span class="sg-house-stairs__arrow">↓</span> </div> </div> </section> </div> </div> <div class="sg-house-exit-section"> <<if _isNight>> <div class="sg-house-exit sg-house-exit--locked" aria-disabled="true" > <span class="sg-house-exit__door" aria-hidden="true"> <span class="sg-house-exit__handle"></span> </span> <span class="sg-house-exit__content"> <strong>Front door</strong> <small>It is too late to leave the house.</small> </span> </div> <<else>> <a class="sg-house-exit" data-passage="CityTravelHub" aria-label="Leave the house and travel towards Marrowgate" > <span class="sg-house-exit__door" aria-hidden="true"> <span class="sg-house-exit__handle"></span> </span> <span class="sg-house-exit__content"> <strong>Leave the house</strong> <small>Travel towards Marrowgate</small> </span> <<if $quests.expeditionRecord > 0 and $quests.expeditionRecord < 4>> <span class="sg-house-exit__marker"> ! </span> <</if>> </a> <</if>> </div>

<h1>Common room</h1> <<switch $time.period>> <<case "morning">> <<set _commonRoomImage to "images/home/locations/commonroom/commonroomday.webp">> <<case "afternoon">> <<set _commonRoomImage to "images/home/locations/commonroom/commonroomday.webp">> <<case "evening">> <<set _commonRoomImage to "images/home/locations/commonroom/commonroomevening.webp">> <<case "night">> <<set _commonRoomImage to "images/home/locations/commonroom/commonroomnight.webp">> <<default>> <<set _commonRoomImage to "images/home/locations/commonroom/commonroomday.webp">> <</switch>> <div class="scene-image"> <img @src="_commonRoomImage" alt="The common room"> </div> <div class="sg-room-description"> <p>The common room is the centre of the house, furnished with two worn armchairs, a long wooden table, and shelves crowded with old books, maps, and objects collected during $aldricName’s adventuring years. A low fire burns in the stone hearth, taking the chill from the room.</p> <<switch $time.period>> <<case "morning">> <p>Pale morning light enters through the front windows, falling across the scuffed floorboards and the ashes of last night’s fire.</p> <<case "afternoon">> <p>Daylight fills the room, revealing the familiar scratches, repaired furniture, and other small signs of a house that has been lived in for many years.</p> <<case "evening">> <p>The curtains have been drawn against the fading light, and the fire casts a comfortable amber glow across the room.</p> <<case "night">> <p>The hearth has burned low, leaving the common room quiet and dim.</p> <</switch>> </div> <<if $houseLocations.clara is "common">> <div class="sg-room-character-block"> <p>$claraName sits near the hearth with a cup resting between her hands. She looks up as you enter, acknowledging you with a small nod before returning her attention to the fire.</p> </div> <</if>> <<if $houseLocations.nessa is "common">> <div class="sg-room-character-block"> <p>$nessaName has claimed one end of the table, where she is cleaning and inspecting her training equipment. She glances towards you when you enter but continues working.</p> </div> <</if>> <<if $houseLocations.aldric is "common">> <div class="sg-room-character-block"> <p>$aldricName occupies one of the armchairs, reading through a folded document with the stern concentration he normally reserves for maps and bad news.</p> </div> <</if>> <div class="sg-room-actions"> <a data-passage="HouseHub"> Return to the house map </a> </div>

<h1>$aldricName’s study</h1> <<set _aldricHere to $houseLocations.aldric is "study">> <<set _expeditionStage to $quests.expeditionRecord>> <<switch $time.period>> <<case "morning", "afternoon">> <<set _studyImage to "images/home/locations/study/aldricstudyday.webp">> <<case "evening">> <<set _studyImage to "images/home/locations/study/aldricstudyevening.webp">> <<case "night">> <<set _studyImage to "images/home/locations/study/studynight.webp">> <<default>> <<set _studyImage to "images/home/locations/study/aldricstudyday.webp">> <</switch>> <div class="scene-image"> <img @src="_studyImage" alt="$aldricName’s study"> </div> <div class="sg-room-description"> <p>The study is smaller than you remember, though little else has changed. Shelves crowded with ledgers, old journals, and rolled maps cover most of the walls. A broad wooden desk occupies the centre of the room, its surface divided between neatly stacked correspondence and the untidy remains of whatever problem currently holds your father’s attention.</p> <p>Weapons from $aldricName’s former life have been mounted above the shelves, kept clean but no longer within easy reach. The room smells faintly of parchment, sealing wax, and the bitter tea he habitually forgets to finish.</p> <<switch $time.period>> <<case "morning">> <p>Morning light falls across the desk, illuminating the open maps and the notes written along their margins.</p> <<case "afternoon">> <p>Clear daylight enters through the narrow window, though the heavier curtains keep the room cooler than the rest of the house.</p> <<case "evening">> <p>An oil lamp burns beside the desk as the daylight fades, casting long shadows between the shelves.</p> <<case "night">> <p>The study is dark and still, with the desk abandoned beneath a stack of unfinished work.</p> <</switch>> </div> <<if _aldricHere>> <div class="sg-room-character-block"> <p>$aldricName sits behind the desk, reading through a set of harbour documents. Several pages have been marked with notes in his narrow handwriting, and an open map of the coast lies beneath them.</p> <<if _expeditionStage > 0 and _expeditionStage < 4>> <p>He looks up when you enter, his expression suggesting that your presence is another interruption he has already accounted for.</p> <p>“Are you going to get moving,” he asks, “or were you planning to make the harbour office come to you?”</p> <<elseif _expeditionStage is 4>> <p>He notices the documents in your possession and sets his pen aside.</p> <p>“Well?” he asks. “What did you find?”</p> <<else>> <p>He briefly acknowledges you before returning his attention to the papers spread across the desk.</p> <</if>> </div> <</if>> <div class="sg-room-actions"> <<if _aldricHere>> <<if _expeditionStage > 0 and _expeditionStage < 4>> <a data-passage="AldricStudyBusy1"> Speak with <<print $aldricName>> </a> <<elseif _expeditionStage is 4>> <a data-passage="AldricStudyReport1"> Report your findings </a> <</if>> <</if>> <a data-passage="HouseHub"> Return to the house map </a> </div>

<h1>Kitchen</h1> <<set _claraHere to $houseLocations.clara is "kitchen">> <<switch $time.period>> <<case "morning">> <<if _claraHere>> <<set _kitchenImage to "images/home/locations/kitchen/clarakitchenmorning.webp">> <<else>> <<set _kitchenImage to "images/home/locations/kitchen/kitchenmorning.webp">> <</if>> <<case "afternoon">> <<set _kitchenImage to "images/home/locations/kitchen/kitchenafternoon.webp">> <<case "evening">> <<if _claraHere>> <<set _kitchenImage to "images/home/locations/kitchen/clarakitchenevening.webp">> <<else>> <<set _kitchenImage to "images/home/locations/kitchen/kitchenevening.webp">> <</if>> <<case "night">> <<set _kitchenImage to "images/home/locations/kitchen/kitchennight.webp">> <<default>> <<set _kitchenImage to "images/home/locations/kitchen/kitchenmorning.webp">> <</switch>> <div class="scene-image"> <img @src="_kitchenImage" alt="The kitchen"> </div> <div class="sg-room-description"> <p>The kitchen is warm in a way the rest of the house is not. Hanging herbs, copper pans, and neatly arranged jars occupy the walls around the broad stone hearth. The smell of bread, broth, and something lightly spiced lingers in the air.</p> <<switch $time.period>> <<case "morning">> <p>Morning light filters through the small window above the table, catching in the faint haze of steam rising from the pot over the fire.</p> <<case "afternoon">> <p>Clear daylight fills the room, illuminating the flour scattered across the worktop and the dishes left to dry beside the basin.</p> <<case "evening">> <p>The fading daylight has given way to the warmer glow of the hearth, leaving the corners of the kitchen in gentle shadow.</p> <<case "night">> <p>The fire has been banked for the night. Only a few red embers remain beneath the cooking grate.</p> <</switch>> </div> <<if _claraHere>> <div class="sg-room-character-block"> <p>$claraName stands near the stove with her sleeves rolled back, one hand resting on the wooden spoon as she stirs the pot. She is dressed simply, more for comfort than appearance, though there is still a quiet neatness to the way she carries herself.</p> <p>At the sound of your steps, she turns her head slightly.</p> <p>“Oh,” she says, her tone softening a fraction when she sees you. “<<print $player.firstName>>. What is it?”</p> <p>For a moment, she studies you as though deciding whether you have come down merely restless, or because something is truly wrong.</p> </div> <</if>> <div class="sg-room-actions"> <<if _claraHere>> <a data-passage="ClaraKitchenTalk1"> Speak with <<print $claraName>> </a> <</if>> <a data-passage="HouseHub"> Return to the house map </a> </div>

<h1>Storage room</h1> <<switch $time.period>> <<case "morning", "afternoon">> <<set _storageImage to "images/home/locations/storage/storageofday.webp">> <<case "evening">> <<set _storageImage to "images/home/locations/storage/storageevening.webp">> <<case "night">> <<set _storageImage to "images/home/locations/storage/storagenight.webp">> <<default>> <<set _storageImage to "images/home/locations/storage/storageofday.webp">> <</switch>> <div class="scene-image"> <img @src="_storageImage" alt="The storage room"> </div> <div class="sg-room-description"> <p>The storage room is crowded without being neglected. Shelves line the walls from floor to ceiling, holding spare blankets, clay jars, coils of rope, household tools, and supplies bought in quantities large enough to last through winter. Wooden crates occupy much of the remaining space, their contents identified by labels written in $claraName’s neat hand.</p> <p>Older belongings have been pushed towards the rear of the room. A weathered travelling chest sits beneath a folded tent, surrounded by dented shields, empty map cases, and pieces of equipment left over from $aldricName’s adventuring years. Dust has settled across most of it, though several items appear to have been moved recently.</p> <<switch $time.period>> <<case "morning">> <p>A narrow beam of morning light enters through the high window, illuminating drifting dust and the uneven path between the crates.</p> <<case "afternoon">> <p>Daylight reaches only partway into the room, leaving the rear shelves and old travelling equipment in cool shadow.</p> <<case "evening">> <p>The last of the daylight barely reaches through the small window. A lantern near the doorway provides enough light to navigate between the stacked supplies.</p> <<case "night">> <p>The room is almost entirely dark, its crowded shelves reduced to indistinct shapes beyond the doorway.</p> <</switch>> </div> <div class="sg-room-actions"> <a data-passage="HouseHub"> Return to the house map </a> </div>

<h1>Backyard</h1> <<switch $time.period>> <<case "morning">> <<set _yardImage to "images/home/locations/yard/nessayardmorning.webp">> <<case "afternoon">> <<set _yardImage to "images/home/locations/yard/yardafternoon.webp">> <<case "evening">> <<set _yardImage to "images/home/locations/yard/nessayardevening.webp">> <<case "night">> <<set _yardImage to "images/home/locations/yard/yardnight.webp">> <<default>> <<set _yardImage to "images/home/locations/yard/nessayardmorning.webp">> <</switch>> <div class="scene-image"> <img @src="_yardImage" alt="The training yard"> </div> <div class="sg-room-description"> <p>The yard stretches behind the house, enclosed by a low fence and worn smooth by years of use. One end has been given over to training, with a padded post, a straw dummy, a rack of wooden practice weapons, and enough open ground for drills. The rest is less orderly, with patches of grass, stacked firewood, and the signs of a household that uses the space as often as it passes through it.</p> <<switch $time.period>> <<case "morning">> <p>The morning air is cool, and the grass still holds the last traces of dew. The sound of repeated strikes carries across the yard with steady rhythm.</p> <<case "afternoon">> <p>The sun stands high above the fence, flattening the yard into bright light and hard shadow. The training post bears the fresh marks of recent use.</p> <<case "evening">> <p>The light has turned warmer now, laying long shadows across the beaten earth. The yard smells faintly of grass, wood, and sweat.</p> <<case "night">> <p>The yard is quiet beneath the dark. The practice weapons have been returned to their rack, and only the outline of the training post is visible from the doorway.</p> <</switch>> </div> <<if $houseLocations.nessa is "yard">> <div class="sg-room-character-block"> <p>$nessaName is here, moving through another sequence of strikes with a wooden practice sword. She is dressed for training rather than appearances, in light athletic clothing that leaves her arms and legs free, and a fine sheen of sweat catches where the light touches her skin. Even at a glance, it is obvious she has been at this for some time.</p> <p>She finishes the sequence, lowers the practice blade, and wipes her forehead with the back of her wrist before looking towards you.</p> <p>“Were you planning to stand there all <<if $time.period is "morning">>morning<<elseif $time.period is "evening">>evening<<else>>day<</if>>,” she asks, “or did you actually want something?”</p> </div> <</if>> <div class="sg-room-actions"> <<if $houseLocations.nessa is "yard">> <a data-passage="NessaYardTalk1"> Speak with <<print $nessaName>> </a> <</if>> <a data-passage="HouseHub"> Return to the house map </a> </div>

<h1>$nessaName’s bedroom</h1> <<switch $time.period>> <<case "morning", "afternoon">> <<set _secondBedroomImage to "images/home/locations/secondbedroom/twobedroomday.webp">> <<case "evening">> <<set _secondBedroomImage to "images/home/locations/secondbedroom/twobedroomevening.webp">> <<case "night">> <<set _secondBedroomImage to "images/home/locations/secondbedroom/twobedroomnight.webp">> <<default>> <<set _secondBedroomImage to "images/home/locations/secondbedroom/twobedroomday.webp">> <</switch>> <div class="scene-image"> <img @src="_secondBedroomImage" alt="The closed bedroom door"> </div> <div class="sg-room-description"> <p>$nessaName’s bedroom lies across the landing from your own. The door is closed, with little to distinguish it beyond a few scratches around the handle and the faint marks left by years of use.</p> <p>If your $nessaRelationship caught you entering without permission, she would likely contort your limbs into shapes unknown to every healer in the realm. Syrissia giggles in your mind, apparently taking this as encouragement rather than a warning. You decide it is time to leave.</p> <<switch $time.period>> <<case "morning">> <p>Morning light reaches across the landing, falling against the lower half of the door.</p> <<case "afternoon">> <p>The landing is quiet, with the muted sounds of the household carrying up from below.</p> <<case "evening">> <p>The last daylight gathers along the corridor, leaving the doorway in soft shadow.</p> <<case "night">> <p>No light shows beneath the door.</p> <</switch>> </div> <div class="sg-room-actions"> <a data-passage="HouseHub"> Return to the house map </a> </div>

<h1>Your bedroom</h1> <<set _expeditionStage to $quests.expeditionRecord>> <<switch $time.period>> <<case "morning", "afternoon">> <<set _playerRoomImage to "images/home/locations/playerroom/playerroommorning.webp">> <<case "evening">> <<set _playerRoomImage to "images/home/locations/playerroom/playerroomevening.webp">> <<case "night">> <<set _playerRoomImage to "images/home/locations/playerroom/playerroomnight.webp">> <<default>> <<set _playerRoomImage to "images/home/locations/playerroom/playerroomday.webp">> <</switch>> <div class="scene-image"> <img @src="_playerRoomImage" alt="Your bedroom"> </div> <div class="sg-room-description"> <p>Your bedroom remains much as you left it. The bed has been neatly made, the shelves still hold your old books and maps, and a few unfinished notes remain scattered across the desk beside the window. Someone kept the room clean during your absence without disturbing more than necessary.</p> <<switch $time.period>> <<case "morning">> <p>Morning light falls across the bed and the floorboards. Resting now would only waste what remains of the day.</p> <<case "afternoon">> <p>The room is quiet and inviting, but there is still work to be done before you can justify returning to bed.</p> <<case "evening">> <p>The fading sunlight casts an orange glow through the window, briefly restoring the room to the way you remember it.</p> <<case "night">> <p>The house has grown quiet. The bed is waiting, and there is little more you can accomplish tonight.</p> <</switch>> </div> <<if $time.period isnot "night">> <div class="sg-room-character-block"> <<if _expeditionStage > 0 and _expeditionStage < 4>> <p>You have no time to waste here. The expedition records will not examine themselves.</p> <<elseif _expeditionStage is 4>> <p>This is not the time to rest. $aldricName is waiting to hear what you found.</p> <<else>> <p>There is little reason to linger here during the day.</p> <</if>> </div> <</if>> <div class="sg-room-actions"> <<if $time.period is "night">> <<link "Sleep until morning" "HouseHub">> <<sleepToMorning>> <</link>> <</if>> <a data-passage="HouseHub"> Return to the house map </a> </div>

<h1>Master bedroom</h1> <<switch $time.period>> <<case "morning", "afternoon">> <<set _masterBedroomImage to "images/home/locations/masterbedroom/mbrdoorday.webp">> <<case "evening">> <<set _masterBedroomImage to "images/home/locations/masterbedroom/mbrdoorevening.webp">> <<case "night">> <<set _masterBedroomImage to "images/home/locations/masterbedroom/mbrdoornight.webp">> <<default>> <<set _masterBedroomImage to "images/home/locations/masterbedroom/mbrdoorday.webp">> <</switch>> <div class="scene-image"> <img @src="_masterBedroomImage" alt="The closed door to the master bedroom"> </div> <div class="sg-room-description"> <p>The master bedroom lies at the quieter end of the upper floor. Its heavy wooden door is closed, the brass handle polished by years of use.</p> <p>This is your $claraRelationship and Father's room. Whatever privacy the house once allowed them has become more important since your return, and you have no reason to disturb it. For now.</p> <<switch $time.period>> <<case "morning">> <p>Morning light reaches across the landing from the nearby window, catching along the doorframe.</p> <<case "afternoon">> <p>The upper landing is quiet, with only the muted sounds of the household carrying from below.</p> <<case "evening">> <p>Fading light gathers in the narrow corridor, leaving the doorway in soft shadow.</p> <<case "night">> <p>No light shows beneath the door. You leave it untouched.</p> <</switch>> </div> <div class="sg-room-actions"> <a data-passage="HouseHub"> Return to the house map </a> </div>

<h1>Kitchen</h1> <div class="sg-room-character-block"> <p>$claraName watches you for another moment before returning her attention to the pot. She gives it one final stir, taps the wooden spoon against the rim, and sets it aside on a folded cloth.</p> <p>“You have that look,” she says.</p> <p>“What look?”</p> <p>“The one you used to wear when you wanted to ask something, but had not yet decided how to ask it.”</p> <p>You pull out the chair nearest the table. “I have been gone for three months. There are several things I could ask.”</p> <p>“Then we may be here for some time.”</p> <p>She wipes her hands against her apron and gestures for you to sit. Rather than returning immediately to the hearth, she moves to the table and lowers herself into the chair beside yours, turning slightly so she can still keep an eye on the pot.</p> <p>“Go on,” she says. “Breakfast will survive a few minutes without me.”</p> </div> <div class="sg-dialogue-choices"> <a data-passage="ClaraKitchenAftermath1"> “What happened here after the ship was lost?” </a> <a data-passage="ClaraKitchenFlowers1"> “Tell me about the flowers around the house.” </a> <a data-passage="ClaraKitchenNessa1"> “How is <<print $nessaName>> doing?” </a> <a data-passage="ClaraKitchenAldric1"> “How has Father been?” </a> <a class="sg-dialogue-choices__exit" data-passage="KitchenHub"> “I should let you finish breakfast.” </a> </div>

You rest your forearms against the table. “What happened here after the ship was lost?” $claraName’s attention shifts towards the hearth. The question does not surprise her, though she takes a moment before answering. “At first, very little. We were told the ship was overdue, not lost. They said it was bad weather, damage to the rigging, an unscheduled stop somewhere along the coast. There were enough reasonable explanations that none of us wanted to consider the other one.” She reaches for a small cloth left beside the breadboard and begins folding it between her fingers. “Your Father went to the harbour office every morning. By the fourth day, the clerks knew him well enough to avoid looking up when he arrived. I went with him twice, but there was nothing useful to hear. The ship had not reached another port, no message had come ahead of it, and none of the vessels travelling the same route had seen it.” “And when did they declare it lost?” “Not for another week... The expedition company waited as long as it could before sending anyone to search. By then, the weather had moved on and taken most of the evidence with it.” Her fingers tighten around the folded cloth. “They found pieces of timber bearing the ship’s markings. A damaged supply chest. Part of one of the smaller boats. Nothing that told us what had happened, and no one alive to explain it.” You look down at the grain of the table. “No bodies?” “No.” There is no comfort in the answer. Only an absence large enough for hope to survive in longer than it should have. “$aldricName refused to accept the report at first,” she continues. “He said the search had been careless and that the current would have carried survivors farther south. He wrote to every coastal settlement he could think of. When no replies came, he began writing to places that made no sense at all.” You glance towards the wall separating the kitchen from his study. “How long did that go on?” “Several weeks. Longer, perhaps. He stopped telling me when he sent the letters.” $claraName sets the cloth down and smooths it against the table with the side of her hand. “$nessaName handled it differently. She trained until her hands split, wrapped them, and began again the following morning. I think she believed that if she had been stronger, or if $aldricName had allowed her to join the expedition, something might have changed.” “She could not have stopped the storm.” “I know that. So does she, when she is thinking clearly.” The pot behind her gives a low simmer. $claraName glances towards it but does not rise. “And you?” you ask. Her hand becomes still. “I kept the house running.” “That is not what I asked.” “No.” She looks at you again. “It is the answer I have.” For a moment, neither of you speaks. Morning light rests across the table between you, warm enough to make the kitchen feel unchanged. $claraName draws a quiet breath. “We did what people do when someone does not come home. We waited until waiting became foolish, and then we found other things to occupy the hours.” Her eyes remain on yours despite the unease the altered pupils still cause her. “Now you are sitting here asking what happened while you were dead, and I am not certain which part of the answer you expect me to make easier.” “I don’t expect you to.” “Good.” She reaches across the table and adjusts the edge of your sleeve where it has folded beneath your arm. The gesture is automatic. She withdraws her hand almost as soon as she realises what she has done. “The house continued,” she says. “That does not mean any of us did.” [[Ask her something else|ClaraKitchenTalk1]]

You glance towards the window, where part of the garden is visible beyond the glass. “Tell me about the flowers.” $claraName follows your gaze. “There was no grave. The harbour gave us a document, the expedition company sent its condolences, and that was apparently meant to be enough.” She checks the pot before returning to her chair. “I planted the first few beneath your window. It gave me somewhere to leave them, even if you were not there.” “And then you surrounded the house.” “The first bed looked rather lonely.” She smooths a crease from her apron. “Your $nessaRelationship helped near the porch. She broke a spade and insisted the wood had already been rotten.” You stifle a chuckle, “That sounds like her.” “I kept planting because they needed tending, and I needed something useful to do. After a while, removing any of them felt worse than letting them grow.” You look towards the window again. “What happens to them now?” “They stay.” “But they were planted because I died.” “They were planted because we had nowhere else to put our grief.” Her voice softens, though she does not look away. “You coming home does not erase the last three months.” “I thought you might want the house to look as it did before.” “It will not look as it did before. Neither will we.” The answer settles between you. $claraName reaches across the table and brushes a dried leaf from your sleeve. “Besides,” she says, withdrawing her hand, “you always complained that the house needed more colour.” “I do not remember saying that.” “You said it looked like a retired soldier had designed it.” “That does sound like me.” The corner of her mouth lifts. “Then consider the flowers one improvement you managed without doing any of the work.” [[Ask her something else|ClaraKitchenTalk1]]

You glance towards the wall separating the kitchen from the study. “How has Father been?” $claraName’s eyes follow yours. “Difficult.” “That sounds normal.” “More difficult than usual.” She reaches for the cloth beside the breadboard and wipes a trace of flour from her fingers. “After the search ended, he spent most of his time in that room. He reread the expedition correspondence, wrote to ports that had already answered him, and found fault with every report the harbour sent.” “He thought they had missed something.” “He needed them to have missed something.” Her voice remains even. “Accepting the report meant accepting that there was nothing left for him to do.” You look down at the table. “He seems to have found something now.” “You mean questioning you?” “He watches everything I do.” “He watched everything you did before. You simply notice it more now.” “That is not quite the same.” “No.” $claraName studies you for a moment. “It is not.” She rests her hands against the edge of the table. “He wants to believe you, but belief has never come easily to him. You returned after three months with no explanation, no ship, and eyes that belong to something from one of his old stories. Questions are how he keeps his fear from becoming panic.” “He does not look frightened.” “Your Father rarely looks frightened. He becomes organised.” Despite yourself, you smile. “That explains the lists.” “And the maps, the letters, and the fact that he has probably already decided which harbour clerk you should speak to first.” The sound of the spoon shifting against the pot briefly draws her attention towards the hearth. “Do not mistake his suspicion for indifference,” she continues. “He would rather doubt you and be proven wrong than welcome you without caution and place the household in danger.” “And if he decides I am the danger?” $claraName does not answer immediately. “Then give him fewer reasons to think so.” Her gaze lingers on your altered eyes before returning to your face. “He lost his son once. He is trying to make certain he does not lose everyone else by pretending nothing has changed.” [[Ask her something else|ClaraKitchenTalk1]]

You glance towards the yard. “How is $nessaName doing?” $claraName follows your gaze, though the wall gives her nothing to see. “Better than she was.” “That does not answer the question.” “It answers part of it.” She folds her hands on the table. “She took the news badly. Not loudly, but she trained from dawn until $aldricName made her stop. Then she began again whenever he was not watching.” “She thought she should have been there.” “She thought being stronger might have changed what happened.” $claraName shakes her head. “Grief is not always reasonable.” You remember the fresh calluses on $nessaName’s hands and the exhaustion she tried to hide the previous evening. “Did she speak about me?” “Rarely. She asked questions instead. Whether any wreckage had been found, whether survivors could have reached another shore, whether the expedition company had searched far enough.” “And after they declared us dead?” “She stopped asking.” $claraName glances towards the hearth as the pot begins to simmer again. “She has been trying to prove herself for years. Your disappearance gave her another reason to believe she was running out of time.” “To prove herself to Father?” “To him, to you, and probably to herself.” She stands and retrieves the spoon. “She won't say it, but you were everything she wanted to become. Adventurous, confident... Brave.” “That is an unusually generous description.” “I left out reckless and irritating.” You smile despite yourself. “How is she handling my return?” $claraName stirs the pot slowly. “She wants to believe it is simple. You came home, therefore everything can return to normal.” “And you do not?” “I think she will realise soon enough that neither of those things is true.” She looks at you over her shoulder. “Be patient with her. She spent three months learning how to live with your death. She may need more than one morning to learn how to live with your return.” [[Ask her something else|ClaraKitchenTalk1]]

<h1>Backyard</h1> <div class="sg-room-character-block"> <p>$nessaName turns the practice sword once in her hand before carrying it to the weapon rack. She sets it among the other wooden blades, retrieves a water flask from the fence post, and takes a long drink.</p> <p>“Well?” she asks, wiping her mouth with the back of her wrist. “You came out here for something.”</p> <p>She leans against the fence, still breathing slightly harder than usual, and gestures for you to continue.</p> </div> <div class="sg-dialogue-choices"> <a data-passage="NessaYardTraining1"> “Do you always train this hard?” </a> <a data-passage="NessaYardAldric1"> “What has Father been teaching you?” </a> <a data-passage="NessaYardAdventure1"> “You still intend to become an adventurer?” </a> <a data-passage="NessaYardAbsence1"> “What happened while I was gone?” </a> <a data-passage="YardHub"> “I’ll let you get back to it.” </a> </div>

“Do you always train this hard?” $nessaName lowers the flask and looks towards the practice post. “Hard enough.” “You have been out here since before breakfast.” “Then I started late.” She reties the strip of cloth around one palm, pulling it tighter with her teeth. The fabric is already darkened where the wooden grip has rubbed against her skin. Father says repetition is what makes something instinctive. If I still have to think about every movement, I will hesitate when it matters.” “I doubt he told you to train until your hands split.” “He did not tell me not to.” “I suspect he assumed that part was obvious.” That earns a reluctant smile. She flexes her fingers, testing the bandage. “He is always telling me to slow down. Check my footing. Watch my balance. Wait for the right opening.” “All sensible advice.” “Sensible does not win many songs.” “Neither does collapsing in your own yard.” She rolls her eyes, though some of the tension leaves her shoulders. “I can handle a morning’s training.” “I know. That does not mean every morning has to become a test.” $nessaName studies you for a moment, apparently deciding whether to argue. Instead, she reaches for the flask again. “Was that concern, or are you already becoming as tiresome as Father?” “Whichever is more likely to make you rest.” “Then neither.” She sets the flask down, but does not immediately return to the practice sword. [[Ask her something else|NessaYardTalk1]]

“You still intend to become an adventurer?” $nessaName looks at you as though the question itself is strange. “Of course I do.” “Even after what happened to me?” “That happened at sea. I am not planning to become a sailor.” You give her a flat look. She exhales and lowers the practice sword. “I know what you mean. Yes, it frightened me. That does not mean I should spend the rest of my life hiding here.” “There are worse places to be.” “There are also larger ones.” She glances past the fence towards the distant road. “I have spent years hearing stories about ruined keeps, old battlefields, and mystical creatures. I do not want my greatest achievement to be wearing a path into this yard.” “Yeah, well, all those tavern tales usually leave out the infection, hunger, and slow painful deaths.” “They also leave out the waiting.” She rests the wooden blade against her shoulder. “You had already been beyond Marrowgate before you were my age. I have barely travelled farther than the surrounding villages.” “And you think leaving will make people take you seriously?” “I think doing something worth remembering might.” There is no hesitation in the answer. Whatever doubts she carried after your disappearance, they have not extinguished the ambition beneath them. “Believe me, fame is less useful than it sounds,” you say. “That is easy to say when people already know your name.” “Well most of them currently think I am dead.” “Then you have become memorable twice.” You can't help but laugh. $nessaName smiles, pleased with the response, before turning the sword once in her hand. “I know it will not be like the stories,” she says. “I am not that foolish.” “You are standing in a yard holding a wooden sword and arguing with someone who drowned on his first expedition.” “It was not your first expedition.” “That is your objection?” “It seemed relevant.” She steps back towards the training post and raises the blade again. “I still intend to go,” she says. “I would simply prefer to be ready when I do.” [[Ask her something else|NessaYardTalk1]]

“What has Father been teaching you?” $nessaName glances towards the house. “Mostly how not to die.” “That sounds like him.” “He calls it discipline.” She reaches for the practice sword and turns it over in her hands. “Footwork, balance, distance, when to press forward, and when to retreat. Every time I think I have learned something properly, he finds another flaw.” “That is what a teacher is supposed to do.” “He could occasionally admit when I do something well.” “He would worry it might encourage you.” She gives you a flat look, but the corner of her mouth twitches. “You might actually be $player.firstName.” $nessaName rests the wooden blade against her shoulder. “He used to tell me stories about the things he fought. Bandits, monsters, ruins full of traps. Now, whenever I ask how to prepare for any of it, he just tells me the best preparation is not going.” “I guess he's seen what all those stories leave out.” “So have you, apparently.” Her eyes settle briefly on yours. “Yet you still went.” You have no easy answer to that. You offer a slight shrug. “He teaches me as though every fight is something to escape,” she continues. “I understand caution, but I cannot spend my whole life practising in this yard because the world might hurt me.” “No. But learning when not to fight may keep you alive long enough to leave it.” She considers this, then lowers the sword. “That sounded like something he would say.” “I will deny it if you tell him.” $nessaName smiles despite herself. “He is a good teacher. I know that. I just wish he still believed there was something worth becoming good for.” [[Ask her something else|NessaYardTalk1]]

“What happened while I was gone?” $nessaName’s grip tightens slightly around the practice sword. “You make it sound as though you were away on holiday.” “You know what I mean.” She looks towards the training post rather than at you. “At first, we were told the ship was delayed. Then they said it was missing. After that, everyone began speaking veeery carefully whenever I entered the room.” “You helped with the search?” “As much as they allowed me to.” She drives the wooden blade into the padded post with a sharp crack. “I went with $claraRelationship to the harbour twice. Father stopped taking me after I argued with one of the clerks.” “What did he say?” “That there were no survivors.” “I meant the clerk.” “So did I.” She strikes the post again, harder this time, then lowers the sword. “When they declared the ship lost, people started coming to the house. They brought food and flowers- and their condolences of course. Though most of them barely knew you.” “I'm sure they meant well.” “That did not make it less irritating.” You wait while she adjusts her grip. “I kept thinking they would find something,” she continues. “A survivor in another port, a message carried inland, anything. Every morning, I expected $aldricName to come out of the study and say there had been news.” “But there wasn’t.” “No.” Her answer is quiet. She rests the practice sword against the post. “Eventually, I stopped expecting it. I just trained instead. It was easier to be tired than to sit inside and listen to the house.” “And now?” “Now you are standing here asking questions as though none of us watched you die from a hundred miles away.” “I did not choose to disappear.” “I know.” She finally looks at you. “That does not mean I know what to do with you being back.” The frustration in her voice is not anger, or not entirely. “You look like yourself,” she says. “You sound like yourself. Then the light catches your eyes, and I remember that something happened out there which you still have not explained.” “I will.” “When?” You do not answer quickly enough. $nessaName picks up the practice sword again. “That is what I thought.” She turns back towards the post, though she does not immediately resume her stance. “I'm glad you came home,” she says. “I'm simply not pretending that makes everything that's happening now simple.” "and I'm glad to be back. I missed my little $nessaRelationship you know" She almost smiles, turning her face away to strike at the post. [[Ask her something else|NessaYardTalk1]]

$aldricName does not look up from the document in front of him. “I’m busy.” “I noticed.” “Then you should also have noticed that the expedition records are not in this room.” He turns one of the pages and makes another note in the margin. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?” [[Return to the study|StudyHub]]

<h1>The road to Marrowgate</h1> You step through the front door and pause at the edge of the property. Beyond the fence, the road winds towards Marrowgate, its distant walls visible through the morning haze. Somewhere inside the city, the harbour office holds the expedition manifest, the official loss report, and whatever records survived the wreck. For now, however, the road marks the edge of the available journey. <div class="sg-end-of-content"> <strong>End of the current version</strong> <p>Marrowgate, the harbour investigation, and the continuation of the main quest are planned for a future update.</p> <p>You may return to the house and continue speaking with its residents.</p> </div> Syrissia stirs within your thoughts. <em>So close to the city, and yet we are turning back?”</em> “Temporarily.” <em>“How tragic. I had already begun imagining all the trouble we might find there.”</em> [[Return home|HouseHub]]