To Taste Sweet Silver

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<<set $person to "person">> <<set $they to "they">> <<set $them to "them">> <<set $their to "their">> <<set $theirs to "theirs">> <<set $themself to "themself">> <<set $Them to "Them">> <<set $They to "They">> <<set $Their to "Their">> <<set $is to "are">> <<set $plural=true>> <<set $gender="null">> <<set $name to "River">> <<set $lname to "Fields">> <<set $fname to "Ocean">> <<set $flname to "Evermore">> <<set $haircolor to "null">> <<set $hairlength to "null">> <<set $hairtype to "null">> <<set $eyecolor to "null">> <<set $skintone to "null">> <<set $height to "null">> <<set $weight to "null">> <<set $gender to "null">> <<set $pronouns to "null">> <<set $magic to 0>> <<set $strength to 0>> <<set $dex to 0>> <<set $knowledge to 0>> <<set $jf to 0>> <<set $jflirt to 0>> <<set $jl to 0>> <<set $mf to 0>> <<set $mflirt to 0>> <<set $ml to 0>> <<set $ef to 0>> <<set $eflirt to 0>> <<set $el to 0>> <<set $gf to 0>> <<set $gflirt to 0>> <<set $gl to 0>> /* comment -- this is where to set up your variables -- you can delete the examples below. note that $chapter is used to change the chapter title in the title bar. you can either delete this, change the variable name, or change the variable(s) used entirely note that $chapter and $name are also used for the autoname save function. you can either delete this, change the variable name, or change the variable(s) used entirely (in the Javascript file) */ <<set $chapter = "">> <<set $textbox = "textbox">> <<set $listbox = "listbox">> <<set $cycle = "cycle">> /* ChapelR Meter Macro set up */ /* these stat meter set ups are purely examples and do not need to be used */ <<set $friendly = 50>> <<set $max_friendly = 100>> <<newmeter 'Friendly' $friendly>> <<colors '#777' '#777' '#333'>> <<sizing '100%' '1.2em'>> <</newmeter>> <<set $honesty = 50>> <<set $max_honesty = 100>> <<newmeter 'Honesty' $honesty>> <<colors '#777' '#777' '#333'>> <<sizing '100%' '1.2em'>> <</newmeter>> <<set $temper = 50>> <<set $max_temper = 100>> <<newmeter 'Temper' $temper>> <<colors '#777' '#777' '#333'>> <<sizing '100%' '1.2em'>> <</newmeter>> <<set $stoic = 50>> <<set $max_stoic = 100>> <<newmeter 'Stoic' $stoic>> <<colors '#777' '#777' '#333'>> <<sizing '100%' '1.2em'>> <</newmeter>> <<set $hope = 50>> <<set $max_hope = 100>> <<newmeter 'Hope' $hope>> <<colors '#777' '#777' '#333'>> <<sizing '100%' '1.2em'>> <</newmeter>> <<set $max_strength = 100>> <<newmeter 'Strength' $strength>> <<colors '#777' '#777' '#333'>> <<sizing '100%' '1.2em'>> <</newmeter>> <<set $max_magic = 100>> <<newmeter 'Magic' $magic>> <<colors '#777' '#777' '#333'>> <<sizing '100%' '1.2em'>> <</newmeter>> <<set $max_dex = 100>> <<newmeter 'Dexterity' $dex>> <<colors '#777' '#777' '#333'>> <<sizing '100%' '1.2em'>> <</newmeter>> <<set $max_konwledge = 100>> <<newmeter 'Knowledge' $knowledge>> <<colors '#777' '#777' '#333'>> <<sizing '100%' '1.2em'>> <</newmeter>>

<<fadein 1s>> <div id="start-title">To Taste Sweet Silver</div> <div id="start-subtitle">by Emerson V. @ HeartSync Productions</div> <<nobr>><div id="start-menu"> <<nobr>><<if Save.autosave.ok() and Save.autosave.has()>><<button "Resume Game">><<run Save.autosave.load()>><</button>><</if>><</nobr>> <<button "New Game" "0.0">><<set $chapter to "Prologue">><</button>> <<button "Load Game">><<run UI.saves();>><</button>> <<button "Settings">><<run UI.settings();>><</button>> <<button "Credits">> <<script>> Dialog.setup("credits","credits"); Dialog.wiki(Story.get("credits").processText()); Dialog.open(); <</script>> <</button>> </div><</nobr>> <</fadein>>

<<if settings.notifs>><<if tags().includes('autosave')>><<notify 3.5s>>Saving...<</notify>><</if>><</if>> /* autosaving -- the autosave notif needs to be 'present' at all times so is stored in the passageheader, only popping up when you add the [autosave] tag onto one of your passages. this is mainly for aesthetics as the autosave function is currently set up to save on EVERY passage. this can be changed in the javascript settings, e.g. you could configure it to only autosave on passages with the [autosave] tag notify is also a ChapelR macro, not a default sugarcube macro, so make sure to familiarise yourself with the documentation!*/ <script> var myDiv = document.getElementById('passages'); myDiv.scrollTop = 0; </script> /* scroll top -- this script makes the page scroll back to the top every time you move on to the next passage -- do not delete it! */

<h1>Profile</h1> <center><h2><b>$name Mistroot</b></h2> <<if $chapter1==true>><i>$fname $flname</i><</if>> <<message 'Personality'>> <div id="stat-title"> <span>Friendly ($friendly%)</span> <span>Cold (<<print 100 - $friendly>>%)</span> </div> <<showmeter 'Friendly' `$friendly/ $max_friendly`>> <div id="stat-title"> <span>Stoic ($stoic%)</span> <span>Expressive (<<print 100 - $stoic>>%)</span> </div> <<showmeter 'Stoic' `$stoic/ $max_stoic`>> <div id="stat-title"> <span>Honesty ($honesty%)</span> <span>Deceitful (<<print 100 - $honesty>>%)</span> </div> <<showmeter 'Honesty' `$honesty/ $max_honesty`>> <div id="stat-title"> <span>Tempermental ($temper%)</span> <span>Calm (<<print 100 - $temper>>%)</span> </div> <<showmeter 'Temper' `$temper/ $max_temper`>> <div id="stat-title"> <span>Hopeful ($hope%)</span> <span>Hopeless (<<print 100 - $hope>>%)</span> </div> <<showmeter 'Hope' `$hope/ $max_hope`>><</message>> <<message 'Skills'>> <div id="stat-title"> <span>Strenth ($strength%)</span> </div> <<showmeter 'Strength' `$stength`>> <div id="stat-title"> <span>Dexterity ($dex%)</span> </div> <<showmeter 'Dexterity' `$dex`>> <div id="stat-title"> <span>Magic ($magic%)</span> </div> <<showmeter 'Magic' `$magic`>> <div id="stat-title"> <span>Knowledge ($knowledge%)</span> </div> <<showmeter 'Knowledge' `$knowledge`>><</message>></center>

<div id="title-container"> <span class="title-item">To Taste Sweet Silver</span> <span class="chapter-item">$chapter</span> </div>

<<link '<i class="fa-solid fa-bookmark" alt="saves"></i>'>><<run UI.saves();>><</link>> <<link '<i class="fa-solid fa-gear" alt="settings"></i>'>><<run UI.settings();>><</link>> <<link '<i class="fa-solid fa-user" alt="profile"></i>'>> <<script>> Dialog.setup("profile","profile"); Dialog.wiki(Story.get("profile").processText()); Dialog.open(); <</script>> <</link>> <<link '<i class="fa-solid fa-arrow-rotate-left" alt="return"></i>'>><<run Engine.backward();>><</link>> <<link '<i class="fa-solid fa-door-open" alt="restart"></i>'>><<run UI.restart();>><</link>>

<<fadein 2s>><span class="logo"> <img src="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/0/0a/Twine_vector_logo.svg/896px-Twine_vector_logo.svg.png"> </span><</fadein>> <<timed 4s t8n>><span class="game-start-timed"> Click anywhere to continue... </span><</timed>> <<cont>><<goto 'start-menu'>><</cont>>

<h2>Twine + Sugarcube</h2> <li>Twine by Chris Klimas - <a href="https://twinery.org/cookbook/" target="_blank">Twine Cookbook</a></li> <li>Sugarcube by Thomas Michael Edwards - <a href="https://www.motoslave.net/sugarcube/2/docs/" target="_blank">Sugarcube 2 Documentation</a></li> <li>Custom Macros - <a href="https://github.com/ChapelR/custom-macros-for-sugarcube-2" target="_blank">ChapelR Custom Macros Collection</a></li> <h2>Resources</h2> <li>Icons - <a href="https://fontawesome.com/" target="_blank"> Font Awesome Icons</a></li> <li>Fonts - <a href="https://fonts.google.com/" target="_blank">Google Fonts</a>, <a href="https://opendyslexic.org/" target="_blank">Open Dyslexic</a></li> <li>CSS + HTML Tutorials - <a href="https://www.w3schools.com/">W3Schools</a></li> <h2>Disclaimer</h2> To Taste Sweet Silver is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

When you were young, your mother liked the fields best. You'd lay in the long grass by the river, staring up at a languid sky. Your mother would be sitting near you, reading the latest newspaper imported all the way from the City. Your father would bring them from his work trips and your mother would bloom as brightly as a rainy spring. She had always woven tales about the City. Of how the buildings were tall enough to touch the sky, of how many people were all gathered in one place, and the inventions they had. Those had been her favorite. Machines made of metal and bolts and electricity. "Can you imagine a night as bright as day?" She'd sigh, dreamily. The City of Forgotten Silver was everybody's dream, or so your mother said. After the tragedy that befell The City of Endless Bronze, it was the last remaining safe hold in the known world. The fact your father had managed to acquire a pass made your family special. They were the connection your village had to the Old Gods. For in the City, there rested a mystic fruit. The only thing known was its silver skin and how it was the Old Gods' last gift before they vanished. It rested, hidden, somewhere in the palace walls. Any who attempted to steal it were publicly executed. A warning to all. Laying in those fields, your mother told you everything. She told the stories so well you could imagine the streetlamps and food vendors and buildings of all shapes and sizes. <<nobr>><div class="choices"> <div class="choice-item">[[And you'd do anything to go.|0.2][$hope+=5]]</div> <div class="choice-item">[[And you wondered over their inventions.|0.2][$knowledge+=5]]</div> <div class="choice-item">[[And you'd think about the Old Gods.|0.2][$magic+=5]]</div> <div class ="choice-item">[[And you'd listen quietly, pretending you'd been interested.|0.2]]</div> </div><</nobr>>

Those days slipped away faster than you'd thought possible. You'd kept growing and growing, until you weren't sure when the world became so small. Had the house you lived in always been so cramped? Had the town only ever been a handful of buildings and a small plaza? Had the fields always been so endless? Your fifteenth birthday crept closer, and your mother had told you what an honor it was to make it so far. You were one of the few children in town, and soon you'd start your Rite to transition into adulthood. "When you do, you'll be able to earn your spot in the City." She'd told you, cupping your face. "You'll live in a better place than this." You'd nodded dutifully, more concerned over the Rite of Passage than the abstract concept of the City. When the time came, you'd tell them... <<nobr>><div class="choices"> <div class ="choice-item">[[You would cross the bridge from girl to woman|pronouns][$gender="woman"]]</div> <div class ="choice-item">[[You'd cross over the bridge from boy to man.|pronouns][$gender="man"]]</div> <div class ="choice-item">[[You'd cross over the bridge from child to adult|pronouns][$gender="nb"]]</div> <div class ="choice-item">[[You'd cross over the bridge from girl to man|pronouns][$gender="transman"]]</div> <div class ="choice-item">[[You'd cross over the bridge from boy to woman.|pronouns][$gender="transwoman"]]</div> </div><</nobr>>

And you'd go by... <<nobr>><div class="choices"> <div class ="choice-item">[[he/him|0.3][$pronouns="him"]]</div> <div class ="choice-item">[[she/her|0.3][$pronouns="she"]]</div> <div class ="choice-item">[[they/them|0.3][$pronouns="they"]]</div> <div class ="choice-item">[[xe/xem|0.3][$pronouns="xe"]]</div> </div><</nobr>>

<<if $pronouns=="him">><<set $person to "man">><<set $they to "he">><<set $them to "him">><<set $their to "his">><<set $themself to "himself">><<set $Them to "Him">><<set $They to "He">><<set $theirs to "his">><<set $is to "is">><<set $Their to "His">><<set $plural to "false">><<elseif $pronouns=="she">><<set $person to "woman">><<set $they to "she">><<set $them to "her">><<set $their to "her">><<set $themself to "herself">><<set $theirs to "hers">><<set $Them to "Her">><<set $Their to "Her">><<set $They to "She">><<set $is to "is">><<set $plural to "false">><<elseif $pronouns=="xe">><<set $they to "xe">><<set $them to "xem">><<set $their to "xir">><<set $themself to "xerself">><<set $theirs to "xers">><<set $Them to "Xem">><<set $They to "Xe">><<set $Their to "Xer">><<set $plural==true>><</if>>\ The month leading up to your Rite of Passage, your father returned early from the City of Forgotten Silver. You and mother had waited at the train station, listening to the sound of its horn whistling in the distance as it approached your village. It was a miracle your town had functioning tracks still, your mother had said once. Most villages were seen as too small. Too unworthy. You'd listened, only partially, watching as the train rolled to a stop at the small platform. When the doors opened, only your father stepped out. Suit well made and lacking any sign of wear, a large suitcase in hand, he gave a big smile when he saw the two of you. "Well if it isn't the two most important people in the world." He gave a chaste kiss to your mother, and he pulled you in for a hug. He always smelled strange when he came back from the City, but you never had the words for it. It must have been something foreign, that only existed in the City. He pulled away, eyes bright. "Are you excited for your Rite?" The entire village was excited for it. It felt closer to a sin to say anything else. But then, there was little to celebrate in a place like this, and even less to do. The villagers would find any excuse to bring joy and celebration. <<nobr>><div class="choices"> <div class ="choice-item">[[You'd been excited.|0.4][$opreaction=1, $friendly+=5]]</div> <div class ="choice-item">[[You'd been nervous.|0.4][$opreaction=2, $hope-=5]]</div> <div class ="choice-item">[[You'd been indifferent.|0.4][$opreaction=3]]</div> <div class ="choice-item">[[You hadn't been sure what you were feeling.|0.4][$opreaction=4]]</div> <div class ="choice-item">[[You hadn't felt excited, but you'd lied and said you were.|0.4][$opreaction=5, $honest-=5]]</div> </div><</nobr>>

<<if $opreaction==1>>"I can't wait! I've never seen a celebration like this." And you hadn't. The kinds of things the villagers were preparing were foods you didn't know even existed. The decorations being made and hung, the recitals being had, all the discussions of colors and music and everything you'd never thought to imagine. The energy was getting to you as well. <<elseif $opreaction==2>>"I'm...not sure." Everyone had been making such a big deal over your Coming of Age. You hadn't been sure what it meant to be an adult, or what the transitional period you were entering would entail. You weren't even sure if you deserved all the excitement and fuss everyone was making over you. You wanted to shy away from this sudden spotlight.<<elseif $opreaction==3>>You'd shrugged your shoulders, finding it was all a bit much. Turning fifteen didn't seem like it'd be much different from turning any other age and you didn't understand what the fuss was about. Still, you supposed there were things to enjoy on the day of, and those things were meant for you. <<elseif $opreaction==4>>"I...suppose?" You don't know how to put words to it. The idea of crossing over from child to...not wasn't something you could fully grasp. You wondered if it would be the same when you crossed over officially into becoming an adult at twenty. All you knew was that you were losing something and gaining something else.<<else>>"Yes, I can't wait." You'd smiled for his sake, although you could feel the hesitation brewing underneath the surface. You weren't sure what you wanted or what you felt, but you knew him and your mother and everyone else wanted this. And beyond that, it wasn't like you could stop aging. You'd spent almost fifteen years growing. You knew time never stopped for anyone.<</if>> Your father had ushered the two of you home, then, claiming exhaustion from the trip. He promised once he rested, he had gifts to give the both of you, as he tended to. You wondered what it would be this time. He never asked what either of you wanted, and he came back with some of the strangest items you could imagine. A glowing orb that never ceased being warm, a ticking clock that kept track of the dates as well, a strange instrument made of strings and keys you needed to press down on with your fingers. There was no saying what he'd pull out of his suitcase this time. Each one so new and strange, an echo of the City you've only ever heard of. You knew he'd brought a gift, especially with your Rite of Passage coming. You'd sat at the small table in the main room, listening to your father as he spoke of what he'd done. The City Mages had requested his help this time, and his face had glowed with pride, just like your mother's. In the midst of his story, there was a knock on the door. Your mother moved to open it, and there had stood the local priest, Thistle. "Good afternoon." They'd greeted, stepping inside, the flow of their robes as smooth as water. "I'm sorry to interrupt your return. I'm sure you're tired. I just needed to talk with..." <<nobr>><div class="choices"> <div class ="choice-item">[[...Elaine|0.5][$name="Elaine"]]</div> <div class ="choice-item">[[...Ezra|0.5][$name="Ezra"]]</div> <div class ="choice-item">[[...Kassandra|0.5][$name="Kassandra"]]</div> <div class ="choice-item">[[...Kain|0.5][$name="Kain"]]</div> <div class ="choice-item">[[Your name was something else.|name]]</div> </div><</nobr>>

"Is this about the upcoming ceremony?" You'd furrowed your brows at their sudden request. The temple in town was a run down sort of building. A remanent from old times, even before the Silver Wars. The place had been long standing, and it lay at the edge of town. Everyone knew Thistle, because they did their duty exactly as they should. Or so you'd been told. You wondered if the Priests in the City were the same. You wondered if the Priests in other villages were the same. Thistle inclined their head. "Yes, do not fret. I'll be conversing with your parents later as needed." You rose from your chair and followed them when they beckoned. Your parents said nothing, watching as you crossed the room. The brief joy melted away and there was a strange turn in the atmosphere. Thistle merely held the door open for you, and you stepped outside. The village Áine was always stuck in a perpetual late summer. Whenever your mother spoke of different seasons, you couldn't imagine it. Snow and white landscapes, flowers and endless green, trees of oranges and reds as far as the eye could see. No, all you knew was this. A persistent heat and an endless field broken only by the river and the occasional tree. Heat always pressed into your skin, no matter the time of year. All the houses were designed to ventilate air and keep things cool. The paths were packed dirt, with cracks forming in the ground when it went weeks without rain. When you looked around, you didn't see anyone else besides Thistle. The quiet of the village normally bustling burned itself into memory. "Come along. We'll just need to stop by the temple." The temple. The world still worshipped the Old Gods, despite how long they'd been gone. There had been New Gods who'd taken their place, but no one dared to utter their names. The New Gods were the reason the Old Gods left. The temple was decorated in the images of the Old, never of the New. [[You'd only been able to follow.|0.6]]

<i>Your name, dear one?</i> <<textbox "$name" $name>> [[Confirm|0.5]]

The temple in your village had been small, claustrophobically so. There'd been three rows of pews, which was just enough to house everyone in the village during events or holidays. At the back, there'd been a door to the right which led to the Priest's room. They took you there then, sliding the door shut behind you as you stepped inside. It had been somehow even smaller in there. The hard chair you sat on had been too close to the table and your knees hit the top as you'd slid in. Perhaps used to the predicament, Thistle had slid into place as smoothly as water. They opened a drawer, rummaging around inside. "I don't wish to alarm you. There's always endless preparation for one's Rite." Thistle smiled, a warm glow lighting up their features. You'd carefully folded your hands in your lap. <<nobr>><div class="choices"> <div class ="choice-item">[["It's alright, I understand." You hadn't been bothered by the sudden request.|0.7][$preaction=1, $friendly+=2]]</div> <div class ="choice-item">[["It's alright, I understand." The suddenness had unnerved you, but you'd said otherwise.|0.7][$preaction=2, $honestly-=2]]</div> <div class ="choice-item">[["I was just a bit startled is all." You'd said honestly.|0.7][$preaction=3, $honest+=2]]</div> <div class ="choice-item">[[You'd waved the concern away, "Can you just tell me what this is about?"|0.7][$preaction=4, $friendly-=2]]</div> </div><</nobr>>

<<if $preaction==1>>"I'm glad. Now, we have a lot to discuss. We only have a few weeks until the day's upon us, after all."<<elseif $preaction==2>>Their smile turned apologetic. "I didn't mean to, sincerely. I would have expected your mother to mention the discussions to come."<<else>>Thistle's demeanor shifted into something more serious. "Yes, we have much to discuss."<</if>> Thistle pulled out an old book, the binding frayed in places despite the constant effort to maintain the volume. They'd slid it towards you, and you'd stared at the cover. It'd been plain and dark brown, made of worn leather. The pages inside had been yellowed, you knew, yet preserved carefully. It detailed everything your village had known of the Old Gods. "Have you thought of who you wish to pledge yourself to?" Everyone dedicated themselves to one of the Old Gods. Your mother had a pendant with the mark of The God of Rainfall and your father The God of Sky. The two complimented each other perfectly, down to the very Gods they offered their souls to. "You do not need to declare your Old God now. Take this, as a way for you to carefully study whom you wish to serve." The book had stared up at you, and you'd stared back. <<nobr>><div class="choices"> <div class ="choice-item">[[You'd been ready to pledge yourself to one of the Old Gods.|0.8][$hope+=2]]</div> <div class ="choice-item">[[You'd been anxious about needing to choose.|0.8]]</div> <div class ="choice-item">[[You'd wondered why you had even needed to do this.|0.8][$knowledge+=2]]</div> <div class ="choice-item">[[You'd felt nothing. It'd just been what was customary for all.|0.8][$stoic+=2]]</div> </div><</nobr>>

"It's yours to keep until your Rite of Passage." Thistle had given a warm smile, and you'd taken the book into your hands. It'd been heavier than you'd expected. "Think on it well, and may the Old Gods guide you." "Thank you." You'd said, because it'd been what was expected. The rest of the conversation had floated by. What the celebration was to look like, the time when you would be expected at the Temple to make your choice, the reassurance that this was just the Old God you'd pledge yourself to for now. Most people switched during the completion of their Rite on their twentieth birthday. You knew that. Your mother had thought to serve the God of Life, she'd told you once. She'd found the way of it didn't suit her the way she'd thought it would. Still, it loomed over you. Five years felt impossible to conceive when you were yet fifteen. So much wasted time made it feel like such a grand mistake. When Thistle had sent you back home, your head had been full of Gods. There were so many. Once, they'd been split into Major Gods and Minor Gods, but after the Silver Wars and the disappearance of the City of Eternal Bronze, it had changed. The New Gods had emerged and the Old Gods vanished. People, desperate, had turned to worship the Old Gods more fervently and spurned the New Gods in hopes for their return. Yet, how long had it been since the Old Gods vanished? No one spoke of the New Gods. You weren't even sure of their titles. You could name many of the Old Gods because of your mother. Old God of Fire, of Earth, of Sky, of Oceans, of Rivers, of Caves, of Sunflowers, of Rain, of Life, of Death. Of everything true of the world, there'd been an Old God for, and someone, somewhere had worshipped them. The New Gods were lost to you. You had weeks left to sort your thoughts and feelings. Thistle was right, there was no need to overwhelm yourself. You'd think about it and pick whatever felt right when the day came. [[The weeks passed on.|0.9]]

It'd been the middle of the night when voices woke you. Your eyes blinked once, met with nothing but darkness. You blinked twice, then turned your head towards the door of your small room. An orange glow slipped beneath, a sign your parents were in the main room. Their voices had floated towards you, a flurry of words in a cadence you weren't familiar with. It took too long to realize what it was they were doing. Arguing. The two of them had never argued, not that you could remember. Your father was only ever loving when he was home, and so was your mother. The noise of cruelness wrapped you in an unfamiliar embrace. But you couldn't mistake this. The timbre of your father's voice and the snap of your mother's. Whatever they were saying was muffled by the door. You couldn't make it out from where you were. Pinpricks ran down your arm, and you'd pushed yourself up into a sitting position. You'd pressed your lips together, gripping onto your bedsheet. <<nobr>><div class="choices"> <div class ="choice-item">[[Slowly, you stood and tiptoed toward the door.|0.10][$door=true]]</div> <div class ="choice-item">[[You pulled the blanket over your head, and tried to shut it out.|0.10]]</div> </div><</nobr>>

<<if $door==true>>Like a moth to flame, you'd pressed your ear lightly to the wood of the door. Your parents' voices rang out, then. Louder in your ear than you'd been expecting. "If you do this, I will never forgive you." Your mother had hissed, voice hitching at the end. Your father had given a long sigh. "You don't understand." "Of course I understand. You dream of something better. So do I. Doing this won't change anything." "It's how the world works. It's how the world will always work from now on. You know this. People like us aren't saved because we don't want to face the truth." Your mother had laughed, sharp and cold, "Of course. We don't have Silver in our blood. It always comes back to that, doesn't it? Silver rules all." There'd been shuffling, and then, a door closing. It wasn't the one which lead to your parents' room. Someone had left, and you could only assume it'd been your mother. It'd been so late. Too late for her to go. But the sound of her voice had rung in your ears. It went against the softness she used when she'd told you her stories. Slowly, you had climbed back into bed, wondering what your parents had been arguing about. You knew nothing outside your simple village. You knew nothing about the ways of the world. All you had was what you'd been told.<<else>>You couldn't move. It'd been impossible to. So you'd stayed put, as still as possible in fear of making a sound. Their voices halted quickly, and then, there was the sound of a door. You hadn't known the time, but you knew it'd been far too late for anyone to leave. It left a bitter taste in your mouth. What had they been talking about? What had they been arguing about? It'd been too late to find out, then. All you could do was close your eyes and try to force yourself back to sleep.<</if>> Sleep had come slow, and the incoming days had gone fast. There'd always been something to do. Gods to learn about, preparations to help with ,discussions with the Priest. The whirlwind of it all made it easy for the strange argument to slip away from memory. Whatever that fight had been about, it was merely sourced from the stress of your Rite. It was all too easy to forget, until the day before your ceremony. [[It was the day you overheard your father talking with the Priest.|0.11]]

Thistle had requested to see you periodically throughout the weeks leading up to your Rite. It was to ensure you had some guidance on your choices, and to answer any questions that arose. You'd finished helping out farmer Edmund with harvesting newly grown grain and wheat. Your hands had a familiar ache, the sun bore down on your shoulders in its usual way. The temple doors had opened the same way they always had. Yet, when you walked in, the atmosphere had changed. It made you pause, lingering at the gap provided through the half open door. Your ears had strained to listen to the whispering voices. A strange sense of déjà vu hit you. It had not been like the way your parents had fought, but it elicited the same discomfort. Despite yourself, you'd crept forward. Feet moving slow and quiet against the tile, you inched closer to the source of discussion. At the door you'd paused. The wood was so old, so thin, you hadn't needed to even press your ear against it. Each word reached your ears, and would linger there for years after. [[The priest and your father discussing your death.|0.12]]

"--$they can't survive this Rite, you know." Thistle's voice had been so clear, it was as though they'd been right next to you when they spoke it. Your brow furrowed, not immediately understanding what they were saying. It couldn't have been referring to you. All the excitement and joy couldn't end with death. Especially your death. There'd been a deep sigh. "I know. But my wife isn't keen on such a thing." "She originally picked the God of Life, did she not? Even if she ultimately decided on a different paragon, those ideals were woven into her for five years. To her, this is not an honor." An echo sounded, like Thistle had been rummaging for something. "The God of Death will embrace $name, don't worry. And the energy left behind by $their sacrifice will sustain this world a little longer." You'd stumbled back. You'd taken a breath. Again. Again. And again. You weren't sure how long you'd stood there, trying to process what you'd just heard. Your death was necessary. Your death would happen during your Rite. Your father knew. Your mother knew. Your brain reached out and retrieved the memory of your parents' argument nights ago. Put the pieces together. How long had it been decided? "I sincerely hope the Old Gods return. For when they do, we won't need to shed blood to replenish the life of this world. I'm sorry you live in this moment, where that era has yet to come." "It is alright. It is one life for many." Your father had sounded so calm. There was no way it'd been the first discussion on the subject. You stared hard at the door, sick pooling in your stomach. <<nobr>><div class="choices"> <div class ="choice-item">[[You'd barged in to confront them.|0.13a][$trapped=true, $pangry=true, $temper+=2]]</div> <div class ="choice-item">[[You had remained frozen.|0.13b][$trapped=true]]</div> <div class ="choice-item">[[You'd ran as far as your legs could take you.|0.13c]]</div> </div><</nobr>>

You hadn't been able to process what you'd heard. It wasn't what you'd thought, of course. Your father would not talk so casually about your demise. He was gone often, but not so much that he was a stranger. Not enough to think it was an easy decision to bury you. Had your mother tried to convince him not to? And still, he'd insisted? Your throat closed up. You hadn't been sure what to do, standing in front of a door that was a gateway to your own personal hell. Every part of you said to run. You weren't sure where. The town was small and you'd never been beyond the west fields. Had never seen the other side of the river. "Let your wife know we are not like those from the South. She will have the body of her child intact and for burial." Your stomach had twisted and you'd finally jerked. Your foot caught on the edge of a pew and you'd tumbled hard. Gods, you couldn't get your body to stop shaking. It no longer belonged to you. The sound of your fall rang through the temple, but to your ears it felt as though a thousand miles away. A door opened, and your father's voice had called out, so painfully careful, "$name? What are you doing here?" He'd knelt beside you and you'd shielded away. Worked your jaw as though it would let your voice return, only to struggle to breathe instead. Your father had called your name again, but your gaze became focused more on the person whose shadow fell over you. Thistle stood in the doorframe, kind eyes overflowing with ice. They clasped their hands delicately in front of them. "How much did you hear, child?" "...Why?" The words had spilled out. A dam suddenly breaking. "Why are you going to kill me on my Rite?" Your father had frozen, hand squeezing hard on your shoulder now. He looked like he'd wanted to respond, but Thistle had stopped him with a simple incline of their head. "You know the Old Gods are no longer with us. Without them, this world does not function as it should. As such, it is customary for towns to select a sacrifice every so often. The blood of the chosen will seep into the earth and maintain this world until the Old Gods' return. Unfortunately, this village is small and most are old. There is no other here to select but you." Your brain had turned, but it was too much to process with the state you were in. You wanted to run, to hide. How could your blood do anything for the world? Warring emotions sliced through you, but all that came out of your mouth was a sob. It had torn you in half. You'd buried your face in your hands, trying to stifle the sound yet falling. It all echoed back to you. A hand rested atop your head. "Do not worry, $name. The Old God of Death will take your soul, and it will not feel like an ending." "Haven't the Old Gods abandoned us?" There was no God waiting for you. Your father had tried to calm you, although he must have known it was hopeless. Thistle had kept their hand on you, but turned to your father. "Rosk, take $them home. Keep an eye on $them, we can't afford for $them to run." "...Of course." He'd pulled you up, and you'd finally managed to push yourself away from him. Thistle watched as you left, as keen as an owl hunting in the night. You hadn't fully turned away from them until the doors to the temple shut behind you. You'd walked as far away from him as you could manage on still shaking legs. By the time you'd gotten home, the reality of it all had settled in and you didn't know if you'd make it through the door. You hadn't wanted to. You don't remember how you did. Time between that point and your Rite had been a blur. You'd thought of escaping, but when you'd snuck out at night and towards the town's edge, a heavy weakness struck you. A fire had burned in your wrist and when you'd looked there'd been a mark there. A phantom left behind by Thistle's hands. There'd been nothing you could do, but wait for death like a pig to slaughter. [[And then it was the night of your Rite.|0.14a]]

Survival instincts came first. Before the hurt, before the confusion. It'd been easy to turn and run, gone before anyone realized you'd been there. Your feet hit the dirt paths, old shoes skidding hard against the ground. You kept going, past the short road and towards the fields. The expanse of golden yellow and green rushed towards you. Your mother always told you to tread through carefully, for fear the long blades would cut into your arms. You'd never thought grass could be so vicious until you were running through them. They'd torn into your skin, your clothes, tangled against your legs and you'd barely managed to avoid falling. Where were you going? Where could you go? It all rushed through you, at once. Your father and the priest, discussing your death as necessary. Your father and the priest, who'd spoken without a hint of mourning. You'd wanted to scream. You'd wanted to burn the town down. You'd wanted to sink into the grass and weep until there was nothing left of you. Instead, you kept going. Until the pain had become vibrant and your legs worn to exhaustion. Until you'd reached the old, bent tree of the field. It'd been the farthest you'd ever made it until this point in your life. Your hand reached out, bracing yourself heavy against it. Death. Sacrifice. You hadn't understood. You sank against the trunk of the tree, staring into the fields beyond as you had so many times before, trying to understand. If you went beyond this tree, it'd have been the farthest you'd ever gone out of town. Where would you go, if you kept going? You had nothing with you, save for the clothes on your back. No supplies, no knowledge of the world beyond. When you'd looked towards the right, you'd found yourself looking at the train tracks. If you followed them, you'd run into a town, surely. The river hadn't been too far, you could find a way to fish and maybe you'd survive out there. Or, as foolish as a decision it might, you'd considered turning back. Maybe you'd find an explanation. Maybe you'd misunderstood. Maybe you were as likely to die if you'd run as if you were to stay. It was too much, too soon. You squeezed your eyes shut and took a deep breath. When you opened your eyes again, and turned onto your path. <<nobr>><div class="choices"> <div class ="choice-item">[[The train tracks to run.|0.14b]]</div> <div class ="choice-item">[[Towards the town once more.|013ca]]</div> </div><</nobr>>

You hadn't known what you were going to say, but it hadn't mattered. You'd thrown the door open and two people whirled around to look at you. You were supposed to know them. They'd been faces you'd grown up seeing. The ease of your father and the calm of Thistle. Now, the faces who stared at you were strangers. There'd been no warmth in their eyes. "How long have you been here, little heart?" Your father raised to his feet, the back of his shoes kicking against the cramped table. With three of you inside, it had been so small. So suffocating. Your voice was as heavy as ice, "Long enough. What do you mean I can't survive the Rite?" Your father reached for you. You stumbled back, eyeing it like a viper. Thistle had placed a heavy hand on his shoulder and spoke instead, "Do you think a world can exist without its makers?" "I don't know." You'd gritted your teeth. "And I don't care. You've been talking to me this whole time like I was going to survive." "It is the Gods who give this world foundation." Thistle went on, as though you'd never spoken at all. "And without them, the foundation rots. It is only something living which can spare it." You'd struggled to find the words, "So then...if that's the case then..." "You must understand, this is an aging village. There are hardly any children here. You are the only one we can place upon the altar. This is not a punishment. The God of Death will take your hand." "But the God of Death has abandoned us, haven't they?" Your voice was slow, cold. "There is no God left to greet us in the end." "$name--" Your father reached for you, again, and you'd hit his hand away. With a burst of speed, you'd turned on your heel and ran. You couldn't stay here. Not with what you knew. Not when there wasn't even an apology on their lips. Not even when your father couldn't look at you. You didn't make it far. A feeling of pain ripped through your body. You'd gone down in a blink. Shoulder cracked against tile, and you were down. Swears spilled from your mouth and Thistle's shadow had fallen over you. They reached out, carefully placing a hand over your eyes. The sunlight had been the greatest pain you'd ever felt. It crawled through the windows, burning into your skin. You hadn't known which God Thistle had pledged themself to, but in the midst of their magic, you might have been able to guess. "You cannot leave." Thistle had said. Then. Something thick spilled down your throat. Choked you to the point where you thought they were going to skip waiting and slaughter you right then. Instead, the pressure had lifted and you'd choked everything back up. A hand guided you as you rolled to your side and everything emptied out from inside you. Your father's hand had kept you steadied. Every part of you wanted to get away from him. This man was no longer your father. And yet. You'd felt so weak, so lost, so confused. You'd sunk against him. "What did you do to $them?" "$They <<if $plural==true>>are<<else>>is<</if>> now bound to this land. So $they cannot escape. Take $them home, Rosk. The child has suffered enough." And you'd suffer more, you'd wanted to say. But your throat was raw and there was a dark marking snacking around one of your fingers. Your father had wrapped his arms around you and hoisted you up as though you'd still been a small child. Your body had hung limp as he carried you home. Your mother had rushed to the door, questions burning on her lips as strong as the rage that came after. Time between that point and your Rite had been a blur. The mark had left you weak, the days had gone by like sand between fingers. You'd tried to walk past the edge of the village, and the sick would hit again and again. There'd been nothing you could do. [[And then it was the night of your Rite.|0.14a]]

Midnight rang from the clock in the center of town. One of the few mechanical inventions brought over from the City of Forgotten Silver. You'd listened to it perched upon the steps leading up to the temple. Thoughts of your impending demise weighed heavy on your mind. <<if $trapped==true>> There'd been no escape for you, even if you'd tried.<<else>> Even so, you hadn't been able to run away from this place.<</if>> When would they kill you, you'd wondered. In the morning, as a way to start the ceremony? Or would it be at the very end, as not to sour the festivities? You had come to the temple to question Thistle one last time, but ultimately found it pointless. There was nothing you could do. Was there? <<nobr>><div class="choices"><<if $pangry==true>><div class ="choice-item">[[There was certainly one thing you'd thought of, and it involved a sharpened blade.|0.15a][$pknife=true]]</div><</if>> <div class ="choice-item">[[All that was left was to ponder your end.|0.15c]]</div> <div class ="choice-item">[[You'd beg for your life, one last time.|0.15a]]</div> </div><</nobr>>

Maybe you now remember it being an easier choice than it had been. Your life had been kind. Slow and boring, but kind. Images of your mother and you curled under a tree, her teaching you language and arithmetic, or her endless encouragement to explore whatever interested you. Your father and his endless strange gifts, the way he'd always pick you up for a hug no matter how big you'd gotten. The townsfolk, shouting out greetings whenever you'd pass, sometimes offering fruit or bread or pieces of gossip with a wink. It had wrapped around you like a blanket, calling you back. Could you really give it all up? You'd turned back, staring at the scattering of buildings behind you, thinking of it all. You'd almost taken a step towards home, but then Thistle's voice echoed in the quiet and you'd halted. You couldn't go back there, no matter how much you wished it. You'd forced yourself to turn and headed towards the tracks. You kept a steady pace, wary of the grass again. You weren't sure how long you'd be walking, but you walked anyway. The train tracks extended endlessly down the horizon, as did the river. The two ran parallel, and you decided it best to stick to the river than the tracks. Days passed. You'd lost count of how many. Sometimes, you'd been quick enough to snag a fish from the water. Most times you weren't. Hunger gnawed heavily at your stomach, exhaustion at your bones. The river and train tracks kept going. You thought you'd never make it anywhere else. One night, you'd sunk to the ground, too spent to kept going. You'd been so hungry it'd made your stomach sick with the pain. You wouldn't die, you thought. Not yet. It'd just felt like you could. Sleep had come and went that night. Something had grown in the fields during the haze of when you'd woken. You hadn't known it at the time, but the clock had struck midnight. [[And so it'd become the night of your Rite.|0.15b]]

You'd stayed there for hours, until the sun started to descend in the horizon. Somehow, you'd gotten your legs to start moving again, and you'd trudged back to town. Townsfolk had turned to you with wide eyes as you'd walked back down the path. Hands had reached out with offers to tend your wounds and you'd brushed them aside. Instead, you walked back up the steps to the temple and pushed the doors open again. Thistle was in front of the podium, leaning down on their knees, "You're late, child. May I ask what is it that's happened to you?" You swallowed. "You're going to kill me." They paused at your words. The silence stretched on, burning as harshly as the orange glow of sunset. Your hands had curled to fists, watching as they slowly rose to their feet and turned to you. "Were you eavesdropping? Earlier?" "I thought of running." Your voice hadn't sound like you. "But I have no where to go except here." Thistle reached out and you'd flinched away. But it hadn't stopped them. Their hand rested heavy on your shoulders, and something warm flooded through your body. A ghost of pain had slithered through your endless wounds, and then they'd been rendered to nothing but an itch. Their hand finally had fallen away from your body. "This world would die without the blood of humans. You must understand, after the Old Gods vanished, it left the world unstable. It cannot continue to exist without the hand of its creators, but as priests, we have tried our best to allow this world to remain." "By killing children?" Thistle's eyes had been liquid soft, "It is not common, and it is not many. However, this is an aging village, and you are one of the few children in this village. There is no other choice except for you. Do not fear it $name, the Old God of Death will welcome your soul." Endless words rushed to your tongue, but all you could say was, "There will be no Old God of Death to greet me. The Old Gods are gone." You'd turned and left and Thistle had not stopped you. By the time you'd made it home you'd been a mix of so many emotions you hadn't felt one of them. Your parents had rushed to your side, seeing the state of you and you'd turned away. Of course you had. How could they show concern, when you were planned to be sacrificed? Time between that point and your Rite had been a blur. You'd thought of escaping, but every time you had, you'd found yourself turning away again and again. You couldn't make that decision, no matter how hard you tried. All you could do was wait, like a pig to slaughter. [[And then it was the night of your Rite.|0.14a]]

Something had touched your lips. Rather, something had pried your mouth open and slipped something inside. You'd choked awake, a mix of bitter and sweet on your tongue. Fruit, maybe. You'd automatically swallowed it, and your eyes had opened wide. You weren't sure what you'd been staring at. The body was human. Not human. Neck bent. Long. Face more tissue than skin. Arms elongated. Expression impossible to read. In twiglike hands, it'd held out a handful of berries. "Eat," it rasped, voice like that of breaking stone, "Eat." You hadn't been able to move. You'd stared wide eyed at the creature, and it stared at you. Whatever it was, you thought it looked as young as you. A monstrous child of a thing. It'd kept its hands out, food still offered. "What...?" Words finally came to you, but it'd shaken its head. "Eat. No time. They hunt. For you." "Who hunts for me?" "Those who love you. Those who despise you." It'd pressed closer. The smell of it was the same as the flowers you'd sometimes find blooming in the fields. It'd taken your hands, and poured the berries inside. "Eat. Run." A protest formed, but then you'd looked around the fields and you'd seen it in the distance. Lights spilling from lanterns. They had come for you. You'd shoved the rest of the berries into your mouth, taste lost on you as you scrambled onto blistered feet. You'd need to lie low, remain beneath the brush, so you wouldn't be seen. You moved low, and the creature turned it's head towards the light. Your hands had shook, and there'd been a million reasons why. What had it been, who had approached you? You paused, once more rooted to the spot with helpless emotions. "What are you?" There'd been no answer. And you'd pressed. "What are you going to do to them?" Nothing, again. Not at first. Then, it'd slowly turned back to you. "Stop them. For you." "Why?" "Vessel." It'd risen to its feet, and it struck you, finally, the sheer size of this creature. It loomed over you, and you thought, it could kill you if it wanted. And if it could kill you, it could kill whoever it was that was after you. "Go." <<nobr>><div class="choices"> <div class ="choice-item">[[You'd fled into the fields without protest, afraid.|0.16c]]</div> <div class ="choice-item">[[You'd went into the fields because you hadn't cared what fate would befall them.|0.16c][$flee="cold", $friendly-=5]]</div> <div class ="choice-item">[[You'd confronted the creature. Despite everything, you wanted to protect the people of your town.|0.16b][$hope+=5]]</div> <div class ="choice-item">[[You'd confronted the creature, the word 'vessel' turning your blood cold.|0.16b][$confront="selfish"]]</div> </div><</nobr>>

Without a second of hesitation, you'd turned and ran. The grass had been just as hungry as before, tearing open old wounds, peeling off scabs. You hadn't stopped. You knew it to be a fool's errand, but you'd thought if you kept going, you'd have been able to escape the monster before it came back to you. It didn't take long for the screams to reach you. Blood curdling, they'd broken through the silent night. You hadn't stopped. Hadn't looked back. You'd gone as far as your legs could take you, before the night had fallen quiet again. A part of you had wanted to look back, to see if you could spot in the distance if anyone had survived or if you'd only see the silhouette of the monster standing behind you. Lack of food had given you little energy, and the wounds you had already earned prior had not aided your stamina. It wasn't a surprise when the monster caught up to you, calling out 'vessel' with it's strange voice. It'd caught your wrist, and spun you around. Open its hands and showed you the blood. "A gift. For you. No sacrifice. No more." "This is not a gift." You'd choked on the smell of death, trying to free your arm. "I don't even know what you are." "I am you and you are me." It'd closed its hand up tight again, hiding the gore from you. "I saved you." "You killed them." The words had made it reality. Tears burned your eyes, and you'd refused to let them spill. They'd been hunting you, wanting to kill you for reasons you didn't understand. Yet, you'd known their faces and voices your whole life. They'd cared for you in so many ways, you imagining how they must have been slaughtered made your stomach turn. "I don't understand this. I don't understand anything anymore." "Here. A gift then. A real one. Here. Eat." It'd raised its hand, the one not holding you in place, to its chest. Its nails slid down its chest, tearing through it as easily as one would tear paper. Even in the darkness, the liquid which spilled out had not looked as dark as your own blood did. It had reached inside, pulling about muscle and bone until its fingers wrapped around something inside and pulled. You'd slammed your eyes shut, stomach turning again, dangerously close to being sick. As much as you'd struggled, you hadn't been able to get away. It did not crumble merely from the act. "Eat. A gift. For you, my vessel." The still beating heart had been shoved against your mouth and you'd involuntarily gasped. It'd parted your lips and had allowed it to force the organ into your mouth. It was chewy and slick and pulsing, but oh so sweet. A sweetness so divine you didn't have words for. For a moment, it'd made you forget what was in your mouth and your current circumstances. But only a moment. You'd thrashed again, trying to rip yourself away and jerking your head back. It hadn't worked. The monster forced the fruit into your throat and the blood poured down to your stomach. The mix of iron polluted amongst the sweet had slammed reality into you. The townsfolk. You'd consumed a part of them, too. At some point, you'd lost the fight and the heart came to rest inside your stomach, landing heavy. You'd collapsed to your knees, and the monster had sunk with you. The entire world had spun. [[And then it'd all gone black.|0.17c]]

<<if $confront=="selfish">>"Vessel?" You'd questioned, keeping an eye on the approaching lights but remaining where you'd stood. "I don't even know what you are." "I am you and you are me. See?" It'd spread out its arms as though it would make any difference, and you'd swallowed hard. The fear became a brick in your stomach. "I don't understand." "No. Of course. Kept ignorant. Kept blind. They hunt you for this. It could only be you." It'd struggled with the words, trying to piece together thoughts. It had not known your tongue well. Still it had tried, and watched you as though it was enough to understand. You hadn't.<<else>>"You can't hurt them." You'd thrown yourself in front of it, knees wobbling. This close, you'd been so small compared to it. It'd tilted its head at you, not immediately moving to cause harm. "I hurt that which hurts me." "They hurt you?" "I am you and you are me. See?" It'd spread out its arms as though it would make any difference, and you'd swallowed hard. The fear became a brick in your stomach. "I don't understand." "No. Of course. Kept ignorant. Kept blind. They hunt you for this. It could only be you." It'd struggled with the words, trying to piece together thoughts. It had not known your tongue well. Still it had tried, and watched you as though it was enough to understand. You hadn't.<</if>> "There!" Voices shouted behind you and you'd spun around and wondered how they'd managed to get so close. The monster wasted no time as it'd lunged forward. You'd shouted after it, its grotesque form illuminated now by lanterns and stars. Shouts, confused, then desperate washed over you. <<if $confront=="selfish">>You'd stood, frozen, and watched as it tore into every last person.<<else>>You'd reached for it, trying to pull it off in vain. You might as well not have even been there.<</if>> The people in front of you had been helpless. Blood and sinew poured out into the ground. Some had fallen into the river, bleeding it red. The monster stood after, washed in the blood of a collection of bodies. They'd never stood a chance. And you hadn't either. It locked its gaze with you once more, and overwhelmed, you'd finally turned to run. It'd grabbed you before you'd gotten the chance. "Vessel. Oh vessel. Free of them. A gift. To you. A gift for a gift." You'd thrown your weight against it, desperate to escape and it hadn't budged. Instead it had raised its clawed hands towards your chest and dug in deep. You choked, the taste of blood filling your mouth. It kept going in. The world around you spun. [[Until it all went black.|0.17b]]

To go through those doors had meant everything would change. You hadn't been sure how you'd known that, but it was the reason you'd hesitated upon the temple steps so long. The flicker of the lamp lights had casted everything in an orange haze. The stars, once clear, had been hidden from view, although it had yet to register to your anxiety ridden mind. As the last chime of midnight rang out, you'd risen from where you'd sat and forced yourself through the doors. They'd opened soundlessly, as though holding their breath to the same beat as you. Your steps were just as quiet as you closed the doors behind you and became bathed in darkness. The lights from the left room had still been on. You'd spent most of your life ignoring it. It'd been Thistle's room, and you'd never had a reason to go there yourself after all. Now, you walked down the path between pews and altars. You squinted at the outline of the door you'd never paid attention to before. There'd been no details in the night. All that mattered was the light still on underneath, so you'd raised your hand to knock. <<if $pknife==true>>[[Your other hand had pushed your blade up your sleeve, hidden from view.|0.16d]]<<else>>[[Your throat had tightened, desperation already settling in.|0.16a]]<</if>>

You'd thought of it over and over. All the grim realities laid out in front of you. You'd imagine something quick and painless, and something far more brutal. <<if $trapped==false>>Even that had not been enough to force you outside the town limits.<<else>>It had been pointless to imagine, as there'd been no escape for you.<</if>> Here you were, cursed, in a world which needed your blood to keep going. Did the Gods pay in their blood as well? It was a question which had wormed its way into your skull. You wouldn't blame the Old Gods for leaving, if that was true. Hundreds to thousands of years of torment, so the world could keep spinning. Even with the purest of love, even with the reverence of a God, perhaps it was inevitable they'd fled. But you were no God. So you had sat on the temple steps, thinking about bargaining for your life but understanding the pointlessness of it. The chime of the clock had still rung in your ear. It had lingered so long you hadn't noticed the first sound of chaos. It hadn't been until the wind blew in and the ashes reached your nose that you'd raised your head. [[At the edge of town, had been a hazy orange glow.|0.16e]]

It hadn't taken long for the door to open. Thistle hadn't been surprised to see you, although clearly unprepared. Their hair hung loose and messy, and their night clothes engulfed their fragile body. You knew you'd be able to handle the fight, should it come to such a thing. "Come in." They'd smiled, and you'd swallowed hard, trying not to show your blood boiling beneath the skin. You'd walked into the room, expecting it to be just as small and cramped as their office. It hadn't been. Still small, but enough for a bed and desk. A gas lamp flickered on the table, where an open journal rested. You'd given it one look around, noting nothing. There'd been no clues that a living, breathing person lived here. "Sorry for intruding." It'd sounded false, but Thistle's expression hadn't wavered. "There's nothing to worry about. I tend to be a night owl. Especially on nights like this. It's midnight, yes?" "Yes." You hadn't waited. "When are you planning to kill me?" Their hands had reached out and shut the journal. A gold tassel hung down, a bookmark. You'd watched it while Thistle answered. "At the end, of course. Had you not discovered the truth, it would have served as a joyous last night." Your fingers had curled around the blade, but you'd stilled yourself. Not yet. Once you killed them, you would need to flee. At least death would shatter the magic which bound you to Áine, and you'd be free of the town. "What will it look like?" Thistle had paused, tilting their head to look at you. "Do you think the knowledge of your demise will prepare you for it further?" "Maybe. I just need to know. I have a right to know." "Not everyone has a right to knowledge of certain things. You have a right to know your death and nothing more." It'd pressed against your skin, desperate to get out. Your hand had gripped the blade so tight, it'd been tight enough to cut. You'd mentally sworn and hoped he hadn't noticed the blood. Misfortune favored you that night. [[Shouts had echoed outside, followed by the smell of smoke.|0.17d]]

Your hand had trembled as it'd knocked. You'd had a whole speech prepared in your mind. A myriad of questions, a myriad of reasons to spare your life. Your parents hadn't spoken a word of it to you, but you'd felt the tension in the house to know it plagued you all in different ways. Your father wouldn't help you, your mother had looked desperate to try. Now, you'd watched as the door opened to the outline of Thistle. Your voice had been hallow, "Good evening, I apologize for imposing..." "Ah, $name. I suppose I should have expected you." They stepped aside and motioned you in. Seeing them in their night wear had been strange enough, seeing their room in all its plainness had been stranger. "Don't look so afraid, all because it's midnight now does not mean I'll bring you harm." There'd been a journal, which they'd snapped shut and you'd forced out the words, "I'm here to request that you...that you don't kill me." Thistle smiled, eyes crinkling in the corners. Your stomach had twisted at the sight, but before you could rush out more words, they'd spoken, "Of course that's what you'd desire. Come, sit. Tell me what you know of this world and its Gods." You'd remained standing at the door, prepared to run at a second's notice. "The Old Gods represent every aspect of this world. When they left, it left us lost. If we kept worshipping them, then perhaps they'd return to us." "And what of the New Gods?" The mention of their existence stilled your tongue. It had not been a question you'd prepared for. No one ever mention the New Gods, in fear of what they could bring. All your will had rushed out of you, and you'd shaken your head. Thistle went on. "The Old Gods represent the world, and the New Gods represent us. Can you guess as to why we wouldn't worship them?" "If they represent us...they're as imperfect as us?" They'd nodded, eyes gleaming with pride. If only pride could have saved you. "Precisely. It is the New Gods which drove the Old away. And as they are our mirrors, can we not assume then, that us mortals drove them away ourselves? The Old Gods saw us reflected in the New Gods and turned their backs on us. We are not the creatures they dreamed us to be. But maybe if we pour enough blood, they'll accept our apologies." It hadn't made sense to you, that logic. Was slaughter not one of mortals' flaws? Would the act not push them away further? An argument tried to form in your mind, to get back to the point of why you were here and what you wanted to achieve, but sudden shouts outside made them scatter. You'd turned, the movement drawing the smell of smoke to your nose. You'd taken a few steps out, and through the windows had seen the red glow of fire. Thistle was suddenly pushing past you. "A fire tonight? This can only be an ill omen." They'd rushed past you, the conversation forgotten. You'd moved to give chase, to figure out what was happening, but instead your leg had hit one of the shrines. It'd toppled over and in doing so, you'd caught a hatch hidden beneath. With another look towards the door and fire outside, you'd made the rash decision to kneel down and shove the shrine aside, revealing the door beneath. You'd thrown it open, and there had been stairs. More shouting echoed outside and you casted another look out. If there'd been any chance to find more answers to your questions, or a way out of your situation, this was it. You couldn't think about the fire. You couldn't hesitate. [[You'd descended.|0.17a]]

You'd hopped to your feet, eyes narrowing at the direction of the glow. You knew a fire when you saw one. The plains were known for having them throughout the year, although it was rare for it to be in town. On instinct, you'd ran towards the direction of the flames. Voices had poured out on the streets as all the villagers noticed the same thing. The path you'd been on was one you knew well, and a pounding started in your chest. It'd not been caused just by the run. Suspicions became reality as you arrived at your home. You'd stood at the edge with other townsfolk, throat closed up in endless confusion. Townsfolk kept calling your name, but none of them registered. A hand laid heavy on your shoulder, and you jumped and turned to the stricken face of your mother. "$name, we have to leave." <<if $trapped==true>>"The town? Mother I...I can't." "I know, don't worry. Just trust me. Please." She'd squeezed your shoulder again, a watery smile on her face.<<else>> "Leave? Now? What's going on." "Please, we don't have time." She'd squeezed your shoulder again, a sense of urgency on her face.<</if>> "And where's father?" Your mother had balked, expression tightening. She had shaken her head, not saying a word on the subject. Instead, she grabbed your hand and pulled you away from the wreckage. As people had scrambled to put out the flames, the two of you had turned your back to it all. Your feet stumbled over each other, unable to keep up with the speed of her. She'd always been so careful and calm, you didn't know she was capable of being fast and nimble. Her steps hadn't made a sound. The two of you had reached the edge of town, before it emptied out into the fields. She spun around to you, hand letting go of yours. <<if $trapped==true>>She pressed her palm against your face, uncomfortably warm, and heat rushed through your body. Your mother's magic. You'd learned more about your mother that night than you had for the past fifteen years of your life. The priest's magical chain was washed away.<</if>> "You have to run. I'll do everything I can to hold them back." She'd said, and you'd shaken your head. "I don't understand." "You know, right? How your father and Priest Thistle mean to sacrifice you? I can't let that happen. Even if they insist it's the only way to keep this world aloft. There has to be another way for this world to survive. And even if there wasn't, I would never let you become a sacrifice." Her arms wrapped around you, and you clung back. A part of you understood this would be the last time you'd ever see her. Your voice cracked, "Come with me." Before she could answer, a voice rang out from behind you both. [["You were the last person I'd expect this from Rosaline." Thistle stood, outlined by the red light of fire.|0.17e]]

Your mother had shoved you behind her, her stance becoming defensive. "I won't let you touch this child." "This is theatrics and cruelty, not kindness." They'd taken a step forward, and the expression they wore made you know they believed it. "If not me, then the monster who devoured your husband. You think the fire was enough to halt its quest? At least I'd make it quick. At least the death would have meaning." "What are they talking about--?" "$name, I wish I could have explained everything to you. But you need to go." And she'd turned and placed a kiss upon your brow. It'd made your body formless, weightless. Your feet had moved back on their own, and you couldn't protest. With wide eyes, you'd called her name, but she'd turned towards Thistle. You'd fought against the magic pushing you into the fields, and when you'd turn back all you could see was blue aether and the spray of blood. You didn't know who the first wound had gone to. Heat blazed against your back as your steps kept stumbling through the grass. Even if you'd no longer been able to look back, you knew the fire was spreading. Without Thistle, it might just burn down the entire village. You weren't sure how long you'd walked before your mother's magic broke. You'd almost fallen to your knees. Instead, you'd spun around, ready to run back. Instead, emerging from the burning light and tall grass was a creature you couldn't explain. [[It'd watched you in silence.|0.18e]]

"You're...you're the reason mother started the fire." It'd butchered your father. You'd felt the truth in your bones, the moment your eyes met. It'd been tall, stretched thin. Arms long, neck twisted, nails sharp. It'd almost been humanoid, and because it'd been so, you knew you'd been staring at the monstrous equivalent of a child. It'd stepped towards you, and you'd stumbled back. The grass would only harm, you'd had no way to run. The monster had looked as though it'd clear the space between the two of you in seconds. It had devoured your father. Even if he'd been willing to kill you, the loss finally struck you in the chest. The red of blood, which surely must have belonged to your mother, filled your mind. It was too much. The whole world had swayed. You'd blinked and the monster was the only thing keeping you from falling to your knees. Its voice had the same quality as the fire behind it, "You. Vessel. Mine. All mine." With a scream, you'd tried to rip your arm free but its grip only tightened. Nails dug into your skin and brought tears to your eyes. Had you been crying from the physical pain or something else? Wasn't it a mixture of both? It'd pulled you towards it. "Struggle. Nothing else will save you now. Vessel oh vessel, marked as you are." Then, it'd pulled open its chest and its flesh spilled silver blood. From between its ribs it pulled out a pulsing hunk of flesh. You'd jerked away again, hopelessly, desperately. There'd been nothing you could do as it forced it into your mouth. It was the taste of sugared fruits with the texture of raw meat and the slick of blood. You'd tried to spit it out, but the monster persisted and the blood pooled down your throat. Your body had given in, involuntarily swallowing. The world had spun. The ashes from the town reached all the way towards you. You'd collapsed to the ground and the monster fell with you. [[Live. Vessel. Find the fruit. Save their souls. Run. Vessel. Understand this world.|0.19e]]

The next time you'd awoken it'd been three days later. Somehow, the flames had been large enough to reach the other town, and they'd sent an envoy. Not many of the townsfolk had survived, and when the local priest greeted you, she'd said it'd not been the fire that'd killed them. The priest hadn't asked for details, and you hadn't spoken a word of what had happened, afraid the very act would summon further misfortune. Instead, she put you to work in the local temple. The few others from your village Áine were integrated into the town as well. They'd never spoke a word of it either. Priest Liliana was distant and dreamy yet stern in all the ways which mattered. She'd taught you to work with your hands. You'd listened because if you didn't, what else would you do? Where else would you go? Perhaps the answer lied in your dreams. And your dreams were plagued with confusing, endless streets filled with smoke and noise and people. Something watched you as you tried to find an escape, avoiding the gaze of anyone who might see. Silver spilled from the walls, and you could once more taste the sweetness on your tongue. Somewhere, there was a fruit that held the very foundation of your chosen fate. The City of Forgotten Silver, Priest Liliana had told you during the few times you'd mentioned it. It's existence was created to guard the last fruit of the Old Gods. You already knew. How many times had your mother told this to you? At twenty, instead of finishing your Rite of Passage, you'd told Priest Liliana you needed to leave. The dreams consumed you now, and so did all the unanswered questions surrounding the City and what had happened to you. She'd said it was up to you to figure out a way to enter through the gates. She had not stopped you. So you'd left, with as much as you could carry. You'd find yourself at the City gates again and again. You'd travel to various towns, trying to figure out how to earn a pass into the City. Years would pass by, and hope would grow thin. But you'd kept going, as the dreams kept growing. As the echo of sweetness started to never leave your tongue. [[And eventually, you'd finally find your way in.|chapter1][$origin="average", $strength+=10, $knowledge+=10, $dex+=10]]

<h1><center>DEMO END</center></h1> <h2><center>Thank you for playing!</center></h2> <a href="https://sweetsilver-if.tumblr.com/">Follow my tumblr to keep up to date with future updates!</a> [[Play again?|0.1]]

Thistle had sucked in a breath, their calm expression finally breaking. "Something's wrong." They'd rushed past you and that's when you had lunged. The blade slid easily into your hand, although your blood had made it slick, hard to grasp. Your other hand had clamped down hard on their wrist. They'd turned. You'd swung. It'd landed hard in their shoulder and they'd staggered. Blankly, their hand had raised to the wound, gripping at where the blade jutted out. The tan of their clothes slowly soaked up their blood, staining it a heavy brown. "Should you attack someone, remember you only have one strike." They'd pulled at the hilt, sliding it back out. Blood had fallen from the blade onto the floorboards. Blue aether, their detested magic, spread out against the wound to mend it. And then it had turned to you. You'd lunged away from the doorframe and out into the main prayer room. Thistle's magic shot past you. Shattered the nearest pew into a million pieces. You'd sucked in a breath, scrambled to your feet, and thought fast. There had to be something you could use to defend yourself. "There is no other chance $name. Struggle as you wish, this is your fate." They'd walked calmly out into the room and you'd eyed one of the statues. You'd try to crack their skull open, maybe. If you'd be able to get close enough. The voices outside grew frantic. From beyond the windows, you'd seen a red glow. Heat had trickled into the room, forming sweat upon your brow. Blue magic rushed towards you, and you'd been able to see, for the first time, the binding tattoos snaking up Thistle's arms. The mark of a mage powerful enough to tear a child asunder, you'd been sure. Thistle had no reason to spare you or be gentle. Tonight was the night you'd die, and if you'd refused to die quietly, then you'd die like an animal being hunted. You'd thrown yourself behind a pew, and yelped when it shattered. Magic burned the wood neon bright. Chunks flew past you, cutting deep into your arms and catching your face. You'd thrown yourself behind the next one. Your mind had raced. What could you do? What could you do? "Vessel." A voice, unhuman, had whispered. The sea of magic vanished and you'd looked towards the sound. Perched on top of the very front altar was a monster. You weren't sure how you missed it. Hunched over on mutated legs, arms too long, teeth sharp, claws at the ready. You'd stared in wonder, in horror. It was as young as you were, if a monster could be young. Magic barreled into it. Consumed it entirely, only for it to let out a scream. "Death here. For you. For others. Forgotten. Always. <i>You.</i>" The last word had not been for you. It'd lunged out, and you'd watched with wide eyes as it grabbed Thistle's throat. Threw them on the ground, opened its mouth and encircled razor sharp teeth around their neck. Aligned it with the arteries. But it'd stopped. "Vessel. For you. This is your kill. Deserved." It'd remained where it was, the flurry of blue slamming against it causing no harm. It took the blade back from Thistle, and thew it towards you. It'd watched you. You had watched it. This monster from nowhere, who called you vessel. <<nobr>><div class="choices"> <div class ="choice-item">[[You'd taken the knife.|0.18d][$pkill=true]]</div> <div class ="choice-item">[[You'd left it on the ground.|0.18d]]</div> </div><</nobr>>

<<if $pkill==true>>You'd reached out and grabbed the blade in shaky hands. Later, you'll pretend your hands had been sure, that in all the chaos, you hadn't been afraid. But your hands had shook, and your steps had faltered. Thistle thrashed against their holds, and you'd stared down upon them. You'd raised your hands up, and swung. The first strike had still been messy. The second found home. The third was for rage. The fourth was for hurt. Every single one after was an onset of mania. You'd gone until Thistle could no longer be recognized, and until your hands were too slick with gore to keep hold of the blade. Then you'd fallen onto your knees and screamed and wept, and the monster watched you as the town burned outside. "Vessel." The monster had said at last. "What are you? Why do you refer to me as vessel?" "You are me, and I am you. Hence, a vessel. For me. For this." It'd reached out, hand falling atop your chest. "Mine. And yours."<<else>>Seeing Thistle's demise made you sick in a way you hadn't been expecting. Or at least, you'd tell yourself years later, as though the first strike hadn't made you waver. As if drawing blood for the first time hadn't closed your throat up and made you question everything. No, it was the sight of the monster, ready for a kill. And in light of your hesitation, it had. Its jaw had closed hard around Thistle and the sound was guttural. It tore back, and you'd stumbled. Blood, warm and thick, splattered across your face. A scream tore itself free from your throat. It had not stopped at the throat. It devoured. You'd slammed your eyes closed, listening as it ate everything. The slap of flesh and organs and the putrid smell of death wrapped around you. Refused to let go. You had to run, before it did the same to you. You'd pleaded for your legs to move, but it was all so much you'd remained on your knees. By the time it was over, you'd aged a hundred life times. Heavy footsteps made their way towards you. You'd kept your eyes closed and your hands to your ears. "Vessel." It had said. "A gift. For you." "A gift? What kind of gift is this? You devoured them, you..." "The first wound. Yours. I did what you could not. A gift. For you." "What are you? Why do you refer to me as vessel?" "You are me, and I am you. Hence, a vessel. For me. For this." It'd reached out, hand falling atop your chest. "Mine. And yours."<</if>> It'd grabbed you then, and your eyes had gone wide, "Done for you, so this, for me." You'd tried to rip yourself away, but it'd been hopeless. If a mage could do nothing against the beast, than what did you hope to achieve? With one hand, it pinned you in place. With the other it reached down, sank its claws into your chest, broke through the ribs, and wrapped around your still beating heart. "You are me, and I am you." It'd repeated, before it'd ripped out your heart. [[The world had gone black.|0.19d]]

You'd woken up days later. You should have never woken up again. When you'd opened your eyes, your mother had been beside you. The sky had been above you. She'd fed you, given you water, and helped you sit up. As you had, you'd seen the burnt remains of the town below. Not one home had appeared as though it'd survived. "Most have died. Those that haven't have made their way to the next town." She'd looked at you. "Do you wish to go there, too?" She hadn't asked about what had happened to you and you hadn't told her. It wasn't like you'd be able to explain. The two of you had gotten up and started your travel down the river. When she hadn't been looking, you'd pressed a hand against your heart, expecting there to be silence. But it'd been there. It'd been there. It'd been there. As you traveled, she'd stated your father had died in the fire, and you hadn't reacted. You hadn't been able to. She hadn't questioned that either. By the time you'd arrived at the neighboring village, there was a wide chasm inside that had kept growing. The villagers had taken you both in, and as the years passed you'd tried your best to settle in. But as you'd grown older, you'd start to dream. Of red and silver, and endless streets. Of a blade in your hand, of an endless maze disguised as a city. <<if $pkill==true>>The blood you'd seen compelled you. An image of you, covered in it, like that of Thistle's slaughter. But this was not their blood. Not this time. You'd find yourself looking into glass and your warped reflection looking back at you. Silver liquid dripped down the walls. The sky above broke open to rain. When you'd open your eyes, you'd forced yourself to act as always. You'd assist your mother with the farm, you'd do your deliveries around town, you'd do anything to keep your mind occupied. You would not stall by the farmstead when you'd accidentally catch a kill and find your thoughts twisting and reaching back towards the blood. Time wore on. You grew into an adult, and the people said nothing about you not finishing your Rite of Passage. Your mother had grown sick and frail. During the last week of her life, you'd sat down beside her on the bed and finally confessed. She'd taken your hand in hers and squeezed it tight. It was not forgiveness, but it was not damnation. All she'd said was, "The City will have the answers you seek." After her death, and post her funeral, you'd left the town almost immediately, without a single goodbye. You'd been close to no one. You'd packed up what little you had, and turned your sights towards the City. You didn't know how you'd get in, as meaningless to them as you'd been. But you'd learn. You'd fight. You'd kill if you had to. It didn't take long to learn you were good at that. It didn't take others long to learn you were good at that. And perhaps staining your hands red would not be the ticket into the City, but it drove your mind quiet, along with the dreams. Time would pass, and seasons would change. The City would feel more out of reach than ever, but then. [[You'd found your way in, anyway.|chapter1][$origin="blood", $strength+=15, $dex+=15, $knowledge+=5]] <<else>>The monster was there, somewhere, watching you. You'd felt it in your chest, as though it'd traded your heart with theirs. Often you'd wake up screaming, tearing nails deep into your chest. You had to get it out. You had to get rid of what was not yours. Your mother would hold you, whispering stories to you as though they could soothe. At some point, the local priest, Priest Liliana, would come for a visit. Your screams could be heard throughout the whole village. She'd told you to confess your dreams, and somehow, you'd come to confess everything else. Instead of damnation, she'd given a grim smile, "The slaughter of people has never been a practice I've believed in." For your guilt, she'd taught you how to use your hands to heal and mend. Small magic, not enough to require the binding tattoos of most mages, but enough to ease a cough or a fever. You'd found your work in town as the assistant healer. You tried not remember your dreams, filled with endless slaughter and silver. The magic you knew had not been enough to save your mother when she'd grown ill. Even Priest Liliana could not offer her healing. On her death bed, you'd confessed everything you'd told Priest Liliana and your mother had only nodded, like she'd known the whole time. "If you ever desire more answers, you'll find them in the City." After her passing, you'd remained in the town a few months longer, but the chasm in your chest only seemed to grow faster without her presence. You'd gone to Priest Liliana and told her you couldn't stay here, in fear of what you might become. She'd given you a train ticket and supplies and you'd left to figure out what to do with yourself. You'd travel from village to village, visit various homes and greet different mayors and priests, and your dreams would persist. People even started to know your name, and you thought, maybe, as hopeless as it'd be, you'd manage to earn a pass into the City. Years went back in a blink. The pass never came. Your work never slowed. The dreams still persisted. The chasm grew deep. And when you'd least expect it, a pass would make its way to you. [[The City would be yours.|chapter1][$origin="healer", $magic+=20, $knowledge+=10, $strength+=5, $dex+=5]]<</if>>

Lights of blue aether lit up against silvery walls as you'd descended. The steps circled down forever, crumbling in places, a relic long forgotten. You couldn't tell what the images and writing on the walls had been, but you'd known them to be ancient. At the base of the staircase had been a circular room with a pillar in the center. A silver bowl rested atop. The lights spread forward, and you'd taken slow steps in response. Writing had been at the base. The language, still unknown, was at least one you recognized as an ancient prayer. Here, you understood your blood was meant to fill the bowl. This room had seen the slaughter of those before you, and it'd see all those after. You'd reached out--to touch, to destroy?--and an inhuman voice had echoed. "Vessel. Don't. The fruit will know you." You'd snatched your hands back and whirled around. Behind you, at the base of the stairs you'd descended, was a monster. It stared at you with a strange body. Arms too long, claws jagged and sharp, neck twisted, skin a texture you couldn't describe. You'd reeled back, but not before it was upon you. Its hand wrapped around you, pulling you away from the bowl, so you wouldn't touch. Words failed to form as it pulled you aside. It'd reached out, and you'd watched with wide eyes. One claw sunk into the palm of its hand and out bubbled silver. The same color as the bowl. It'd poured out and the moment it'd touched it, the lights around you had flared bright. You'd pressed your eyes closed from the burning light. The monster had held you still. Your eyelids had burned red. "No sacrifice. No more." And you'd heard more flesh split open. You'd never consider the act to have sound, but oh how you heard it caught in the clutches of such a creature. "Eyes. Open. See." With a heavy breath, you'd forced your eyes open and when you'd looked again the bowl was no longer silver but red. The monster's blood pooled inside of it, as silver as the bowl had once been. The bowl as red as your blood would have looked, had it been spilled inside. "What did you do? What are you? Let me go. Please let me go." The sight had made your mind return to you and you'd struggled to get away. You may as well have had remained still, with how little it seemed to notice you. "I am you, you are me. Here, a gift. For your Rite." It'd turned its claws inward then, towards its torso. Your stomach turned. Its chest parted perfectly in two. Silver spilled, and it reached inside, pulling out a still beating heart. "For you. Vessel. Eat. Know. Feel the way the silver lies." It'd pressed its organ to your mouth, impossibly still alive after such a feat. You'd retched your face away, shakes shooting down your body and screams spilling out your mouth. Who had you been shouting for? There would be none to hear you, you'd known. All the screams had done was open your mouth enough for it to shove the organ down your throat. Forced you to choke on it, until you swallowed it down. It'd hit your stomach like poison, and you'd collapsed to your knees. The monster had fallen with you. [[The world had gone black.|0.18a]]

You'd woken up in a cell days later. A woman in priest robes had been standing at the pillars, watching as your eyes opened and fluttered in confusion. Silver stained your clothes still, although you'd later learn they'd done their best to clean them. It had hardened and rested heavy on your chest where you'd laid in a makeshift cot. The woman had said, "We found you underneath the remains of the burnt down temple in your village. You were one of the few survivors, though I question if you had meant to survive at all." You'd stared at her blankly, and she'd nodded at a guard who'd brought in food and water. You'd eaten and drank, and pieces of it all came back to you. The conversation with Thistle, the fire, the underground room, the monster. "Are you going to kill me?" You'd asked, as reality started to set in. "I haven't yet decided. I care not for the ritual sacrifice others insist upon. If I kill you, it will not be for the Old Gods. It will be because of whatever you have done." She'd settled herself on the grimy stone floors, despite the protest of those around her. "Now tell me, child, how was the bowl turned red and the blood turned silver?" And so you'd told her and hoped it enough to save your life. She'd listened, and left. Days passed, and you'd started to accept your fate. You'd tried to pry more information out of the guards about what had happened to your village. How many had survived, was your mother here or your father? What about Priest Thistle? None of them answered your questions, or looked your way. At some point, the priest came back and finally told you her name. Priest Liliana. She resided over this town and she answered all your questions. No one had survived. The village had been poisoned by whatever magic the monster had casted, she'd presumed. "I have one condition to allow you your freedom as well as your life. You must assist me in researching whatever has occurred in your village." You'd agreed immediately, as though you'd had a say in the matter. You'd moved into the temple, which was much bigger than the one in Áine. Priest Liliana stated it was due to being closer to the City, and thus, more resources were given to the people. If being only a few dozen miles closer to the City allowed for this, you'd wondered what it'd be like living right next to it. Years passed. People whispered about you, the other acolytes who dwelled in the temple avoided you. You'd thrown yourself into books and pamphlets and anything you could get your hands on. The answers unraveled slowly. Not of the monster or what it did, but of the sacrifices. The world's supposed ending, the need for blood, the sacrifices as forgiveness, the fruit hidden in the City of Forgotten Silver. The more you researched, the more you found them all tied together. You started to wonder if the fruit was, truly, a fruit at all. In your dreams, you'd be lost in an endless maze. A taste as sweet as fruit dripped from your mouth, but you recognized that taste. It was the same as the heart of which the monster had forced you to swallow. The flavor had been so strong one could easily mistake it for candy. From the walls of the building, it bled silver. You'd run through the streets, trying to escape whatever it was which watched you. Every time you had the dream, you felt like you were getting a little closer to something, though you could not say as to what. Priest Liliana would listen to your dreams over the years, but it wasn't until your twentieth birthday she'd said, "The answers we seek are locked away in the City." "Can't you enter?" "They'd never give me a pass. I'm not a notable Priest, and if anything, my refusal of sacrifice has made them bar me from the City." She'd given you a long look. "However, you may stand a chance of getting a pass. You've become quite the historian." "Are you telling me to leave this town?" "I'm telling you to find answers. Whatever those may be for you." She'd given a distant smile. "When you find them, please let me know." You'd left a few weeks later. Getting a pass to the City wouldn't be easy. You'd instead traveled from town to town, hoping to learn as much as you could and establish a name for yourself. Still, you'd be denied a pass over and over. As the years passed, you'd think to give up. The kind of people let into the City were those extraordinary. You were nothing more than an average, traveling scholar. There was no information you could tell that would impress them enough to let you in. It was a fruitless quest for answers. And for what was done to you, and all those before you. Until the day it wouldn't be. [[And you'd find yourself standing in front of the gates to the City.|chapter1][$strength+=5, $dex+=5, $knowledge+=20, $magic+=10, $origin="scholar"]]

The next time you'd awoken, you'd been by the river. A voice had been whistling above you and you'd lunged to your feet. You'd had nothing to defend yourself, but you'd blindly swung with a fist. The daylight seared your eyes, your body off kilter. "Woah there." A man's voice started, softly taking both your hands. "No need to be alarmed. You're alive and safe." The man who held your wrists had brown skin and wavy black hair. You couldn't pin point his age, and he'd never say in the years which followed. In that moment, he'd offered you a canteen filled with water and you'd taken it without a second thought. "I have food to spare as well. I found you amongst...the others. Bandits are rare these days but not unheard of. Come, tell me your story. I'll offer you food." Hunger twisted, and he'd been moving so fast since the moment you'd woken up, it didn't allow your mind time to catch up to what had happened. Helplessly, you'd followed and found yourself amongst a collection of carts, caravans, and people. Traveling merchants, it would seem. They'd offered you food and a new change of clothes and you'd accepted their offer to stay with them for at least a night. They'd even allowed the courtesy of privacy. But alone, without the sudden swirl of people, it'd rushed towards you. The slaughter, the monster, the loss of your heart. You'd pressed a hand against your chest, expecting nothing but finding it still beating. Still there. Still yours. You'd sighed in relief, only for it to catch and your expression to twist. You'd curled up, trying to bury yourself as the sobs wracked your body. What had happened to you? What had you seen? The man who'd found you was known as Iker, and he'd offered to let you travel with his caravan. You'd said just until the next town, and you'd figure out what to do then. You were lost, unmoored. Unsure if the monster would come back to finish the job, and just as confused as how you'd survived. Something about you had felt different after that night. A chasm opened in your chest. One township turned to two. Iver taught you how to barter, and if not how to barter then at least how to charm. He never asked about the events which had led you to him, nor about your age. He'd merely asked about when you'd need to finish your Rite of Passage. You'd told him you'd never done the first passage and wouldn't need to do the second. It was the end of that particular conversation. Time passed, and you'd grown older, and your dreams had become worse. Images of an endless maze in a walled city where silver oozed down the walls. You'd run, desperate, feeling like something was watching. The chasm in your chest kept growing. Iver had caught you once, in the middle of a nightmare. When you'd told it to him, he'd said, "They say the City of Forgotten Silver bleeds the ore it's named after. I've never been past the gates, so I'll never know." You'd been unmoored so long the mention of the City slammed into you along with the hazy memory of your mother. The answer as to why you were going to be sacrificed must be hidden within the City. If only you could find a way inside. Throughout your travels, you'd found not all towns were as discreet about such affairs. For some, it was a child on their Rite of Passage, for others, all those who committed a crime were offered to the Old Gods. "To save the world." Had been Iver's answer. One which echoed Thistle all those years ago. You decided you didn't want an answer you didn't like. On your twentieth birthday, you told Iver you were leaving. He'd taken it in stride, and said if you ever wished to come back, he'd welcome you with open arms. You'd taken the few things you'd had, and went on your way to figure out how to get a pass into the City. Years would keep going by, and you'd learn what Iver had tried to teach you. A merchant would never get into the City, let alone a traveler. Still, you persisted. Still, you failed. And failed. And failed. And right when you'd been ready to give up, a pass would find its way to you. [[And you'd finally find yourself standing in front of the City gates.|chapter1][$origin="merchant", $strength+=20, $dex+=20, $knowledge+=10]]

<center><h1>Prologue</h1></center> <center><h2>[[Childhood is the Lamb We Slaughter|0.1]]</h2></center> <center>[[Content warnings|cwp]]</center>

<center><h2>Content Warnings</h2></center> <center><b>Severe</b>: Depictions of violence, blood, and gore <b>Moderate</b>: Body Horror <b>Mild</b>: None</center> <center>[[Begin?|0.1]]</center>

The next time you'd awoken, you'd been by the river. A voice had been whistling above you and you'd lunged to your feet. You'd had nothing to defend yourself, but you'd blindly swung with a fist. The daylight seared your eyes, your body off kilter. "Woah there." A man's voice started, softly taking both your hands. "No need to be alarmed. You're alive and safe." The man who held your wrists had brown skin and wavy black hair. You couldn't pin point his age, and he'd never say in the years which followed. In that moment, he'd offered you a canteen filled with water and you'd taken it without a second thought. What you had been able to pinpoint was how his grip had been both firm and soft. His gaze hadn't been on your face. It'd been on the silver staining your body. "I'll guide you back to the river, we'll avoid the bodies." You'd tried not to react to those words. You'd failed. Tears welled up in your eyes, and rolled down as heavy as your anguish. He'd placed a hand on your shoulder and guided you forward. You hadn't fought him as you'd cried. He hadn't commented on the tears. At the river, he'd told you he'd been a traveling merchant and the next town his crew was stopping in wasn't far away. He'd offered to take you there, which was less an offer and more a statement. You'd followed after him, finding yourself surrounded by people and carts and horses. No one said anything about your sudden arrival, and you'd been left to your own devices at first. The man who'd found you had been called Iver. He'd kept to his word and taken you to the next town, and when he'd walked you to the temple, he'd hesitated. "You're welcome to stay with us. Can't imagine what's happened to you is something a Priest would tolerate, you know." "Do you know what's happened to me?" "No. I don't have knowledge about that kind of stuff, but I know something awful when I see it. And that silver you were covered in when I found you? That was something awful." You hadn't disagreed. The temple stared at you, larger and busier than the one you'd known in Áine. A temple was half the reason you'd ended up in the situation you'd been in. You didn't trust yourself to enter another. You'd followed him back, and that had been that. You said you wouldn't stay long, just until you kept your bearings. You never told him what had happened to you, but in your dreams you'd imagine the monster coming and killing him and his people. If you avoided this nightmare, you dreamt instead about being lost in an endless maze of a walled city where silver spilled down the walls. Something watched as you ran, looking desperately for an exit. You'd stayed with them for maybe a year. Time had been strange with them, but even stranger after you'd left. Iver made you swear to come back if things got hard, and you'd promised although you knew you'd never keep it. For years after, you'd wandered from place to place, never staying in any one town longer than necessary. You'd learned that some towns were open about their sacrifices, others were brutal, others used it to punish the criminals. All said it was for the same reason. The blood of mortals would bring back the Old Gods, and allow the earth to live on until their return. Why was this their belief? You hadn't known. You'd figured most of the answers were locked away in the City, anyway. It was where they held of Fruit of the Old Gods, it was where every answer to them would be held. But you'd never make it inside. All you knew was to keep your head down, lest you subject someone to the fate of death. Years slipped by, you'd lost track of your own age, and sometimes you'd wake and think you'd finally forgotten your own name. The City wasn't even in the forefront of your mind. It existed only in the long forgotten stories your mother used to tell you. Her name had blurred in your memories of her. So had your father's. Yet, a pass to the City would find its way into your hands anyway. A miracle you hadn't had the luxury to doubt. [[And after years in isolation, the bustling walls of the city stared down at you.|chapter1][$origin="hermit", $strength+=10, $dex+=20, $knowledge+=5]]

<i>A month before entering the city</i> This wasn't the first time you'd found yourself nearly dead. If you survived , you hadn't doubted it would be your last. Hunger twisted your stomach, skin raw from your earlier fall. You'd gotten lost in these woods, trying hopelessly to find your way to the main path. The bramble and underbrush had gone up to your waist and had been impossible to walk through or see what rested underneath. Exhaustion had aided in your lack of perception. The slide down the cliff had been quick and hard. Your ankle was likely broken at worst, sprained at best. You certainly hadn't been able to move it. The past years rushed through your mind. All the wasted efforts, going from place to place, trying in vain to find a way into that gods forsaken City of Forgotten Silver. The hunger wouldn't kill you first, the thirst would. If you could crawl, maybe you could find a stream to assist with that. When you lifted your head, the spin and blur of your vision spoke of a concussion. Another thing to worry about. You added it to your mental list of ways one fall could end everything in an instant. As you braced yourself against the dirt, your scattered travel items hadn't been the first thing you'd seen. A pair of legs with skin as dark as the night, met a torso covered in clothes far too pristine for the elements, met a face peering down at you with a smile that showed too much teeth. "I've been looking for you, stranger." [[The man offered had his hand.|1.2][$mgender="male"]] [[The woman had offered her hand.|1.2][$mgender="female"]] [[The person had offered their hand.|1.2][$mgender="nb"]]

Although you'd been hesitant to take it, you'd found yourself with little choice. Your hand slid into $mtheir own, and all at once, the pain fled from you. The sensation was so sudden, you'd nearly collapsed again to your feet. $Mtheir irises shifted from a deep black to a glittering silver. Against their dark skin, the set of eyes now looked like two moons looking at you, a mirror to the two moons in the night skies of Ever. It was this which made your skin crawl, "Who are you? There's no reason to look for a nobody like me." "Really? I think this tells me a different story." The stranger pressed a hand to your chest, right over your heart. <<if $origin=="merchant" or $origin=="blood" or $origin=="healer">At least, where a heart should be. This stranger would feel no heartbeat there, not since yours had been torn out of your chest. The flesh had stitched itself together tight, a phantom organ pushed your blood through your veins now.<<else>>Except they wouldn't find just one heart beating, but two. Ever since you were forced to swallow the heart of the monster all those years ago, it had bypassed your stomach and wormed its way through muscle and tissue to rest beside your own.<</if>> You jerked away, shoving $mtheir hand away and pressing your own to your chest. You took a step back, noting the pain was truly gone from your ankle. A mage, then. Most of the mages were in the City, though a seldom few with weak magic wandered outside its walls. There were no markings on $mtheir skin, though. All mages used tattoos to bind the magic to their bodies. "You know about my heart." "I do. I've known of it for as long as I've known as you." "And how long would that be?" $Mthey merely smiled in response, another glint of their teeth in the descending night, "I think it'd be best to set up camp, yes? This deep in the woods, you'll find yourself food for the beasts." "And why would I blindly follow a stranger?" You said, as $mthey turned $mtheir back to you. A soft laugh echoed out, "Because, $name, I have what it is you desire." [[And in one hand, was a pass to the City.|1.3]]

It'd been enough. The temptation of it made you follow $mtheir steps. All the foliage around your legs became touch-shy, easing away from the two of you to form a path. Any question you called out to $mthem as you two walked was met with a stubborn silence. You wanted to know how $mthey knew your name, and you wanted to examine the pass to see if it was true. "Here." The gentle sound of streaming water floated up to you, and you found yourself at a campsite, already set up. An old fire was in the middle of a clearing, burned from the night prior. There was a bag, tossed hazardously into a makeshift tent. The stranger finally turned to look at you, and the silver in $mtheir eyes had shifted back to a deep black. For a moment, you'd thought you'd imagined it. "It looks like you were waiting for something." "You, of course." $Mthey tilted $mtheir head, towards the fire. "It's trickier to find a human than one might expect. Even one altered such as you." Your eyes narrowed, "You haven't answered why you wished to find me, or how you knew about my circumstances. No one does." For years, you'd kept it hidden. Avoiding doctors and medics and potential lovers who would stray just a little too close, in fear they'd find what had been haunting you your whole life. A stranger should not have known this secret. "I wished to find you, because I wish to find the monster which did this to you. I've been hunting it down since its birth, to no avail. I know about your circumstances, because I sensed the event the day it happened. There's a reason why you don't have one heart, $name." There were questions, endless questions, however the stranger merely waved a hand towards camp, "You're hungry, aren't you? I can feel the pangs of it even from here. Give me a moment, I'll make you something. Consider it an apology for this sudden interruption." "You haven't even told me your name, despite knowing mine." You called. [[A sharp smile lit up the stranger's face, "The New God of Mourning."|1.4]]