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[> Keep going for the agreed-upon meeting point.]

> Keep going for the agreed-upon meeting point.

> Reminisce of past adventures with your sister, while listening to Nirvana's Nevermind album.

The left turn for Ol' Rogers flashes past you, quickly vanishing in the rearview mirror.
You reach for the glovebox and pick out a cassette tape. Your sister's handwriting on the piece of masking tape says 'Nivarna'. The tape slides into the stereo. With a click and a hiss the music begins to play.

Load up on guns.
Bring your friends.
It's fun to lose and to pretend~

You move your lips with the words, silently singing along.

This was the first album you listened to after you got out of prison. She got away with it all for being too young, just fourteen when the two of you got caught breaking and entering. While you tinkered with locks and picks, she was careless and curious and tripped an alarm. You covered for her, to make sure she didn't get into trouble, and she promised she'd learned a lesson back then.

Never again.

You moved out here to regroup, to get your life in order, to work a nice job and, maybe, find someone nice. Settle down. Forget about that dark chapter in your life.

And yet here you are. Again.

All it took was one phone call and the promise of a big payday.

You smile as you recall how she told you this would be 'practically risk free'. You told her that, word for word, back when she was fourteen.

The heavy rain beats down on the windshield, and the road underneath feels slick. Just a few more miles and you'll be there.

[> Head out to meet your sister]

> Head out to meet your sister

She was supposed to call you before she headed out, but the phone in the living room has been dead silent all night. Maybe she went on ahead without you? Maybe she forgot to call in her excitement?
Whatever the case, she might be out there alone. She's probably waiting for you, or hoping you won't show up so she can have all the fun, and that won't do.

You pocket your items, grab your raincoat and head outside. A minute later your car rumbles beneath you as you roll down the street, heading toward the edge of the small town. Ahead awaits your destination, the meeting point you and your sister agreed to meet at: a road junction some five miles past a 24 hour service and rest stop the locals call 'Ol' Roger's'.

The heavy rain beats down on the windshield, and the road underneath feels slick, as you head out deeper into the lightless night.

[> Take headlamp, multi purpose tool and map]

> Take headlamp, multi purpose tool and map

You set the pair of your most trusted objects on the table before you and give them the same examination you've done many times before. The long-life batteries in the waterproof headlamp are fully charged. The rust-proof multitools many blades are sharpened and the hinges that allow it to unfold for its many uses are recently oiled. Heavier equipment would just slow you down and make you too clumsy for your own good. This is good.

The map you are less familiar with, but it's necessary since you just recently moved into town. It's a little faded from its time in the local shop window, but clearly readable, and also waterproof, since it was designed for hikers and campers to take with them. On its front it has a wider area map of the town you are in and its surroundings out to a considerable range. On the reverse is a more detailed street map of the town itself. The name of the town is printed in the top: "Autumnscreek".
You find your own address on Heartwood Street, a single house on a small plot of land near the edge of town, in a cheap, sparsely built residential area. You orient yourself with the map, and form a clear plan of which way you need to head to get started.

You instinctively tap your pockets to make sure you have the keys to your home, as well as your car keys. All is in place. It'll be a bit of a ride, but that's never been an issue. And besides...

(?) SOMEONE is waiting for you out there. WHO is this person to you?

Valid suggestions for the current prompt so far:
> Take infinity gauntlet
> Take headlamp ( instead of flashlight)
> Take multi purpose tool
> Take map
> Take rubber chicken with a pulley in it

To perhaps ease what seems a bit like people being afraid of making mistakes early on, I shall say this: you cannot make mistakes during the prologue chapter.
There are no truly wrong answers.

Do raincoat and shoes count as two of the three possible items?

Sensible clothing counts as zero items.

> Take keys.
So you can lock up after you leave. Don't want bad guys breaking in while you're gone.

Keys also count as zero items.

[> Examine room]

> Examine room
> Examine me
> Examine inventory

You examine the room you are in. It's a room in your home, the kitchen, a part of the place you live in. There are other rooms, of course. You know them well and they are familiar to you.
A table sits before you, nestled against the kitchen window, looking out into the rainstorm and the darkening horizon.

You are you. You wear clothes that feel comfortable to you, and you carry various small items with you. Footwear and protection from the rain are, of course, available to you. It rains often so you are prepared for the weather.

This is your way of preparing. Your ritual of introspection. Self-examination. Confirming your surroundings and grounding yourself in the here and the now.

Trait gained: INTROSPECTIVE

Your little ritual completed, you feel more ready to head outside. It will be dark soon, so you feel like you shouldn't spend too much time here.
It is time to gather your things, the items you rely on and trust. That feel right to carry with you into the night. You can select three ITEMS from your home to take with you. They can be any items.

(?) What ITEMS will you take with you before you head out?

I have been granted permission to start us off, and so you may now participate in this new attempt at a community roleplaying game in the thread linked below:

https://www.adventuregamestudio.co.uk/forums/index.php?topic=60204

Everyone is welcome to participate, and I hope we can make this into a fun and interesting adventure.

Good luck!

[The Night Falls]

The Night Falls
A Community Roleplaying Game



Rain falls heavy outside of your home, the drops hammering on the panes of glass through which you peer outside.
It is not quite night, but the hours of dusk are fading fast.
It's all a little hazy in your mind right now, but you know that you have to head outside soon, despite the deeply unpleasant weather conditions.

You've got something important to do. Something only you can do. Something you've done before, of course, so surely it won't be a big deal.

Just a job. A Mission.

You just need to get ready for it. The same way you always get ready on nights like this. A little ritual of sorts, to get yourself ready to head out there, into the weather.



(?) What ACTION will you take to prepare for the night that is about to fall?

- - - - - - - - - -

What's all this then? And how do I play?

Spoiler

This is the beginning of a community roleplaying game. All will make sense in time.
How do I play?

To enter a new command into the game, respond to this thread with a command formatted like the example below:

> Perform an impressive juggling display

or

> Offer the man a fine leather jacket

or

> Steal the lamp

A new command should be indicated with the > sign.

If you wish to upvote a command already given, simply post the same command again.

How will the game process commands entered?

Commands entered will be tallied and the most voted command will be executed in the game. If there is a tie, then the command given first will be executed.
For a command to be executed it needs to have at least one upvote, ie. a minimum of two players must agree on the command.

How often will the game update?

The game will be updated 2-3 times a week, depending on player activity and my availability due to work and social engagements.
Faster updates may be made early on to help the prologue get rolling.

Can I contribute?

Sure! If you wish to contribute art, characters, ideas or anything at all, feel free to PM me your suggestions.
I will not promise to include everything sent in, but I will consider all contributions and do what I can to include them where sensible.

Can this game be won? Or lost?
The mechanics of the game will be made apparent over time. It will be possible to eventually lose the game, as taking risky or dangerous actions carry a random chance of failure and consequence.
It is also possible to win the game, by completing The Mission.

What is the Mission? And who are we?
That is up to you, the players, to find out.

[close]

Sorry my brain tottered between Timo and Tomi for quite a while!

I've I'm still wrong tell me to go check the credits screen on Stomping Boots  I blame my age.

The funniest part is that this somehow keeps happening to me at work all the time!
My email signature has my name as "Tomi" and people keep replying to me with a "Dear Timo" or "Dear Tommi" or "Dear Toni" as if I didn't know how to spell my own name! 

Sounds cool, though I am not sure if I have anything to contribute; these days I mostly make isometric gfx for strategy games 

Not to worry, all people need to contribute is a few words every now and then to keep the story moving. Art donations might also be accepted if they fit the theme of the game, but we'll see what that might be like later on.

Not to worry. My current idea is something very traditional to point-and-click adventure games.

And don't tell me the undersea facility into which the privileged few were evacuated once global warming caused uncontrollable sea level rise leaving the poor people to survive on small islands and floating slums above, desperate to steal a ride below the surface so they can break in and claim a better life in the prepared shelters for themselves, was entirely non-political Our amnesiac protagonist was just unaware of most things, and we never asked that many questions.

Good to see some people might be interested! I'll draft up some plans and check to see if I'm allowed to host something in the competitions & activities board, or if it'd be better to keep it here. If more people are interested, do chime in!

YES! It's hard too believe it has been more 10 years already since Undersea Facility...

Yeah, how much time has passed came as a bit of a shock to myself, too.

Hey Timo! Yeah I'd be up for it.

Timo? Well now I'm a little, teeny-tiny bit offended, CaptainC.   

I was recently reminded of the AGS wiki and realised that I had a page there that was badly in need of updating, so I've added a few things, and will add some more later. As part of this I was reminded of some old projects of various quality, such as these:
https://www.adventuregamestudio.co.uk/forums/index.php?topic=44156.0
https://www.adventuregamestudio.co.uk/forums/index.php?topic=49495.0

Sadly only one of these projects ever truly finished due to waning interest, overt complexity for little return and, most of all, myself becoming too busy to keep up. (RIP King Simulator 2013, I miss you to this day and still have a design doc from 2019 for recreating the basic concept as an AGS idle game)

Still, I loved working on these little projects and I might be interested in trying another one. The question is: are folks interested in it?

For me these projects are a way to experiment with narratives and pixel art, and for the participants they, hopefully, provide interesting and funny moments and an extended narrative that can take unexpected turns thanks to audience participation.

[Tapdancer]

I went over my backups again, but no luck, I've lost the source code for good. Even as the creator I have no idea what all the achievements are or what triggers them!

Fun fact: I think Of the Essence was the first game in which I tested the idea of doing achievements. In every game I make I try to do something new I've never done before. Along with being my first keyboard controlled game and having the neat crater visual effect Khris helped me create, the achievements were a new thing I wanted to try doing. I think the achievements are stored in a secret save slot 999, which has a save game name of "00000000" when all achievements are locked and "11111111" when they get unlocked. The game checks and creates the save file as needed on startup and shows unlocked achievements in the menu based on that. It might actually be possible to edit the save file and hack the achievements to unlock them all and at least see what they are called.

The design doc called for a second level with actual enemies that moved around and shot at the player, but this proved impossible with my limited skills and the time limit of MAGS, so the final game was a pretty limited package.

As for what I can think of regarding the achievements themselves:

Tapdancer

Spoiler

You have this right, it's stepping on a mine.

[close]

Unlucky

Spoiler

I think crouching in a crater should shield you from shrapnel entirely? I don't recall there being a random chance of getting hit, but it's possible. Sure sounds like the kind of dick move I might have done...

[close]

How did you do that!?

Spoiler

Most likely this is unlocked by reaching the end of a level under par time.

[close]

Others I can think of trying would be all the little random things you can do:

Spoiler

Try going every wrong way possible. Get run over by a tank. Friendly fire. Sit in the starting trench and never leave. These all feel like the kinds of things I would have put in as 'secrets'.

[close]

Good luck on the hunt!

Sorry, but as much as I love the theme I'm out of this one. Returning to work after summer vacation has my brain worn out.

Congratulations to our winner! A well deserved outcome, indeed!

The word "Sphinx" is (unless I missed it) not used once in the story and the classic characteristic of a Sphinx to ask riddles isn't there either. I do not like the ending of the story. It's heavily implied (actually, more than implied) that Thomas has to or at least should atone for the sins of his familiy. But this is a pretty flawed moral. Thomas didn't do anything wrong - his family did. Thomas isn't profiting from the bad deeds of his family either - he lost everything. He isn't in a position to make anything that was done wrong by his familiy either, nor do the people that were wronged demand it (they actually led him go). And even if Thomas were to atone for the sins of his family, that wouldn't clean his family name, it would give it a new reputation not restore an old one.  Still, exciting story.

You are all-around correct. I didn't want to go with the traditional Sphinx and riddles combination, and the story wound up being much more about the young boy and some twisted cosmic karma that has him atoning for sins that are not his. For all intents and purposes the Sphinx of the story might as well have been a black monolith or a talking squirrel, so my tale doesn't really make the most of the theme. I just had the visual of the Sphinx embedded in ice and frost in my head and I wanted to build something around it to justify trying to paint that visual in words, and doing it in such a way that the reader might be able to grasp the image without me having to mention the word Sphinx even once. Sadly, judging by Baron's comments and more, it seems I failed quite badly in that goal. Still, very happy to hear you found the story otherwise an interesting read!

[Mandle]

Mandle: I can't say I much enjoyed this one, but that mostly goes down to the fact that it's too close to things I've read on all-too-real news as of late. A part of me felt like the story was written to align with that harsh reality, to remind us that it's a thing that's happening, but I don't think a reminder was really needed. Perhaps there was more to this story than I discovered, but I finished it and just felt exhausted.

Stupot: A fine play on words with the title, and a fun story to boot! I kept envisioning a mix of the Tom Cruise War of the Worlds movie and Jurassic Park, but all in Egypt, and that's a fun and action packed combination of influences to draw from, on purpose or by accident. This was easily my favourite of the bunch.

Baron: Too many puns / jokes. Too many funny words and names I felt I constantly wanted to start googling to see if they were based on something or just made up, which proved highly distracting. For some reason I couldn't really get into this one, despite it reminding me of Terry Pratchett's writings quite a bit.


As for my own story: I drew inspiration from Dan Brown's Meteorite, Stargate SG-1 and maybe a hint of Game of Thrones. My first draft was a vision of some kind of NATO special forces unit stumbling upon a Russian arctic research base that had uncovered a Sphinx statue entombed in ice, but I scrapped that quickly. From that I kept the sphinx in ice theme, with a mental image of the sphinx statue embedded in ice and snow locked in my brain, and went with a more fantastical approach instead.

Baron's comment of the protagonist somehow moving from snow and ice to a desert makes me think I massively failed in characterizing the moment of discovery. In my mind I saw the protagonist fall through the ice into a massive cavern of chill and frost, where the water had somehow drained, leaving only the fine sand and dirt that made up the cool lakebed for him to land on. A surreal place that just barely, maybe, might have a reasonable explanation for existing. The sphinx itself, described with "its noble jaw covered in a layer of frost, icicles hanging off it" was to be a magical thing that awakens, provides insight and wisdom and, sends the boy back on his way on a future quest. Or perhaps it was all a dream the boy had while stumbling in the ice, and his canine companion snapped him out of it just in time?

I guess the traditional mental image of the sphinx in the desert, combined with my use as soft, fine sand as the excuse for why the protagonist survived his fall into the void underneath the ice, overrode whatever detail I'd thought I'd written.

Lesson learned.

[Insight in Ice]

An extension you say? On the week my summer vacation began on, you say? Well then...

Insight in Ice

The map was useless. Worse than useless, it was almost entirely inaccurate! And yet it had just enough in kind with the landscape the young knight had traveled so far, so as to have him beginning to trust the ragged old thing. Now, as the snow crystals whipped his face in the intense wind and the red travel cloak he’d wrapped around his body was becoming stiff and heavy, he cursed the thing in the most colourful words he could muster in the darkest depths of his mind. As if to spite him one last time the faded map fluttered between his stiff fingers, caught in a violent gust, and tore itself free. As he turned to see it go down the steep incline he’d just climbed, the ragged parchment disappearing past the sparse coverage of craggy little trees, the boy stuffed his hands inside the robe. There, closer to his body, he felt some sensation slowly returning to the numb digits.

“Not going back yet.” -he muttered, shaking his head as he turned his back on the traitorous map and faced uphill once more, into the wind that made his eyes squint under the hood. The boy of blonde hair, freckled face and lithe body forced his foot to rise and move forward, the snow crunching under the soles of his boots as he continued to trudge up and along the night-invisible path he’d followed so far. It was the fourth day of his climb, and with each handful of hours the path had become more difficult and the weather had become less kind. From the mist below he’d ventured up into the rain-soaked woods, only for the second night of his journey to bring about the eerie silence of extreme cold. The second night, spent wrapped tightly in his robe in a makeshift shelter, had marked the arrival of the wind. He tried to imagine what might be ahead next, but aside from raining fire and brimstone, which might actually be a nice change considering the cold, the boy could not imagine things getting any worse.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. Crackle. Crunch.

The sound of snow being crushed and compacted by the boots was the only sound that competed with the wind for a while. The depressions left by his feet vanished in a mere moment as fresh snow was piled on by the storm. Beneath the robe the scabbard of a slender sword, hung off his belt, tapped his thigh with every other step.

Crunch. Crackle. Crunch. Crunch. Crackle.

The young knight made a humming sound in the back of his throat, as if to test his voice to make sure it was still with him. It seemed to push back the noise of the wind a little. With a shake of his head to dislodge some snow off his brow he began to smile.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. Crackle.

He began to hum a tune. A welcome distraction that brought about memories of a better place. A warm hearth and a crackling fire, the scent of smoke and the whine of a dog with a fuzzy coat of creamy brown fur beside him, licking his fingers and begging for scraps of his meal. Back then it wasn’t him humming, but his mother. The song had no words, but as its melody swirled about it was easy to conjure up images of springtime winds, warm and gentle, moving through the endless sea of trees which surrounded Ravenwood Keep. His older brother had been there, too, but the fuzzy dog always preferred the company of the younger sibling, and was rewarded with scraps of chicken meat and skin for its loyalty.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

Their father was often away, but he’d been with them that night, sitting upon the benches with some of his friends. As the snow-covered hill leveled off, making for easier marching, the boy tried to remember more. The moon had been out in that night of his memories, glimpsed through a sooty window nestled between tapestries of red and gold, with the black Raven embled intricately woven into them, clutching a dead, dry branch in its claws. The men and his father had spoken feverishly in hushed tones, but as the hum of gentle melodies had filled the hall they, too, had fallen silent and listened. Had they known, the boy now wondered, what would come in the night?

Crunch. Crackle. Crack. Crunch. Crack.

The image vanished from his mind as his boot sank deeper than before. Something wasn’t right.

Crack!

Too late he understood he’d walked off the path, which had snaked off somewhere beneath the snow. As he tumbled forward, his hands were trapped under the robe for warmth, and he couldn’t reach out to stop his fall in time. A thin sheet of powdery snow met his face, but underneath was a sheet of ice, polished and thinned by the wind, which shattered upon impact. The shrill scream that escaped his lips might have served as a reminder of just how young and unprepared the boy-knight of just thirteen summers was for such a trek. The snow blinded him. His knees smashed into the ice, then through it, following after his body. Despite the darkness in his eyes he could almost see the surface of the lake beneath the ice, frigid water ready to claim him.

To end him.

Instead of a splash, however, there was a dull thump. The boy screamed again as he felt his body go into a roll. Fine sand filled his nose and mouth, forcing his eyes shut. His hands, finally free of the robe, clawed desperately for something to hold onto, but found only soft, loose grains which offered him no help as he went down further. An impact finally halted his tumble down the bank of fine sand, as his back and skull simultaneously impacted on stone. Air was knocked from his lungs. The space behind his eyes was filled with vivid images of sparkling stars. Consciousness flickered, then faded.

-

Whether in dream or memory, the boy could hear the humming once more. The familiar song with no words. The boy groaned, and the sound of his voice echoed around him in the darkness. The melody rose and fell, but it wasn’t the delicate voice of his mother as it had been in his memories, nor was it his own voice, vibrating within his skull. It was a deeper, lower sound, as if the very mountain he had been climbing had taken to humming the song around him.

The boy opened his eyes and the humming stopped. He saw nothing but the tiniest speck of light above him, where fresh snow was steadily closing up the hole he had fallen in through. A low, rumbling voice spoke, and the boy could feel the stone upon which he lay trembling with the words: “You bring with you a melody most fine, to help and pass the time.”

The young knight coughed, turned his head and spat out sand that had stuck to his lips and tongue. Slowly he pushed himself to his side, then up to sit. The stone beneath him felt smooth, polished and unnaturally warm.

“Do you have a name, I wonder? Did you bring it with you as you ventured over yonder?”

The boy leaned forward onto all fours, then pushed himself to his knees again, and finally stood. Sand fell down from him, cascading over the stone with a faint sound. He opened his mouth to speak, but was forced to cough out more sand instead, retching there in the dark. The voice was silent, waiting for his reply.

“I am Ser Thomas!” -the boy finally called out, sounding hoarse and winded. “Of the noble house Ravenwood, I come seeking-” He clenched his teeth for a moment, uncertain of himself, preparing to say more. Instead he fell silent as a pair of eyes opened above him, shimmering blue light emanating from their irises. Could this truly be it? Had the found it?

“Thomas.” -the rumbling voice repeated as the light from the eyes spread about. The boy could make out the shape of a vast stone face above him, its noble jaw covered in a layer of frost, icicles hanging off it. A vast decorative mane of shimmering stone silhouetted the unmoving face. The boy stood upon the vast stone paw of the thing, the other having been buried in the bank of sand. It was impossible to tell how large the cavern was, as the darkness devoured any suggestion of wall or ceiling. “A once noble name of a once noble house. Yet it garners less respect than a mere field mouse...”

It was the truth, but to have it so spat in his face made the boy blush in anger. Another memory flashed in his mind of that night, the scream of his mother as the doors of the great hall were smashed open. The clang of steel and the shouts of intruders. Blood on the blade of an axe and the stench of smoke and burning hair.

“I came here to-” The boy tried to regain his footing in the strange conversation. He’d found what he’d been looking for, but this didn’t seem right. It wasn’t like in the stories.

“To find salvation is your true aim, to claim your right and clear your name.” -the stone voice replied. Silence followed as young Sir Thomas reorganized his thoughts. He nodded his head. He’d heard tales of an ancient being in the mountains, which knew all things that were, had been, and were to come.

“My family was accused of crimes they did not commit.” He blinked his eyes furiously to keep them from flooding as the memories washed over him. He’d watched his older brother fight the attackers with his sword drawn, only to fall with an expression of shock once a crossbow bolt caught him in the neck. The guards were overwhelmed. His mother and father had been dragged to the gallows hastily erected outside. The great hall had been on fire and the black smoke had darkened the moon and the stars. Thomas had been dragged out, too, and even his dog had been too afraid to stay and protect him. You are too young to pay for your family name, they had told him, as they forced him to watch. Too young to die for the crime of another, but still you must learn. Crime begets punishment.

“They were betrayed! I am sure of this!” -Thomas cried out. He remembered how his father had taught him to ride a horse, how his brother had sparred with him with wooden swords, and how his mother had tended to the scrapes and bruises he’d accumulated while adventuring around the keep. “I seek only the truth, the knowledge that will prove it! With that I will find a way and clear the name of house Ravenwood!”

The blue eyes above seemed to observe the boy, judging the weight of his words.

“Through the snow and ice, you had the will to push through...”

Thomas nodded his head. His skull throbbed painfully and his lungs burned in his chest, but he wouldn’t back down now.

“...but does innocence make one blind, or do your words ring true?”

Thomas was sure. He knew his family and how the people under their protection respected and revered them, how his mother assured him they would safeguard the people, the roads and the ancient wood that provided their wealth through hard work and dedication.

The blue eyes shone brighter until Thomas had to shield his eyes so as not to be blinded.

“Very well, we shall see in time, the very nature of your family, and the truth of their crime.”

The hand wasn’t enough. The boy shut his eyes but it wasn’t enough either! He screamed as the light blinded him and his world turned bright blue, then white. He sank to his knees and curled up into a ball to hide away from the overwhelming light. Images flickered in his view, inside his eyelids: memories of summer days and winter nights, of campfires out in the woods and treks into forgotten forest glades with his mother.

“A clear name and conscience is what you expect, but will the history of Ravenwood be worthy of respect?”

A raven sat in a tree, watching the mother and child, curiously tilting its head as the leaves rustled about it in a breeze. The child was no older than seven summers old, and through the eyes of the raven Sir Thomas could recognize himself as he ran after the puppy. Another memory of a better time, when the woods were safe and his family with him. The small boy in a pale red tunic stumbled in the grass of a clearing and called for his mother, who was there for him with her kind smile and gentle touch. The raven took flight, flitting between the ancient trees, over stacks of felled trees and logs, out to clearer ground where small farms were nestled. Thomas saw his older brother and his father, the latter sat atop a mighty horse, as well as a group of guards from the keep. The raven did not understand the words spoken, so they were nothing more than muffled noises, but the farmers begged on their knees, gesturing to the flattened crops and the metal chest the guards carried. The man on the horse swung out a crossbow and put a bolt through the chest of the ragged farmer, and the bird knew it would feast again that night.

Thomas felt that bolt as if it had hit his own heart.

“To see your house rebuilt, you must first understand the root of this guilt.” -the stone voice intoned.

“No! We were- He’s- I’m innocent!” Desperation reflected from his voice as the young knight felt doubt creep into his mind like black venom. As his mother hummed a sweet song to him in a forest clearing, on a sunny day of sweet childhood, his father and brother committed heinous acts. The raven flapped its wings and vanished, along with the scene before its eyes, only for another scene to appear. Men clad in plate and chainmail, their shields emblazoned by the raven crest, dragging a screaming young girl out of a horse drawn carriage, through rain and mud. Flap. A broken wax seal and a letter promising to pay a ransom. Flap. A cup for a guest and a crystal vial of black poison.

“No more!” -Thomas screamed. He felt naked and afraid as each flap of the raven's wings made the painful truth more obvious.

Flap.

A delicate hand of a woman, his mother, slipped the bottle of poison away in a cupboard as guards carried away the robed figure of a priest. She turned as the raven watched through a sooty window, and knelt by her precious blonde-haired son, stroking his head and whispering sweet words, lies that served to protect his innocence.

Flap. The image vanished and was not replaced. Instead there was darkness now, and a pair of blue eyes set in an unmoving stone face. Thomas felt the tears rolling down his cheeks and the guilt burning in his chest as he knelt on the stone, shaking and shuddering, feeling powerless.

“With only this small peek, I cannot give you what you seek. No glory or gain I have to present, yet I can offer one thing: atonement.”

Thomas looked up and wiped his face with the back of his hand. The blue eyes were fading, now like a pair of embers, glowing weakly with that unnatural hue.

“It shall take a great many deeds of virtuous good...”

The last of the blue light vanished, plunging the young boy in darkness once more. Lost. Trapped. Alone. His belief had been shattered. Instead of the justice he sought he’d gained only pain and sorrow and the knowledge it had all been a lie.

Crunch.

Something warm and wet slid over his eyelids. The bitter cold wind howled around him and the snow threatened to bury him. A sniffing sound intruded in his ear, followed by a sharp bark that jolted the boy awake. Gasping he sat up from the snow, feeling stiff and deathly cold. Fresh, fluffy snow fell down around him as his hands rose to brush some of it off. The fuzzy dog with its creamy brown fur caked in snow hopped back and barked again, then dashed off a short distance before stopping to check if the boy was following after. The snow had begun to let up, and Thomas could see the mouth of a cave ahead. The dog had found shelter. There was no sign of the icy surface of a lake, only sparse, craggy trees and snow and the mountain.

In the back of his mind, rumbling in the very bone of his skull, the boy heard a faint, whispered voice:

“...to cleanse the tarnished name of House Ravenwood.”

[BARON]

The votes are in, the tally is complete, and we do indeed have a winner!

With 6 points the winner of this Fortnightly Writing Competition is BARON!

Second place with 4 points is Mandle.
Third comes Stupot with 3 points.
And this time around the final place goes to Sinitrena with 2 points.

Thank you all for your efforts and I hope to see more fine tales in the next contest.

Baron, take it away good Sir!

[The Cue]

The deadline is up and we are ready to read and vote!
The participating stories and writers this time around are:

The Cue by Stupot
On High Mountains by Sinitrena
Every Now and Then I Fall Apart by Baron
I AM A SPOON by Mandle


The deadline of voting is Friday 20th of May at 23:59 UTC.

Each person choosing to read and vote has three points to allocate, one for each of the following:
1 point for the best or most interesting or imaginative idea of recycling.
1 point for the best or most interesting setting / character.
1 point for the best technical writing, ie. grammar, readability etc.

Send in your votes via PM as in the previous contest, so we can create an illusion of this being a very hardcore competition that we all take incredibly seriously, so utmost secrecy is required.

Not to say Stupot hasn't written us a fine tale, but come on folks! Don't let 'em take the win by default, at least put up a fight!
There's a couple more days, and what's best you have the whole weekend ahead of you to craft and fine-tune your tales, so chop chop!