CYOA - Out of the Dark

[ERYFKRAD]

A then

 

[Kalarion]

A.

 

[hello friend]

A

 

[Demo.Graph]

Among the ruckus of the procession you step out to the edge of the terrace, head raised proudly, the bird outstretched in your hand and shout "hello". A woman cries hysterically. Everyone stops in their tracks. You hear a metal disc, probably from one of the metallophones, roll on the stones and go ding-ding-ding-din-dinnng.

You realize that at least a hundred masks are turned to you. That you're covered in dust in grime. And that not only your muscles are full of vigor, your penis is also painfully erect.

The bird ruffles in your palm. You relax your fingers. It flutters to the ceiling and disappears in predawn pink light flowing through a crack in the wall.

In the silence your hear your breathing. In, out. In. Out.

Someone cries out and all hells break loose. Some priests fall on their knees stretching their hands out to you. Someone bangs a shield with the sword hilt. Then again and again. Choir and metallophones join the crash of weapons in a jubilant cacophony.

You go down the nearest stairs. Soldiers let you pass. People cry out to you. The choir and the clatter become louder and louder. More and more people fall on their knees as you go past them.

You head to the big priest and the vial noble. They turn to you smiling and say something, probably a greeting. You return it with a gesture. The priest says something else, the language is hard and voiced and definitely unfamiliar. You shake your head in incomprehension. He speaks again. The noble joins, probably in another language, more voiceless and muffled. You shake your head again. They try several more times, probably in five or six languages, before looking at each other. The smile on the priest's face is as still as a mask. The noble says something unsurely. The priest replies shortly. Then he smiles to you, a bit more lively, and barks at underlings. Someone throws a gray robe over you. A piece of bread is shoved into your hand. It's the most delicious bread you ever had. A procession assembles around you three. Chanting and music transform into a hymn that surrounds you as you walk.

You walk through the gate. The road makes a sharp turn left. You stand in the mouth of the mountain valley flooded with morning fog. Red-orange dawn rises over the horizon in front of you. Old white rocks splashed in short greenery rise steeply on the sides. A wooden tower with a palisade stands nearby overlooking the entrance. Several more towers are perched in the valley, each one adorned with two banners: a red-white and dark gray with a white arch symbol. You hear a rowdy mountain river nearby. Faint ringing of bells comes from the towers. Soldiers stand on the their platforms and on the mountainsides, waving their weapons at the procession.

Your group heads to a camp: a grove of tents under faint smoke columns torn by the wind. A wooden cart with a great bell, taller than a human, stands nearby surrounded by another group of priest musicians. As you come closer they join with the hymn, theatrically tilting the great bell's tongue.

And at the moment that the great bell rings in triumph, the edge of the sun breaks through the horizon.

END OF THE PROLOGUE

OUTRO

(Into the Sun - Tarja, from 4:44)

 

[Demo.Graph]

If there's an interest in me continuing this thing, let me know. Rate this post or something.

If there is... You guys are so fucked.

I'm equally fucked. You've chosen the most socially-integrated and religiously-centered ending (I blame Kalarion). I haven't finished writing all the logic gates, worldbuilding fluff and subplots for it yet, so I'll need at least a week-long pause (depending on IRL issues).

 

[baud]

You guys are so fucked

Normal situation for a Codex CYOA, no?

And yeah, I'd be down for more

 

[ERYFKRAD]

Kwisatz Haderach ending, let's go.

 

[hello friend]

Yes, please continue.

All in all, this was a great success. We weren't killed, and neither were we arrested for indecent exposure. Surely things can't get that bad.

 

[Demo.Graph]

(Inon Zur - Chant of the Black Ravens | Icewind Dale II)

- Wake up!
- Nnnfg
- Oi! You're shaking! Wake up!
- Stop!
- You were dreaming. Something bad. Shall I call father Ardozza?
- No. I'm good.
- Are you sure?
- Yes. Is it dawn yet?
- Almost.
- Thank you. Get back to sleep. - You wave brother Gilweyr away, crash back into the pillow and gather your thoughts.

Several moons passed since you had went through the city of the dead. You've been escorted to a mountain monastery and dropped off there. And then began a strange period of your education.

Most of the days go in the same manner. You wake up with the sun. After a quick breakfast you're escorted to the pilgrimage halls. Peasants and petty clerics from far and wide flock to the monastery to get a blessing or an answer, to touch a relic or a saint or maybe even enroll in one of the oldest caelic schools in the world. You came with the latter ones, though unlike them you're not only a disciple, but an exhibit. Every day you spend several hours meeting pilgrims, participating in small services, giving blessings with relics and probably by yourself as well.

You're regarded as a living ancestor, a spirit who came back to guide and protect his kin in their time of need. And the need is aplenty. Even though monastery is isolated from the world, you still get snippets of news. Eastern nomads and western barbarians, southern pirates and northern sicknesses, weakness of the Emperor and avarice of the petty rulers, rot of the ancients and tarnishing of saints, the hunger of the wilds, but most of all, the ever-gnawing threat of famine. People came to you with despair in their eyes. They asked for strength they lacked, and you
[Choose one.]
A1) gave it to them wholeheartedly. While you might not necessarily be their ancestor, it definitely wouldn't hurt to give people hope. And the rest they'll do themselves.
A2) sent them to priests and tried to stay on the sidelines as much as you could. People in need of a blessing definitely should get a proper one, not a pretense from a man who doesn't know who he is.
A3) your option.

Many pilgrims don't seem to distinguish you from other priests and their paraphernalia. With a sudden pang of disappointment you discover that you're not the only returned ancestor out there. They appear from time to time, usually from one of the larger graveyards. Some remember themselves. Some remember their language. Some don't remember anything. You're one of these. When you try to recall the past, your head still blows with pain, sometimes so hard that you pass out in the middle of the session with the pilgrims.

It doesn't matter. Church has several schools that help outsiders to join the society: heirs of nobility and barbarian chiefs, and nobles that took an oath of loyalty to the emperor, or one of his underlings, and, of course, the returned. If some of them need a special treatment, it's provided.

You have four personal guards who change pairs every other day. Few times they had caught you when you fell sick or prevented scuffles among the pilgrims. They follow you everywhere and, when your services are over, escort you back to the tenements in the back of the monastery where the majority of the clergy lives. Every day you're greeted by one of the two priests who oversee your studies, father Ardozza and father Verevieay. They command several lesser monks who teach you language, basic reading, some rudimentary geography and history and, of course, religion.

Mostly religion, actually, especially one of them, brother Pisteme, who can blabber for hours about some god which presides over a small border town, all for the glory of his majesty, of course, let his blood carry us through these troublesome times. And while you're not sure exactly where this town is, since active gesticulation by the monk doesn't really compensate for the strange absence of maps, this god, like dozens of others, mix in your mind in an uncomprehensible blur.

History wasn't really better, though the songs somewhat sway the mists of time. The world was young, the mountains green, no stain yet on the moon was seen when empire got its early sheen. Centuries pass, full of wars and gods and who knows what. Then came the glacier. It slid from the north in one giant sweep, breaking the history apart and throwing the old empire into famine and chaos. Then it lasted. And lasted. And lasted some more until it went away, leaving its shattered remains on the mountaintops and swamping the lowlands. Several old men out there still remember how the ice tongue had curled around the monastery, forcing monks to axe their way through it. These days the ice crown still grips the Midnight ridge up north, and every autumn chilly gales cover the countryside in a thick layer of icy powder long before the snow comes.

All of that is very poetic, but not very useful. You still have a very dim idea of the world out there. You hope that it changes soon. You've learned the language well enough to begin reading simple books and stop making the most embarassing mistakes. Fathers Ardozza and Verevieay visit you more often these days and you've heard that you might be allowed into a reading chamber soon.

Spoiler

[Algeid language +3, Empire knowledge +2]

Meanwhile, you spend your free evenings...
[You can choose any number of options. The more options you choose the less prominent the effect of each of them will be.]
B1) Helping pilgrims on the road to monastery. The rector had declared that every person shall bring a stone up the mountain as an offering to the gods and to help the monastery expand one of the tenements. The road is littered with stones of all sizes from pilgrims who overestimated their strength. Carrying them upwards is a good way to get your body up to shape and who knows whom you might meet out there. [+ Strength, + Endurance]
B2) Helping with the goats. Mountain goats are the source of milk, cheese, wool, skins and bones and are the main riding animal in these lands. They tend to get rowdy and smelly, but their handling is a respected job. [+ Strength, + Capriculture]
B3) Helping brother Ribbidi in the aviary. Birds are common pets in these parts, from singing jays to hunting accipiters to messenger scops. An ability to handle them is surely a sign of a well cultured young man... And you've been missing a feeling of a warm fuzzy body in your palm. [+ Dexterity, + Perception, + Aviculture]
B4) Helping in the kitchen. Not a glorious job, but someone has to do it. You'll get a first bite on all the leftovers and kitchenmaids seem to be frisky. [+ Endurance, + Presense]
B5) Working in the smithies. While tiresome and deafening, the job would surely make a man out of you. Or, at least, teach you something about making nails. [+ Strength, + Dexterity, + Smithing]
B6) Helping brother Pisteme in the arboretum. While he's able to grow only few lichens in the cold weather, he always needs a helping hand processing all the herbs he gets from the lowlands. Brother Pisteme is a known polymath and can talk about all kinds of fascinating things for hours. [+ Perception, + Intelligence, + Herbalism]
B7) Assisting petty clerics with their duties and participating in disputes among adherents of the gods. [+ Composure, + Algeid language, + Theology]
B8) Relaxing with pilgrims in the common halls. People from afar and their stories fascinate you. What better way to find out how things really are in the world? You've also seen few pilgrims playing games of dice and stones that look really refreshing. [+ Empathy]
B9) In meditation, trying to recall who you are and find the limits behind which the headache lurks. [+ Willpower, + Concentration]
B10) Talking to anyone you can find to learn about something of importance. [specify]
B11) Your option. Specify what you do and which major stats and/or skills you think it should focus on.

Technical

In case it's not obvious, we're still in intro/chargen.
It's one of the few possibilities to affect your major stats. Suppose that you're dividing 10 points equally between all the chosen major stats.
If you don't see a word among the major stats (e.g. Concentration), assume that it's a skill.
Options may have unspecified consequences.
I've also formalized the character sheet in OP. Ask me if you want something clarified.

 

[Demo.Graph]

The update definitely took at least a week.
On the brighter side, I got enrolled in PhD course and had finished dealing with other RL routines, so I should be able to post semi-regularly again.

 

[ERYFKRAD]

A2
B1

 

[Kalarion]

A2. I don't think "fake it til you make it" is the right move just yet .

Provisionally: B3, B4, B6, B9. Demo.Graph are we allowed to get a vague idea of levels of attenuation from multiple choices? Something like, "1-3 choices = very strong increases, 4-6 = mediocre, 7-10 = very low", or whatever? If not that's fine.

Bros, I have an idea for the kind of char I'd like to see. I'm thinking, a mildly dextrous, mentally talented man, who will wander the world in search of a risen ancestor that's an absolute juggernaut to mentor and turn into a paladin. We will provide guidance, counsel and planning; he will be the sword to destroy the world's corruption.

'Chu guys think?

 

[Demo.Graph]

Something like, "1-3 choices = very strong increases, 4-6 = mediocre, 7-10 = very low", or whatever?

Suppose that I'll divide ~10 points between major stats approximately equally (skills and other consequences are extra; I'll wing the results if you vote for a strange combination).

I've specified skill progression in OP, as another way to make sense of things:
"Ordinary folks get 2-6 SP per season depending on intensity of training (usually 1-2 at a main job for adults) or 8-24 SP annually. A person needs 12 years to go from skill lvl 0 to 20 at 4 SP annually."

E.g. if ERYFKRAD's B1 was the only option, I would've made it into +5 str, +5 end. It would've made a character very focused on barbarianship, since "skill lvl 8 is proficient (e.g. free use of language)" and major stats are pretty much a flat bonus. Those +5 are an equivalent of the natural talent equal to a at least a year of low-focused practice (likely more). Or, going back to the bell curve, +5 shifts the probability of success on an abstract roll from 50% to 95%.

 

[ERYFKRAD]

ERYFKRAD's B1 was the only option, I would've made it into +5 str, +5 end. It would've made a character very focused on barbarianship

Come on bros this is the way.

 

[Demo.Graph]

While we're waiting for more than one vote, I've recalled something.

Honestly bros I am completely stumped. I re-read the entire playthrough just to see if I could figure anything we could sensibly do differently. The only thing I could come up with was to follow the processional deeper into the complex, and see what happened.

As I've said, there were 6 endings (besides BAD END). To make you even more confused, here're their last sentences.

And at the moment that...
- the roar of the rapids cuts off the cries behind you...
- the great bell rings in triumph...
- you look out from behind the bars...
- warm liquid gushes into your throat...
- the body stops thrashing below you...
- you break out of the dust storm into the sky...
the edge of the sun breaks through the horizon.

 

[Demo.Graph]

Through the winter you've been helping pilgrims. The rector had declared that every person who came for a blessing shall bring a stone up the mountain to honour the gods. And the monastery would use those stones to expand one of the tenements. Many pilgrims had overestimated their strength and opted for a smaller stone halfway. The road up the mountain became littered with boulders of all sizes. And while the outskirts of the monastery were cleared by novices, the road down the slope became hard to move through. Few monks, you among them, opted to come further down the mountain to help overeager pilgrims carry their burdens.

Almost every other evening you left the gates of the monastery to dive into a cold dry air. Your guards followed you on these trips, armed and with visors down. When you've asked why, they grumbled about "that other folk" and kept hiding behind the iron.

The stories about the "other folk" or fae, as they were properly called according to father Verevieay, were aplenty. Stolen cattle, spoiled property, children tricked to their deaths. Fae, it seemed, lived in every place that had no temple of universal church and a few that did. They preyed on sickly and weak, luring them into the silliest of stories, stealing their faces and their fates. Only strong charms and blessings could keep them at bay. And constant vigilance. The most frightened peasants came from the nor-west of the Empire, the endless forests where wildlings lived. Some even whispered that they prayed to fae and, in their madness and hate for the enlightened world, were preparing for invasion.

You haven't seen any other folks yet, though locals swore that there were many of them in the mountains. When you've asked about it, fathers told you that true faith keeps fae away, but should you have some trouble, you should come to them immediately.

And so you've kept carrying the stones. You've offered your guardians to join you in a holy deed, but they whipped that you're enough of a burden for them. You've lugged and dragged through the cold until your fingers numbed and your muscles strained. But in the end you've felt as if your body woke, shaking off the sticky cold of the necropolis. And now your dinner often had another piece of meat, though you're not sure whether it was because your exertions have been noticed or because you've often was sent to the kitchen. The work was dull, but someone had to do it. On the plus side, you had an occasion to flirt with several maids, steamed and apple-cheeked from all the cooking. But while there were some curious stares thrown at you, especially when your hands began to bulge as you've been stirring the soup in the grand cauldron, it never amounted to anything personal. Maybe it was you. Or the Laelli the Elder, the matron in her late fourties who looked after the kitchen like a hawk. Or the fact that you've often was pulled out of the kitchen by one of the brothers to look after the real hawks.

Brother Ribbidi, tall and bony was like a hawk himself. He took liking to you and so you've spend many days tending to his flock in the aviary. There were hundreds of birds. The priest has been sending hawks out through the day and scops through the night, as messengers and observers. Then they returned. Sometimes with small pieces of parchment on their legs. Sometimes they've landed on a special table, where brother Ribbidi held many twigs and stones and pieces of fur, and scratched and bit some of those. Brother seemed to understand them and sometimes small groups of monks were sent after a lost goat or even more lost pilgrim. You've spent most of the time clipping claws, cleaning the droppings and mixing grain for the birds. Birds seemed to like you more than maids did and Ribbidi mentioned that he might get you your own fosterling if you learn to handle them better.

Brother Ribbidi shared you with brother Pisteme, who worked in the arboretum and provided the former with some additives for the bird feed. He also mixed many powders used all across the monastery, from cooking to ceremonies. He always needed a helping hand processing all the herbs he got from the lowlands. It was a sitting job that left your mind to wander. Maybe that's why brother Pisteme was either seen reading while his hands constantly moved over one bag or another or talked about all kinds of fascinating things for hours. He told you that monastery is named after St. Orzen, who had left the gods in disgust only to have them follow him here. He told you that rector doesn't preside here anymore preferring the warmth and intrigues of the capitol to the cold simplicity of the life above. He told you that fae are believed to be afraid of cold metal, though humans also die when they're pierced by it. He told you about gods and priests and past and future and it's thanks to him that you had caused an occasional laugh with phrases like "I'm very hungry, give food or I'll absquatulate".

He also tricked you into learning to make wicker and wooden mosaics. It began with simple tasks like "reorder the leaves there in a criss-cross manner" or "cut me those 'shrooms in squares" and ended with your mosaics on the walls of several tenements and brother Pisteme going past them looking smug to no end.

All of those duties had left you almost without free time. At evenings you crashed on the pillow and meditated on your past, but stones, herbs, bird droppings and pilgrims all swirled in your mind like in a gigantic cauldron. You always fell asleep before you could remember anything useful.

Char sheet

Physical stats
Strength 0 +2
Endurance 0 +3
Dexterity +1 +1

Mental stats
Intelligence 0 +1
Willpower +1 +1
Perception 0 +2

Social stats
Presense 0
Composure 0
Empathy 0

Skills
+ Athletics 0 +2
+ Concentration 0
+ Persuasion 0 +1

Crafts
+ Aviculture 0 +1
+ Art (mosaics) 0 +1
+ Herbalism 0 +1

Knowledges
-

Reputation
St. Orzen's tenement - ancestor, good (+1)
Imperial court - ancestor (?)

 

[Demo.Graph]

Sun rays break through the narrow slits of a window. You sit up and look around. Brother Gilweyr is asleep again. Poor fellow. He's a light sleeper. Your nighttime moans keep him awake lately and at daytime he walks into people. You decide not to disturb him and crawl out of your cell.

Monastery is already awake. You hear people moving to and fro, in the general direction of dining hall, and join them. After a quick porridge and cheese you head to pilgrimage halls for a daily service. However, today you're intercepted by father Ardozza, who asks you to visit him before the second meal. You promise him to come.

Pilgrimage halls are already getting crowded. People come in haste from the visitor wing, sometimes chewing on the move, as not to miss the first moments of the morning service. Priests and novices gather into small groups surrounded by crowds to sing the first hymn and then depart to their respective altars. You join one of the groups and stand a little on the side, in the second row, to not attract more attention than needed.

There's a momentary silence and then the bells ring from afar and monks begin to sing. You sing along, sometimes falling into the lyrics, sometimes pretending to know them. Every day the hymn changes a bit on some complex schedule and only the oldest monks seem to know all the verses. Pilgrims are listening to you all, sliding their glances upon your group. Some are singing as well, but mostly they just stare. You think that the latest newcomers somehow look more ragged than the previous ones. When the hymn reaches the top of the crescendo, some begin to wipe their eyes.

The singing is over. Both monks and pilgrims begin to move to their intended altars, the crowd tangles. You wait a bit, looking for a freer route.

You notice a woman deep in the crowd. Expensive-looking clothes, complex hairstyle... looks like one of the nobles who sometimes come to the monastery looking for truth or political backing. She stands on one place and stares at you incessantly, her face hidden by a fan. If not for that piercing stare you wouldn't have noticed her in the crowd. Your eyes meet for a moment and -

WHAM.

The novice beside you falls. Shadow flies in your face. You put out your hand, a wood hits it and bruises your temple. You punch back reflexively. Your assailant is thrown aside. You jump back and look around.

A large man in commoner clothes jumps back on his legs. There's a mountain cane in his right hand, thick and sharpened on the end. A novice lies on the floor between you. People are screaming around and are shuffling away. You think you see one of your guards running from the far end of the hall. An assailant turns to you. He's bearded to his eyes. There's a knife in his left hand.

What do you do?

 

[ERYFKRAD]

Reposition so we can take them on one at a time.

 

[Kalarion]

Take a quick look for anything usable as a weapon, and any opportunities for escape should the need arise.

 

[ERYFKRAD]

and any opportunities for escape

 

[Kalarion]

and any opportunities for escape

Physical stats
Strength 0 +2
Endurance 0 +3
Dexterity +1 +1

Not without a fight, mind you. But we're not quite barbarians yet, and for those lesser folk discretion may turn out to be the better part of valor.

 

[Demo.Graph]

The attacker roars and jumps at you, cane swings at your head. You pull back, keeping a distance. He swings again, misses again. Some novice runs at him, gets bashed, falls.

You look around quickly, grab a nearby floor candlestick and put it forward like a spear. The attacker roars and swings at you. You block his cane. Hard. He almost drops it.

People are running towards you through the crowd.

The attacker strikes with a sharpened end of his cane. You block him again. He screams "murderer" and jumps at you. The shafts crash into each other. He releases his cane and tries to dive under your weapon. You throw the candlestick at him clumsily, twitch back and fall. You see the blade of his knife fly few fingers away from where your body has been. You crash on the floor. And then something sweeps the attacker away.

You roll and pick yourself up. There's a pile of bodies on the floor. One of your bodyguards sits on top of the attacker and bashes his head on the floor splashing blood.

- Everyone stop! - It's father Ardozza with several other guards. In the sudden silence your attacker loudly spits out his teeth. - Take this man to the cellar. You! - He turns to you. - Are you wounded?

You quickly inspect yourself. There's a big cut on the hem of your robe that you've completely missed, probably from the first strike. There's no blood. You shake your head.

- Good. - He turns to the crowd. - I urge everyone to calm down. This is a house of prayer. It shall remain one. We will deal with the troublemaker. May Gods light your way.

He turns to you and adds quieter.

- I still expect you to come before the second meal. Now get back to your duties.

The service resumes, though the crowd is still visibly agitated. Today the Lampada of Elder Wisdom, an artifact that you carry on the service, gets significantly more adherents than usual. You try to be as unassuming as possible, but the people keep crowding around you. Father Bubio, a capellan of the shrine you're assigned to, visibly disapproves. You had to tie up your cut robe in a bulbous knot, it keeps getting under your arm and you almost spill the lamp oil several times. Finally, the bell rings third craft to second meal. You excuse yourself to father Bubio and get another frown from him. Going to father Ardozza with that knot looks like a bad idea, so you hurry to your cell to change.

On the exit from the Pilgrim hall, another one of your guards joins you. You exchange few words. He says that three others were called by the fathers and are probably in the cellars with the prisoner.

- Don!

The woman with a fan steps to you from a corridor. Her face is still partly hidden by an exquisite fabric, but you can see that she's young, beautiful and heavily covered in makeup. Her eyes are very blue. Your guard tenses visibly, but keeps still.

- Don! Can I speak to you from eye to eye? - She gestures to the side room she came from.

[Choose one.]
1. No.
2. We can talk, but the guard stays.
3. Yes (and try to get rid of the guard).
4. Your option.

 

[Kalarion]

2.

 

[ERYFKRAD]

2