@TheDerek

hello

Can you link me your character brief again

Just link it here. XD.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1Wnky-LFsMHsyxOPt5-fLvQesSeSvX795CLl2kTocRgw/edit

The one with your backstory. :P

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1Pmp8g3rO_DaWR5J-D4vfolNEnuhcmigQH5Jj9LNHD18/edit

How materialistic is Richard?

he's a college student that works whenever he isn't in school.
he can't afford to be materialistic

How strong would you say Richard's sense of curiosity is?

fairly strong

hence why he finally caved in crossing the river

How eager to try new things is Richard?

routines are tedious, if he had a good reason to break from routine he would

so yes to new things

Time seems to slow down as the ice-cold cascade of the river closes over your head, your hair whipping about in the current, your feet digging into the loose sediments at the riverbed. You feel the current tugging at you, pushing you down. Your lungs burn, but your body impels you forward. Your mouth opens and the cold water rushes in, driving the warmth from your body. Your vision blurs at the edges, bubbles gurgling from your throat. You fight to maintain your consciousness, but it is a fight you will not win. You fade. The world goes black.

When you come to, you're in another place entirely. As you pick yourself up off the floor, you feel it under your fingers. It's smooth. Slick. Without blemish. You can feel a faint layer of moisture on the stone, and can smell the damp, clean notes of air from the riverbank. The only light that enters the room comes from the gap between two curtains ahead of you, an angry reddish-yellow brightness that falls in a single beam upon a stone pedestal. A small golden fruit levitates two inches above the pitted stone surface, glinting in the light as it bobs up and down in the air.

Richard scrambles to his feet, panting and touching his body. the sensation of what should have been his demise being fresh in his mind as he looks around the new environment. impossible and weird... so just par for the course over the last few weeks.

Richard considers his surroundings, making note of the most obvious thing in the room. a floating golden fruit... thats bait... but he was probably already dead as it was. so...

Taking a lesson in self control, Richard decides to walk past the fruit for now, attempting to peak out the curtians that light the room.

Your footsteps echo dully in the empty room as you approach the curtain. You find that it is impossible to see through the light. The darkness around you is too deep. The light is too bright.

"of course... Not sure what I was expecting." Richard turns away from the curtain, and takes a long time to consider the fruit. on the one hand, obvious trap of some variety. on the other, it was the only other thing in the room.
Richard takes a few moments, pacing... but as it happens, curiosity killed the cat.

Richard reaches out for the fruit

A quiet breeze stirs through the room as the darkness around you deepens. The bottom hem of the curtains sways from the motion of the wind. The light pulses almost insistently. The fruit, no larger than a plump cherry, gleams ever so enticingly. Your turn your head, and you can hear voices in the ghostly whisper of the draft winding through the room, caressing your skin with its cool, dead touch. Desire to pick the fruit from its pedestal stirs in the pit of your stomach, like a slimy worm twisting in your gut.

Richard pauses, taken aback by the many magical warning signs that tried to deter him from this action. of course that would happen. of course the magic or whatever that made up this place was trying to deter him from grabbing the fruit it was also tempting him to get.

everything about this situation was painting with vibrant red warning signs... and yet there he stood with his arm still outstretched.
no. this weird fantasy doesn't get to put this in front of him and try and shove his hand away. common sense screamed in his ear as he reached forward to finally take the fruit in his hand. he had already drowned today, what's the worst that could happen

Your fingers close around the small golden fruit. Its surface is covered in a slick, oily substance that stains your fingers, making them shimmer with a rainbow iridescence in the angry reddish-yellow light. You can smell the sweet, delectable scent of the fruit from this close, but at the same time you can feel a tarry black malice under its flesh, pulsing almost like the beating of a sinister heart. Your earlier desire to touch the fruit curdles into a twisted, horrid craving to eat it. (I'm having you make a roll after this one.)

== GAME TEXT ==

Make a Discipline or Cool check

Hard difficulty

I'm giving you one boost and two setback dice

!r g2 y1 b1 p3 k2

!r g2 y1 b1 p3 k2

(edited)

@TheDerek, results:

1 1

== END GAME TEXT ==

You regard the fruit for a moment, your insides in turmoil, your conscience screaming at you to stop, your desires, twisted and growing with every passing second whispering a sweet siren-song in your ear. You want to eat it. But you know it's a bad idea.

The eagerness, the joy, the ecstasy that you can feel thrumming through the malice in its beating thoroughly unsettles you just enough to make you hesitate. It's sufficient to break the spell. Intense revulsion courses through you in that moment, your instincts to fight or flee kicking into full gear.

The fruit leaps from your hand and back onto its pedestal, the golden sheen of its surface taking on an angry reddish-black iridescence. An angry ear-piercing shriek blasts from it, making your ears bleed and turning your insides to mush. The curtains slam together, plunging you into a deep, eternal, lightless void.

Almost as bad as drowning
a last thought as pain overtakes Richard, bringing him to his knees in the blank and empty darkness.
he wanted to scream, but what would be the point. it was his stupid decision. his decision to swim. his decision to reach out. Curiosity was turning out to be a dangerous thing.

but what now. what of poor Richard? to sit in pity for a black eternity? that simply would not do. ears ringing, insides turning inside out... there was no staanding. But he could crawl. Crawl he would. the direction didn't matter, just as long as it was away.

Bright sterile light floods your vision as you drag your knees across the unseen floor of the void. It flickers, sparks raining down on you from the ceiling in hot embers that drag across your skin. You hear a loud pop as a fluorescent lamp above bursts, raining shards of hot glass onto your back.

Behind you, your right foot gets caught in the legs of a student desk turned on its side. You are in a classroom, of sorts. It seems familiar. But then again, they all look faintly the same. But you can tell you're at a university. Which one, you have no idea. The logo on the wall has been scratched to shit, and what parts are whole are covered by a menacingly reddish-black growth of webbing.

Ink stains the floor. Papers strewn about soak it up, but there is always more. More. More. More. Dripping from between the panels in the ceiling, from around the broken light fixtures, making them spark and burst. The door out of the classroom is opened inward. It barely hangs by a single rusty hinge. It squeaks with every movement of the air.

In the hallway beyond, you can see the same flickering of the lights. But you can hear the sound of squeaking, like chalk being used on a black board, and the rustle of text being erased. (edited)

the change is jarring... but in a way welcome. as abysmal as the surrounds seems, it was better than being trapped in a literal abyss. the fresh sensation of a shower of sparks and falling glass breathes unexpected life into Richard, reminding him of his time in the mechanics shop. a little shower of sparks was nothing.

the change of surrounding brought on a fresh wave of the curiosity that had served him so well thus far... but what was the alternative? Lay here passively among the fluttering papers, falling ink, and sparking lights? no. there was more to be seen, more to do. a good step would be in getting up. grabbing the side of a nearby desk, its slow and laborious work but slowly he pulls himself up. resisting a wave of nausea and ignoring the threatening cracking of the desk as it protested his weight, Richard pushes himself to the nearest wall. the effects of the earlier outburst were still fairly fresh, but he was managing to work through them.

Sliding along the wall, Richard goes towards the source of the sound of someone using a blackboard.

Your first steps to steady yourself are met with the crunch of black crystals under the heel of your foot. You look out into the hallway and make your way past the broken door. You look up and down into the classrooms that line the corridor. The sound is ever-present, but each room is empty, filled with scattered papers, broken pens, and flickering lights.

"Not going to make it easy on me, are you?" Richard speaks his sarcastic remark to the air around him, convinced that someone, somewhere is listening and probably enjoying the show.

with a grunt of considerable effort, Richard pushes away from the wall, wobbling a bit before finding balance again. a moment to regard himself... bleeding from the ears and covered in ink stains? looked as bad as he felt, nice.

Seeing little alternative, Richard continues to wander, looking for anything that stands out and occasionally making a bit of noise or a quick whistle to see if it garnishes any attention

As much as you try to find the source of the sound, you cannot find it. But your wanderings eventually take you to an exit. A set of double doors emblazoned with a bright red "EXIT" sign.

slightly annoyed at finding nothing to sate the itch of his curiosity, Richard regards the exit for a long while before shrugging and continuing forward to attempt to push through the door.

You push the door open. The moment that you do so, you hear the sound of a bell tolling. The deep, resonant bass notes make your body, your bones, your very soul tremble.

As you step outside, into a grey lifeless city, into the driving, ice-cold rain that claws at the walls of the university that you have emerged from, you know where you have to go: the crumbling edifice of the cathedral that looms over the centre of it all.

(And Scene.)