The Scribe
Player meets Scribe within a Limbo, the link between
Worlds. Last shelter for those, soon to be vanished…
Stiffened at his young age, though eyes possess wisdom
of an aged... How long does he dwell here? Ages? He turns his head in a
strange, birdlike gesture… You admit the ill hue of his skin, eyes full of
tears… He protrudes his face on you and
opens his glimmers unnaturally wide. You feel like a pair of black pearls gazes
at you…
-
Ta – Wit, Hoo – Hoot… Oh my… Died for nothing? Ke
– Ke… That’s a pity… Hoo… And those who close to you? DEAD! Ke – Ke – Ke! Hoot.
Well… At least you done with everything… Ta – Wit, How do I know? Oh I know…
See these books? Everyone’s here! Hoo – Hoot…
He extracts a White Writing Feather from the depths
of his robes, and gently puts the tip of it in his mouth. He fall in to his
mind for a few moments, but then recalls himself…
-
Hoot… Your name? Date of Birth? Current Age? Hoo
– Hoot… What else? He turns his sight on you… Face spreads with the most graceful
smile - Any luggage you carry?
You put your hand in the inner pocket of your
jacket and feel the disturbing coldness of the Simple Brass Watch. You pull it
out and peer at the Cracked Glass. It shows 20:00
-
How long have I been here? You ask… But there’s no
one to answer…
You Acquired: White Writing Feather
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