You Died.

GO TO:

THE OLD MAN’S HOUSE
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THE LADDER
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START OF THE CAVE
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SOMETHING FLOWERY
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SOMETHING EARTHY
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YOU SHOULD ROB HIM. GRAB WHAT YOU CAN AND MAKE FOR THE HILLS!
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THERE’S SOMETHING ABOUT THIS GUY. LET’S SEE WHAT HE’S ABOUT
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FOLLOW THE OLD COOT UP
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PULL THE LADDER FROM UNDER HIM
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GO LEFT
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GOTTA BE RIGHT, RIGHT?
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“What have I…?”

You collapse to the ground, shaking and foaming at the mouth. Poisoned by your own selfish act.

Your steps slow. As your head begins to spin.

*What is that… What am I feeling?*

You try to swallow but a strip of sandpaper’s replaced your tongue.

WHOA…

Ignoring the old guy’s objections, you bolt for the door. As you run through the forest, it’s a struggle to hang on to everything you grabbed, but you manage okay. Dried herbs crackle and snap between your elbow and ribs.

A smell wafts up from the innocent looking plant. Pungent. Sour.

A little…

Shoving the old man aside, you snatch up whatever you can get your hands on. Pots! Vases! Herbs! (Maybe rare and valuable.) The old man cries out.

UC calls up from the trap door. Poor kid. You wanted to help him, but this has all just been too much. Time to go it alone.

UC appears through the hole and closes the trapdoor behind him.

“They call me The Sage,” the man says, bowing gracefully despite the hot kettle, three clinking cups, and two jars of tea leaves juggled in his hands. “I have waited many years to meet you.”

“Now, what kind of tea would you like?”

And where his clothes had appeared ragged and torn, in the cheery cottage, you see clothing that has been lovingly—if not altogether competently—home-spun-and-sewn, then patched again and again over years of wear and comfort.

“Just in time!” the man says over a steaming kettle. “How ’bout some tea?”

*He’s not scary at all,* you think, motioning UC to come up.

His hair and beard, chaotic and wild in the dark, now it’s adorably unkempt. Eyes lost in shadow & impossible to read, now seem warm pools of copper.

Spicy-sweet aromas find welcome in your nostrils.

The space is pleasantly cluttered with books, drawings & scrolls, jars of mysterious liquids & bowls of brightly-coloured powders.

The old man stands at a hearth, facing the other way.

Nothing happens. Hissing through your teeth, you open your eyelids.

You’ve popped through the wood floor of an adorable cottage. Silver motes dance in soft golden beams streaming in through the windows. Every inch of every wall is decorated with hanging herbs and vegetables.

You make it to the top. With a last deep breath, you raise your head through the hole.

You’re struck suddenly, excruciatingly

by a gleaming curtain of sunlight.

You squeeze shut your eyes and raise your arm defensively.

“Wait here,” you tell UC.

This stranger seems nice, but he’s still strange; what if he’s planning some kind of ambush?

“Sure!” UC grins. “Hey, what do you think is up there?”

You hurry for a while, but soon slow. *Too dangerous to run,* you think. Too easy to trip or smack your head against an unseen stone. *Wouldn’t that be stupid.*

Your eyes begin to adjust to the darkness. In the soupy gloom you make out a split in the tunnel.

The instant the light goes out, you kick the ladder away. The geezer cries out as he topples.

“Run,” you shout to UC. Grabbing his wrist you race away down the cave.