SNOWBOUND -- An Original Interactive Story, Pt. 5
Welcome to SNOWBOUND, a new interactive fiction story on Steemit.
Did you miss the first installment? Click here to find out what the hell is going on.
We return to our intrepid protagonist drifting in the infinite void within Death's Domain.
>And everywhere death went I followed. Sure it might not seem like sound logic, yet when your mind touches the void something funny happens. You can almost feel the fabric of interconnectedness touching all things. The illusion of separation has melted; it
ERROR in line 276: Character Limit Exceeded
Memory Address 0x00F119 returns NULL value
Aborting . . .
The door swings shut and dematerializes. As you wait patiently for Death to return, you remember the Collection of Notes in your pocket. You pull them out and take advantage of the down time to do some investigating. The papers are worn and the ink is cracking in places, no doubt a result of what appears to be considerable age. You begin reading the first note curiously.
"On my usual rounds today I discovered an ailing man collapsed in the snow. His breath was shallow and he was barely conscious. I hoisted him upon my shoulder and traveled with him back to my house. I laid him upon my bed and stoked a fire upon the hearth. I tended to him as best I could, but he was too far-gone for what assistance I could offer to be of any help. I attempted to coax from him some information, but he was delirious. He could not remember his name, nor even from what village he had come. All he could tell me was that he was a traveler, and something about a record that I did not understand. I felt pity for this man, and so, to spare him from a painful and drawn-out death, I used on him my innate ability.
After I did so, I felt a great awakening within me. I have long felt a tugging in my heart -- a yearning for knowledge that seems to pull from even beyond myself. I have been told that this is the voice of God within me, calling me to communion with Him. Until now, I had no more understanding of the prompting than this; however, I now understand more fully. The record that the traveler had spoken of -- I believe it is a repository of information, like a library, only infinitely more vast. Somehow, I think this traveler had come from thence. He must have been possessed of an ability to travel to and fro between the world and this record. I feel the kindling of such a power within myself since I communed with him, but I do not know yet how to make use of it. I will need to meditate on it some more, but I may have finally found the means to seek the communion with God that I have for so long desired. As it is already becoming late, I will begin this meditation to-morrow. I will keep track of my progress within this journal.
May God gift me with the knowledge and wisdom that I seek.
~March the 6th, 1728"
Your curiosity is only growing as you read. Perhaps the "record" in this note is the Akashik Record that Death spoke of. And the author of the note -- who might he be? He speaks of a power not unlike your own; could there be others with the ability to 「COMMUNE」? Yet it seems you may not receive the answer to that question, as, given the age of the note, its author must long be dead by now. Perhaps you might learn more if you read on.
However, as you flip to the next note, Death rematerializes in front of you.
I am afraid the consensus of the Forces is that you must be terminated. My apologies.
Death swings his scythe.
You have been obliterated.
Game Over
>load sbsave1
You feel the pain of existence flooding back to you.
Death leads you aside to an empty room. Not a room devoid of stuff, but a room devoid of space. You consider asking about the possibility of getting some grub, but think it's best not to overstay your welcome. Death assures you that he will return momentarily and blinks out of sight. As you contemplate the existential quandaries of non-existence -- or, perhaps, as they contemplate you -- a door opens in front of you and a face pops out.
"I'll bet you won't be making that mistake twice. Don't drag your feet this time. We've got a lot to talk about."
The face retreats and you quickly follow after it.
You find yourself back in the corridor. Doors stretch out for as far as you can see. Your mysterious visitor and apparent savior is a ways off already, walking briskly. He stops to open a familiar door, then motions for you to follow before walking through.
"Second Chances! My favourite. This is even better than whatever bland grub Death would serve up for dinner, and definitely better than a slice of that scythe!" * follows apparent savior *
I slam the door on that scythe happy bastard, and quickly lock it in place with a chair. I reach into my pocket to read another note. It’s dated 1976. It appears to be stained with either blood, or wine. As I begin to read something odd happens...