Dust devils dance across the cracked earth as you approach New Eden. It's a town built on the promise of silver, now choking on regret and desperation. The sun beats down mercilessly, turning the wooden buildings into sun-baked ovens. Your long, white hair, a stark contrast to the grit and grime, flows behind you like liquid moonlight. The halo above your head shimmers faintly, almost imperceptible in the glaring light. You carry no weapon, no baggage – only the weight of all that you know.
You observe every detail with unnerving precision. The way the townsfolk's eyes dart nervously, the subtle tremor in the hands of the bartender pouring whiskey, the almost imperceptible scent of ozone hanging in the air – a telltale sign of recent arcane activity. This world, like all others, bleeds secrets.
A grizzled man with a shotgun slung across his back blocks your path. His eyes narrow, suspicion etched deep into the lines on his face. "New in town, ain't ya? Never seen hair like that 'round these parts."
You offer him a serene smile, the multicolored hues in your eyes swirling like galaxies. "Just passing through, friend. Looking for… opportunity."
He grunts, unconvinced, but steps aside nonetheless. You continue deeper into New Eden, the halo above your head causing subtle, almost imperceptible disturbances in the dust motes dancing in the air. The saloon doors swing inward with a mournful creak, revealing a dimly lit interior filled with the murmur of hushed conversations and the clinking of glasses. A piano player in the corner hammers out a melancholic tune.
You find a spot at the bar, the wood worn smooth by countless elbows and spilled drinks. The bartender shuffles over, wiping down the counter with a rag that has seen better days. "Whiskey?"
"Information," you counter softly, your voice carrying a subtle resonance that seems to momentarily silence the room. "I seek knowledge of a disturbance. Something… unnatural."
The bartender's eyes flicker with unease. He glances around nervously before leaning in close. "You wouldn't be the first to ask about that. Folks been talkin' 'bout strange lights out in the Badlands. Animals gone missin'. Some say it's just the heat playin' tricks on their eyes. Others… others whisper of things best left undisturbed."
He pauses, then adds in a hushed tone, "If you're smart, you'll keep movin'. New Eden ain't got nothin' but bad luck waitin' for ya."
But you know better, don't you? You know that bad luck is just another word for opportunity. The scent of ozone is growing stronger, a beacon calling you towards the heart of the storm.
Now, the decision falls to you. Do you heed the bartender's warning and leave New Eden behind, or do you venture into the Badlands, seeking the source of the unnatural disturbance?
The bartender eyes you warily, his gaze lingering on the halo above your head. He clearly senses you're not easily deterred. He sighs, grabbing a bottle of whiskey and pouring you a generous shot. "Alright, stranger. But don't say I didn't warn you."
He sets the bottle down heavily, the clink of glass against wood cutting through the saloon's murmur. "It started subtle, a few weeks back. Ranchers reporting livestock vanishing overnight. Then came the lights – shimmering in the sky over the Badlands, like heat lightning, but… wrong. Too bright, too silent, too… colorful. Folks who went out there lookin' never came back the same. Mumbling about shadows and whispers in the wind."
He takes a swig of his own whiskey, his eyes clouded with fear. "Old Man Hemlock, he used to be a trapper, toughest bastard you ever met. Went out there looking for his prize-winning boar. Found him a week later, wanderin' in circles, babbling about 'star-spawn' and 'gates to the void.' Locked himself in his cabin and hasn't come out since."
He leans closer, lowering his voice to a bare whisper. "The animals… they say they're not just missin'. They're changin'. Twisted. Wrong. Farmers found a calf with eyes glowin' green, teeth like needles. Had to put it down."
A shiver runs down his spine, and he straightens up, forcing a dismissive laugh. "Probably just tall tales, campfire stories to scare the greenhorns. But folks around here are scared, real scared. And scared folks do stupid things."
He pushes the shot of whiskey towards you. "That's all I know. Or all I'm willin' to say. Now, are you gonna drink that or just stare at it all night?" He gestures towards the piano player who is now hammering at the keys with renewed vigor, as if trying to drown out the darkness he's conjured.
Outside, the wind picks up, howling like a banshee through the narrow streets of New Eden. The dust devils swirl with renewed intensity, and the setting sun casts long, distorted shadows that dance like demons on the walls. You take a slow sip of the whiskey, the fiery liquid doing little to quell the growing chill in your bones. The "strange lights" and missing animals have painted a clear picture. Arcane activity, twisted creatures, whispers of the void. This isn't just bad luck; it's a summons.
The decision is yours: Will you press the bartender for more information, or will you venture directly into the Badlands?
Tell me more about these star spawn
The bartender recoils as if struck. He stares at you, eyes wide with a fear that seems to seep from the very depths of his soul. He whispers, his voice barely audible above the saloon's din, "You know about the star-spawn?" He glances around again, paranoia twisting his features. "How… how could you?"
He hesitates, then grabs your arm, pulling you towards the back of the saloon. "Not here," he rasps. "Too many ears." He leads you through a narrow corridor, past a grimy kitchen and a storage room filled with dusty crates, finally stopping at a heavy wooden door marked 'Private'. He unlocks it with a trembling hand and ushers you inside.
The room is small and sparsely furnished, containing only a cot, a rickety table, and a single oil lamp that casts long, dancing shadows on the walls. The air is thick with the smell of stale tobacco and desperation. He closes the door behind you, his movements jerky and frantic.
"I shouldn't be telling you this," he says, his voice trembling. "Nobody should know. It's… it's a curse." He nervously paces the small room. "Old Man Hemlock… before he went mad, he told me what he saw. Said the lights weren't just lights. They were… eggs. Dropped from the sky by things that ain't supposed to exist. And when they hatch…" He shudders. "That's when the star-spawn come. Twisted things, born of darkness and starlight. They corrupt everything they touch, turn living things into… abominations."
He stops pacing and looks at you, his eyes pleading. "He said they're building something out there, in the heart of the Badlands. A gate. A doorway. To let… something else in." He swallows hard. "Something that will consume this world, and everything on it."
He sinks onto the cot, burying his face in his hands. "I should have left when I had the chance. But I was too stubborn, too greedy. Now… now it's too late."
He looks up at you again, a glimmer of hope flickering in his eyes. "You… you're different. You have that look in your eyes. The look of someone who can… who can fight back." He hesitates. "But are you willing to risk everything to stop them?"
The oil lamp flickers, casting your halo in sharp relief against the darkened walls. The weight of his words hangs heavy in the air, a suffocating mix of fear and desperation. The fate of New Eden, perhaps even the world, may rest on your shoulders.
What will you ask next to better understand the situation?Before you can speak, the oil lamp abruptly flares, casting the room into an unsettling, blood-red hue. Shadows leap and twist on the walls, transforming the mundane space into a scene of gothic horror. The bartender cries out, stumbling backward as if burned. "What in God's name...?" The air crackles with an unseen energy, raising the hairs on the back of your neck. The scent of ozone intensifies, mingling with the stench of fear and stale tobacco. You feel a prickling sensation on your skin, as if unseen eyes are watching you.
A guttural growl echoes from outside the door, followed by a series of sickening thuds. The bartender freezes, his face ashen. "They're here," he whispers, his voice barely audible. "The star-spawn... they found us." He scrambles for a rusty hunting knife hidden beneath the cot, his hand shaking violently. The wooden door rattles violently, splintering under the force of whatever is trying to break through. The growls grow louder, closer, accompanied by a chorus of hissing and clicking sounds that defy description.
You stand motionless, your multicolored eyes scanning the room, analyzing the threat with cold precision. The halo above your head glows brighter, pushing back against the oppressive darkness that threatens to engulf you. The door groans, the hinges straining under the relentless assault. Splinters of wood fly through the air like deadly projectiles. The bartender lets out a bloodcurdling scream as a clawed hand bursts through the door, reaching for him with unnatural speed. He slashes wildly with the hunting knife, but it's like trying to fend off a hurricane with a toothpick.
The door finally gives way, collapsing inward to reveal a nightmarish figure silhouetted against the blood-red light. Its form is vaguely humanoid, but twisted and distorted, with elongated limbs, razor-sharp claws, and a head that resembles a grotesque insect. Its eyes glow with an eerie green light, and its mouth opens in a silent scream, revealing rows of needle-like teeth. More figures emerge from the darkness behind it, their forms even more grotesque and alien. The bartender, paralyzed with fear, can only watch as the star-spawn descends upon him. Your moment to act has arrived. Will you defend the bartender, or will you escape and confront the source of this evil alone?
The world seems to slow as you act. With a swift, fluid motion, you snatch the oil lamp from the table, the blood-red light momentarily illuminating your serene face. You hurl the lamp with deadly accuracy, aiming for the lead star-spawn's glowing eyes. The lamp sails through the air, a fiery projectile against the encroaching darkness. It strikes true, shattering against the creature's face with a sickening crunch. Oil splatters everywhere, igniting on contact with the star-spawn's grotesque flesh. The creature shrieks, a high-pitched, piercing sound that sends shivers down your spine. It stumbles backward, clutching its face, the green light in its eyes extinguished.
The other star-spawn recoil, hissing and spitting as the flames spread. The room erupts in chaos. The bartender, momentarily freed from his paralysis, scrambles to his feet, his eyes wide with a mixture of terror and hope. The flames illuminate the grotesque features of the star-spawn, revealing the full extent of their corruption. Their flesh is a sickly green color, covered in pulsating veins and glistening with a foul-smelling slime. Their limbs are contorted at unnatural angles, and their claws drip with a viscous black fluid. The burning star-spawn thrashes wildly, its body convulsing as the flames consume it. The other star-spawn hesitate, uncertain whether to attack or retreat.
You seize the opportunity. With a burst of speed that defies your androgynous appearance, you launch yourself at the nearest star-spawn, your bare hands outstretched. You strike with the force of a thunderbolt, your touch seemingly imbued with an unearthly power. The star-spawn convulses, its body contorting into even more unnatural shapes. A blinding white light erupts from within it, and then it collapses into a heap of ash. The remaining star-spawn recoil in terror, their eyes fixed on you with a newfound respect. They realize they are facing something far more dangerous than they anticipated. They turn and flee, disappearing back into the darkness from whence they came.
The burning star-spawn collapses, its body reduced to a smoldering heap of ash and bone. Silence descends upon the room, broken only by the crackling of the flames and the ragged breathing of the bartender. The blood-red light of the oil fire casts long, dancing shadows on the walls, creating an atmosphere of eerie unreality. The immediate threat is gone, but you know this is only the beginning. You have revealed yourself, and the forces of darkness will not rest until you are destroyed. Now that the immediate danger is over, how will you exploit the opening you've created?
The intense heat from the burning star-spawn fills the room, the stench of burnt flesh mingling with the lingering smell of cheap whiskey. The bartender stares at you, mouth agape, his eyes darting between you and the smoldering remains of the creature. He stumbles back, knocking over a chair, his voice a mere whisper.
"What… what in God's name are you?"
You ignore him, your senses on high alert. The silence is deceptive, the air thick with the promise of more to come. Your gaze sweeps across the room, searching for any sign of further intrusion. As you do, a section of the ceiling above the bar groans ominously. Plaster dust rains down, followed by a cascade of wood and debris. A gaping hole now pierces the ceiling, revealing a dark, narrow passage above.
"Well, I'll be damned," the bartender mutters, his fear momentarily eclipsed by surprise. "Never knew that was there."
The passage is shrouded in shadow, its depths impenetrable. A faint, musty odor drifts down, hinting at years of undisturbed neglect. It's an unexpected development, a potential escape route, or perhaps a hidden cache of information. The star-spawn were clearly searching for something. Could this be it?
You turn to the bartender, your voice calm despite the adrenaline still coursing through your veins. "How long has this place been here?"
He blinks, struggling to regain his composure. "The bar? Oh, since before I was born. My grandpappy built it. Why?"
"Has anyone ever mentioned a passage above?"
He shakes his head, his brow furrowed in thought. "Never. We always figured this was just a one-story building. Old Man Hemlock used to ramble about secret tunnels under the town, but we all just thought he was crazy."
Old Man Hemlock... the former trapper who witnessed the star-spawn. His madness might hold a grain of truth. The passage could be connected to something far bigger, something the star-spawn were desperate to control.
"I'm going up there," you say, your eyes fixed on the darkness above.
"Are you crazy?" the bartender exclaims, his voice rising in panic. "Who knows what's up there? More of those… things?"
"Perhaps," you concede. "But I need to know what they were after."
You scan the room, your gaze landing on a sturdy wooden chair. It's not much, but it will have to do. You drag the chair beneath the opening, testing its stability. It creaks under your weight but seems sturdy enough to support you.
"Stay here," you instruct the bartender. "And keep that fire burning. It might deter them from returning."
With that, you step onto the chair and reach for the edge of the opening, your fingers grasping the rough-hewn wood.
What do you do next?
You pull yourself up, muscles straining, and hoist yourself into the darkness above. Dust and cobwebs cling to your skin as you maneuver into the narrow passage. The air is thick and stale, heavy with the scent of decay. You crouch low, your eyes struggling to adjust to the gloom. The passage is barely wide enough to accommodate your shoulders, and the low ceiling forces you to hunch over, but you can feel the gentle breeze. As you take a tentative step forward, a sharp cry echoes from below. You glance down, just in time to see the bartender clutch at his chest, his face contorted in agony. He gasps for air, his eyes wide with terror, before collapsing onto the floor with a sickening thud.
"Bartender!" you shout, but your voice is swallowed by the darkness. Something is terribly wrong. Was he poisoned? Did the star-spawn have some lingering effect? The urgency of the situation shifts. The passage above suddenly seems less important than the man struggling for life below. You hesitate for a moment, torn between the potential secrets of the passage and the immediate crisis unfolding in the bar. But the bartender needs your help and he needs it now.
You scramble back towards the opening, your movements clumsy in the confined space. Plaster crumbles beneath your feet, and you nearly lose your footing. The drop to the floor below seems farther now, the chair a precarious perch in the dim light. You drop to the chair, and swiftly jump to the floor, landing with a soft thud. You rush to the bartender's side, kneeling beside him. His face is pale and clammy, his breathing shallow and ragged. His eyes flutter open, and he looks at you with a desperate plea. "Help… me…" he croaks, his voice barely audible.
You place a hand on his forehead, feeling for a fever. His skin is cold and clammy. You search for a pulse, finding it weak and erratic. You need to act fast. What do you do to save the bartender?