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[Tomasque]

Solemn Seaside

 The ground is now sand under your feet, and you can see the waves in the distance, glittering in a million ripples under the starlight. On the northern and southern sides of this narrow shore are sheer cliffs, which run all the way to the ocean. Between you and the waves, however, seems to be a disturbance of a sort: A huddled group - FISHERMEN, by the looks of their clothing and the ship on the shore - sit by a sputtering fire. They watch, spellbound, a pair of strange FIGURES standing in the surf. The one closer to them is man, but looks like no man you have ever seen before. His skin is whiter than a pearl, and his hair is bright crimson. His lips - crimson as well - are moving, but the words they form you cannot understand. He is holding hands with the other figure - a woman - who is laughing at the crowd before her. She looks very much like the speaking man, but her hair seems slightly less red, and her skin less bold in its whiteness. She even looks... familiar. This unnerves you, but so does the fact that no one - not the dumbstruck group, nor the bizarre pair - is moving except for the latter’s lips to lecture or laugh. Even the breeze seems to be frozen in the moment, and the scene - strange as it is - is solemnly beautiful...    ...You snap out of your thoughts. Though you feel unwilling to look away, you know you have things to do. If there is nothing here to help you on your quest, you should stay no longer, and return down the little-trodden footpath to the EAST.

 POEM: Unknown
>_

[Tomasque]

Bump

[TD1]

Poem: A Call of the Sidhe, Russell.

[Tomasque]

Solemn Seaside

 The ground is now sand under your feet, and you can see the waves in the distance, glittering in a million ripples under the starlight. On the northern and southern sides of this narrow shore are sheer cliffs, which run all the way to the ocean. Between you and the waves, however, seems to be a disturbance of a sort: A huddled group - FISHERMEN, by the looks of their clothing and the ship on the shore - sit by a sputtering fire. They watch, spellbound, a pair of strange FIGURES standing in the surf. The one closer to them is man, but looks like no man you have ever seen before. His skin is whiter than a pearl, and his hair is bright crimson. His lips - crimson as well - are moving, but the words they form you cannot understand. He is holding hands with the other figure - a woman - who is laughing at the crowd before her. She looks very much like the speaking man, but her hair seems slightly less red, and her skin less bold in its whiteness. She even looks... familiar. This unnerves you, but so does the fact that no one - not the dumbstruck group, nor the bizarre pair - is moving except for the latter’s lips to lecture or laugh. Even the breeze seems to be frozen in the moment, and the scene - strange as it is - is solemnly beautiful...    ...You snap out of your thoughts. Though you feel unwilling to look away, you know you have things to do. If there is nothing here to help you on your quest, you should stay no longer, and return down the little-trodden footpath to the EAST.

 POEM: Unknown
>Name A Call of the Sidhe
 Incorrect.
>_

 ((Good try, and cool poem!))

[TD1]

((Ah, drat. If it's not him, I have a feeling it has to be William Yeats. He loved the Sidhe, but for the life of me I can't remember a poem that suits ))

[Tomasque]

((Ah, drat. If it's not him, I have a feeling it has to be William Yeats. He loved the Sidhe, but for the life of me I can't remember a poem that suits ))

Don't worry if you can't guess a lot of the poems early on - it doesn't hurt you as much as you think. Anyway, what'll you do now?

[TD1]

Interact with audience, maybe? If that's possible?

> Greet audience member

[Tomasque]

Solemn Seaside

 The ground is now sand under your feet, and you can see the waves in the distance, glittering in a million ripples under the starlight. On the northern and southern sides of this narrow shore are sheer cliffs, which run all the way to the ocean. Between you and the waves, however, seems to be a disturbance of a sort: A huddled group - FISHERMEN, by the looks of their clothing and the ship on the shore - sit by a sputtering fire. They watch, spellbound, a pair of strange FIGURES standing in the surf. The one closer to them is man, but looks like no man you have ever seen before. His skin is whiter than a pearl, and his hair is bright crimson. His lips - crimson as well - are moving, but the words they form you cannot understand. He is holding hands with the other figure - a woman - who is laughing at the crowd before her. She looks very much like the speaking man, but her hair seems slightly less red, and her skin less bold in its whiteness. She even looks... familiar. This unnerves you, but so does the fact that no one - not the dumbstruck group, nor the bizarre pair - is moving except for the latter’s lips to lecture or laugh. Even the breeze seems to be frozen in the moment, and the scene - strange as it is - is solemnly beautiful...    ...You snap out of your thoughts. Though you feel unwilling to look away, you know you have things to do. If there is nothing here to help you on your quest, you should stay no longer, and return down the little-trodden footpath to the EAST.

 POEM: Unknown
>Name A Call of the Sidhe
 Incorrect.
>Greet audience member
 You speak to one of the FISHERMEN, but receive no reply - or even acknowledgement of being heard.

[TD1]

>East.

[Tomasque]

Old Road

 The road is no longer paved this far from the city, for few people travel this way. The roadside taverns have been replaced by autumn trees and the towering northern mountains. There is little to do here, except keep going EAST or WEST.

 POEM: Unknown
>_

[TD1]

>East

[Tomasque]

Festive City

 The city is alight with fireworks and the stars above. The streets are crowded with revelers, and stalls spill out as far as the eye can see. People shout and cheer, and their laughter washes over you like an endless ocean. Though the sights and sounds are truly breathtaking... you cannot stay here. You push through the crowds to get to the less crowded streets, and though you cannot see them, you remember the paths from here: To the NORTH, you know lies a path, now leading nowhere. To the WEST, a road to a place you’ve never gone. To the EAST, the king’s own palace stands, no doubt delighting in more merriment. Finally, to the SOUTH lies the Great Desert.
 >_

 POEM: Unknown

[TD1]

> East

[Tomasque]

Silent Hall

 This room is decorated with beautiful tapestry and dining tables laden with food, but its occupants seem to notice none of it. Instead, all the guests are whispering in low voices to those around them fervently, but too quiet for you to hear. Every once in a while, one glances at the far end of the room, where there sits an empty throne and - beyond it - an open doorway, leading EAST. Many present seem not to mind the air of unease, but a few excuse themselves and walk down the length of the room to leave the palace through the exit to the WEST.

 POEM: Unknown
>_

[TD1]

Poem: Beowulf. ((Bit of a long shot, really.))