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 Posted: Sat Nov 29, 2014 1:54 am
An Ocean
Despite the balled fists pressed against his eyes, the tears still came. For all that was, for all that was lost, for all that would never be. He was too big for the room and too small to matter and no combination of cherry tart drink me or eat me currant cake would fix anything.
And so he drowned in the aoe debuff of his tears-- as they had formed an ocean-- and respawned outside, facing a reluctant door. The quest had been failed.
"Dormouse," the Door said, very disappointed, "you must try again."
He was too low level to make it through. He did not want to try again. He did not want to go "home", because going "home" was just a quick teleportation (with a two second cast) to a merry tavern that never slept.
So Leslie (/)sat. And (/)cried. And demanded, once more, that he wanted to go home, and none of the NPCs listened, because they were not programmed to, and even if they had been programmed to care, it would have been sterile and cold.
He'd been here before. And that was the problem: This was his eternal night.
But the sky above was perfectly bright and blue, and the only clouds in sight were the kind coded to roll through at a pleasing to the eye sort of speed. Behind him, the Infinite Forest was just as Infinite as it was the first time he'd been through it. And the second. And the third. And the twenty sixth.
"Dormouse," the Door said, very disappointed, "you must try again." Dialogue stuck on repeat, as long as he was within radius with a failed quest in his log. It could not do or say more than that.
"Dormouse," the Door said, very disappointed, "you must try again."
So he did.
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Posted: Tue Dec 16, 2014 1:46 am
Who's There
The weight of disappointments all around seem to follow him around. He wants so much, to get out, to go home, but.
Home feels a long way away. It's hard to remember what's even there. He gripped the hand of the child he was escorting-- a shadowy, younger version of himself-- and tugged him along to the destination.
"We're late," Leslie murmured, his tone almost fervent, "we're late, we're late, we're late. It won't do." They're not his words, but he's compelled to say them anyway, just as he's compelled to cling to this child that isn't real at all.
But at the turn in, there is no one there to collect him. Common troubleshooting steps involve abandoning the quest and starting it again. For an existential moment, Leslie looks into the glittering yellow eyes (because he is crying, of course, he is crying for that is all he knows how to do) of his childhood self.
It's only fitting, that he be the one responsible for being left all alone. Slowly, Leslie pried his fingers free, setting a different quest to be active.
"You have to stay here," he said, cold.
"But why? We're late."
"Doesn't matter. Wait here."
"For what?"
"Not for what. For who."
"When will they get here?"
If he'd just abandon the quest, the shade would disappear. If he'd just abandon the quest, the shade would stop existing in its current form. It would be reborn in the same area as before-- near the Mad Tea Party-- waiting for Leslie to come get him.
What would be worse, then?
Leaving himself behind to wait for someone who would never come, or letting himself wait forever with the promise of a potential rescue?
Black tears splattered the ground, but the shade stayed where he was put, and Leslie moved to the next zone.
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Posted: Sun Dec 28, 2014 4:10 pm
Come a Little Closer
It could be a jabberwocky or a bandersnatch, but Leslie doesn't know which. Either way, it's hot on his tail. He'd strayed off the beaten path, gotten just a hair too close to its aggro radius.
A pleasant little voice in his head chirps as red flares around the corners of his vision.
You cannot defeat this boss at your current level.
He stumbles over fallen logs and scurries around obstacles too-tall to be jumped over. If only he'd found the coin to buy himself a mount, he might be able to outrun his opponent.
The voice repeats herself, insistent, and more than a little condescending.
You cannot defeat this boss at your current level.
Thundering footsteps grew louder, accompanied by the beating of wings. Leslie ducked under a mushroom, burrowing under a pile of leaves with his eyes tightly shut. Maybe if he didn't move, it would leash all on its own, leaving him to his own devices.
But it did not.
Leslie found himself respawning at the beginning of the zone, weak and of wounded soul. He dug in his pockets, eating a delicate lace-edged cookie and drinking a sour liquid from a tiny, violet bottle.
The codex recited, more obnoxious than ever:
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun the frumious Bandersnatch.
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