Just finished catching up. This is so well written! It helps that this quest is incidentally laser-aimed at my interests. Me love fish women! Me love disco! 🦈❤️
Update should be up later today, there's just a couple extra dice I need to roll first.
I've been working as a substitute special education paraeducator basically full-time, and it's... pretty exhausting, even though the kids are usually great. Writing tends to use the same brain points as social skills, so I've not had much lately. This update's been sitting in my drafts since I was distracted by AGDQ, and then Library of Ruina was on sale, and there's always Minecraft and Factorio...
[X] Farah seems friendly, and knows some of the local language. Try and get some information about where you are...
-[X] ...directly, sharing what you can. Admit to your amnesia, and the few things you can remember that you can share with outsiders, see if she knows anything of use. [Medium Empathy Check - 83.33%]
Medium Empathy Check - 83.33%
Target Value: 10 Your Result: 2d6+5+0 = 12
Success
Farah flits around the party, chatting with the others in their "Sargonian" language in between tearing bites from her slab of meat.
Savoir Faire [Easy: Failed]: You follow her around cluelessly. To the rest of the party, you probably look like a confused domestic animal. One of the small fluffy ones, with a deceptively large amount of teeth.
Finally, she settles down on the side of a dune, and nods toward the ground next to her. She does not take time away from her dinner to speak.
Subsistence: We follow her lead. Our teeth shatter the charred outer layer and tear strips from the tender inner flesh. It is a satisfying morsel.
Sensation: The difference in texture makes for a pleasant contrast, but it's lacking a bit on its own; it would be well accompanied by an astringent wine. Perhaps some smoked spices, or-
Subsistence: Or a second steak. Which, unlike these imagined morsels, we have at hand. Its flesh is as delicious as the last.
Concurrency [Easy: Failed]: Your focus on the meal is absolute. You take your time to savour every bite, pulling scraps of flavours from the fog of memory to complement it.
Finally, you finish your meal. Farah has been eating hers at a more measured pace, and finishes shortly after you.
"So," she says, "what brings you out here? Are you a bounty hunter? A Messenger? Where did you learn to fight?" She's practically bouncing in place, staring at you with undisguised curiosity.
Empathy: You take a moment to compose yourself. You aren't about to dump the weight of your whole history - or rather, its absence - on this girl you've barely met.
Sensation: Not without a few real drinks in us, at least.
"I have no idea," you say, carefully enunciating the still unfamiliar words, "I don't truly remember anything before I woke up in the beach this morning. There's a couple feelings, bits and pieces of home, but even then..."
Bonds of Blood: You know who you are, and who your comrades are; but are there words that could describe this certainty? How could you convey the sea's allure to these creatures of the land?
"Home is Aegir," you eventually say, "but I don't really know what it was like."
"You're an Islander?" Farah seems excited. "I've only heard stories, I-" Her expression droops after a moment. "I suppose I can't really ask you about it, huh."
She gives you an awkward pat on the shoulder.
"It's not islands," you say on reflex, even though you can't really follow up on that. "It's, uh..."
Encyclopedia [Medium: Failed]: You make a few gestures with your hands that even you don't understand. There's a word for Aegir's seafloor colonies in Aegirian, but you're at a loss to communicate it in Iberian.
"Well, when your memory comes back, I'll ask you then." She smiles brightly. "So! Welcome to Sargon! Or Iberia, I guess. Or neither?" She shrugs. "I don't really get the politics. But it's a Lord Ameer from Sargon who's paying us, so I should probably say it's Sargon?"
Discipline: Petty kings vying over territory; such things should be consigned to history. Have their rulers no higher purpose?
"Oh," she says, after you realise you'd said that out loud, "the Lords Ameer are always like that. Boss says it's good for business, and I guess it is, but I wish business wasn't places like..." she waves a hand, highlighting the empty dunes, "this. And with fewer originium slugs, but you took care of that!"
She holds up a hand, fingers splayed.
Empathy [Medium: Success]: A gesture of cameraderie. You match the gesture with her own hand.
She slaps your hand with hers. You barely feel anything, but she seems satisfied.
"So," she begins, a sly look on her face, "if you really don't know anything, I guess you'll want anything I do know?"
Logic: She's up to something. Nothing serious, but something.
You nod, eyebrow raised.
"Mum used to travel around a lot for work, so I've got so many stories, and everyone else's all tired of them! So, she's from RIM Billiton - that's a company, but it's also a country, out east..."
She keeps talking, naming nation after nation, city after city. She hasn't been to most of them, but she has a wealth of factoids and stories about each, some of which are probably even true. Once she really gets into it, you only know about one in three of the words she's using; enough shows on your face that she stops occasionally to re-explain things.
Encyclopedia [Challenging: Failed]: It's overwhelming, almost a physical weight on your mind. Even in your scraps of memory, you've only ever really known one nation, united under one purpose.
You let yourself flop backwards onto the sand. The sky is a gradient of colours, deep purple fading to red as bright-burning gold vanishes behind the horizon. Even the scattering of light is different here, imperceptibly smooth compared to the dancing radiance of the sun beneath the sea.
You're very far from home... but you're still here. That'll do, for now.
Objective Complete: Figure out where you are Perspective Revealed. Current Perspective 2/2.
Eventually, Farah has to stop to take a breath. She looks you over, and a sheepish look sweeps onto her face. "Oh, sorry! I probably went on a bit too long - are you okay?"
You're fucking tired, you say, Aegir words slipping through before you remember who you're talking to.
Farah chuckles and gives you a look. "I think I know what one of those means." She wiggles her middle finger.
Some things are beyond language. You begin a nod, but as you finish, you find your head falling back and your eyes drooping shut. With sand in your hair, food in your belly, and the distant smell of salt on your breath, you fall swiftly into slumber.
Unlike your long time adrift, your sleep is not dreamless.
What do you dream of?
[ ] Friends.
[ ] Enemies.
[ ] Yesterday.
[ ] Tomorrow.
[ ] War.
[ ] Peace.
I'm not treating Iberian as 1:1 to Spanish, but I'm bringong over the fact that "on" and "in" are the same word. This means Farah doesn't comment on Betta waking up in the beach, and makes a few assumptions from that.
If this were a Cthulhu game, Perspective would be your Sanity, but not just your Sanity. Perspective is your understanding of the world and your place in it, and is damaged when you encounter things that don't fit into that understanding - or when you act in ways that set you apart from it. If you run out of Perspective, you'll lose touch with reality completely - which won't end well, even if it's not necessarily a "game over".
Of course, being too in touch with reality has its own dangers, especially when your reality is Terra. Like Vitality, Perspective has two caps: a soft cap equal to your Logic, and a hard cap equal to Logic plus Sensation.
If Perspective exceeds Logic, it transforms to Dreadful Perspective. Like Surging Vitality, this comes with both benefits and penalties, and will result in an unfortunate fate if it ever exceeds the hard cap. It will return to normal Perspective when it drops below Logic.
If you'd missed the composure check, you'd actually have started with 3/6 Dreadful Perspective.