The Unfolding

>>1435730

Call out in an desperate, tearful, impossibly hopeful voice,

> "Who's there?"

>>1435730
>>1435738
Sure

The knocking stops. The silence is of such terrible volume you question the noise ever being there.

The door shudders open soundlessly, seeming to respect the absolute silence. You cannot see what is on the other side.

>What do you do?

>>1435766
Walk to the door frame

>>1435770

Agreed. Let's call out in a shaky voice,

> "I-I'm not gonna hurt you, whoever you are."

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>>1435770
As you do so you casually slap your arm, looking down you see a small mosquito's compacted corpse. Which is odd, considering you're in an apartment building in the dust bowl.

What you see out the door frame is even odder. Instead of the dark stained walls of the hallway looking back at you, the floor seems to change into railway tracks, the walls replaced by trees that radiate age with the dark green of ancient life.

You stand, a dirty white tee and faded jeans -- staring.

>What do you do?

>>1435791
Reflect on why we are the last person on earth. Consider any supplies we might need and pack it. Set forth to that door with the railway.

>>1435791
Well hell, I suppose we should step out into the howling dark

>>1435802
As you stare into what by all rights should be the hallway, you consider that this is likely not the craziest thing that has happened to you.

A massive solar flare, measles/smallpox hybrid released from the resulting failed quarantine, the breakdown of global governments from the flare, the disease finishing the job... It was one fucked decade.
In less than a decade, the world was silent, the nights were surreal -- the beauty of the void unfiltered by human light. A candle snuffed out my the machinations of fate and the hubris of man.

Somehow this made more sense. You walked into the 'kitchen' of the apartment, picking up energy bars and a couple juice boxes before turning back and -
>>1435803
- stepping out into the howling dark. A faint and subtle pop, alike to the jaws of a massive beast closing softly, comes from behind you. There is no need to turn to know the doorway, portal? is gone.

You slap another mosquito.

>What do you do?

>>1435879
I suppose we walk the tracks until we die

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>>1435896
A sort of fatalism set into you, after years of searching for survivors and losing track of corpses it was hard to hold onto hope. Hard to see yourself as anything other than an aberration, the living fluke.

You walk. After untold moments you are standing in front of a crouching child. There is a board in front of it, strange pieces arrayed with alien precision. You are oddly calm about the child, so set are you on the goal of walking until death. In spite of them being the first living person you have seen in seven years.

While you could easily walk around the child you sense the game must first be played. You sit and the board was always chess, a game you are familiar with.

They take the first move, sliding a pawn forward wordlessly. You reply with your own move, the game goes strangely. It begins normally, but quickly both yourself and the child seem to be taken by emotion, making expressive rather than rational plays.

The child boldly advances their king, instead of castling, you move your rook next to their queen instead of capturing. Your pieces dance, obeying rules unarticulate.

In the end, you are lost -- checkmate.

"You play well. Follow its path." The child is gone, as with every piece on the board except for a lone white bishop. The railway stretches into the horizon in front of you.

>What do you do?

Note: I basically started this on a whim and am going to bed, but hey if there are still people tomorrow morning I'll keep going.

>>1435896

Let's hum the song, 'down the only road I've ever known'

Right so I'll be back in like 12 hours

>>1435960
Pick up the Bishop and continue walking down this railway

>>1436250
Supporting this.

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>>1436250
>>1436345
The piece is warm in your hand, placing it in an easily accessible pocket you continue down the railway. As you progress the overgrowth begins to encroach. The feeling of something wet landing on your head jerks your gaze upwards: the sky churns preparing to rain the furor of water and light upon the earth. As you gaze returns the railway is gone, you are in a jungle. The bishop burns with feverish heat in your pocket.

You sense something is very, very, wrong. Determining that your surroundings lack any sense of purpose, at least any you are aware of, you start treading through the jungle walking until you reach a small river. Standing in it is unmistakably a crane.

"It is rude to stare." You blink and it's different, color changes, feather shape, but still a crane. "Tsk, no manners. Introduce yourself."

>What do you do?

>>1436766
Be polite and compliment the crane. Reflect upon the feeling of wrongness.. what is it that put us on edge?

>>1436766
"My name is Adam. May I ask yours?"

>>1437078
>>1436994
A combination of these two

>>1437086
Yes, as long as "Adam" isn't really our name.

>>1437078
>>1436994
>>1437086

You maintain your gaze, despite the growing hollow ache in your eye. "My name is Adam. May I ask yours?"

"May, may. Yes, I should think so, but do I?" It grumbled a little and fluffed its feathers, a rainbow plumage. "Keeper of this river you may call me 'Keeper Crane'. If you must name then Ut-Su shall be I."

There is a brief silence, in which the thing before you appears to busy itself with cleaning -- as if momentarily oblivious of your presence. In it the feeling of wrongness briefly surges, you try to isolate the feeling as it slips through your mental grasp. As though you had turned left when your instincts told you to turn right.
As if some older part of you was telling you that you made a wrong turn. But then the thing was speaking again.

"Well? Why are you at my river?" It squawks.

>What do you do?

Note: I'll be back in an hourish.

>>1437169

Respect that feeling, turn around...actually, back away until the foliage conceals the crane, while taking our leave in the most polite manner we are capable of. Then use the Bishop as a sort of dowsing rod, hoping it will guide us to safety.

back, writing.

>>1437199
It hoots laughter as you excuse yourself, "soon meeting." It stalks down the river. Once a safe distance and hidden by foliadge you take out the bishop.

A single fracture runs down it's length -- it is ice cold in your hand. You attempt to use it to guide you but it's dead weight in your hands. So absorbed are you in your task that the voice behind you makes you jump.

"Need a hand?" The squat four-foot-figure speaks with the voice of rumbling earth.

>What do you do?

Note: be back in 3-4 hours.

>>1437700
Well I guess. I have no idea in hell where I am, so maybe you do

>>1437751
"Well, I guess. I have no idea in hell where I am, so maybe you do."

"Always happy to do a favour for a friend! You're not in hell yet, not quite enough sulfur." You aren't sure if he is joking.
"This is the Veil, you near Arcadia." He eyes you carefully, "look I'll be straight that bird is keeping me here. You can help
me leave and if you do I can help you out -- favour for a favour yes?"

>What do you do?

>>1438611
Agree, and ask him how long he's been here.

>>1438611
Ask why the bird is keeping him here. Prisoners are kept in prison for a reason, whether good or bad.

>>1439329

"Alright." You'd spent so long wishing to have anything to talk to, weird way to get your wish. "How can I
help you leave? and why are you a prisoner here?"

"We lost a war against the Cranes. Turns out I was pretty good at my job, so good they kept me around.
As for how you can help me..." Walks over to a thick vine constructing a nearby tree, and plucks an
inconspicuous stone off it. Roughly palm-sized, the side facing away from you in inlaid (pic related).

"Go to the Crane, give this as a gift to cross. I'll meet you on the other side for my side of the bargain."

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>>1440632

>>1440632
Ominous asf.
I like the ape better tho, give the crane the stone. On the way back, see if other vines have similar stones, and if those are also marked.