Here is the opening scene of the NaNoWriMo project I’ve been coauthoring with Matthew Marchetti. It’s a medieval choose-your-own-adventure inspired by Eldritch Horror. To learn more about the writing end of the project, check out this post. We didn’t finish the story—it will be quite expansive—but NaNoWriMo gave us a good start:
A stranger came into the laboratory today. You’re writing in your notebook between crossed-out recipes for a madness remedy. A flickering candle illuminates the page. You’re in the loft of the barn you rent from Pierre, the barn you call your laboratory. You can see Pierre’s house through the window under a black, starless sky. That’s strange: you didn’t notice any clouds today, but did you even venture outside? Days are hard to keep track of. That’s why you started this diary.
You write, He had a silky, red robe, trimmed with black fur, and a hat like an upside-down funnel. I can’t help wondering if he’s one of those wizards I’ve heard about. Somberly, he asked, “Mr. Marowitz, has your alchemy ever touched upon powers beyond this world?” How did he know my name? At first, I said “no,” but then I told him about the vision I had under the influence of an experimental tonic, the vision of a chaotic, evil abyss. You shiver at the all-too-clear memory. Your brain has had no inclination to sleep since that experiment.
The stranger had taken the vision seriously—that was a first—and had asked specific questions about it. You wonder what it could all mean as you work on a big batch of Drunkenness Cure, your best-selling elixir. Though you haven’t succeeded in conjuring gold, your elixirs and tonics fetch plenty of it.
You’re a gangly, pigeon-toed man, Franz Marowitz, with big eyes and bigger eyebrows. You have messy, black hair with bangs of gray. It’s not the gray of age but the result of the noxious fumes rising from your beakers. After catching your beard on fire one too many times, you’ve become the only clean-shaven man in the entire country of Drehymar.
You reach for the lime oil, but your hand finds empty space. You move your candle to look. Didn’t you put it right there at the corner of the table? As you search for it in the flickering candlelight, you notice other bottles out of place. Not that they have a place. You’re not the most organized alchemist, but you’re always here; raw familiarity is usually enough to work with a single candle. You’ll have to wait on the sun.
You decide to double-check your latest recipe for the madness remedy, but you can’t find the right page or, perhaps, the right notebook. What a nightmare! You’re crafting the remedy for your best friend, Anastasia; by dawn, you think you might need it for yourself.
Gray light beams through the windows instead of the fresh blue of most mornings. You still can’t find the lime oil, so you’ll have to buy more. At the door of the barn, you glance back. There's a bottle at the corner of your work table. It looks like the lime oil. You shut the door. It can’t be.
“Morning, Claude!” you call to the baker, passing him on the dusty road.
The tower of a man stops and stares at you. He’s usually so friendly. What’s he doing out here at this hour? Shouldn’t he be busy in the bakery? More things out of place.
The other residents of Haylswood ignore you as you pass or offer passing greetings, but that’s normal. You grab the doorknob at the mercantile. It’s locked. That’s not normal. You step back. This isn’t even the mercantile; it’s a house. Either you went the wrong way or a whole building is out of place.
Looking around, you see the inn across the street—where it should be—and you see Anastasia in one of the rocking chairs on the porch. Anastasia relaxing? Not feverishly busy with her ever-changing projects? You never thought you’d see that.
If you search for the missing mercantile, go to 1.
If you investigate the out-of-place house, go to 2.
If you approach Anastasia, go to 3.
I hope you enjoyed the scene! This story is a joy to write, and it’s going to be a blast to read. It might be a couple of years, though.
