In through the collapsed roof, flowing down a concrete staircase -- to the basement, sweeping away footprints in the dust on the stairs. And then the beach below the boardwalk, its winding tunnels... a whisper away.
Physique
Before thought effects; other dialogue conditions may apply.
711 · Voice lines
In through the collapsed roof, flowing down a concrete staircase -- to the basement, sweeping away footprints in the dust on the stairs. And then the beach below the boardwalk, its winding tunnels... a whisper away.
A breeze, like a quiet sigh, moves over you. The cool air breaks across your body. It brings the salt of the sea into your lungs.
How hard can it be? You were told she's north of the village and this place is a peninsula. Look around. West of here there are people, talking. Who could it be, you cup your ear and think?
How hard can it be? You were told she's north of the village and this place is a peninsula. West of here there are the cryptozoologists -- helping them might give you a reason to map out the place.
How hard can it be? You were told she's north of the village and this place is a peninsula. You've already mapped it out while checking the traps. So you know the place.
Walk the coast, the old boardwalk, the reeds... You can always come back here and talk to the wind again. Look where it already got you.
The wind rushes away, leaving you where you were -- on the rotting boards of the Feld Building.
And then there's the church. You look at the bell tower rising into the clouds -- a prominent place to hide, but maybe she's reckless?
And then there's the church. You look at the bell tower, rising into the sky -- you look East and remember you already searched it. And found no trace of Ruby.
Listen to the wind -- but for what? Ruby whistling? The crackle of her bonfire? Some errant whisper, or a dog barking...
First you need to tune in to the coast, get to know its residents. Then you can search where you can't enter: bunkers, storm drainage, this building here. You can always come back and talk to the wind again -- look where it already got you.
You felt it, before, when it rained in Martinaise and you felt the cold of the rain. The feeling persists. It has been in you ever since.
Suddenly, all is quiet. There is no cold hand brushing against your forehead, no rustle in the reeds. The wind has died down, or gone behind a corner? You only hear distant waves washing the coast.
THERE IS NOTHING ELSE. The thought makes your bones rattle, like the skeleton of some deserted building ready to collapse.
Trying to talk to the wind, or the city? Whatever you thought would happen did not, and now you're just standing there with your hands fallen to your side.
Trying to talk to the wind, the city? Whatever you thought would happen did not, and now you're just standing there, in the dark. With your hands fallen to your side.
Trying to talk to the wind? The city? Whatever you thought would happen did not, and now you're just standing there, in the pale of the morning. With your hands fallen to your side.