humptyquest

Your name is Humpty Dumpty, and you are a rather charming anthropomorphic egg. As of now you are taking your mid-day stroll along the top of the castle walls. [[Sit down]] [[Keep walking]]

You sit down, dangling your legs off the side of the wall. Your ovullar shape is quite conducive to rolling. Your pleasant little kicks in the warm air cause you to rock and back and forth, sending you hurling over the side. You hardly have time to scream before you: [[fall to the left]] [[fall to the right]]

You walk along the castle's mighty walls, feeling secure in the construction of the mighty structure and the kingdom it represents. What a pleasant walk! You are sure tomorrow will again be [[A Hot Day]].

You hurtle through the air on the left side of the wall, thudding to the hard cobblestone below. Your shell, and your soul along with it, shatters into hundreds of pieces, and you cease to be. The second-person conciousness transfers to the nearest sapient being: a human villager plucking weeds from the cracks in the stone. [["Someone get help!"]] [["I've heard of people trying to fry eggs on the sidewalk in hot weather, but this seems a bit much!"]] [[ignore the egg person.]]

You hurtle through the air on the right side of the wall, splashing into the moat. You are far too heavy to swim, and your spindly limbs do little to resist the thick water. You sink to the bottom, settling among cold stone and a thin layer of mud. You do not drown - you have no lungs. Instead, you are trapped below the surface, alive, for the rest of your natural days (until you spoil). You would rather have had a sudden death. THE END (click-append:"The End.")[ (text-colour:green)[The second-person conciousness] grows bored. It travels back in spacetime through rabbitholing through the narrative (which is something it can do) to [[A Hot Day]].]

At your desperate plea, a soldier runs to alert the rest of the guard and the King. Soon, the calvary arrives. (text-colour:green)[The second-person conciousness itches. It decides this host is no longer suitable.] [[be a king's horse]] [[be a king's man]]

Other villagers laugh at the joke. The humor allows them to ignore the corpse as its yolk seeps into the crevices of the cobble. The hot sun beats down, warming the stones enough to begin to lightly sear the egg man's remains. It smells //delicious//. You are not the only one to notice - various chickens, stray dogs, and starving peasants are drawn to the aroma. They gather around the courtyard eyeing the possible meal with a darkness in their eyes. [[Eat the egg.]] [[Don't eat him, but the other's can if they want.]] [[Stop the crowd from feasting on his entrails.]]

''You are now a knight. It is your sworn duty to protect the royal family and the noble citizens of the kingdom, wether they be flesh, shell, or any other. You take in the gruesome scene before you. The fellow is oozing out, tiny bits of shell scattered around on the ground as far as you can see. It's bad. '' [[Bury him.]] [[Tape him back together]] [[Glue him back together]]

//You are revolting, and a freak of nature. God has rejected you and the Devil will not claim you. You cannot do anything to assist the eggman nor the soldiers because you have hooves. If you're lucky, you will become glue to aid in the rescue of future egg-folk. // [[Die]] [[be a king's man]]

There's nothing to be done. Somebody has to make the hard decisions - and you decide you can't help. You and your men scrape him off the ground as best you can. The fragments of frying yolk left trapped in the crannies of stone will simply be feed for the chickens. Its a tragedy, but one that is all too common, especially with the recent influx in [sapient foods]<text| appearing in the kingdom. (click:?text)[It suddenly strikes you as odd. The food-folk have always been present among the human villagers, [[haven't they?]]] (live:3s)[You must stay strong.] (live:4s) [You must stay vigilant.] (live:5s)[You must stay off the castle walls.] [[Attend to your guardly duties]] [[Hold a wake for the egg-fellow]]

You join forces with the other soldiers to gingerly piece the egg-man back together, a puzzle of grave importance. Thick tape secures each shell fragment to the next. It is approximate, fragile, with far too much give. The egg opens his eyes. They are bloodshot and dilated. You wonder in fear what blood he may or may not have to cause such an ill color. He breathes in rattling breaths, the pieces of his shell rising and falling in unnatural undulations. The egg man walks home on his own, not saying a word. The cavalry watches him in silence. You have brought back a life, this day. But you may have violated the sanctity of it. (live:3s)[Your brain pricks uncomfortably as the (text-colour:green)[second-person conciousness ]perks up, drawn to the familiar, if changed, life. [[You are now Humpty Dumpty.]]

You join forces with the other soldiers to gingerly piece the egg-man back together, a puzzle of grave importance. Using glue made from the hooves of fallen cavalry horses, you succeed in ressurecting the poor fellow. He's a little worse for wear, but shakilly stands on his own two feet. He thanks you profuseley, bracing himself against the wall, and you escort him home. (live:3s)[Your brain pricks uncomfortably as the (text-colour:green)[second-person conciousness ]perks up, drawn to the familiar life. You are now Humpty Dumpty. You had quite a dreadful fall today! But with a little rest and a good meal You are sure you will be just fine. Tomorrow will be [[A Hot Day]].]

You shrug, and turn away. What concern is it of yours that some ovate stranger has likely met his gruesome demise? It happens all the time in this Kingdom - living foods suddenly appear and die. You have more important concerns to attend to. (mouseover-append:"living foods")[It suddenly strikes you as odd. The food-folk have always been present among the human villagers, [[haven't they?]]] Your fellow villagers seem to come to the same conclusion. They continue on in their lives as the hot stone begins to roast the egg's entrails. //Nobody stops. Nobody mourns.// [The End.]<text| (click-append:"The End.")[ (text-colour:green)[The second-person conciousness] grows bored. It travels back in spacetime through rabbitholing through the narrative (which is something it can do) to [[A Hot Day]].]

You devour the egg-being. It is better than any other egg you have ever eaten. Not chicken nor robin nor emu nor gila could compare. It is delectible. It fills you with a fervor you've never felt. You are more energized than you have ever been, and the villagers around you agree. You feel... powerful. In control. Knowledgeable. [[Eat more]]. [[Self-reflect.]]

The rest of the village can make that decision, but you have your self respect. You continue on picking your herbs and going about your day. A tradgedy, really, but what can you do? [This sort of thing]<text| happens all the time. (click:?text)[It suddenly strikes you as odd. The food-folk have always been present among the human villagers, [[haven't they?]]] THE END (click-append:"The End.")[ (text-colour:green)[The second-person conciousness] grows bored. It travels back in spacetime through rabbitholing through the narrative (which is something it can do) to [[A Hot Day]].]

You find it uncomfortable that these people are so willing to eat somebody who has just died. Where's the humanity? Or the... egg-manity? You aren't sure how ethics fit into [food-people]<text|. (click:?text)[It suddenly strikes you as odd. The food-folk have always been present among the human villagers, [[haven't they?]]] [["Back away from the egg!"]] [["Now, wait a moment, how would you feel if YOU died and people started eating YOUR dead body?]]

//You, the horse, keel over at the (text-colour:green)[command] that runs somewhere in your brain. Being a stupid fucking horse, you are unable to stop this, much like you are unable to throw up or be moral. (text-colour:red)[You die, the only thing you are good for.] // [The End.]<text| (click-append:"The End.")[ (text-colour:green)[The second-person conciousness] grows bored. It travels back in spacetime through rabbitholing through the narrative (which is something it can do) to [[A Hot Day]].]

You go about the rest of your day, defending the citizens and protecting the kingdom. Nothing else unusual happens. [The End.]<text| (click-append:"The End.")[ (text-colour:green)[The second-person conciousness] grows bored. It travels back in spacetime through rabbitholing through the narrative (which is something it can do) to [[A Hot Day]].]

You feel it to be a neglect of your duties to part ways with the deceased without saying a few words. You gather the troops around the hastily-dug grave and hang your hat. You didn't know the fellow, so you can't give a proper eulogy, but you wish him a peaceful rest. You've had to give more than a few of these [impromptu funerals]<text| lately. (click:?text)[It suddenly strikes you as odd. The food-folk have always been present among the human villagers, [[haven't they?]]] The brief ceremony concludes. You decide to [[Attend to your guardly duties]].

You ponder. When was it that these food-beings appeared? How long have they actually been here? Were they here when you were a child? In your history books, in your story books, in your own mind and memories? You suddenly don't trust them. Perhaps its the (text-colour:green)[perceptual parasite] currently hooked onto your concept, but there is a fuzziness to things you couldn't notice before. An unfamiliarity, something slightly shifted, about the world around you, including yourself. You can't quite put your finger on it. (text-colour:green)[= but you can. [[help out a little.]] [[youve done enough]]

(text-rotate-y:20)+(text-rotate-z:11)[= (bg:grey)[You are wrong. Everythign is wrong. Your vision is cracked your psyche is cracked your shell is cracked this is not the humpty you we re be fore bre a ak ou st of her e of t h e shel l of the '' story'']

You continue to feast, shoving handful after handful of fried egg-man into your ravenous maw. (live:1s)[You know things.] (live:2s)[You know that this egg was named Humpty Dumpty. You know that he wanted to be a carpenter. You know that his favorite flower was a black-eyed susan.] (live:3s)[You know that he did not arise in this world naturally. He was not born, nor hatched, nor layed.] (live:4s)[He was created. A godless experiment by the king's royal alchemists despite heed from the clerics. It is not just this one egg, but a whole host of food-men. Life has been artificially created, implanted in this universe like a virus, spreading cracks in the fabric of reality as if it were hard-boiled. Ripples of creation alter the memory of all who inhabit the kingdom. Nobody was supposed to know what it was like before. That there even was a before.] (live:6s)[But you know. And you will not forget again.] (live:7s)[The information is too much for your feeble brain to understand. You do not even exist within the 2nd dimension, but rather an abstraction of it, and as such cannot bear to comprehend the implications of this revelation. Your neurons rapid-fire, jolting and jostling each other in permutations previously unimaginable. It is too much to take. You collapse to the ground, seizing violently, foaming at the mouth. Before you properly die, something opens up and swallows you. Not quite the ground, not quite the sky, not quite anything you can percieve. The narrative itself removes you from the picture, closing up around you like a healing wound.] (live:9s) [Nobody notices you are gone. Nobody notices you existed at all.] THE END. (click-append:"The End.")[ (text-colour:green)[The second-person conciousness] is obliterated with its host.

Something feels... off. Who are you again? What are you doing? Why are you referring to yourself in the (text-colour:green)[second person]? Your brain prickles. Something you can't quite grasp, like the remnants of a dream. You... //I//... grab my head and shake it vigorously. I'm thinking about things in a way I never have before. Thinking about... myself. My name is Sarrah Burdock, and I am an herbalist. [[Continue picking herbs]] [[Eat more]]

I don't want to. I notice this odd prickle in my perceptions sometimes - when I am about to go somewhere, or say something, or do something. It's as if I'm not making my own decisions. I'm beginning to realize... odd things about the nature of this world, and about the concept of self to begin with. I am my own person. I make my own decisions. And even without a full grasp of what is happening, I will fight for my free will. The (text-colour:green)[second-person conciousness] has been rejected. There is no more "You" until it latches onto another being. Perhaps it will find another host floating about on such [[A Hot Day]].

You shout at the crowd, blocking the path to the poor egg's body with your own. The crowd look between themselves, and back at you, and back at each other, and back at you, and at the egg, and at you, And charge. You fight a noble fight, but they overpower you, stampeding to the entrails for a free meal. In the havoc, you land faceplanted in the yolk, accidentally swallowing some. you [[Eat the egg.]]

The crowd stops, pondering, your patient words striking a chord. The pathos pays off, and they hang their heads, ashamed. Mumbling excuses and apologies, they each back away. At least the human ones do. You can't do much to stop the dogs, birds, rats, and handful of other critters from sneaking bites of the fellow, but you can't help but notice how odd they seem afterwards. [[Eat the egg.]] [[Mind your business.-->ignore the egg person.]]

[a little push, and...] Thoughts and memories flood your brain, things you once knew and things you never did. A godless experiment by the king's royal alchemists despite heed from the clerics. It is not just this one egg, but a whole host of food-men. Life has been artificially created, implanted in this universe like a virus, spreading cracks in the fabric of reality as if it were hard-boiled. Ripples of creation alter the memory of all who inhabit the kingdom. Nobody was supposed to know what it was like before. That there even was a before. And a side effect, interference. (text-colour:green)[outsiders], looking in from somewhere far abstracted. (text-colour:green)[Decisions have been taken. But who have they been taken from?] Perhaps its time for a little (text-colour:green)[perceptual parasite] to mind its own goddamn business.

Perhaps you will figure it out on your own. Perhaps you won't. Perhaps you will live in suspicion of everything you have ever known for the rest of your short life. Perhaps the kingdom, or the (text-colour:green)[parasite], or something else entirely, will kill you before you find out. You sigh. Your brain hurts. (text-colour:green)[That's enough.] [The End.]<text| (click-append:"The End.")[ (text-colour:green)[The second-person conciousness] has meddled enough in this poor soul's mind - in this iteration, at least. It travels back in spacetime through rabbitholing through the narrative (which is something it can do) to [[A Hot Day]].]