Elyden CYOA

I love choose your own adventure (CYOA) stories, which I originally experienced with the Fighting Fantasy books by Steve Jackson and Ian Livingstone. Whenever I see a revivial with an IP I like, I always sign up for it (I’m currently awaiting some H. P. Lovecraft based ones - can;t wait to get them!)  

I’ve been toying with making my own versions for Elyden. I had actually made a sprawling once ages ago for an ‘Escape From Carceri’ which became too convoluted for its own good and was abandoned and later lost to a hard-drive failure :( though I’ve always wanted to go back and try a more constrained version - choose your own short stories. The episodic nature of the stories make them easy to  write, and needn’t be too sprawling or difficult.

I’m currently writing a short version as a proof of concept, more than anything else. Once it’s done I’ll upload a PDF to see what the feedback is. If it’s popular enough I might make a longer one, which will include a map that updates with your progress and will have lots of options for worldbuilding.

Here’s an excerpt of the one I’m writing at the moment:

Another rainy day. 

     The bodies here think nothing of it. It permeates their clothes and skin as it does the steel and concrete of their buildings. It’s a way of life here. 

     You hate it. Can’t get used to it. After life in Venthir, with its hot humid summers and short winters with scattered showers, you’ve always preferred the sight of cloudless skies. 

     Not that you’d have much chance to see the skies in this abominable city anyway - you look up, expecting to see grey clouds pregnant with rain, but instead are greeted by towering blocks, wrought iron walkways and skypasses, and vaulted bridges that cover half the streets. Desite all the man-made cover, the rain still finds its way down to the streets below - through girders, drainpipes or just crawling down the rusted and moss-encrusted walls.
     And it’s damn cold too!
     You sigh, your breath steaming, as you pull the collar of your heavy leather coat up.
     “What’s taking him so long?” you mutter, under your breath. The package under your coat is uncomfortable and you can feel every pair of eyes you pass scrutinising you. 

     You’ve brokered various deals for House Eratramea now, mostly the exchange of manufactory bonds, mercantile charters on behalf of the larger Houses or the Republic, or mortgages. You’ve heard rumours that the House is also involved in less reputable deals, but if that’s the case you’ve never been part of it.

     But there’s something about this deal that has you on edge. 

     This part of Seven Bridges is far from the respectable cafes and restaurants where plied your trade so far. Though hardly a disreputable area, there’s something about it that seems… off. 

     Named after the many bridges that converge, linking different levels of the many-tiered city together, it is known for the many staircases and walkways that dominate the architecture. The labyrinthine roadways have a reputation for attracting certain transactions that, should the need arise for a quick getaway, have many readily available exits making pursuit difficult. The cage-runners born in the district know every underpass, bridge, staircase and tunnel by heart and can outrun anyone without breaking a sweat.

     You are not a cage-runner, and though the year you’ve spent in Almagest has given you some degree of familiarity with the city, you are far from acquainted with this district. 

     Looking around, you are at an intersection between two large bridges, in the middle of which is a monument surrounded by a handful of licenced vendors. The bridges themselves are flanked by small apartments and businesses that obstruct your view over the edge. The north leads to a descending staircase that forks to the left and right. The east road peters out and ends in three vaulted alleys that branch away. The west road leads to a dead end dominated by a dross* station. The southern road bifurcates and ends in a tangle of back-streets you’re unfamiliar with. All paths contain enclosed staircases that lead to lower levels of the city.

     A woman is suddenly standing in front of you - a grey skinned face is turned towards you, steely eyes rimmed in black looking down at you behind a pair of rimless glasses. Like you she is huddled under a heavy woollen jumper and leather duster. “You from house Eratramea?”

     You nod, reaching into your jacket. “Salisa?”

     The woman nods.

     “You got the bits?” you say, referring to the Almagest currency.

     She reaches into her pockets and removes a leather folder. You can see the bulk of notes inside it as she opens it - 

     A bang, flash and puff of smoke, and the woman is falling to the ground. 

     You barely have enough time to register the gunshot before you are staring down the barrel of said gun.

     “I’d hand over the papers if I were you,” rasps a hooded figure, its face hidden beneath a balaclava.

Do you:

- hand over the papers?
- attempt to flee?
- try to overcome the assailant?
- try to talk it out?

* DROSS: artificial slurry made up of vegetable and meat by-product (including cattle, grains. human meat and Atramental additives) that is pumped across large cities and fed to the masses.