#synopsis

FEATURES SO FAR:

✦ Play as the last in line of the Storykeepers and decide whether to preserve the stories, rewrite them, or destroy them altogether. Choose to be play as a female, male or non-binary Storykeeper.

✦ Solve an array of fairy-tale mysteries and attacks.

✦ Choose between preserving stories or rewriting them.

✦ Walk the line between Light and Dark magic.

✦ Shape the destinies of heroes, villains, and monsters alike.

✦ Romance a cast of fairy tale-inspired characters.

✦ Uncover hidden lore, ancient magic, and dangerous secrets.

✦ Determine the future of Briarmere—and every story within it.

Instantly the pace changes. The scene whips around with sickeningly jolting motion as you turn, though the fear fog created beast you've all come to name Big Mac is only in frame for some split seconds before you immediately turn away and begin to run. Your feet struggling to lift and run on the soft sand dampens the bobbing of the ‘camera’, though it does nothing against the frenzied swings of motion caused by your eyes darting between every nearby stretch for an escape. You keep looking back to the rocky wall hiding the Grove a short ways away, but you can’t stare for very long as you keep stumbling across the sand, flinching as your attention keeps being dragged back to the creature furiously closing in with swipes of claws and furniture that you haven’t already knocked over in your scramble flying. A catch of those claws on a tree sends it toppling with a sharp splintering crack, and though you’re not in its trajectory you scream, vision and creature obscured by arms throwing themselves in front of your face as you succumb to freeze instead of flight.

▓ ▶ ▓ BCH.SEC.CAM.1 ▓ 

The screen cuts to the fixed camera angle of CCTV security footage. In the corner is a timestamp from twenty or so seconds prior to the cut. Leof stands alert on the beach where the attack began, his phone in hand as he warily inspects one of the ruined palms. He goes to type, but barely has a chance to start before the timestamp catches up and a scream is heard from further away. Leof drops his phone in favor of drawing the sword at his hip and sprints out of view.

And then you are you again, arms still blocking the scene in front of the camera. It’s only when there’s a loud thwack, the sound of growling turning into a pained and angry roar, and an unmistakably human grunt of exertion that your arms lower and reveal Leof in front of you and the monster now reeling from taking a pommel to the head in front of him.

He rights the sword in his hand, slashes the monster across its chest, and looks over his shoulder with a simple command.

“Move, ▓▓▓▓▓▓ — now!”

He doesn't have to tell you twice. The command takes hold immediately and the point of view lurches away from Leof; dipping to your hands scrabbling to push you back up as you turn and topple slightly with the speed of doing so. Again your attention focuses on the wall that hides the grove, and this time you rush for it: a call of “Here-!” tearing loose as you frantically stuff yourself among the rocks into the hidden entrance, camera needing to duck slightly. Your vision plummets into pitch black as you head through the tunnel, accompanied only by the gasps of your own breath.

▓ ▶ ▓ BCH.SEC.CAM.2 ▓ 

Cut. A new angle of CCTV footage shows Leof retreating from the beach towards the grove entrance. He looks back and forth with uncertainty between it and something out of frame before slipping through the crack.

Back to eye level. The Grove bursts into soft light, the glow of its blues and purples still enough to break through even the washed out tape of this footage. But you turn to look at the cavernous darkness of the passage you just followed, Leof emerging shortly afterward and exiting into the corner of your eye as you both wait with baited breath for some ticks of that haunting timestamp— until a high-pitched scrapeeeeee rings out that could only be claws against rock. 

Then again. Again. Some scuffles from down the passage that feels impossibly long yet all too close, ear splitting scrapes ringing out with varied length and volume. This continues for long enough to know the creature on the other side isn’t going anywhere, at which point Leof speaks up in frustration.

“Fighting it in here, I cannot guarantee you the room for a clear path back to the exit. Even if I could–”

A strained whimper leaves you at Leof’s admission. Your hands pat yourself for your phone, but you think better of it; there’s not enough time. 

“And we can’t- w-we won’t be able to just- run past, right? I- sh-shit, I’m sorry, I- I got us stuck, i-it got me when I ran away last time, I thought- I-I thought hiding-” 

Finally your eyes tear away from the dark entrance to look around the Grove, now seeming even more claustrophobic from Leof’s assessment. Faster and faster, searching its solid walls and the furthest corners and up the gazebo’s structure—

Your hand fumbles to tug at Leof’s sleeve. 

“If we- if we trapped it that would be- th-that would be enough room, right? To- t-to hit it or get out or- if we knocked the gazebo down with it under, I- I th-think we could cut it down ready-” 

“Just tell me what to do, and I will do it,” Leof cuts you off, facing the camera with a look of visible, implicit trust.

The shaky camera is in full swing as you run for the gazebo, flung about in your hurry to reach it and look between all the different connectors to its wooden beams up above and standing on the ground. But it doesn’t take long to get the measure of it, and soon you’re reaching to smack your hand off the end of a high up beam. “N-not all the way through-!”, you warn, and you snatch your hand back so it can be replaced with the end of a clean swing of Leof’s sword: one neat cut through the wood, leaving the beam poised ready to break with one topple against that thin sliver left. 

You do not have time for a second. At the other end of the Grove the scrapes are getting louder and louder, and a glance to the entrance shows exactly what you feared beginning to strain and force itself against the Grove entrance: long claws curling and scrabbling around the edge of the door.

“Shite–” The view whips back to Leof, though he’s already a blur after his curse; hands and something silver jostling past and into you abruptly. “Ye’ll have to finish the rest!”

Your eyes dip to your hands flailing to work their fingers into holding what’s just been passed to you: the handle to Leof’s sword, the man himself darting away. You watch him run towards one of the seats, an anguished “Wait-!” ripping loose from you before it can be held back— but there’s no time for more. The sword comes to a fumbled halt.

Your own efforts are much shoddier, the frame repeatedly jostled as you grip the sword and do your best to take it to the other beams you spotted: hack— hack— hack, each impact needing to repeat as the wood and your lack of knowledge on how to use this blade fights against any hope of as clean a cut as Leof’s. Between each one your gaze darts to him, every time with a panicked whimper even as Leof continues to hold his ground and pushes one of the cots back into the beast’s claws with force, feet holding fast in the dirt.

“DONE-!” 

There’s no hesitation after you call, diving for a place to try to be out of the way.

It’s hard to fully make out everything that happens next. From where you’ve ducked out of the way, the camera of your eyes captures the erratic struggle that ensues the moment Leof drops the cot that has been keeping the monster out. The screen shakes and tears with your frantic attempts at keeping up, revealing bits and pieces of Leof–for lack of a better way to put it–wrestling the monster over to the gazebo, knocking the remaining cot over in the chaos.

Before the gazebo can collapse from a wayward swinging limb, Leof is able to free himself from the monster’s claws and lunge out from under the structure. The monster is not so lucky. Before it can follow suit, he kicks one of the cut beams, and the whole thing comes crashing down in a loud mess of splintering wood and pained yowling.

You can hardly see him on the other side of the mess, but even so, Leof’s voice manages to cut through all of the chaos with the firm instruction to– “Go!”

[♫♫♫] 

Again it takes no time for the command to seize you. Your hands are seen scrabbling to push you off of the ground around the sword you still grip and you go, practically flinging yourself back into the secret entrance and scrambling out the other end, back onto the beach. The view on screen is barely coherent such is your speed, the blade of Leof’s sword occasionally darting up into view as you run, run, run until sand turns to pavement and broken palm trees into unmarred funfair stalls. With your breaths echoed as more ragged wheezes, this is where you stop: darting behind one of the stalls and the frame sliding slowly downstairs with a gasp, until you think yourself hidden. 

▓ ▶ ▓ BCH.SEC.CAM.2 ▓ 

Cut. The same camera angle as before shows Leof exiting the grove. He looks around the immediate area before taking off at a decent clip in the direction of the funfair.

▓ ▶ ▓ FF.SEC.CAM.1 ▓ 

Cut. A funfair security camera catches Leof repeatedly entering and exiting frame as he searches through the funfair.

▓ ▶ ▓ FF.SEC.CAM.2 ▓ 

Cut. Another angle. Leof continues searching— searching— searching— searching— searching—

▓ ▶ ▓ FF.SEC.CAM.3 ▓ 

Cut. The camera is angled at some of the funfair stalls. Someone hides crouched behind one, sword in hand, and unidentifiable through the grain and noise. Leof turns a corner and see̶s̷̴̢̨̭͙̄̅͘̕ ̴̨͙̅͘̕ ̷̷̢̢͉͉̀̀

The footage glitches. The image distorts and tears with a disorienting jitter, earsplitting screech, and–

It goes back to normal. There is an unidentifiable corpse sitting behind the stall, no sword in sight, and a fatal claw-shaped wound raked across their abdomen. Leof’s immediate panic and fear for having missed that an injury like this was sustained in the heat of the moment is visible even through the poor quality CCTV footage. He quickly rushes to the body.

The camera changes entirely again, ground level of that last angle. Back to that lower view of perceived safety, Leof visible on screen once more as he runs in closer— but it doesn’t match the clip just viewed. 

This Leof moves with the same speed, yet much more certainty. His expression is set and resolute, tilted with the glint in his eye of someone seeing their mark. One hand is outstretched to reach and pin your neck, the other drawing back with his sword gripped tight, winding up for a strike pointed squarely at your chest.

But he isn’t really the one with the sword, is he? 

You are. 

Impulse strikes. You start upwards, the sword in your own hand barely even wound tight before it’s driven forwards with desperate aggression— directly into Leof’s abdomen. Some blood spurts loose onto your sleeve and the ground before you hear the sword exit again, such was the force behind it. 

And that sound makes you both stop.

The video tears again with that ear splitting screech, bright colours and grain ripping over the image of Leof to reveal the reality. His true expression of concern has been twisted with the impact, though your eyes can’t focus for long on his as they widen and fill with realisation and pain. They instead drop to the sword hilt that you still hold, the entirety of your hands and arms beginning to violently shake.

“O-oh my god— n-no, no, shit, no—” 

The tremors are seized with panicked determination to make something right that cannot be made right, your hands and arms tensing as if to tug— only for another hand to come in from top of frame, gripping your wrist with urgency. 

It holds you in place long enough that the drive fades, sword remaining stuck where it is as your hands are yet again arrested by violent shakes that can’t possibly close themselves around anything; releasing the hilt and moving instead to support Leof. You see blood that managed to escape being plugged seep onto your hands before you have to look up, back to Leof’s face.

“I- I-I’m sorry, I’m so f-fucking sorry, I didn’t— what— wh-what do we do, what do I—” 

“—leave.”

This resolute response stuns you for some agonising seconds. 

“...Wh-what? I can’t- I can’t leave you like this, or- w-we can go? Where do you- wh-where do we-”  

“Ye’re going to leave,” Leof repeats, voice strained with pain, but somehow still steady. Still firm. “To get away from– from here, before anyone… Sees you.”

His head turns, and the camera pans with it as you follow his gaze.

“I will… Take myself to the– the forest. That will give you time to…” A sharp inhale and shuddering exhale make for a pause, the camera jerking down to his hand tightly gripping your shoulder. Using you for purchase, he pushes through the rest. “Ye will have that time to get rid of what– whatever needs getting rid of with the mist to help hide you. But– but only that long. Once I have… Once I am in the forest–”

Leof leans himself into frame, and you are forced to meet his eyes– a gentle expression fighting to stay put against each visible twitch of hurt.

“The fog will lift.”

The camera manages to stay focused on Leof’s efforts to remain gentle. But an undercurrent of panic starts after a beat— a steady stream of no no no god no tumbling from you and blurring together thickly with each new one you say. Leof is undeterred, underlining his point even as the camera begins to shake back and forth a fast no too. 

“...That is what y– what we will do. Okay?”

Okay. Some part of you seems to understand: your hand at Leof’s side retracting just enough to see that he can still stand before fully pulling away. But that panicked part lets something else bubble up as a hoarse whisper, words having to be forced into coherence— every attempt at parting words falling and dying ahead of schedule.  “...I’m so sorry. I-I’m so- I shouldn’t- y-you shouldn’t be- th-thank you for-” 

“Ye have to go, friend,” he cuts you off, mouth twitching into some resigned semblance of a smile. “Now.”

So again at Leof’s command, you go. 

This time the frantic bob of your running is accompanied by ragged breaths that are trying to be sobs. But there’s no time to indulge them as you fly down the tunnel, towards the RV Parking Lot. 

▓ ▶ ▓ FF.SEC.CAM.3 ▓ 

Cut. Leof stands alone at the stall, one hand using it for support and the other tightly gripping the hilt of the sword impaled through his stomach. The seconds tick up on the timestamp. After several pass uncomfortably by with little to no movement, he steadies himself and slowly begins to walk. This continues until he exits the frame.

A jump, among the Parking Lot. Your gaze lingers for a few choked noises in the direction of the Plaza, down to your bloodied hands, up to the direction of the Laundry, but that timestamp in the corner is ticking ever closer to what an audience knows as the moment of death and so you don’t have time. Instead you dive for the first stretch of chain-link fence that borders the pit, scrambling to pull your jacket off— your frantic hands leave blood on more stretches of its fabric than just the sleeve, but it won't matter shortly. 

▓ ▶ ▓ FF.SEC.CAM.4 ▓ 

Cut. A camera is angled at the path leading from the funfair into the forest. Leof continues his staggered, obstinate march along it, blood slowly trickling down and dripping from the exposed parts of the sword blade the whole way.

With one clutching the incriminating jacket your hands next grasp for the fence, the chain-link moving up and up in the frame as you scramble with ease to the very top, gripping the edge as you wind up and hurl the jacket down, down, down into the endless pit below.  

▓ ▶ ▓ TRL.CAM.1 ▓ 

Cut. The footage is obviously from a trail camera. It captures Leof stumbling his way into the forest. He leans briefly against a tree at the entrance for support before pushing off and continuing further in.

You climb back down, hands much less bloody now, but still finding some to leave. From there you sprint to the very furthest RV — the one most tucked away in the corner of the lot trying desperately to be forgotten — and shoulder check the door open to dunk your hands in the sink as soon as possible, seamlessly washing the last of Leof’s blood away to leave nothing but the red welts from the chain-link on your hands.

They’ll fade soon. The memory won’t. 

▓ ▶ ▓ TRL.CAM.2 ▓ 

Cut. Another trail camera further into the forest captures Leof stumbling again. With the hand not busy keeping the sword in place, he catches himself against a familiar tree. He does not persist any further. His legs give out beneath him, and he slowly slides down against the tree trunk to the ground.

This camera's run finally ends with another collapse. You stagger over to your bed and fall onto it face down, head tucking down and under your hands with a drawn out muffled wail into the sheets that cues the screen to black.

…

[♫♫♫] 

You hear the chirping of nonexistent birds and artificial wind. Two seconds later, the black screen lights up with the fog filled forest, the scene playing out in 4K clarity and a cinematic 2.39:1 aspect ratio that is jarring to witness after the noise and grain before it.

The first scene is nothing more than the leaves– then a glowing crystal– then rocks and flowing water– and then it’s Leof sitting against the tree you saw him sliding down in previous footage. He rests his head back against its trunk, staring up into the leaves above for a few seconds before closing his eyes.

It’s only whispers at first, voices familiar to him but not to you joining into the natural ambience. Then the scene cuts to a closer view of him, and the sound builds (conversation, footsteps in the grass, laughter) into a closer cut still (farm animals, wheels and hooves on dirt, distant strikes against an anvil) that focuses on his face (a cacophony of life being lived) as the cornerstone of a man breaks. In the midst of all the noise is a quiet sob, an expression twisted in grief, one tear and then another slipping free– 

And then the muscles in his face twitch with the visible effort to force every piece back together just long enough to finish this, and to make the rewatching he knows will come at least a little more bearable for everyone else. It takes five, ten seconds of haggard breathing for him to do it, but he does.

You know this because he opens his eyes, and everything goes silent but the birdsong.

With a jerk of his arm and the awful sound of steel moving through flesh, Leof wrenches the sword free from his body, and his hand holding it falls to the grass. It is far from a painless death, but his shallow breathing and the light trembling of shock through his body in the seconds that follow are less visceral from the cinematic, behind-the-shoulder angle you are made to watch it from– and kinder still, those seconds are few as bright red arterial blood spills rapidly from the wound.

Before long, his breathing goes silent, and his body goes still.

The fog lifts.

Its suffocating hold on the scene pulls away as it dissipates, a soft warmth finally beginning to break through once again and shine down on the land. Evil is defeated! The knight's body is bathed in the bright dawn of a new day. In slow panning shots, you see the fog draw back and vanish from other scenes in the lot: the paths of the funfair clear, the ocean waves roll unhindered. Even Big Mac, still furiously scrabbling for freedom in the Grove before being swept away into peace too, leaving nothing but gentle glows and trickling water. 

But there is no triumph to be found in the silence.

The last place you see sunlight break is the RV Lot, the fog that lapped at your doors finally ceasing its effort to break in. The camera view creeps down the middle path through all the RVs, slowly rounding on that very last one your eyes raced to earlier— waiting there patiently as its door cracks open, just a touch, not yet adding more to the background noise of others stepping out into the day. 

But finally, you see who you started watching this whole mess as. Bleary eyed not from the surprise of the clear view, hanging back from the daylight just for a moment in the doorway with only one shaking hand visible on the edge.

Eventually that hand seizes itself, grips tight. And out steps victor against Morgehæt’s chosen protector, child of many places, previous bearer of a monster slayer's name that he had long said he could never live up to— out steps Van Helsing.