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I was just going through some files and came across this. Actually I could have sworn I'd posted it somewhere here before, but searches turns up nothing. Anyway, it's the first page of a CYOA I'll likely never get around to writing despite all the setting notes I made for it:


You oil your pistols, and strap them to your side with the sabre. You dust off your broad-brimmed hat, for three months unmoved from its hook by the door. The plumes are limp and tattered.

Buttoning your long brown coat, you give the mirror a dubious glance. Your eyes are bloodshot, and your face is lined and worn. You look tired. You feel tired.

You probably should have shaved. But the gold-robes will be expecting you soon.


It rained last night and the horses plod along with difficulty through the mud. Twice the carriage nearly gets stuck, but you make it up the hill to the gloomy old castle without incident.

Tarrengot is waiting, and after making studiously polite inquiries into your health--the kind that make it clear he’s not looking for answers more involved than “I’m fine, thank you.”--he leads you to the candle lit council chamber where the others have assembled. When he takes his place among them, the shadows playing across the hoods of the deep yellow robes mean he’s only distinguished from his fellows by the heft of his paunch.

“It’s good to see you again, Helsen,” rumbles the deep, authoritative voice of Grandmaster Yerredin. The ring bearing the seal of the Golden Ram gleams on his finger. “We had our concerns.” You hear murmurs of agreement from the others.

No one ever calls you by your first name of Conway. It’s always Helsen the Tracker, or for formal occasions, Helsen, Knight Pursuant. In the taverns, it’s Helsen the Hound.

You remove your hat and give him a curt nod. “My...vacation, did go a little long. Things were just starting to get to me. But I’m ready to get back on the job again, sirs. If there’s any work to do.”

A few dry chuckles now at your small joke. There’s always work to do. Always.

“Hmph. Well, we’ve actually been fortunate. It’s been a quiet few months, as far as these things go.” Yerredin sweeps a few papers up off a table. “But if you’re quite certain you’re ready to resume your duties without any repeats of the earlier incidents, there are a few small matters that need looking into.”

Well, that works for you. You still don’t feel completely recovered, if you’re being honest with yourself. The nightmares have persisted for far too long this time, for one thing. But perhaps you can sort of ease back into the job, this way.

“I’m ready as I’ll ever be. What am I dealing with? Little girl lose her cat up a tree?”

More quiet chuckles, silenced when Yerredin clears his throat and begins to shuffle papers. “A few of these can wait. But there are two reports that need attention. The first was just down the hill in Balefen, two nights ago. A farmer in his thirties heard a disturbance in the pig pen, went to investigate, and was torn to pieces and partially devoured.”

You nod. Seems pretty straightforward. Even one of the apprentices could probably manage this. Balefen wasn’t a large village.

“Dead or alive?”

“If you could capture the guilty party in their human form and get a confession it would be ideal. But a silver bullet works as well as a rope, and the main thing is to prevent further killings. Use your judgment.”

“Right. And what’s the other item?”

The Grandmaster flips to another page. “Hrm. No deaths yet, but they’ve been reporting sightings of falgyar in Stackton, on the Eastmill side.”

You have to raise a brow at that. “Stackton, really?”

The falgyar were once a kind of gargoyle. Very different in appearance than the sort the Ministry of Justice in Central Stackton uses, but created through essentially the same process, back in the Old City before it fell. The falgyar were said to have been freed from their masters then, but also corrupted and cursed. Yet even their descendants rarely strayed far from the Old City’s ruins. And regardless, one just didn’t see that sort of thing in neat, orderly Stackton. Not even in Eastmill. The town lacked the...vertical element the fallen gargoyles preferred, if nothing else.

“Yes, really. We thought it unusual too, but they’ve been confirmed by multiple witnesses. We’ll provide you a map of the sighting locations, when you're ready to take care of this.” Yerredin shrugs. “But if you’d rather focus on the Balefen slaying for now, that’s understandable. I imagine a nest of falgyar won’t be too difficult to locate once you’re ready to deal with them, and I question why the Stackton authorities haven’t done it themselves.”

“And, ah...” Tarrengot waves for the Grandmaster’s attention and starts to speak up, then hesitates, giving him a questioning look. “The note from Judge Korrin?”

“Oh, right.” Yerredin turns to you. “A trivial matter, but it was a personal request, and you know we have few enough friends in the Ministry. There was apparently a complaint three nights ago of someone driving an automobile through Balefen.”

Trying to disguise a short bark of a laugh, you start to cough. That wasn’t what you’d been expecting at all. “Goodness. That poor village. Werewolves are one thing, but I’m sure they weren’t expecting a joyrider.”

“Yes, well as you can imagine they were rather displeased. It was going very fast, they reported. And it was...pink.”

You snort.

“So, yes...if you’ll be traveling back and forth anyhow, keep your eyes open. I know it seems rather silly, but Ministry insists they gave no one permission to leave the city limits in an automobile, and it hasn’t yet been returned, so one wonders what the driver is getting up to out there. Or if they’re even still alive. And of course this is a breach of the treaty. The Ministry is taking it very seriously, and would like to see the perpetrator fined and made to issue an apology.”

“All right. So...werewolf, falgyar, asshole in a pink car. That about the size of things?” Yerridan nods in the affirmative, and you snort again. “All due respect, Grandmaster, but you weren’t kidding about things being slow. Sounds like I could’ve taken another week off.”

“But we’re glad to have you back, regardless. Now...” The hand that bore the ring hesitated over two sheets of paper. “Will it be the werewolf or the falgyar you deal with first?”

This sounds familiar, I'm quite sure I've read it before. But thanks for posting it either way, it was fun to read, especially the pink automobile part. :)

Huh. Tried searching again and pulled up...nothing, even this thread. So the search is just screwed up I guess, but at least this confirms I'm not going senile. The original is probably buried in the Workshop somewhere.

Twas a quite enjoyable read. A few notes even though you’ll likely never touch this again...

Looking in the mirror to describe appearance has become over cliched.

Cars in a village like world? I was semi confused by your choice here, but so long as the setting works, then fine by me. 

There's a lot of weirdness going on with the setting that I won't get into right now. It could probably be pieced together in part on a full playthrough but the details would be deliberately left vague since they're not important to the actual events of the plot.

The short version is basically that people from parallel worlds and multiple time periods wound up in a place that reacts to their expectations and will. There were agreements and laws put in place to prevent cross contamination because without them things get weird.

I might still have a go at this one day. It would be a good Halloween story anyway. But I'm looking at my current writing schedule for the year and I don't know whether to laugh or cry.

Interesting. 

Laughing and crying is your best option here.