All's Fair

All's Fair - PORTFOLIO DUAL-BUILD

"Shit." You stop for a moment in a small clearing and press your hand to your arm. Sticky, wet crimson [[leaks between your fingers.]]

"Bloede dh'oine," you mutter. They almost got you, and you weren't even looking for a scrap. You lean against an ancient oak to catch your breath. You can hear the blood in your head beating hard against the bone. But no footsteps. It looks like [[you managed to shake them.]]

You take another gulp of air and tear a strip off your tunic to bind the wound. Your blood's spilling fast; you need aid, and the nearest town is hours away yet. The forest rustles around you. [[Then you hear—]]

No. Just your ears playing tricks on you. The ones you always keep tucked safely beneath your hair, lest their points tip your neighbours [[over the edge.]]

You hear the crunch of boots pound the forest floor as their owners drop from the trees, circling you; surrounding you. Scoia'tael. Elven warriors who once counted you among their number. But that was [[a long time ago.]]

"Peace, friends," you say in Hen Llinge - your tongue, and theirs. It's been a while. The warriors haven't pulled their weapons out yet, but they're poised - you can sense it. [["Friend? Are you quite sure about that?"]]

"Varaeil," he says, approaching. "Iorveth," you respond. "You're alive. Though I suppose that's no real surprise. [[Not after Brenna."]]

//The Battle of Brenna. Arrows whistled past. Swords battered shields. Soldiers wearing the colours of all factions sank screaming into the marshes and ponds. You'd lost count of how many you'd felled so far. But it wasn't enough - the Northern Realms were somehow [[beating you back.]]//

//The mighty forces of Nilfgaard, your allies, lay in growing piles of flesh, plate, and spears. Too many of your unit - the Scoia'tael-turned-Vrihedd Brigade - now lay strewn across the battlefield alongside [[them.]] //

//You felt the lad's approach, even through the clatter and crash of war. Your blades were sheathed; you'd been picking them off with your bow. But he was loud, wrapped in the white and red of Redania. And you were ready. You swung your bow around and knocked him on his back. You drew your arm taut. You'd add his strike [[to your tally.]]//

You know that voice. (text-style: "italic")[Shit.] Your eyes and face scrunch tight as you turn, slow as you can, [[to face it.]]

//"Please! Please—[[don't shoot me!"]]//

//The clamour of war roared around you. You only had moments. "Please! Don't do it! I don't want to die!" [["None of us do. Va fáill." ("Farewell"). You shot him.]] [[You paused. "Take off your helmet."]] //

//"No—!" Your arrow hit him in the eye between shafts of steel, silencing him. Its force half-knocked the helmet from his face. But that face... [[you knew it.]]//

//You kicked the steel away. And your breath froze in your throat. It was Arun. You'd known him - the son of the neighbours you'd left behind along with your home four years ago. You'd joined the Scoia'tael. He must've joined the Redanian army. He was barely 12 then; he'd have been [[barely 16 now.|"No," you muttered to yourself]]//

//Your bow - as much a part of you as your own skin and bone - slipped from your grasp. The stench of blood, already tinged with the rancid rot of the fishing town's upended trade, smothered your senses. Screams of triumph and defeat roared through your ears into your head until you couldn't even hear your own thoughts. The lad lay broken on the ground, yet another life trampled into a mud grave who their bloodhungry leaders would never see or know. Something broke, [[changed.]]//

//He nodded, desperate, and pulled the steel from his head. Your breath froze in your throat. It was Arun. You'd known him - the son of the neighbours you'd left behind along with your home four years ago. You'd joined the Scoia'tael. He must've joined the Redanian army. He was barely 12 then; [[he'd have been barely 16 now.]]//

//And you [[ran.]]//

//You dodged spears and arrows; rammed past shields and swords; slipped past horses' charging legs. You were numb. You didn't know where your legs were taking you, other than away. Towards the forest. You just knew you had to reach it - to [[put Brenna behind you.]] //

//"Arun?" "Varaeil? I know you—my parents knew you. They liked you. Please—please don't kill me." [["And what about you, Arun? You wanted to kill me?"]] [[He knew you. And he tried to kill you. You shot him.]] //

//"I didn't know it was you! I just saw your colours—your badge! [[You're Vrihedd!"]] //

//Arun gasped. Your arrow struck him through the eye. His face froze. He dropped to his knees and toppled, face-down in the grime and blood. But your breath ran ragged in your lungs. He looked so small amongst the war's [[waste and ruin.]] //

//"And why did you decide to kill us, Arun?" "I didn't have a choice! I was conscripted! I didn't mean to—[[I didn't want to."]]//

//"Your side is trying to wipe my kind from the face of the Continent!" you howled at him. "Your side burns villages! My aunt died last month! [[Your lot did that!"]] //

//You paused. You lowered your bow. His eyes followed it before fixing back onto yours - desperate, relentless. "Please, Varaeil. I just want to go home." [["I—"]] //

//Arun gasped. An arrow struck him through the eye. His face froze. He dropped to his knees and toppled, [[face-down in the grime and blood.]] //

//And you [[ran.]]//

"VARAEIL!" You stumbled as you stopped to turn. You had to. You knew that voice. Your eyes and face scrunched tight as you [[turned to face it.]]

//"Iorveth—Commander." He cut down two Northern soldiers as he approached on horseback, unhindered as ever by his missing eye and the red cowl he always wore to cover it. [["Where are you going?"]]//

You can hardly recall what you did. Or said. //Cruel, cold numbness soaked into every one of your bones and [[nerves.]] //

//[[You met his eye.]] [[You evaded his eye.]] //

//"I needed a second." "Are you injured?" You shook your head. "Alright. Take your second; get your breath. And then fight on. We have to push back, and now. We need every blade. [[You can help turn the tide. And you must."]] //

//"I needed a second." "Are you injured?" You shook your head. "Then what is it?" [["I—Nothing. Nothing."]] [["I can't do this. There's so much—too much—"]] //

//He nodded. "Alright. Take your second; get your breath. And then fight on. We have to push back, and now. We need every blade. You can help turn the tide. And you must." You nodded back//, [[you think.]]

//Iorveth shot a hurried glance at the war raging just feet from where you both stood, then dismounted and strode over to you. His good eye fixed you in its glare. It wasn't angry. He clapped you, firm, on your shoulder. "I know. But we have to push back, and now. We need every blade, Varaeil. And you can help [[turn the tide."]] //

//Your bow - as much a part of you as your own skin and bone - slipped from your grasp. Something broke. [[Something changed.]] //

//He charged back into the battle, blade raised. But you didn't. You turned, [[and you ran.]] //

//"Varaeil! N’te va! Voe’rle ui ymladda!” (“Varaeil! Don’t go! [[Stop and fight!”)]] //

//You kept [[running.]]//

That was six years ago. Not much time for a dh’oine; far less for Aen Seidhe. But it felt like an eternity. You’d heard snatches - whispers - about him, and wondered if you’d ever cross paths again. If those rumours about his escape from the Scoia’tael leaders’ [[executions after Brenna were true.]]

//You nodded//, you think. //"Here, quick—take my horse." "I can't—" "Take it. Up. [[Quick."]] //

//You couldn't feel the reins between your frozen fingers as you climbed up onto the saddle. He looked at you. "Ayd f'haeil moen hirjeth taenverde. Ymladda yn!" ("Conquer with courage rather than strength. [[Fight on!")]] //

//You nodded//, you think. // "Your bow—? Here, take mine." You couldn't feel the wooden shaft as he placed it into your frozen fingers. "Ayd f'haeil moen hirjeth taenverde. Ymladda yn!" ("Conquer with courage rather than strength. [[Fight on!")]] //

But he stands before you, just the same. Waiting; fixing you in his glare. [["You're alive, too. And you look the same."|ALIVE 1]] [["I don't know what to say."]] [[Say nothing.]]

"I assure you, I am not the same. And neither are you." "I know we lost. At Brenna." //[["We?"]]//

"And why's that? Because you're //that// ashamed? Or because you thought I'd been tossed, throat cut, into that ravine like the rest of the Vrihedd leaders after Brenna? No need to think of anything to say for yourself when you had no chance of seeing me again, I suppose." "I—I know we lost at Brenna—" //[["We?"]]//

He huffs a short, sharp laugh. "As quiet now as you were that day. Still no words, after all this time?" [["I don't know what to say."]] [["You're alive. You look the same."|ALIVE 1]]

Iorveth's jaw clenches. His glare could scorch you. You glance around at his unit. They're loyal to him; they twitch and their fingers tighten around their weapons, echoing his anger. You take a breath, trying to ignore the pain pounding in your arm as crimson seeps through your paltry wrap. [["You're right. There was no 'we'. There was you - all of you - and I left you."]] [["Alright. I know. But it was a bloodbath, Iorveth..."]] [["That fight was a farce..."]]

"So many of us were dying," you go on. "Too many." "True. Shame you turned your back on them. [[Might have been a few less."]]

His eye studies you carefully, but he says nothing. [["I'm sorry. I'm truly sorry."]] [["I couldn't do it anymore..."]] [["And I regret nothing..."|"That fight was a farce..."]]

"We were losing, Iorveth," you say, your pitch rising. "Dying, screaming, in the bogs and blood and shit. That's not who we are - what we do." He holds your stare as you go on. "We were Scoia'tael, not soldiers. Not Nilfgaard's lackeys - or we shouldn't have been. We never should have been there, at Brenna. Our fights were in the forests, on our terms. Of course I left. And I'm sure I wasn't the only one." "Are you done?" [[His voice is sharp, cutting.]]

Iorveth pulls a face. It looks like distaste. "You're //truly sorry//? You could at least have some conviction about your decisions. You did that day." "But I don't think I did. I was just numb. And sick, and terrified. I was running but I didn't feel like I'd... decided to do it. [[Not really."]]

Iorveth studies you for a few moments. The trees rustle. You hear the odd cough and swallow from the warriors surrounding you both. "I helped you," he says. "And I told you we needed your help." [["I know."]] [["It wouldn't have made a difference."|"It's just not that simple, Iorveth."]] [["That doesn't mean I owed you my life."|LIFE 1]]

"You didn’t have to flee. You could have given aid to the injured." You stand silent. You let him speak. "You could have joined the archers, focussed on picking off the leaders - the ones you can kill and not lose any sleep over. The ones ordering their lessers to throw themselves onto enemy pikes so they could collect their medals and titles when all blood but their own was spilled." [["I've not stopped thinking about that since."]]

"Is that what you think? That I feel you owed me your life? That I'm angry you didn't die for us that day?" [[You pause. And you sigh. "No. I don't."]] [["Maybe that was too harsh..."]] [[You pause, but then the dam breaks. "Yes. I do. You know why?"|"That fight was a farce..."]]

"There was this lad I knew from back home," you say. "He died, terrified, pleading with me. He didn't want to be there - they made him. He wanted to go home. He was just a kid." [["War is cruel."|"It's just not that simple, Iorveth."]]

"I asked you what was wrong. You could have told me. Granted, I didn't have many options with our side collapsing and every Northern spear trying to finish the job" - he points at his cowl and the empty socket beneath - "but I would've tried to help." [[You nod.]]

"Good. Because I didn't want you to die for us, Varaeil. I wanted to you to live—to fight, and go on fighting, so that more of us might get to live." "I know." "You could have joined the archers, focussed on picking off the leaders - the ones you can kill and not lose any sleep over. The ones ordering their lessers to throw themselves onto enemy pikes so they could collect their medals and titles when all blood but their own was spilled." [["I've not stopped thinking about that since."]]

"You can't fix it." [["But I could fight."]]

Iorveth narrows his eye then begins to pace, looking up at the trees; at his kin. Then he stops, and fixes you with an inscrutable look. "Convince me." [["How?"]]

"Find others. Not existing Scoia'tael - recruit new fighters. Build a small unit - at least five. Train them. Earn their trust. Earn your //right// to be their leader. Kill our foes, and keep proof. Then, come back and [[seek me out in a year."]]

"Good." Iorveth nods and turns to leave before stopping. "Oh," he says, "and perhaps don't keel over before you've even started." "What?" "That." He nods at your bloodied arm. He hands you a pouch of paste made from mashed healing herbs, clean cloth wraps, and a small flask of strong spirit. "Thank you." [[He nods again.]]

"We were who we needed to be," he barks at you. "The Northern Realms were trying to wipe us out. That was coming, whatever happened - whatever we did or didn't do—" [["I know, but—"]]

"We chose to come out of the forests to fight for our kind, who the North wanted to obliterate. //You// chose. War's not pretty, but you knew that. Brenna wasn't your first. You joined the Vrihedd. And you abandoned it. Us." Your heart beats hard against your breastbone. Your breath shudders in your chest. [[You know. He's right...]] [["It's just not that simple, Iorveth."]] [["No. You abandoned us..."]]

And every fibre of your body knows it. "I know. I'm [[truly sorry.]]"

"You led us into that mess." Your voice is low. "We were fucked, and that was on you." Iorveth studies you, inscrutable. "You Vrihedd leaders led us into that carnage," you go on, your heart banging, urging you on. "You told us we could win. With Nilfgaard's //mighty forces// at our side, we'd beat back the Northern armies. We'd forge a future—a free future—for nonhumans. [[And we didn't."]]

"I have no idea how you escaped those executions," you go on, "but I bet you didn't hang around, waiting for your inevitable death. What I did? Same thing." Iorveth's face shifts. You expected him to smirk, but he doesn't. There's something else in his expression as he looks off to the side. The scar stretching across his face and puncturing his top lip peeks from his cowl. "Is that really what you think?" he asks at last. "That we decided to pursue some awful, utterly foreseeable risk to... what? Get you all killed? Get ourselves killed?" [["You should have foreseen it. It's unforgivable that you didn't."]]

"Well, it's a good thing [[I'm not asking for your forgiveness, then."]]

"You think I'm prone to rash actions?" he asks you in a cold, low voice. "Taking unnecessary risks to endanger those who trust me?" "I thi—" "I've heard enough of what you think," he snaps. "You've said your piece. I've spent over a century fighting for our kind - sleeping in ditches, living off river water and roots. All to fight for a better future for those //you// also pledged to fight for [[when you chose to join us."]]

You falter. He comes a little closer. "Do you know what these are?" he asks, tapping one of the metal insignia badges lining a leather strap across his chestpiece. "Trophies." "Reminders. Of what we can achieve when we fight for what we believe in. Each taken from the head of a special forces commando that I've put down. You think that was easy? With their resources - their numbers - that we just don't have?" [["I don't—"]]

He begins to pace again. "I helped you. And I told you we needed your help." [["I know—"]]

"You didn’t have to flee. You could have given aid to the injured." "I just—" "Or you could have joined the archers, focussed on picking off the leaders - the ones you can kill and not lose any sleep over. The ones ordering their lessers to throw themselves onto enemy pikes so they could collect their medals and titles when [[all blood but their own was spilled."]]

"I asked you what was wrong," he says. "You could have told me. Granted, I didn't have many options with our side collapsing and every Northern spear trying to finish the job" - he points at his cowl and empty socket beneath - "but I would've tried to help." [[You don't say anything.]]

"You're not the first Aen Seidhe warrior whose courage has faltered in the carnage and terror of war, Varaeil. And you won't be the last. But fleeing... you just condemned more of us to more of it." [["I— I don't know what to say."]] [["No. You condemned us, Iorveth..."]]

"There's nothing you [[can say."|And you know that."]]

"I couldn't turn that tide," you say, your voice frosty. "But you could've. You could have told us to retreat. [[Those fallen kin of yours might have lived."]]

Iorveth smirks, but it's sad and empty. Resigned, even. "There's nowhere for us to retreat to, Varaeil. Not in this world. [[And you know that."]]

Iorveth turns his back on you and begins to walk away. "Fortunately for you, I don't kill helpless creatures with broken wings. Though, of course, if you were dh'oine, you'd have been dead before you saw us. Leave us to our forest and our fight. If we see you again, traitor, we'll put you down. That's your one chance. [[Take it."]]

You do. The blood seeping through your paltry wrap is spreading to your shirt. Your sight is spotty and your head is starting to swim. Iorveth nods to his warriors and they disappear into the forest. You turn on your heel and [[try to make your way home.]]

You don't know if you'll make it.

You ignore the tightening of fingers on hilts as you approach him, but he stands tall; immovable. "We lost so many, and then Nilfgaard ploughed us anyway! They sold you commandos out with the promise of a fair trial, and then you all got your throats slit and chucked into that ravine. [[Almost all of you, anyway."]]

Iorveth pulls a face. It looks like distaste. "You're //truly sorry//? You could at least have some conviction with your decisions, like you did that day." "I don't think I had any conviction that day. I was just numb. And sick, and terrified. I was running [[but I didn't feel like I'd decided to. Not really.]]"

Iorveth studies you for a few moments. The trees rustle. You hear the odd cough and swallow from the warriors surrounding you both. "I helped you. And I told you we needed your help." [["I know."]]

Iorveth ponders you for a few, long moments. "You want to rejoin the Scoia'tael?" You nod. A few of the others shuffle where they stand. They won't speak out against their leader, but you hear a few terse huffs. You ignore them. [["What do you need me to do?"|Iorveth laughs coldly.]]

You falter. "Come on, more important than fighting for it?" he asks you in a mocking tone. "You must have have been up to something quite extraordinary." Your heart beats hard against your ribs as his words wash over you. [["You're right. I didn't—I didn't leave like that. For that."]] [["I lived. I gave myself the chance to fight another day, at least."]] [["You think your way was better? Seriously? What kind of future did so many of us have doing it your way?"|"No. You abandoned us..."]]

"It was hopeless," say, your voice hoarse. "What about survivors? What about our future?" Iorveth huffs a sharp, mocking laugh. "And what did you do with the precious time you bought yourself, Varaeil? What great work did you do to [[help our future?"]]

"I know." [["I—I'm just... I'm sorry. You're right. I'm truly sorry."]]

Iorveth studies you for a few moments. The trees rustle. You hear the odd cough and swallow from the warriors surrounding you both. "I helped you. And I told you we needed your help." [["I know you did."]]

"You're not the first Aen Seidhe warrior whose courage has faltered in the carnage and terror of war, Varaeil. And you won't be the last. But fleeing... you just condemned more of us to more of it." [["I know. I want to fix it."]] [["That's not true. Or fair."]]

"In a year, then," he says. "Va fáill, //New Blood//." You return the smile before you both turn from each other and part ways, [[deeper into the forest.]]

"Which is more than can be said about many who went into that fight," you go on. "And you leaders. They sold you out after Brenna - put on a show trial and slaughtered you all like pigs. Well, almost all of you, [[anyway."]]

"So you have been fighting for us, then? Is that how you got that little clip to your wing? Battling off some rogue Northerners? Should we consider you our saviour?" You falter. [["I, uh..."]]

"Tell me, how's that fight going? What corner of the world have you carved out - made better - for our kin since your desertion?" [["You're right. I didn't—I didn't leave like that. For that."]] [["Look, I get it, alright? But what good did any of it do in the end?"]] [[You snap. "Go plough yourself."|"That fight was a farce..."]]

"What I did," you go on, "what you did... we lost. It's getting harder anyway, for all of us, every day." Iorveth ponders you, inscrutable. "I know I was wrong," you say, holding his stare. "But it was... awful. The noise, the smell of blood and rot, everywhere... I couldn't think. I was numb. I just ran, and I didn't think about it. [[I just... did it."]]

"You're not the first Aen Seidhe warrior whose courage has faltered in the carnage and terror of war, Varaeil," he says. "And you won't be the last." He adjusts his cowl a little, tugging it further over his scar. "But fleeing..." he says at last. "You just condemned more of us to more of it." [["I know. I wish I could fix it."|"I know. I want to fix it."]] [["I think you overestimate my prowess."]]

"I knew you, Varaeil. You were a fine warrior. And then you chose not to be. At the worst time you could have chosen." "If you think I don't have any regrets, then you didn't know me. I think about it [[all the time."]]

"So many of us were dying," you go on. "Too many." "True. Shame you turned your back on them. [[There might have been a few less."]]

"It was hopeless. What about survivors? What about our future?" Iorveth huffs a sharp, mocking laugh. "And what did you do with the precious time you bought yourself, Varaeil? [[What great work did you do to help our future?"]]

"Which is more than can be said about many who went into that fight," you go on. "And you leaders. They sold you out after Brenna - put on a show trial and slaughtered you all like pigs. [[Well, almost all of you, anyway."]]

"So you have been fighting for us, then? Is that how you got that little clip to your wing? Battling off some rogue Northerners? Should we consider you our saviour?" You falter. [["I, ah..."]]

"But you have to understand - so many of us were dying," you go on. "Too many." "True. Shame you turned your back on them. [[There might have been a few less."]]

Iorveth takes a deep breath and pulls his arm-long leather gloves on tighter, more to find something to do with his hands than anything. "It's done," he says. "That was six years ago. We could go on in circles but there's no need. //We// still fight. [[We need to move on."]]

"You surrounded me," you say. "Are you going to—will you kill me?" Iorveth smiles. There's little warmth in it, [[but there is some.]]

"No. Not least because I'm not in the habit of killing helpless creatures with broken wings. Speaking of which - Cedras, haela?" ("medicine?") Another elf - almost as tall as Iorveth - steps out from the cirlce of Scoia'tael around you. He hands you a pouch of paste made from mashed healing herbs, clean cloth wraps, and a [[small flask of strong spirit.]]

"Thank you," you say, taking it gingerly. "We've already spared your life, I suppose we can spare you that, too. Now, you should go. The nearest dh'oine town is several hours away. I assume that's where you're going." You bite your lip. Your cheeks sting. [["Yeah, I—Yes."]]

"Then, go. Dusk approaches." [[You nod and say your thanks again.]]

"Va fáill, Varaeil." [["Va fáill, Iorveth."]]

You smear the paste onto your arm wound and tie the bandage around it. The alcohol takes some of the pain away and lifts your spirits - [[though only a little.]]

// "Your bow—? Here, take mine." You couldn't feel the wooden shaft as he placed it into your frozen fingers. "Ayd f'haeil moen hirjeth taenverde. Ymladda yn!" ("Conquer with courage rather than strength. [[Fight on!")]] //

"If you do that, if you convince them - and have enough to show for your efforts - you'll have convinced me," he says. You hold his gaze. He means it. [["That's fair."]] [["I can't. That's too much. I need a place now."]]

You look back at the thicket for your former kin, but they've gone. You're on your own, now.

''All's Fair'' A branching-dialogue piece inspired by the world of The Witcher. [[FULL VERSION (with intro and flashback sequences)|GAME START]] [[ABRIDGED VERSION (skip straight to branching dialogue)]] [[Copyright disclaimer]]

I do not own or claim ownership of The Witcher books, the series of The Witcher games, or any of the related characters or settings. The Witcher books and games are the property of Andrzej Sapkowski and CD Projekt Red, and all rights over their content belong to their respective owners Andrzej Sapkowski and CD Projekt Red. This interactive Twine conversation is a fan work, created solely for the purposes of coursework and to demonstrate my writing ability in my portfolio. As the author of this fan work, I earn no compensation in any form from its creation or publication.

"A year," you say. "You'll see."

No garden-variety brute like those dh'oine - none you've ever known, anyway - could sneak up on //you//. You'd left that life behind, but it never really left you. Your reflexes never dulled; you were always ready for the next fight. [[But not this one.]]

//"No," you muttered to yourself, your chest tight as a drum. "No. No..." Your foot, numb in its bog-soaked boot, nudged his helmet all the way off. It couldn't be him. Your breath lurched ragged in and out of your lungs. [[It was him.]] //

//Blood trickled from his socket, down his cheek and over his ear. His ear— It peeked from his matted straw hair. The scar snaking its way around its crest was unmistakable: he'd been cropped. He'd had Aen Seidhe blood. It can't have been much—he looked dh'oine, didn't he? [[But he wasn't—not like them. The ones who led him here.]] //

//"Yeá, ymladda yn!" ("Yes, fight on!") a voice you didn't know - a rider with billowing hair bearing your badge and colours - bellowed from behind. "Vrihedd!" They charged off into the fray. "Vrihedd," you [[barely uttered back.|Arun's helmet slipped from his head. ]] //

//Arun's helmet slipped from his head. And his ears— His ears. They peeked from his matted straw hair. The scars snaking their way around their crests were unmistakable: he'd been cropped. He'd had Aen Seidhe blood. It can't have been much—he looked dh'oine, didn't he? But he wasn't—not fully. [[Not like the ones who led him here.|barely uttered back.]] //

//"Are you alright, sor'ca? Are you injured?" a voice you didn't know bellowed from behind. It was a rider with billowing hair, bearing your badge and colours. Your breath ran ragged in your lungs. // You think you shook your head. // "Zaeleill aep! Ymladda yn!" ("Rise up! Fight on!") he called, before charging off, [[back into the fray.|Arun's helmet slipped from his head. ]] //

That look again. You try to meet it, though your cheeks start to sting. "No?" His voice is cold. The figures around him silent. "No," you retort. [["And don't put that on me."]]

Iorveth approaches, his feet as light across the forest floor as ever. "Put //what// on you, Varaeil?" "That. The bloodshed. I—I was just one fighter—one blade—" "And I told you we needed every single one. But I didn't need to. You knew we were losing, and what was at stake." [["I know, I just—"]]

"Look around you, Varaeil." Iorveth gestures at his kin with one of his hands, gloved to the bicep with archer's leather, worn smooth in the creases from years and years of expert draws. Years of felled dh'oine. You keep your glare fixed on him, even as your heart smacks and kicks against your ribs. "I'm sure you know most of them," he says, his jaw tight. [["Any you don't see?"]]

You can hear Iorveth's own breath surging now. He narrows his eye at you as he waits. [[No. You won't do this. It's not your fault.]] [[Cast your eyes around. Look for the faces you can't see.]]

"I'm not playing your game. Don't do that." "Game? You think taking stock of your actions - who you discarded to the bogs and blood and rot - is a game?" Feet shift on the leaves and branches around you. You feel the glare of eyes on your skin and back. Iorveth laughs, sharp and bitter. "Though, perhaps it is a game to you," he goes on. "After all, you grasp the ones who stand at your side so very tightly before just discarding them like a bad hand. [[You have no idea what loyalty is, Varaeil."]]

"Eraein," you say, your voice weak. "Eraein's not—?" "Eraein aep Thewynn died soon after you left. About ten minutes after, if I had to guess. I saw him dropped by a Kaedwen rider with a poleaxe." [[You swallow.]]

Eraein. He'd taken the watch the night before Brenna. Sat straight as a fir - watching, breathless, for any threat that couldn't wait for the right time; the right place. You'd offered to switch places; he needed sleep, you'd said. He smiled, said he couldn't. He might as well be of use. You'd only snatched an hour or so yourself, but [[every scrap of rest you'd found was in his watchful shadow.]]

You can't look at Iorveth. Or the others. Your eyes fall to the ground; to the leaves and branches so lightly trodden by the Aen Seidhe, even in their armour. [["I'm sorry."]]

"You've said that." "I know." "You didn't mean it. How could you? It wasn't 'on you', after all." You meet his eye. [["I do now."]]

Iorveth looks to the side and smirks with an empty huff of his lungs. "Is that so?" "Yes. I know what I did. I don't know about Eraein, but I know what I could've—what might have happened if I'd just..." Iorveth and the others watch you, silent. [[The trees rush and hum in the wind.]]

"...It is on me," you say. "I chose that life - the Scoia'tael, the Vrihedd. I chose to fight. With you, with Eraein—//for// you. All of you—for us. You needed my blade, and anything that happened because it wasn't there... It is...it is on me." Iorveth's gaze lingers, inscrutable. He takes a deep breath, musing; turning your words over in his mind like a coin through fingers. The scar stretching across his face and puncturing his top lip peeks from his cowl. "We could rake over this all day," he says at last. "We still wouldn't have won Brenna. But the fight continues." [["I wish I could fix it."|"I know. I want to fix it."]]

Iorveth laughs coldly. "You sound so sincere when you say that it's almost funny." "I mean it, Iorveth." "Do you? Words are cheap, Varaeil. But the lives of our kind - the Scoia'tael and the Aen Seidhe //you// pledged to fight for - are not. And I won't let you treat them as such." [["You don't have the right—"]] [["I won't—I don't—"]]

"The //right//?" "Yes, the right. How dare you say that to me - I //do not// see our kind's lives as cheap." "And yet you grasp them so tightly before just discarding them like a bad hand. You have no idea what loyalty is, Varaeil." "If you think I don't have any regrets, then you didn't know me then. And you don't know me now. [[I think about it all the damn time."]]

"You already did," he spits. "Do you think the war is over just because the battlefields have moved? What's to stop you haring off into the distance again - behind the safety of your dh'oine walls and garrisons? Have you lined up to have your ears cropped yet?" [["I made a mistake. I want to fix it."]]

"You shift with the wind, Varaeil. Tell me, did you want to fix your little mistake before we appeared?" "I don't know what you mean." "I know you didn't wander into my forest to seek me out." [[Tell the truth.]] [[Lie.]]

You fix your gaze on his, meeting and holding it as long as you can. "No, I didn't." "So what am I supposed to do with this rather recent about-turn?" "You said it that day. You need every blade. [[That can only be truer now."]]

"Of course I did. I was trying to find you - to join the Scoia'tael again." Iorveth smiles. It's sharp and bitter. "Your spine is so soft I don't know how you still stand." [["What? What do you—?"]]

"I will never be desperate enough for traitors, Varaeil. You're lucky you weren't shot where you stand." You nod, still holding his gaze. Your eyes glaze and sting as you fight the urge to let them flicker to the elves still poised to carry out that order at the mere wave of his hand. "You gave me a chance. [[To speak, as we are."]]

"True." "Let me use that chance, Iorveth. Let me prove I will be no traitor to you, ever again. [[Tell me what you need me to do."|"What do you need me to do?"]]

"I knew you, Varaeil. You were a fine warrior. And then you chose not to be. At the worst time you could have chosen." [[You pause. You swallow, and nod. "I know."]] [["I'm choosing now."]]

"It's too late for that." Iorveth takes a deep breath and pulls his arm-long leather gloves on tighter, more to find something to do with his hands than anything. "It's done," he says. "That was six years ago. We could go on in circles but there's no need. //We// still fight. [[And we need to move on."]]

"But I really do want to fight. [[I don't want to let our kind down—"|"I won't—I don't—"]]

"You surrounded me," you say. "Are you going to—will you kill me?" "No," he says. "Not least because I'm not in the habit of killing helpless creatures with broken wings. Though, of course, if you were dh'oine, you'd have been dead before you saw us." [[You nod, sombre and silent.]]

"Speaking of broken wings - Cedras, haela?" ("medicine?") Another elf - almost as tall as Iorveth - steps out from the cirlce of Scoia'tael around you. He hands you a pouch of paste made from mashed healing herbs, clean cloth wraps, and a [[small skin of grain spirit.]]

"Then, go. Dusk approaches." [[You nod and say your thanks again.]]

"My scouts saw you, two days ago. You were ousted from that little nothing dh'oine shithole 100 furlongs from here. Finally tired of their pointy-eared pretender neighbour, I heard." You falter. [["You had me followed?"]]

"I was trying—" "I've heard enough of your bile. If you were dh'oine, you'd have been dead before you saw us. Now, I'm wondering whether even an Aen Seidhe in your shoes doesn't deserve the same." [["Are you going to—will you kill me?"]]

"No. You were seen. And then you wandered into my forest and got yourself heard having a scrap with those common bandits." [[You swallow and clear your throat.]]

Iorveth turns his back on you and begins to walk away. "Fortunately for you, I don't kill helpless creatures with broken wings. As long as they stay helpless. Leave us to our forest and our fight. If we see you again, traitor, or if you move against us in any way, I will hear about it. And we will put you down. That's your one chance. [[Take it."]]

"No. That was the offer, Varaeil. We're done." "Wait—" "It's too late for that. Our fight goes on, even if you won't be a part of it. [[And we must move on."]]

"I do," you bark. Too loudly. You decide to soften, but Iorveth's eye is already glazed with disdain. [["Let me show you—prove to you—that I do," you say.|"I'm choosing now."]]

This version skips the intro and flashback sequences to drop you right into the meaty stuff. You'll get to the branching narrative/conversation in three screens. ''But you'll need to know a few morsels before jumping in:'' You are Varaeil, an Aen Seidhe elf and former Scoia'tael warrior, who fought with the Vrihedd Brigade during the Battle of Brenna six years ago. You were fighting for a free future for nonhumans. Your side lost. During the roar and carnage of the battle, you'd seen a former dh'oine (human) neighbour, clad in the Redanian army's colours, fall to a Scoia'tael arrow. He was just 16. //Was it yours?// You were overwhelmed. And you fled. Now, after a scrap with some dh'oine bandits that's got your arm letting in air, you've found yourself deep in a forest. Iorveth, an infamous Scoia'tael warrior and your former commander, has detected you. His unit [[surrounds you.]]

"Peace, friends," you say in Hen Llinge - your tongue, and theirs. It's been a while. The warriors haven't pulled their weapons out yet, but they're poised - you can sense it. "Friends? Are you quite sure about that?" a voice asks, cold and sharp, behind you. (text-style: "italic")[Shit.] [[You know it.]]

"Varaeil," he says, approaching. "Iorveth," you respond. "You're alive. Though I suppose that's no real surprise. Not after Brenna." You’d heard snatches - whispers - about him, and wondered if you’d ever cross paths again. If those rumours about his escape from the Scoia’tael leaders’ [[executions after Brenna were true.]]