We expand our mind and reach out into the darkness. The same peculiar sensation of being aware of every star surrounding us strikes us, yet instead of burning stars we feel the hum of millions of drifters. They're great oscillating voices amplify beyond reason. We are almost overwhelmed, but we stand stoical. In great gushing whoops, we usher currents of space to flow. Huge swaths of darkness push and tumble through the great between, urging the drifters to move with it. We create the biggest current we've ever made. We never knew we were so good at this crafting. We think this is really amazing. The swath of drifters flowing with the current form a grand ring hooking around each verse. Faster and faster we whoop the current until it encircles both verse. Every muscle in our body and mind tense as we whip the current tight. The biverse moans. The biverse lurches. \n\n[[We did it.]]
<<tic>><<set $timer = $timer-1>>//We can't even believe how hopeless we are. The biverse is separating and we can't do anything to stop it. The more red our vision gets, the more we feel the Red Baron mocking us.// ''We only have <<print $timer>> minutes left. We better act fast.''\n\n[[We must fix this!|Whoop space wind like we've never whooped before.]]\n[[We're dunzo, we decide.]]
We recall how we got here: The Red Baron cast us into this whiteness in between the biverse. His intentions wholesome: to improve our people's lives. He saw us as a hinderance. But he forgot why our duty to the drifters was so dire. Without the drifters our biverse will crumble. So here we die, in the great between. \n\n//We must lasso the biverse back together here, from this space between the two verse. We only have <<print $timer>> minutes before we too will crumble, and we aren't cool with that.//
//The drifter's hum begins to oscillate from deep bass to humbling harmonies. We see tiny black dots in the distance. We look around and see drifters are all around. Like an inverted night sky. We don't even try to count how many there are.//
<<tic>><<set $timer = $timer - 1>><<if $timer eq 0>><<display "We're dunzo, we decide.">><<else>>\n<<display 'hopeless content'>>\n<<endif>>
The Devious Red Baron showed us no mercy. His devious red plans marinated to perfection. We shiver at the thought of that sneer across his face as our whole world quaked beneath our feet. Suddenly we found ourselves falling so fast into whiteness. The reflection of that sneer was left reverberating through our conscienceness. We didn't stand a chance.\n\n//We're surrounded by the most brilliant of white. We're deprived of most senses here in this space between.//\n* [[We may drift here forever.]]
The biverse is whole again. Congratulations on not giving up hope!\n\n\nTHE END.
<<tic>><<set $timer = $timer - 1>> //We reach out and grasp the ethereal mop of hair of the drifter to head the other way.// ''We have <<print $timer>> minutes left.''\n\n The drifters are the natural way of things, the life flow of the biverse. Balance flows throughout the biverse on the backs of the drifters, they transport the star juice between the verses. They keep the scales even, we crafters keep their currents flowing.\n\n<<display 'similar1'>>\n\nThe drifter we're riding begins to emit a low hum. We aren't entirely sure, but we think he's slowing down. We must be near an edge of a verse. We think we can maybe muster up some space wind.\n\n- [[Whoop space wind like we've never whooped before.]]\n- [[This is hopeless. We can't whoop here.]]
<<tic3>>\nThe bright white light inverts our vision. White looks black, black looks white. We understand this to be a gift by our drifter friend. The white that used to make up the great between of the biverse now pulses with darkness. Millions of drifters that were swarming around us now seem to be the likes of a starry night sky. We feel a rush of hope enter our soul. It fills the crumbling cracks that tore apart our dying body.\n\n[[Now we must lasso this biverse back together.]]
<<tic>><<set $timer = $timer - 1>>// We decide to continue floating this way as the drifter disappears behind us. We wonder if the drifters need space winds in this place between the biverse. We keep the thought in mind.// ''We have <<print $timer>> minutes left.''\n\n In this whiteness, we withdraw into our memory. The Red Baron was our friend. He helped us become a crafter. Together we whooped the space winds into an age of golden current, shining with natural health. But the Red Baron turned sour. He convinced our people, he planted the idea that the drifters were a nuisance and our craft could improve our own wealth and state of living. He forgot about the invisible verse, and the balance. But we didn't forget.\n\n<<display 'similar1'>>\n\nMaybe we can muster up some space wind.\n\n- [[Whoop space wind like we've never whooped before.]]\n- [[We'll never be able to whoop here without the dark night sky.|This is hopeless. We can't whoop here.]]
The Devious Red Baron
<<tic>><<set $timer = $timer - 1>>//We want to fix our biverse. We will whoop. // ''We have <<print $timer>> minutes left.''\n\n We reach out into the whiteness in preparation to whoop, past the red lens that covers our vision. We urge the whiteness to flow. We strain our mind but we are so disoriented without the stars and the moons to guide us. This white is numbing. Our craft skills have failed.\n\n<<display 'similar2'>>\n\n- [[We don't have a clue what to do. We let out a cry of dismay.|This is hopeless. We can't whoop here.]]\n- [[We tug at the taciturn drifter's locks.|We turn towards the drifter.]]
body{background-color:white;color:black;\n background-repeat:repeat;background-image:none;}\n#passages{width:500px;background-color:transparent;}\n.passage{padding:10px;}
//The drifter's hum continues to oscillate from deep bass to humbling harmonies. We see tiny black dots in the distance. We look around and see they are all around. Like an inverted night sky.//
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<<tic>><<set $timer = 5>>//We are becoming overwhelmed by this whiteness found between the biverse. Already our vision begins to bleeds red.// ''We have <<print $timer>> minutes left.''\n\n We spot a drifter. It's silent eyeless face appears serene, but we know the weight it carries. Immense weight. It drifts closer, but in the opposite direction of where we drift. We crafters never touch drifters. It is forbidden. But we can't drift here in this white forever; our mortal body won't last long without the embrace of dark star speckled space, where we were born, where we belong.\n\n- [[Continue floating alone.]]\n- [[Grab some hair of the drifter and head the other way.]]
<<tic2>>//We turn our gaze to the drifter. His sightless face stares directly at mine. We are dying and the drifter knows this. //''A mere <<print $timer>> minutes left until we crumble.''// Where our hand is grasping his mane begins to glow. Whiter than white, so bright, it sears our eyes. The bright light wipes clean the red that infected our vision, but it's totally blinding.//\n\n[[The white light begins to fade...]]\n\n
//Our hopeless frail body is consumed by the whiteness, our vision flooded red. The great divide between the biverse was too much for us. We hear the Red Baron laughing as a million hum emit from the drifters scattered across the whiteness. We suck.//
//We are totally hopeless. //''We only have <<print $timer>> minutes left.''\n\n We are disoriented without the eternal night sky. We need the stars to guide our craft anyways.\n\n<<if $timer eq 3>><<display 'similar2'>>\n<<else>><<display 'diff2'>>\n<<endif>>\n\n- [[We let go of the drifter in despair, we can't last much longer in this white anyways.]]\n- [[We turn towards the drifter.]]
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Stewart Bracken
We are a crafter. It's our duty to spangle the sky with stars. We whoop the space winds into currents so the drifters can drift. The common people have forgotten the value of the drifters. They think our craft should be put to better use. Trade winds, they say. But we know better. The drifters keep our verse in balance and glued to another: an untouchable verse, but an identical verse. Together they make up the biverse. With time, our people became cynical. They didn't heed our insistent cries to keep the drifters drifting. They discredit us and believe the Red Baron.\n* [[We need to fix this.]]