conversations.from: system
conversations.value: Located at the mouth of the Great Sands River, the city of Gilj sprawls with all the bleakness of a darkened and hastily painted watercolor.  There was a time when all that was found in the port were the local fisherman, modest merchant vessels, and explorers.  It was a time that could not be recalled by the young.  The city had changed more in the last two decades than it had in the last five-hundred years.  It was the war that caused it.  Trad’s declaration of neutrality did not stop the intrusion of those who sought the city’s tactical advantage; it merely changed the tactics in which they laid siege.
  
  Census lost track of the population at two-hundred thousand.  The influx of refugees, deserters, and businessmen armed with the motivation of contracts stemming both from the allied countries to the west and their enemies of the east turned the city into a competition of political and monetary power.  Hundreds of square miles of farmland, mines, woodland, outlying villages, and even the sea itself became the property of barons and lords. All that grew, lived, swam or breathed were commodities to be manipulated to best provide a profit.
  
  As the city grew, it became sectioned.  Each district maintained its own law, its own court, and its own political agenda.  The Church of Ohkin's influence upon the Gilj senate deteriorated as the forum became infiltrated with politicians with interests not native to Trad.  The struggle for the city's land began.  Prime locations were coveted by ambitious profiteers who were anxious to capitalize on the rich resources and growing labor force.  Taxes were raised until the local populace could no longer afford the land that had been in their families for countless generations.  On the eastern bank of the Sands River, domiciles were destroyed, and in their place, a maze of filth belching factories was born.
  
  To the east of the city emerged the Blight.  Forty thousand refugees, over half of which once owned land and earned their living in Gilj were now exiled to an area unfit for development.  The steep, rocky soil held no mineral worth mining, nor could it sustain livestock or crop.  It became a place of starving and desperate people – a work force for the factories, forges, fish-houses, kilns, and textile mills.
  
  Not all of Gilj became a blister of despair.  The coast, to the west of the river, thrived with its theaters, restaurants, apparel boutiques, and houses of pleasures.  Nobles from nearly all parts of the land came to vacation in the gluttony that had evolved as an offspring to the cold industry to the east.
  
  The war rages on to the north, where the armies of the east and west are currently dead-locked.  Trad, with its great port city of Gilj, holds fast to its declaration of neutrality.  But the leverage to be gained by the faction who might use its harbor to stage naval sieges is too great to ignore.  Although cloaked in the guise of politicians and gold, the war rages in Gilj as violently as through the once green fields of Gorn.
  
  
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  ************************************
  
  
  “What do you know about Morithian agriculture?”  Haden asked, beginning a tale which seemed irrelevant.  “Its history is quite interesting, really.  Sand holds very little nutrients; certainly not enough to sustain a mentionable crop.  At some point in history, one of the tribes began to import dirt in an attempt to rectify that problem.  For years the southern Morithian clans traded for loads of soil with Tradian farmers.”
  
  “The effort failed.  It couldn’t hold moisture as the weather wouldn’t allow it.  In answer to that problem, stone walls – tall barricades – were raised.  Most were built in tandem with the natural features of the desert to form havens where the soil could be protected from the arid wind.  That left the problem of the sun simply baking the water away.  A fibrous vine grows abundant and wild in Morith.  It could be woven as it grew into circus tent-sized sheets, and was used to cover the beds.  It let the sun through, but trapped the moisture.  But, still it wasn’t enough.”
  
  “The final solution came unexpectedly in the form of a spider.  Fire spiders to be precise, though their name is misleading.  They possess a weak venom and feed upon carrion, rarely growing larger than a coin in their natural habitat.”
  
  “Some tribe, somewhere, tried adding their dead to the mix in hopes that their spirits would remain behind to magically cause the crops to grow.  There were no ghosts, but it lured fire spiders, and as it turned out, fire spiders could grow indefinitely as long as they had two things; food and water.  Beneath the shade of the vine canopies, they could survive between meals.  Once the tribe realized that the spider’s droppings were a fertilizer that could, in time, transform even bare sand into a medium that could sprout seeds, everything that died went into the farms.  If there were not enough dead things to feed the spiders, then sacrifices were made; slaves, prisoners, the old...”
  
  “The spiders grew as large as the top of this table, and the larger the spider, the better the soil.  Once they attained a certain size, their taste for dead meat waned.  They became cannibalistic, eating each other as readily as they devoured snakes, scorpions, lizards, horses, and whatever was unfortunate enough to be caught.”
  
  Bartholomew Haden poured himself a glass of wine as he organized his thoughts.
  
  “I saw a Morithian farm when I was a boy.  My father took me, along with a procession of wagons carrying goods destined to be traded for obsidian block.  There was a priestess of Ohkin among us – we were near the same age.  Her purpose was entirely humanitarian."  Haden smirked.  "Her superiors felt she could form relations with the clans and spread the word of the true *God* while doing so.”
  
  “We spent a day at the first village we came to.  I remember the farm vividly.  Spiders scurrying violently through the thick, green crops, searching for something to consume.”
  
  Haden gazed into his wine glass as if the vessel contained something more than the red product of  fermented grapes.  “That night, at feast, their chieftain offered a gift to my father; a half-elf woman.  He refused.”
  
  Bart’s face twisted into a frown - perhaps to thwart a show of emotion.  “We realized that in Morith, women are not respected as they are in civilized society, although we underestimated the extent that it was so.  When she was rejected, she became *unworthy* in the eyes of the tribe.  She was staked to the ground and tortured.”  
  
  “The image of the spider, its legs thrashing as it sought to break free of the iron tongs with which the tribesman grasped it will forever occupy my thoughts.”
  
  The man's eyes glistened as tears born more than forty-years past struggled to escape.
  
  “They put it on her.  It plunged its barb into her and filled her with its eggs.  It..."  He paused. "...It began eating her alive.”
  
  “My father was terrified.  Thinking only for our safety, he ordered us to leave.  And we did.”
  
  Haden drained his glass and refilled it.
  
  “I am ashamed that I did nothing to help her.  If it had not been for the priestess, and her courage, we would have not gone back for her.  I don't know how – perhaps the priestess' faith instilled the half-elf with life - but she survived.  We brought her home and healed her as best we were able – but there are some wounds that cannot be mended.”
  
  No one asked for her name, although Haden thought his audience should know it.
  
  “Keeru.  Her name is Keeru Hilla.”
  
  
  
  ************************************
  ************************************
  
  
  The City of Gilj. Day 37 of the 4th Season, year 1197 since the coming of Blessed Knowledge.
  
  The city was especially foreboding that morning. An unusually warm sea met a near freezing temperature, causing a blanket of fog to ooze over the eastern banks of the Sands River. The bellowing coal fires of industry pumped black columns of filth, mixing with the fog like a scene from a nightmare.
  
  Keeru took the final bite of her apple, relishing the taste of the rare, sweet fruit. A lock of her long, black hair had escaped her pony tail. She cleaned her hands on a silk kerchief, and tucked the strands behind an ear before adorning a pair of gloves and lifting the hood of her cloak. Shivering against the humid cold, she climbed down the building's fire escape and blended into the stream of people on the street.
  
  She hated this. 
  
  Bartholomew had promised her she could retire from working contracts. After twenty years of surviving, she believed she had earned that much.  But someone had to pay the bills, and since the untimely deaths of Mr. Haden's former collectors, it looked like it would be her until a new crew could be hired.
  
  Lady Keeru Hilla was more than she seemed. Her face was that of youth, with a body that had filled to a proportion that could draw jealousy from any woman who might consider herself 'attractive'. But Keeru cared nothing for image. Sweet perfumes and painted eyes - those were things for pampered animals who could only rely on their charade to survive. No. Keeru was not like that at all.
  
  She was eighty-seven, or so she guessed. She appeared no older than twenty by human standards. The elfin blood which coursed through her veins did nothing to alter her appearance save for the slightest curve to the top of her ears, an anatomical feature which she kept habitually hidden from others. 
  
  There was a time, when she was much younger, that contract work had been exciting. She used to spend days gathering information and logging the movements of her targets before executing her plan. But that was a long time ago. She no longer cared whose feathers were ruffled, or who saw her do it. 
  
  She hated this.
  
  The chill, damp air gave way to warmth as she pushed open a door and entered a small, but cluttered calligraphy shop. There were two men inside. One was an older man, frail and bent at the shoulders. The other was an enormous hulk with far too much facial hair. That one exuded an air of belligerent confidence, and the scabbard dangling from his side left no doubt as to his purpose. He was an easterner, judging by his garb.
  
  "You owe 250 Ohkin gold." She skipped a greeting, stating her business as flatly as if she were ordering pastries from a baker. "I have come to collect."
  
  "I know you." The old man glanced at his hireling and laughed. "You're Haden's wench. Times must be difficult indeed if he is resorting to his half-blood scum to do his bidding."
  
  In Keeru's life, she had already heard every insult in existence as to her heritage. Insults were easy to ignore. They amounted to nothing compared to the events of her darkened history. "Will you pay or not..?"
  
  "Please remove this… thing... from the premises," the shop owner ordered the mercenary.
  
  The larger man's face twisted into a suggestive smile. "As you wish."
  
  On the counter was a cup holding a neatly arranged display of quills. In a single motion, Keeru selected one and drove it deeply into the large man's neck. The half-elf scowled at her glove – a spot of blood had stained the supple leather.
  
  The man gurgled and clawed at the device, although removing it only allowed the wound to bleed more freely.
  
  "I'll only ask once more. Will you pay, or not..?"
  
  This time the old man was more cooperative. "I don't have that much here." He produced a small pouch and set it on the counter.
  
  "I expect the balance to be delivered to Haden within three days."
  
  "You can't do this.  Coming into a man's place of business and murdering people. You will hang, half-breed.  I will see to it personally."
  
  She grunted as if the idea held merit. That would be one way to keep from being sent on these dreadful errands. "Three days."
  
  *
  
  The sun had climbed high into the sky, melting the fog and allowing the smoke from the factories to drift with the wind. A clearing sky gave reason for where she was.  She paused at the base of Gilj's lighthouse to scratch an old hound's head. The dog never moved as she approached, he only thumped his tail on the planks of the decking in greeting. From the door of the coal-house, an aged and weathered man appeared, though he offered her nothing but a familiar glance. His heavy footsteps faded as he     disappeared into the arching tunnel which led into the tower. 
  
  This was her favorite place. No one bothered her here.
  
  She was free to ascend through the inner lift, but she chose the spiraling outer stairs instead. The narrow blocks were without a railing, coursing upward 400 feet around the massive tower's circumference. At its summit a mound of coal and wood lay upon a huge bowl-shaped, iron dish, ready to be lit as dusk approached or the weather demanded.
  
  Keeru stood at the edge and looked down at the ever-moving city. The wind pushed at her, as if urging her to take one final step.  
  
  It made her feel alive.
  
  *
  
  "I think it has been proven once and for all. The pen *is* mightier than the sword."
  
  Paul always had his sense of humor. He was a tall, wiry man, his height and weight oddly out of proportion. His affinity for tattoos also made him an object of attention. From the neck down, there was barely an inch of skin unadorned with a marking or design. Despite his appearance, Paul Jikey had been a reliable cog in Bartholomew Haden's operations for the last nine years. He managed all aspects of the Empty Pallet, a tavern owned by Haden which occupied the western corner of his warehouse. When news of Keeru stabbing someone with a writing utensil found its way to Paul's bar, he immediately brought it to Haden's attention.
  
  His face covered by his palms, Bartholomew absorbed the news of Keeru with an extended sigh. It appeared as if the proverbial wheels were beginning to come off. "You're certain the man died?" Haden's voice was painfully muffled behind his hands.
  
  "Do you really have to ask?" Paul guffawed.
  
  "No." Haden lowered his hands, revealing a pair of strained, bloodshot eyes.
  
  "Lie to Ohkin, Bart! …You look like something out of the bottom of a gullet vat."
  
  "Thanks. It must be all the sleep I'm getting." Haden glanced at the top of his desk – a palisade of deeds, and contracts, and shipping orders, and storage orders, and taxes, and legal proceedings, and… 
  
  "It wouldn't be so bad if Keeru hadn't gone crazy…"
  
  "I can't blame her."
  
  Jikey smirked. "Gods, you are soft on that woman."
  
  "Am I..? Have you ever stopped to wonder what it must be like watching everyone you know grow old and die? When we found her, I thought she was younger than I was. Now look at her. She could be my daughter. You know…" Haden reached for a tall bottle and poured the remainder of its contents into two glasses. Passing one to Paul, he asked, "How do you think you'd fare being completely alone in the world. Where contact with another person is only a placebo to get you from today until tomorrow, and no further than that? How would you do?"
  
  The thin man could only answer with silence.
  
  "I'm not being soft. But, in the same breath, I don't know what I am being. How can I possibly understand what she feels? I have obviously put too much on her."
  
  "Regardless, it doesn't change the fact that we are now harboring a murder suspect who conveniently committed it in front of a prominent businessman. I don't think any amount of back-scratching is going to get her or us out of that."
  
  Haden's retort carried more venom than he intended. "I am well aware of the current predicament."
  
  "What are we going to do, then?"
  
  "Sell what we can and move to Horj."
  
  "Right… Have you ever been to Horj? The land is a  swamp. There aren't any luxury resorts to pamper tourists. And the winters..."
  
  "I am aware of that, as well. But you know what's going to happen the second we are behind on the taxes. We'll lose the whole thing. All of it.  What then..?"
  
  "You will just have to hire new help."
  
  "You make it sound so easy." It was Haden's turn to laugh. "I'll just run an ad in the paper; *Wanted: Trust-worthy, reliable, and experienced thieves. Apply in Person. Must have references.* Tell me, where do you suggest I find this help?"
  
  "The Blight..?"
  
  "If they were worth their weight, they wouldn't be in the Blight!"
  
  "Maybe they aren't worth their weight now. But, they could be."
  
  "Are you suggesting I incorporate on-the-job training?"
  
  "Bart. You have friends who are in the same situation as we are. Friends who could provide the training that would be required, and I know they would welcome any business we could offer. I'll risk a guess and say that none of them want to move to Horj any more than we do. Besides, if you find someone with potential – make them pay for their own training.  Take it out of their pay."
  
  Haden's hands covered his face again. "I don't know, Paul. I just don't know."
  
  The conversation came to an awkward halt.
  
  "Well, my friend. Whatever you decide, count me in. I have spoken to Leb. He's with us for the long haul."
  
  With that, Paul Jikey showed himself out of Bartholomew Haden's office, pulling the door gently closed as he left.
  
  "The Blight," Haden muttered to no one.
  
  He sat long in silence, slowly sipping the contents of his glass and straining his tired mind for some other solution.
  
  "Gods help us," he finally said. There was no other choice. He flattened a sheet of parchment, but paused as he lifted his quill.  It was worn from years of use.  He and Keeru had few things in common, though murder by quill, in an obscure way, was one of them.
  
  Forcing the thought from his mind, he dipped the point into the inkwell and began to write...
  
  *To:*
  
  *Oliphur Perry, of Perry's Foundry, 15 Kargos Street SE, 3rd District of the City of Gilj, Trad*
  
  *Dear Sir,*
  
  *I would like to offer a proposal for the purchase of two able bodied workers...*
  
  
  ************************************
  ************************************
  
  
  Thanks for taking the time to look and read!
  
  I will be accepting two players.  A third 'may' be involved at some point, but I have no plans for that now.  I am not certain how many applicants I will get, but if there is a lot and you are not accepted then please take no offense at the lack of explanation - I am not a meanie.  If you would feel better with an explanation of my choices, you can message me and I will be happy to share my reason.
  
  P.S.  If you have never had to 'choose' between people, then let me just say that it kind of sucks.  I don't really care for that part.  But, I have been turned down too, so don't be discouraged.
  
  The game is slow paced, and I removed the word cap on posts.  Not suggesting it requires long posts all the time, but the option is there if you need length to get your point across.
  
  This is a low magic setting, and the characters are not 'spell casters'.  Magic will be involved, however.
  
  Character creation:  You will notice that there are no races specified in the Nature cards.  There are Dwarves, Elves, Half Elves, Halflings, Orcs, and more dwelling in various regions of Kime.  However, this story is based in a city known as Gilj, and it is overwhelmingly human.  I wish to stay true to the setting I have already accumulated over the years, thus being demi-human is not something I suggest simply because there is a lot to know if you are to 'fit'.  If you are bent upon it, however, I reserve the right to discuss, or not, how it 'could' be that you are not human and have been located to the Blight.
  
  :-)
  
  That being said....
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Jikey's loyalty to Bart is unwavering.  He will do nothing to compromise the Empty Pallet's or Bart's best interest.
  
  Paul has been working for Bart for sixteen years.
  
  He is covered with tattoos - an indication of his years spent among the Horjian tribes to the far Northwest. 
conversations.prefix: Paul Jikey:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: Hind-sight is 20-20.  Even though you know what to do or say, you're just a bit delinquent with its execution.
conversations.prefix: Late:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: You're a lover, not a fighter - most of the time.  But when you are not, it is poetic.
conversations.prefix: Artist:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: Every problem has a solution if you can see all of its components.  Not so quick to draw a weapon, but eager to see others fall upon their own.
conversations.prefix: Thinker:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: You bear the load and take step after step.  Strength in body and ignorance to pain is how you survive.
conversations.prefix: Worker:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: It's all about faith.  Faith in the gods, faith in your comrades.  Faith that tomorrow is a new day full of hope if you can make it through this one.
conversations.prefix: Believer:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Life is what you make it as no one is going to give you anything.  On the flip side of that coin - why not laugh while you draw breath?  Everything is funny if you can detach yourself.  You can be quite the entertainer.
conversations.prefix: Jester:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: At one time in your life you spoke with senators, and dined with the rich.  You understand how the 'other half' lives.  Whether it's name dropping or knowing which string to pull, this knowledge can be used to influence and manipulate.
conversations.prefix: Once Upon a Time:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: If it has text, then you have seen it, read it, or want to read it.  You digest the written word like locusts upon a field of crops.
  
  Languages are easy for you to decipher.  Codes, and clues others might miss do not escape your eyes.
conversations.prefix: Book Smart:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: With tools on hand you can build anything.  Or destroy it.  You understand physics and mechanics and can see the chain reactions that will occur long before the first domino is toppled.
  
  This can also pertain to wit.  Leveraging those around you with the right words is definitely crafty.
conversations.prefix: Crafty:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Is it broken?  Is it a thing or a relationship?  Are people about to come to blows, or did the wheel just pop off the wagon?  Johnny on the spot,  you smooth the wrinkle and provide a clear path for those around you.
conversations.prefix: Fixer:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: You sense the auras of all around you, even animals.  Though it does not grant creatures intelligence beyond what they normally possess, they will sometimes come to your aid.  People might be disarmed or even friendly.  Is it magic?  It may well be.
conversations.prefix: Empathy:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: You seem to be on top of a situation when it arises.  Often to the surprise of everyone around you - you pull a tool or gadget out of your pack or pouch right when you need it most.
conversations.prefix: Prepared:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: When something must be perfect, you are the one who should carry the proverbial ball.  In zero margin for error is where your strength lies.  Whether it is a disguise to bypass an enemy, or whether it is a stone from a sling, you find your mark.
conversations.prefix: Precise:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Not all strengths require insight.  You leap without hesitation across the chasm.  You dodge the bolts of the crossbow.  If the strength carries a drawback, it is the wisdom to know when to act, and when to remain still.
  
  This strength extends into acts such as drinking someone under the table.  Operating a machine you've never seen, riding a creature you've never tried to ride before.
  
  Sometimes it comes down to a flip of a coin.
conversations.prefix: DareDevil:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: Vermin of all sorts can cause you to jump, but creepy, crawly, slimy, many legged bugs cause you to squirm, run, and even yelp.
  
  This can extend to scenes of gore, and otherwise unpleasant sensations ranging from wet clothing to the smell of dung.
  
  When it's really bad, you've known yourself to spill your guts.
conversations.prefix: Fear:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: The world is a jail cell without a key.  There is nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, and no matter what you do you will never prevail.
conversations.prefix: Hopeless:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: It's not out of anger, but from necessity.  When the time for words has passed, and the time for blows has come, you are swift and thorough.
  
  This could be portrayed via intimidation, or bluffing, as well.
conversations.prefix: Violence:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Note:  This game will not contain extreme graphic scenes.  Sensual acts will be assumed not portrayed.  Please keep that in mind when selecting this.
  
  A pretty face changes your attitude.  Anything so sweet and pretty couldn't mean harm, could it?
  
  This could extend to inanimate objects as well.  A hat, those boots, or even the way someone speaks.
conversations.prefix: Attraction:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: Sweet potatoes, cabbage soup, and pork ribs.  Cookies and bread, fresh from the oven.  Wine and ale aren't exempt.
  
  Everyone needs to eat, but for you the act of consumption is an urge that roots itself in your very existence.  Like a fly annoyingly buzzing about your head - sometimes you forget what you are supposed to be doing and dream of something to cram in your pie-hole.
  
  When you can't find food, the grumbling in your stomach is difficult to ignore.  Sometimes your head swoons, and your knees even weaken.
conversations.prefix: Food and Drink:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: As the name suggests, you run first and cower if you cannot.  Leave fighting for those with the demeanor to do it - yours is a more sophisticated existence.
  
  This doesn't mean you are above blackmail, or hiring someone else to be violent for you.
conversations.prefix: Not Violent:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: Who better is there than you at anything?  This can also be portrayed as selfishness,  greed, or immaturity. 
conversations.prefix: Narcissitic:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: If it's got a moving part, then its already confusing.  Remembering directions?  Good luck.  What was the plan?  I guess it's time to wing it.
  
  You fall for the ruse too many times to call it coincidence.
conversations.prefix: Confused:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: Of character?  Of distance?
  
  Sometimes what you think you know turns out to be wrong.  Unfortunately, you don't figure that out until it's too late.
  
  This can also be portrayed as a 'know-it-all'.
conversations.prefix: A Poor Judge:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Your foot in your mouth is a common occurrence.  Whether it is a secret, lack of tact, or simply being rude, you sometimes don't know when to shut up.
  
  This can be portrayed while attempting to be stealthy too.
conversations.prefix: Not Quiet.:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: When you were displaced to the Blight you were separated from your family.  They may be dead, or forced to work in the mines, or worse...
conversations.prefix: Missing Family:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: You have an ailment, and need to find a cure.  There are few that have the power and knowledge to help you - and those people are in the city proper.
conversations.prefix: Sick:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: You saw a murder.  The murderer knows you saw.  An attempt on your life is eminent.
conversations.prefix: Witness:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: You were drafted into service to fight for the Kingdom of Ain, but you fled, hiding on a trading vessel that took you south until depositing you in Gilj.  Being a stow-away you were taken to the Blight - luckily, before they realized there was a bounty on your head.  Your escape left a trail of blood back in Ain - and you are hunted.
conversations.prefix: Drafted:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: You grew up in Gorn.  When the war arrived your home and all with it were destroyed.  You fled to the south, hoping for salvation, though all you have found is the Hell of surviving the Blight.  You are alone as alone can be.
conversations.prefix: Refugee:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Choose:
  
  It's a violin, crafted over two hundred years ago.  The instrument never goes out of tune.  It is said it once belonged to a powerful Bard.  You hid it when your property was taken - but someone else knows you did.  You hope you recover it before they can.
  
  Or
  
  It's a sword, crafted upon a Dwarven forge in the roots of the Fang Mountains in Bittip.  Someone else knows of it...  they want it as badly as you do.
conversations.prefix: Family Heirloom:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: You had worked together with another to save your property, but that person betrayed you to save themselves.  While you were sent to the Blight to live a slave's life, the other person lives in comfort in Western Gilj.
conversations.prefix: Betrayed:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: This establishment used to be a tavern that served seafood delicacies and a variety of wines and ales.
  
  It is now a business run by Bartholomew Haden which specializes in debt collection, investigation, and any other service that might pay the ever rising rent and taxes.
conversations.prefix: The Empty Pallet:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: NARRATOR ONLY
  
  Owner of the Empty Pallet and employer of the cast.  Bart is a fair man, but a realistic one.  He knows that it is but a matter of time before the corruption in Gilj overtakes him and he loses the property.  But he has a plan, one that he will not speak of - at least not to those he doesn't trust with his life.  He is in his early fifties, salt and pepper hair and beard, enjoys wine and brandy (when he can get it) and is stretched thin with the stress of everyday life in the city.
conversations.prefix: Bartholomew Haden:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: NARRATOR ONLY
  
  A half-elf associate to Bartholomew Haden.  Though she appears young, she is eighty-seven (or so).  She was rescued  from a Morithian tribe by a priestess of Ohkin and Haden.  (read introduction).  Keeru is extremely non-social and prefers to be left alone.  Her interest in you is primarily that if you do your job, so she does not have to involved.
conversations.prefix: Keeru Hilla:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: Loyal to Bart to the death.  Something in Leb's eyes speak of a past that holds much pain.  Dwarves in Gilj are rare at best, thus he left the Bittip mountains for an uncommon reason.  Exiled perhaps - he is dwarf of very few words. 
  
  He maintains the Empty Pallet with repairs, but he can often be found in the stables working on the carriage or caring for its two magnificent horses.
conversations.prefix: Leb:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: NARRATOR ONLY
  
  The priestess who encouraged Bart to rescue Keeru as a youth twenty-nine years ago.
  
  Since then Martalia has risen to High Priestess of the Church of Ohkin.
  
  She remains in touch with Bart, often inquiring about the well being of Keeru.
  
  
conversations.prefix: High Priestess Martalia:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: The blight is a labor camp.  It exists to the east of the industrial sector of Gilj, which borders the east bank of the Great Sands River. Further to the east of the Blight is a dense, lethal swamp, to the northeast, the quarries, to the north the mines The terrain the Blight exists upon has been strip mined of all useful ores, creating areas where cliffs act as fences.  Lifts to haul 'residents' up and down these cliffs allow access.  A 'Blight Guard' exists - which are mercenaries hired by the industrialist.
conversations.prefix: The Blight:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: It isn't long before the rumors that a businessman is speaking to Mr. Perry about purchasing the freedom of a handful of laborers.  The competition is fierce - and one way to win is to eliminate the competition.  You must be alive in order to gain your freedom.
conversations.prefix: Survive:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: Kreegar works at the foundry too.  He has a couple of lackeys that follow him - and they are going to try and kill at least one of you.
  
  The Blight.  A nine square mile prison cell for the 40,000 unlucky souls who have found themselves citizens; the jagged upheavals of rock and steep terrain make the land useless for anything else.  Poisoned run-off from the iron and copper mines in the hills to the north gurgles through the make shift camps and dumps into the sea.  To the east, the land sinks into a quagmire filled with all manners of creatures eager to dine upon those foolish enough to tread there, and even if they should the quarry further east offered no escape.  To the west was a maze of industry, where Blighters went to earn enough coin to survive one more day.  The Great Sands River lay beyond, separating the city of Gilj from the dismal portrait of filth belching factories.
  
  Your day began like any other.  The clang of the work bells roused you from your slumber just as the light of the sun began painting the horizon.  Like sheep you followed the muddy trails to the lifts that lowered you sixty feet at a time until you reached the bottom.  From there it was a long walk to Oliphur's Foundry where you would spend the next twelve hours running water, sweeping slag, shoveling and carting raw ore, or working with the molten rock.
  
  Word had spread through through the factory some days ago.  Someone wanted to purchase a few able bodied souls for... something - who cared what?  Anything was surely better than your existence as it stood.  There was a chance it could be you.  Somehow, you had to be noticed.  But being noticed also meant drawing the eye of Kreegar and his two lackeys.  Kreegar was little more than a punk, but he was physically strong and mentally capable of heinous acts.  Since the announcement had been made, two of the more likely candidates had been victims of 'accidents'.  One fell in the slag trough and was burned to death, and the other was crushed by an ore ladle that had somehow broken free of the chains that held it aloft.
  
  Kreegar's knowing and malicious grin was proof enough that the deaths were his doing.  Kreegar the Thug was intent upon securing a spot in the purchase for himself, and anyone who might damage those chances was in grave danger. 
conversations.prefix: Kreegar:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: He does his job - but he has no choice in the matter.  However, as guards go, Farver is as compassionate as one might be.
conversations.prefix: Guard Farver:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: Jarek and Rachel's Obstacle:
  
  Surviving assassination.  Water poured into molten steel?  Your flesh will be cooked from your bones as smoke fills the building, and a bloom of firey ore rains down....
conversations.prefix: Accident at the Forge:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: An ancient structure, originally built when elves inhabited this portion of Kime.  It was destroyed and rebuilt several times through its history.  Despite the political upheaval of Gilj, the Church still maintains significant influence via the beliefs of influential parties.  The religion itself is one of harmony and spiritualism, and is 'good' via lack of evil. Followers, however, are not necessarily 'good'.
conversations.prefix: Temple of Ohkin:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: The Empty Pallet is within the Green District.  Though the majority of those in the jurisdiction are directly related to industry, the sliver of land yet occupied by the Pallet and a few surrounding businesses are an exception.  Judge Gerald Frannick sits upon the bench, rarely is there a jury trial as he prefers to have swift and definitive rulings - most of which favor industry.  Those that do not pay large monetary taxes. 
conversations.prefix: Green District Court:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Exposed in the Blight, and living along the coast, is a frightening place to be when storms roll in.
conversations.prefix: The Storm:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: Pain and wounds diminish from your touch.  The sick heal more quickly, bones mend stronger.  But healing goes beyond mere physical affliction.  Your words carry the power of truth, washing away doubt and influencing those who fear.  There is harmony in the world, and aiding those who have fallen out of 'tune' is a power you have been bestowed by some higher power.
  
  This can also pertain to emotional wounds.  Healing is more often than not a belief rather than divine intervention.
conversations.prefix: Healer:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: It isn't safe anywhere, let alone in a dark alley.  Someone wants what you have, and they aren't above causing harm to take it.
conversations.prefix: The Alley:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: First you must climb the cliffs.
  
  Next you must sneak through the industrial Green District.
  
  Finally you must cross the river and emerge into Gilj proper.
  
  Who knows what obstacles await you there?
conversations.prefix: Escape The Blight:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: NARRATOR ONLY
  
  Bounty hunter.  Wilken has a nasty habit of feeding upon others' contracts.  He'll wait until the fruit is ready to pluck and swoop in when all else are at a disadvantage to pluck it for himself.
conversations.prefix: Wilkin Inkson:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: When Leb fetches you from Perry's Foundry to deliver you to the Empty Pallet, the carriage is attacked by thugs.  Even before you meet Bart, it is time to show your worth.
conversations.prefix: The Plight of Leb:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Paul Jikey is Bart's right hand man.  If he doesn't like you, you'll be sleeping in the storage shed out back.  If he does, you might just rate a proper room, bath, and meal.
conversations.prefix: Jikey's Approval:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: Lodder Chaft runs a card game in the basement of a barber shop across the river.  Bart has taken a contract from a man who won big there, but Lodder chose not to payout.  Instead, your client was beaten and left for dead.  Your job is to recover Three Hundred and Forty Six gold coins, and administer a like beating upon Chaft and any who stand in your way of doing so.
conversations.prefix: Your First Job:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: The finer points of lock picking are learned to you by none-other than the intimidatingly beautiful Keeru Hilla.
  
  Don't get ideas.  Keeru has more compassion for dog droppings than she does for you.
conversations.prefix: Lock Picker:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: A brick building built without the workers protection in mind.  Huge ladles filled with molten ore are hoisted on chains and poured into channels made of granite where they are guided to various molds.  Nothing elaborate is made here - only crude cast parts to larger engines and building supplies for the ever expanding city across the river.
conversations.prefix: Oliphur's Foundry:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Few know that Gilj has been built and rebuilt upon former cities that have fallen to natural disasters, plague, and war.  There are passageways through the deep as brutal and remote as any caverns found in the Fangs.
conversations.prefix: The Sewers:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: It's your only escape...
  
  The ride is going to be a bumpy one.
conversations.prefix: Leb's Carraige:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: This bent and abused devices have little life left in them, but when used they allow the wearer to read and understand any written language.
conversations.prefix: Spectacles of Understanding:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: It's all you've ever known.  From a distance you've seen businessmen dressed in their expensive attire.  You've seen the carriages with their lace lined windows and their mysterious passengers.  You can only imagine what it is like not to wake each morning upon the scavenged bedding you have managed to secure.  You want to, however.  So badly.
conversations.prefix: Born to the Blight:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Something will go wrong.  Something always goes wrong.  The words you hear do not carry the true meaning the speaker conceals.  Honesty is a thing of fantasy.  Everyone has secrets to keep, and lies are the shrouds that keep them so.
conversations.prefix: Skeptic:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: Growing behind a rock where no one noticed is a single carrot.  It's large and ripe.  Even the soil it grew in doesn't look to be polluted.  Someone looks to take it from you...
conversations.prefix: It's Our Carrot:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: There's a dose or two left.  Rub it on a wound and the pain lessens.  Give it a day and the wound closes.  In two days it's like you were never injured.  
conversations.prefix: Salve of Healing:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: Its sharp, and with a little wrapping of a scrap of leather to make a hilt, it could leave a mark should it need to.
conversations.prefix: Jagged Metal:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: There's not many pages in it.  One, in fact.  But each time you open it it shows the outline of a different animal.
  
  A cat, a dog, a mouse, a bird, a frog...
  
  If you tear the page out, wad it up, and toss it, that animal appears!
  
  Tomorrow a new page is between its worn leather covers.
conversations.prefix: Book of Things:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: Prying, smashing, poking, prodding, the list of uses goes on and on...
conversations.prefix: An Iron Pipe:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: The tower is mammoth.  It must extend above the haze created by Gilj's factories and the fog banks that roll in from the sea.
  
  A spiraling stairs ascends it - without a railing.  A lift in its center allows the caretaker to load fuel for the beacon and raise it to the top.
  
  A small wooden shack built upon the decking around the tower is where the man lives, along with his hound.
conversations.prefix: The Lighthouse:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: The old man who tends to the lighthouse day in and day out.
  
  His eyes are milky, riddled with cataracts, but his hearing his sharp.  He recognizes footsteps as well as a man with eyes can tell a face. 
conversations.prefix: Rollin Chaney:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: There's always something to be thankful for, no matter how dismal it gets.  Or at least you have not gotten low enough to lose sight of the silver lining.
conversations.prefix: Silver Lining:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: You risked love and love abandoned you.  Where it went you have no idea.  Are they dead?  Did they find another?  Did they escape the blight?  Were they yours before you came to the Blight?  Did they promise you they would find you?  They did not.
conversations.prefix: Broken Hearted:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: You were a good worker bee, always doing what you were told to the letter.  But when the walls came crashing in, those who guided your hand allowed all the blame to land on you.  It shook your belief in others no doubt, but it also left a festering desire for vengeance.
conversations.prefix: Following Orders:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: That's all you've ever known.  Whether it was parents, or siblings, or animals, or those less privileged, you sacrificed to ensure they had what they needed.
conversations.prefix: Care Taker:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: All your life people had taken care of you.  Your plate was always filled with food, your cloths warm and mended, and your bed soft and cozy; now you live in the Blight where no one cares if you live or die.  It offers a peculiar point of view to your current life.
conversations.prefix: Pampered:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: Leading is what you were meant to do.  Perhaps you used to.  There's not much to lead in the Blight however - there are those with swords, and a whole lot of those with nothing.  How can you lead what can't be led?  Such a conundrum.
conversations.prefix: Controller:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: There's something you desire.  Something that shouldn't be out of reach, though it always is.  A nice pair of socks, a bottle of a particular wine, a graceful dance with a partner who knows how.  You decide what you desire, and you figure out a way to obtain it.
conversations.prefix: Something Nice:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: It crawls, and ties itself in knots, and unties itself, and recoils itself...
  
  There has to be a million uses for this!
conversations.prefix: Magic Rope:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: The theater district in Gilj is renown.  There in your hand is a ticket to the premier of the Spring Ball.  Now if only you had a date and something to wear...
conversations.prefix: A Ticket to the Ball:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: But not just any lock picks.  These were crafted by the Dwarves of Bittip.  They can open any lock they are set to, though their magic is not endless.
conversations.prefix: Lock Picks:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: It's not an odd thing to find, but what to use it for?  What to use it for...
  
  Surely something needs hammered or nailed...
conversations.prefix: A Hammer and a Sack of Nails:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: Someone dropped their Ferry Pass.  You could ride across the river into Gilj proper any time you please...  at least until it expires.
conversations.prefix: A Ferry Pass:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Exactly how dangerous is he?  Does he have a weakness?
conversations.prefix: Information About Kreegar:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: Someone in the camp knows a thing or two about the Torgs that patrol this neck of the Blight.
  
  With the proper form of payment the guards might take special care to watch your backs for a day.
conversations.prefix: Bribing the Guards:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: A Torg, hired guard patrolling the Blight.  Rachel bribed this one with a pocket watch to watch over her and Jarek as they looked to survive Kreegar's retaliation for the death of Raso.
conversations.prefix: Blant:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: Rock Drop camp mate who pointed Rachel in the direction of the Torg, Blant, to seek protection from Kreegar.
conversations.prefix: Leva:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Rock Drop camp mate who took an interest in Jarek's well being.  He has aged beyond his years and struggles with health issues.
conversations.prefix: Old Man Galen:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: Blant, the Blight guard's dog.
conversations.prefix: Triska the Guard Dog:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: This is the man Gen saw murder someone.  His trimmed beard and traces of silver through his black hair gives him the illusion of wisdom and dignity.  The savagery in which Gen saw the man demonstrate speaks much differently of his demeanor.
conversations.prefix: Charles Ratolius:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: Gen's obstacle:
  
  The Law Keeper asks you the two questions noted in the scene's introduction.  You must address them. 
  
  It requires two cards to complete this challenge.  Play only *one* card at a time per post.  There are more questions to answer...
  
  Someone you'd never seen before, dressed in the garb of a law keeper, is asking questions.
  
  The man inspects each worker methodically, looking in their eyes, and asking questions...
  
  Was Rattolius on to your trail?  Had he guessed your fate and was systematically seeking out the witness to his heinous crime?
conversations.prefix: Inspector Yan:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: The Perry's Foundry employee that made an attempt on Jarek's life
conversations.prefix: Borgus Chafe:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: Did she say she was here to retrieve people - as in, leaving the Blight?
conversations.prefix: I Am Worthy!:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: When Keeru asked Leb to stop the carriage, you were initially afraid she was going to kick you out.
  
  But a glance out the window shows it not to be the case.  
  
  A man, dressed in the garb of a law keeper, though in a uniform you are unfamiliar with is escorting someone you know to a less impressive wagon.  The woman told you to wait inside the cabin, though one of you sees something you don't like...
conversations.prefix: So, You Two Know Each Other:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: Yan didn't come alone.  His deputy knew Haden's carriage when he saw it, he took a vantage point to defend the Inspector.
  
  Does he fire?  Does the bolt strike true?
conversations.prefix: Crossbow Attack:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: It was obvious Keeru and Yan know each other well.  Blant was there too?  That seemed a bit odd.
conversations.prefix: What Just Happened?:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: Woman who runs the The Bare Bottom bath house that is adjoined to the Empty Pallet.
conversations.prefix: Frella Longfeather:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Woman in Camp Rock Drop that advised Rachel to seek out Blant for protection against Kreegar.
conversations.prefix: Leva:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: Owner of Sterch's Fishery and former employer of Gen
conversations.prefix: Mister Sterch:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Old man in Camp Rock Drop who befriended Jarek.
conversations.prefix: Galen:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: A place of comfort and wonder.  Trinkets and oddities adorn the shelves, books line shelves.  Once could get used to such a place...
conversations.prefix: Bart's Study:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Haden's curiosity is clear to see.  His mistrust of Keeru is balanced by the the fact that she has been a major reason why the Pallet still exists.  But, he is no fool.  You must reveal something to him that gives him reason to continue being curious.  Elaborate on your past, lie, or otherwise give the man that reason, or find yourselves out on the street.
conversations.prefix: The Dog's Bite:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: Bart's glasses were more than mere spectacles!
  
  You put them on and the strange shapes in the tome that Bart left upon his desk became understandable!
  
  You see something.  Tell us what you see...
  
conversations.prefix: The Kry'sgra:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Rita is a woman some years younger than Bart.  Her brown hair is pulled back in a loose pony tail, and her blue eyes seem to smile.
  
  Two fingers on her right hand are missing as well as her thumb.
  
  Wearing an apron that is clean, but very used, she busies herself in the Pallet's kitchen, creating what she can with the meager supplies she is given.  You can often hear her wishing for this spice or wishing for that ingredient.
conversations.prefix: Rita Niffinton:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: You'd never had the opportunity to fire a bow.  Perhaps it's something that comes naturally - perhaps not...
conversations.prefix: Am I good at this?:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: You'd never had the opportunity to fire a bow.  Perhaps it's something that comes naturally - perhaps not...
conversations.prefix: The Bow...:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: It was heavy and made of thick slabs of oak.  It's roll away top was open, revealing many drawers and compartments.  Those were all unlocked and of little interest.
  
  But there may be another place on the desk the key would fit that hadn't been found...
conversations.prefix: The Desk...:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: This is a single point challenge.  If you choose to complete it, please type 'WRITING' in the comments so folks know you are and don't work on it too.
  
  ...................
  
  It might be something not yet described, but something in the room grabs your attention more so than anything else.  It could be anything, including sounds from below, something out the window, something hidden, something unhidden....  What is it?
conversations.prefix: This looks interesting...:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: A Law Keeper of the Green District, where the Empty Pallet and the southern portion of the factories reside.
conversations.prefix: Vicktor Archington:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: You want us to break into a business and steal??
  
  Jikey may know more, perhaps he even has some advice on how to proceed.  He is truthful in telling you that if you are caught that Bart will have no choice but to claim ignorance...
  
  Which is why Bart doesn't know...
conversations.prefix: More Information Please...:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: Something else in the article is relevant to Gen's witnessing of the murder.
  
  Use a Subplot card and embellish upon what it is.
  
  You may choose either a strong or weak outcome.
conversations.prefix: (Gen) Newspaper...:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: There is a lot in the Pallet you have yet to investigate.  You can sleep later - a little late night snooping is in order...
conversations.prefix: (Jarek) Not Tired...:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: You dream.  There is music.  Beautiful music.  Luring you to look, though always it remains out of sight...
conversations.prefix: (Rachel) The Dream...:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: The politician Gen saw murdered at the hands of Charles Rattolius
conversations.prefix: Senator Dench Feerly:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: The father of Inspector Yan and the Judge of the Rose District.  Allegedly murdered Bart's Father
conversations.prefix: Honorable Vrane Yan :
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: The Pallet and those in it were beyond strange... 
  
  Perhaps it was time to consider allies that had more in common with you...
  
  Maybe not...
  
  One of you is in the hall, the others open their doors, or arrive at the same time as you...
conversations.prefix: No Time To Trust:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: What are the odds that you would find yourself at such a particularly stressful location...  stuck no less.
conversations.prefix: The Scene of the Murder:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: There it was.  The darkened, cramped alley where blood had spilled.  Where Gen had witnessed a murder.  Where the murderer had witness him...
conversations.prefix: Traffic Jam:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: One of Jarek's Father's, Lord Přemysl Krall, employees.  Not bright, very loyal, and extremely violent.
conversations.prefix: Braynor E. Tidus:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: As per usual, take your time.  Martalia will speak to you as long as you require to set your card play up.  (I love that part!)
  
  Your meeting with Martalia won't last forever.  
  
  Gen may be interested in his mother, but on top of that Jarek's father Lord Krall's name is involved in the conversation.  Rachel may learn more about the mark upon her neck, or even the fate of her own parents.   The scene at the library where Gen saw the murder could also become more clear, or more of a mystery.
conversations.prefix: Connecting the Dots:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: You are the child of a noble...or at least you were. Struggles over the line of succession went against you and your mother, and it all went too far...so now here you are, alone in the Blight, struggling to survive.
conversations.prefix: Forsaken Heir:
conversations.from: human
conversations.prefix: Wild:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.prefix: Wild:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: You were part of a squabble over the line of succession of a noble house. Things didn't go so well...now you're in the Blight. Someone else won the struggle, and they're living a nice life. You aim to trade places.
conversations.prefix: Reclaim Your Birthright:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.prefix: Wild:
conversations.from: human
conversations.prefix: Wild:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.prefix: Wild:
conversations.from: human
conversations.prefix: Wild:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.prefix: Wild:
conversations.from: human
conversations.prefix: Wild:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.prefix: Wild:
conversations.from: human
conversations.prefix: Wild:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.prefix: Wild:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: No matter the situation, Jarek knows there's a way through. He won't stop fighting until he's dead (and if you asked him, he'd swear he'd come back as a ghost and keep trying). This serves him well in his hard life, and can inspire others as well.
conversations.prefix: Determined:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: It was an easy assumption that you would have trouble coming one day. As such you have taken precautions whether it be storing useful things away or learning where the best spot to hit a man is.
conversations.prefix: Preparations:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Jarek is getting out of the Blight, one way or another. He is taking his life back, one way or another. Nothing is going to stand in his way.
conversations.prefix: Ambition:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: To be honest (and people so rarely are), you have very little reason to trust anyone outside of yourselves. They obviously have their own interests and are likely to hold them above your own well-being.
conversations.prefix: Distrustful:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Since a very young age, you have had to earn your keep. Your food, your housing, even your spot in a group were all dependent on your contributions. You do the tasks assigned to you, if only to keep breathing.
conversations.prefix: Work Ethic:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: You've been given a second chance, and you're more certainly not going to waste this one.
conversations.prefix: Determinator:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Your mother was amazing, and you're going to do your best to see her proud.
  
  You may not know her the most, but you knew her enough.
conversations.prefix: Mother's son.:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: The Blight does not breed trust or cooperation. It is better to make your words few and purposeful than to run your mouth. This does not make you good at small talk.
conversations.prefix: Blighted Social Skills:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Leaping before you look works out for you sometimes...but not every time, as you're learning presently.
conversations.prefix: Overeager:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: Like many young nobles, Jarek had some training in the arts of combat, including the sword and the bow. But that was years ago, and the simple skills taught to a small boy don't quite hold up anymore.
conversations.prefix: Rusty:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: You know what it says. How could you not? You're the best you know at reading. But you don't know if you can trust them with it, what you see in the text.
  
  
conversations.prefix: Paranoid.:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.prefix: Wild:
conversations.from: human
conversations.prefix: Wild:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.prefix: Wild:
conversations.from: human
conversations.prefix: Wild:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: He senses your fear.
conversations.prefix: Hesitance.:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: The world is a trap. A puzzle trap. If you can see all the pieces, watch them to see how they fit together, you might be able to avoid the end result. 
conversations.prefix: Perceptive:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.prefix: Wild:
conversations.from: human
conversations.prefix: Wild:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: Your entire life has been spent on the other side of the river. To see how the other side lived, how different they are from you, is-is that lady wearing real gold? Whoa!
conversations.prefix: Displaced:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: There's an old saying about people like you. You're either just smart enough to keep your head down, or just dumb enough to pretend it won't happen to you. Either way, in this situation, you know which way the wind is blowing.
conversations.prefix: Smart enough:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: There will be times when when your death looms over you like a cloud.
  
  Remember me then.
conversations.prefix: Keeru's Locket:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: This cannot possibly be the man Bart had wanted to find you.
conversations.prefix: An Instrument...:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: Bears.  Two of them.  Ten foot tall standing on their hind legs, they are.
  
  They are bent upon eating you.
conversations.prefix: Run for your lives:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: The Carriage...
  
  It's your only escape...
  
  The ride is going to be a bumpy one, and I hope you took notice of how to drive it...
conversations.prefix: Get Away Driver:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: You have seconds to get to the carriage and get those horse moving...
  
  There is still one bear left.
  
  One of you has to drive. 
conversations.prefix: The Get Away:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: You've lived for revenge for so long...you're still not sure that you're ready to set that aside, but somehow it seems less important now. You're part of something bigger than yourself, for the first time ever. You have to help the others and get through it together.
conversations.prefix: A New Sense of Purpose:
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: When something seems exciting, you jump at the chance--no hesitation whatsoever.
conversations.prefix: Enthusiasm: