text: You can't remember when the world first started shaking, this little fragile patch of reality with so many cracks and such little support to keep it from breaking apart, but something was always going to give. It was just a matter of time. Nobody knew what really triggered the fall. Was it the breaking of the chains which kept your little quiet island floating in the sky all this time, imbued with the energy which kept it going for so long? Was it the final earthquake that split the lands of the humans, far below your precious little civilisation? Or was it something else?
  
  It's easy to blame the humans who live beneath you, blame them for every little thing that goes wrong in the world. You're high enough to avoid the worst of the toxic gases that they leak into the atmosphere; you're smart enough to know not to drain the planet of what few resources remain to be cultivated; you're fast enough to hide yourself when they create a multitude of new dangers, unleashing terrors into the wild.
  
  There is no war here, no government, no violence, no weapons or need to do anything but survive on your own and help each other out. The air is thinner here. Humans find it hard to breathe at this altitude without special equipment of their own. You pity them, but at the same time you admire them for being resourceful enough to create tools enabling them to come all the way up here. Then you remember what had to be sacrificed for such tools to be made, and you no longer admire them so much.
  
  The island you've lived on for your entire life, along with your family and friends...is beginning to fall.
  > proceed
  The wind howls in your ear as the island plummets towards the ground far, far below. No chains to keep you secure. No energy or power to keep you airborne, not anymore. Everything has been used up. This is where your home is, your village, your life; clusters of little grassy huts assembled in neat little circles, built to resist the strong winds of this height. Your people have long grown used to the lack of oxygen up here.
  
  It isn't your home anymore.
  
  You clutch onto the beautiful green grass covering the ground, grass which comes off in clumps in your hands. The air pressure is affecting the land and you watch in mounting horror as pieces of your home are savagely torn away from one another. You're not the only one, either; dozens of people are desperately trying to keep their houses secure before they too are ripped asunder. A doomed effort, because the gravitational pull is tremendous.
  
  You do not see your parents anywhere. You fear they may have been dragged over the edge to their deaths, like so many others. This settlement is not equipped with appropriate equipment to land upon the human-inhabited grounds, thousands of metres below. Nobody would think to do anything like that.
  
  The roar of the wind grows louder and louder in your ears, and the pressure on your body forces you into a narrow crawl. You cannot even raise your head, at the speed you are falling. Cracks appear in the ground around you, and you realise that this is no longer a case of keeping the island secure. The settlement is already done for. It will not survive.
  > crawl towards the ruins of your house nearby
  You claw your way towards what used to be your personal residence. The roof has been torn off, the front door is hanging on by mere threads, and the interior has been devastated beyond recovery. Only pieces of shattered wood remain here now. The wind picks up, and for a second you almost lose your grip, but you somehow manage to make it inside. What remains of the wall here serves as a temporary shelter.
  
  Even so, the feeling in your gut tells you that the entire island is picking up more speed than before. The chains will not be repaired: it is not going to stop. Your chances of survival are slim at best.
  > keep your head down and seek shelter within the wall
  You crouch against the inside of the wall, covering your head as the deafening noise continues all around you. Earlier on, you could hear the cries of the other people as they sought shelter within their fragile little huts, but now there is nothing to be heard but the endless howling of the wind. A chill seeps into your bones, but that is the least of your worries right now. This wall will not hold for long. You may as well be stranded in the middle of the ocean, clinging to a broken piece of driftwood as the storm rages on.
  
  As if eager to give you confirmation of this, small cracks begin to spread out across the wall where you are hiding. The entire island is shaking, causing the cracks to widen.  
  > stay against the wall
  You stay braced against the wall, unwilling to move from this spot. This is your home. You will not abandon it, no matter what. More cracks appear all over the wall and start to crumble away; the wind whistles through the holes, and you can feel its chill upon the nape of your neck.
  
  It's too late to try and escape your fate now. Everything is already destroyed. Your possessions, your livelihood, the people you grew up and formed relationships with. What else is left? What else can the world take away from you now? Home is where the heart is. You close your eyes and start repeating that small phrase like a constant mantra: home is where the heart is, home is where the heart is, home is where the heart is –
  
  The wall collapses at your back, nothing but rubble now. You feel a moment of terror before the wind picks up speed and you are thrown off your feet, clumps of wood falling uselessly from your bleeding fingers. You scream as you are flung from the surface of the island, spiralling towards certain death far below... 
  > proceed
  The pressure mounts in your ears with a fearsome intensity, and your entire world turns into a mass of endless sound and impending pain. You fall for what seems like forever, desperately clutching at any means of support, anything at all. There is nothing for you to catch on to. You fight to draw breath, but your stomach feels as if it is being squeezed to breaking point. It's a struggle to keep your eyes open; your vision blurs and pinpricks of light flash before you, multiplying in number as your speed of descent increases further...
  
  As you fall, you catch sight of a heavy chain extending from the base of the island. You've never had the opportunity to see it up close before, and it's sad that you can only do so now, in circumstances like these. The chain extends a short distance below the island before ending at a shattered black ring. Energy no longer flows through it to keep the island aloft. It has been split apart from some exterior force.
  
  Confused at what this could mean, you gasp for breath as you fall with the island. The last of your strength fades. Unconsciousness falls upon you, and what you know of your world is consigned to complete blackness.
  > proceed
  You hear voices in your ear, indistinct faces in the gloom around you. There is no pain, but the wind is still quite fierce and there is only a tiny semblance of touch or feeling. You try to move, but your body will not obey you. Everything seems too bright and loud for you to make out anything but what is immediately nearby. Too much light. Too much volume. It is difficult for you to tell if you are dead or alive. Only the presence of pain suggests the latter.
  
  "Why, Mother?" a woman's voice whispers at your side. You are just barely aware that she is not addressing you, but someone else whom you cannot see. "Why do you choose to help her? Our burden is upon you, to cleanse us of our impurities and prolong our life force, but you lack judgement in this situation. You lack common sense. Do you seek to betray the rules and regulations of the Gahl'vuhr Sehn at its core? The Unworthy ones do not come to you. They do not know half of what you do for us. Yet now they fall from their sky islands, falling into nothing, now that the world finally stops turning. Leave her be. Leave her to die."
  
  You feel warm hands pull you free, and a sense of strange nostalgia washes over you. It's difficult to describe, after all that's happened, but some of the tension eases away. It feels like... it feels like home.
  
  "Do not save her, Mother," repeats the voice unfalteringly. "The Unworthy ones do not wish for absolution. Do you understand? They do not want your blessing, Mother. Waste not, want not." And then, in a fainter voice, so quiet that you could have sworn you imagined it, "This is not our way, Mother. This is not how we behave in the Gahl'vuhr Sehn. You will regret your folly."
  
  The howling has stopped. 
  > proceed
  You awaken in more peaceful circumstances. No longer are you falling to your death at hundreds of miles an hour, deprived of everything you once held dear. For a split second, you are hopeful that everything which transpired was nothing but a cruel nightmare, designed to bleed you dry of all positive emotions. It certainly felt like a dream. As your surroundings become visible to you, however, you become painfully aware that this is reality.
  
  Instead, you find yourself lying on a comfy bed inside a small, square room, with no memory of how you got here. Evidently, somebody has gone to a lot of trouble to make you feel at home here. A glass of water is placed on the bedside table for you, and a few pillows have been propped up just underneath your head.
  
  Dizzily, you start to sit up and are surprised to find that you can do so. You also discover that you appear to have sustained no physical injuries at all. How could you possibly be unhurt? Your first thoughts are that one of the foreign sky races must have treated you upon impact, but they are surely too far away to have reached you in time. Your island was quite isolated from other land masses and never received many foreign visitors or travellers. Could it be that you never hit the ground at all?
  
  Perhaps this is the afterlife, and you are to be judged for your transgressions in the events leading up to your death. In any case, you will not find out by simply lying in this bed all day. You feel well enough to get up and walk about now, so perhaps it is time to explore your surroundings in some more detail. You still do not know where you are.
  
  As you start to get up, there is a vicious snarl from the corner of the bedroom.
  
  With a start, you realise that you are not alone. A green-skinned muscular creature is glaring at you from a short distance away, sporting sharp claws, four arms, and a barbed tail. It is much bigger than you are and seems to be sizing you up. A mutant? You can't think of what else to call it. There are tales of sky races long ago which were said to engage in such experiments, creating their own warped definition of new life... 
  
  Fortunately for you, the mutant is confined within a large iron cage. It shouldn't be able to get out. You eye it warily and quickly move past it.
  > inspect the mutant further
  The mutant snarls at you intelligibly as you approach it. With a body composition like that, you doubt that this creature evolved naturally; no, it was likely the result of a hideous experiment with organic matter and some unknown toxic material. That's your best guess, really, but you're still at a loss to explain why your apparent rescuers put you in the same room as this vicious beast. The mutant seems to have been in this cage for a very long time.
  
  You peer at it curiously through the bars, and the mutant suddenly slams all four of its claws into the cage. That makes you jump a little, but the door of the cage is quite sturdy and refuses to budge, no matter how much the creature bashes at it. It's not going to escape any time soon. A padlock on the cage door also prevents you from letting it out, just in case such a thought passed through your mind.
  > search the room for valuables
  You make a quick search of the bedroom, being careful not to stray too close to the mutant's cage, but there doesn't seem to be much of value here. A wardrobe has been placed against the wall, but contains only foul-smelling rags which are filled with holes. You consider tearing off a fragment of your bedsheets instead, but decide against it once you consider that your situation might be the outcome of limited hospitality.
  
  After a few more minutes, you do find a strange scroll under your bed. It is written in a language that you do not understand, if it is a language at all; strange symbols and archaic runes cover the wrinkled paper. For now, you decide to take it along with you.
  
  As you pick up the scroll, the mutant watches you with a baleful glare. It lets out a long hiss and the skin on its body changes colour to an angry red.
  > inspect the mutant further
  The mutant snarls at you intelligibly as you approach it. With a body composition like that, you doubt that this creature evolved naturally; no, it was likely the result of a hideous experiment with organic matter and some unknown toxic material. That's your best guess, really, but you're still at a loss to explain why your apparent rescuers put you in the same room as this vicious beast. The mutant seems to have been in this cage for a very long time.
  
  You peer at it curiously through the bars, and the mutant suddenly slams all four of its claws into the cage. That makes you jump a little, but the door of the cage is quite sturdy and refuses to budge, no matter how much the creature bashes at it. It's not going to escape any time soon. A padlock on the cage door also prevents you from letting it out, just in case such a thought passed through your mind.
  
  The mutant's skin has now changed to an angry red colour. Even though the cage is holding it back, you're wary about spending any more time in this room.
  > ignore the mutant and leave the bedroom to find out where you are
  You push open the door and step outside to find yourself in a narrow corridor which extends both left and right. To the left, you feel a gust of wind blowing, rustling through your hair softly. The sensation is not unpleasant. Perhaps there is a window open in that direction. To the right, you can hear the voices of people talking and laughing, though you are not close enough to hear exactly what they are saying. It is possible that they are your rescuers, but you cannot tell for sure. 
  > go left where the wind is coming from
  The wind grows stronger as you follow the corridor around the corner, towards a set of stairs which lead to the upper level. You're not quite sure where you are, exactly. You can only assume that you have been taken to somebody's home, perhaps another faraway settlement, but you must surely be a long way from home. At least, where your home used to be. It doesn't explain the presence of the mutant in your room, however, so you can only hope that your hosts are not unpleasant company.
  
  You climb up the stairs to find yourself...staring out across open skies. Clouds can be seen on the horizon, clustered in a never-ending sea of blue which surrounds you for miles and miles as far as the eye can see... 
  
  This is no ordinary residence. This is no house. You're not even on ground level. You are standing on the upper deck of a fully functioning airship! No wonder the wind was so strong up here: you must be hundreds of metres above sea level...
  
  You've never been on an airship before, but you have seen plenty of them at the island where you lived all your life. Some sky races use these aerial vessels to transport goods and cargo between islands, others simply for transporting passengers. However, they can be slow and unwieldy to operate, and they are not especially durable; a fierce lightning storm can easily put an airship out of commission. For this reason, airships are usually designed for short voyages with a minimum of passengers.
  
  It's like something out of a dream. A real airship. You don't know where this one is headed, but it has to be somewhere better than where you came from. Where do you want to go, after all? No, the bigger question is – what happened on the surface of the land far below? What prompted your island to fall in the first place?
  
  As you gaze out thoughtfully across the open skies, there are footsteps behind you. You turn to see a young woman with long red hair cascading across her shoulders. There is a hint of recognition in her green eyes as she looks at you.
  
  "Vnwprthy," she says in a clear voice. "Ypv brf thf Vnwprthy." She beckons to you with one finger. "Cpmf. Cpmf wjth mf. Thf Cbptbjn wbnts tp spfbk tp ypv."
  
  Without another word, she turns on her heel and walks across the deck into another section of the airship. You do not understand her words, but it seems that she wants you to follow her.
  > follow the woman
  Curious about what awaits you, you follow the red-haired woman across the upper deck and over to the other side. She leads you through another set of twists and turns in the corridors, down into another part of the airship. As you walk, you pass by several uniformed men who watch you with interest. They are not human, but then again...neither are you. Each of them appears to be armed to the teeth. Only now do you realise that they must be part of the ship's crew.
  
  After a few minutes, your guide leads you to a brass door which lies at the top of a final flight of stairs. There is a sign on top of the door, but you lack the knowledge to read the symbols and runes displayed there.
  
  "Gp jn," she says, gesturing for you to enter. "Thf cbptbjn js wbjtjng fpr ypv."
  
  At her request, you push open the door and enter the room beyond.
  > proceed
  You enter a large, lavishly-furnished room with all manner of alien devices mounted upon the walls, none of which you have seen the like before. One device consists of two gyros oscillating in synchronisation with each other, surrounded by a shimmering coil of energy; another instrument is similar to a telescope upon first glance, but appears to contain three lens of varying sizes at set intervals within its interior; a third device resembles a sundial, but is set into the ceiling and is covered by an array of round discs. Evidently, these instruments must be related to the operation of the airship. You're not sure whether they are lifelike models of the real thing or not, but they do fascinate you.
  
  From the look of the place, you must be in the captain's room. Sunlight pours in through two bay windows at the front, and a plain-looking bed is situated in the corner next to a pair of filing cabinets. This cabin seems to function as both a workspace and as living quarters. A large number of medals and trophies stand upon one of the cabinets.
  
  The captain herself stands at the other end of the cabin behind a large desk, dressed in a red and purple uniform covered by various badges to indicate her high status. Much like the other crew members you saw earlier, she is not human and is vaguely reptilian in nature. Thick white hair flows down her back in an elegant ponytail.
  
  "Vnwprthy," the captain says to you curtly as you enter. "Wflcpmf."
  
  You look blankly at her, wondering if you are about to subjected to yet another series of verbal questions in a language you do not understand.
  
  "My crfw tfll mf thbt ypv hbvf bffn bslffp fpr spmf tjmf, Vnwprthy," she says, a disregarding tone in her voice, one used to command. "Nbtvrblly, ypvr prfsfncf hfrf hbs cbvsfd qvjtf b stjr bmpng vs. Whp brf ypv, bnd whfrf hbvf ypv cpmf frpm?"
  
  She looks expectantly at you, frowning when she sees that you do not comprehend her words. With a sigh of disgust, the captain calls out in a sharp voice. The door of the cabin opens behind you, and a red-haired woman with a kindly face steps inside. She appears to be human. It's strange, because you didn't think humans could survive at these kinds of altitudes.
  
  "Hfllp," the red-haired woman says to you gently. When you look at her in confusion, she tries again. "Cpmmpn Tpngvf... Vncpmmpn... He... Hell-oh? Hello? Is... is this better?"
  
  "Yes," you say gratefully. "That's better. I can understand you."
  
  The captain looks quite annoyed with the exchange as the red-haired woman speaks urgently to her. She turns towards you haughtily and clears her throat.
  
  "How about... this?" she says irritably. "You do not speak Common Tongue, or even Uncommon Tongue. A mix of Skylandish and Common Comorrah? Is this really how you talk to your brethren? You Unworthy ones are nothing but a constant pain."
  
  Seeing that you understand her, she sags back against her chair with some relief. "I see that we have some communication in place at last. I am the captain of this ship. I will make a few things clear right now, Unworthy – I do not tolerate stowaways who drop out of the damn sky, taking up additional resources than I can spare for my crew. I don't care if your island fell into the ocean. That's no excuse to litter my ship with your worthless carcass. Damn nuisance, you people are!"
  
  She throws up her hands – or rather, claws – in a gesture which suggests she likes to complain. "Are you aware that Mother Ghared chose to save your life?" The captain nods her head towards the young red-haired woman standing next to her. "As official members of the Gahl'vuhr Sehn, it is against our policy to save the life of an Unworthy. That's you, by the way. Anybody outside our organisation is an Unworthy. I wasn't happy about this at all. Mother Ghared is far too soft in these matters."
  
  "Captain," Mother Ghared says in a passive tone of voice, "I believe you did not bring the Unworthy up here to give her a tirade on her existence. She must be quite tired after her ordeal. Her island is not the first to plummet towards the ground, nor will it be the last. An exchange of information is required."
  
  The captain glares at you, but reluctantly acknowledges her words. "Very well," she says. "Unworthy, you are free to ask me questions about your situation. But after you have finished, I have some important questions of my own."  
  > ask her about this airship
  "You stand aboard an Auvahr-Tenur Airship, Year 2XX5, Model CXXP," the captain says with a certain note of pride in her voice. "We Auvahrs are known well for our skill in ship construction, but see little sense in naming them. These vessels are not built for long journeys, as you may know. Although the Tenurs work on the advanced mechanisms, it is not mandatory to employ them as members of the crew and we carry no Tenurs aboard at this time."
  
  She appears to be referring to the races which populate the various sky islands. You have heard of the Tenur race before, but have never encountered Auvahrs before. For your entire life, you have been content to remain on your little island without once venturing out into the unknown. At times like this, you wonder if such a decision was altogether wise.
  
  "Where are you headed?" you ask.
  
  "Island 45H, according to the sky charts," she answers. "You Unworthy ones do not name your islands, do you? How quaint. We can respect that, but it makes it harder for us to make a decent reference point. Among us Auvhars, the island is known as Majeruk." The captain glances at one of the instruments in front of her. "We will reach Majeruk within the hour, at which point you can disembark and get off my damn vessel at last. Unworthy, we carry a decent amount of cargo on board and I will not have your presence contaminate the merchandise further. I will be glad to be rid of you."
  
  This news brings you some hope. It sounds as if you might have a chance to reach an island not unlike the one you left behind. That seems a sensible way to proceed right now: move on, rebuild, and re-settle upon a new island. It seems that not every island has met the same fate as yours, but how long will that last? When will the world stop shaking?
  > proceed
  The captain of the airship waits patiently at her desk, awaiting your next question.
  > ask her about the people on board
  "This airship carries only Auvahrs and one human," she says dismissively. The captain appears to be referring to the races which populate the sky islands, though you have never encountered an Auvahr in the flesh before. "A standard crew, including mercenaries to guard the merchandise should we run into any trouble. We also carry a few valuable prisoners from the last island." There's a pause, and you wonder if she might be referring to the caged mutant you saw in your bedroom.
  
  "What about... " You voice the question which has been plaguing you, glancing over to the red-haired woman. "Mother Ghared? She's a human."
  
  "Quite right," the captain replies. "Gahl'vuhr Sehn policy requires that every airship within their organisation carries a representative proficient in restorative abilities, to ensure survival of the crew in the worst-case scenario. It was Mother Ghared who saved your life, against my express wishes. She may be human, but she is a formidable representative of the Gahl'vuhr Sehn and can withstand the high altitudes, thanks to her rather abstract nature. If you wish to speak to her whilst you are here, you will do so only with the greatest of respect."
  
  You look towards Mother Ghared, but her expression betrays nothing of her inner thoughts.