I started dipping into my writing archives last week, and now look where I ended up! Tribe of Liars is an extensive world created by our family. It’s a gaming IP with detailed character backgrounds, all unrealized or in process.
The following is the opening to one of my unfinished short stories or novellas detailing two of the characters. It’s fiction, which is a strange writing beast to me. I prefer the leanness of screenwriting. However, I’m in a weird blogging lull, burned out on generating content. And I genuinely believe that creative work needs to breathe in the world rather than stay locked in a folder. So, here goes.
Gage and Wrigley (Chapter One, Part One)
Gage is generally considered good-looking. You really can’t get around that; people treat him with the preference the beautiful generate. Your definition of handsome will define how his beauty manifests, though, so create him as you will. What you can’t get around is his mechanical ability. This guy likes to engineer stuff.
Right now coffee and sausage cook over a campfire. Look closer. What’s the contraption next to the breakfast? A boiler uses steam to power an experimental crossbow that you now hold in your hands and are prompted to shoot.
In case you couldn’t tell, you’re in a tutorial.
You’ve got a steam-power meter for a beginner’s weapon. When you press the x-button you ratchet a clumsy mechanism into place. Right trigger to release the valve that sends steam to the piston, and away your arrow flies toward your target.
Try hitting an acorn in that oak tree over there.
Checking that the tubing was hot and the steam ready, Gage angled the crossbow to point into the branches of a nearby oak. A magazine of arrows, each with a piston behind it, tilted into position. Aiming at an acorn in the tree, Gage prepared to release the valve to the first firing pin.
A gray squirrel hopped along the branch and grabbed the exact acorn Gage had sighted. As the squirrel ran back along the branch, it looked directly at Gage.
Okay.
Blinking, Gage hiked up his goggles and gave the squirrel a dirty look. He rotated the crossbow on its base and found another acorn. The squirrel dropped from a higher branch, plucked the acorn out from under Gage’s nose, and jumped into the foliage.
“Look, you little . . . This better not be what I think it is.”
Again he lined up a shot. No hesitation this time. Gage released the valve, steam pushed into the piston, and it smacked the arrow. The arrow flew true, headed right for an acorn, when the squirrel dove past and stripped the acorn out of the arrow’s path.
“What!” Gage shouted. “You crazy damn squirrel, what are you doing?”
The squirrel sat on a branch and looked at Gage. “What do you think you’re doing?” it said. “I’m trying to gather my breakfast.”
Ah. So he was right. “You knew I was aiming for that.”
“And?”
“And, where do you think this sausage came from? The last squirrel who played chicken with an arrow, that’s where.”
The squirrel continued to wrinkle its nose and hitch its tail while it stared at him. “You’re a terrible liar.”
Stung, Gage wiggled the sausage in the air. “Want a bite of your cousin?”
“I’m an herbivore, you idiot.” With that, the squirrel zipped away.
“Yeah, well, no matter what you eat you’re still rude,” Gage muttered.
Should he stop shooting at the tree anyway? The water boiled; the arrows beckoned. No. Target practice this morning didn’t include wildlife, sentient or otherwise. Just enjoy your breakfast, kid, and take the water off the hob. Head home and call today a washout.
And quit arguing with an animal whose brain is the same size as its last meal.
You’re in your workshop. In the corner is a proper forge and an elaborate, permanent steam boiler with tubes suspended over a workbench. Clearly, this is your crafting area. Activate the bench and modify that tank of a crossbow you’ve been using.
Well, you don’t have any new parts, so you can’t adapt your weapon at this time.
“It’s like a sauna in here.”
Gage looked up from his workbench. Standing in the doorway, shield hanging off her arm, was Rachel.
“I’m halfway through my beat,” she said. “You look like you could use some adventure. Walk the rest with me.” Constable Rachel Farraday, uniform crisp and shiny, liked to show herself to the townspeople. Good citizens were reassured by her presence, and troublemakers turned the other way.
Gage took off his leather apron and re-tied his ponytail. Smiling, he said, “Any particular tool I should pack for this evening’s outing, Constable? Any particular criminals you need me to intimidate?”
Knocking her gauntlet against her shield, Rachel lifted an eyebrow at him. Really, Rachel didn’t lack the ability to intimidate. She eyed the disassembled parts strewn over the workbench and said sweetly, “How’s the portable crossbow coming?”
“Low blow, Farraday.” Gage threw on his jacket and locked his shop door behind them.
Walk the town of Saddleback with Rachel. Do you want to talk to shopkeepers? Go ahead. Everyone knows you and almost everyone likes you. The man who runs the rag business is unpleasant, but he’s afraid that Rachel will discover his embezzlement.
If this is your first play-through, you may not notice that the animals you encounter are plain, non-sentient creatures. On subsequent play-throughs, though, you will become aware that Companions don’t live here. They may, in fact, be unwelcome in town.
Rachel stopped outside of the ragman’s shop. Something about that guy set her nose twitching. As she considered her move, Gage tapped her arm and pointed. A monk headed toward the crossroads. Monks did not often come to town, but that’s not what caught their eye. The monk had a strange stagger to his walk. Habit dragging in the dirt, he lurched and caught himself. Rachel shifted to follow.
A scream from nearby turned Rachel like a shot. She and Gage didn’t get to notice the monk quicken his pace, and they certainly didn’t see which direction he took out of town.
If this is not your first play-through you have the option to skip the next scene. Perhaps you think that if you just move fast enough you could catch the mysterious monk this time. (You can’t.) Or perhaps you think you’ll find nothing new at the crime scene. (Quite possible.) Or maybe a dead boy is something you need see only once.
The youth lay crumpled against the wall, tossed aside like a rag doll. His mother, crying, stood in the doorway.
“What can you tell me?” Rachel asked, gently holding the mother’s arms. Gage crossed to the boy and began to examine the body.
The mother told the tale of a sweet and helpful lad who had been home alone while she picked up their dinner from the baker. The tale the boy told to Gage’s forensic examination was much more violent. Rachel led the mother over to the neighbor’s house and returned to the scene. “What’s your impression?” she asked Gage.
He sat back on his heels. “Broken back. His spine is literally snapped. Whatever did this packed a lot of force.”
“Not the mother, then.”
Gage blinked at her. “The small, grieving lady who was just in here? No.”
“Don’t give me a look. My job is to be thorough.”
“Then thoroughly search this room for a heavy instrument as the murder weapon. And someone with the strength to swing it.”
Go ahead. Examine the room. These people live a simple life on the edge of poverty, so you won’t find much.
And you’re not in a game with every clue lit up like a glowing beacon. You could walk away from the crime scene now and continue the story quite successfully.
However, if you can find the pinch of black hairs trapped in the boy’s fingers your detective work later on will be much easier.
Stymied, Rachel stepped from the house and tapped her gauntlet against her shield. No murder weapon, no suspect . . .
“What about that strange monk?” Rachel recalled.
“The drunk monk?”
“That works. Let’s ask at the tavern about the Drunk Monk.”
But no monk had been drinking that evening. Rachel and Gage headed toward the crossroads, asking along the way. Finally they found one person who had seen a monk coming from the vicinity of the boy’s house. Whether he went north or south, though, had gone unnoticed.
“Let’s head north,” Rachel said.
“Why north?”
“I’d rather spend the night walking the road to the high country than winding through the canyon.”
“I know this is a very stupid question,” said Gage, “but why are we spending the night walking anywhere at all?”
Rachel could have explained about the trail going cold, or the driving force of a mother’s grief, or even a mild night in the open air being considered pleasant by some. Instead she said, “You could always go back and stare at your crossbow that doesn’t work.”
With a lively argument to pass the time they hardly noticed their walk at all.
Finally you get a look at a world map. The town of Saddleback, with its pixelated Tudor rooflines, sits at the center. Your avatar blinks at the crossroads just outside of town. Mountains stretch in both directions, but to the north the countryside is broken up with meadows and ponds. A gradual incline running in a straight line, the road dead-ends at the Northern Monastery. Right now your destination remains a little misty. You’ll get a good look soon enough.
The road to the south, winding through a canyon alongside a river, screams “creepy” and “level up before visiting here”. A cloud bank covers the Southern Monastery, although snowy peaks break through.
Hopefully the map whets your curiosity. At this point, though, you’re on a game developer’s railroad with only one choice. Click on the Northern Brotherhood and watch your avatar proceed.
Welcome to the “Monastery of His Unified Church”.
As Gage and Rachel approached the Northern Brotherhood their spirits lifted. The Monastery, built of wood and brick, was welcoming. The grounds, with manicured lawn and beds of wildflowers, was home to all species of animal. Glass crystals hanging from trees and windowpanes refracted the light into rainbows.
Teeming with activity, the monastery had a happy air. A sheepdog trotted up to them and said, “May I help you?”
Rachel and Gage exchanged a surprised look. A talking dog, in theory, was perfectly commonplace in their world. In practice, though, the sentient animals pretended to be dumb beasts. Not everyone found a conversation with a dog to be an appealing prospect.
“We don’t see many Companions,” Gage said.
“People in the city are not open about their bonded relationships,” Rachel explained.
“And we,” said the sheepdog, “don’t see many armed brigands. I hope your intentions are peaceful?”
“Brigands!” said Rachel, offended.
“Human custom when meeting a welcome stranger is to shake hands,” said Gage, extending his arm. “It shows we carry no open weapons.”
“Are you asking me, a dog, to shake hands?” The sheepdog’s furry eyebrow lifted.
Gage laughed. “If it makes you feel better, you can ask me to roll over and play dead.”
“I’ll save that trick for a rainy day.” The sheepdog shook its coat and sat down. “Now, what can I do you for?”
“I’m looking for a murderer,” said Rachel. “Someone has used a monk’s habit to hide his identity.”
“If you think one of our monks is guilty,” said the sheepdog, “you’re crazy.” Rachel frowned and tapped her gauntlet against her shield, a sure sign she was agitated.
“Not one of your monks,” Gage intervened. “One of your monk outfits. We’d like to ask around and see if anyone here is missing something.”
“Oh,” said the sheepdog, cocking his head. “That seems logical. Father Anselm runs the house. Or you could start with Mistress Bronwen in the mews. Head on back.”
“Thanks,” said Gage. He and Rachel entered through the massive gate and found themselves in the courtyard.
“Cheeky dog,” said Rachel.
Just like in Saddleback you now have the opportunity to walk around and talk to folks. Monks in habits will say hello. Since the Northern Brotherhood is openly welcoming to Companion relationships, various animals will also give you a friendly greeting. If you want you can find the mouse in the granary who will tell you the difference between cultivated and wild-harvested seed. Or try to guess which cats are sentient. None of them will help you decide.
Eventually, though, you’re going to need to make your way to the mews. Raptor birds train in the yard, flying for the lure and returning to the falconer’s gauntlet. Other birds, hooded, are staked in the barn. These are working birds controlled by humans, and none of them talk.
If you like, you can gather feathers from the ground. Later they will come in useful when you achieve Fletching.
“They don’t seem to see many officers of the law up here. Think it’s really as peaceful as it looks?”
Rachel, who believed that even the blades of grass needed management, sniffed. “Unlikely.”
“The house or the mews,” asked Gage. “What does your keen nose for crime tell you?”
“My keen sense of the obvious tells me that a quest for missing clothes should begin in the house.”
“But this is a quest for discarded clothes covered in blood.”
“Fair point,” said Rachel. “We’ll start in the mews.” On a quick about-face, Rachel headed toward the stables and barn. Gage jogged to catch up.
“My detective skills have inspired you. Either that or my flash of insight surprised you so much you were jolted into action.”
Rachel laughed. “It’s the horses, Gage. I do love a stable.” Suddenly Rachel stopped. “Oh, dear. The horses aren’t going to try to chat me up, are they?”
“Go easy on the witness, constable, or you may get a horseshoe to the jaw.”
“I’d like to see one try.” Again, her gauntlet tapped against her shield.
Gage grinned. “Me, too.”
As they entered the mews their momentum died as they stood still in the doorway.
Mistress Bronwen, a very tiny woman, had a very large eagle perched on her arm. Her falconry gauntlet covered her hand, arm, and part of her chest in heavy leather. The eagle, hooded, flapped her wings.
“Wrigley,” said Bronwen, “I don’t think she’s ready.”
“I don’t agree,” said a gentle, thin voice. Gage saw no one else in the room, except for the back of a bird perched on a stand near Bronwen’s work area.
With a powerful surge, the eagle pushed off of Bronwen’s arm, knocking her backward. The other bird was on the eagle in an instant, pinning her to the ground before she could take flight. She battled back, but the bird nipped at her head until she submitted and lay subdued on the ground.
“She’s very brave, Mistress,” said the same gentle voice, “but she is willing to be tamed.”
Rachel’s gauntlet tapped against her shield. The bird shifted, then turned its head completely around and looked at Gage and Rachel in the doorway. It was a Great Horned Owl, as large as the eagle, and its yellow eyes stared at them.
“Hello,” it said. “Mistress, we have visitors.”
Gage flinched. “And you were worried about the talking horses,” he murmured to Rachel.
“Mistress Bronwen?” Rachel crossed her arms into her shield and stood with her legs in an “at ease” position. “Rachel Farraday, Constable of Saddleback. I’d like to ask you some questions.” Rachel’s eyes shifted momentarily to Gage, her sign for him to look around. The picture of an innocent tourist, Gage meandered.
“A child has been murdered,” Rachel continued. “Shopkeeper Egert’s son. I suspect he surprised a burglar who then snapped his spine.”
“How terrible!” said Bronwen. She prompted the downed eagle onto her leather-clad arm and said to Rachel, “I’ll be better able to attend if I officially release her first.” Bronwen headed toward the sunny lawn outside the stable door.
Wrigley watched her go, and then swiveled his head to look at Rachel behind him and Gage poking amongst the tack on the other side of the mews. “I didn’t know the shopkeeper had a child. He has a young man who would count as a teenager. Is that who was murdered?”
“Yes.” Rachel stood as resolute as a stone, observing everything at once. “Did you have much contact with the shop?”
“My name is Wrigley. No. At what vertebra was Tom’s back broken?”
His yellow eyes didn’t blink. Gage had never seen Rachel so unnerved during an interrogation. Blowing out a snicker, he continued to poke through the odds and ends.
“How do you know –” Rachel began.
Wrigley interrupted. “Constable, your assistant has not been introduced.”
“Assistant?” Gage snorted. He opened his mouth to joke, saw the owl staring at him, and froze.
Time stood still. In his peripheral vision Gage could see Rachel step toward him and Mistress Bronwen rush in from the lawn. A shock wave blasted inside Gage’s head, and he blinked. Time restarted.
“Well . . . ,” said Wrigley.
Bronwen stared at him with pity. “Not our Wrigley, please.”
“What was that?” growled Rachel as she steadied Gage.
“We have bonded,” said Wrigley, in shock.
“Now, wait a minute,” said Gage. “You better not be saying what I think you’re saying.”
Wrigley blinked. “We are Companions.”