A voice in your head...

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A voice in your head...
Type	Blue Kingdom: The White Well WHAT TYPE
Data ID	138480

A voice in your head... is considered a WARNINGWARNING in Sunless Skies.

description

""

Quality status

A voice in your head... has different statuses according to your actions, defined by the comment in front of the quality.

Variable Interaction description

These desciptions appear when a specific group is called for text.

wellmouth_desc

• [0] At the centre of the village is a squat black cottage. Its walls throb.
• [1] Soon I will shuck this place like a skin.\n\n[Something is crawling uninvited through your mind. Actions in Wellmouth will increase Terror. Get away from here!]"

speak_widows

• [0] Their role is to inter the Failed Dead.
• [1] They are worthless husks. They mourn me."

speak_widows2

• [0]
• [1] They wear pelts that are not their own."

relict_approval

• [0]
• [1] A thread quivers between the Relict, the Well, and you."

ombudsman_doom

• [0]
• [1] Bring him to me."

ombudsman_doom2

• [0] Eventually you lose sight of him in the darkness.
• [1] As you lose sight of him you feel something stir in your stomach."

visit_relict

• [0] She squats in her glistening cottage, black as tar. Her needles clicker and clack. Her walls skritter and scrack.
• [1] My darling weaver of roads and doors. She can guide you into the Well."

failed_dead

• [0] One is being dragged toward the edge now.
• [1] A particularly delicious-looking specimen is being dragged toward the edge now. "

failed_dead2

• [0]
• [1] We lay eggs in their eyes, and feed on their flesh, and cast webs in their bones, and yet they do not die."

status_change

• [0] Can the Widows help change your status from Antedeceased?
• [1] Perhaps you should simply climb into the Well."

spider_sweeper

• [0] Dig a hook into the ice. Tie your rope around your waist. Make sure your knots are sound. Descend.
• [1] No need for a hook in the ice. No need for a rope around your waist. Just descend into the Well, as quickly as you can."

spider_sweeper2

• [0] As you swing toward one of them, broomstick ready, you misjudge your trajectory. You're too close.
• [1] As you lean forward, broom outstretched, something skitters hideously across your vision. For a moment, you lose your balance. The Well beckons."

relict_approval2

• [0] The Relict collapses into an armchair opposite you, taking up her needles. They clicker and clack, knitting together black threads that outstretch from the walls and ceiling and floor.
• [1] The dark shape clambers into an armchair opposite you, a tangled heap of bristling limbs and gleaming eyes. It clicks and chitters, frantically weaving an orb-web that pulls together black threads from the walls and ceiling and floor."

quality_text

• [0] [Certain actions in Wellmouth are only available to characters with the Antedeceased status.]"
• [1] [Something is crawling uninvited through your mind. Actions in Wellmouth will increase Terror. Get away from here!]

graven_question

• [0] The Widow looks shocked at your impertinence, but the Relict reaches out with one massive hand and pinches her attendant's ear between finger and thumbnail. The Widow squeals.
• [1] The Widow looks shocked at your impertinence, but her expression switches to pure terror as the thing beside her shifts its glistening bulk. It leans forward, clicking, hissing, and takes a bite from her ear."

relicts_cottage

• [0] The Relict reclines vastly. She looks almost placid, except for the gleam of her eyes beneath their heavy lids. Her attendant Widow kneels silently at her side.
• [1] The thing that squats on the armchair is vast and black and indistinct. You can make out gleaming eyes, bristling hairs, fangs that twitch and shudder. A long line of venom or drool dangles from its mouthparts. An attendant Widow kneels silently at its side."

wedlock_commentary

• [0]
• [1] Choose me, they whisper, choose me! "

death_psalmists

• [0]
• [1] Their deaths were NATURAL. Their deaths were RIGHT. They came to us and received what we give."

twice_scorned_priest

• [0]
• [1] I came to this one in his dreams. I showed him the briefest glimpse of my majesty and he was mine."

sweeper_question

• [0] The Relict crushes the Uncanny Specimen between her massive palms and slurps the paste. On hearing your request, she clucks her tongue thoughtfully. The kneeling Widow glances up, surprised.
• [1] The walls of the cottage twist and buckle as the vast black thing devours your gift. It chitters and clicks for more, lurching forward, its jaws snapping inches from your nose."

sweeper_question2

• [0] The Relict stands with a groan, towering to her fearsome full height. She shuffles to the cupboard and trawls through it, finally emerging to hand you your ceremonial broomstick.
• [1] The dark mass clambers from its chair and rears on its hind legs, picking with surprising delicacy through the contents of a cupboard. Finally it emerges with a broomstick in its jaws."

wedlock_commentary2

• [0] The Relict shuffles out into the howling cold, attendant close at heel. The Widows are waiting beside a wooden platform at the Well's edge. It creaks alarmingly under your collective weight, and swings wildly as it descends.
• [1] The black thing clambers out into the howling cold, attendant close at heel. As it emerges from the cottage, it solidifies into the towering (but human) shape of the Relict. The Widows are waiting beside a wooden platform at the Well's edge. It creaks alarmingly under your collective weight, and swings wildly as it descends."

drive_off_psalmists

• [0] The Relict flashes you her conjoined teeth. She waves a hand vaguely, and the attendant Widow hurries to fetch a pen.
• [1] The silhouette-shape hunches forward, one sharp leg embedding deeply into the floor beside you."

drive_off_psalmists2

• [0] \"We hunt without help,\" writes the Relict in her spiky half-legible handwriting. As each word is finished the ink convulses, lifts itself from the page on dark little legs, and scatters for the shadows.
• [1] \"We hunt without help,\" hisses the dark thing, its mouthparts mangling every word."

drive_off_psalmists3

• [0] The Relict resumes her knitting.
• [1] The dark shape's legs dance in complex, intricate patterns as it resumes weaving."

failed_dead3

• [0]
• [1] They have already learned they are mine."

relict_approval3

• [0] The Relict is an old woman of colossal stature, as tall and broad as a wagon, her face such a mass of wrinkles that her features are almost entirely lost.
• [1] A dark shape appears at the door, the silhouette of something vast and intricate. It has an indeterminate number of eyes and limbs, though certainly more than five and less than ten. "

relict_approval4

• [0] The Relict grins, revealing why she has not spoken. The upper and lower rows of her butter-yellow teeth are fused together. She makes a soft clucking noise with her tongue, and her attendant Widow hurries to fetch some parchment.
• [1] The creature is a morass that devours light. You can't look directly at it; doing so makes you dizzy, like you are gazing down from the pinnacle of a mountain."

relict_approval5

• [0] The old woman hunches, pen in hand, armchair groaning. Her handwriting is spiky, scratchy, almost incoherent. Almost.
• [1] It hunches forward, its jaws inches from your face. It speaks in a mangled purr."

relict_approval6

• [0] She writes three simple words. \"You may stay.\"
• [1] \"You may stay.\""

relict_approval7

• [0] As she finishes, the jagged scrawl of ink lifts itself from the page, segments, and scatters for the shadows in a dozen scuttling black forms. Only the blank page remains."
• [1] It settles back in its armchair, eyes blinking not quite in unison.

relict_approval8

• [0] The Relict pauses her knitting for a moment. Her eyes and needles glint in the firelight.
• [1] The dark, shapeless shape pauses its incessant weaving. A cluster of eyes glint in the firelight."

relict_approval9

• [0] The Relict clucks her tongue. Her needles flash. A shallow strip of flesh unwinds from your arm and lashes like a whip, joining her needlework, becoming a part of her woven pattern. You are left clutching a bleeding corkscrew-gouge, scraped down the length of your arm.
• [1] The silhouette lunges forward, its sharp legs scrabbling at you. A shallow strip of flesh unwinds itself from your arm and lashes like a whip, joining her web, becoming a part of the fractal pattern. You are left clutching a bleeding corkscrew-gouge, scraped down the length of your arm."

status_change2

• [0]

Interactions

Interactions in Brief

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Interaction	Action	Result Type	Change
The Dressing of the Well	'Welcome to my parlour, said the spider to the sky.'	Default / Challenge Fail	= 1

Interactions in Detail

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Story	Action	Required	Effect
The Dressing of the Well	Welcome to my parlour, said the spider to the sky.	None	Default: +1 x Searing Enigma Riddled with Spiders = 5 [Something is wrapping your mind in silk.] A voice in your head... = 1 +5 x Terror Triggers event:  Wellmouth

Triggered Events

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Story	Requirements	Type	Location
[[The [qvd:138643(Twice-scorned)] Priest]]	A voice in your head... ≥ 1	Story Event (Always :100%)	Limbo

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