by HL TRUSLOVE
And then you realise, you’re probably never going to see Vola again.
Tears spring up in your eyes. You’re not going to go home.
You allow yourself a moment of weakness. Crying isn’t something you’ve done for a while. You’ve managed to stay strong throughout this journey, but that’s because you were pretty sure you were going to have an end destination. And now that’s been snatched out of your hands in exactly the same way the wind is dancing the map away.
You curse and get up, running after it. It’s not something you can live without. It was stupid to throw it away in the first place.
Just as a huge gust is about to sweep it away, you pounce and snatch it out of the air, landing heavily on your stomach. You make a little oof noise as the breath is pushed out of your lungs, but with the map safely in your hands, you can’t find it in yourself to care. The paper crinkles in your fingers. Okay. It’s fine. This isn’t an ideal situation, but it’s one you can work with.
You force yourself to your feet and wipe yourself down. This journey hasn’t been for nothing. No, this isn’t the outcome you’d planned for, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t one you can deal with. It isn’t like you don’t have options.
It’s a bit hard to smooth out the map after what it’s been through these past few minutes, but it’s still legible. You look over it and try to work out where you need to head for. What should be your next option, if you’re never going to see home again?
Turn to 36.A, Needs Morag.
* * *
Turn to 36.B, Needs Charlie.
* * *
Turn to 36.C, Needs Naomi.
* * *
Turn to 36.D, Needs Scavenger’s Artifact.
* * *
Turn to 36.E, Needs Windmill Warden.
* * *
Turn to 36.F
36.A
Okay. Okay. You may be lost, but you aren’t hopeless. You do know somewhere you’re pretty sure will take you in. Somewhere you might be able to find a semblance of what you had back in the vault. Somewhere you could maybe call home.
You roll your map up, place it back in your side pocket, and start walking.
It takes a couple of days to get to the burned remains of the ship. It’s a sad sight to take in. You built some long-lasting memories there, and now it’s nothing but bones and dust. You sigh and press on, following the path the group took when they headed off to find their new home.
You’re lucky; there are deep tracks in the mud from their heavy carts, which haven’t been washed away by the rain. It does take some exploring, but eventually you see smoke coming up from the horizon.
At the top of a hill, you see the village. They’re settled in the skeleton of what looks to be an old warehouse. There are people milling about, both inside the building and in the tents they’ve set up outside of it. Some sort of building work appears to be taking place – rough scaffolding has been set up around a couple of the walls and people are patching up the areas that are most run down.
You head down to the camp. People must recognise you from previous visits because they don’t stop you from walking into their little village.
Morag’s tent is easy to find. She’s set up inside the building, her tent near the giant fire you know is the centre point for the camp. You call out at her door.
“Aye?” she replies, and you walk in.
She’s sitting at a table doing some sort of map work, and her eyes go wide when she sees you. In a flash, she’s on her feet and embracing you.
“I didn’t think I’d see you again, chicken!” she laughs.
“Me neither, Morag,” you confess, leaning into her. She gives you a squeeze and holds you at arm’s length to inspect you.
“What are you doing here?” she asks. You sigh and tell her your pitiful story. Looking for your group. Not finding them. Accepting that you weren’t going to. She listens with a sombre expression and nods along.
“So I was wondering… could I live here? With you? You’ve been the kindest person I’ve met here. I’ll pull my weight; I won’t be a pain.”
She hums a thoughtful note.
“How are you with building work?”
“It’s something I can do,” you reply. You don’t think it’s a lie. You’ve become a lot more self-sufficient since you left camp, and that includes becoming stronger physically.
Morag grins and slaps a hand on your shoulder.
“Well then. Go find a place for your tent and get to work.”
You grin as a wave of relief washes over you. You have somewhere to be. You aren’t going to be lost any more.
“Oh, and one more thing.”
She holds out a hand.
“Welcome home.”
With a smile, you shake it.
THE END.
36.B
Okay. Okay. You may be lost, but you aren’t hopeless. You know somewhere you’re pretty sure will take you in. Somewhere you might be able to find a semblance of what you had back in the vault. Somewhere you could, maybe, call home.
You roll your map up, place it back in your side pocket, and start walking.
It takes a couple of days to get to the burned remains of the ship. It’s a sad sight to take in. You built some long-lasting memories there, and now it’s nothing but bones and dust. You sigh and press on, following the path the group took when they headed off to find their new home.
You’re lucky; there are deep tracks in the mud from the heavy carts which haven’t been washed away by the mud. It does take some exploring, but eventually you see smoke coming up from the horizon.
At the top of a hill, you can see the village. They’re settled in the skeleton of what looks to be an old warehouse. There are people milling about, both inside the building and in the tents they’ve set up outside of it. Some sort of building work appears to be taking place – rough scaffolding has been set up around a couple of the walls and people are patching up the areas that are the most run down.
You head down to the camp. People must recognise you from your previous visits, because they don’t stop you from walking into the little village.
You hear Charlie before you see him. The sound of metallic clanging and angry muttering is a dead giveaway. You follow the trail of noise into the warehouse building and see him working on some sort of huge machine, tucked away towards the side. It looks like it’s some sort of heating device, similar to what you had back in the vault.
It hurts your heart for a second, but you move on quickly.
“Charlie!”
He darts his head up, hits it on a pipe, swears, and looks over to you. His face cracks into a grin.
“Ya jammy bairn! I dinnae think I’d see ye ’gain.”
He hops down and gives you a rough handshake with coarse, papery hands. You smile at him; his energy is infectious.
“What are ye doin’ here?”
You sigh and catch him up, telling him your story – every place you visited, every dead end you had. He nods and scratches his beard.
“Aye, it’s a tricky one.”
“I was wondering, Charlie… is there a place for me here? Do you need an assistant? I’d pull my weight. You know what I can do.”
His face bursts into a smile.
“That’s why ye cem to find me, eh?” he chuckles, “Of course you’ve got a place ’ere. I said ye were welcome.”
Your face lights up, along with his. He slaps you on the arm.
“I’ll let Morag know I have a new assistant. Go set up yer tent and help me with this thing.” He cocks a thumb over his shoulder at the machine. “If it doesn’t start behavin’, it’ll drive me mad. Well, madder.”
You chuckle as he disappears into the mess of tents.
Happiness settles over you. This might not be the home you were after, but it is a home, nonetheless.
THE END.
36.C
Okay. Okay. You may be lost, but you aren’t hopeless. You know somewhere you’re pretty sure will take you
in. Somewhere you might be able to find a semblance of what you had back in the vault. Somewhere you could, maybe, call home.
You roll your map up, place it back in your side pocket, and start walking.
It takes a couple of days to get to the burned remains of the ship. It’s a sad sight to take in. You built some long-lasting memories there, and now it’s nothing but bones and dust. You sigh and press on, following the path the group took when they headed off to find their new home.
You’re lucky; there are deep tracks in the mud from the heavy carts which haven’t been washed away by the mud. It takes some exploring, but eventually you see smoke coming up from the horizon.
At the top of a hill, you can see the village. They’re settled in the skeleton of what looks to be an old warehouse. There are people milling about, both inside the building and in the tents they’ve set up outside of it. Some sort of building work appears to be taking place – rough scaffolding has been set up around a couple of the walls and people are patching up the areas that are the most run down.
You head down to the camp. People must recognise you from previous visits, because they don’t stop you from walking into the little village.
It’s easy to find the medical tent. It’s where the screams of pain are coming from. You rush into the warehouse and find Naomi working desperately – there’s a man in front of her whose leg has been broken in two. Her face is set in steely determination as she tries to work, but he keeps lashing out in agony.
You drop your bag and rush over, holding the man down so Naomi can set the break. She looks up at you and does a double take in surprise, but the current situation demands her attention. The man screeches under you, but between the two of you, you manage to splint and bandage him. He must pass out from the pain at some point, because he goes quiet and you can let him go.
Naomi finishes her work. She turns to you, covered in blood and exhausted.
“You’re back,” she states.
“Yes. I am.”
“Came along at the right time,” she sighs, grabbing a spare cloth and wiping herself clean. She cocks her head to the patient. “He fell off the scaffolding.”
“That’ll do it.”
“That explains why he’s here. Why are you?”
You sigh and tell her your story. She listens quietly, taking in everything you tell her about being lost and not finding your group. She seems to know where you’re going.
“And you want to know if you can live here?”
“I was hoping,” you confess. She hums a note.
“Well, I could always use a hand. I’d be happy to have you here. I’m sure Morag won’t object, either.”
She pushes the roll of bandages into your hand and sighs.
“Go and check on everyone in the infirmary and I’ll go and tell her I have a new partner.”
She doesn’t give you much choice; she turns on her heel and leaves. You put your pack down and head into the tent.
There are only a couple of patients, awake now from the earlier screaming. They look at you with wide eyes.
“Are you going to be our new doctor?” asks one, a girl no more than nine. You give her a smile.
“Yes. I am.”
And you set to work.
THE END.
36.D
It’s not a nice sight to return to. The battlefield is still as mauled as you remember it being. The bodies are beginning to rot; the cold weather hasn’t staved that off. The whole field is thick with the pungent scent of decay. It almost makes you gag, and you have to pull your collar up over your nose.
You’re lucky to see the collection of tents you’ve encountered once before. They’re flocked together towards a patch of trees, away from all the corpses. There are a couple of scavengers sitting by a campfire, sorting through piles of scrap for anything worthwhile. One of them is the older woman you think is in charge.
You head over and they spot you before you’re close enough to talk, tracking you with narrowed eyes as you try to avoid stepping on any patches of dried blood. The woman’s eyebrows raise when she sees it’s you.
“You’re back,” she states.
“Yep,” you reply, dully.
“What do you want?”
“Do you still need someone to help you with artefacts?”
She scoots over on the little bench and pats for you to sit down, handing a small pile to you when you do.
It’s not very valuable, any of it, but you talk through what you have in your lap anyway. She listens and nods along before asking, “You’re back here for a permanent position, aren’t you?”
You falter. “How did you know?”
“Because you don’t look like the kind of person to come here willingly,” she coughs loudly. She doesn’t sound well. “We need a new archivist anyway. You can stick around as long as you’re helpful, aye?”
You feel yourself smile. “Sure.”
“All right then,” she says, “welcome to the team.”
You go back to sorting. It wasn’t the home you were looking for… but you suppose it will do.
For now.
THE END.
36.E
The hill is just as arduous a climb as you remember. At least this time you know to check for traps, though, and manage to – twice – avoid stepping into a bear trap. You’re incredibly relieved when you push through the trees and see the windmill again.
You walk towards the door and, as before, the man throws it open with a shotgun in his hands. When he sees it’s you, his expression softens.
“Traveller,” he greets. “Didn’t expect to see you again.”
“I didn’t expect to be here again,” you confess. “Can I come in?”
He nods and ushers you in, setting the gun by the door as he closes it. He puts on the kettle and makes you a piping hot cup of tea. You use the steam to bring the heat back into your face, first. You didn’t realise just how cold it was.
“So,” he says eventually, thinking you’re probably ready to talk, “what twist of fate lead you back here?”
You tell him. Trying to find your group, getting lost, having nothing to go on. You throw in more details than you need to really. Maybe you’re just trying to get some sympathy from him. You really, really need a place to live.
He listens in silence to your tale of woe and then nods.
“I see. Seems like it’s been a difficult time for you.”
“It has. And look, I really need a place to stay. Until I can find where to… be in this place. And I was wondering if you needed an assistant on your farm? I helped with farming back at the vault so I know a bit about it. I can be useful around here.”
He mulls this over.
“How do I know I can trust you?” he asks.
“You don’t, I suppose. But I don’t really know whether I can trust you, either. We both have to take a leap of faith.”
He chuckles. You’re not sure if it’s a sound you’ve heard from him before. And then he nods.
“All right.”
“All right?”
“Yes. You can stay, if you pull your weight. It won’t be easy, though. I get up at dawn to do my work here.”
“I don’t mind. I’m used to tough work,” you confess. He holds out a hand, dirt-encrusted and calloused, and you shake it with gratitude.
“To the start of a long and prosperous partnership,” he says, holding up his mug. You clink your own one to his and you both drink.
You’re going to have to be the one that makes the tea, though. This is terrible.
THE END.
36.F
You sigh and scour your map. Okay. Maybe you don’t have a definitive idea of where to go. But that doesn’t mean it’s the end of the road. You’ve managed to make connections here. You’ve talked to people. Maybe it’s just a matter of seeking out more people, talking to them, and trying to find a place to fit in.
You’re a survivor. You are. You’ve survived this long, and now you’ve got to k
eep going. And you will. Because really, this isn’t the end of your story. It’s just… a new chapter.
You roll your map up and tuck it back into your pack. It’s getting dark. It’s time to find somewhere to bunk down for the night.
You head towards the sunset, trying to keep the warmth for as long as you can. You still feel melancholy, but you’re also guided by a little spark of hope.
THE END.
Alba Quickstart Guide
Adventurer, you’ve journeyed through the shivering lands of Alba many times, but now you wish to revisit your travels and see what could have been. What alternative routes might you have taken? What different futures might await you?
* * *
This guide is for experienced players of Alba, who wish to jump right into the action with their character specialities established and the first open choices ready to go, without repeating the first two chapters of narrative ‘set up’.
* * *
If you’ve not read through Alba in full before, we strongly recommend you start at Chapter 1, Section 1, even if you’ve already read a different Open World Adventure Book – as each title is structured differently.
* * *
If you’re keen to start your next adventure through Alba, then follow these instructions in order.