I recently discovered Against The Wind by Cezar Capacle on my NAS. I wasn’t even sure whether me or my wife bought it in a shopping frenzy. This is one of the biggest problems when you are a hoarder… most the gems remain unread.
After quickly reading the book I absolutely got hooked by the theme and the rules. So here goes my first playthrough…
From the soil I come
The world returned to me with a visceral unpleasantness. It began as a taste, acrid and earthy, clinging to the back of my throat – the unmistakable flavor of soil. I awoke not gently, but abruptly, assaulted by the sensation of being buried. A profound stillness pressed in on all sides, broken only by the frantic thudding of my own heart. My limbs felt leaden, unresponsive. Instinctively, I attempted to move, a desperate twitching that yielded nothing beyond a dull ache. My hands, clumsy and unfamiliar, began to blindly search for purchase, pushing against the damp, clinging weight above me. The earth was cold and saturated, yielding with a sickening squelch under my efforts. Each movement brought a fresh wave of discomfort, a reminder of the unnatural confinement I found myself in.
The struggle continued, a slow, agonizing process of inching upward through the oppressive darkness. It felt as though an eternity passed before the pressure above lessened enough for me to finally break free. With a final surge of effort, I managed to heave myself out of the earth’s embrace, collapsing onto something that was vaguely solid but still damp and cold. The sensation of being exposed to air, however foul it smelled, was a welcome relief after the suffocating weight of the soil. I lay there for a long moment, simply breathing, trying to regulate the erratic pounding in my chest.
When I finally managed to sit up, the sight that greeted me was far from reassuring. Above, the sky was a bruised and oppressive expanse of grey, choked by thick, swirling clouds. There was no sun, no comforting warmth; only an unsettling gloom that seemed to press down on everything. The landscape itself was bleak – a desolate stretch of scrubby vegetation clinging stubbornly to rocky ground. It appeared to be some kind of high moorland, the air heavy with moisture and the scent of decay. A low rumble echoed across the expanse, growing steadily louder. I realized it was thunder, distant but menacing, promising a storm of considerable ferocity. The sound resonated through my bones, amplifying the disorientation that already gripped me.
I attempted to orient myself, to grasp at some familiar landmark or sensation that might anchor me in this alien environment. There were no buildings, no paths, nothing to indicate human presence – only the relentless grey sky and the unforgiving terrain. I scanned the horizon, searching for anything recognizable, but found nothing beyond the bleak expanse of moorland stretching out before me. The wind picked up, carrying with it a damp chill that seeped into my bones. It felt like a world designed to discourage life, a place where survival would be a constant struggle.
The most unsettling aspect of this situation, however, was not the environment itself, but the emptiness within my own mind. I tried to recall something – anything – about myself. My name, my family, my purpose… all vanished into a swirling void. It was as if my memories had been deliberately erased, leaving behind only a hollow shell. “Who am I?” I whispered, the sound swallowed by the wind and the approaching thunder. The question hung in the air, unanswered, mocking me with its simplicity and the impossibility of finding an answer.
I repeated the question, louder this time, hoping for some flicker of recognition, some buried memory to surface. “Who am I? Where am I?” Still nothing. It felt like staring into a bottomless abyss. The lack of identity was more terrifying than the storm gathering overhead or the desolate landscape surrounding me. A wave of panic threatened to overwhelm me, but I fought it back with a desperate effort of will. Panic would serve no purpose; it would only deplete my strength and cloud my judgment.
I examined myself as best I could in the dim light. My clothes were roughspun and dark, practical rather than stylish – a tunic and trousers made of some coarse material that felt strangely familiar despite not triggering any memories. They were soiled with mud and grime, suggesting prolonged exposure to the elements. There were no identifying marks, no insignia or emblems that might offer a clue to my origins. My hands, calloused and scarred, spoke of physical labor, but I couldn’t recall ever having performed such work. The scars themselves told stories – tales of hardship and struggle – yet they remained stubbornly silent, refusing to reveal their narratives.
The thunder grew closer now, accompanied by a steady drizzle that began to soak through my clothes. I needed shelter, or at least some protection from the impending storm. But where to find it in this desolate place? The thought occurred to me that perhaps I had been buried intentionally, deliberately left for dead. It was a grim possibility, but one that seemed increasingly likely given the circumstances. I pushed myself to my feet, testing my limbs cautiously. They were sore and weak, but functional. “I need to move,” I muttered to myself, the words sounding alien even to my own ears. “Find somewhere safe.” The storm was closing in, and with it, a growing sense of dread. This world felt hostile, unforgiving, and utterly devoid of answers. All I had was the present moment, the cold rain on my face, and the desperate need to survive.
The wind intensified, whipping strands of hair across my face – hair that felt strangely unfamiliar. I began to walk, choosing a direction at random, hoping against hope that it would lead me somewhere, anywhere, that offered some semblance of safety or understanding. Each step was an act of faith in the unknown, a gamble on the possibility of finding something, anything, amidst this bleak and unsettling landscape. The thunder cracked overhead, a deafening roar that seemed to echo my own internal turmoil – lost, alone, and utterly without memory in a world that felt both ancient and profoundly dangerous. The journey had begun, not with purpose or direction, but with the simple act of putting one foot in front of the other, driven by an instinct for survival I didn’t even know I possessed.
Tarin the Wanderer
The relentless grey had deepened into a pervasive chill that seeped through my clothes and settled deep within my bones. The storm had passed, leaving behind an oppressive stillness punctuated only by the mournful sigh of the wind. It was midday, yet the light remained stubbornly muted, filtered through a heavy blanket of overcast sky. A dampness clung to everything – the air itself felt saturated, and each breath brought with it the sharp, clean scent of petrichor, that earthy fragrance released when rain falls on dry ground.
The landscape continued its bleak presentation. Vegetation was sparse, clinging tenaciously to life in this unforgiving environment. Patches of moss clung to exposed rock faces, while stunted bushes, their leaves a dull olive green, dotted the slopes. The terrain itself was characterized by rolling hills, rising and falling with a slow, deliberate rhythm across the expanse. Underfoot, the ground felt surprisingly firm and rugged, composed of a mixture of stone and compacted earth. What was most striking, however, were the occasional patches of exposed permafrost – dark grey slabs of frozen earth that lay starkly against the surrounding landscape, hinting at the harsh conditions beneath the surface.
It was an incongruous sight, this road. A perfectly maintained thoroughfare bisected the desolate moorland, a ribbon of smooth, grey stone cutting through the wildness. It appeared well-used, though I saw no sign of recent traffic. The precision of its construction felt jarringly out of place in this otherwise untamed environment. I followed it, my pace slow and deliberate, conserving energy while simultaneously scanning the surroundings for any sign of life or explanation.
The initial shock of my awakening seemed to be receding, at least partially. My brain, previously a chaotic jumble of nothingness, was slowly beginning to settle into something resembling order. The panic hadn’t entirely subsided, but it had been tempered by a grim determination to survive and understand the situation I found myself in. Memories remained elusive, still locked away behind an impenetrable wall, but the edges of my awareness felt sharper, more focused.
As I continued along the road, something began to emerge from the grey haze ahead – a colossal form dominating the horizon. It was a monolith, impossibly large and imposing, rising high above the surrounding landscape. The stone itself appeared to be a dark, almost black hue, absorbing what little light there was. Its surface was smooth and featureless, save for subtle striations that hinted at immense age. It stood as a silent sentinel, an anomaly in this already unsettling world.
I stopped walking, my gaze fixed on the monolith. The sheer scale of it was breathtaking, dwarfing everything around it. A sense of unease settled over me, deeper than anything I had felt before. This wasn’t just a geological formation; it felt… deliberate. Constructed. Purposeful. It radiated an aura of ancient power and unsettling stillness.
“What is that?” I whispered the question to the wind, knowing full well there would be no answer. The monolith remained silent, its dark form silhouetted against the overcast sky. A new wave of determination surged through me, overriding the lingering fear. It was a focal point, a landmark in this wilderness. Perhaps it held answers, or at least provided direction.
I resumed my walk, setting my sights on the monolithic stone. The road seemed to lead directly towards it, an almost unnatural alignment that heightened the sense of foreboding. Each step brought me closer to the colossal structure, and with each footfall, a growing feeling of apprehension mingled with a desperate hope for understanding. This monolith, whatever it was, felt like the key to unlocking the mystery of my existence – or perhaps, its final, devastating conclusion.
The approach was silent, almost spectral. As I neared the monolith, a figure materialized on the path ahead – a man emerging from its shadow as if he’d simply sprung into existence. He stood motionless for a long moment, observing me with an intensity that sent a prickle of unease down my spine. It wasn’t outright hostility, but rather a careful assessment, a weighing and measuring of something intangible.
He was tall and lean, clad in layers of worn leather and thick wool – clothing clearly designed to withstand the harsh climate. His face was weathered and etched with lines that spoke of years spent exposed to the elements. Grey streaked through his dark hair, pulled back into a severe braid. His eyes were the most striking feature – pale grey, almost silver, and possessing an unsettling stillness that seemed to pierce through any attempt at deception.
“You walk this road,” he stated, his voice low and resonant, devoid of warmth but not unkind. “A curious thing.” He paused, letting the statement hang in the air before continuing. “I am Tarian.” There was no offer of a handshake or further pleasantries; simply an introduction delivered with the precision of a honed blade.
He circled me slowly, his gaze unwavering, as if cataloging every detail – my clothes, my posture, the faint tremor that still ran through my limbs. It felt like being dissected under his scrutiny. “A lost thing,” he finally declared, not as a question but as an observation. “Or perhaps… something deliberately misplaced.”
I cleared my throat, attempting to project an air of composure I certainly didn’t feel. “Lost things often find their way,” I replied, choosing my words carefully. “Sometimes, they are guided by those who understand the paths less traveled.” It was a clumsy attempt at flattery, but it was all I could muster given my amnesia and the man’s palpable skepticism.
Tarian’s lips quirked ever so slightly – a fleeting expression that vanished as quickly as it appeared. “Vocation dictates my path,” he said, resuming his slow circuit. “I seek out forgotten places, remnants of ages long past. The echoes of what was.” He paused again, gesturing vaguely towards the monolith. “This… this is one such echo. A place where the veil between worlds thins.”
He stopped circling and turned to face me directly. “And you? What brings you here?”
I decided against a direct explanation – my memory gaps would only raise more questions. Instead, I opted for a more oblique approach. “Imagine a river,” I began, carefully choosing my words. “It carves its own path through the landscape, sometimes gently meandering, sometimes violently surging forward. A wise traveler doesn’t fight the current; he understands it, reads its signs, and uses them to navigate his journey.” I paused, hoping the analogy would resonate with him. “I am seeking a confluence – a place where different currents meet, where understanding might be found.”
Tarian’s grey eyes narrowed slightly. “Analogies are cheap currency,” he said dryly. “They mask more than they reveal.” He remained silent for a long moment, seemingly weighing my words against some internal standard.
Finally, he spoke again, his voice softening ever so slightly. “Very well,” he conceded. “You possess a certain… tenacity. A willingness to seek beyond the obvious.” He reached into a pouch at his belt and produced a small, intricately carved stone – a piece of obsidian polished smooth by years of handling. “I can offer you guidance,” he said, handing me the stone. “But be warned – knowledge is a burden as much as it is a gift.”
He proceeded to speak, but his words were veiled in cryptic pronouncements and fragmented images. “The path ahead will lead you through the Whispering Glades, where illusions dance with reality.” He paused. “Beware the Silver Mire; its beauty hides a consuming hunger.” Another pause. “Beyond lies the Citadel of Echoes, guarded by shadows that remember what has been forgotten.”
Each phrase was delivered with an unsettling certainty, yet lacked any context or explanation. It felt like listening to a riddle wrapped in a prophecy. I tried to press him for clarification, but he remained stubbornly vague. “The path reveals itself to those who are ready,” he said dismissively. “You must interpret the signs.”
The interaction was grueling, a mental tug-of-war that drained my strength. Each attempt to elicit more concrete information from Tarian met with another layer of cryptic pronouncements or pointed silences. It felt like I was navigating a labyrinth of his own making, designed to test my resolve and my understanding.
Finally, after what seemed an eternity, he nodded slowly, a flicker of something akin to approval crossing his face. “You have proven yourself… resourceful,” he admitted, the words grudgingly delivered. “The stone will guide you – trust your instincts.”
As he finished speaking, a wave of exhaustion washed over me. The mental strain of trying to decipher his cryptic pronouncements and maintain a semblance of composure had taken its toll. My legs felt weak, my head swam, and I could feel the familiar tremor returning with renewed force.
I leaned heavily on the road, struggling to stay upright. “Thank you,” I managed to whisper, the words barely audible above the wind. Tarian simply nodded once, a gesture of finality, before turning back towards the monolith and disappearing into its shadow as silently as he had appeared. The stone felt heavy in my hand – a tangible reminder of the cryptic guidance I’d received, and the daunting journey that lay ahead.
Exhausted, I sank onto a nearby boulder draped in soft moss and vibrant lichens. The rough texture offered little comfort, but the stillness was welcome. Closing my eyes, I focused on regaining strength, hoping the quiet solitude would help piece together the fragments of memory swirling within me.
A tree to behold
The monolith faded behind me, a looming silhouette against the perpetually grey sky. I continued westward, following the faint impression of a trail that seemed to have been swallowed by the relentless advance of nature. The well-maintained road abruptly ended where Tarian had left off, giving way to a network of barely visible paths – overgrown tracks winding through a landscape steeped in an unsettling sense of history.
The weather was shifting, though not dramatically. The oppressive chill had lessened slightly, and while dark clouds still hung heavy overhead, the rain had ceased. A dampness lingered in the air, but it felt less biting, more like a gentle embrace than a hostile assault.
The landscape transformed as I progressed. Gone were the rugged hills and exposed permafrost of the moorland; now, I found myself traversing level plains and expansive open fields. The vegetation had exploded into a riot of green – lush and towering, densely packed in a way that felt almost claustrophobic. Giant ferns unfurled their fronds like emerald banners, while colossal trees, their species unknown to me, formed a dense canopy overhead, filtering the already dim light.
Each step was accompanied by a soft give as my feet sank into patches of thick moss – a spongy carpet blanketing much of the ground. It felt strangely comforting, yet also subtly unsettling; like walking on something ancient and yielding, absorbing every sound and movement.
As I pushed deeper into this verdant expanse, I began to encounter remnants – fragments of civilizations lost to time. A crumbling stone wall, half-buried in moss and ferns, hinted at a dwelling long abandoned. The faint outline of what might have been a paved road, now choked with vegetation, snaked across the plains. Occasionally, I would stumble upon a scattering of weathered stones – too deliberately placed to be natural formations, yet too eroded to discern their original purpose.
These were echoes – whispers from forgotten eras, hinting at lives lived and lost in this land long before my arrival. The sheer scale of the abandonment was unsettling; it wasn’t simply that these places were ruined, but that they seemed utterly erased, as if the very memory of their existence had been deliberately scrubbed from the world.
I paused frequently, examining each find with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension. A fragment of pottery, intricately carved with symbols I couldn’t decipher. A section of worked stone, bearing faint traces of what might have been an inscription. Each discovery fueled my desire to understand not only where I was but who I was – the person who had once walked these paths, perhaps alongside those whose echoes now lingered in the stones and the soil.
The feeling of being watched intensified as I ventured further. Not a hostile gaze, but something more subtle – an awareness that I was intruding upon a place where time held little meaning, where the past bled into the present with unsettling fluidity. The air itself seemed thick with memories, both joyous and sorrowful, clinging to me like a shroud.
Despite the milder weather, a sense of unease settled within me. This lushness felt deceptive – beautiful on the surface but concealing something deeper, something older, and perhaps… dangerous. I pressed onward, driven by a desperate hope that somewhere amidst these forgotten ruins, I might find not only answers to my lost identity but also a path towards reclaiming it.
The dense vegetation gradually thinned again as I continued westward, eventually opening onto a wider expanse of the plains. And then I saw it – a colossal tree dominating the landscape, an ancient sentinel standing alone against the grey sky. It was unlike anything I had encountered before; its trunk was impossibly wide, easily spanning several lengths of my outstretched arms, and its branches reached towards the heavens like gnarled fingers.
As I approached, a sound drifted on the wind – a whispering, faint yet distinct, seemingly emanating from the tree itself. Hesitantly, I reached out and touched the rough bark, expecting nothing more than the texture of weathered wood. Instead, a jolt surged through my brain, sharp and disorienting.
Then, a voice – ancient and resonant – filled my mind. “Arinvar…” it murmured, the sound echoing within me. “Arinvar… return.” Was that my name? The word felt foreign yet strangely familiar, stirring something deep within the recesses of my memory.
For hours, I stood transfixed beneath the colossal tree, listening to its mournful pronouncements. It repeated my name – Arinvar – again and again, interspersed with fragments of images and sensations that danced just beyond my grasp. The tree spoke not in words as much as impressions – a feeling of loss, a sense of duty, a yearning for something forgotten. Each repetition of my name felt like a tentative unlocking of a door within my mind, but the full picture remained elusive.
Along the aqueduct
The landscape shifted again as I continued my northward trek. The lush plains gave way to a more austere beauty – a tundra environment characterized by scattered patches of hardy bushes and isolated trees clinging tenaciously to the rocky ground. The weather had taken on a distinctly chill quality that day, the wind biting at any exposed skin. My breath froze in the dry, cold air, forming fleeting clouds before disappearing into the grey expanse above. Despite the harshness, the vistas were breathtaking – grand displays of nature’s unbridled majesty and beauty. Jagged peaks pierced the sky in the distance, their snow-capped summits gleaming faintly under the partially cleared skies.
I found myself following a peculiar trail – remnants of an ancient civilization that had clearly mastered engineering far beyond what I would have expected to find in this desolate region. Broken aqueducts snaked across the tundra, colossal structures built from massive stone blocks, now crumbling and overgrown with moss and lichen. They were a testament to ingenuity and ambition, but also a stark reminder of time’s relentless march. Sometimes, entire arches had been destroyed, leaving gaping holes in the once-imposing structure. I was forced to crawl above the rubble, carefully navigating the precarious remains, acutely aware that every step could trigger another collapse.
The silence of the tundra was profound, broken only by the mournful howl of the wind and the crunch of my boots on the frozen ground. It was a silence that pressed in on me, amplifying the feeling of isolation and vulnerability. I had been walking for hours, lost in thought and the rhythm of my steps, when a deep rumble shattered the stillness.
Instinctively, I looked up. The aqueduct directly above me – a particularly impressive arch spanning a wide chasm – was groaning under its own weight. Cracks spiderwebbed across the stone surface, widening with alarming speed. A section of the keystone dislodged, followed by a cascade of smaller stones. Then, with a deafening roar, the entire arch collapsed inward, sending a torrent of debris tumbling downwards.
Panic seized me. I tried to scramble away, but my feet seemed rooted to the spot for a crucial moment. The sheer scale of the collapse was overwhelming. Realizing escape was impossible, I dove towards a pile of already fallen monolithic blocks, desperately seeking shelter.
I managed to squeeze myself between two massive stones just as the main body of debris crashed down. The air filled with dust and the grinding sound of stone on stone. For what felt like an eternity, I lay pressed against the cold rock, listening to the relentless cascade of falling rubble. It was a terrifying experience – the feeling of being buried alive, surrounded by tons of stone threatening to crush me at any moment.
When the noise finally subsided and the dust began to settle, I cautiously assessed my situation. I was trapped, but not crushed. The debris had formed a cage around me, blocking my exit. It took several hours of painstaking effort – pushing away stones, squeezing through narrow gaps, and testing each movement with extreme caution – to free myself from the rubble. My muscles screamed in protest, and my hands were scraped and bleeding, but I was out.
Exhausted and shaken, I surveyed the scene. The once-imposing aqueduct now lay in ruins, a monument to decay and the fragility of even the most impressive structures. It was a sobering reminder of the dangers that lurked in this land.
I decided to rest and make camp near the ruins. Finding a relatively sheltered spot amongst the fallen stones, I gathered what meager materials I could find – dried moss for insulation, branches for a rudimentary windbreak – and prepared a small fire using flint and steel I carried with me. The flames offered little warmth against the biting cold, but they provided a sense of comfort and security in this desolate landscape. As I sat huddled near the flickering light, listening to the mournful howl of the wind, I couldn’t shake the feeling that my narrow escape was more than just luck – perhaps a warning, or a test. The name “Arinvar” echoed faintly in my mind, a persistent whisper amidst the ruins and the cold.
A temple long forgotten
The following days brought a welcome change in weather. The relentless chill remained, but the harsh wind had subsided somewhat, and most importantly, the oppressive grey skies had lifted. A clarity pervaded the air, revealing a landscape starkly beautiful in its austerity. It was cold enough that my breath still froze, but at least the depressing gloom had vanished for now, allowing the muted colors of the tundra to shine through.
I found myself walking on well-trodden paths – surprisingly clear and consistent despite the lack of apparent inhabitants. They wound their way across the frozen ground, leading me towards a significant structure in the distance: the ruin of what appeared to be an ancient temple. It was a substantial find, cultrual far larger than anything I had encountered since awakening from the earth. The sheer scale of it suggested a civilization that possessed considerable resources and organizational capacity – another layer added to the mystery of this land.
As I approached, I paused, contemplating the nature of the place. What gods might have been worshiped here? What rituals performed within these now-crumbling walls? It was a question that echoed in my mind, fueled by the pervasive sense of history and loss that clung to everything in this world.
The temple’s architecture was unlike anything I had previously observed. While constructed from the same massive stone blocks as the aqueducts, its design was markedly different – more ornate, with intricate carvings adorning the remaining walls. As I walked around the perimeter, examining the ruins, I noticed recurring motifs: stylized goat heads carved into the stone, their horns reaching towards the sky in a silent, eternal bleat. Interspersed amongst these images were runic inscriptions – complex and unfamiliar symbols that defied my attempts at comprehension. They seemed to writhe on the stone surface, hinting at secrets just beyond my grasp. I traced the lines with my fingers, hoping for some spark of recognition, but they remained stubbornly alien.
After a complete round along the outside walls of the building, carefully documenting the carvings and inscriptions in my mind, I decided to venture inside. The entrance was partially collapsed, requiring me to step over fallen debris, but it still provided access to what remained of the temple’s interior.
The air within was noticeably colder, carrying a dampness that clung to my skin. A palpable sense of age and decay permeated every corner. What had once been a grand hall was now a jumble of rubble and fragmented pillars. Yet, even in its ruined state, the scale of the structure was impressive. The sheer height of the remaining walls hinted at a space designed to inspire awe and reverence.
And then I saw it – a feature that dwarfed all others: a set of stairs leading deep into the earth. They descended into an absolute darkness, a void so complete that it seemed to devour not only light but also sound and hope itself. The air emanating from the opening was noticeably colder, carrying with it a faint scent – something metallic and faintly… wrong. It wasn’t unpleasant exactly, but deeply unsettling.
The stairs were constructed of the same massive stone as the rest of the temple, worn smooth by countless footsteps over what must have been millennia. They disappeared into an abyss that defied measurement, promising nothing but darkness and unknown depths. The silence surrounding the stairway was absolute – a stark contrast to the mournful howl of the wind above.
For now, I refrained from entering the stairway down into the belly of the world. A primal instinct screamed at me to stay away, warning of dangers lurking in that impenetrable blackness. Despite my desperate need for answers – for any clue as to who I was and why I had been buried beneath the earth – the prospect of descending into that abyss filled me with a profound sense of dread.
I spent several hours exploring the remaining chambers above ground, meticulously examining every detail, hoping to find some artifact or inscription that might shed light on the temple’s purpose or the identity of its worshippers. I found nothing conclusive – only fragments of pottery, corroded metal objects, and more of those enigmatic runes. The goat-headed carvings were prevalent throughout the upper levels, a constant reminder of the deity – or deities – venerated here.
As dusk began to settle, casting long shadows across the ruins, I knew I couldn’t stay any longer. The darkness within the stairway seemed to deepen with each passing moment, radiating an aura of palpable menace. I decided to make camp in a relatively sheltered alcove near the temple entrance, building a small fire for warmth and protection.
Huddled by the flickering flames, listening to the wind whisper through the ruins, I couldn’t shake the feeling that the stairway was calling to me – not with a voice, but with a persistent pull on my subconscious. It represented both immense danger and potentially invaluable knowledge. The name “Arinvar” echoed in my mind once more. I knew, with a certainty that chilled me to the bone, that eventually, I would have to descend into the darkness. But not tonight. Tonight, I would simply survive.
To be continued…
That’s it for today! I hope to see you next week for the second part of the actual play.
