A Stranger in Suburbia (An Interactive Story) - Prologue (13)
#13 of A Stranger in Suburbia
A choice must be made.
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Wonder why you have voices in your head telling you what to do.
You stop in your tracks. Stunned by this thought, you stare blankly at a wall, trying to identify all the different voices. Is this normal? A wave of existential crisis washes over you. Is it possible that you are inhabited by multiple people? Is this some sort of disorder? Are you merely a puppet in the grand scheme of things!? ARE YOU EVEN REAL!?
Don't question your conscience.
You decide to not question your conscience.
Life is easier that way.
For now.
Go to AMA.
A ease, you follow the bull's instructions and walk down the main street. Across the first crossroad, you spot another set of four shops: The Celephaïs Atlas ; another bookshop , a specialised kitchenware shop , and a barbershop. You make a note of these and approach the second crossroad, and go left.
The closed gates of Ars Magica Academy are a fair distance away. Its courtyard is concealed by thick black stone walls, though the main building towers over the walls. As you get closer, you spot a door in the wall to the left of the gate, above which is a sign that reads Entrance.
The gates seem superfluous.
Enter.
The interior is simpler than you anticipated. There's a desk in the corner, manned by a bored-looking deer, whose quill scrapes against paper. A pair of portraits line the wall. One is captioned Renée Fairthorne (1483-1755) and depicts an unsmiling hamster in elaborate red robes; the other is*Emil Fimble (1756-1846)*, depicting a grinning wolf in simple blue robes, easy on the eyes and full of lustre. A royal blue carpet accompanies the hallway up ahead.
The deer looks up at you, and sighs.
"Have you got a wand?"
Show him your wand.
"Right, new student. Fill this form." He gives you a scroll, an inkwell and a quill. "Seat's over there. Or you can fill it elsewhere. Deadline's in three days."
Survey form.
You unfurl the scroll... and unfurl it... and unfurl it... Seriously, it's a long scroll! You look to the deer, who returns your look of exasperation, but he says nothing. It's going to take a while to fill it out. In fact, it might take most of the day to do so.
What now?
HOW TO PLAY
Comment below with suggested actions for our hitherto unknown male Corgi-weasel protagonist. I will then advance the story with said suggestions.