Do the dreamers of this world give form to the dragons, or do dragon dreams form the world? If you want to know, Storyseeker might have some answers. Then again…
You wake to the buzz of television static, its granulated greys pierced through with audible light refractions from a distant pink sand dune. You wake in a monochrome room waiting for colour. You wake knowing that a traveller’s ambition means never owning blank pages, only empty maps. You decide boundaries aren’t worth taking seriously, and walk through the walls, into the desert.
You are greeted by stone obelisks and scratched hieroglyphs that whisper of visions and history. You are, you realize, a silhouette against an origami planet discarded like a failed story draft. You walk south, gliding across an ocean, its blue water clear as your earnest wanderer’s footsteps. You meet a mournful titan, lamenting his choices to a wax crayon sky. You are beginning to notice patterns.
Campfires waver in protest against an encroaching ice age. The silence of trapped skeletons hangs in the air like pained cries from frost burn. The patterns become a language. The words, when you try to read them, become snakes. You find shattered golems strewn across psychedelic landscapes that fizzle like the dreams of failing circuit boards. Is this the end of all things, you wonder, or the beginning of everything? Is there a difference? Storyseeker glows with tender hope and exhausted finality, a jar of dying fireflies.
The land is dotted with serpentine cargo cults. It is the place where the world serpents convene and sketch out future plans on brightly colored notebooks. The sheep here play dumb, but you have the suspicion they know more than they let on. The weasels are, undoubtedly, the wisest weasels you have ever met. You can play Storyseeker here.