Scroll of Aethelburg's Dark

The flickering gaslight casts long, dancing shadows across the cobbled alleyway. Rain slicks the uneven stones, reflecting the sickly yellow glow in a shimmering, distorted mirror. The air hangs thick and heavy, a cocktail of coal smoke, unwashed bodies, and something else… something acrid and metallic that tickles the back of your throat. You clutch the worn leather of your satchel tighter, the damp seeping through the thin material. Inside, nestled amongst dried herbs and tarnished tools, lies the reason you're here, in this forsaken corner of Aethelburg. The Scroll of Whispers. For centuries, it's been kept hidden, passed down through generations of your family, whispered about only in hushed tones. They called it cursed. They called it forbidden. You call it your only hope. Your lungs burn with each ragged breath. You've been running for days, the relentless pursuit of the Order of the Obsidian Rose snapping at your heels. They want the Scroll. They say it contains blasphemous secrets, knowledge that threatens the very foundations of the Empire. You believe it holds something else entirely. A cure. A cure for the creeping madness that has begun to twist your mind, leaving trails of fragmented memories and unsettling visions in its wake. Your mother succumbed to it, her eyes turning vacant, her whispers growing stranger and more distant until… well, until she was no longer there. You won't let the same fate claim you. A gruff voice cuts through the night. "Looking for something, stranger?" A figure emerges from the shadows, hulking and menacing, a rusty cleaver glinting in his hand. He's one of the Cutters, infamous for their brutality and unwavering loyalty to the Black Market syndicate that controls this district. He smells of decay and desperation. This is it. The beginning. Your choice now will determine whether you find salvation in the Scroll's secrets, or become another forgotten victim swallowed by the darkness of Aethelburg. Do you try to bluff your way past him, drawing on your meager charm? Do you try to fight, risking everything in a desperate gamble? Or do you attempt to disappear back into the labyrinthine alleyways, delaying the inevitable, perhaps finding a temporary reprieve? The rain intensifies. The cutter grins, revealing teeth stained brown and yellow. Your heart hammers against your ribs. What do you do?