# ISSUE {{serial issue = 1}} - THRU THE PORTAL
## {{serial page = 1}} in the barn
.PANEL {{panel}}
MIRIA stands inside a converted barn, facing a teleportation disc. She is tan, mid-20s, with long auburn hair and a slender but strong build. She has long, thick, wavy auburn hair and is wearing a cream-colored clutch purse on a slender strap. In her hand she’s holding a small envelope.
She's wearing an elegant deep red silk charity gala cocktail dress for political charity that a beautiful but politically conservative young heiress might wear. It is knee length. The dress features an elegant off-the-shoulder neckline, gently curved and softly draped, framing the collarbones and subtly highlighting the shoulders. The fabric is smoothly fitted through the bodice, emphasizing a tailored silhouette. The bottom hem of the dress falls just above the knee with a delicate, slightly flared shape that creates soft, graceful movement. The hem is subtly rounded and finished neatly, giving the skirt a refined, flowing appearance without heavy embellishment or ornamentation.
CAPTION
Teleporters are simple technology, really. They scan a traveler’s body, destroy it, and re-print it at the destination.
.PANEL {{panel}}
CLOSEUP of the envelope, which has a single ticket for the HERITAGE RANCHERS OF MONTANA CHARITY GALA poking out.
.PANEL {{panel}}
MIRIA steps onto the disc, and a flash of teleportation light envelops her.
MIRIA (THOUGHT)
At least they’ll have decent food, this time. Dad owes me that much, after the fiasco last time.
= addendum: on teleportation, and the prestige vs. the illusionist, and why too much drive to succeed and be the best can be bad, actually.
## {{page}} teleport to island
.PANEL {{panel}}
Miria stands on a rocky island facing fantastical, colorful curleycue trees. A rocky river (like the Susquehanna near Appalachia) is behind her. She's still dressed in the dress and heels, and looks confused.
MIRIA (THOUGHT)
This is definitely not the Capitol.
.PANEL {{panel}}
Close-up of Miria’s face twisting around in a circle as she looks around.
CAPTION
Teleporters are simple, but not easy. They require expensive bio-printers, and stable atmospheric conditions.
## {{page}} no signal on phone
.PANEL {{panel}}: take up 3/4 of the page, with the bottom quarter forming a sort of “U” shape beneath it.
Miria stares at the “no signal” indicator on her phone.
MIRIA (SPEECH)
Oh come on. Even Point Nemo has satellite service.
CAPTION
Point Nemo is also known as the Oceanic Pole of Inaccessibility. It’s closer to the International Space Station than the closest landmass.
(cont)
Miria is no longer on Earth.
= - [ ] the phone is a Chekov's gun; make sure it comes in useful sometime, even if just to make a list or show photos of something.
.PANEL {{panel}}: BOTTOM LEFT position.
A colorful, pastel lizard chews a glowing orb of luminescent fruit while watching Miria warily.
.PANEL {{panel}}: BOTTOM CENTER position, a little shorter than the flanking panels.
A fiery boar paws at the ground, searching for grubs, or perhaps truffles.
.PANEL {{panel}}: BOTTOM RIGHT position.
A group of blue, bioluminescent jellyfish floats awkwardly above a waterfall that flows down into the abyss of THE VOID.
= - [ ] The jellyfish and boar will attack her in upcoming panels. I don’t currently have a plan for the lizard, but it should recur somehow later.
## {{page}} climb the tree
.PANEL {{panel}}
Miria grips the twisting trunk of a fantastical curlicue tree, her expression set with determination. The bark spirals unnaturally, like fused vines, and the branches coil in ways that shouldn’t support weight but somehow do. Her dress is snagged on a thorny offshoot, but she doesn’t seem to notice.
MIRIA (THOUGHT)
Okay, at least it’s climbable.
.PANEL {{panel}}
Miria hauls herself higher, legs braced against a thick coil of bark. Below her, the ground is mossy and damp, little pools of water reflecting the ambient glow of the world. The river surrounding the island churns in lazy, unnatural spirals.
MIRIA (THOUGHT)
...Wait. Water shouldn’t move like that.
.PANEL {{panel}}
She reaches a stable perch, one foot wedged in the fork of a branch. From here, she sees the small island she’s on. It’s lush, but strangely compact, like it was just dropped in the middle of the river, a reverse-crater. Beyond the swirling river, jagged cliffs rise up, cradling a town that looks distinctly out of place.
MIRIA (THOUGHT)
That town… That’s not—
## {{page}} observe the town
.PANEL {{panel}}: TOP 1/4
Miria grips the tree tightly, fingers digging into the bark as she clenches her jaw. Her posture is rigid, like she’s bracing herself against the weight of what she just saw. Shadows stretch strangely around her, bending in ways that don’t match a single light source.
.PANEL {{panel}}: MIDDLE 1/2
The town atop the cliff is a bizarre fusion of an old-world gothic cathedral city and an underwater reef—a place that should not exist in this mountain river landscape. The buildings have the sharp, arching spires of medieval cathedrals, but instead of stone, they are made of twisting seashells. The windows are elaborate, stained glass masterpieces, but the rooftops? Massive clamshells, curved protectively over the structures beneath, but they shimmer like the rainbow sheen of oyster shells.
MIRIA (THOUGHT)
That can’t possibly belong here. Wherever here is.
.PANEL {{panel}}: BOTTOM 1/4
Miria tilts her head back to take in the “sky.” But there is no sky—only the void. The jagged cliffs mark the end of this world, and beyond them, nothing but a cosmic abyss. And beyond that—
## {{page}} observe the void
.PANEL {{panel}}
TOP 3/4
A Greek trireme, a literal wooden warship from another era, floats through the nothingness. Its sails are full despite the absence of wind. Its oars move, but there is no water beneath it. It looks almost normal, almost historical—except it is drifting through the same airless void as the town.
.PANEL {{panel}}: BOTTOM 1/4
Miria leans forward, gripping the tree, trying to make sense of the shadows.
MIRIA (THOUGHT)
Where is the light even coming from?
## {{page}} take stock of belongings
.PANEL {{panel}}
MIRIA (THOUGHT)
Nope. Nope, nope, nope. Thinking about this too hard is going to hurt.
(cont)
Time to focus on the important things.
Miria sits on a gnarled root at the base of the curlicue tree, her purse dumped open on her lap. Its contents are spread across the mossy ground: a steel business card case, a platinum credit card, a neat stack of crisp $20 bills, a rollerball of perfume, blotting papers, lemon cough drops, a couple of safety pins, a small comb, and a pair of wooden hair sticks. The tampon has rolled slightly downhill, coming to a stop near a strange, fractal mushroom.
CAPTION
The average human can survive about 3 minutes without air, 3 hours without shelter, 3 days without water, and 3 months without food.
.PANEL {{panel}}
Miria stands, re-packed purse slung over her shoulder, and eyes the river. The water is swirling in slow, unnatural spirals, reflecting the ambient light in strange, skittery patterns.
MIRIA (THOUGHT)
There has to be a better way across.
## {{page}} bird attacks (R)
.PANEL {{panel}}
Miria pushes through the dense undergrowth, lifting her dress to avoid snagging it on a thorny vine. In the background, the bushes between the twisted trees and mossy ground have almost imperceptible movement indicators.
.PANEL {{panel}}
Miria stops at the edge of the island, staring at a fallen tree extending partway over the water, forming a narrow, unstable bridge. Her expression is deeply skeptical.
MIRIA (THOUGHT)
Maybe…?
CAPTION
Miria was raised on a ranch by a politician. She has many skills, gymnastics is not one of them.
.PANEL {{panel}}
CLOSE-UP of a stand of thick bramble bushes. Movement indicators are larger now.
CAPTION
Something wicked this way comes.
## {{page}} bird steps into view (L)
.PANEL {{panel}}
A tall, gaunt bird-like creature steps into view. Its limbs are too long, jointed in the wrong places. Its wiry, scruffy feathers look half-plucked, patchy like something sick or starved. It has a long, narrow beak, serrated like a saw, and milky, near-white eyes that don’t seem to blink.
.PANEL {{panel}}
Miria stands frozen, mouth open in shock. The bird-thing tilts its head, listening. It does not move toward her, but its shadow stretches unnaturally long, curling toward her feet like it’s trying to touch her.
.PANEL {{panel}}
The bird takes a step forward. Its talons click on the stone. The shadow moves before the body does, like it’s a second ahead of reality. It curls over the ground, spreading like ink in water.
.PANEL {{panel}}
Miria takes a step back. The bird-thing doesn’t follow. Its shadow does.
## {{page}} shadow chases (R)
.PANEL {{panel}}: FULL PAGE, like a background.
Miria runs. The bird doesn’t move, but the shadow streaks after her, racing across the ground, faster than she can sprint. It stays just at her heels, reaching.
CAPTION
Many creatures in the void feed on things other than flesh and flora.
.PANEL {{panel}}: Box in the lower left, overlapping the big “background” panel.
Miria is running on top of the fallen tree toward the middle of the river.
.PANEL {{panel}}: Box in the lower middle, overlapping the big “background” panel as well as the preceding one.
Miria takes a flying leap into the river.
MIRIA (THOUGHT)
BAD PLAN BAD PLAN BAD PLAN--
SFX
SPLASH
.PANEL {{panel}}: Box in the lower right, overlapping the other panels panel like a modal.
The shadow-tendrils freeze at the edge, recoiling as if burned.
CAPTION
There’s an idiom from Miria’s homeworld that is appropriate to her current situation.
(cont)
Out of the frying pan, into the fire.
===
## {{PAGE}} 'escape' to the water
.PANEL {{panel}}
Wide shot. Miria is waist-deep in the thick, spiraling water, arms flailing. The liquid clings to her legs, pulling downward like it’s alive, distorting slightly around her thighs.
MIRIA (THOUGHT)
Water isn’t supposed to move like this.
(cont)
I can’t lift my legs.
.PANEL {{panel}}
From the edge of the riverbank, the horrible bird creature charges. Its beak aimed down like a lance, it sprints at full speed. It’s mid-run, legs kicked up behind it, its awful white eyes fixed on Miria.
CAPTION
Some flightless birds can reach speeds of 40 miles per hour.
.PANEL {{panel}}
A man (SEVARIK) explodes into the frame from above, caught mid-air in a banzai leap. His expression is half wild, half focused. He wears rugged fly-fishing gear, plastic waders, and a rain jacket speckled with strange resin stains. One hand is outstretched for balance; the other raises a gleaming cavalry saber. A golden tendril wraps around his neck and extends thinly back toward the town at the top of the cliff.
CAPTION
The terminal velocity of a leaping human male is approximately 53 meters per second—
(cont)
—assuming the absence of magic.
===
## {{PAGE}} sevarik to the rescue
.PANEL {{panel}}
Sevarik’s saber intercepts the bird’s beak mid-strike with a parry. The moment is frozen—metal against serrated bone, water splashing upward where Miria flinched backwards. Sevarik’s stance is grounded, athletic, practiced, even though he’s hip-deep in water (he’s a little taller than Miria)
.PANEL {{panel}}
The bird’s head is airborne, separated from its body. It hasn’t landed yet. Sevarik stands in a ready pose beside Miria. The headless bird’s body collapses, twitching.
CAPTION
Avian nerves may continue to fire briefly post-decapitation.
===
.PANEL {{panel}}
Close-up of Sevarik’s neck and upper torso. A golden tendril, thin and organic, reaches out from the distant town, faint but unmistakable. It is wrapped around his neck like a Celtic torque, nestled against his collarbone. The light it emits is warm.
Sevarik offers a sheepish, awkward smile. He’s clearly trying to be reassuring. The text of his speech is rendered in sci-fi-styled glyphs or distorted runes, entirely unintelligible.
SEVARIK (SPEECH, INCOMPREHENSIBLE)
ᚠᛁᚱ-⧉-⟁ ⊡≡ᛞ…?
MIRIA
...What?
## {{page}} proposal
.PANEL {{panel}}
The bird’s body floats nearby, headless, as Miria looks up at the man. He’s sheathing his saber awkwardly. The golden tendril from the town still glows faintly, wrapped like a Celtic torque around his neck.
CAPTION
Many human cultures tell a version of the tower of babel story—language as blessing, curse, or boundary.
.PANEL {{panel}}: MIDDLE LEFT
SEVARIK fumbles in his shirt pocket—his gear is bulky, not made for elegance.
.PANEL {{panel}}: OVERLAPPING ALONG THE BOTTOM RIGHT CORNER DIAGONAL
He pulls out a cabochon ring: a band of aged metal holding a single rough-cut, unpolished carnelian in a center setting. The style is ancient, almost tribal, unmistakably old.
CAPTION
Miria once saw a ring like it in Aachen, on a trip with her father. She was twelve, jet-lagged, and fascinated by the treasures of Charlemagne.
.PANEL {{PANEL}}
## {{PAGE}} can talk now
Sevarik holds the ring out to her. His expression is hopeful but sheepish.
.PANEL {{PANEL}}
Miria, still wary but aware he just saved her life, takes the ring and slides it on.
MIRIA (SPEECH)
Okay. Now what.
.PANEL {{PANEL}}
Close-up. Sevarik rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, not quite meeting her eyes. The tendril around his neck glows slightly brighter.
SEVARIK (SPEECH)
Now we can understand each other
(cont)
I should warn you. Technically, this means we're married.
## {{PAGE}} married nao
.PANEL {{PANEL}}
Miria freezes, her eyebrows raised. Sev holds up both hands defensively.
MIRIA (SPEECH)
I don't even know your name.
(cont)
Is this one of those situations where knowing your name gives me power over you?
SEVARIK (SPEECH)
I'm Sevarik. Magic here in the void is… well. It’s complicated.
(cont)
We take what we can get. Right now we need to get you out of this river.
MIRIA (SPEECH)
Sunset is coming and the real monsters come out to play?
SEVARIK (SPEECH)
Sweetheart—
(cont)
There is no sun. This is the Void.
MIRIA (SPEECH)
Call me Miria. Please.
.PANEL {{PANEL}}
WIDE ANGLE shot of the nothingness and floating objects in the “sky.” The ship has moved halfway across the sky compared to the last shot.
MIRIA (SPEECH)
Do you have magic that will help get me out of this river?
SEVARIK (SPEECH)
No.
(cont)
But my friend TUFT does.
.PANEL {{PANEL}}: Small BOX, bottom right corner
He offers his hand.
## {{PAGE}} pulled by TUFT
.PANEL {{PANEL}}
Miria reaches out and grabs his hand—the instant their fingers touch, the golden tendril pulses and yanks them upward.
.PANEL {{PANEL}}
Their bodies arc through the air, rising fast toward the top of the cliff.
MIRIA (SPEECH)
EEK!
.PANEL {{PANEL}} BIG, cinematic SPLASHY Page
Miria mid-air, squeezing her eyes shut, hair streaming behind her. Sev’s other hand is still holding his saber. He looks completely unfazed.
# ISSUE {{ISSUE}} – INTO THE SKERRY
## {{page}} landing at the stele
.PANEL {{panel}}
Sevarik and Miria land abruptly on solid ground—soft moss—at the base of a massive, ancient-looking STELE carved with Mesopotamian-style figures. Nearby, several bizarre “street lamps” arch over the cobblestone path: each lamp's head resembles an anglerfish, its bulbous lure casting an eerie glow.
CAPTION
The tendrils of Tuft have pulled them into a protected pocket of the Void.
.PANEL {{panel}}
WIDE SHOT. We see the SKERRY: a bizarre fusion of an old-world gothic cathedral city and an underwater reef—a place that should not exist in this mountain river landscape. The buildings have the sharp, arching spires of medieval cathedrals, but instead of stone, they are made of twisting seashells. The windows are elaborate, stained glass masterpieces, but the rooftops? Massive clamshells, curved protectively over the structures beneath, but they shimmer like the rainbow sheen of oyster shells. High above is the blackness of the void, dotted with drifting ships, cosmic debris, and that intangible sense of endless night. The lamps provide a ghostly, pearlescent illumination. Near the stele is a small POND.
SEVARIK (SPEECH)
This is Tuft's Skerry.
MIRIA (THOUGHT)
Who or what is TUFT?
CAPTION
The SKERRY was once a pristine chunk of rainforest extruded from a world that didn't want it anymore. Over time, salvage and careful acquisitions from the Void have developed it into a small settlement.
## {{page}} the rules on the stele
.PANEL {{panel}}
Miria kneels on the grass, checking her phone. The screen is lit, and the battery icon indicates it’s at full charge.
MIRIA (SPEECH)
Thanks for saving me. Um.
(cont)
What do I do now? Water? Food? Shelter?
.PANEL {{panel}}
Sevarik, still adjusting his grip on his saber, shrugs. The faint golden tendril around his neck pulses.
SEVARIK (SPEECH)
You’re my wife now, right? What's mine is yours.
MIRIA (SPEECH)
That’s… that’s not exactly how marriage works. Even in Montana.
SEVARIK (SPEECH)
It is here.
(cont)
Look, I've got to deliver some things to Tuft, and you need to learn the rules. Read the stele. I'll be back soon.
.PANEL {{panel}}
CLOSE UP on the stele. Chiseled script, stylized cuneiform. The translation is set in CAPTION.
CAPTION
1. "Don't be the reason I have to make a new rule."
2. "No stealing, unless it's with permission."
3. "Share knowledge and be honest."
4. "Give good value for good work."
5. "Manage waste responsibly and keep shared spaces clean."
6. "Don't waste anything, including time."
7. "Be as diligent in resting as you are in working."
8. "Be as kind to your future self as you would be to a friend."
9. "Consider the impacts of your actions before you (do or don’t) make them. Words are actions."
MIRIA (SPEECH, OFFSCREEN)
Sure.
## {{page}} greeting the townsfolk
.PANEL {{panel}}
Miria steps back from the stele to take in the settlement. Over Miria’s shoulder, three TOWNSFOLK (CHRIS the miner, EUDORA the mayor, DAX the mechanic) are trying to pry open a wooden crate.
CHRIS is solidly built, slightly taller than average, with ash-blond hair and a strong jaw. He often wears canvas overalls or a dust-smeared jacket, carrying a respectful but weary posture. A fine network of stress lines around his eyes reveals the weight of responsibility he’s carried from a young age. He wears a coal-stained bandana around is neck, that can doulbe as a dust mask. There is usually a clockwork brass canary perched on his shoulder.
EUDORA is in her late 50s, with a wiry build, silver hair cropped close, and hands roughened by decades of precise woodworking. One eye is clouded from an old injury, offset by a brass-framed monocle for detailed tasks. Her movements are efficient, deliberate, reflecting years of practiced craftsmanship.
DAX is 16 with a wiry build, messy brown hair spiked up, typically wearing a grease-stained varsity letter jacket. Sports a perpetual smirk that borders on cocky. He wears a battered tool belt crammed with improvised gadgets, wrenches, and arcane-tech splices
MIRIA (THOUGHT)
Haven't even made it to ten commandments yet. I wonder how many people actually live here...?
CHRIS (SPEECH, SMALL)
Careful there, Dax, you'll break the latch. We don’t need a busted lid spilling supplies into the moss.
DAX (SPEECH, SMALL)
If you’d built a better crowbar, maybe I wouldn’t have to force it.
(cont)
I could fix this if I had the right tools…
.PANEL {{panel}}
Miria approaches the group of townsfolk.
MIRIA (SPEECH)
Is there anything I can help with?
EUDORA (SPEECH)
What did Sevarik say when he brought you here?
MIRIA (SPEECH)
He said I should learn the rules, but they’re... pretty generic.
CHRIS (SPEECH)
They’re “pretty generic” for a reason—we’ve had all sorts show up here.
.PANEL {{panel}}
Chris shoots Dax a brief, knowing smirk.
DAX (SPEECH)
Hey, if we all followed the rules, we wouldn’t be bickering about who busted the crate.
EUDORA (SPEECH)
All right, that’s enough. Chris, pass me that pry bar. Dax, pivot the crate so I can see the hinges.
(cont)
Don't worry, dear. We’re a family here—of sorts.
## {{page}} miria shares her story
.PANEL {{panel}}
Eudora smiles warmly. Chris and Dax continue prying open another box. Miria looks wary.
EUDORA (SPEECH)
They're more in the nature of reminders than directions. Welcome to Tuft's skerry. Will you be staying with us for long?
MIRIA (SPEECH)
I don't know. One minute I was heading to dinner with my father, and then I'm getting attacked by some kind of bird monster, and now I'm here. What happens next?
EUDORA (SPEECH)
Did Sevarik explain what Tuft's skerry _is_?
MIRIA (SPEECH)
No...? He said I didn't need to worry about food, or shelter, and that he needed to deliver something to Tuft.
CAPTION
Miria's answer obfuscates her marriage to Sevarik. It is not _quite_ a violation of the Third Rule. It is true that Sevarik has explained very little.
## {{page}} eudora provides context
.PANEL {{panel}}
Eudora is gesturing expansively at the bubble-like aura that surrounds the skerry.
EUDORA (SPEECH)
Tuft is a world seed. A young one. His aura protects this chunk of the real from the vagaries of the void. As a crude analogy, you can think of it as a planetary atmosphere.
(cont)
Did your home have an atmosphere? Generally speaking, when you end up in the void without knowing how, you're coming from a crack in the aura of a mature world.
MIRIA (SPEECH)
Y-yes? Is that significant?
EUDORA (SPEECH)
Mature worlds are the safest place for a person to be. I imagine you'd like to go back to yours. I certainly did, when I first got taken from mine. Kidnapped, if you can believe it.
MIRIA (SPEECH)
I think I could believe anything, after the morning I had.
.PANEL {{panel}}
Eudora claps, delighted.
EUDORA (SPEECH)
That's the spirit. Believe this: you can't go back.
(cont)
Tuft is young. Only a few delvers have served, and only a handful of us live here. But it's better than floating in the void, or living in a wreck without an aura.
(cont)
I've done both. This skerry is a good place to be.
MIRIA (SPEECH)
I don't have any plans to leave. I don't have any plans at all, really.
(cont)
Except to join Sevarik for a meal, I suppose. He said he'd be back soon.
MIRIA (SPEECH)
I don't have any plans to leave. I don't have any plans at all, really.
(cont)
Except to join Sevarik for dinner, I suppose. He said he'd be back soon.
EUDORA (SPEECH)
If you’re staying, you’ll have to pitch in.
(cont)
Like the stele said, we give good value for good work. There’s no charity here—we can't afford charity.
.PANEL {{panel}}
A soft golden tendril snakes into view, glowing faintly. TUFT speaks from off-panel.
TUFT (JAGGED SPEECH, OFF-PANEL, GOLD BACKGROUND, PALE TEXT)
That's not precisely true, Eudora. Miria is Sevarik’s wife. She's covered by his contributions.
.PANEL {{panel}}
Miria looks startled, eyes flicking from the tendril to Eudora. Eudora’s eyebrow is raised knowingly, but she waits patiently for Miria to process.
MIRIA (THOUGHT)
Is that how I want it? To be a Sevarik's fairy tale princess, rescued into someone else's responsibility?
.PANEL {{panel}}
Miria straightens her posture, meeting Eudora’s eyes directly, a hint of stubborn pride surfacing.
MIRIA (SPEECH)
Thank you, Tuft—but I prefer to contribute in my own right.
EUDORA (SPEECH)
Good girl. Just because you can take advantage of a loophole doesn't mean you should.
TUFT (SPEECH, OFF-PANEL)
Are you so sure it wasn't intentional?
.PANEL {{panel}}
Everyone pauses, exchanging looks. Chris clears his throat, trying to ease the sudden awkwardness.
CHRIS (SPEECH)
I don't think Callum would consider sharing with his wife to be a loophole.
DAX (SPEECH)
You think Sevarik married her on purpose? She's a total stranger, and he's been completely oblivious to Varis ever since—
EUDORA (SPEECH, INTERRUPTING)
You're being rude, Dax.
.PANEL {{panel}}
Miria’s eyes widen slightly as she takes this all in, silently noting the tensions.
EUDORA (SPEECH)
Well, regardless, it was good of you to offer to pitch in.
(cont)
How about you help me poke through these boxes and see what's worth salvaging?
## {{page}} making a choice
.PANEL {{panel}}
Miria helps sort the contents of the box -- textiles -- into piles based on its state of repair. Sevarik returns, saber at his hip, golden tendril shimmering faintly behind him.
MIRIA (THOUGHT)
_Do_ I want to go home?
(cont)
I certainly don't mind missing the gala.
(cont)
Dad always said every crisis is an opportunity.
CAPTION
Even moth-eaten rags can be useful, but space is always limited. Even mature worlds occasionally purge the damaged and useless things.
(cont)
Sometimes, though, they send a gem into the void to help their offspring grow.
(cont)
The trick, as the sages say, lies in discerning which is which.
## {{PAGE}} SEVARIK COMES BACK
The foursome is looking at an object. Sevarik approaches.
SEVARIK (SPEECH)
Anything useful this time?
- [ ] what does he find?
## {{PAGE}} DAX NAGS SEV
## {{PAGE}} ENUF! TAKING MIRIA HOME.
.{{panel}}
- [ ] enough. I'm taking Miria home. She's had a rough day.
.{{panel}}
Focus on Miria and Sevarik, Dax, Eudora & Chris still unpacking boxes in the background.
Small boxes & text, in background, to indicate low volume in the distance.
Dax makes a parting shot about Varis isn't gonna be happy about this.
Eudora: Hush!
.{{panel}}
in foreground
MIRIA (SPEECH)
Is Varis going to be a problem?
SEVARIK (SPEECH)
No more than usual.
MIRIA (SPEECH)
Let me rephrase. What do I need to know about Varis.
SEVARIK (SPEECH)
If you decide to stay? Varis good with textiles. Been here longer than I have. Very... persistent. She won't give you any trouble.
(cont)
Eudora and Tuft take a dim view of trouble in the skerry.
## {{PAGE}} HOUSE ADOPTS MIRIA
= [[petrified eliok house]]
## {{PAGE}} inside the house
The interior of the house looks like a hoarder’s hellhole, all but abandoned.
THOUGHT
It’s a hellhole.
(CONT)
It’s structurally sound. No rot, no cobwebs, no bugs, no little mouse holes or chewed up bits of anything.
(CONT)
It’s still a hellhole.
The only part that is tidy is a small alcove just off the entrance.
It might have served as a mudroom except it was spotless and perfectly organized. Weapons on the walls, a bedroll palette on the floor, the bed made with military precision. It’s twin-sized.
THOUGHT
Well, he’s definitely a bachelor. Better than being added to some barbarian’s harem, I guess.
There’s detrtius on the floor, and the four-post bed is piled high with books and objects and implements. All dusty.
## {{page}} dinner
= [[first dinner bed and morning]]
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","uuid":"C71BBBCF-0147-4024-9F7C-A83C7492E197"},{"string":".PANEL {{panel}}: BOTTOM LEFT position.","uuid":"E6072F70-53A0-4904-9FFA-82C8550CE677"},{"string":".PANEL {{panel}}: BOTTOM CENTER position, a little shorter than the flanking panels. ","uuid":"2B828A7A-78C8-43BA-9E7B-3BE98D34E7D2"},{"string":".PANEL {{panel}}: BOTTOM RIGHT position.","uuid":"C370FC7D-4304-461E-8EAE-AE6B37EE359F"},{"string":"## {{page}} climb the tree","uuid":"CEDBC11C-BD2D-4234-9E16-ED2FA15FAD50"},{"string":".PANEL {{panel}}","uuid":"ABCB3A66-CDA9-44A9-A5DF-B062AD18A05D"},{"string":".PANEL {{panel}}","uuid":"F8A1EA1B-28AF-43AB-8A6A-53AD3E52AA5E"},{"string":".PANEL {{panel}}","uuid":"E5A7BFE7-A8E2-4185-A4D4-E8FD86846806"},{"string":"## {{page}} observe the town ","uuid":"7140293F-6496-4416-9AED-5EE61F47CC01"},{"string":".PANEL {{panel}}: TOP 1\/4","uuid":"8176E595-94BC-4B3E-9807-EEA6957DA47C"},{"string":".PANEL {{panel}}: MIDDLE 1\/2","uuid":"E6E0169A-32E3-4FEE-A93B-780FC1BF2D38"},{"string":".PANEL {{panel}}: BOTTOM 1\/4","uuid":"5B10D9D1-B880-4570-AF09-D6736E9F71A2"},{"string":"## {{page}} observe the void ","uuid":"437FEF98-5275-40EB-AC91-5C1C4736431D"},{"string":".PANEL {{panel}}","uuid":"6339A891-3F81-42C7-A491-962CBB1BD8E3"},{"string":".PANEL {{panel}}: BOTTOM 1\/4","uuid":"97AC1FF8-2350-4318-9992-8C7E5F6506D9"},{"string":"## {{page}} take stock of belongings","uuid":"E660920A-3B3F-4332-9E39-5704CBB86BC4"},{"string":".PANEL {{panel}}","uuid":"44AEACBD-F833-44F9-9166-54DDDFF63B5A"},{"string":".PANEL {{panel}}","uuid":"7BFF526B-D1FC-4D21-BFDA-146E24FD6ACE"},{"string":"## {{page}} bird attacks (R)","uuid":"FC904F52-0F05-4FC6-9414-51A6EE0DDFA6"},{"string":".PANEL {{panel}}","uuid":"989A4441-E5CD-4F32-8F1F-F3D783173DBE"},{"string":".PANEL {{panel}}","uuid":"DB66D88F-BF6D-43C3-89F1-160EEB438BB2"},{"string":".PANEL {{panel}}","uuid":"9E249999-6E44-4966-80EA-4B3C44289A36"},{"string":"### {{page}} bird steps into view (L)","uuid":"033638E4-BA4C-4159-9EC3-E3373870B030"},{"string":".PANEL {{panel}}","uuid":"74ABDDBF-5860-4652-8BD4-B5788B327915"},{"string":".PANEL {{panel}}","uuid":"50345255-CA24-4D9A-A630-86029FF3FDFF"},{"string":".PANEL {{panel}}","uuid":"2E1A62A4-80AA-48AD-BD9D-DE6C93816764"},{"string":".PANEL {{panel}}","uuid":"FF8DF981-328F-45B3-804F-B4A681E820C2"},{"string":"## {{page}} shadow chases (R)","uuid":"7C95B2DF-0DD1-40CB-AFBF-27F600A0325E"},{"string":".PANEL {{panel}}: FULL PAGE, like a background. ","uuid":"9E9B3F86-A0E6-4E11-9FAE-CEEC956127D4"},{"string":".PANEL {{panel}}: Box in the lower left, overlapping the big “background” panel. ","uuid":"0BA20149-6674-4752-8160-2CBC2F7C6A67"},{"string":".PANEL {{panel}}: Box in the lower middle, overlapping the big “background” panel as well as the preceding one.","uuid":"D6BA7DDA-66CF-4F50-8499-0178E63DFB8C"},{"string":".PANEL {{panel}}: Box in the lower right, overlapping the other panels panel like a modal. ","uuid":"93455C9D-EEE2-4AEF-8ACD-A21B5D750A9F"},{"string":"## {{PAGE}} 'escape' to the water","uuid":"805BE75E-E5F5-4F17-9D78-F1A1E6F48F9E"},{"string":".PANEL {{panel}}","uuid":"76E19F87-C215-4ADC-A62F-3C77D4CA56F4"},{"string":".PANEL {{panel}}","uuid":"1376BE05-38A8-4217-A0F0-B1AA4A5B1EAC"},{"string":".PANEL {{panel}} ","uuid":"100DED62-93A3-4E71-933F-1E4DD0895A30"},{"string":"## {{PAGE}} sevarik to the rescue","uuid":"64031250-9551-4E08-9676-7C7B30EC905B"},{"string":".PANEL {{panel}}","uuid":"15D30144-46FB-43F3-A766-A58DC315D1C5"},{"string":".PANEL {{panel}}","uuid":"D8E5D07D-B67B-4212-8E74-AE85B04458BA"},{"string":".PANEL {{panel}}","uuid":"50866DB5-5A0A-4DAC-8131-2EA70ACECCA7"},{"string":"## {{page}} proposal","uuid":"83A42FEA-3F42-4FB4-8C3E-31A07B7100BD"},{"string":".PANEL {{panel}}","uuid":"00723F5B-EAB3-4E99-AF8E-14E2F0B13C31"},{"string":".PANEL {{panel}}: MIDDLE LEFT","uuid":"F36197A9-BF73-4F29-A3C5-C44BB8CB9811"},{"string":".PANEL {{panel}}: OVERLAPPING ALONG THE BOTTOM RIGHT CORNER DIAGONAL","uuid":"F8B5ADC3-C9E2-4BCD-AEED-77B6DD6C07F2"},{"string":".PANEL {{PANEL}}","uuid":"0C9F6431-7D48-4C79-88B0-EC71BD5C0C97"},{"string":"## {{PAGE}} can talk now","uuid":"543456D2-A32B-4718-8971-DD1D3CE70F43"},{"string":".PANEL {{PANEL}}","uuid":"93A8BCE1-9465-4463-A886-A5D904436592"},{"string":".PANEL {{PANEL}}","uuid":"2B929D67-FF46-487A-8203-F4BAA4C90C95"},{"string":"## {{PAGE}} married nao","uuid":"229350A6-A4B4-474E-9588-B9799FA195EE"},{"string":".PANEL {{PANEL}}","uuid":"7FEDC709-B7DD-4E99-AC48-D178792DF9F2"},{"string":".PANEL {{PANEL}}","uuid":"B92CED6C-728B-452B-A05E-EDBE7757E565"},{"string":".PANEL {{PANEL}}: Small BOX, bottom right corner","uuid":"BD215AF1-B6DE-4C39-9A1B-72D612C9022C"},{"string":"## {{PAGE}} pulled by TUFT ","uuid":"1508FB67-C011-412C-AE69-05C087A48FFE"},{"string":".PANEL {{PANEL}}","uuid":"F781E162-9359-4AE2-8539-E9396CE2910F"},{"string":".PANEL {{PANEL}}","uuid":"4D985CE7-975C-4FC3-BF92-7F3BC5D4FC46"},{"string":".PANEL {{PANEL}} BIG, cinematic SPLASHY Page","uuid":"F8C0A7AF-B730-4AD1-B8D4-6F7188504501"},{"string":"# ISSUE {{ISSUE}} – INTO THE SKERRY","uuid":"29942B6C-00F3-4FC2-B1B5-324BFFA4F7D0"},{"string":"## {{page}} THE LANDING","uuid":"D7BAC80B-C265-42A6-96EC-937A6BA1EAA1"},{"string":".PANEL {{panel}}","uuid":"D58A92F7-9636-4DB2-A9FE-426AAC3F4C62"},{"string":".PANEL {{panel}}","uuid":"D3FB7CF8-1BE4-46B4-BC9D-0E4CB7D83DC2"},{"string":"## {{page}} THE RULES ON THE STELE","uuid":"3C2FC4D4-03D6-4E70-B7EA-AC6C729C8BE7"},{"string":".PANEL {{panel}}","uuid":"C665D8B9-9669-4BC6-B42C-20993438209B"},{"string":".PANEL {{panel}}","uuid":"C92B37AC-DA20-4576-9D81-77C3848B2007"},{"string":".PANEL {{panel}}","uuid":"40A25C14-87E3-424D-9B64-D81DBF978E34"},{"string":"## {{page}} TOWNSCAPE","uuid":"2010A7FF-DBA5-46F1-9452-F19058CCC662"},{"string":".PANEL {{panel}}","uuid":"30368629-ACA7-4B1C-8CB4-B10C0EE36B49"},{"string":".PANEL {{panel}}","uuid":"CB9F9F7D-7A29-4B09-BCC7-E6E58B81A30D"},{"string":"## {{page}} PARTING WAYS FOR NOW","uuid":"C53C1193-D5CF-418C-95AC-81B5CCDA894A"},{"string":".PANEL {{panel}}","uuid":"F06AE68D-200C-4492-BA25-2620E1DA5343"},{"string":".PANEL {{panel}}","uuid":"0821708F-600C-4684-B84D-877ADC4B60F8"}],"CharacterData":{"SFX":{"name":"SFX","gender":"other"},"MIRIA":{"name":"MIRIA","bio":"Appearance: Tan, mid-20s, long auburn hair, slender but strong build. \n\n* Fish Out of Water (accidentally teleported to a weird dimension)\n* Rich Rancher’s Daughter (old Montana money + politician dad)\n* Calm & clever in a crisis, but not super physical. \n\nGeneral style is commensurate with wearing a cream-colored silk cocktail dress (calf-length, pearl buttons, embroidery) and heels, tho she was raised as a CATTLE BARON’S daughter and is comfortable in stablehand \/ Montana clothes. ","age":"24","gender":"woman"},"CAPTION":{"age":"200?","gender":"other","name":"CAPTION","bio":"Snarky, omniscient expo-dumper who loves throwing out weird facts (e.g., 3-3-3 survival rule, bird speed, Babel references).\n\nStyle: Casually breaks fourth wall, frames Miria’s journey with offbeat scientific asides.\n\nTropes:\n\n* Meta Exposition (constantly dropping real-world trivia)\n* Voice with an Agenda (plays up the danger and absurdity at every turn)\n* Tour Guide of the Bizarre (directs the reader’s gaze to each oddity in the Void)"},"SEVARIK":{"name":"SEVARIK","gender":"man","bio":"Male, 6’3, athletic build, a faint golden tendril connects him to the shell-town on the cliff. Good with weapons.\n\nRecurring trope \/ visual gag: “Knight in Practical Armor” — wears rugged fly-fishing gear (plastic waders, resin-stained rain jacket) in the beginning. \n\nWields a gleaming cavalry saber. "}},"Active Plugins":[],"Revision Level":0,"Window Height":919,"Print Sections":true,"Caret Position":15556,"Sidebar Width":289,"Notes":"* aim to have a nice beginning\/middle\/end in 22 pages. "} END_BEAT */