Playing the solo game “The Last Watcher” – Part 1
I Started playing the solo journaling game “The Last Watcher” recently and wanted to share my experiance with you.
First of all the game gives just enugh information in the first few pages to keep you interrest. You pick the character you want to play. There are no restrictions, no stats, no real guidence, just pick your character. There are 2 maps. One of the Keep, whichis where the entire adventure takes place, I think. The other is amap of the area surounding he keep. I used this to help create my back story. This is not something you are actully ask to do, at least not specifically. From here you are told of a note you recieve and that you follow the guidence to the keep and you’re off. The next page is the start of the game. Lets see how this goes. To start this journy with my readers I will share the back story. Enjoy.
The Last Watcher: Back story
The note, a small scrap of brittle parchment, was chillingly brief: “You are the last. The gate still stands. Hold until relieved.”
It instantly conjured the vivid, terrifying memory of that night at the waystation. They were everywhere, creatures of pure shadow and malice we couldn’t possibly identify, yet their sole, undeniable purpose was to kill. By the time the first wave had passed, only three of us remained standing. They were mere cloaks of impenetrable darkness that seemed to swallow the light, and their swords, wickedly sharp, darted out from the blackness with unnatural speed. Three of our best men had fallen before we even registered that the attack had begun. From that moment on, we simply fought, driven by a desperate, primal need to hold the waystation. The doors and windows that made them come in single numbers at a time were the only reason qwe held on as long as we did.
Tree of us made our last stand behind an overturned heavy wooden table, using it as a low barricade to deflect their sweeping lower blows and allowing us to focus our dwindling strength on only half of the incoming attacks. They kept coming, a relentless, horrifying tide, until, finally, the doorway stood empty. Six of the creatures, or whatever they were, were still inside with us. We were all badly cut, bleeding, and losing the very ability to lift our swords; the crushing weight of exhaustion was setting in, heavy and inevitable. The man fighting on my left side gave a choked gasp and fell, and shortly after, the man on my right collapsed, his blade clattering on the stone floor. Then there were only two of them remaining. I managed to take down one more, a final, desperate burst of energy, and then the world went black as I, too, finally fell.
That is the last coherent thing I can recall before waking up alone in the silent, ancient keep. I looked for my soldiers, but the place was utterly empty and cold. There was no cheerful fire, no stored food, no comforting blankets—nothing but bare stone. Yet, impossibly, I had survived. Slowly, stiffly, I managed to get to my feet and turned toward the main exterior door, only to find it stoutly locked. I turned slowly around and walked in the opposite direction, toward a great, arched doorway that led into what appeared to be a Chapel.
The long room held neat rows of wooden benches and a small, inviting fire burning steadily in a shallow hearth directly in front of a great, unadorned stone block. With his back to me, an old man—whose lean frame and quick movements I initially mistook for those of a young man—sat quietly by the fire, his attention fixed on the large, tightly rolled scroll he was reading. I walked forward cautiously, my steps echoing softly in the silence. Halfway up the aisle, I called out, my voice rough and unused, “I have woken. Can you tell me who you are? I want to thank you. I assume you helped me survive. Do you know what those things were? Did anyone else make it?”
I quickened my pace, moving toward the man by the fire and firing these urgent questions at him in a rush. He listened calmly, his posture unchanged, but he essentially ignored the distress in my voice. “I gave what help I could as a watcher,” he stated in a low, resonant voice. “The cost of that help is you now taking the mantle of a watcher. You may stay and rest for now. I will provide food and water for your journey back to the world. One day, you will be called upon.”
He gracefully, yet with an undeniable air of finality, refused to answer any of my desperate questions. He simply led me to a small, spartan room just off the chapel chamber that contained a narrow, cot-like bed, a washstand with a pitcher of fresh water, and a neatly tied pack of supplies. He then bid me a swift farewell and silently disappeared into the deeper, shadowed reaches of the Keep, leaving me utterly alone with the heavy mystery of my survival.
Now I stood in front of the Keep. I truly could not tell you how I got here. Not exactly. The maps and directions I received along the way all melted into a fog of walking. Just walking forward, I had assumed the end destination, but never really knowing where I was going. Now I was here standing in front of the Keep.
My name is Jackson Jamision, blade slinger by trade. But I had long ago given up the life as a soldier and had even started to abandon the work of a private scout and body guard. I thought to be done with the battle, but the Keep had called. My payment for my life had come due. I knw nothing of what secrets or information the Keep held. I knew not why it was built or why it must be Watched. I was there and like all else on this journey I knew what the next step must be..
Somewhere inside of this dying wreck of a building was a flame. A flame that must burn. Why it burned I did not know only that it must burn. I must do what little tending needed to be done to keep it burning. I would learn the secrets of the Keep and the Flame soon. I would be the one sitting and reading in the chapel. My Watch had begun