Moo-stery at Clover Hunt
Welcome to my New Project
This text adventure is my way of celebrating my very first Worldember with all of you! But don't worry- there’s more on the way!
The goal is simple: have fun and dive into the story!
At the end of each adventure like this one, a question will be posed, and I want to hear your choice! Be sure to share your decision in the comments. The option with the most votes will help shape future adventures and might even become part of Kena'an’s official lore. Every new adventure will follow this system, so your choices will always matter!
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“Well, well, if it isn’t Brighthollow’s prodigal adventurer! Back from taming dragons and wooing queens, no doubt!”
You turn to see none other than Pipwick, perched atop a barrel near the fountain, his bright eyes gleaming with mirth. His wild blue hair matches his eccentric robes- a patchwork of colors and patterns that clash in the most delightful way. Pipwick’s gnomish features are more animated than ever, and his grin is wide enough to rival the sun itself.
With a sudden burst of energy, he hops down from his perch and scurries toward you, his hands outstretched as if to bless you on the spot.
“Come now, don’t look so surprised! Of course, I knew you’d make it back in time for the festival. Call it divine inspiration... or maybe I just overheard your mother telling the baker you’d sent word.” He gives you a wink that could melt stone.
With a hearty slap to your arm, he steps back to examine you. “Well, well, you’ve certainly seen the world! The road’s been kind to you or at least kinder than it was to your boots.” His cackle rings out as he motions toward your well-worn leather shoes.
“But enough of that! The Clover Festival awaits! You remember the rules, don’t you?” Pipwick says, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. “One basket, one pair of eyes, and the luck of Levar to guide you. Oh, and if you happen to find a four-leaf clover, bring it to me for a blessing. Or don’t... Levar loves a good gamble, after all.”
Before you can ask him for more details, he claps his hands together and straightens up before adding, “Well, off you go then! Your legend awaits!”
As you make your way toward the heart of the festival, you’re greeted by the people of your village who seem to miss you. The air is thick with the scent of clover, laughter, and a little bit of mischief as children run past, baskets in hand, ready to begin their search. You wave to a few familiar faces, exchanging a few words with old friends, catching up on the quiet happenings of the village while the festival buzzes around you. With your basket in hand and the festival's buzz all around, you glance at the rolling fields, the glimmering stream, and the shadowy grove. Each promises a different adventure- and perhaps a lucky clover waiting just for you. The choice is yours: where will you begin your search?
The fields stretch as far as the eye can see, a vibrant sea of green spotted with the white and purple blooms of clover. Families and friends scatter across the expanse, their laughter and chatter carried by the gentle breeze. The sun bathes the scene in a warm glow, and the occasional shout of triumph rings out as someone discovers a rare four-leaf clover.
Suddenly, you spot Old Farmer Tallow pacing near his herd of contentedly grazing cows. But something seems wrong. His face is red, his hands flailing as he shouts, “Betsie’s gone! Someone’s stolen my beloved cow!”
Betsie. You remember her well- Farmer Tallow’s pride and joy. She’s been the centerpiece of Brighthollow’s annual harvest parades and is known as the finest milk cow for miles around.
The villagers murmur in shock, but Farmer Tallow locks eyes with you.
“You there! You’ve got the keen eyes of an adventurer! Help me find her, would you? Please! She’s my only happiness!”
You begin your search, scanning the area. A few steps away, you notice an odd patch of pressed-down grass and, just beside it, faint streaks of green paint leading toward the thicket. It's a trail- a very strange trail indeed
At the edge of the village, the stream flows gently, its waters sparkling in the sunlight. The quiet here is a stark contrast to the bustling fields. You know all too well that wild clovers grow along the banks, their leaves swaying gently in the breeze. Birds chirp in the trees above, and the occasional fish splashes in the clear water.
As you crouch near a patch of clover, a sharp bark breaks the calm. You turn to see Ralf, the village’s ever-dutiful sheepdog, bounding toward you. His tail wags furiously, but his demeanor is anything but playful- his ears are pinned back, and his eyes dart nervously toward the thicket nearby.
Ralf is Farmer Tallow’s trusted companion, usually tasked with guarding Betsie, the farmer’s prized cow. If he’s here and acting this way, something must be wrong.
Ralf barks again, pawing at the ground as if urging you to follow him. Something about his behavior is deeply unsettling. You follow his lead and soon you spot streaks of green paint on the grass, smeared as if something large- and painted- had been dragged through here.
The grove looms ahead, at the edge of the village. Its shadows pool beneath the dense canopy of branches, the air cooler and damp, carrying the earthy scent of moss and fallen leaves. Brambles and thick underbrush make it hard to see far ahead. Most villagers avoid this place; it’s said to have an unsettling aura, and the crumbling stone wall marking its entrance only adds to its eerie reputation. Most are afraid, but not you. After all, you are Brighthollow’s first adventurer in years.
As you press on through the narrow paths, your eyes catch something odd- a streak of green paint smeared across the forest floor. It’s fresh, and the scent of the paint lingers in the air. You crouch down, following the strange marks deeper into the grove. They lead toward the thicket, winding in a way that seems purposeful, yet disjointed. Whatever- or whoever- made these marks is heading in the same direction.
You pause, your hand resting on the rough bark of a tree as you try to make sense of the trail. The paint continues to flicker across the ground, leading you forward, and a feeling of unease prickles up your spine. Whatever mystery is unfolding here, it’s clear you’re about to uncover it.
Before you can move further, a rustling sound behind you breaks the silence. Ralf, the sheepdog from Farmer Tallow’s farm, bursts through the underbrush, panting heavily. His eyes, usually calm and steady, are wide with urgency. Without hesitation, he darts past you, his nose lowered to the ground, sniffing the air.
His usual calm demeanor is gone, replaced by a sense of quiet determination as he trots along the paint trail. He pauses to glance back at you, as if urging you to follow him.
The trail of green paint has guided you deep into the silent grove at the edge of the village, where the trees seem to close in around you. The sounds of the festival are muffled, replaced by the soft rustling of leaves and the occasional creak of branches swaying in the breeze. As you push through the underbrush, the path opens up into a small clearing.
Betsie’s calm demeanor contrasts sharply with the chaotic events that must’ve led her here. She’s grazing, her attention focused solely on the fresh grass around her. You see Ralf, the farmer’s faithful sheepdog, appear behind you, edging closer with a watchful gaze in his eyes. His usual duties include guarding Betsie, so his presence here feels like a quiet reassurance.
As you move closer, your hand brushes the rope attached to her halter. Kneeling to grab it, your eye is drawn to the ground and a smile climbs at your lips. A perfect four-leaf clover is nestled in the grass- an unexpected prize for your search. Yet, there’s more. The grass near Betsie is disturbed, as if she’s been digging around it, and you notice a small, shiny object glimmering beneath the earth. You carefully push aside the grass, revealing a small, oval trinket, metallic like a locket but without a chain. Running your fingers over its surface, you find a delicate engraving of a lotus flower.
As you step out of the thicket, with Rolf and Betsie by your side, your eye catches a group of village children trying to hide behind the crumbling stone wall near the entrance to the grove. Most of them have wet eyes, their faces flushed with a mixture of guilt and worry. But as they spot Betsie, their expressions shift to one of relief. Soft smiles tug at their lips, and a few even let out quiet chuckles, their anxiety melting away.
One of the older kids, a halfling boy with messy hair steps forward, his hands wringing nervously.
“We- uh- we didn’t mean for all this to happen.” He shifts his weight from foot to foot, clearly embarrassed. “We just wanted to find a four-leaf clover, y’know? Thought maybe Betsie could help us find a four-leaf clover, since she’s always lucky. So we borrowed her for the hunt.”
The other kids hang their heads, avoiding your gaze. One girl sniffs and wipes her nose, while another fidgets with a loose thread on her sleeve. The boy continues, his voice growing a bit more confident as he explains.
“We put flowers on her head... like a crown. To make her feel like the queen of the festival, y’know? And we tried to paint clovers on her, to help her blend in and be more festive. But then... she got scared and ran off into the thicket. Please, don’t tell Farmer Tallow. He’ll be so mad, and we didn’t mean any harm.”
The group of children watches you closely, their nervous energy palpable. They stand on the edge of the clearing, waiting for your response, hoping you’ll keep their secret and save them from Farmer Tallow’s wrath. What will you do?
You turn away from the children with a quiet nod, giving them the reassurance they so desperately need. Their faces light up with relief, and they thank you profusely, unable to contain their gratitude.
As you walk back towards Farmer Tallow, Betsie stands calmly by your side, looking perfectly at ease. You have already decided on a convenient story to explain her appearance, one that will keep the children’s secret safe.
"Farmer Tallow," you say as you approach him, "I found Betsie in the thicket, but there’s no harm done. She was spooked by the commotion, and ran away. While she was in the grove, she happened upon a friendly fae. It seems this fae thought Betsie should be the star of the festival and decided to decorate her accordingly- flowers on her head, and the green paint... well, the fae was simply adding a bit of festivity."
Farmer Tallow chuckles, shaking his head. "A fae, eh? Hmm... That smells like Pipwick's nonsense! He is the only one who talks to those mischievous pests... Well, at least she's back in one piece." He pats Betsie affectionately, none the wiser about the true source of the green paint.
As the evening draws to a close and the village square fills with laughter and music, you feel a sense of pride knowing that you’ve kept their secret. The children may have learned a lesson, but they’ll forever remember the adventurer who helped them avoid the wrath of Farmer Tallow.
When you tell Farmer Tallow the truth, his face tightens with anger. He’s glad that Betsie is safe, but his frustration with the children is evident. “These kids are always so annoying! It's Pipwick's influence, I tell y'a!” he exclaims. “Taking Betsie without asking... what were they thinking?”
He summons the children, and though they try to avoid his gaze, they can’t escape their fate. Farmer Tallow assigns them chores around the farm, a stern but fair punishment for their actions. The children don’t protest, realizing the gravity of their mistake.
Although the children try to avoid eye contact with you for the rest of the day, you notice a shift in them. They’re a little quieter, more thoughtful, and perhaps a little wiser. As the sun sets and the festival winds down, you feel a sense of closure- knowing that honesty, though sometimes uncomfortable, is always the best path to take. The kids may have learned their lesson- or they may not. Yet, there’s a part of you that believes they’ll be a little more careful next time.
Conclusion
As the festival slowly fades into the night, the air is alive with the joyous sounds of laughter and music, a symphony of full bellies and merry spirits. The warmth of celebration fills the air, while the twinkling stars above bear witness to the close of a perfect day.
Suddenly, you hear the familiar voice of Pipwick drifting toward you. You turn to find him weaving through the crowd, his wild hair bouncing with each step, and his mismatched robes catching the flickering firelight like a patchwork of rainbow-colored dreams.
“You, my friend, are one of the good ones…” he says, his grin widening. “So, tell me- did you manage to find your lucky charm amid all the heroics with our festival’s star cow?”
You pull the flawless four-leaf clover from your pocket and present it to Pipwick, who takes it reverently, his eyes gleaming with a knowing sparkle. With a theatrical flourish, he raises the clover high and speaks the blessing he promised you earlier this morning.
As the blessing fades, he turns to you with a glint in his eyes and a knowing smile. “And what of the other one?” he asks, his gaze flicking toward your pocket, where the metallic trinket pulses softly with a faint, mysterious energy.
You take it out and glance upon it, feeling its warmth resonate through your fingers. It has been with you through this day's strange journey. Now, it hums in your hand, almost alive with an energy you can’t quite decipher. Pipwick watches you closely, his curiosity barely concealed. He may know far more than he’s letting on, but will you entrust the trinket to him, or keep it for yourself?
All written content is original, drawn from myth, memory, and madness.
All images are generated via Midjourney using custom prompts by the author, unless otherwise stated.
Another text adventure??? How do you organize these so quickly?? I cannot wait to see where we go next ^^
I had the whole November to prepare :D
Come visit my world of Kena'an for tales of fantasy and magic!
Or, if you want something darker, Crux Umbra awaits.