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Game Design Document
Title Game Design Document
Description Originally provided by Gwog
Sent by burt



My name is Patrick Galloway and I am weary. I have been driven from my homeland of Ireland under unfortunate circumstances. My countrymen consider me a murderer and a scoundrel because of the events that occurred many years ago at the Rock of Cashel.

Before the incident, I held a promising career as a man of science. Coming from a humble family, I had been encouraged toward intellectual pursuits. I was always fascinated with folklore and mysticism. This was not unusual since it seemed our generation held and unbridled passion for the subject. No doubt the excavations of the pyramids and tombs of Egypt along with grandiose declarations of Alistair Crowley and his ilk were like a narcotic to some intellectual circles. Unlike many of my contemporaries, however, I often sought to debunk these superstitions and tried to understand what motivated people to believe in such nonsense. Requestors begged for me to travel to the far ends of the earth, simply to mix amongst their circles and talk of the strange, and sometimes false, events that I had encountered through my studies abroad. Mysticism was incredibly popular at the time and I became the beacon of the intellect in a storm of superstition.


Over the course of my travels, I had proven a number of seers and mediums to be charlatans and thus gaining a few enemies in the process. One of them was a man by the name of Otto Kiesinger. He was a contemporary of Alistair Crowley’s, a masked devil with an educated tongue, and more than once our paths had crossed. It began with heated, verbal sparring at social gatherings and culminated in the regrettable events at Cashel Rock.

I can’t explain what happened that night. I had accompanied a group of socialites to the ancient ruins of Cashel to see a séance that Kiesinger was to perform. Kiesinger, following one of our more heated exchanges, invited me to the event saying he would prove to me once and for all that magic was indeed real. At one point during the séance, I sensed something was amiss. I locked onto Otto, who I found was fixated on me with a hawkish gaze. I blacked out soon afterwards and have no memory of the events that followed. Her name was Gwendolyn and she was one of the attendees that night. But that mattered little as she lay dead on the floor with her throat sliced from ear to ear. Shocked, I found myself clutching a knife in my blood stained hand. With the accusing eyes of the crowd pressed upon me, I raced into the night. I have never been able to find an adequate answer for how or what happened, although I was never the owner of knife that took poor Gwendolyn’s life.


After I fled Ireland I lingered about Paris and London, feeling rudderless until the beginning of the Great War. It was then I met Jeremiah Covenant, my commanding officer. He was an aristocrat from the West Coast of Ireland. Being a fellow countrymen, we developed an instant rapport. Jeremiah, it turned out, was a keenly intellectual man who had an acute skepticism in the occult, and knew much of my own questionable history. Our unit had a special task of debunking the rumors that would run rampant through the ranks of the doughboys. These soldiers tended to be poor farm boys prone to superstition and their spirits would severely affect the outcome of a battle. While it sounds like an easy job we often found ourselves in conflict. Not with Kaisers army so much as the regions local inhabitants who did their best to scare and bewilder the soldiers.


One group in particular, the Trsanti, had proven themselves to be a nuisance by mutilating cows and burning grand bonfires late at night to frighten the men. However, once scouting patrols and lone sentries began to disappear the problem of the Trsanti escalated. Due to the poor morale of the men, it became our sole mission to find these heathens and eliminate their psychological threat. One night, Jeremiah led our unit as we hunted them to their camp in hope of gaining the surprise.


It was an ambush. Out of the woods raced a hoard of howling swordsmen. They were driven on by an older shaman riling them into a frenzy by brandishing a strange stone over his head and shouting in an odd language. We were soon overwhelmed and found that we couldn’t fire quickly enough.

I finally found myself an opening on the battlefield and drew a bead on the shaman. No sooner was he in my crosshairs when he turned and looked into my eyes. From his hand came a bright green flash and I was knocked down as I took my shot. I have little recollection of anything but searing pain following that moment. Days later, I found myself in a hospital bed recovering from burg damage. Jeremiah, I had learned continued

I recollect all this now because I have received a letter from Jeremiah requesting my help. I have been abroad and his letter has been waiting for me for nearly six months. Worse, it calls for me to return to Ireland, something I would refuse to do for anyone but him. I am loath to return to this land that has disinherited me and I fear I may face jail or worse if I am caught. However I cannot ignore the plea of a man who once saved my life. But I’m afraid that it may already be too late.

Game Outro ver. 6 – FINAL

The Undying King gives a final wail and the island starts to erupt. Patrick darts around the island, dodging falling debris and stones jutting up from the earth. As he jumps from the island a loud explosion rings. From 1st person, the camera launches into the water, remerging just in time to see a standing stone falling from the sky. Sigil showing, the stone slams into the camera and we fade out under water.

We see Patrick floating facedown in the water, lifeless. A small boat driven by a hooded figure comes into frame. The man pulls Patrick from the water and breaking the strap around his neck, snags the Gelziabar stone. He briefly places a hand over Patrick’s face and upon removing it, he snaps to life with violent coughing. He gathers his wits and looks to the stranger.


Wha... where am I?

The stranger lets out a soft laugh. Patrick locks on him. In an echoing voice the stranger says…


I’m not done with you yet...

The stranger then fades from view.


You?! It can’t be... no, I saw you...

From behind, we see the stranger shake his head as Patrick faints. The boat drifts into the darkness or for or whatever.



I am still uncertain whether the Gel’ziabar stone was lost to the bottomless ocean or a strange phantasm. I drifted to sea and was only nursed back to strength months later. In the time following the events at Ireland, I’ve come to understand what had occurred. The beast I stilled had manipulated the Covenant family just as Jeremiah did me. It called for him (beat) and he called for me. The creature was a guardian, a sentinel of a gate to somewhere… somewhen. The Celtic warrior merely a sacrificial lid on a tomb that was never to be opened. And I’ve tried to convince myself that the terror lies only behind me now, but my heart knows better. Research into the Brotherhood of St. George revealed other monasteries scattered across the world (beat), other gates (beat), not doubt watched by other guards. I now look for seclusion, to find somewhere I am not known, to rest quietly in the darkness. The only fear in my heart is that they too, will call for me.


1) A portion of the narrative spent watching the boat disappear

2) Slow push-in on the house façade. The front door is open and just as the camera reaches threshold it slams violently.

3) Black – End Game Quote

4) The End.

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