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Bloodsworth Bayou
Golem Gauntlet
Shrine Of The Salamander
A Flame In The North
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Escape Neuburg Keep
Any Port In A Storm
Below Zero Point
Tales From The Bird Islands
The Ravages Of Fate
Nye's Song
A Knight's Trial
Return To G15-275
Devil's Flight
Above The Waves
The Curse Of Drumer
The Word Fell Silent
A Strange Week For King Melchion The Despicable
Sharkbait's Revenge
Tomb Of The Ancients
A Midwinter Carol
The Dead World
Waiting For The Light
Contractual Obligation
Garden Of Bones
The Hypertrout
The Golden Crate
In The Footsteps Of A Hero
Soul Tracker
Planet Of The Spiders
Beggars Of Blacksand
The Diamond Key
Wrong Way Go Back
Hunger Of The Wolf
Isle Of The Cyclops
The Cold Heart Of Chaos
The Black Lobster
Impudent Peasant!
Curse Of The Yeti
Bad Moon Rising
Riders Of The Storm
Bodies In The Docks
House Of Horror
Rebels Of The Dark Chasms
Midnight Deep
Lair Of The Troglodytes
Outsider!
The Trial Of Allibor's Tomb
Hellfire

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Return To G15-275

by Ulysses Ai


This is the seventh instalment in the series starting with Wrong Way Go Back, though it works as a standalone gamebook in its own right.


Background
Return To G15-275 Cover Illustration
Artwork © Ulysses Ai
Walking along the crowded streets of Pledu, you kick at stones and sigh, wallowing in self-pity. Here you are, once more on the opposite side of the galaxy to the love of your life. Things were supposed to get better after you freed yourself from your contractual obligations to the Treemaids; but in your absence the Law was changed.

You see; as Lord Gablentite explained to you with a huge grin on his face; his daughter; Pomplompotom, your ex-girlfriend; is a Merchant Princess. That means that whoever marries her will join the financial empire currently administered by the Merchant Prince and will in future become a merchant prince themselves. As such, the Amorphonons have always valued financial acumen. Normally it was this quality that impressed a Merchant Prince sufficiently for him to grant a suitor's contact to someone who expressed interest in his daughter. For you to be awarded a suitor's contract due to your heroism was an exception.

During your absence, the matter was discussed at the Amorphonon Enterprise Board, and it was decided that all potential suitors had to be means-tested before they could be approved. Lord Gablentite took you through the application form personally, a task that he seemed to enjoy greatly. After noting the value of your assets, your income and expenses, he informs you that you are worth a grand total of 27 Galactic Roubles, well below the 1,000,000 GR minimum.

After this devastating piece of news, it seemed unnecessary, cruel even, to dispatch you immediately to the other side of the galaxy to deliver eggs; but here you are.

In the great, crap-filled pit of darkness that is your life, there is a glimmer of something that is not as joy-slaying or hope-decaying as everything else: the Pleduans are famous for making the second-best pancakes in the galaxy.

Pancakes! That'll hit the spot. With your mouth watering, you begin to look about for the nearest pancake-vendor to bury your sorrows under a stack of warm, crispy-edged yum-discs.

The Pleduans are humanoid with yellowish skin, and have their faces in the middle of their backs. This anatomical oddity has given them a unique perspective on life, producing a cautious society with a reverence for history. As they move through the streets, they walk backwards so they can see where they are going. You look across the sea of shoulders that you stand head over and scan the neighbourhood.

As you are looking about, you see a strange figure approach you. It is a head-bearing humanoid, wearing a black, hooded robe. Given that the figure, with no greater oddity than an archaic taste in apparel is standing in the middle of a crowd of headless yellow aliens with their faces in their backs; it is perhaps unjustified to call it 'strange'. In any case, regardless of how you would describe it, the figure is different from the norm of its surrounds. Not different in the negative, discriminatory way, but rather in the universe-is-enriched-by-variety way. Hence the lingering of your gaze on the figure is in no way racist, but rather an embrace of the wondrous multicuturalism of the galaxy.

The said figure sees you looking at him and pulls something from the folds of its robe, holding it out for you to see. It is a white, plastic fork.

What a freak! you think (surely a celebratory thought acknowledging the edifying kaleidoscope of numerous unique cultures that is our modern galaxy). Since the strange figure and his odd gesture has nothing to do with pancakes, you move on.

Soon you come to a stall, and sniff the air in delight before eagerly joining the line. As you are waiting there, you feel a tap on your shoulder and turn to see the strange figure standing right behind you with his hands on his hips. "Excuse me!" he says in an irritated voice. "What's wrong with you?"

"Hey! I was here first!" you say. "Sorry you have to wait an extra nanosecond for your pancakes!"

"I don't care about pancakes!" the figure says.

"Then why are you in the line?" you criticise.

"I'm not in the line! I'm trying to talk to you!"

"You're making a scene," you say.

The man's shouting has caused many of the surrounding Pleduans to turn their backs on you and stare. Seeing this, the man lowers his voice. "What do I look like to you? Aren't I a 'mysterious figure'?"

You shrug. "I suppose so. Not that I'm racist or anything."

"So when a mysterious figure appears to you, you're supposed to see what it wants, not just walk the other way!"

"I have a craving for pancakes," you explain. "Anyway, you're here now. So what is it?"

"Fine," the figure seems disgruntled, but gets on with it. Once more he dramatically presents the plastic fork.

You smile and nod. "Thank you." Turning back to face the vendor, you crane your neck trying to see what the hold-up is. There is another tap on your shoulder. You turn back to see the mysterious figure is still there. "What is it now?" you ask, a little irritated.

"The same thing!" the figure says, matching your irritation, and upping it with a sizeable chunk of frustration. He waves the plastic fork in your face. "Doesn't this mean anything to you?"

"No, I wasn't going to get takeaway."

"Do you think I walk around dressed like this offering plastic forks to people?"

You shrug. "Hey, it's a free galaxy."

The figure plants his fists on his hips once more boiling with frustration. "When a mysterious figure appears, it obviously has some important, personal message for you, that will send you on a life-changing quest!"

You move a step in the line. "A-huh. So what is it?"

"You," intones that figure, "are the chosen one."

"Chosen by who for what?" you ask.

The figure seems pleased with this question.. "You are no ordinary person. You were created to fulfil a great destiny!"

"What destiny?" you ask.

Silently and with grave profundity, the figure lifts the plastic fork. Several moments pass, but nothing else happens.

"What's my destiny?" you ask again, guessing he didn't hear you.

"This!" the figure thunders, shaking the fork.

"That's not a destiny, that's a fork."

"It's your forking destiny!" the figure shouts (at least that's what you think he says).

"To get takeaway?" you ask, hoping this is going to make sense soon.

The mysterious figure seems to be angry for some reason. "No! You are the chosen one! Your past is shrouded in mystery, the sign of power hovers over your birth! By reaching out to grasp your birthright, you will achieve greatness. Can you deny the glory and honour that beckons to you?"

"Hi. One stack please. Eat in."

Something pokes you in the back. "Ow!" you cry and turn around, seeing a man dressed in a black robe holding a plastic fork, ready to impale you with it. "What do you want?"

"Have you been listening to me or not?" the man shouts in rage.

You collect your plate. "Yes. You were saying something about takeaway." You move over to a table and sit down, savouring the smell of the pancakes.

The black-robed man stalks after you, seeming determined to spoil your meal. "You must return to G15-275!"

"Fine! I'll go back there tomorrow!"

The man pauses in uncertainty. "Will you?"

"Yes, I promise!"

The man frowns. "Are you lying?"

"No," you lie. "I promise you I will go there tomorrow."

"Well... OK."

He falls silent, and you cut off a piece of pancake dripping with syrup and cream. You put it in your mouth and shiver with delight. They truly do make the second-best pancakes in the galaxy! As you eat, you smile with pleasure at the black-robed man. He stares at you helplessly, then turns and disappears into the crowd, leaving you in peace. You concentrate on your food and soon clean your plate.

Sighing with great satisfaction, you leave the table and make your way back to the spaceport. As you take a shortcut through a dark alley, you feel movement behind you. Before you can react, something smashes into the back of your head, and you collapse to the ground.

As you fade into unconsciousness, you have a feeling that you really will be returning to G15-275 after all.


Additional Information
You start unarmed, but you may acquire weapons later. As usual, you can choose the one that you will use in battle by selecting in the list of possessions and clicking on USE.
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