The First Trial

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You find yourself awash in a scalding sea. The churning ocean is thick and yellowed. Massive waves batter your frame; you are helpless against them. Dark, heavy stormclouds choke the sky and a torrent of searing, crimson rain beats down on you. The clouds pulse with energy as lightning crackles within them, arcing violently downwards. On the horizon, shrouded by the downpour and rising steam, sits a range of rolling mountains. They seem impossibly far away. It takes every ounce of your will to keep yourself afloat amidst the crashing waves. Slowly but inexorably you feel your strength being to wane. You are going to drown. [[Fight it! Stay above the waterline! You can't allow yourself to sink! ->Fight]] [[Give up. There's no use. ->Drown]] [[Move! You have to make it to land! ->Move]]

Fueled by desperation, you struggle to keep yourself from sinking. Thunder rumbles above you, low and menacing. Ages seem to pass. Moving your limbs has become excruciating. Your head begins to dip below the waves... [[Not now! Not like this! Keep yourself afloat! ->Fight2]] [[There is no sense in fighting any longer. Allow yourself to sink. ->Drown]]

The futility of your predicament is clear. The fury of this place is simply too much. You are powerless here. You relax your weary body and allow the bubbling ocean to take you. You close your eyes as your head slips beneath the golden surf. The heat is blistering; the pressure, unbearable. But all that is nothing compared to the sweetness of the end. Soon, you feel nothing at all. There is nothing but [[darkness->Awaken]]. <<set $crust to "thin crust">> <<set $choice1 to "drown">>

You find within yourself a new resolve and begin to slowly, laboriously, swim towards the horizon. Your muscles ache, your skin burns and your eyes are singed by steam. You swim for what feels like an eternity, stroke after stroke, but the mountains do not seem to grow closer. If anything, they seem fainter and hazier than before. Suddenly the clouds are torn apart in a violent burst. An enormous meteor pierces through at astonishing speed, streaks overhead and buries itself in the ocean, miles behind you. You feel the shock of the impact pass through you long before you see the wave. As wide as the horizon. So tall it scrapes the clouds. It rips across the ocean, a living wall of raw fury. The shoreline seems further, still. [[SWIM!->Move2]]

With frantic strokes you manage to return your mouth, sputtering, to the surface. You gasp in a desperate lungful of air. The fire in your muscles has become an aching, sluggish numbness. Your arms feel as if they were made of lead. Within seconds, you are back beneath the turbulent ocean. You squeeze your eyes shut against the blistering, ruddy liquid. Your boddy sapped of all its strength, you sink. Soon, there is nothing but [[darkness->Awaken]]. <<set $crust to "deep dish">> <<set $choice1 to "fight">>

Suddenly, you are awake. You are in a small, cozy room. Hardy flames dance upon small sconces, bathing everything in a soothing, mellow light. Tapestries and bookshelves adorn the smooth stone walls. A gentle breeze swirls in through an opened window of stained glass. Rugs, furs and pillows are clustered in the center of the room. There are several desks and chairs scattered throughout. It is a study. You are seated in the middle of the room on an embroidered cushion. Opposite you is an aging man, who looks at you with concern. [["Are you okay, Acolyte?" he asks. ->answer]] <img src= "https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/1e/0f/4f/1e0f4f64f2148cb0ae26952ada3183a1.jpg">

You plunge through the surf in a frenzy, but your efforts are in vain. It feels as if the entirity of the sea around you is being drawn to the foot of the wave. It looms over you now; a roaring, unstoppable certainty. Helpless, you are swept beneath it. Your limp body is plunged down into the depths. Soon, there is nothing but [[darkness ->Awaken]]. <<set $crust to "traditional pan">> <<set $choice1 to "move">>

You struggle to clear your head and orient yourself. [["Yes, sir. I believe so."->answered][$okay = "true"]] [["I'm not sure. Where am I? What happened?"->answered][$okay = "false"]]

<<if $okay is "false">>"That is to be expected." He watches you intently. "Take a moment, collect yourself. Everything is alright."<<elseif $okay is "true">>"That is surprising." The man gives you a faint smile. "Though I must say I am relieved."<<endif>> His name is Master Salen, and his pale eyes shine eagerly in the torchlight. [["Tell me, Acolyte," he whispers "what did you see?" ->remember]]

"I was..." You try to clear foginess from your mind. Your memory begins to return to you. "I was in a sea of molten cheese. The clouds in the sky poured down a thick, hot tomato sauce. Through the haze of steam I could see jagged mountains of dough on the horizon.<<if $choice1 is "move">> I tried to make it to the shoreline, but before I could, a massive ball of cured meat fell from the sky, into the cheesy sea. The resulting wave forced me under. Then I woke.<<elseif $choice1 is "fight">> I tried to stay afloat as long as I could, fighting the current, but the waves outlasted me. I sunk into darkness, then awoke here.<<elseif $choice1 is "drown">> I knew I was powerless there, in that maelstrom, so I allowed myself to sink. Next thing I know, I'm here.<<endif>>" The kindly man's eyes widen in amazement, even as his eyebrows knit together in concern. A gasp escapes his lips as he asks "You were...//there//?" [[What does he mean? ->Vision Explained]]

"You were in the The Pizzæther..." The old man begins to rise to his feet, his mind clearly racing as his eyes dart about in thought. "Normally it takes months of disciplined meditation to even //sense// the existence of that realm. But to transcend completely? As a mere Acolyte?" Rattled, he sits back down across from you. "Let's see if your mind survived the journey. Can you tell me your name?" "My name is <<textbox "$playerName" "Acolyte" "Your Name">>"

"<<print $playerName>>" He smiles with obvious relief. "Good. Very good." The old man stands and offers you a weathered hand, helping you to your feet. He shuffles over to a shelf of thick books and selects a particularly dusty one. He plops the thick tome into your waiting hands. You can barely make out the title on the crumbling, embossed cover. //The Cosmic Recipe//. "This is a book of fundamentals, philosophy and musings. I'm sure it will prove instrumental to your learning." He gives you a knowing wink. "A word of advice, <<print $playerName>>.<<if $choice1 is "move">> You will, in your studies or in your life, encounter some obstacles which cannot be avoided, and many which can. Know the difference, and you'll save yourself a lifetime of wasted effort. <<elseif $choice1 is "fight">> There are plenty of things which raw might cannot overcome. Regardless if it be might of intellect or might of brawn. Learn from these defeats. They will prove to be better teachers than I could ever be.<<elseif $choice1 is "drown">> There will always be the temptation to abandon your path or convictions. Resist this temptation whenever you find yourself beset by it. History does not look favorably the man who lay down and took a beating.<<endif>>" You nod solemnly. For a moment your thoughts are back <<if $choice1 is "move">>beneath that towering wave<<elseif $choice1 is "fight">>thrashing through the scalding surf<<elseif $choice1 is "drown">>in the crushing dark beneath the waves<<endif>>. "On your way then, Acolyte." He shoos you towards the [[door.]]

Outside in the quiet, stone hallway, you find yourself alone. The sun still sits high in the heavens - you have a rare window of free time. [[Return to your studies.]] [[Find some excitement.]] [[Find somewhere quiet to relax.]]

<<set $Sauce to "White">> Collecting your thoughts, your choice is clear. You came to this esteemed institution to learn, after all. Tucking //The Cosmic Recipe// under your arm, you navigate the labryinthine corridors and staircases to your dormitory. In your quarters, you rinse your face in a brass basin with a newfound appreciation for cool, thin water. Neither of your two bunkmates are anywhere to be found. There are three desks in the room, but yours stands out. [[It is the neatest.]] [[It is the messiest.]] [[It is the most noticeably plain.]]

<<set $Sauce to "Red">> Not one to waste a precious afternoon of free time, you strike out in search of some entertainment. You make your way down to the common rooms to find them full and mirthful. Two fireplaces rest at either side of the room like great glowing mouths. Large, cushioned chairs and long benches surround the hearths. In almost every seat is a youth, an acolyte like yourself. They grin, joke and chat; sharing stories or knowledge or general gossip. Half a dozen tables furnish the center of the room. Some are piled high with books and scrolls, others with half-drunk cups and goblets. In a cramped corner, you see four acolytes clustered around a strange spinning board. Your smile widens as you see the exact kind of entertainment you need: [[Gambling->gamble]].

<<set $Spices to "Measured">> You sit gracefully at your desk and straighten a stack of parchment which must have been touseled by a breeze, returning your possessions to order. Your quills are arranged in a smart row. Your books are stacked with care; a column for each subject, each column organized alphabetically - by author. Everything lays at crisp, right angles. It is an exemplary model of ergonomics. Your hand can reach your inkwell, lantern, and workspace with naught but a mere pivot of the elbow. After all, your quarters are a reflection of yourself. While they may seem cold and rigid to some, they are efficient and effective. You delicatley place //The Cosmic Recipe// in the enter of your desk, and begin to [[read]]. <<set $Trait1 to "efficient">>

<<set $Spices to "Wild">> Your desk is more remeniscent of a ruin or a battlefield than a place of study. Scribbled sheets, broken quills, creased leaflets and various tomes are piled haphazardly across the wood. There is an empty glass bottle and tangled string among other, more curious, objects. To most, it looks like unfettered chaos. To you, it is method-within-madness. No other system could keep pace with your whirling mind. Your time is too precious to waste on 'organization.' //You// know where everything is, and that's all that matters. You sweep some of the clutter aside with the back of your hand, clearing a space for //The Cosmic Recipe.// You begin to [[read]].

<<set $Spices to "Mellow">> A simple oil lamp, inkwell and stack of parchment rest readily your desk. It is modest, much like yourself, but it serves your needs admirably. You take your seat, light the lamp, and gingerly open //The Cosmic Recipe.// You begin to [[read]].

//The Cosmic Recipe// was described to you as a book of 'fundamentals, philosophy, and musings.' You would struggle to pin it with a more accurate summary. Whoever wrote it - there is strangely no author listed anywhere in the frayed old tome - wrote with a clear personal voice. It is written less like a book of stuffy academia and more like the memoirs of a boisterous old man. The first few chapters do not contain too much which you do not already know, or have not already heard in the old stories. It describes the art and practitioners of Pizzamancy. Pizzamancy being the study and mastery of culinary magic as it pertains to Pizza. Pizzamancers being the mighty sorcerers who bend Pizza to their will. A skilled Pizzamancer can conjure a meal from nothing, twisting and manipulating the dough, sauce and cheeses as a sculptor would form his work. Their society prizes itself on feeding the people in need, though Pizzamancers have historically been everything from sages to soldiers. You read hungrily through the pages, making decent progress as the hours pass. Eventually, you feel it is time to turn in for the night. You tuck away the book and make your way to your waiting [[bed->end day]]. <<set $studied to "true">>

<<set $Sauce to "Pesto">> A sensible idea. You haven't been here long enough to know all of this building's ancient secrets, but you know of a secluded place. Navigating the labrynthine halls you reach a tight, spiraling staircase in one of the western towers. Climbing the stairs, you emerege into a small rooftop garden of various herbs. Neat rows of sun-bathed plants fill the air with a pleasant aroma. There is oregano, rosemary, thyme, basil, turmeric - and other, more exotic specimens - growing up here. This place is only visited a few times a day by the students of botany who tend the the plants. The warmth of the sun overhead is complimented by a cool midday breeze. You stretch out on one of the small, wooden benches. [[Read the book you were given. Might as well kill two birds with one stone.->Study]] [[Take a brief nap. You'll be refreshed for when you return to your studies. ->sleep.]] [[Take it easy. Why waste such a lovely day? Your studies can wait. ->Chill]]

<<set $Spices to "Mellow">> With the sun kissing your skin, you settle in for a rest. The whisper of the wind through faraway trees lulls you to sleep. Your dreams are light and pleasant - the stress of your earlier visions melt away. You dream of friendly faces, fond memories and peaceful times. You awaken feeling fantastic. The sun has shifted overhead; only several hours have passed. You rise and drink in the sweet evening air. Gathering your things, you return to the castle halls, perhaps to grab a quick meal before you [[return->end day]] to your scholarly pursuits.

<<set $Spices to "Wild">> The thought of studying on such a splendid afternoon seems almost sacrilegious. A small, rough block of wood catches your eye. You scoop it up, retrieve a small folding knife from your pockets and begin to whittle away. You spend the afternoon idly whittling, chatting with other acolytes who stop by intermittantly to tend to the herbs. You make your way down to the kitchens and return to your roost with some dried fruits and a small bag of honeyed nuts. Time flies past in a whirlwind and suddenly you notice the sky begin to tint a rich, purplish red, as the sun makes its lazy plunge towards the horizon. You barely even give a thought to your earlier unpleasant experience. [[It has been a good day.->end day]]

<<set $Spices to "Measured">> There's no reason you can't be productive and unwind at the same time. Beneath the songs of distant birds, you open //The Cosmit Recipe// and begin to [[read]].

The day has been long, but now the horrowing expereince of the morning's visions seems like a distant memory. You make idle conversation with your bunkmates as you prepare to sleep. Soon, you are laying peacefully on your cot, lulled to [[sleep->next day]] by the outside wind whipping against the old, mossy stones of the Grand House of Pizza.

The four acolytes make room for you as you introduce yourself and take a seat. "Nice to meet you, <<print $playerName>>." Says a dark-eyed young man, who introduces himself as Koast. You notice the pile of coins in front of him is the largest. He is either wealthy or lucky. Maybe both. Next to him is a somewhat morose, bookish-looking girl called Lenna. Her winnings are modest in comparison to Koast's, but she leads the other two by a significant margin. A thick looking lad named Cyrus shakes your hand vigorously. His mouth is always open in a lolling, wolfish smile. Scattered in front of him are five small copper pieces. Practically nothing. Finally, there's Roth. A beak-nosed specimin with cold eyes and a gaunt face. He speaks little, perhaps out of shyness. The game is a game of probability. Upon the table is a circular board, engraved with symbols. It is divided into eight wedges by thick lines. Each symbol represents an ingredient on a pizza. The wheel is spun and a small ball is placed upon it; where the ball stops determines the winner. You place your bets according to where you think the ball will land. The more specific your bet, the higher the payout. You could for example, choose the lowest payout possible: A simple fifty-fifty of deep dish or thin crust. Or you could bet on something extremely specific with astronomically lower odds, but an incredibly higher payout: A thin crust pesto and mozzerella pizza with chopped sage and coriander. [[Bet agressively. High risk, high reward.]] [[Bet naturally. Go with your gut.]] [[Bet conservatively. There's no sense in throwing your money away.]]

<<set $Spices to "Wild">> Your coinpurse is modest, filled with a single silver piece and a handful of coppers, but you're feeling lucky. You place all your copper coins down on a longshot - and it pays off. Cyrus loses his remaining five coins to you immediately. He leans back into his seat, chuckling at his own misfortune, and spends the remainder of the game watching and chatting. "I saw Master Hyim today." Cyrus says as the others collect and sort their winnings. "His eyebrows still haven't grown back after that explosion." "Did you hear about Master Kim-Cûl?" Koast whispers as you place your next bets. "They say he's been conducting unauthorized experiments in his tower. I heard The Council ordered him to stop and he practically spat in their faces." The game spins along and luck is on your side. Over the next couple of hours you more than triple your coin, leaving the game having won over five silver pieces - and a few new friends. You collect your winnings and take your leave, bidding everyone a good evening. Your purse now significantly heavier, you [[return to your quarters for for the night->end day]].

<<set $Spices to "Mellow">> Your coinpurse is modest, filled with a single silver piece and a handful of coppers, but you're a sensible sort. You place a few of your copper coins down on a modest bet - and it pays off. Cyrus loses his remaining five coins to you and the others immediately. He leans back into his seat, chuckling at his own misfortune, and spends the remainder of the game watching and chatting. "I saw Master Hyim today." Cyrus says as the others collect and sort their winnings. "His eyebrows still haven't grown back after that explosion." "Did you hear about Master Kim-Cûl?" Koast whispers as you place your next bets. "They say he's been conducting unauthorized experiments in his tower. I heard The Council ordered him to stop and he practically spat in their faces." The game spins along and you play a decent game. Over the next couple of hours you double your coin, leaving the game having won two silver pieces - and a few new friends. You collect your winnings and take your leave, bidding everyone a good evening. Your purse now heavier, you [[return to your quarters for for the night->end day]].

<<set $Spices to "Measured">> Your coinpurse is modest, filled with a single silver piece and a handful of coppers, but you're a calculating sort. You place a pair of copper coins down on a sensible bet - and it pays off. Cyrus loses his remaining five coins to the others immediately. He leans back into his seat, chuckling at his own misfortune, and spends the remainder of the game watching and chatting. "I saw Master Hyim today." Cyrus says as the others collect and sort their winnings. "His eyebrows still haven't grown back after that explosion." "Did you hear about Master Kim-Cûl?" Koast whispers as you place your next bets. "They say he's been conducting unauthorized experiments in his tower. I heard The Council ordered him to stop and he practically spat in their faces." The game spins along and your methodical, safe-bet approach rewards you with a steady stream of small wins. Over the next couple of hours you double your coin, leaving the game with a total of two silver pieces - and a few new friends. You collect your winnings and take your leave, bidding everyone a good evening. Your purse now slightly heavier, you [[return to your quarters for for the night->end day]].

You awaken the following morning, rested. You eat a light breakfast of buttered toast and fruit, leaving you with plenty of time before your first lesson begins. You have two lectures today, one in the classrooms and one in the kitchens. Then you have another private lesson with Master Salen. As you collect your quills and parchment and prepare for the day, there is a knock at your [[door->summons]].

You turn to find your door open. In the doorframe stands a Senior Acolyte, marked less by his distinct, rich robes but more by his demeanor. He gives you a bow so small it more resembles a nod. "I am looking for the Acolyte named '<<print $playerName>>.' I suspect it is you?" "Yes." You reply, returning his bow with a slightly more gracious one. "What can I do for you?" "Master Kim-Cûl has requested your presence in his laboratory, at your earlier convenience." A small knot of anxiety forms in your stomach at the mention of Kim-Cûl's name. He is not renowned for his patience or compassion. [[Accept the offer. It is a rare opportunity.->summonyes]] [[Decline the offer. You have prior commitments which must be honored.->summonno]]

You courteously acccept the invitation. "Splendid." The Senior Acolyte whirls about on his heels, his business concluded. As his flowing robes slip around the corner of your doorframe his voice calls out, "His laboratory is at the top of the Northeast Tower. Do your best not to keep him waiting!" You hear the padding of his footsteps grow faint as he disappears back into the castle halls. You collect your things briskly and set off through the [[corridors]].

Respectfully, you decline the invitation. "I'm sorry, but I have lectures and lessons for most of the day. I don't think I could ignore them without the Master's permission-" "The other Masters will understand." The Senior Acolyte cuts you off dismissively. "Make no mistake young <<print $playerName>>. This is a summons, not an invitation to a garden party which can be flippantly declined." You start to reply, but the Senior Acolyte is already leaving. His cloak flows around your doorframe like smoke as he disappears from view. "Master Kim-Cûl's laboratory is at the top of the Northeast Tower. Do not keep him waiting." Taking his advice to heart, you briskly gather up your things and hurry through the [[corridors]].

The halls of The Grand House of Pizza are bustling with activity. Pizzamancers, Pizzalchemists, Pizzartificers, Acolytes and Masters all moving about hurriedly like a hive of scholarly bees. After winding through the mazelike halls, you arrive at an engraved, arched doorway of ancient stone. Who knows how long this castle has stood. Beyond it, a tight staircase spirals upwards. There are no windows beyond the archway to light the stones, only sputtering torches. After a deep breath, you begin the [[climb->climb]].

The Northeast Tower is tall, one of the tallest in the Grand House. It takes you several minutes to ascend it. At the top is another archway, and beyond - Kim-Cûl's laboratory. The room is round, the walls dotted with small windows, tinted and dark. A large, roaring brick oven sits hungrily oppostie the archway. There are numerous tables and countertops strewn with knives, whisks, rolling pins, bowls, bottles, ladels and trays. Wreaths of herbs, bulbs of garlic, logs of cured meat and yet even more utensils hang from beams across the cieling. You spot several ice-chests and sacks of flour against the walls. But there are other, more curious things up here. Upon one of the countertops froths a muddy concotion in a beaker of blown glass. Strange, almost alien mechanisms hum and rattle as their gears spin and steam curls from them. Small black cauldrons boil a sweet-smelling liquid above a burner of tiny blue flame. And there, in the center, stands [[Kim-Cûl]].

Kim-Cûl. //The Mad Chef//, he is called. The hulking man stands a head taller than any person you've ever known. Unlike most of the Masters in the Grand House, Kim-Cûl is armored. Great, weighty iron pauldrons sit regally on his broad shoulders. On his left hand is an intricate gauntlet of hammered metal. On his right is a plated oven-mitt. His Master's robes are covered by a coarse, stained apron. From the thick belt around his waist hang several spoons, tongs, spatulas and satchels. Strapped across his back is a gleaming metal pizza peel. The Mad Chef stoops low over a slab of cool stone. Upon it, a single slice of cheese pizza rest amid a dusting of semolina. Kim-Cûl positions two large, ball-shaped impliments on either side of the slice. The impliments sit atop a rod of coiled wire at the end of long, crooked arms which connect to some monstrous, humming [[machine]].

Kim-Cûl throws a lever beside him, and the humming of the machine becomes a piercing shriek. A massive bolt of captured energy arcs between the metal balls in a flash of white lightning, leaving the pizza slice scorched to ruin. "Curse you." He growls to the the smoldering slice. His voice is raspy and low, like the growl of a wounded animal. As if sensing your presence, he turns. His face is obscured by a bizzare, crown-like mask. There seem to be no holes through which to see. Only his mouth and jaw are visible, and he smiles cooly at you. "You are the acolyte named <<print $playerName>>, are you not?" [["Yes, sir."]]

He leaves the blackened pizza slice and approaches you, his footsteps heavy, yet graceful. Looming over you like mountain peak, he scrutinizes you from behind his eyeless mask. "Yes." He murmurs. "You are the one Salen spoke of. I can feel it." Kim-Cûl turns and beckons you to follow as he moves across the room, ducking under hanging spatulas and twisting through the chaos. You trail behind him, arriving at the cluttered table. With a sweep of his large, mitted hand he clears a pile of cloth to reveal three small chests. "Your //First Trial// begins here - now." The Mad Chef whispers, facing you. "Answer once, and answer true: Why have you come to the Grand House of Pizza?" [["I am here to become a Pizzamancer, so I can serve the realm."]] [["I am here to become a Pizzamancer, so I can advance my knowledge."]] [["I am here to become a Pizzamancer, so I can become more powerful."]]

<<set $topping to "cheese">> Kim-Cûl stares at you for a moment in silence, before he speaks. "Traditional." He purrs. "Noble, even. Open the center chest. We have much to do." You open the middle chest to find it filled with fine, aromatic ingredients. Artisanal cheeses. Fragrant spices. Gathering up the chest in your arms, you move to a vacant table and begin to [[cook]].

<<set $topping to "veg">> Kim-Cûl's grin seems to widen, though you aren't sure if he's looking //at// you or //through// you. "Sagely." He purrs. "Dedicated. As I expected. Open the chest on the left. We have much to do." You open the chest, as instructed, to find it filled with aromatic ingredients. Plump, ripe vegetables. Earthy, fragrant garlic. Gathering up the chest in your arms, you move to a vacant table and begin to [[cook]].

<<set $topping to "meat">> Kim-Cûl gives you a nod of approval. "Ambitious." He purrs. "You have seen the power of the Pizzæther. As have I. Open the chest on the right. We have much work to do." You find the chest is filled with aromatic ingredients. Expertly butchered meats. Rich, flavorful seasonings. Gathering up the chest in your arms, you move to a vacant table and begin to [[cook]].

You begin to mix the dough as Kim-Cûl watches, silently, from behind his eyeless mask. Flour, water, oil, salt, sugar and yeast combine in a shallow bowl. No matter where you turn, no matter where he seems to be looking, his sightless gaze is on you. "What do you know of the Slice of Self?" Kim-Cûl asks, as you knead the dough into a supple ball. "It is the keystone of a Pizzamancer's power." You reply. "Not quite a keystone." The Mad Chef rasps. "A conduit. You experienced the Pizzæther for yourself. What did you think of it?" [["It was terrifying."->impression]] [["It was awe-inspiring."->impression]] [["It was beautiful."->impression]]

His teeth flash in the dim light. "Yes. Exactly. Now imagine trying to control that power. Imagine trying to subject it to your will. Imagine trying to bring it into our world." "It sounds impossible." Frowning, you plop your dough into a bowl and cover it with a piece of cloth to rise. "Not impossible. Merely...unwise. The Pizzæther is too volatile. This is why we craft the Slice of Self. It allows us a conduit. A channel through which to draw power. A focal point." While the dough rises, you turn you attention to the other ingredients. Dicing vegetables, crushing garlic, shredding cheese. "This Slice will be aspect of yourself." Hisses the Mad Chef. "As much a part of you as your mind or soul. It will be your leyline to the Plane of Pizza. You will draw power through the Pizzæther into this Slice, rather than into your body." [[A tug of doubt begins to gnaw at you. "Do the other Masters know that you're putting me through this Trial? They'll say I'm not ready."->Question]]

Despite his mask, you can see the glower of contempt in Kim-Cûl's eyes. "The Masters and their Council - BAH!" He spits onto the floor. "They are myopic. They lack vision and resolve. Some of them waited years to attempt this ritual. Even decades. But you, <<print $playerName>>, are //more// than ready. You have a gift. Your connection the the Pizzæther is stronger than any I have seen in many years." There is not flattery in his voice. Only raw truth. "[[I will not disappoint, Master.->truth]]"

For a moment, he says nothing. Then, he turns and throws an armful of dry logs into the back of the roaring brick oven. He reaches into the shimmering heat with a piece of charcoal, and inscribes an elaborate inscription at the bottom of the oven on the hot stone. "You are ready, <<print $playerName>>. Craft the Slice." The ingredients assembled before you, you collect yourself. Then you [[begin]].

"First is Dough. The //Vessel//. Then, Sauce. The //Blood//. Next, Cheese. The //Spirit//. And last, Toppings. The //Mind//." Sweat beads down your face as you clench your teeth, deep in focus. The flames dance madly in the reflection of Kim-Cûl's mask. "Into the oven, Acolyte. [[It is time]]."

Using a worn wooden peel, you slide your pizza into the oven atop the now-glowing runes. The air seems to crackle with energy. You can feel your skin begin to crawl. Suddenly, there is a bead of light in the center of the oven - white hot and blinding. It spreads out like a tearing seam, until a small, twisting fissure roils and spits in the heart of the oven. You can feel the chaos beyond. The fury. The [[The Pizzæther->Reach]].

"Now!" Kim-Cûl roars. "Reach //[[through]]//!"

With a grimace, you plunge your arm into the oven, into the stuttering fissure and into the inferno beyond. The pain is unbearable, and yet you find you barely care. The power is [[intoxicating]].

You find yourself awash in a scalding sea. The churning ocean is thick and yellowed. Massive waves batter your frame; but you are immoveable against them. Dark, heavy stormclouds choke the sky and a torrent of searing, crimson rain beats down on you. The clouds pulse with energy as lightning crackles within them, arcing violently downwards. On the horizon, shrouded by the downpour and rising steam, sits a range of rolling mountains. Your mind is ablaze with possibility. It takes every ounce of your will to keep yourself from succumbing to the madness. Slowly but inexorably you feel your guard begin to [[fall]].

But there, in front of you, is a single, radiant slice of pizza. [[Take it. It is yours.]]

As your fingers wrap around the slice, lightning roars down from the heavens, consuming you. Every fiber of your body, every muscle, every bone, every nerve, is //one// with the Pizzæther. Then, it's [[over]].

You are back in Kim-Cûl's laboratory. Hovering, weightless in your hand, is the Slice. //Your// Slice. <<if $crust is "deep dish">>It is a mighty wedge of deep dish pizza. Thick. Indomitable. Imposing.<<elseif $crust is "traditional pan">>It is a perfect slice of traditional pan pizza. Classic. Dignified. Peerless.<<elseif $crust is "thin crust">>It is a delicate slice of thin crust pizza. Exquisite. Artisan. Masterful.<<endif>><<if $Sauce is "White">> Complimenting the crust is a delectable layer of rich, creamy white sauce. The texture seems divine.<<elseif $Sauce is "Pesto">> Complimenting the crust is a delectable layer of rich, herby pesto. The garlic and oils fill the room with a mouth-watering aroma.<<elseif $Sauce is "Red">> Complimenting the crust is a rich layer of bold, spicy tomato sauce. Its superb, seasoned aroma almost defys comprehension.<<endif>><<if $topping is "cheese">> A perfect blend of asiago and fontina cheese coats the sauce,<<elseif $topping is "veg">> A perfect medly of onions, peppers, olives and mushrooms sits upon a sprinkling of mozzerella cheese,<<elseif $topping is "meat">> Upon a layer of gooey mozzerella lies a symphony of meat. Spicy sausage coins, savory ground beef and crisp slivers of pepperoni sit alluringly on the slice,<<endif>><<if $Spices is "Mellow">> along with a light dusting of oregano.<<elseif $Spices is "Wild">> along with a hearty seasoning of chopped basil and thyme.<<elseif $Spices is "Measured">> along with a light dusting of cracked pepper and sea salt.<<endif>> "Congratulations, <<print $playerName>>. You have taken the first step."