Ib: Prolouge - The Gallery

(I plan to edit this to a more coherent version of the sake  of my blog.  Until then,  I'll just keep it in the club's current setup.)  

 

 ...You find yourself in the shoes of Ib, a young girl of nine years.  Let the game begin.

 

 

 

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    In the early afternoon, under a grey sky...

 

    Ib and her parents were on their way to an art gallery, showing the works of the renowned artist Guertena.

 

    "Did you remember everything, Ib?"  The kind voice of her mother asks.  "Oh, do you have your handkerchief? You know, the one you got for your birthday?   Keep it safe in your pocket.  Don't lose it."

 

    ---------

 

     You walk into the art gallery, the white walls gleaming under the faint sunlight dripping through the windows.  Sharply dressed people can be seen not far away, admiring the various abstract arts.  The place practically bleeds of high society.  And you are no different.  You look up at your parents, dressed equally as fine as everyone else, and your mother returns your gaze with a kind smile.  "Well, we're here.  This is your first time at an art gallery, isn't it, Ib?"

 

    You nod silently, still slightly lost in the strange environment.

 

    "We're here to see an exhibition of works by an artist named Guertena.  And they don't just have paintings, but also sculptures and all other kinds of creations!  I don't doubt that even you will enjoy it, my dear."

 

    She must have caught on to your mild look of bewilderment, as you are not used to places like this. 

 

   Regardless, you follow your parents into the next room, stopping at the reception desk.  You can't quite make out what your parents are talking to the receptionist about, but it sounds complicated.  Looking past them, you see the wide variety of art that lies beyond. 

 

    "Can I go look at the pictures?"  You say quietly, not really wanting to interrupt.  Your mother looks down at you briefly, before patting you off.

 

    "Very well.  You can go on ahead.  Just don't go to far.  And don't bother anyone."

 

    You walk off into the gallery, looking past all of the different pieces of art.

 

    Which do you want to look into? (Minor Choice)

 

    (A) Look at the paintings

    (B) Look at the murals

    (C) Look at the sculptures

    (D) Talk to some of the people

 

   (Notes on minor choices;  They represent the wandering the player would have to do before solving a puzzle or figuring out where to go next.  In Ib, this often leads to some interesting text and/or some foreshadowing.  Nothing will come of it, but it should be interesting to play around with)

 

 

You chose to look at the various paintings covering the walls.

 

    With a slight spring in your step, you skip up a nearby staircase.  The joining room is much like the one you were just in, in all it's stark white undecorativeness.  As you pass by a window, you notice the sky had brightened significantly sense you first left for the gallery.  A comforting warm light filters in through the window.

 

    Putting that thought aside, you approach the first painting.

 

    Woman Taking the Newspaper

 

    The title of the painting sums up the work quite well, as it is just that.  A woman, still in her nightgown, a steaming cup of coffee in one hand, reaching for the morning paper.  You can't help but twist your head slightly at the work, for as well done a piece it is, it seems underwhelming in color and tone.

 

    Most of the other paintings seem to follow in a similar vein.  Simple people, faces, and positions, often at off-putting angles.  Expression, The Coughing Man,  Worry, all express the same feeling, and one that was not entirely soothing.

 

    You shake off the peculiar feeling, moving to another painting.  This one stands out from the others, as it is a beautifully done picture of a woman.  She looks as if she is leaning on the frame, the rest of her body fading into the dark background as she smiles sweetly at the viewer.  The Lady in Red, the plaque reads.  It's a nice picture, but you can't help feel like it watches you as you walk on.

 

    You pass by several more paintings, many with titles that your young mind can't read, until you come to another particular one that catches your eye.  You can't see it's name, as an oddly dressed man stands in front of it.  The painting depicts a man, dangling from a rope that has been tied around his feet.  His face is blank, and his eyes seem to look through you, rather then at you.  

 

    Even for it's unsettling look, you find yourself staring at it anyways.  Just then you notice that their has been a constant noise beside you.  Looking over, you find the man next to you still staring intensely at the painting, though his hands were repeatedly opening and closing the small silver lighter in his hands, echoing with a small clack every time it shut.

 

    Having had your fill of the paintings, you decide to look into something else.

 

    What to do now?  (Minor Choice)

 

    (A)  Look into the sculptures.

    (B)  Look into the murals

    (C)  Talk to some of the other guests

 

 You remember your mother's caution against bothering people, but a little interaction couldn't be that bothersome, right? 

 

    Hesitantly, you walk up beside the young man in the odd garb.  You don't say anything as he looks down at you.  He simply walks away with a smile, giving you brief pat on the head.  Before you walk off yourself, the obscured title of that last painting is revealed.

 

    The Hanged Man

 

    Still very off-putting. Moving on, you come across another man standing next to a trio of sculptures.  Death of the Individual, says the plaque at the exhibit's base.  A set of female mannequins, all headless, all wearing the same thing. 

    "I think what Guertena was trying to say here is that 'The Individual' lies in one's expression."  The man beside you says, and you wonder if it was more a muse to himself, as he doesn't turn to face you.  "Which is why all these figures lack heads, you see.  What do you think?"

 

    He finally looks down at you, indicating he was in fact talking to you.

 

    The idea goes mostly over your head, so you answer with the first thing that comes to mind.

 

    "I just think they look scary..."

 

    The man chuckles a bit, turning back to the statues.  "Well, that is understandable for a young girl like you.  Just try and think they are not losing their heads as they are losing their very personalities.  Of course, I suppose that is a bit of a scary thought in and of itself.  And..."

 

    The man keeps prattling on about things that you can barely understand, so you take the moment to walk away.  The man doesn't seem to even notice that you left.

 

    You continue wandering deeper into the exhibition, trying not to bother anyone else.  Still, a few conversations catch your ear.  A little girl, a bit younger then yourself, bagging her mom for a cat after seeing a picture of the same animal, and an older couple standing beside another sculpture.

 

    "Guertena sure is an obscure artist, wouldn't you say?"  The man said, studying the piece before him with a whimsical smile.  "Probably only tiny art galleries like this one could get away with an exhibition of his work.  It would be nice if more people knew about his work though..."

 

    "It's seem like there are so few pieces here though...  I thought their would be more." The woman beside him said, though the look on her face is more of confusion.  The man at her side laughs for a brief moment.  "I  don't think it would be possible for them to show everything here, and leave room to walk around!"

 

    Figuring that to be enough eavesdropping, you walk into the next room, only to find that you have looped back around into the room you started in. 

 

    You can't help but wonder briefly, what and where all the other Guertena artworks lie...

 

    Only two choices left.  You people are good at dodging your objective. ;)

 

    (A)  Sculptures

   (B) Murals

 

 

  Congratulations, Tom, Hannah.  You have successfully chosen every single option, other then the one that actually advances the story.  *Slow claps*

 

    "Oh good.  This thing made it in here.  Just in case we ever need a slow-paced ovation."  *Slow claps again.*     ~GLaDOS

 

    Also, this is the prologue.  I'm playing through the game as I write this so I know exactly what is going on, and it is humorous, If slightly agitating, to have to run around talking to every single optional person just to set the mood here.  *Laughs*

 

    Anyways, I just combined the last two options for this one...

 

-----------------------------------------

 

     You loop back down, inspecting the sculptures as you do.  The first set is, of course, The Death of the Individual, in all it's headless glory.

 

    The next sculpture has caught your eye several times, though the people who had been looking at it before seem to have cleared out. 

     "??? of Spirit"

     Try as you might, you can't sound out the first word properly.  It really wasn't worth dwelling on, not when the statue itself was worth far more attention.

 

 

    A single red rose, standing taller then you, coils around itself, standing strong and tall.  Like many of the other pieces here, there is a single element that Guertena seemed to have infused in all his works.  It almost appeared real, and if you didn't look closely, the stone sculpture would easily be mistaken for a real flower if not for it's size. 

 

    It's a truly lovely piece.  You would have stayed at it longer, but a familiar presence walks up behind you.

 

    "Are you having fun, Ib?"  Your Mother asks sweetly, ruffling your hair a bit.

 

    You nod a bit, though you only half look up to your mother.  She  chuckles a bit in response, giving you another pat on the head.  "Well, your father and I aren't far.  If you need something, just come and get us.

 

   You give another nod, watching out of the corner of your eye as she walked off.  You trot off in the opposite direction.

 

   At this point, there is very few exhibits that you haven't already seen, or at least passed by.  They all had the same gritty realism to them, often expressing concepts that you couldn't wrap your head around.  They were still fun to look at, at the very least.

 

    Alas, there was one piece that seems to have avoided your attention up until this point.  A large mural was sketched across the wall, reaching quite far.  It was the odd one out compared to the work around it, as it was fuzzy and dream-like, in contrast to the lifelike edge everything else seemed to possess.

 

    F... Fa... ???  World

 

    Again, the title is to complicated for you to read entirely.

 

    It doesn't help that the small text is made hard to read by the flicker lights.

 

    Wait... What?

 

    You immediately snap up to looker around, only to find that their is no one else in the hall.  The lights overhead have stopped flickering, though they were giving off only a tiny amount of light, dropping the gallery into a night-like darkness.  Without any hesitation, you run off to find your parents.  Some part of you is surprised, while the other is not, when you find that they, nor anyone else, can be found anywhere.

 

    Loud footsteps echo behind you, and you quickly whirl around to see who it is.

 

    Nothing.  But the footsteps continue to grow louder.

 

    Next stop is the lobby, empty as the rest of the rooms.  You try the door, but the locks on in click in protest, something which you find odd, given that there are no obvious locks on it.  The window too, was sealed tight for no apparent reason.  Outside it was total and complete darkness.

 

    The shock of these events just now starts to set in, a cold chill running down your spine.  You are alone, and trapped in a strange place.  The footsteps had grown to a loud drumming, beating against your ears with each echoing thump.

 

    You run, panicked, though you have no destination in mind.

 

    The world around you seems to be working against you, each painting and sculpture that you pass bending the laws of reality.  The Coughing Man choughs, fruit falls from still-life paintings, splatting in a mess of paint on the ground, eyes shift to watch you move pass.  And whenever you look, it seems like it was never there.

 

   In your mad dash, you find yourself beneath the same painting that this all started at. 

 

    You freeze before it, as it has changed its appearance sense you had last seen it.  It's colors practically glowed, it's surface moving like water.  Blue paint dripped from behind the frame, covering the wall.  The plaque beneath it had managed to remain untouched though, though the words had changed...

 

    Come down below, Ib.  We'll have some fun.

 

    You take a step back, horrified.  And then another.  And another, until your back is against the far wall.

 

   With each a loud stamp, great letters of blue paint etched themselves into the floor before you, and then everything was silent.  No omnipresent footsteps, no anything.  Only the sound of your own labored breathing.

 

    C  O  M  E    I  B

 

    Hesitantly, you get up, noticing that the blue paint that had been splattered everywhere had left a trail away from the mural.  Despite your better judgment, you follow it.  It leads you to the same exibit that you last saw your parents at. 

 

    A huge mural lays painted onto the floor, it's name painted at it's base.

 

    Abyss of the Deep   

 

    It was a simple painting.  Simply some kind of deep sea fish, looking though as if it was about to swim right up out of the ground.  What was unusual though, is that the trail of blue paint lead right into it, breaking right through the guardrails and fading into the water. 

 

    You take a step forward, standing atop the mural.  It takes a moment for you to realize that you are up to your ankles in water, standing half-submerged in the painting.  The logical part of your mind is yelling for you to stop,  but your curiosity gets the better of you.  You take another step forward, falling into the abyss of the deep.

 

   And then, darkness.

 

 

 

     PROLOGUE END