Editing Muse:Musette Playtest 1:Story Content

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Rushing across the ridge, his feet sliding frantically through the sand, he stumbles forward at a half run. He can hear the beat of Georgian 'copters not far away, streaking through the night, and some distant gunfire, explosions. ''Soon, they will be here.'' Below him, a darkened valley looms. The air hitting his nostrils is moist, soft, for the first time since he left his home two months ago. For a moment, he imagines he can smell wine.
 
Rushing across the ridge, his feet sliding frantically through the sand, he stumbles forward at a half run. He can hear the beat of Georgian 'copters not far away, streaking through the night, and some distant gunfire, explosions. ''Soon, they will be here.'' Below him, a darkened valley looms. The air hitting his nostrils is moist, soft, for the first time since he left his home two months ago. For a moment, he imagines he can smell wine.
  
βˆ’
At the very least, there are no sounds of war here. He needs to find some agent of resistance, some brave souls, if any be left, for he carries an important secret. Only an hour or so away, his unit lies decimated, bodies burnt, cars reduced to twisted metal, by a surprise attack. But he can do something yet, if he makes it through the night. Not far away, a series of caverns holds a cell of Russian soldiers turned terrorists, pirates. They are hungry, both for food and for blood. Maybe he can find some way to reach them, o organize some resistance to this surprise attack.
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At the very least, there are no sounds of war here. He needs to find some agent of resistance, some brave souls, if any be left, for he carries an important secret. Only an hour or so away, his unit lies decimated, bodies burnt, cars reduced to twisted metal, but a surprise attack. But he can do something yet, if he makes it through the night. Not far away, a series of caverns holds a cell of Russian soldiers turned terrorists, pirates. They are hungry, both for food and for blood. Maybe he can find some way to reach them, o organize some resistance to this surprise attack.
  
 
Below, a single light beckons. Stumbling through a vineyard, the man heads for this beacon.
 
Below, a single light beckons. Stumbling through a vineyard, the man heads for this beacon.
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βˆ’
Even as Bukhuti makes his phone call, a group of soldiers stand outside, smoking American cigarettes. Dust collects on their uniforms: dust from crumbling buildings, homes destroyed, perhaps even ashes from the former inhabitants of those homes.  
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Even as Bukhuti makes his phone call, a group of soldiers stand outside, smoking American cigarettes, as dust collects on their uniforms. Dust from crumbling buildings, homes destroyed, perhaps even ashes from the former inhabitants of those homes.  
  
 
They are waiting, happy to have a brief rest, but confused as to why they're waiting here, out in the street, outside the town's mail office.  
 
They are waiting, happy to have a brief rest, but confused as to why they're waiting here, out in the street, outside the town's mail office.  
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"Shut up, asshole. Gorya here is a known snitch--aren't you, Gorya?--and he's gonna take that straight to the General!"
 
"Shut up, asshole. Gorya here is a known snitch--aren't you, Gorya?--and he's gonna take that straight to the General!"
  
βˆ’
The soldiers continue their chatter for a few more minutes. Inside, Yuriy sits at a desk, sorting through envelopes until he finds the one he was looking for. It's his own letter, to Maria, sent a week ago. It didn't get any further that this town, it seems, but someone's scribbled a different address on the envelope. It sounds like a farm, or an orchard, or something, not too far away. Yuriy has the local geography pretty much memorized: there's a steep cliff, riddled with caves, to the North, and then a deep valley. ''That's where this place would have to be'', thinks Yuriy. ''Well, not much longer now. I'm coming, Maria.''
+
The soldiers continue their chatter for a few more minutes. Inside, Yuriy sits at a desk, sorting through envelopes until he finds the one he was looking for. It's his own letter, to Maria, sent a week ago. It didn't get any further that this town, but someone's scribbled a different address on the envelope. It sounds like a farm, or an orchard, or something, not too far away. Yuriy has the local geography pretty much memorized: there's a steep cliff, riddled with caves, and then a deep valley. ''That's where this place would have to be'', thinks Yuriy. ''Well, not much longer now. I'm coming, Maria.''
  
 
''I'm supporting Yes for Yuriy, using a card from my hand.''
 
''I'm supporting Yes for Yuriy, using a card from my hand.''

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