the autumn descent


Voyageur (iOS and Android, Autumn 2016)

The Descent Device: faster-than-light travel at speeds no human should go; an alien mystery. But it only goes one way, falling from star to star towards the centre of the galaxy.

Voyageur is a literary RPG where you take the helm of a trader-vagabond vessel, looking for adventure, wealth, and answers in an infinite galaxy full of procedural cultures and civilizations.

Bruno Dias is a games writer and designer based in São Paulo, Brazil. His previous work includes a long catalogue of interactive fiction (Mere Anarchy, Cape, Lyreless) as well as critical and theory writing about games.

Voyageur Website | Voyageur on Twitter

We’re funding Voyageur as part of Fundbetter, along with four other games in this first batch! Please share, and support indie games!

It slips into your consciousness like silence between two people. You never really know what it means until it’s staring you in the face; glaring at you between the white veins, in the reflection of the black ink. Perhaps not even then because it’s a bit of a blindspot – you simply cannot see it if you’re looking directly at it, when you go looking for it. It’s a bedbug in your bed of writing, that single moment when your heart stopped beating between your words…

It won’t be till eons later when you realize the words don’t fall into place anymore, like they used to. Subtext no longer manoeuvres in and out of your poetry or prose like a Vietnamese Waltz, with ease and class and rapture. It’s a stumbling drunk in broad daylight – too obvious to be subtext. A clumsy screw up, maybe, but not subtext.

The worst phase, the Stage 4 Cancer of it all, will be the detachment, the disassociation. The words that once flowed from the IV hooked up to your soul will seem abstract and abject, even wholly impersonal and lacking personality. They’re:
A dying wish in the distance, blurred stars for lights; the lingering notes of a flute at the end of symphony, ghosting around as widowed echoes in the concert hall; the majestic rooster-tail behind a motorcycle in a flood, quickly diminishing to mere ripples; the swirling descent of autumn leaves, making an ultimate sacrifice of itself to champion the greater life; the last goodbye by a crestfallen expression, surrendered against a fogged-up window – all the forces of nature amalgamating into one plea to reach out and grasp life with passion.

But you – the weakened niche of spirit – you know one thing and one thing alone: Apathy. All else is sucked into a black hole of existence.

—  Words, by Nothingness