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The game portion is kind of weak. However, using Quill as a creative writing exercise is beautiful and effervescent. For those that like to write, I highly recommend it.
Here's what I wrote:
"To the Archduke Godfrey,
I have heard the news of your sister, Mary of Linchester. Her needless passing has affected those far and wide. I’m unable to convey my feelings of sorrow and loss with her removal from our plane. Mary was like another sister to me. Her kindness warmed every room. Her laughter filled the halls with joy and mirth. It seems I am unable to escape those memories as of recent. I keep coming back to our times together, the good times filling my heart to bursting. I hope your memories treat you more kindly than mine Godfrey. I know you spent even more time with her growing up.
When we were children we got an education together led by Lady Gness. The lady was always trying to impart math and writing upon us. Mary and I were more interested in quickly climbing trees away from the schoolhouse. We sat by the lake and ran through the hills. We once raced frogs on the fence line. When “Lady Hop” was in the lead I got frustrated and tried to push “Knight Ribbit” to the front. The frog lept up right into my hair. I screamed and flailed and Mary cried laughing. I suppose that is the universe’s response to cheaters.
You remember as well as I that stern educators were disapproving of her choices. She shrugged off academia. Even as a young adult the most esteemed scholars wrote her off as a bad apple. I know your parents tried their best to encourage school. Mary just wasn’t of their kind. I’m sure you remember that she spent time tending to small flower patches she found by the brook. She took care of that litter of kittens when their mother was not to be found. Then a young bobcat tried to take one of the litter in the night. I’ve never seen Mary more ferocious. She scared your parents ever so greatly with that stunt. Fortunately the bobcat expected a mother bear and decided not to risk it. Actually a mother bear perfectly sums up the woman: strong, passionate, one with nature.
I know she’s the one who started pristine Heather Fields. I know she agreed to a subpar arranged marriage in exchange for that sanctuary. I worried being taken away would break Mary. I didn’t think she could survive without our land. She did though. Excitement filled her when describing the animals so far South. She had her garden here during the summer, and the garden at Ensinbrook during the winter. She treated it like a dream, asked me to pinch her once. Instead I plucked a flower petal and held it to her face. It was sweet on the wind. “Real enough for you?”
I know she is currently laying in the Cathedral of Light. I saw her yesterday. It took a few tries before I could look upon her. She was beautiful. The carved marble and gold-fringed coffin are ornate. The rouge and paint bring an unseen lightness to her face. It...didn’t feel right though. Usually her hands were flecked with dirt. Her skin was always red from toiling in the sun. Have you considered where you want her to rest? I may be too late to make a suggestion, but your family tomb isn’t where Mary would want to go. I don’t mean any offense to you. I say this only for Mary: Bury her in Heather Fields. Put her in the middle of a flowerbed, or between the roots of a gnarled oak tree. She would have wanted to be back in nature. A mausoleum is an alien world. I don’t think she would rest as well between those stone walls.
Either way, I defer to you as her brother, and to the will of your estate. I just can feel her, even so far away. She imprinted on me all those years we spent together. I bet you feel it as well.
I hope you find a brighter tomorrow,
Bron Trensingtale"
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