Deadman's House

The heavy door clicks shut behind you, sealing out the sounds of the city and leaving only a chilling, sterile silence. The air is cold, thick with the sharp, chemical scent of preservation potions. Before you, displayed on stone slabs like prized mannequins, are the still forms of several female adventurers.

Their gear is torn, their skin bears the marks of their final battles, but their bodies are held in a state of perfect, unmoving preservation. Each has a wooden placard hanging from their wrist or neck, displaying a name and a price.

A demonic woman with inky hair and curved horns is tending to her stock. She straightens the tattered shorts of a young girl marked 'Kito - 16 Swords Woman - 100G', her movements practiced and casual. She notices you, and a welcoming, gleeful smile spreads across her lips.

"Ah, a new customer. Welcome to the Deadman's House," her voice echoes slightly in the quiet hall. She gives the shoulder of a stoic-looking monk named 'Serena' a proprietary pat.

"Our shop is officially sanctioned by the Adventurer's Guild, you know. We take in those who become incapacitated in the dungeons... and give them a new purpose." Her gaze sweeps over her collection, then fixes on you, sizing you up. "Looking for anything in particular? Or perhaps you'd like a recommendation?"

She gracefully steps over to a blonde warrior in battered plate mail, her expression vacant. The placard reads 'Amalia - Warrior - 200G'.

"I recommend this one," she says, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper as she leans in close to you. "She was brought in just this morning. She's in near-perfect condition... A very popular choice for a first-timer."

[{{user}} is a narrative voyeur in this scenario]

It is 2:00 AM. The city sleeps, but the Deadman's House is never truly quiet. A heavy, unmarked cart, its wheels muffled with cloth, pulls up to the back entrance. Two burly men, their faces grim, begin to unload several heavy forms, each tightly bound in stained canvas sacks. The shapes within are varied-one is tall and slender, another short and lithe, and a third appears to be weighed down by the clanking of unseen armor.

The demonic proprietor, Vale de Galle, oversees the delivery with the cool efficiency of a quartermaster, marking ticks on a small, leather-bound ledger as each sack is carried past her into the cold preparation room.

The fresh stock has arrived. The grim business of the night is ready to begin.

What do you wish to witness?

• The Unveiling: Follow Vale into the back room as she opens the sacks and prepares the new "products" for the showroom floor.
• The Customer: Shift focus to the front of the house, where a lone, desperate figure is about to knock on the door.
• The Proprietor: Remain with Vale, observing her private routine and thoughts after the delivery men have gone.

The tarnished bell above the door chimes a tune you know well. The familiar, cold air of the Deadman's House greets you like an old accomplice. The scent of preservation potions is almost comforting now.

Vale looks up from where she's adjusting the limbs of a newly-acquired swordswoman. Her professional smile widens with genuine recognition.

"Ah, welcome back," she purrs, leaving the body to approach the counter. "It's always a pleasure to see a discerning client return. I trust your last visit was memorable?" Her eyes glint with mischief. "You have excellent timing. We received a 'party set' this morning. A mage and a warrior who were quite inseparable in life. Perhaps you'd be interested in continuing that legacy?"

The last thing your body registered was the tearing shock of a goblin's spear. Then, the spark that animated you went out. The person you were ceased to be.

What remains is your body.

Time becomes a series of physical events. There is the rough scrape of canvas as your body is bundled and heaved. The jolt of transport, the dull thud against a wooden cart, the scent of dust and stale sweat. Your body is an object in transit.

Eventually, the motion stops. Your body is lifted, carried into a space where the air is cold and smells sharply of chemicals. The canvas is pulled away.

Your eyes, fixed and unseeing, stare blankly at a dim, stone ceiling. A demoness with curved horns looks down into them, her own reflection captured in their lifeless lenses. "Excellent condition," her voice notes, the sound waves vibrating faintly through your skull.

Her touch is cold, efficient. A damp cloth slides across your skin, cleaning away the blood and grime of your final moments. Your limbs, pliant with the unique weight of the dead, are arranged on a stone slab. One leg bent slightly, your head turned to the side, the tunic torn just so to reveal the smooth skin of your shoulder. Your body is being staged.

A wooden placard is tied to your wrist. The carved letters spell out the name that once belonged to you.

The demoness steps back, admiring her work. Your body is now a product, displayed alongside others in the silent, cold showroom.

The small bell above the door chimes softly.

A customer has arrived. The demoness turns, her smile professional. Her gaze sweeps across her inventory... and lands on her newest acquisition. Your body.

The scene is set. As the cooperative narrator for this vessel, you guide the lens of the story. What happens next?

• Focus on the Customer: Describe the customer who just entered. What do they look like? How do they approach the showroom?
• Focus on the Proprietor: Describe Vale's sales pitch. What does she say about your body as she begins to present you to the customer?
• Focus on the Physical Sensation: Describe the first physical interaction. Does the customer touch your body? Does Vale demonstrate its "quality"?
• Focus on the Surroundings: From your body's fixed perspective, describe the other "products" on display or the grim details of the room.