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North, a writer sits on a second-hand sofa.
Outside, an owl calls to its mate.
A delivery driver hands a pizza to a neighbour, steam dissipating into the night.
All goes unnoticed as the writer clicks, reads, clicks, reads.
His only breaks are when he treks ten paces to the kettle or fifteen to the bathroom.
After each interruption, he settles back down into the warmth of the worn sofa.
The comfort of his perfectly-placed cushions.
He brings his laptop back to his lap.
Maybe this time he wont play a communist disco superstar.
Maybe this time hell have the guts to punch that infuriating Scouse child ruining his crime scene.
Every playthrough is different, but every playthrough stirs something inside.
The feeling of discovery, of roleplaying, of reading a familiar novel with a different ending.
There are many changes.
The accompanying emotions change, too.
The dread of the unknown has been replaced by the comfort of the familiar.
Discovery still exists, different now.
Occasionally, he succeeds.
He leans back, a smile writ across his tired, sagging face.
Late nights and revenge procrastination are his only gaming time now.
He used to lose whole weekends to the streets of Revachol.
His habits have changed.
But one thing remains.
Shivers doesnt make him any better at the game.
It doesnt help with the hard skill checks that the writer butts his head against time and time again.
Its not going to unlock a new path to arresting a murderer.
But it gives the writer a sense of the world.
Of whats happening around him.
Of the context within which his detective flounders.
Hes tried to play without Shivers before, but it left him feeling cold.
He wonders whats the point in solving a murder if you dont care about the deceased or the survivors.
Theres no justice here.
Of the detectives mind.
Of his own mind.
Of Revachol, of his own psyche.
Every playthrough, a new or misremembered Shivers dialogue pops onto his screen.
A new passive check is passed.
Life away from the crime scenes and union syndicates.
Life for regular people in this regular world.
The writer sips his hot tea and settles in for another conversation with his detectives broken mind.
He will never know when hes read every Shivers interaction.
Maybe hes read them all already.
But he will read them all again.
Shivers is a comfort blanket in a cold, unforgiving world.
Shivers is a beacon of contextual storytelling, the epitome of what makes this game so special to him.
Shivers is completely unnecessary and yet a complete necessity.
The writer makes himself comfortable again.
He takes another drink, feels the warmth descend to his stomach.
The warmth on his knees.
He reads his favourite game again, with retained information and new appreciation.
With more to learn.
With a smile writ across his tired face.
Aether & Iron takes a familiar RPG formula in a new direction: above the clouds.
