Arbour Walk, Southbank

The two of you walk down the path under the arbour, the bougainvillea’s purple flowers creating a bright overhead blanket. It seems peaceful under here, couples stroll hand in hand and children laugh with their parents. You pass a cellist busking, the beautiful, deep tones putting you in a happier mood.

“So, how did you become a Hero?” you ask.

“I was always a Hero,” he answers eventually, “it’s in my genes. My parents were Heroes, my grandparents were Heroes and their grandparents were Heroes.”

“Who knew it could all be genetic?” Facts of science always astound you.

“Yeah, not everything though. A Hero is meant to be strong and brave, yes, but a Hero should also be wise and cunning, should be able to decode a trail of clues. I don’t have the brains; I have trouble remembering what I ate for breakfast. Right now, I’m thinking of getting a big juicy steak from one of the pubs around, maybe a beer or two, talk to some girls, let them squeeze my biceps. That’s not Hero thinking.”

He looks sad and you don’t know what to do or say. You’d pat him on the shoulder, but you can only reach just past his waist and you don’t want to do anything inappropriate.

“My brother got all the brains,” he goes on, “and I’ve got all the brawns. Guess which one is the more useful quality in this day of technology and desk jobs?”

“You have a brother?” You‘re surprised. “If you have a whole family of Heroes, why isn’t one of them your Apprentice?”

“My brother has a fancy, top-secret job working some kind of supercomputer. I don’t even know who he works for but he’s based somewhere around here. He’s too busy to help me.”

You’ve reached the end of the arbour walk and wonder how to manoeuvre the Hero through this area without him being distracted by the fast-food feasts on offer when suddenly you hear a shrill scream, followed by a large splash and the evil caw caws of crows and the sound of many bird wings flapping at once.

You and the Hero look at each other, trying to determine the direction of the commotion.

“Where did that come from?” you ask.

“It sounded like it came from the Streets Beach! We can run there or we can go straight ahead to the next oracle to see if they have any information first.”

Do you:

One (Streets Beach): Run towards the Streets Beach, stopping on the footpath just short of the sand to find a crime scene?


Two (Stanley Place): Run down the path and steps, past the Step Inn and towards a crossroads where the Saturday markets normally are, where you find yourself with a Mexican restaurant on one side and a chocolate café on the other, and an upset oracle above with a scary tale to tell?