Let's Play: Cragne Manor

[zarf (Andrew Plotkin)]

@Draconis

The name is probably a corruption of the pharaoh we now call Senwosret, who did invade the Levant but never made it anywhere near Bulgaria.

Prester John confirmed!

[DeusIrae (Mike Russo)]

@Draconis

The name is probably a corruption of the pharaoh we now call Senwosret, who did invade the Levant but never made it anywhere near Bulgaria.

Ha, good catch – especially so because you know who else almost certainly didn’t exist, with the only references to them coming from Herodotus, who probably was making or repeating a transliteration error? Nitocris, whose name is awfully close to the the male king Netjerkare Siptah who actual Egyptian sources say reigned at the time Nitocris supposedly did.

Big fan of the Heat from Halicarnassus, but he’s no Thucydides.

[DeusIrae (Mike Russo)]

Chapter the Eighteenth: Lightning Bolt! Lightning Bolt!

This is a novel update – instead of pushing our explorations forward and breaking new ground, instead Nitocris is backtracking to do some cleanup with the new information and items she’s gathered from her initial foray into Cragne Manor. And it’s novel in another way too, which is that there’s a thick volume’s worth of text here – because we’re starting with Christabell.

We all remember Christabell, right, the LARPer pretending to be a ghost spirit from the 18th Century? Part of her extensive backstory involved putting her spiritual mark on a Cragne daughter named Carol, whose spirit we met – or rather, we met Christabell’s five-year-old daughter who, in an astonishing display of bad parenting, had been dragooned into this LARP and left in the Manor to run a spooky tea-party for passing-by player characters. After that wrapped up, it was clear that we needed to ping back to Christabell to let her know we made friends with Carol…

We leave the Manor and head back to the Hillside Path:

Leaning back against the pile of iron, Christabell gives you a fatigued wave and after some exertion of effort becomes more substantial.

“Hello, again, Friend Naomi,” she says weakly.

>tell Christabell about carol
Christabell squints as she looks at you, shading her eyes with her hand.

"Runes of the Deep Ones preserve us, Naomi. By what Artefise are you so surfeited of Potence, that Louminance does burne mightily about you? Had I Haires upon my Bodie, they would upon their very Ends stand aright, you do so exude Glamour. By what Manner did that come to pass, I do wonder?

Oh lordy, I’d forgotten about the spelling.

As before, many words and phrases in her dialogue are bolded, which are further things we can ask or tell her about (those commands are helpfully abbreviated to A TOPIC and T TOPIC respectively).

>a runes
Pleased that you are taking an interest, Christabell launches into an explanation.

“Whomesoever do werke a Magick, hee leaveth in Posterity Signes that summe might read thereafter; these be their Runes.”

“Sort of a record, then?” you inquire.

“Not onely, for in wroughting any Magick, a natural Direction must be followed as Ice doth melt and flow downward as a Mountain Stream and not upwards to the Peake, so Potence must channel fruitfully. As a Log burnt doth comforting Heat provide, so Runes be the Ashes. Get you mie Drifte?”

“So, it’s sort of a nebulous mystical wake left behind by magic?”

“Nay, come you rightly downe to the Firmness of Earth – it be not but like a Booke, it be a true Folio, though not seen but for Seight – Leaves and Werdes in Leather bound: the Story of good Werkes upon one Shyt, sorrowfull Sinnes the next.”

…upon one what? Oh right, sheet. Christabell, I know LARPing is your favorite thing but I am begging you not to try so hard.

>a deep ones
“I’m not really sure how to approach this delicately,” you begin, “but what exactly are the Deep Ones?” You refrain from air quotes, as it would just confuse her.

“Your Apprehension I do gently understande, for many Miscreantes do beare false Witness against them and thow powerful they are, know you this: they do serve as me and my Longhouse, the mighty Weal of Mattanit.”

“Yes, but what are they – I mean, could you draw me a mental picture of them?”

“No Representation of them can I render, for their Forme supporteth not the weake Minde of Man, but summe few jotts of Wisedom I did learne among the Nirramonk, and these they are: firstly, they are Olde, older than the Earthe itself (this, thow we did know from the naym itself, but see you now how they did come by it); secondly, it is in the Seven Oceans and multitudinous Seas that they do dwell; and finally, and paramounte, the marked of Mattanit can call upon them to scribe their Runes in his Service.”

Christabell adds, “They be not the onely of their Kinde, but the onely I did come to know in mei too brief Tymme among the Nirramonk.”

This is consistent with @draconis’s speculation that the Deep Ones folks here keep talking about are distinct from, and way more powerful than, the Innsmouthy fish-men we all know and, if your surname is Marsh, love.

Anyway this is all backstory, maybe we should tell her about our meeting with Carol:

>tell christabell about the tea party of the gods
“Well, you learn something new every day,” says Christabell.

…okay, fine, don’t yes-and my contribution, I’ll just keep asking you the questions you’re prompting me to ask (this LARP could do with a bit more player agency).

>a potence
“Potence be a Strength that lends to Magick; you do burn with it.” Christabell adds somberly, “It be also what I do most direly desire that I might cast aside my Fusion.”

Christabell pokes your aura tentatively with her index finger; the aura deforms around it, bending inward. “Naomi, by what Providence came you to wield such Potence? I can but thinke of one Sourse: my Carol. Could she by summe Mirickell dwell yet in this modern Ayge of yours?”

“When I was at Cragne Manor, I met her. She’s a spirit – as I suppose you already know.” Christabell nods and you continue, “She is a very strange kid and it seems stuck in the 1950s.”

“Yes, such be the Nature of her Fusion, a circular prison. A good Childe she was, thow gone wrong in later Life, twisted by the Crânes.”

The light plays strangely over Christabell and for a brief instant she appears ghostly and luminous rather than solid.

>a luminence
Christabell says, “I have wondered that myself.”

…you’re going to make me say it, aren’t you?

>a louminance
“Naomi, surely you must needs have yourself remarked your terrifick Shyne in the Eyes of the Seight? Thereby doth the Potence with make manifest. Yet, I must needs forewarn: a Potence too closely held, or too long, does risk injurious Consequence.”

“Oh”?

“Yes, it is thereby that I do pray you consider the Bestowance.”

Christabell seems for a moment less substantial.

“The Bestowance”? This LARP sure has a lot of capitalized jargon…

>a glamour
“A Glamour be not moor than the outwarde Signe to the Seighted of Werked Magick. In the Case of you, it be raw and avid, the very Stuff taken of Life.”

There’s another one… and they’re spelling “magic” with a k…

>a longhouse
“The Nirramonk did dwell in the longhouse and I amongst them for a Tymme. In it we did sleep and take our Meals. Those of us learned did study and practice the Werkes of Mattanit. Alas, the longhouse and all its Treasures was razed in the Skourmuch”.

>a nirramonk
“When first we did arrive to Lyn, my Parents did ardently applie their Labours to make Home, and I with them. Thow soon we did but little see of mei Father so powerfull was his Devotion to the Forge. He did desire above all to see its Heat increased beyond even yet again what those Forges in Engeland did achieve. This, in the speite of meagre Tools and shoddy Coal which to him availed.”

“The Nirramonk?” you remind her.

“Verily, the Subject has not fled by Minde, thow I admit my Tongue doth journey to it by a Road not straite.” Christabell continues, “So, the Nirramonk, then: My Father did toil at the Forge Daye and Neight bothe, so, my pious Mother bereft of his Attentions did seek to perform goode Werkes for our Congregation, yet Preacher Breeves, being thick of Skull and disdainful of Womenkind did spurn her kinde Offer. She being considerable Pridefull did quit that Congregation upon that very Daye and finde herselfe (and mee) another at the Inconvenience of summe Distance from Lyn. The Doctor Prichard Leif did establysh this Congregation, which greatly amazing did welcome not onely us, but also many Indians of those Parts; not onely those Praying Indians taught our Holy Bible, but Doctor Leif did wee learne each the Wisedom the other did have.”

“So, the Nirramonk?” you remind her once again, trying to keep her on track.

“Hold tight to your Reines,” chides Christabell. “For five hundred Years have I thought on this – I pray you abide your Patiyence yet another moment, that I may complete this Journie, upon which you have set us.”

Having your full attention, Christabell continues, “So then, coming at last to the Nirramonk.”

“Phew.”

“I do your Pardon begge?”

“Nothing.”

Christabell folds her hands and resumes her discourse, “One day did come to us a Council of the Nirramonk. Thow versed in the Tongue of the Nipmuk, scarce could we comprehend their Tongue. By the Grace of Providence, One among theyr Number summe Fackulitie with Engelish possessed, he and his Kin having many years before helped the Engelish Colonie of Roanoke to their Prosperity.”

“Knowing me quick witted, Doctor Leif did me task to apprend of their Tongue and they Ours by setting to Paper a Grammar. No simple Affaire this was, and threw a Winter and Summer compleat, we did labour, the legion Differences so diffickulte to reconcile. Not onely Grammar did I employe to this Tasking, but made use of Maths and Shapes, some of Artes Newlie devised, some drawn from Kaballah. In Grammar I did find Keys to the Invisible World – take you for instance their Nowns, being infleckted not for Male and Female, but Animate and Inanimate; and amongst the animate they choose their Werde Endings differently for Spirits, the Restful, and the Avenged.”

“Five years I did spend amoung them and did Comprehend their Tongue flowingly. As much as I did deliver unto them the Good News of Christ Jesus, I did discover Mattanit and did learne to perform his Werkes through Means more immediate and vigorous than those beknownst to the Church of Engeland.”

Her eyes heavy, Christabell concludes, “It were a true Calamity that all did end so dreadful in the Skourmuch.”

“My head is – literally – going to explode,” says Naomi compressing her temples.

…wait, why was that last part in the third person? Is Christabell just going ahead and narrating our dialogue and responses for us now?

Also: incredibly overdetailed backstory, science-y white people positioned as the bad guys, indigenous cultures depicted as having secret knowledge, albeit with a shallow, surface-level syncreticism sprinkled on top and all the important named characters are white too…

We’re not just in a LARP. We’re in a White Wolf LARP, and there’s a long way to go yet.

>a marked
“By that I do mean a person who doth bear the Spirit Mark, whereby the Annointed may conduct the Affaires of the allied Spirit, whom from to obtain Protections and Wardes against malign Spirits. Further, onely one Mark may a Person endure, thow many a Spirit may touch.”

>a fusion
“The Fusion bindeth a Spirit to a Place, just as my unhappy Demise did bind me in Perpetuity to this Ironne,” Christabell says, gesturing to the railroad track. “Onely threw a princely summe of Potence keenly wielded can the Fusion be broken and a Spirit set a-free.”

Christabell, can you just hand me the glossary sheet? It would save a bunch of time.

>a carol
“When she were a Childe, she did come visit me frequently, standing as you do now. I do flatter mieself to thinke she did seek my Company for Wisedom and Solace, but let us also admit that for a Childe, the Crâne Manse was naught but a Place of Boredom most profound.”

Christabell fades strongly, “I pray you one Instant,” and Christabell forces herself back to corporal solidity.

>t carol
“I be not surprised that she did appear to you in an Aspekt childe-like, for that is a Manifestation of her strange Fusion, the Circular Prison, but well you would do to remember she died far from Innocent. Though I did teach her tenderly, she did bend the Craft darkly in Service to her Father, Hugo, a man of no moral fibre.”

Christabell’s voice fades in and out as does her image.

Good mother-figure, bad father-figure, okay, I get it – I am a total SJW tankie myself, but this is getting a little belabored.

>a bestowance
Christabell replies, “The Bestowance is the Magick whereby Potence be conveid from one to another. If you would deign permitte, I could shew by what meenes this Magick could be wrought.”

“You mean I could cast a spell to charge you up?” you ask. “How?”

“In so many Werdes. Yes, my Marke being upon you, you could werke it. Upon a Tymme, it were the first Magick I did teach Carol, when she saw but five Yeares. But you a Woman full grow’d need no trappings of Ceremonie to conduct it, but only the Comprehension of what you do, and a Werde bespoken to set the Magick in Motion.”

“What’s the word?”

“It be ‘xizzi’,” replies Christabelle. “If you do but say it, all will be put to Righte. Here, let me place my Mark that you may werke summe Magicks.”

“Hang on a?” Christabell pokes your shoulder before you can finish the sentence.

“'Tis done, and naught did it hurt, yes?”

“I suppose,” you say, rubbing your shoulder, which does tingle a little.

Jesus, Christabell, you make me listen to this giant in-character infodump, then you put in a dumb in-joke like “xizzi”?

>a prison
“Carol’s Fusion taketh a Forme circular in Shape, like a Belte closed upon itself, wherein her Doom is to repeat the Steppes of her Damnation, appearing Nowe as a Babe, then later a Gyrll, and Finally One of Majority, up to that Tymme what she did take her Leyfe. Why summe Spirits do endure this rotary Existence, while others like me do remain fixed, I know not, thow mayhap I play a Role in her Revolving about.”

Huh, I have a feeling about where that might be headed…

Anyway that’s helpful for figuring out what the next step of the quest is, but if you thought we were finished with ~backstory~, you’re sadly very, very wrong. She said there was a big fight between the natives and the settlers, which had another one of those big capital-letter names, maybe like an Algonquin word?

>a skourmuch skourmuch shall we do the fandango
Christabell says, “I don’t have a good answer for that one.”

Ha, we got her to break character with our dumb joke!

>a skourmuch
“The Reason doth mee escape wherefore we do call that evening’s fighting the Skourmuch, that being but a fancy French worde for the same. It did begin in the Dark, the Villagers of Lyn having been whipped to Fury by the demented Slander of Preacher Breeves. Came they did with Torches, Musquets, and Swords and burnt the Longhouse of the Narramonk and murdered all within, there being no Exception, save for us small Band who did escape.”

“The Death of the Sachim did provoke them even to casting aside theyr Peaceful Waies and coming into the Towne in Anger. I had hoped even then to Speake once moor to mei Father, but we did fall to fighting, each of us calling fierce Magicks to ouwr aide, and thereby did meet our Demise together.”

…

…

SKIRMISH??? YOU WERE TRYING TO SAY SKIRMISH???

I can’t. I just can’t.

[flips computer over, walks away]

(to be continued, maybe)

[Draconis (Daniel Stelzer)]

It is cool that the author of this section apparently has some linguistics experience—the process of writing a grammar, comments on different gender systems—but Christabell’s manner of speech is becoming rather tiring to read.

“Skourmuch” isn’t actually that unbelievable; it’s a French word that got spelled in dozens of different ways before we settled on “skirmish” in the 1700s. I’ve never seen it with an OU at the beginning though, usually it’s either an A or an I (or Y). Skarmuch, scarmoge, skyrmyshe, skermysche…

(The French source being escarmouche from Italian scaramuccia. So that line from Bohemian Rhapsody is right on.)

[DeusIrae (Mike Russo)]

(Chapter the Eighteenth, continued)

OK. We’re calm, we’re calm.

Let’s try to wrap up Christabell’s super-Freudian backstory, that can’t be too bad.

>a father
“My father was no Scholar, there be no Mystake. From young Ayge he did in a Smythie werke and for many Yeares all aspects of the Trade he did learn be it smelting, casting or the wrothing of Ironne – knew he it all, he did.”

“When we did hear of the Colonies, the Idea did much take Mother, who did desire to separate from the Church of Engeland. On that, Father held no Accounte, but when he did hear of the Oppourtunities abounding in the New Worlde, it was he faster on a Boat than us all. He did secure a Contracte most generous with the Ironwerkes company and a House built for us as well in Lyn.”

“But once come to Lyn, he became a Man changed, spending ne’er a minute at Home, but in the Forge with his Dear Metall. I do thinke some malific Vapour or inimicall Spirit did direct his Minde to so Oppose his owne Family. After Suffering indecent long Mother did quit his House and took we up at last with the Nirramonk in their Longhouse did we dwell many years, 'til father’s Jealousy and wrath did reach us at last the Neight of the Skourmuch”

Christabell fades for a few moments leaving your alone on the hilltop and then reappears some distance away. She apologizes, “I do beg your Indulgence in this matter, the Fading has gotten quite beyond reasonable Controll”. She fights to remain visible.

>a mother
“My Mother did stem from a Family by no means of Wealthe, but knowing some Success in Trade. She did tell me they did take it hard for her to marry to a Smythie, but for the Opinion she cared but little. Her fyne upbringing did benefit us in later Lyfe, for her Command of Maths and Grammar we did come to employe in ouwr Werke on the Language of the Nirramonk. In that Werke and our Faith, the brilliyant Doctor Leif did skillfully guide us.”

>a preacher
“When we did arrive in Lyn, the Towne did welcome us joyfully, and they led by the Preacher, a certain Ewen Breeves. He were all a-smile and many did laugh that Daye, but not a Week hence we did come to know by the Laundry Talke, of his Anger and Fear. Anger for any that would speake in Opposition to himself, even on the most petty Issue. And Fear of the Indians, who did surround us entirely, but with whom we had to that Poynte enjoied warm Friendliness.”

“Preacher Breeves would tolerate no other Preacher nor even Helper in his Church and turned away many from the Pews as well. It was Breeves that sent our Sick to the Indians to spread our Illnesses, and we did suspect him of burning summe Foods set by for Winter with the Pretensions of it being done by the Indians to turn the Settlers against them.”

“But the worst of it,” Christabell sobs, “is what he did to Father – the Jealousy he did stoke. I blame the Skourmuch on Breeves alone.”

“The situation is dire, Naomi. Without the benefit of the Bestowance I do fear that I shall fade Eternally”

Jeez, Christabell, I’m not the one bringing the game to a screeching halt with five-minute monologues.

>a doctor
“Doctor Leif was a Scholar of many subjects, not the least amongst them, Philology. He did break with his comfortable Accomodation as a Professor at Oxford to come live among us in the New Worlde. Hee it was who did introduce Mother and mee to the Nirramonk, and also he who did encourage us to explore theyr Wisedom, although we had aught but begun when the whole Enterprize did Collapse upon us with the Skourmuch.”

>a kaballah
“Doctor Leif did bring many arcane and wonderfull Bookes with him to the New Worlde, amongst them Tomes on Alchemy, Numerology, and Secrets of the Orient.”

…sigh. If it’s numerology, that’s technically gematria, not kaballah. The research in early White Wolf stuff is not always great.

>a invisible world
“By that I do mean the incorporeal world of Spirits and other such Beings perceived onely by the Seight.”

>a invisible touch
Christabell says, “I don’t have a good answer for that one.”

No, I’m just telling you, it’s a great album, Phil-Collins-era Genesis at the height of their powers.

>a restful
“This be the final Respite of most, those not being aggrieved and who do achieve eternall Slumber.”

>a avenged
“Answering the injury that rendered them Spirits, one may at last join the Restful.”

You know these each have their own expensive supplement you need to buy if you want to play one.

>a demise
“As you might well imagine, my Death was something of a shock to me.”

You nod agreement with that likely understatement.

Cristabell continues, “Many lives were lost the Neight the Skourmuch did take place first at the Longhouse but finally at the Forge. There did I seek last Parlay with my Father, but so jealous was he and so under the Obsession of his Werke, that he did leaf me no recourse, but to plunge hee and me both into the fierie Layke of Metall at our Feete. And thereby did I end my life and birthe my Fusion.”

>a ironne
“How my Spirit came to be fused to this Rayle Road Track, and it here, far from my Home in Lyn does a summut tortuous Storie mayke, but leave me Condense it for the telling: after the Skourmuch, mei owne Demise, and consequent Fusion, Father Breeves did add Insult by having made a Great Bell, of all the Metall in the Forge. This Bell he had placed in the newe Church, which did succeed the Prayerhouse and there it did stay until whenupon, one Christmas Night, a Bolt of Lightning did strike the Bell smartly and its Ring was heared to Boston. Also did the Church burn to the very Grownd. Being thowt Cursed, Merchants did take Possession of the Bell, it changing hands many Tymmes, until it did end up melted and mayde to Rayle some Yeares layter and solde to one Edgar Crâne to serve their Mill hereabouts.”

OK, I’ve been giving Christabell some grief here, but credit where it’s due and with apologies for the pun, this is a metal as hell climax. Nice job on this one.

Anyway, new Cragne just dropped, but let’s round out the 17th-Century stuff:

>a jealousy
“First, know you that mei Father were in his Constitution of Jealous Blood. Once I did try help his Labour of Blackesmything by sharing with him summe small Part of the Artes, which the Narramonk do possess, and which they use for making any number of Tools and Contrievances of such Genius as you do not possess even in your Modernity, I would warrant. Their most patient Explanation of the Process to fabricate a lighter Metall they did make threw mee, but hee did throw their erudite Drawings back at them and sent us everyone fleeing.”

“So, it come not to surprise how little it did take for Preacher Breeves to convince him that Mother had left him to consort with Doctor Leif, sleeping wantonly in the Longhouse of the Narramonk as the Indians are want to do. The truth of that statement aside, the Rage engendered did drive my Father to Violence, to wit bringing about the Skourmuch that led to our mutual Demise, my Father and I.”

>a obsession
“Smythies, Father and Sonne for many Generations of mei Family, you could say Ironne was in our Blood,” explains Cristabell.

“I guess in a sense that’s true,” you mutter, mostly to yourself. “Please, go on.”

Christabell continues without interruption, “Driven was my Father to keep always the Forge afire, to churn out Metall the Measure of whych the Colonie could scarce make use, for Preacher Breeves did foresee a great Need of Musquets and other Implements to make War, so to claim the Landes around them in the Name of his God.”

“Breeves sounds like a real dick,” you add.

“Right fruitefully have you jumped upon the Spot: A most vexacious Phallus he indeed was,” Christabell acknowledges.

…okay, I think that’s all from that thread.

>a edgar
“Poor Edgar did often come here, to this Hollow, to escape the Mill, to smoke his Tobacco, and to sulk. As the Crânes do go, he was almost a decent Person, but stupid was he like a Stick blunted upon a Rock. He did purchase these very Rayles – with Monies lent – and to hear Carol tell the tale a Great Impression did fall upon the Bankes.”

“Depression?” you suggest.

“Yes, a Great Depression did befall the Bankes, and Edgar did bathe thereby, said she. Having taken Deliverie of the Rayles, Edgar could not recompense the Bankes and he was so ruined, taking his owne Lyfe.”

>a mill
“The original Crânes, being Traders, did build their Home and Place of Busyness at the Banks of the River that now borders their Lande. In theyr Tymme of Fortune, they did displace themselves to the Manse, wherein their degenerate Descendants dwell to this very Daye.”

“The Building they left then became a Mill for Woode, and the Profit therefrom did fuel the Excesses of the Crânes. Although the River served to transport the Timbre and Produckts thereof, even a Century back, the Crânes did look with envious Eye towards the Rayle Road that ran not far away, serving the Towne of Backwater. By that means they might increase theyr Profit by delivering the Goodes to Boston and Ville-Marie.”

“Victor Crâne did conceive this Plan, and his son Edgar did purchase the Rayle, although his Tymming was poor and he did suffer for it. Carol did relate to me that her Father, Hugo Crâne, did once regard the Pyle of Rayles and try to sell it to the Navie, for greatly in need were they of such metall for a Great War, but there being too much of Charbon in the Olde Ironne, they did not deem it mete. Thus, it layeth here to this Daye.”

“CHARBON”

There’s clearly a railroad here now, so Victor’s timing must have just been a bit off. This does seem to confirm what the newspaper in the sewers was saying about how the river did make for a good avenue for the distribution of goods, and timber is a much smarter industry than coal or meatpacking, so Victor seems like a well-above-replacement-level Cragne.

>a victor
"Victor Crâne? Yes, I have heared his Tale as well from Carol (the Ignomy of the Crânes being a favourite Topick of ouwr Gossip).

“Amongst the Crânes, Victor was the most successful in Busyness, and as well the one most bereft of Character. Despite Vices uncowntable, he was unusually long-of-life and made much of his Fortune building Roads of Rayle. Indeed, it was he who did first conceive Construction of a Spur from Backwater to his Mill hereabouts. He did err in leaving that Project and the Mill itself, the onely among his Busynesses a failure, to his doltsih Sonne, Edgar, who did prove unsuited to the Task. Victor did little care though, being past the Ayge of one-hundred, and lodging 'till his purported Death in an Opium Den in Singapore.”

Success in business, and smoking himself to death at 100+ in a Singapore opium den? #goals, a the youth say.

Just a couple small loose ends to tie off before we’re done with the dialogue:

>a hugo
“Carol did not oftentimes speake of her Father, but I do know, much to the belike of the Deep Ones, I doubt me not, that a man of the Sea was he – not in the sense of a Saylor, but drawn to the Deep by Intelleckt and Inclineation, being more a Shipswrighte or one who does put his Designe upon Paper that others might put Hammer to Nayle in its Construcion.”

Christabelll laughs, “At one Poynt, Carol did inform me, he did sit bodily upon my very Pyle of Ironne, but perceived me not for lack of the Seight. In that Moment he did hatch an Idea to sell the Ironne for the making of Ships to bring War to his Enemies, for he was bloodthirsty and did detest those not spaking Engelish, putting me much in Mynd of Ewen Breeves, a Preacher I did once have the Misfortune to know.”

Annoying as the While Wolf take on lefty politics can be, positioning anti-immigrant MAGA folks as the baddies is a satisfying inversion of Lovecraft.

>a fading
“Christabell, I can’t help but noticing that you are sort of flickering.”

She raises an eyebrow, “Flickering? By that you do mean spittle wingeth from my Mouthe when I do speake?”

“No, I mean that you seem to be solid and bright some times, but other times you sort of fade out.”

“Oh, that. Verily, 'tis not your Eyes, but my Condition. Indeed, I being so very long upon this Earthe in mie State, my Potence is diminished summe what, and with it mie Louminance to your Seight. Onely do I appear nowe before you through diligent Efforte of Minde and great Expenditure of my Substance.”

“So, you mean that you will keep getting dimmer?” you ask with concern.

“Aye, absent replenishing Bestowance, the Light that poureth forthe from your Eyes will more me transperce, revealing the Worlde beyond by Back 'til I am no more that a shadoe of a shadoe and my Voice not even a Whisper.”"

“That’s awful!”

Don’t worry, Christabell, your voice seems strong enough from where I’m sitting!

>a fade
“When you fade, what’s that like?” you ask.

“I had not given that one bit of Thinking,” replies Christabell. “All the world seemeth unchanged, no less bright – the Fading is merely how I am seen, not how I do see. But this be mie greatest Fear: that one Daye I shall see right well, but no Soule will ever see nor speake again to me, forever exiled, shorn of my Substance.”

“That does sound dismal,” you agree. “Is there any way to avoid fading?”

“Yes, glad I do be that you did come to this talk of remedie, for it may serve us both in summe divers Wayes.”

OK, at long last, let’s do this thing!

>xizzi
“Let us do step summut afar the Rayle Tracks,” counsels Christabell.

That is probably a good idea, because as the two walk towards the edge of the woods, lighting begins to arc from every part of your body to Christabell in impossibly thin, blue-white tendrils, occasionally flashing over to the pile of railroad tracks, which begin to glow red on in the spots where they are touched.

You take a breath and your lungs burn, the air sharp with the smell of ozone; as you continue to walk the sparking dies down and it is easier to breathe.

As after images of the lightning fade, Christabell pats you on the shoulder, almost substantially, and you can see for yourself that the spell worked – there is nothing translucent about her – you literally did her a solid.

“I do thank you sincerely for restoring the Integrity of my Spirit with this Gifte, whych does owe Provenance to Carol, who, however unwittingly, did preserve mee through your Kindness.”

“You’re welcome,” you add, glad to have been helpful to at least someone today.

“Naomi… I would repay Carol; let us do help her escape her Fusion and persue a more wholesome Unfolding. If we can destroy her Runes, that part at least of her Soul will be washed aclean. I ask you: Go and find a Booke inwhich are written the Source of her Past and Unmake it.”

“Tear it up?” you ask.

“Nay, Violence be not the Answer to this one. Let us devise a Magick to unwrought them.” Christabell paces back and force, “A moment whilst I do Conceive a mete Werde for the Spell? Fazzah! No, too short. Mannagummoset! Not the easiest to remember.”

“Kwisatz haderach?” You suggest, being a big fan of Dune (the book, not the film).

“Oh, that does have a lovely ring about it, as long as you can remember it. Yes, let us do go with that.” She waves her hands, and you suppose that’s that. Christabell continues, “You need only be in the same Place as the Runes, and say those Werdes and the Spell will act. Now, getting you there? For that I do propose a trifling bit of Magick to take you thither and back to here at your Weal, for that the Spell Werde be ‘ploughver’. Just know you, one casting cannot follow another without pause.”

“Got it. It takes some time to recharge.”

“PLOUGHVER”?

I think I might plughke.

Anyway, there’s a lot here – and kudos, this LARP has great special effects. That book (sorry, Booke) sure seems like the scrapbook we saw pop up and get longer through the course of the tea party, so I think we know what we’re up to next.

>ploughver
Christabell calls after you, “Do remember to help liberate Carol from her Runes!” and then everything goes dark.

Around you, in no particular direction, you hear screams, strangled almost instantly, drowned in splashes and bubbles and ending in silence. At the same time, your vision fades to darkness and you feel yourself plunging, able to see only vast, hovering shapes above you, moving silently past. You become aware of sounds so low, that you more feel them in your bones than hear them; one such sounds passes below you, receding in endless distance. Then it is over.

So they blindfold us and zoom us off to the mansion, while playing some creepy sounds? That’s a cool effect too.

Carol’s Room (Ben Collins-Sussman)

Carol’s room is no longer outfitted for a five-year-old.

A somewhat older Carol stands behind her table, her back to you, combing her long blonde hair. The exit is to the south.

Ah, that’s why they have that transition – they needed time to swap out the person playing Carol (maybe another of Christabell’s daughters?) and change the set. What’s different:

>l
Carol’s Room (Ben Collins-Sussman)
The room has changed since you last saw it: there are fewer toys and it is less cluttered; in a word, more mature.

The bed now sports a light blanket, pastel blue in color, pulled taut over the twin mattress, with two pillows stacked at the head of the bed. To one side of the window stands a small table with a number of items on it, including a small mirror and some makeup. The large bay window looks out on the same scene as before, but leaves on the trees far below are just now beginning to sport autumn colors. To its side, the small writing desk has been replaced with a larger one and some books are stacked beside the same desk lamp you saw last time. A few pieces of artwork are stuck to the wall next to the desk. Nearer to the entrance, an old-fashioned turntable rests on a wooden stand.

Notably missing is the large framed portrait of President Eisenhower and its weighty golden frame. A single bent nail remains in the wall surrounded by a slightly discolored patch of wall where the picture once hung.

Below that space, three stuffed toys sit in a tight circle on the same tiny chairs that you saw last time. The exit is to the south.

You can see Carol and a window (closed) here.

>x bed
The bed is perfectly made and a light blue woolen blanket stretched drum-taut over it. The pillows are perfectly aligned with the upper edge of the blanket.

>x me
This little weekend getaway with Peter has done you some good. So relaxing.

Slightly different vibe from our earlier, frills-and-dolls visit.

>x desk
A large dark wood desk and matching chair, very grown-up in appearance. Several books are stacked on the desk, along with a piece of newsprint and a desk lamp. A few drawers run down the side of the desk. Above the desk some drawings have been Scotch-taped to the wall.

>stacked
Several hardcover books are stacked on one side of the desk and topped by a stapled bit of looseleaf paper. Reading along the spines from top to bottom, the books are: “Our Colonial Heritage”, “Fundamentals of Algebra”, and “Modern Etiquette: A Primer”.

>x artwork
Three drawings are taped to the wall above Carol’s desk, the top one in crayon, the middle in ink, and the bottom one painted with watercolors.

>x crayon
Primitive technique, limited palette, crayon on manila paper.

There are three stick figures on the left, generously, as man, woman, and child. The man drawn mostly in gray, the woman wearing a red dress with large skirt, and the child wearing a blue dress of the same style, her blonde hair done up in braids. The figure in the middle is more of a jumble: recognizably human with a hat and beard, stooped over with a cane. On the right, are a bunch of brown lines, behind them great masses colored in black vertical lines, and in from of all that the outline of a woman, not a stick figure, but just back and forth strokes of yellow crayon.

That looks like Christabell…

In the corner, it is labelled “Carol, Age 5.”

>x ink
India ink on hot press bristol board.

It has the quality of being drawn hastily to capture the event. In places, the ink is smeared suggesting that the artist lacked practice with fountain pens. The drawing does not have much in terms of perspective, but some cross-hatched shading does give it depth.

Three creatures are outlined, their backs towards the viewer, each leaning towards the center of the drawing where another creature lays on the ground surrounded by a dark pool, suggestive of blood. The three creatures appear to be dismembering the poor creature on the ground, some sort of animal, which struggles desperately, flailing at them with its three remaining limbs. Its fourth has already been wrenched away by one of the attackers, who chomps into it with sharp simian teeth.

In the corner, it is labelled “Carol, Age 10.”

A ghastly spectral cuckoo flies out of the round white wall clock (smelling faintly of mildew) and proclaims, “The time is now ten o’clock!” before vanishing into thin air.

>x watercolors
Windsor & Newton series 1 watercolors on 140# cold press Arches paper using wet-on-wet technique. Limited palette: ultramarine blue deep, burnt umber, burnt sienna, mars black with touches of alizarin crimson.

At first, the paint-saturated paper looks like nothing more than muddy splotches, but as you stare at it, forms begin to emerge. There is something in the lower right hand corner that you can’t quite bring yourself to look at, but in the center, a long, black tubular thing fights a losing battle to escape, its back cracked and red-tinged bubbles escaping.

(Guess that’s a sub?)

>x record
The center is black, with silver writing. You can’t make out much beyond “Wagner” and “Die Walküre”.

Slightly different vibe from the Perry Como that was here before.

>x newsprint
(the piece of newsprint)
Your eye is first drawn to the date, November 22, 1963, and the curious fact that the paper is not yellowed at all. Below the newspaper masthead is a black and white photograph, stippled with tiny dots as they were in those days, of a number of people crowded around a convertible. Below that, a title, “Tragedy in Dallas”.

You don’t have to read further. You know what this is.

That’s a little dark for bedroom decor, Carol.

>carol, hello
You say hello to Carol.

>a carol
“Oh, my heavens and stars,” says Carol, wide-eyed, “If it isn’t Auntie Naomi! What a pleasant surprise.”

“Did people really talk like that?” you ask, incredulous.

“No, but I thought it would add flavor.” Carol pulls out the chair behind her desk and sits down. “I’d offer you a chair, but you would just go right through it.”

“Thanks, it’s okay, I’ll stand.”

“So it’s been, what? About a decade? Well, nice of you to look in on me again. What have you been doing with yourself?”

Since smalltalk seems to be the object of the day, you reply in kind, “Oh, same old, same old, fritting about here and there.”

I appreciate that Carol II here is also way more upfront about things than Christabell tends to be.

>t christabell
“Earlier today, I had a chance to chat for a while with Christabell. We talked a bit about you,” you mention.

“I could care less,” sulks Carol.

“She’s concerned about you – she thinks you might have started down a dark road, but said that you can still fix things and maybe free your spirit from its cycle.”

“Bullshit, Naomi.” You are stunned to hear this from such a young and proper girl. “She’s a hypocritical centuries-old child molesting monster, who is welded to a pile of steel for good reason. Let her rot there.”

…Christabell’s a what now?

Yes, if it’s a White Wolf LARP, you knew there was going to have to be pointlessly tacky grimdarkness in there somewhere. We’ll come back to this since I’m pretty sure Carol just threw that detail in for attention.

>a carol
“I am just your typical highschool frenshman raised by the Cragnes in this dismal mansion.”

So Carol II sure seems like a disaffected teenager in real life too.

>a eisenhower
“What happened to Ike?” you ask.

“Democrats!” Carol huffs. “That’s what happened. First that lout Kennedy (father says the entire Kennedy is a pack of criminals), and now that useless geezer, Johnson. There is absolutely no way I’m putting Lyndon Bloated Johnson on my wall.”

There have always been persistent rumors about Joseph Kennedy being a bootlegger, true, but I think those have been pretty thoroughly debunked these days.

>a kennedy
“Father says that Kennedy would have ruined America and destroyed his plan, and that even though I did my best” – here she glances at the press clipping on the desk – “it will take years to undo the damage that he did in his first three years in office: filling the heads of drug-addled youth with crazy ideas, letting the Blacks think they might have a voice, and weakening the institutions and traditions that kept America in the hands of her rightful masters.”

Wouldn’t be a White Wolf game without tasteless pressganging of real-life tragedies into the shadowy supernatural metaplot!

(Folks are getting this reference, right, it belatedly occurs to me to ask? They’re the RPG company that made Vampire: the Masquerade, Mage: the Ascension, all that stuff? I am giving them a hard time because they deserve it, but it’s coming from a place of love, I’ve played more White Wolf stuff than Call of Cthulhu)

>a america
“Father says that America’s place in the world is on top, and that’s part of Mattanit’s Third Covenant, that we assume our rightful place as the Seat of the Elder Gods and bring all other nations to worship them.”

“He does?” you ask, trying to humor her.

“But there is a lot wrong with America right now because people don’t follow tradition: drugs, music, people who don’t understand how some people are meant to be above other people, and that some people are meant to be their servants. That sort of thing. Don’t worry, though, father’s plan will fix it all.”

>a father
“Father has a brilliant plan and everyday he works to make it happen.”

“Does that pay well?” you ask.

“Well, it’s not his day job, of course.” Apparently, Carol does not recognize sarcasm. “He works in Connecticut in the Electric Boats Division of General Dynamics. That’s a company that makes submarines. He used to be an engineer, but now he’s a supervisor, so he tells other people what to do.”

>a submarines
“My father chose his profession specifically to advance our rapport with the Old Ones. For instance, Kennedy is a strong node in history; to put father’s plan back on track, we had to give them one of the subs, the Thresher, a few months back.”

“That’s horrible!”

“No, just another Rune. I still have to stick it in the scrapbook, but I’m afraid I left it at school in Farmington.”

So that’s what that painting is about! But wait, if the scrapbook is at school, that means it’s not here…

>a johnson
“Kennedy’s lacky. Not even worth discussing,” replies Carol.

>a hubert humphrey
Carol says, “Sorry, I don’t know.”

>a nixon
“Nixon is a linchpin in father’s plan. He should have won against Kennedy in 1960, but I wasn’t strong enough then to make it happen.”

>a checkers
Carol says, “I wish I knew.”

>a watergate
Carol says, “That’s an interesting question.”

Definitely phoning it in, Carol II is way more into the occult stuff than the history:

>a deep ones
“I’ve only seen flashes of the Deep Ones in my dreams, which is good since people can’t look at them and not go crazy. I can tell you they are big, have lots of tentacles, and mouths, and eyes, and other parts that I’m not sure what they do. They hang out in parts of the oceans so deep that nobody bothers them there, except maybe my father’s submarines when we need something. And when we need to work some magic, we wake them and they do their stuff, and that’s how we get things done – a plane goes down, someone is hit by a bus, whatever. But mostly small things. The better I get at seeing the future, the more I can pick out the little events that will push history in the right direction.”

>a elder gods
“Naomi, please don’t take this the wrong way, but your mind really isn’t strong enough for me to talk in any detail about them. Just accept that they exist and that soon enough the Deep Ones will help us restore them.”

…but she’s not that into the occult stuff.

>a scrapbook
“I’d show it to you, but I am really a blockhead sometimes. I have some great new stories in it, but I’m afraid I left it at school at the end of term when I came up here. It’s in my dorm room. So annoying!”

>a school
“Right now I’m going to a private boarding school in Farmington, Connecticut and just get up to Backwater on holidays. The worst thing is that it’s a all-girls school and the one date (kind of) that I’ve had, my father set up. He says it’s part of the plan. He set me up with freckle-faced lech at the New York Military Academy. It was his senior dance, and I was only a freshman, so it was pretty awful.”

…so I recognize two things here. First, this school is the famous Miss Porter’s School, a girl’s-only institution with a bunch of famous alumnae, most notably Jackie Kennedy. Second, you know who was at the NY Military Academy about this time?

>a lech
A lumbering orange-haired oaf with withering halitosis and tiny hands that he tried to put all over me. I wouldn’t have gone out with him at all except that father said he was the key to his plan; what the Deep Ones took from Kennedy, they gave to him, except sort of inside-out and warped.

That paints a picture all right. Ick.

…well, this might not work, but I guess we’ll give the magic word a shot. Though it occurs to me that “kwisatz haderach” is supposed to mean “shortening of the way”, which isn’t so far off from Yog-Sothoth’s sobriquet as the Opener of the Way – maybe we should have picked a different codeword?

>kwisatz haderach
You see no Book of Runes to destroy.

Oh no – folks, do you know what this means?

We’re going to have to talk to Christabell again.

(continued later on today, and then I swear there’ll eventually be more to this update than this one bit)

[DeusIrae (Mike Russo)]

(Chapter the Eighteenth, nowhere near done)

Let’s use the “magic word” again since I’m guessing there’s one more scene change to come:

>ploughver
“I’ve learned a few things since you were here last time; surely, you must know that Christabell taught me every chance she got. She’s such a generous soul, and so starved for company out there on the hill.” Carol glances out the window towards the cliffs.

“Seems like you are the one who can’t get enough of company. No wonder you don’t get a lot of visitors, if you trap everyone in your room. Not many teenagers would want to lock adults in with them.”

“Well, you are the only one who can see me, so you’ve got that going for you. No, I’m happy to let you go, I just want to be able to find you again, you know, if I need you for something.”

“It’s nice to be needed.”

“So I understand. I will lower my barrier for you just as soon as you agree to bear my mark. The good news, it’s painless, the downside: it is a stain on your immortal soul. There’s no such thing as a free lunch, after all. So, what’ll it be, shall I mark you?”

She extends an index finger towards you.

Fine, I guess we’re raising the stakes with more arbitrary magic guff.

>yes
“Thank you for being so reasonable. This will only bring us closer,” says Carol as she pokes you gently with her finger. You do not feel pressure where she touched you, it was more like air blowing gently on your shirt.

Carol withdraws her finger and stares at it, puzzled. “That’s odd.”

“Problem?” You say.

“No, not really a problem, more of an inconvenience. It seems like you’ve already been marked, presumably by Christabell for your own protection. That makes sense, I suppose. Can’t be too careful.” Carol looks out the window. “As you probably know, a person can only be marked by one spirit.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, so I had no choice, since you were already marked, I placed mine upon your daughter.”

“I don’t have a? wait a minute, what?” You glance at your belly where she touched you, “You mean, I’m?” Come to think of it, you have had a lot of nausea lately, in fact, Peter had to pull over on the drive up. And you’ve been feeling tired, which is unusual for you.

“Yes, so congratulations on that, I suppose. Anyhow, you’re free to come and go as you please now.”

I am 90% sure Carol II is just messing with us, but on the off chance she isn’t, remember this speculation from back upthread, right after the Hitchhiker’s Guide-riffing bit with Aunt Mavis?

@DeusIrae

…if the linguistic associations here are correct, it’s less that we’re related to Vaadignephod (by marriage if nothing else) and more that she’s related to us – like, if what Mavis said was right this eldritch entity we keep hearing about is the “little Cragne daughter.”

One can speculate about that endlessly, but given the timey-wimey nature of much of what we’ve seen in Backwater, and the important role we seem to play in many of the Cragne’s plans, if we wind up pregnant in the epilogue I’m not sure that’ll be a happy ending…

So this could be fun!

Let’s see what audio they’ve got queued up for us when we “teleport” again:

>ploughver
Mens voices, people shuffling around frantically, things moving, falling.

“The brazing is blown, pressure is down to ten percent!” The voice is just slightly louder than the blaring klaxon.

“Dive planes up 30”.

“Moderators are full in, it’s no good, I’m scramming.”

“All hands. Prepare for emergency blow. Larsen, in five and then hit it.”

“Aye. Five. Four. Reactor quenched. Three. Two. We’re pitching. One. Blow!”

“Tanks are good, but no blow. Sir, I think we’re iced up.”

“Crushing depth minus 200, minus 300.”

And then silence.

(That must be the last moments of the Thresher)

Let’s get right into it:

>a christabell
“My Greetings again, Naomi. Were you able to lifte the Burden of Carol’s Runes and set a-free her Spirit?”

“No, not so much,” you admit. “She didn’t have the scrapbook with her. In fact, the whole thing didn’t go that well. She’s has some resentment towards you, and her dad’s plan sounds bonkers.”

“I have something very important to ask you, Christabell. Carol touched me?” You take a moment to compose yourself, “Carol touched me here, and said she had marked my baby, a daughter.”

Christabell looks askew. “Oh?” She holds her hand palm out. “No. There be no Baby. Nor even so much as Thowt of one in your Entrayls. Not this Daye. She doth Laie most Cravenly to seeke Inflewance o’er you. I had hoped to save her, but History does itself repete – for the Sayke of All, we must see to her Disruption.”

There isn’t much else to say about Christabell.

Aww, that’s as expected, but still, too bad.

>a baby
“Are you absolutely sure I’m not pregnant?” you ask nervously. “I did have some nausea, and I was tired. And earlier in the week, I had an entire pint of Cherry Garcia.”

“Aye, and of all these Signes does not any living Person not have similar Experience from Tymme to Tymme?”

“Yes, but. It’s hard to believe she was just screwing with me.”

“That be her Manner, indeed. Rest your Conscience soundly, for in mei Daye even wee Gyrls of tender Ayge did know summe faire Skill of Midwivery. In this Matter there is no lack of Surety.”

(Christabell misses another beat here, forgetting to pretend not to know what Cherry Garcia is).

>a carol
“Carol was led falsely by her Father who did twist the Werdes of Mattanit and harness her rapport with the Deep Ones. He did conspire to remove the Constraints that have for Tymme endless held at Baye the Elder Gods, what with the Misperception most grievous that gracious of their Libertie, they would Accorde him Dominion oe’r the Worlde.”

“And you don’t think that’s how that would go down?”

“Down would it go, most surely, but in no desirable Direction for him, for their Fury pent would burne All, before even a Werde he could say to ask his Rewarde (thow I opine it be served wel in that Manner).”

Right, so Mattanit gets a rap as a dark god, but actually he’s OK, they’re just bad cultists and good cultists, because in White Wolf games you get to be all edgy and have super powers but it’s still morally simplistic. Though I thought even Christabell was down with the Third Covenant before? I feel like there’s been too much yes-and-ing and the lore is getting fuzzy as a result.

>a elder gods
“There be few Things we did not speake of, even those of us bonded in the Longhouse – first amongst them, the Elder Gods, who be so alien to ouwr Minde, that nary a Glimpse of the Shadoe would rupture the Knotte of Reason. Ancient they are; ancient and cataclysmic and mad.”

“So, they’re evil?”

“Nay, for I do not believe they do have the Concept itself, that being Artefice of Man’s Minde. No, Destruction they provoketh onely by theyr unwitting, horrid Indifference. Ouwr Existence is not even Perceiv’d by them, I doubt me not.”

>a destruction
Christabell asks, “How old of Yeares was Carol when you did see her?”

“About fourteen, maybe fifteen, I’d guess.”

“I see.” Christabell says self-consciously. “Yes, at that Ayge her Weale outstrove her Wisedom. Already had she devised a Blockayde against my Powers despite my Mark upon her.”

“Then there’s nothing we can do rein her in?”

“I did not that say, quite,” replies Christabell. “If you open the Windowe where she doth dwell, the Blockayde will be breached, and I can work a Disruption spell.”

“And what would become of Carol?”

“Nothing. Not a thing. And that be a better Fate than hers now.”

Opening the window? As far as ways to let a player participate in an eldritch ritual without breaking the budget, that’s actually not bad.

>a blockayde
“The Windowe in that room be a Thing of her Minde; nothing moore. Open it, and you do Open her Mentally a Crack, and into that I shall slippe my Magicks and thereby her Disruption.”

“You think this will work?”

“Mayhap. If we do not dally, for her Power groweth like unto a Balle of Snouwe rolling downward upon a Hill – But, you will needs be clever, for onely distracted will her Eye’s Gaze not catch you and all be lost.”

And there’s the note of challenge – we’ll need to talk our way around her!

>a resentment
“Aye, there be some Truth in what she does say. Blossoming in her young Womanhood as she was, my Weale sorry tried by Tymme, I did luste after her with Desires carnal.”

“How is that even a thing? You first of all being dead and second not having a body?”

“These are fine faire Questions, dear Naomi, and I would entreate you explore them further with me hence – and in great Detaile – if your Appetites so leaneth, but this is the Howr to talk not of Love but Action. No alternative do I see but to see to Carol’s Disruption.”

Ugh, where’s my X card? Again, having the edgy antihero be LBGTQ, but layering enough edgelord stuff to accidentally play into right-wing scaremongering about grooming, is vintage White Wolf.

Let’s get this over with, and plover – sorry, ploughver – on back:

Carol’s Room (Ben Collins-Sussman)
Carol stares out the window, her back to you. She’s a bit taller and dressed in a sharply tailored turquoise shift. Without bothering to turn around, she addresses you, “I have been expecting you, Naomi. I knew you would come once more before I die.”

[ HINT: you can type “hints” for a hint for this location ]

The room is brighter, but colder. A fluorescent fixture fills the room with blue-white light, which reflects harshly off the glassy gray walls. The stubby light gray carpet dulls the sound in the room, but contributes no warmth. At least one item in the room has not changed: the bed, same frame, although the blanket is now a darker blue, and there are no pillows. A small reading light is clamped to the headboard and there are a couple books stacked next to the bed. At the foot of the bed, the heavy gold frame is back, this time occupied by Richard Nixon. On the ground far below the bedroom window, a heavy padding of snow has covered the ground. To the left of the window, the desk is a now a steel and chrome affair, very modern. A computer terminal occupies about half the desk and a binder lies next to it. Above the desk, two rows of metal shelves have been installed. The record player is gone, replaced now by a reel-to-reel tape machine on the same little stand. The exit is to the south.

>x carol
Carol now wears her hair in a tight, efficient bob, giving her a more mature appearance, but you would put her age at nineteen or twenty.

This is clearly Carol II, they just changed her hairstyle and outfit while I was gone.

Let’s take a quick gander at the object of our quest:

>x window
The large bay window is framed in the same termite-infested rosewood trim that decorates the rest of this once great mansion. It looks like the child-proof lock that once secured the window shut has long since fallen off.

(They must put that lock on in between when they run the climactic scene, so it doesn’t accidentally open and raise the question of why Christabell doesn’t swoop in and fix things then).

>x stacked books
A few books are stacked next to the bed, but you can read the titles, How to Make Friends and Influence People, The Compleat Manual of Wardes and Seales, and The Indian grammar begun: or, An essay to bring the Indian language into rules, for the help of such as desire to learn the same, for the furtherance of the Gospel among them.

Oh, interesting! The Indian Grammar Begun is a real book, by the early American missionary John Eliot; he converted a bunch of so-called “praying Indians” and helped convince some to settle into English-style villages. He also founded the Roxbury Latin school, which still exists to this day – we had wrestling matches against them, when I was in high school.

>x nixon
Nixon’s lascivious grin is the first thing that greets Carol every morning. Just think about that.

Yeah I would super rather not.

>x desk
Curved, tubular polished steel tubes support a single sheet of glass, about a half inch thick. A matching chair is right next to the desk. Only a couple items sit atop the glass surface: a computer terminal and a binder.

>x binder
A black binder containing computer printouts.

>read it
You peruse the binder inwhich some green and white fan-fold paper has been pasted on several pages. The first page seems to be an index, written in the same blocky letters as on the cover. The index reads:

• INS Dakar (Israel), 25 January
• S647 (France), 27 January
• K-129 (Soviet), 8 March
• USS Scorpion, 22 May

These seem like the names of subs.

>read scorpion

DOSSIER PENTACLE DOSSIER DEEP1 DOSSIER CATACON
REVCO 217
21 MAY 1968 1000Z AUTHENTICATED FOW-037-LOS
SUBLANT REPORTS LOSS OF USS SCORPION (SSN-589)
SKIPJACK CLASS U.S. NUCLEAR ATTACK SUBMARINE.
LAST CONTACT VIA NAVCOMGR1 IN NEA MAKRI,
GREECE AT 0020Z 20 MAY 1968 REPORTED PURSUIT OF
NOVEMBER CLASS SOVIET SUBMARINE, THE INTENDED
TARGET, EASTWARD AT 15 KNOTS DEPTH 350FT. MEDCAR
COUNTERMEASURES WERE INSTITUTED IMMEDIATELY TO
PROVIDE ACOUSTIC COVER FOR THE EVENT WHICH LASTED
APPROXIMATELY 20 MINUTES.

>read k-129

DOSSIER PENTACLE DOSSIER DEEP1 DOSSIER CATACON
8 MAR 1968 1800Z AUTHENTICATED SDX-851-AAW
POPEYETSM ADVISES LWAH OF SOVIET GOLF II CLASS
DIESEL-ELECTRIC PROJECT 629 STRATEGIC BALLISTIC
SUBMARINE DESIGNATION K-129 HULL NUMBER 722.
USS FLASHER (SSN-613 PERMIT CLASS) INTERCEPTED
AND DREW OFF ACCOMPANYING VICTOR II CLASS
NUCLEAR ATTACK SUBMARINE ONE HOUR PRIOR TO
CONTACT. SOSUS CONFIRMS HYDROPHONOLOGY
CONSISTENT WITH IMPLOSION AT 40N BY 180 AND
QUOTE SOUNDS LIKE OUTER SPACE MOVIE ALIENS
UNQUOTE AT 1436Z TODAY. CARRIER GROUP HANCOCK EN
ROUTE FOR INTERDICTION AND MARKER PLACEMENT TO
FACILITATE SALVAGE WHEN CLEAR.

>read s647

DOSSIER PENTACLE DOSSIER DEEP1 DOSSIER CATACON
27 JAN 1968 1800Z AUTHENTICATED TTU-851-YAZ
NATO BRUSSELS MILCOORD FRANCE CONFIRMS LOSS
OF FRENCH DAPHNE-CLASS DIESEL-ELECTRIC
SUBMARINE DESIGNATED MINERVE NUMBER S647 AT
0830Z TODAY. VESSEL WAS RETURNING TO PORT
IN TOULON FRANCE UNDER SNORKEL MAKING 8 KNOTS
ON A NORTHERLY HEADING. LAST CONTACT RELAYED
VIA BR1150 ATLANTIC ON N AFRICAN ELINT REPORTED
SITUATION NOMINAL. FLOOR DEPTH 1100-1700M. NO
OTHER UNACCOUNTED SUBMARINES WITHIN 100NM. NO
HYDROPHONIC EVENTS REPORTED. FRENCH NAVY HAS
COMMENCED SEARCH 5 NM EAST OF ESTIMATED LOSS
ZONE. EOM.

>read dakar

DOSSIER PENTACLE DOSSIER DEEP1 DOSSIER CATACON
25 JAN 1968 1601Z AUTHENTICATED RMX-998-LPO
SIGINT ATHENS REPORTS ENCRYPTED CW DISTRESS
SIGNAL FROM ISRAEL NAVY DIESEL-ELECTRIC
SUBMARINE DAKAR STARTING 1001Z ENDING 1003Z TODAY.
NO FIX BY RADIOGONIOMETRY. VESSEL LAST OBSERVED
BY TRAWLER AT 2301Z ON 24 JAN 1968 AT 35.005N
BY 26.954E APPROXIMATE HEADING 135 AT 7 KNOTS
BELOW PERISCOPE DEPTH WITH FLOOR AT 3000M. NO
OTHER SUBMARINES WITHIN 100NM AT THAT TIME. NO
HYDROPHONIC EVENTS REPORTED BY UK WESTERN
SOVEREIGN BASE AREA CYPRUS. LOSS OF VESSEL
CONFIRMED BY IDF AT 1430Z. WILL DELAY SEARCH
UNTIL 2200Z 25 JAN 1968. EOM.

Yup, sub disasters – I’m guessing these are more sacrifices to the Deep Ones?

>x shelves
The metal shelf immediately above the desk displays a few pieces of artwork. Above the art, the two stuffed dolls you have come to know as Master Sweetpaws the Monkey and Malice the Clown sit menacingly on the upper shelf, their lower legs dangling over the edge.

>x artwork
Three small sculptures, none of them over about eight inches high stand on the lower shelf: a opalescent one on the left and a jet black one in the middle.

Huh, what’s on the right?

>x opalescent
Opalescent pastel blotches swirl lazily over the ovoid sculpture. Unable to tear your eyes away, you feel yourself losing a grip on this reality.

“Rover, they’re gaining on us ? cut in the Casimir Drive,” orders the woman strapped into the acceleration couch to your right. She is of medium height, dark hair, and wearing an orange space suit with a MARSPACE insignia.

To your right, a cybernetically enhanced Dalmatian leans forward from his customized couch to paw at a few buttons on the command panel. The view out the windows suddenly changes, as the slowly moving stars are replaced by the chaotic discharge aura of the zero point transition.

Suddenly, one of the pirate ships flanks you, its cutting beams chewing through the lateral ablative plating.

“It must have tracked our Condensate discharge,” yells Janet.

The dog spins his couch, deftly tracking the enemy vessel and lets loose with the rail guns, slicing the marauder into two glowing red halves.

“Good boy!” Janet reaches across to scratch Rover just where he likes it, behind the ears, and pushes the Synch Regulator all the way forward, revving the ship to full Asymmetry.

Huh, this looks like a view of the future?

>x jet black
It looks like a brick. How is that art?

“It looks like a brick,” you say, pointing at it. “How is that art?”

“It is a brick of sorts,” replies Carol. “But it’s a particularly important one. It’s made of a ceramic with special properties that make it an excellent insulator. Father could explain it better than I.”

“So it is valuable?” you ask.

“Valuable? It has no value in the here and now, but for a certain few individuals in 2003, the fact that it is on display here in 1969 rather than installed in its proper place will be a matter of some worth, at least to them.”

Carol II has a whole unslipped-from-time thing going on, which is again a canny budget-friendly bit of creepiness to work into the stage dressing.

(snipping here for length)

[DeusIrae (Mike Russo)]

(Chapter the Eighteenth, still going)

>x tape
(the reel to reel recorder)
The reel-to-reel tape recorder is switched off. Magnetic tape is threaded through the mechanism and about half the tape remains on the supply reel, which is labeled only “Project Nekton”, and below that “Singing 00:30 to 00:60”.

That was one of the subs mentioned in the incident report, so presumably that’s Deep One “singing”.

>x computer
A bulky affair, larger and deeper than your Viewsonic monitor back in the office. Most of the terminal is a white plastic case, except the front, which is a dark green and mostly occupied by a glass screen, upon which white text glows on a black background. The lower portion of the front panel features an integrated keyboard. Above the keyboard and to the right of the screen, the case is marked in white lettering: “Computer Terminal Corporation” and “DATAPOINT 3300”. Between those words, the case is stamped with an arrow in circle logo. You notice a sticker applied to the side of the case, near the bottom. It reads, “Property of General Dynamics”. A large red rocker switch on the bottom right side of the keyboard emits a red neon glow.

Huh, this seems anachronistic, and must have cost a pretty penny too!

>ask carol about herself
“Well, Naomi, you pretty much know my whole life story at this point. There isn’t all that much more that bears relating.”

Carol II is so done with this – she wants to go home and hang out with her friends.

>a father
“I don’t like to brag,” Carol brags, “but father has done quite well for himself, not only is he Senior Executive Vice-President in charge of the Electric Boat Division of General Dynamics Dynamics, but he is now an advisor on President Nixon’s National Security Council.”

>a nixon
“He stands for everything I believe in: integrity, tradition, and the natural destiny of America to lead the world into the coming millennium. That’s why I decided to work on his campaign rather than take my acceptance to Middlebury.”

>a america
“After seeing everything going on in America this past year: the long-haired free love freaks, drugs, the degenerate culture of rock-and-roll, people too self-entitled to defend their country from the Gooks in Vietnam, Blacks riding busses and voting – all of it, I just couldn’t sit on the sidelines. I wanted to do more than just bring about the Ascendance of the Elder Gods. That’s going to take time, and I know that I only live another few months before my suicide, so I decided to join the Nixon campaign and make a difference.”

Being in character is no excuse for throwing slurs around, Carol II!

>a vietnam
“The timing was wrong for Nixon, so I sent Sweetpaws to throw a – sorry – monkeywrench into the peace talks to make sure they failed prior to the '68 election.”

Carol looks over at the shelfs above her desk. “What’s that Master Sweetpaws? Oh yes, the geopolitical ramifications would indeed have been thorny.”

In this version of the timeline, Master Sweetpaws is basically Henry Kissinger, huh?

>x sweetpaws
The malevolent monkey stares down at you, its mummified face holding up reasonably well, although the skin has started retracting near the corners of its mouth, baring its teeth and reminding you that chimpanzees have large, sharp canines. Not wanting to look any more at the eyeless face, your gaze drifts downward to a its pink sweatshirt emblazoned with some sort of heraldic crest, below which a motto is written on a scroll. You squint to read it.

Noting the object of your curiosity, Carol volunteers, “It’s the family coat-of-arms and motto. The background of the shield, diagonal gold stripes on a blue field, is derived from that of the village of Frolois in France, and the skull in the center commemorates Duke Regnus d’Acraigne, who was born in the 13th Century. All of the modern Cragnes are descended from him.”

“Fascinating,” you murmur.

Encouraged, Carol continues, "And the family motto, it says, "Qu’il me craigne’, which means "that he fears me’, which is apparently something that old Regnus was fond of saying, but in English it is pronounced like “Kill me Cragne’. Isn’t that too much?”

“A real hoot,” you manage

“So I had it made into a shirt for Master Sweetpaws, and he thinks it’s delightful too. Don’t you Master Sweetpaws?”

The doll leers blindly ahead with its vicious grin.

>x malice
The stuffed clown has seen better days: His dessicated head has been shedding its too-orange hair for some time, having become essentially a bald polished black leather ball at this point, and strands of orange polyester hair decorate his tattered clown suit. Through the moth-eaten holes in his soiled, shredded clown suit, his rachetic ribs and emaciated frame are visible. His fear-filled eyes are subtly turned towards the doll next to him on the shelf, who in turn looks back at him with unconcealed hunger. There is no question which will succeed the other.

>x sweetpaws
The sock puppets arms end in thick, four-fingered talons with nasty claws, like those of an emu, but not as friendly. Those oddly matched claws grip the edge of the shelf tightly, and he eyes Malice the Clown with anticipation of a reward for too long denied.

>a malice
“Malice hasn’t been quite himself lately; he isn’t eating like he used to – I think he may be a little down.”

How Malice has fallen!

There were two other stuffed animals before, actually?

>a winkelbottom
“Haven’t seen her for years,” Carol replies. “I don’t recall whatever became of her.”

>a snortles
“Poor Mister Snortles was getting on in years, and had some health issues, and Master Sweetpaws thought it best if we put him down. For his own good, really.”

That bit’s a little creepy!

Let’s follow up on her mention of school:

>a school
“I was accepted to Middlebury last term; turns out I have some aptitude for languages. I was going to major in linguistics with a minor maybe in history, but the more I looked at the school, the more I realized how unhappy I would be there. Do you know that they are actually trying to promote enrollment of everyone but Whites? I decided to volunteer for the Nixon campaign instead.”

One fewer liberal arts major, that’ll make the Nixon folks happy at least.

>a racism
Carol says, “I don’t have a good answer for that one.”

You don’t say. I wonder…

>a king
“As soon as you swat one, another pops up. First JFK – I thought that set things right. But as soon as he was fixed, up steps RFK and everything drifts back towards the same futures. And don’t even get me started on Martin Luther King.”

Ugh, more bad taste.

Let’s get to the point:

>a christabell
“Carol, we need to level. About that mark that you allegedly placed: Christabell says I’m not pregnant and that you are try to manipulate me.”

“Does she now?” Carol says with a sly smile. “Well, I suppose it’s just a matter of which of us you trust. How is it that I’m supposed to have manipulated you?”

“Well.” You think for a minute. “I thought it was some kind of a threat. Against me, or maybe against the baby.”

“That’s not how it works, Christabell. A Mark is a Warde of Protection. The only benefit I derive is being able to work magic through someone who is bemarked. The person themself is merely the medium and comes to no harm at all.”

“So, am I pregnant or not?”

“There’s nothing I can say that will convince you one way or another, Naomi, so why ask?”

I feel like the wheels are coming a bit off the improv, here – can you folks just text each other off-screen and decide on what I’m supposed to be running with?

>a suicide
“As I’ve matured, I’ve gained some insight into what is happening, both in my life and in this unfolding. I remember all your visits now, for instance, clearly. And with the aid of the Elder Gods, I’m even beginning to be able to see around the corners and branches of things that haven’t happened yet – some will, some won’t. That part is hard to sort out, of course.”

“My suicide, however is unavoidable. If it hadn’t happened a few months from now, we wouldn’t have been talking now and in the past.”

“I can see what Christabell did to me then, but can’t change it. She was jealous of my power and future place with the Elder Gods, but even more so, she felt spurned because I chose my boyfriend over her.”

Oh no, not him again.

>a boyfriend
“In retrospect, he’s a bastard. If I could tell the myself that when I was my age – with the 20-20 hindsight of temporal paradox, of course – I would have walked away from him regardless of the what the Elder Gods saw in him.”

“But at the time, I couldn’t see that. He had just graduated from Wharton and entered into the family real estate business in New York City. There was no question that he would go places, especially with the inchoate horrors of primordial chaos pulling for him as they were.”

I’m pretty sure there’s no “in retrospect” about it, Carol II.

Let’s call it:

>open window
She is so distracted by what you were just talking about that you are able to get near the window without her noticing.

You pull up on the window and it slides only a fraction of an inch up in its gritty track.

>g
Carol is watching you too closely.

Oh, guess we need to keep her talking. I try to ask her about me, but that’s apparently not an allowed topic right now, and after her noncommittal response:

The window has slowly slipped back down and is now fully closed.

Time for the old one-two:

>a subs
“Oh, I don’t know all that much about them. Father knows all the technical stuff. I just help coordinate what we do with the Deep Ones.”

>open window
She is so distracted by what you were just talking about that you are able to get near the window without her noticing.

You pull up on the window and it slides only a fraction of an inch up in its gritty track.

>a cragnes
From Carol’s description, it doesn’t sound like the Cragnes have taken very good care of Carol at the mansion.

>open window
You give the window a good heave, and the sash flies upward, the frigid outside air pouring inward.

There we go!

Christabell pours in through the window. Not literally as a person, but her powers, which you have greatly underestimated to this point. In your spectral vision, you perceive a crimson stream flooding into the room – and into you.

Right, of course she can’t do that, she’s a LARPer. But I think now I get to pretend I’ve got powers too!

Carol is caught unaware and backs to a corner, for once stripped of her air of superiority. “Naomi,” she screams, “by the Elders Gods themselves, I swear you have sealed your doom!” The crimson energy flings Carol left and right, but she pulls herself up again and leans heavily against the wall.

You throw a spinning, glowing glob of magic at Carol and it engulfs her; she agonizes within it like a bug in molasses, her screams drowned in its crackling energy as she falls to the floor. As she struggles to her knees, she manages to push one hand clear of the swirling crimson miasma and with that hand she sends her own reverberating wave of cobalt blue magic towards you, more specifically, towards your belly. Something with in you shudders and kicks, an innocent caught in unaware in a cosmic conflict.

I am pretty that what’s really going on is we’re throwing tennis balls at each other while shouting the names of spells.

(This all plays out as a cutscene, regardless of what I type)

Thundering energies wind through you in opposing directions, pitting you helplessly against your own unborn child.

The air vibrates, “Carol, I do forbid your Apostasy! You shall not unwrite the Third Covenant; the Servants that overthrew the Elder Gods will not abide their Return. I do command you: abandon forthwith your senseless Attack, for if you do destroy the Woman Naomi, so do you destroy the Vessel of your owne Mark.” The words are punctuated by a renewed tide of crimson force.

Carol only redoubles her efforts, “Not so, Christabell. My Vessel need only survive a heart beat beyond that of its mother for me to break from my circular prison. Then we shall see how the Elder Gods reshape the world.”

I just had a fun/awful idea, so Nitocris is running with the ambivalent pregnancy plot point.

Unbidden words pour from your mouth, “Such an End the New Gods will not permit; now with their Powers adjoined to mine, I do slay your Instrument and disrupt your Fusion.” Suddenly, all of Christabell’s power and infinitely more turn inward.

“No!” screams Carol, as she tries to push a wedge of her own powers through the crimson fist tightening on your belly.

But it is not enough. Within you, there is a final fluttering, and then nothing.

As Carol fades, you read her final silent words on her lips, “I’m sorry.” And she too is gone.

“Your small Parte in this be nowe Compleat, dear Naomi,” whispers Christabell. “Carol’s Cycle is broken, but long will the Frewt of her Deeds despoil the Earth. In this Struggle I have been emptied of my Potence and do take my Leave, mine owne Fusion finally untangled.”

This was again pretty grimdark, and the plot here boiled down to “have the PC watch the two NPCs do the climactic fight”, but at least it’s over! …what did we get from all this?

>l
Before you can do that, a book appears in mid-air and drops to the wooden floor. Clouds of dust waft up around it.

From a disambiguation prompt, apparently this is the Tome of Naomi:

>x tome of naomi
A photograph flitters out of the Rune Book, spirals around you and floats to the ground.

A thin, leatherbound tome. A title is embossed on the cover: “Tome of Naomi”.

Huh.

>x picture
(the a worn out, decaying picture)
Stains cover large part of the front side, hiding the faces of what looks like a mother and a couple of small siblings. The woman, whose age is impossible to determine, is wearing a white, wedding dress. The kids both have on a kind of work overalls, over a white blouse. The boy on the right is not stained, still… he seems to have no face, as if time has worn out his features.

On the reverse side of the picture is something written, in a trembling hand-writing:

Point the mark towards the cross
Find the eagle a perch
Put its gift over daan
And you’ll soon end your search.

Below this, a different and more forceful hand has written “Don’t forget to say ahe’hee!”.

Interesting! I have a theory about this, but first let’s finish reading this book we worked so hard to get:

You carefully lay open the crusty leather-clad book revealing a number of entries, each corresponding to a faded newspaper clipping:

For Gluttony of the Bestowance:
Boat Wreck On Sable Island

For Gluttony of the Bestowance a second time:
Watery Fate for Convict

For Gluttony of the Bestowance yet a third time:
Body Found

For Sloth of Mouvement:
Orphan Survives

For Sloth of Mouvement a second time:
Boardwalk Tragedy

For Sloth of Mouvement yet a third time:
Hargreaves Remembered

For Murder of Your Own Childe:
Red Tide

Oh, interesting - I think this is riffing on the sorta lex-talionis-y way Carol II characterized her magic, where sacrifices could induce the Deep Ones to grant her power. We plovered three times, so that must be the “slouth of mouvement” and I guess with all the bestowances and marks and stuff there were ultimately three of those? A nice keepsake, anyway! Many of these clippings we already saw in the scrapbook, but some are new:

>read orphan survives
Orphan Survives Boat Collision, New York

Finally, a feel-good story.

You unfold the article to give it a full perusal.
Orphan Survives Boat Collision, New York
City Police Frogman Dies Horribly.

Six-year-old Samantha Monteleone was thought lost earlier today after The Knickerbocker, a commercial touring boat with 230 persons aboard, came to an abrupt stop just south of Battery Park. The child was later found trapped below decks, but only after New York City Police Department Frogman Reginald Foster died in the search and rescue operation.

Forty of the passengers this morning were orphans in the first, second, and third grade at the Tuckeridge Home for Orphans in Yonkers, New York. They and their chaperones from the orphanage were enjoying the boat ride around Manhattan, many of them crowded along the starboard bow railing to view the Statue of Liberty, when the 2500 tonne vessel came to an immediate halt in open water.

Many passengers were thrown to the deck, and one orphan reported seeing Samantha go forward over the railing. Chaperones were able to locate all other children, and a shipwide search was organized while the ship returned to its berth on Pier 82. During the return to the dock, the crew swept the ship twice, but were unable to find they girl.

Meanwhile, NYPD frogmen were dispatched to position of the stalled ship using landmark bearings, putting them about a quarter mile south-west of Governors Island. The first vessels upon the scene reported no evidence of debris that would have supported the possibility of an earlier collision and no maritime accidents were witnessed this morning along this heavily trafficked route connecting Manhattan to the Atlantic. According to the coast guard, no ships have issued distress calls and none are known to be overdue in ports around New York City.

According to NYPD Frogman Unit Captain Peter Pisar, his ten man team began a standard search operating from two support barges, which arrived on the scene one within a half-hour, and the other near the one hour mark. Despite unusually poor visibility and brisk currents, the search proceeded normally until just before noon, when Sargent Foster’s air hose was hoisted to a barge, bringing with it only the upper half of the diving suit.

“You know there’s a problem when the winch doesn’t make the usual sound.” said Jobber Thomson, one of Foster’s squad. “It was just the top part of the suit, from the armpits up. When we opened the helmet, you should have seen the look on his face. Nothing got to Reggie, but I think he died of fright before whatever was down there cut him to pieces.”

The NYPD has not release a statement at this time, but officers on the scene speculated that officer Foster might have come into contact with a rotating propeller, although he was working on the bottom the Anchorage Channel, at an average depth of greater than fifty feet.

The orphan, Samantha, was found in the early evening cowering in a normally sealed bilge section of the ship. Perry Sylvester, the director of the Tuckeridge Home for Orphans described the girl as “white as a sheet and catatonic, shivering in the dark, her eyes more white than pupil.” Samantha was taken to the the Rosedale Psychiatric Center in White Plains, where she is recovering.

>read boardwalk
The hunt is underway for two recent highschool graduates last seen on the beach in Lavalette, New Jersey. The youths, Vinny Bernaducci, age 19 of the Bronx, New York, and Sandra Thomas, age 18, of Perth, Australia, disappeared last evening after attending a clambake with friends on the beach.

Ocean County police detective Roger Gutterman who interviewed other teenagers on the beach that evening said that the two missing teens were last seen walking off towards a section of the boardwalk favored by youth, just down the beach towards Seaside Heights.

Investigators have identified the likely location, which contained articles of clothing and other materials that the couple was likely to have used that evening. They were puzzled, however, about the possible significance of a wide furrow leading from the ocean’s edge to that spot under the boardwalk.

Detective Guttman described that furrow as “wide, maybe ten or fifteen feet across, pretty shallow, and flanked by tufts of moist sand.” He also said, “The only thing I’ve ever seen like that was on vacation – one evening I saw sea turtles hauling themselves up the beach to lay their eggs. It was kind of like that, except much, much bigger.”

>read hargreaves
WILSON HARGREAVES, REMEMBERED

Lieutenant Wilson Hargreaves, former Officer-in-Charge of the Winslet Point Lighthouse, was laid to rest today in the Restful Meadows Cemetery in Winksboro, Maine. Devoted husband of Delores, proud father of Katie and Linda, he was fifty-eight. A memorial service was held in Winksboro Town Hall, led by mayor Thomas Snideworth. The mayor praised Wilson’s service to the community, both his constant watchfulness at the Lighthouse and his many projects involving town youth. The major also consoled the grieving family regarding his extraordinarily gruesome death.

>read red tide
An Exxon-Mobil survey vessel has determined the cause of the “red tide” affecting the Atlantic Coast of the United States: an underwater volcano off the coast of Georgia. For the last week, coastal waters from North Carolina to New York have been plagued by rotting sea life that has put an end to beachgoing, rendered some sealanes unnavigable, and has been an economic disaster for the coastal seafood industry.

A week ago, red-tinged sand and surf along Delaware beaches led to a declaration of a “red tide”, closure of beaches in Delaware, Maryland, and Virginia, and a moratorium on seafood harvesting in the affected region. Red tides occurs when certain planktons bloom, lending their red color to the water. Over time, this depletes oxygen from the water, killing sea life. Certain red tide organisms are also toxic when consumed. However, water sampling conducted in the region soon demonstrated no red tide plankton – more puzzling, no plankton at all. This immediately alarmed scientists, as plankton are the basis of the oceanic food chain and indeed responsible for most of the oxygen in the air that we breathe.

The Exxon-Mobil petroleum survey vessel Mindy Lou was surveying about 150 miles off the coast of Georgia earlier this week, when a probe dragged behind the ship just above the ocean floor was lost. An investigation of this area led to discovered of a geothermal vent, similar to those found along the “ring of fire” in the Pacific Ocean. The crew determined that underwater volcano located near the edge of the continental shelf is spewing the viscous red material that has found its way into currents flowing northward along the US East Coast.

The vessel obtained a few photographs of the vent, but due to their limited equipment and the superheated water around the vent, the images are poor: relatively far away through dark and cloudy water. What can be seen are a series of conical “smoke stacks”, which spiral up from the ocean floor, terminating in splayed openings that belch magma and volcanic gases. At this time, the Exxon-Mobil has declined to release these images.

Additional research vessels will bring more advanced equipment to the area in the next several days to help understand the phenomenon, which scientists say is unprecedented in this location. Meanwhile, the Mindy Lou has remained in the area using its sonar to map the outline of the fissure that is forming. In the last day, the vent has extended northward like a scar along the ocean floor, enlarging from two to four nautical miles in a single day.

Samples of the red fluid collected near the source of the eruption have been distributed to several laboratories including the US CDC. The initial report is that the effluent is not remarkable, its composition being typical of volcanic outgassings. The die off of fish and other organisms in the Atlantic is attributed to dissolved hydrogen sulfide, a toxic gas, which is present in high amounts near the vent.

Yeah, these are all of a piece with the earlier ones.

We see if we can do an cleanup:

>take tome of naomi
That’s the thing about Rune Books: they like to be where they are and no where else. They are very finicky in that way.

So not a keepsake after all. I wonder…

>say kwisatz haderach
(to yourself)
As best you can figure it, having monkeyed with time, space, causality and a numerous primordial Forces that you are fortunate to not have encountered, you were never magically marked in the first place, so not a thing happens.

Nice justification for the “magic” no longer working, now that the LARPers have called it a day!

Finally, we’re done! Folks, I don’t know. There was some interesting writing and backstory here, but I think there was just a little too much of it – partially that’s my fault for trying to exhaust dialogue options and doing the last half of the quest all at once, I suppose. But I feel like the authors wanted me to engage with the NPCs, and the teleport-word seemed like an indication that they wanted me to do this chunk all at once, rather than running back and forth the way I did the first half? There’s a lot to like here, and I enjoyed putting the LARP spin on it, but I think it would have been stronger with some really robust editing of pretty much every part.

(Yes, there’s more to come now we’re done with Christabell, Carol I, and Carol II – might be tonight or might be tomorrow, depending on how well my son does with his first night where I’m putting him to bed by myself… Wish me luck!)

[mathbrush (Brian Rushton)]

I’ll admit I rushed through this part, not reading it all, and reading your recap I also didn’t read it all, although I like the cool magic words! That’s why i didn’t include it in the list of large rooms, I think I got hints from other players and didn’t find 90% of this content.

The vision of a girl and the dog Rover is taken from Rover’s Day Out, an IFComp-winning game by these two authors.

[Jenni]

Some implementation trivia about these two rooms:

• Ben & Jack work as a partnership & asked if they could do that within the project; we said sure, the two of you can have two rooms you write jointly, as a special dispensation thing. That’s why these rooms are more interconnected than anything else in Cragne Manor.

• I no longer remember the total word count but these rooms have so much text they’re implemented as an extension to the main I7 file, I want to say they clock in at like 30K words longer than the horse bathroom? (which I can’t remember now if that got its own extension or just barely not, I think maybe it did)

• The coffee cup is implemented as a big tree of if statements (mostly “does the player contain [item necessary to proceed],” “contain” being preferable to “carry” because it checks nested containers, a fun Inform 7 fact I learned from working on this project.)
  All the requisite conditionals I worked out manually by looking through the code & saying “right, what do we need to proceed here,” & there was basically NO WAY I was going to tease those out of 70K (?) words of code when the player was being sent back & forth between rooms multiple times. (It probably would have been easier than I imagined at the time, but man did I ever not want to.)
  So I punted & had the coffee cup do the vague “twin destinies” bit, which I thought also might signal that these rooms were linked & you could progress in one by doing something in the other.

• Mostly I was like “Jack I need you to be super proactive in making sure this giant thing works or I will literally cry” & he was like “pffft I was gonna do that already, I got you,” and I think it turned out largely fine. The whole project turned out largely fine, which still amazes me to this day.

[okushimo (Greg Frost)]

@Jenni This whole project is a master’s thesis in cat-herding.

[Draconis (Daniel Stelzer)]

Yeah, that distinctly has old White Wolf LARP vibes, and I say that as an inveterate White Wolf LARPer. Including the whole “the NPCs fight it out while you watch” thing, though the recent games have gotten better about that.

The Compleat Manual of Wards and Seals is another Anchorhead reference. Your husband has been reading it and if you find it it gives you a clue about a later puzzle.

I will say, I’m glad we found out Christabell showed interest in Carol when she was around 20 rather than an actual child. So Carol calling her a child molester was just some period-typical homophobia that fits in with, well…literally everything else about her.

The back-and-forth was cool, but I don’t really get what happened at the end there. So Carol had marked our unborn daughter to use as a “vessel”, but since Christabell marked us we were her “vessel” and used her powers to kill the fetus and thus sever Carol’s tie to the world?

Was the rune book thing just Christabell manipulating us into doing her bidding (by implying disrupting Carol would be easy and painless), in the same way she said we weren’t pregnant? Surely we could have just waited a bit longer for Carol to bring it back home, if it would really work. And if releasing Carol meant destroying her vessel, why did Christabell also disappear afterward, when her vessel (us) is still right here?

(Also, who was the boyfriend at the military academy at the time? My history knowledge is not good enough to place the reference.)

[Draconis (Daniel Stelzer)]

Oh, yes, and according to my dictionary craigne (/kʁɛɲ/) is in fact the subjunctive of craindre “to fear”. That’s neat.

[DeusIrae (Mike Russo)]

(Chapter the Eighteenth, the Energizer bunny of chapters)

For those of you who skimmed the above, Nitocris has managed to exorcize the ghosts spirits at long long last, and our reward was a poem:

@DeusIrae

Point the mark towards the cross
Find the eagle a perch
Put its gift over daan
And you’ll soon end your search.

Below this, a different and more forceful hand has written “Don’t forget to say ahe’hee!”.

I have a theory about this, but we need to make our way back to town from where we’ve fetched up in Carol’s bedroom. Fortunately, I know the way:

>s

Upstairs Hall, north end? (Jason Love)
Something about this hallway feels wrong. Or at least, more wrong than usual.

You yet stand in the north end of the upstairs hallway: here are the large doors north and east, the hallway south, the archway west… but the lighting has changed. It’s dark–too dark to see, even–but an orange light flickers under the doorway to the north-east.

Erm. That’s the bricked-up door to the bathroom, right?

…you know, let’s come back to this – after the meatpacking plant, I kind of have a thing about bathrooms.

>w
Darkness has fallen on the House of Cragne, a darkness without source or justification, and the rooms and hallways you should be able to see from this small nexus seem almost to have disappeared. You have the sense of being in a kind of bubble, and every attempt to push your attention outside it slips along the curving walls of your enveloping prison back to the iris from which the bubble extends: that incongruous bathroom door. That flickering light from beneath.

Sigh. Why is it always that the only way out is through?

>ne
Your senses scream that the room behind this door is burning, but the doorknob itself isn’t hot. You swing it open: there is no fire. There isn’t even a bathroom; the room in front of you just looks like a continuation of the hallway. You stride forward without thinking, but it’s not until you’ve passed through the door that you recognize the objects in your peripheral vision as a sink beneath a mirror-mounted medicine cabinet. You turn back to reexamine the room you’ve just left, but you are faced instead with an old, bricked-in doorway.

Huh, that’s odd – now we just see the regular description of the upstairs hallway, with one small addition:

Something has changed among your possessions.

Fortunately, the new item is right at the top:

a battered yellow JogMaster (being worn)

>x jogmaster
A portable audio player with an attached lanyard so you can Wear It While You Jog! The JogMaster apes more popular brands at a fraction of the price; what it lacks in features, it makes up for in rugged simplicity. It’s little more than a yellow brick of plastic with a power switch and a slot in which to insert cassette tapes. This particular unit comes with included Battle Damage, including a jammed battery cover, a missing lever to eject the current cassette, and a crimped headphone jack. Fortunately, a small speaker permits playback even without headphones. In addition to all the wear and tear incurred during normal use, you find one scar which was surely deliberate: someone carved the name “Carolyn” along one side.

The battered yellow JogMaster is currently switched off.

Huh, don’t think we know any Carolyns, but guess we’ll take the bait:

>turn on jogmaster
You switch the battered yellow JogMaster on.

A voice is audible through the soft static that now emerges from the JogMaster’s speaker. The man speaks with the cadences of one addressing a gathered crowd:

“–pains me to undo the work of any of our illustrious ancestors, the fact remains that the Incarnadine Chalice, even at its height, was little more than a hobby for great uncle Gregor. Perhaps only, in fact, something with which to distract us kids. That distraction has now become burdensome.”

Hmm, some new proper nouns here. The Chalice seems like a cult?

There’s more if we wait:

“Our… organization… has worn many forms in the past. In rare circumstances, it has even tolerated the membership of adulterated bloodlines. I thought to continue this tradition by extending official invitation to our Mr. Chambers, whom you all know, and I interviewed him, though perhaps he did not realize that an interview was occurring.”

“Mr. Chambers” might be a reference to Robert Chambers, who as mentioned somewhere above originated the Hastur/King in Yellow stuff that was later incorporated into the Mythos.

“His ambition has always been clear, but I never before imagined just what acts that ambition might inspire him to, never imagined what plots he might engineer when I passed over him to select his brother as my successor.”

A Cragne angry at his brother? That sounds familiar, though I think at this point there are a number of candidates.

“The man made pamphlets! Pamphlets, I say, as though he were hosting a Sunday luncheon! Not content to stop there, he saw fit to resume the Incarnadine Rites! This dime-store Rasputin thought these audacities might warrrant official sponsorship, and so to ‘sell me’ on the idea, he sought to offer me his niece as incentive!”

“More fool him, then, as the girl had all the intuition and cleverness he himself has lacked. None since my grandmother has had the gumption to perform the Rite upon herself, and little Carolyn even invoked the Colorless Name as she did it. Even a practice as hokum as the Rite has power when performed with patronage.”

Yes, this is definitely sounding familiar!

@DeusIrae

The notes resume: "All this time, he has been envious of Uncle Theo. That’s why my parents are gone. That’s why he brought me here. I am glad that he’s furious. He sneered at me, said the only reason I wasn’t dead already was because I mispronounced the name. Because I used five syllables instead of four. But he’s wrong. It worked. I can feel their dead eyes upon me, and I KNOW things. I KNOW that Theodorus Cragne, my uncle Roger’s first cousin, is the Fuscous Alderman of the Variegated Court. And I can feel his fear. The same way he fears Uncle Theo. He dreads what I may do next, just as he dreads Theo’s return to the house. He will try to kill me for this.

“But I will already be gone.”

That was from the book we found in the armoire.

The man’s voice rises in pitch and intensity. “So let us honor her memory and follow her example. Roger already dwells in smoke, but the rest of the Chalice shall be arriving at the Manor within the hour. We will use our problem to solve our problem: go up and welcome the newcomers. (If you did not bring your knife, I have extras.) I call upon my familiar, the spirit of Egnalosaf, the great white antelope, envoy of the scintillating omnivalent Vaadignephod, and blessed reflector of iniquity; by your power, I invoke as Fuscous Alderman of the Variegated Court the commencement of this Incarnadine RIte, writ large! Go, remember, and enjoy!”

The cassette must be designed to loop automatically. Having reached the end of the recording, playback resumes from the beginning.

So this is from the perspective of Uncle Theo, seems like, and we’ve learned that Carolyn, who owned this Walkman, must have written the journal. The fact that we found it when trying to explore the burned-out bathroom suggests that whatever happened there involved her (despite her getting one over on Roger, Theo still invokes her memory…) But we already had the Alderman/familiar info, so this isn’t strictly speaking necessary.

Having heard all that, now we can leave, and zoom to –

[Can anybody guess?]

Town square, Backwater, VT (Marco Innocenti)

Remember this?

>x shape
The big emblem, one yard wide, is embedded in the center of the square like a manhole. The surface looks golden, although you seriously doubt it is anything more than pyrite. Its three rings surround a central circle tightened by bird claws with a single triangular mark pointing northeast. The rings themselves are bedecked by a series of symbols (outer to inner, then clockwise from north):

 FEATHER   |BLACKBIRD |TREE      |SPARROW   |CUBE      |WOMAN
 JI        |DAAN      |SHI       |AAK'EE    |HAI       |TLÈÈ
 EAGLE     |PIG       |EYE       |WOODPECKER|CROSS     |FISH.

(Hopefully that spacing is working, had to go into code-entry mode).

Yeah, this looks right. Let’s test one more thing.

>say ahe’hee
“Ahe’hee,” you say. Nothing happens. You wonder if there was something else you were supposed to do first.

Bingo!

All right, let’s take this one step at a time:

Point the mark towards the cross

The mark is the northeast, so we need to align the cross that way, seems like? The cross is on the innermost ring, which seems backwards, but the directions are clear. Of course, there are six symbols on the ring, which makes it hard to map their positions to the eight compass directions, but if the far-left column is north I’m guessing we want the second position.

(I futzed around with the circles in between the previous bit and this in order to remember how to push them around,so if things look different, that’s why)

We TURN INNER until we get:

BLACKBIRD |TREE      |SPARROW   |CUBE      |WOMAN     |FEATHER
JI        |DAAN      |SHI       |AAK'EE    |HAI       |TLÈÈ
WOODPECKER|CROSS     |FISH      |EAGLE     |PIG       |EYE.

What’s next?

Find the eagle a perch

Does that mean we need to match up the eagle and the tree? The tree is in the outer ring and the eagle in the inner, which again seems like the opposite of what we should be doing, but we’ve come this far…

WOMAN     |FEATHER   |BLACKBIRD |TREE      |SPARROW   |CUBE
JI        |DAAN      |SHI       |AAK'EE    |HAI       |TLÈÈ
WOODPECKER|CROSS     |FISH      |EAGLE     |PIG       |EYE.

Step three:

Put its gift over daan

The gift of the eagle is a feather, right? …oh, it’s already above daan.

Last line:

And you’ll soon end your search.

Except that’s not quite the last step, as we saw:

>say ahe’hee
As you speak the magic word (nice one, lady!), the central circle of the big emblem sinks into the ground, revealing a shallow hole. There is something inside!

Boom! That was a satisfying puzzle, though I’m a little disappointed I was wrong about the tape in the basement providing the combo.

>x hole
In the central hole is a copper amulet.

>x copper amulet
It is an hexagon-shaped copper amulet, held by a long chain. It shows the stylized shape of an octopus – or whatever that thing is, given it has maybe twenty-four tentacles.

On the back, the words T11 C1996 are the only features worth noticing.

We take it and wear it, but that doesn’t seem to do anything – the design means nothing to me, so that inscription appears to be where the action is. And hey, speaking of the VCR in the basement, I have another thought. We’ll come back to that, though, since I want to visit the drinking fountain next:

>sw

Drinking Fountain (Lucian Smith)
A public drinking fountain is placed in a nook here, nearly overgrown with ivy. You can return to the town square to the northeast.

Behind the main fountain, mounted in the same pillar of brick, is a second, somewhat smaller fountain.

You can also see a well-dressed ghost (smelling faintly of mildew) here.

Oh buddy, you’re just going to be smelling of mildew literally forever, huh? I am so so sorry.

>x ghost
A well-dressed and glowering African-American man, impatient with a sense of purpose.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.

Okay, okay, I already apologized!

Seeing the smaller fountain, the well-dressed man scowls, and a sledgehammer suddenly materializes in his hands. He stalks towards it, frost blossoming from the ground at each step. Standing in front of it, he hefts the sledgehammer high into the air, bringing it down with great force–only to see it harmlessly pass through the fountain’s bowl, without even a whisper of wind. He glares at the fountain, then turns and sees you watching him. He considers for a moment, then seems to come to a decision. He tosses the sledgehammer to you, and you catch it one-handed.

That’s a pretty badass move, Nitocris!

>x hammer
(the ghostly sledgehammer)
A hefty, if somewhat insubstantial, sledgehammer. It looks old and well-made.

It’s pretty clear what he wants us to do, and why:

>hit smaller
(the secondary fountain)
With a shout, you attack the “colored” fountain with the sledgehammer. Memories bubble up inside you with each strike. BAM. Standing at the counter for an hour, while everyone but you is served. BAM. The constant, constant looks of surprise when people walk in and see someone like you working in a place like that. BAM. Being at least interrogated by the police if not outright arrested any time an unsolved crime takes place in town. BAM. Your friends–your friends–voting to install BAM this BAM damn BAM fountain. BAM. BAM. BAM. The last of the fountain finally disintegrates beneath your blows, and fatigue overtakes you. You slump against the fountain, breathing heavily, and the sledgehammer slips from your grasp and fades from view.

The well-dressed man comes up and puts a cold hand on your shoulder. His mouth doesn’t move, but you hear a faint, accented voice, speaking inside your head. “Thank you. That was… satisfying. It’s not enough. But it was still satisfying.” The man’s shoulders straighten as if a weight was lifted off of them, and you hear a sigh. “I… might be able to help. I’ll try, at least.” The man begins fading from view, as the spot on your shoulder where he’s touching you gets colder and colder. You gasp with pain and clutch the spot just as the man fades entirely. Slowly, your shoulder begins to warm up again, but a spot on your collarbone remains cold to the touch.

You follow the sensation of cold down your arm to your hand, which now appears to be holding a pair of reading glasses.

…Jesus. When we came here way back when, I said it was deeply unlikely there would have been any systematic Jim Crow regime in Backwater. And that’s right – these racist a-holes just voted one in specifically to mess with the one Black guy in town. Glad we could help this guy out.

>x glasses
A pair of round, thick-rimmed glasses with the Backwater library insignia on each eyepiece.

>wear them
(Disclaimer: Wearing these reading glasses may slightly decrease the difficulty involved in searching for library books. Adventurers who are concerned with maintaining hint purity are advised to use their best judgment.)

You put on the pair of reading glasses.

Oh, interesting! I spend some time experimenting by looking at the different books we’re carrying, library and non-library alike, but I don’t see anything changing. Guess we’ll need to find an unclaimed book to really test these out (since we’re being completionist, I don’t think we need to be hint-phobic on this front).

Is the ghost still around?

>x ghost
There’s a cold spot on your shoulder where Emmett touched you before disappearing. It feels a little uncomfortable, but natural, somehow.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.

I’m not sure how we learned his name was Emmett? Anyway, nice he’s still sorta with us, for all that he was a ghost Emmett seems like one of the sanest, friendliest people we’ve met in Backwater.

While we’re in library mode, we zip over there. The librarian doesn’t know anything about our new friend (or at least, she plays dumb about him). We take the opportunity to put the various books we’ve collected on the cart: Bavarian Illuminati, Lives of Roman Emperors, Zeven Testamenten, Venator in Tenebris, 'Pataphysical Approaches, Legends of Lake Champlain, Buried Tales of Old Vermont, The Seven Gaunts, and the Anchorhead CYOA.

When we check the book list at the end, we’ve got a much more reasonable list than when we started:

>x book list
ATTENTION PETER CRAGNE

This is your notification that your status with the Backwater Public Library is DELINQUENT due to NON-RETURNAL.
You are NOT PERMITTED to check out books or to access special library materials until your status is cleared.

To clear your status, you must return ALL books you currently have checked out:

To Have, and To Have Knots: An Illustrated Guide
Backwater Personalities (1915-1925 edition)
A Rudimentary Taxonomy of Known Scent and Grotesque Reactions
Life Beneath Nightmares

We’re doing all this, of course, to be able to check out De Vermibus Laceris. Let’s refresh our memory of what’s in there:

>read laceris
The grimoire in open on a page describing peeling open the way to someone lost, whether they be in this world or not. You gather from the prelimaries that the ritual involves the horn of a black goat and a cyst from a god, as well as the lost one’s true star sign and their most treasured memento. How the ritual is actually performed is further in the book on the pages you currently cannot see.

Okay we’re missing the black goat horn, and not sure whether the vomit-bladder counts as a god’s cyst. If we have Peter’s star sign, I haven’t figured out that we know it. On the plus side, I’m guessing the watch is his most treasured memento. So even beyond those last four books, bit of a ways to go yet, hobbits.

We head back to the basement by the sewers:

>take tape 8
You eject the tape from the VCR, putting it back on the stack.

>put tape 11 in vcr
(first taking tape 11)
The tape clicks, and the screen displays blue once again. You’ve reached the end of the tape.

>push rewind
You rewind the tape all the way. The counter now reads 0000.

>push play
The tape plays. The screen fills with strange runes or characters that seem to shift every few minutes. A tinny voice recites something in what could be a Native American language.

The counter now reads 0050.

>ff to 1996
The tape advances, continuing with the same tinny voice droning on. Suddenly, though, a different recording cuts in, and a new (but equally old) voice whispers: “My dearest Salona:” There’s a rustling noise, followed by a crash. "Apologies, I have still not yet familiarized myself with this phonographic contraption. I hope this message finds you well, or, as well can be expected given the circumstances. I must be brief, as I am not certain to tarry long in this fearful place. I have instructed my man to send you with this missive your most favorite varietal of peaches, newly pickled in a jar with a most singular reagent that, I am told, shall restore to you life and vitality. I only pray this does not reach you too late.

“Until next we rejoin, I remain, Edmund–” And the voice cuts off.

Hm. That seems noteworthy. Make a note of it. Really.

Boom! This is yet another Cragne or two – we’ve heard of Edwin, but not Edmund, I believe, and given her predilection for the fruit Salona may or may not be Aunt Mavis of Hitchiker’s-Guide-homage fame – but if there are some special peaches pickled in a jar, Nitocris thinks she knows where they can be found. We head back to the Manor:

(to be concluded)

[DeusIrae (Mike Russo)]

(Chapter the Eighteenth, concluded)

Pantry (Chris Conley)

>x shelves
Eight stark metal shelves run the length of each wall between the two entrances of this room. They are about a foot deep, and absolutely stacked to the brim with dozens of aluminum cans, jars, jugs, and other containers. They are mostly labeled, or their contents easy enough to determine if you blow away the dust.

They are organized by size, shape, and container material. You might find the peaches mentioned in Edmund’s message somewhere in the jar section.

Ha, here we go!

>search jars
Soon enough, you stumble across what must be the jar of peaches mentioned in Edmund’s message. You pick it up.

>x it
A squat glass jar of a reddish hue, a bit larger than your hand, with a red metal top. The label has long since faded into unintelligibility, but there is no doubt that the oblong shapes suspended in the golden liquid are peeled and quartered peaches.

This seems intriguing, though as a rule, I’m generally against strange pickled things (tagging in @HanonO here, we all know why – and actually @ChrisC too now that we’re making progress in his room)

>open it
You open the jar of peaches, revealing some sort of golden peach liquid.

There’s something about that jar of peaches (smelling faintly of mildew).

Man, already?

>x golden peach liquid
A strange golden-hued liquid, shimmering in the light of the flakes of plant matter.

In the golden peach liquid are some pickled peaches.

You feel drawn to the jar of peaches (smelling faintly of mildew).

Let’s give it a try:

>drink it
You bring the shimmering golden pickle-juice to your lips and take a sip. It is both salty and sweet. And… something else. Something you can’t quite place.

Great. Now you’re the type of person who drinks from a jar.

Also, the type of person who drinks ancient pickled fruit brine of uncertain provenance.

>g
You bring the shimmering golden pickle-juice to your lips and take a sip. It is both salty and sweet. And… something else. Something you can’t quite place.

What if you put something in that jar?

Er, what?

As we’re considering that prompt, another thought occurs:

You want to stick your face in that peach brine.

…I do?

>put face in jar
Which do you mean, the dusty glass jars, the jar of peaches (smelling faintly of mildew), the jar of screws (smelling faintly of mildew), the jar of old keys (smelling faintly of mildew) or the glass jar containing an insect (smelling faintly of mildew)?

>peaches
(the pull-string doll (smelling faintly of mildew) in the jar of peaches (smelling faintly of mildew))
You put the pull-string doll (smelling faintly of mildew) into the jar of peaches (smelling faintly of mildew).

Oops! Ran afoul of the double-disambiguation there.

As we recover the doll, our intrusive thoughts get weirder:

Something… alive? You feel an urge to put something alive in the jar.

Okay, we can work with that:

> put pumpkin stem in jar of peaches

There is a thunk as the stem is sucked inside the jar.

Then, suddenly, rising up out of the jar comes a whole, large, beautiful pumpkin. It’s impossible, far too large to fit inside the jar, but as it pops out and rolls across the ground (you are too surprised to react), you can’t deny what just happened.

The mind boggles. What else could be reconstituted in this way?

(You may now CONSIDER possible candidates.)

(That stem was part of the rotting pumpkin we found here, of course).

>consider
You check your clothes for stray drips and crumbs and try to remember what meals they must have come from. Let’s see…
a pinch of saffron (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pinch of garlic
a pinch of turmeric (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pinch of cardamom (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pinch of cinnamon (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pinch of cardamom (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pinch of pepper (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pinch of snail paste (smelling faintly of mildew)
a big slice of cold pizza
a pistachio ice cream cone

(You may now RECONSTITUTE previously eaten meals.)

You wish you could just climb inside that jar of peaches (smelling faintly of mildew).

Oh, interesting! (Not that last bit). This is all the spices we tried in the kitchen, plus two additional things we must have eaten before we got to Backwater. This might be a mechanism for recovering if you accidentally eat something plot-critical?

RECONSTITUTING the various spices just gets pinches of them back, which isn’t very exciting, so let’s check the new things:

>reconstitute ice cream
You flick a crumb into the jar, and within seconds a familiar pistachio ice cream cone pops out. You manage to hold on to it.

>x cone
Pistachio? Yuck. It’s so…green. You hate pistachio.

What drove you to eat this last night?

Nitocris, you and I are very different people - pistachio is delicious!

(Score another point for the “Nitocris is secretly pregnant” hypothesis, though).

>reconstitute pizza
You flick a crumb into the jar, and within seconds a familiar big slice of cold pizza pops out. You manage to hold on to it.

>x pizza
Pepperoni and anchovies. Looks just as good as it did this morning.

…whereas you’re into cold pepperoni and anchovies? Sometimes I just don’t understand you.

I reconstitute everything else too, on the off chance that’s helpful (and run into issues with the doubled-up cardamom, not sure what’s up there), but the coffee insists we’re not done yet. Maybe we gotta do something with the pumpkin?

>x pumpkin
(the whole large reddish-orange pumpkin)
A beautiful giant pumpkin. It looks perfect. The only thing it has in common with the decaying mess in the pantry is its color.

Probably best not to dwell on where the mass of this thing could have come from.

We grab it, but can’t think of anything else to do with it, for example:

> eat pumpkin
(the whole large reddish-orange pumpkin)
You could probably grab a kitchen knife and do the dirty deed… but no. You would not mar its beauty.

Maybe we can do Prufrock one better?

>eat peach
You pop one into your mouth. The pickled quarter of peach is small and delicate, silky smooth, and as you bite into it it releases an incredible juice.

You feel energized.

Nice, but still not enough, so we bow to the inevitable:

>enter peaches
(the pickled peaches)
You stick your head in, and suddenly you find yourself falling down, down, down…

Splash.

Inside the Jar of Pickled Peaches
You are immersed in peach pickling brine. Everything around you is a brilliant golden hue. You have no idea how exactly you got in here or how you could possibly fit. And even though you have not made a particular habit of failing to breathe underwater, right now it just feels unnecessary.

The looming shapes of the bare light bulb and the rest of the pantry are barely recognizable through the gilded distortions of the brine and intervening glass.

A great many giant orange boulders bob lazily in the brine.

Something white flits past your view.

…probably best not to consider the mechanics here too closely – like, that’s a lot of negatives in the last sentence of the first paragraph, but I think it’s saying we’re not dying? Anyway I guess we have to do something with that flitting-about white object.

>x white
(the tiny flitting thing)
A small speck of something light-colored. It’s hard to get a good look at something so small in this situation. When you try to swim closer to get a better look, it darts away, only to pop up again a second later.

A feeling of intense curiosity floods your mind. The mote does a kind of flip in the brine and then bobs in front of you, waiting.

You feel compelled to say something.

>say hello
(addressing the tiny flitting thing)
You try to greet it, but you don’t have much luck forming words, immersed as you are in this liquid.

But the mote seems to understand. It bobs once, and a gentle warmth suffuses your mind.

That’s nice!

>hug mote
The tiny flitting thing might not like that.

Aww, I thought we were having a moment.

>x mote
A small speck of something light-colored. It’s hard to get a good look at something so small in this situation. When you try to swim closer to get a better look, it darts away, only to pop up again a second later.

>ask mote about itself
It throbs three times, then cuts a quick circle around you.

>ask mote about which analytic philosopher likes puns
A feeling of confusion fills your mind

You and me both, buddy.

>ask mote about peaches
The spot… shrugs. Somehow.

The mote doesn’t seem like much of a conversationalist.

>touch mote
The tiny flitting thing might not like that.

>eat mote
He’s plainly inedible.

Maybe this is a dialogue puzzle after all.

>ask mote about resurrection
A feeling of confusion fills your mind Apparently this creature doesn’t know what you mean by “resurrection.”

Hmm, what was the name of the lady Edmund was sending his audio-note to?

>ask mote about salona
A feeling of confusion fills your mind.
Apparently this creature has never heard of Salona.

Aww, I thought we cracked it.

>tell mote about myself
A feeling of confusion fills your mind.
There must be something this thing has heard of.

You would think!

After a few more unsuccessful attempts, we get this prompt:

There must be something this thing has heard of. Something from back when this jar was first filled… what was the name of the guy in that video again?

Oh, of course, we’re just being thick.

>ask mote about edwin
A feeling of confusion fills your mind There must be something this thing has heard of. Something from back when this jar was first filled… what was the name of the guy in that video again?

We’re being especially thick.

>ask mote about edmund
The tiny dot bobs up and down eagerly, then turns blue.

And then, as if you’re hearing a recording made many decades ago, tinny and echoing, you hear what must be Edmund’s voice once more, this time inside your mind:

“If you will indulge me, I wish to recite this poem I have oft enjoyed…” There is the sound of rustling papers. "Here we are.

'Under the crescent moons,
Beneath the starlit skies,
The bells lament with their songs,
The bells lament with their cries.

A song of copper and iron,
A song of silver and gold,
The bells sing of the One’s true sign,
The bells sing of the Ones of old.'"

There is a sharp bang, followed by a wet choking sound, and then silence.

The dot returns to its usual off-white color and makes a lazy figure eight in the brine.

Somehow, you have the feeling that you ought to remember that poem he recited.

Ah, there we go. That sure sounds like a combination to something we haven’t come across yet-- maybe there are some bells we’ll need to ring, once we get to the church? The coffee confirms we’re done here, though, so we swim out of the jar and call it. Next time we’ll try to resume exploring once more, starting with the Cragne family crypt!

Inventory

a jar of peaches (smelling faintly of mildew) (open)
some golden peach liquid
some pickled peaches
a whole large reddish-orange pumpkin
a jar of screws (smelling faintly of mildew) (open but empty)
a big slice of cold pizza (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pinch of pepper (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pinch of cinnamon (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pinch of cardamom (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pinch of turmeric (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pinch of garlic (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pistachio ice cream cone
a pinch of snail paste (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pinch of saffron (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pull-string doll (smelling faintly of mildew)
a copper amulet (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pair of reading glasses (smelling faintly of mildew) (being worn)
a cold spot on your collarbone (haunting you) (smelling faintly of mildew)
a battered yellow JogMaster (being worn)
an a worn out, decaying picture (smelling faintly of mildew)
a sturdy key (smelling faintly of mildew)
a sinister iron key (smelling faintly of mildew)
Mama Hydra’s Deep Fried Ones (smelling faintly of mildew)
a little stoppered vial of blue liquid (smelling faintly of mildew)
an ornate bronze key (smelling faintly of mildew)
a Red Triangle Key (smelling faintly of mildew)
a golden apple (smelling faintly of mildew)
a can of salt (smelling faintly of mildew)
a dull machete (smelling faintly of mildew)
a Carfax gig poster (smelling faintly of mildew)
some charred newspaper clippings (smelling faintly of mildew)
a rusted toolbox (smelling faintly of mildew) (open but empty)
a jar of old keys (smelling faintly of mildew) (open)
a frosty blue key
an intricately folded origami key
a silver and ivory key
a splintery wooden key (smelling faintly of mildew)
a mildewy carpet (smelling faintly of mildew)
a small desk key (smelling faintly of mildew)
a round white wall clock (smelling faintly of mildew)
a small rusty iron key (smelling faintly of mildew)
a black fountain pen (smelling faintly of mildew)
a teapot (smelling faintly of mildew)
a waterproof flashlight (smelling faintly of mildew)
the slithering vomit bladder of Katallakh (smelling faintly of mildew)
a metal flask (smelling faintly of mildew)
an Allen key (smelling faintly of mildew)
a broken knife handle (smelling faintly of mildew)
a thin steel key (smelling faintly of mildew)
a torn notebook (smelling faintly of mildew)
an Italian magazine cutting (smelling faintly of mildew)
a police report (“Francine Cragne”) (smelling faintly of mildew)
a newspaper clipping (“Rumors of Decapitations”) (smelling faintly of mildew)
a note from a seesaw (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pair of stone earplugs (smelling faintly of mildew)
a shard (smelling faintly of mildew)
a broken silver amulet (smelling faintly of mildew)
red-rimmed porcelain plates (smelling faintly of mildew)
red-rimmed porcelain cups (smelling faintly of mildew)
a white key (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pewter box (smelling faintly of mildew) (open but empty)
a slip of paper (smelling faintly of mildew)
some rotten flowers (smelling faintly of mildew)
a copper urn (smelling faintly of mildew) (open but empty)
a silver urn (smelling faintly of mildew) (open but empty)
a bronze urn (smelling faintly of mildew) (open but empty)
a key from an urn (smelling faintly of mildew)
some mildewed leather gloves
a gallon jug of white vinegar (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pair of garden shears (smelling faintly of mildew)
a bronze key green from age (smelling faintly of mildew)
a rusty flathead screwdriver (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pair of blue cloth slippers (smelling faintly of mildew)
a trophy for a dog race (smelling faintly of mildew)
a glass shard (smelling faintly of mildew)
a black business card (smelling faintly of mildew)
an aluminum key (smelling faintly of mildew)
loose bricks (smelling faintly of mildew)
a clipboard (smelling faintly of mildew)
some yellowed newspapers (smelling faintly of mildew)
a shard of shattered carapace (smelling faintly of mildew)
an employee ID card (smelling faintly of mildew)
a piece of chalk (smelling faintly of mildew)
the second candle (smelling faintly of mildew)
the first candle (smelling faintly of mildew)
a long hooked pole (smelling faintly of mildew)
a grimy rock (smelling faintly of mildew)
a library card (smelling faintly of mildew)
Peter’s jacket (smelling faintly of mildew)
a backpack features guide (smelling faintly of mildew)
a trolley schedule (smelling faintly of mildew)
a Jansport backpack (smelling faintly of mildew) (open)
a hidden pocket (open but empty)
a key pocket (open but empty)
a book pocket (open)
a pocket-sized notebook (smelling faintly of mildew)
a small blue journal (which you know is a journal because it says “Mein Journal” on the front) (smelling faintly of mildew)
The Modern Girl’s Divination Handbook – Volume Three (smelling faintly of mildew)
a tiny leather journal (smelling faintly of mildew)
a moldy, waterlogged journal (smelling faintly of mildew)
an old newspaper (smelling faintly of mildew)
a faded delivery note (smelling faintly of mildew)
Between God and Madness, by Hiram Strangecraft (smelling faintly of mildew)
Reading the Sky, by Roberto Vasquez (smelling faintly of mildew)
Tatooine 1: Anchorhead (smelling faintly of mildew)
a soggy tome (smelling faintly of mildew)
the diary of Phyllis Cragne (smelling faintly of mildew)
a postcard of Big Ben (smelling faintly of mildew)
In Defense of Reason, by Scott Andersen (smelling faintly of mildew)
Hyper-Gastronomy, Exactness, and String Theory: a Theoretical Subdiscipline of Cooking and Baking by Chef Wheldrake (smelling faintly of mildew)
A Culinary Overview of Superstitions in the Miskaton Valley Region by S. Jarret Zornwharf (smelling faintly of mildew)
a side pocket (open)
a book list (smelling faintly of mildew)
a trash pocket (open)
a bottle of Pepto-Bismol (smelling faintly of mildew)
Daniel Baker’s note (smelling faintly of mildew)
a cast iron spire (smelling faintly of mildew)
an ominous-looking painting (smelling faintly of mildew)
a brass nameplate (smelling faintly of mildew)
an ornate metallic box (smelling faintly of mildew) (open but empty)
a black box (smelling faintly of mildew) (open but empty)
a rusty piece of metal (smelling faintly of mildew)
a mallet (smelling faintly of mildew)
an enormous dessicated rat corpse (smelling faintly of mildew)
a piece of yellowed newsprint (smelling faintly of mildew)
a suitcase (smelling faintly of mildew) (open but empty)
a golden eyepiece (smelling faintly of mildew)
a pamphlet of home listings (smelling faintly of mildew)
an antique locket (smelling faintly of mildew) (closed)
a wad of cash (smelling faintly of mildew)
a repaired page (smelling faintly of mildew)
a large brass key (smelling faintly of mildew)
a filthy rug (smelling faintly of mildew)
a label (smelling faintly of mildew) (being worn)
a giant milkweed leaf (smelling faintly of mildew)
a glass jar containing an insect (smelling faintly of mildew)
a half-full styrofoam coffee cup (smelling faintly of mildew)
a plastic bubble (smelling faintly of mildew) (open but empty)
a familiar gold wristwatch (smelling faintly of mildew)
a brass winding key (smelling faintly of mildew)
a calfskin coat (being worn)
a trolley pass (being worn)
a gold jacket (smelling faintly of mildew)
Ed’s coveralls (being worn)
a pair of leather boots

No map update this time, since we didn’t open up any new areas.

Transcript:
cragne session 18.txt (331.5 KB)

Save:
cragne session 18 save.txt (80.2 KB)

Unfinished locations -- crossed some things off the list this time!

• Train Station Lobby: locked green door
• Church Exterior: locked door to church
• Shack Exterior: locked door to shack
• Backwater Library: book collectathon, obtain grimoire
• Pub: steal the whetstone
• Meatpacking Plant: cleaver to cut open dog-thing’s stomach
• Cragne Family Plot: locked crypt, open with white key
• Shambolic Shed: food for giant caterpiller
• Greenhouse: whetstone for machete
• Subterranean tunnel: locked door
• Tiny office: locked door
• Sitting room: MURDER EUSTACE WITH LETTER OPENER
• Rec room: locked board game cabinet
• Court: climactic color-animal crosswalk
• Laboratory: avoid being stuck in an eternally-rewritten version of Anchorhead
• Amorphous Tunnel: locked W door with library rune on it
• Shadowy Closet: find a lost mirror?

[DeusIrae (Mike Russo)]

@mathbrush

The vision of a girl and the dog Rover is taken from Rover’s Day Out, an IFComp-winning game by these two authors.

Ah, thanks for flagging that – never played that one so I didn’t make the connection.

@Jenni

The coffee cup is implemented as a big tree of if statements (mostly “does the player contain [item necessary to proceed],” “contain” being preferable to “carry” because it checks nested containers, a fun Inform 7 fact I learned from working on this project.)
All the requisite conditionals I worked out manually by looking through the code & saying “right, what do we need to proceed here,” & there was basically NO WAY I was going to tease those out of 70K (?) words of code when the player was being sent back & forth between rooms multiple times. (It probably would have been easier than I imagined at the time, but man did I ever not want to.)
So I punted & had the coffee cup do the vague “twin destinies” bit, which I thought also might signal that these rooms were linked & you could progress in one by doing something in the other.

I’ve been wondering how the coffee was put together and thought it might be something like that, though the idea of actually writing all that up is extremely daunting! I think the “twin destinies” thing worked well here, it feels arresting and unique, which is cool, and it helps that there aren’t too many puzzle-y bits so you don’t really need the coffee to tell you if you’re stuck, but it does seem smoothly implemented.

I think I mentioned up-thread that I’m planning on trying to speed-run this thing after the thread’s wrapped up, right? I’ll have to do some experimenting with this room because yeah, it’s super not obvious from playing where the triggers to progress are embedded in the various dialogue trees.

@Jenni

The whole project turned out largely fine, which still amazes me to this day.

I have to say, when I pictured what this game was going to be like based on the general description, it definitely did not hang together nearly as cohesively as it’s turned out to do!

@okushimo

This whole project is a master’s thesis in cat-herding.

84 cats! I can’t even imagine (OK, I guess Jenni and Ryan were two of the cats, but even still).

@Draconis

Yeah, that distinctly has old White Wolf LARP vibes, and I say that as an inveterate White Wolf LARPer. Including the whole “the NPCs fight it out while you watch” thing, though the recent games have gotten better about that.

Glad to know I wasn’t throwing slander around too liberally – I’m a longtime tabletopper but never tried the LARP versions (one hears things, but I worry I’ve run afoul of stereotypes based on the Geek Hierarchy).

@Draconis

The Compleat Manual of Wards and Seals is another Anchorhead reference. Your husband has been reading it and if you find it it gives you a clue about a later puzzle.

That’s right, I dimly remember that!

@Draconis

I will say, I’m glad we found out Christabell showed interest in Carol when she was around 20 rather than an actual child. So Carol calling her a child molester was just some period-typical homophobia that fits in with, well…literally everything else about her.

Yeah, it’s still a little icky, but not nearly as bas as it could have been.

@Draconis

The back-and-forth was cool, but I don’t really get what happened at the end there. So Carol had marked our unborn daughter to use as a “vessel”, but since Christabell marked us we were her “vessel” and used her powers to kill the fetus and thus sever Carol’s tie to the world?

Right – I think the two of them were fighting, but spirits need a marked mortal in order to use their powers in the world of the living, so we auto-aborted our daughter (er, which really should have been a much messier process, it occurs to me) to break the stalemate.

Seriously, I can just see 1999-era Justin Achilli and Malcolm Sheppard getting super-excited about that plot twist, gross as it is.

@Draconis

Was the rune book thing just Christabell manipulating us into doing her bidding (by implying disrupting Carol would be easy and painless), in the same way she said we weren’t pregnant? Surely we could have just waited a bit longer for Carol to bring it back home, if it would really work.

That’s a good point – I guess the idea is that since we tried once and the book happened to be gone, now Carol II was on to us and somehow hid the book using her magic? That could be why we only found it once she was “banished”.

@Draconis

And if releasing Carol meant destroying her vessel, why did Christabell also disappear afterward, when her vessel (us) is still right here?

Christabell told us this, though it might have gotten lost in the shuffle – remember, she broke down the unquiet dead into spirits, the restful, and the avenged. We know about spirits, but here’s what she said about the others:

>a restful
“This be the final Respite of most, those not being aggrieved and who do achieve eternall Slumber.”

>a avenged
“Answering the injury that rendered them Spirits, one may at last join the Restful.”

In Wraith: the Oblivion terms, Carol must have been Christabel’s major Fetter, and with that resolved, she reached Transcendence.

(For folks who haven’t played White Wolf games – I am not making any of that stuff up, there really are that many capitalized vocab words in these games).

@Draconis

(Also, who was the boyfriend at the military academy at the time? My history knowledge is not good enough to place the reference.)

Oh my dear sweet friend, that’s not a historical reference.

orange-haired oaf

tiny hands

just entered the family real estate business in New York City

inchoate horrors of primordial chaos pulling for him

@Draconis

Oh, yes, and according to my dictionary craigne (/kʁɛɲ/) is in fact the subjunctive of craindre “to fear”. That’s neat.

Hey, for once there’s a foreign language thing I was a little ahead of you on! Yeah, I’ve had that in the back of my head this whole time – il faut que je craigne.

[jsnlxndrlv (Jason Love)]

Hey, congrats on completing the Christabel & Carol rooms! (And the Carolyn room, but that’s a puzzle that solves itself.) You’ve exceeded the limits of my own progress the three or four times I’ve tried to play the game on my own; I can’t believe how far you’ve come.

I wasn’t sure how serious you were about speedrunning this when you mentioned it earlier in the thread, but if you’re going to go that route, I’ll be very excited to see how few moves you can complete the game in. Hunt the Wumpus is optional, isn’t it?

[HanonO (Hanon Ondricek)]

@DeusIrae

A squat glass jar of a reddish hue, a bit larger than your hand, with a red metal top. The label has long since faded into unintelligibility, but there is no doubt that the oblong shapes suspended in the golden liquid are peeled and quartered peaches.

This seems intriguing, though as a rule, I’m generally against strange pickled things (tagging in @HanonO here, we all know why

THE PICKLE DOES NOT APPRECIATE SLANDER.

@DeusIrae

drink it
You bring the shimmering golden pickle-juice to your lips and take a sip. It is both salty and sweet.

Among all the myriad horrors of Cragne Manor, nothing so terrifying as tasting canned peaches and having it immediately transmogrify into pickle juice! brr!

I will say, I do really enjoy pickled ginger with sushi. That doesn’t count as pickles though!

[Draconis (Daniel Stelzer)]

@DeusIrae

So this is from the perspective of Uncle Theo, seems like, and we’ve learned that Carolyn, who owned this Walkman, must have written the journal. The fact that we found it when trying to explore the burned-out bathroom suggests that whatever happened there involved her (despite her getting one over on Roger, Theo still invokes her memory…) But we already had the Alderman/familiar info, so this isn’t strictly speaking necessary.

So Carolyn invoked the rite to protect herself from Roger, who was jealous of Uncle Theo. But Roger is her actual uncle, not Theo. Eventually something went wrong (thanks to Roger’s sabotage?) and she died in a fire; Theo, as Fuscous Alderman, convened the Court to avenge her.

Do I have that right?

BLACKBIRD |TREE      |SPARROW   |CUBE      |WOMAN     |FEATHER
JI        |DAAN      |SHI       |AAK'EE    |HAI       |TLÈÈ
WOODPECKER|CROSS     |FISH      |EAGLE     |PIG       |EYE.

I wonder what language that is. My first thought was Navajo, with that “tl” and those doubled vowels, but Navajo doesn’t use a grave accent.

EDIT: Never mind, the dictionary confirms it is in fact Navajo! Daan means “spring”, shį́ is “summer”, aak’ee is “autumn”, and hai is “winter”. (Side note: apparently “autumn” used to be aak’eed, but the D was removed because k’ééd means “have sex with” so there’s some pressure for unrelated words to distance themselves from it.) Then tł’éé’ is “night” and jį́ is “day”. Ahéhee’ means “thank you”.

Looks like the words were modified to make them easier for English-speakers to type, which makes sense in a game that relies on English-speakers typing things, though I’m not sure why the grave accents got put in. Maybe just for flavor.

I’m also not sure why there’s Navajo writing in Vermont, but the Cragnes do seem to come from a vast array of backgrounds, so I wouldn’t be surprised if someone from the Navajo married in at some point. Lovecraft would be turning in his grave if he knew.

@DeusIrae

Oh, interesting! I spend some time experimenting by looking at the different books we’re carrying, library and non-library alike, but I don’t see anything changing. Guess we’ll need to find an unclaimed book to really test these out (since we’re being completionist, I don’t think we need to be hint-phobic on this front).

Maybe it triggers off LOOK rather than EXAMINE? It says it helps with searching for library books, so my guess is it gives you a ping when you’re in a room with a library book, or maybe when you examine something containing a library book. We already have the book list and the insignia to indicate whether something is a library book, after all.

@DeusIrae

You gather from the prelimaries that the ritual involves the horn of a black goat and a cyst from a god, as well as the lost one’s true star sign and their most treasured memento. How the ritual is actually performed is further in the book on the pages you currently cannot see.

If you include De Vermibus Laceris itself, that’s five items needed from five puzzle tracks. I hadn’t made that connection before. Neat.

@DeusIrae

And then, as if you’re hearing a recording made many decades ago, tinny and echoing, you hear what must be Edmund’s voice once more, this time inside your mind:

A very distinctive puzzle, certainly; I wasn’t expecting the Peaches of Eternal Life. But I do somewhat wish the hints had been more integrated into the game instead of just telling us “you think you should [next step here]”.

@DeusIrae

There is a sharp bang, followed by a wet choking sound, and then silence.

…ah.

@DeusIrae

Glad to know I wasn’t throwing slander around too liberally – I’m a longtime tabletopper but never tried the LARP versions (one hears things, but I worry I’ve run afoul of stereotypes based on the Geek Hierarchy).

Pretty similar to the tabletop games, except usually a lot more player-vs-player. Imagine Vampire the Masquerade except everyone in the city is a player character instead of the Storyteller running 90% of them.

@DeusIrae

Seriously, I can just see 1999-era Justin Achilli and Malcolm Sheppard getting super-excited about that plot twist, gross as it is.

And “the good guy turns out to also be manipulating you to their own ends”, they loved that one too. Christabell conveniently forgetting to mention that she was the cause of Carol’s death and what exactly she was going to be doing via our body.

@DeusIrae

In Wraith: the Oblivion terms, Carol must have been Christabel’s major Fetter, and with that resolved, she reached Transcendence.

I wonder what was keeping her here before Carol’s death, then. There’s a whole lot more time between Christabell’s death and Carol’s than there is between Carol’s death and Nitocris coming through.

@DeusIrae

Oh my dear sweet friend, that’s not a historical reference.

Ah. I forgot just how old he was. Well…yeah, I guess that fits with the descriptions of Carol’s father’s plans, and also the general vibe of White Wolf games.

Also offers some more explanation for why Christabell was so upset about that rejection.

@DeusIrae

Hey, for once there’s a foreign language thing I was a little ahead of you on! Yeah, I’ve had that in the back of my head this whole time – il faut que je craigne.

My main strengths are knowing a bunch of dead languages and having a bunch of dictionaries. Recognizing that something is close to but not quite the same as a word in a living language, I’m going to have to rely on you for!

[jsnlxndrlv (Jason Love)]

@Draconis

So Carolyn invoked the rite to protect herself from Roger, who was jealous of Uncle Theo. But Roger is her actual uncle, not Theo. Eventually something went wrong (thanks to Roger’s sabotage?) and she died in a fire; Theo, as Fuscous Alderman, convened the Court to avenge her.

Not to lean too hard on authorial, uh, authority: yeah, this synopsis matches what I was trying to portray. My worst instinct as a writer is to always get more ornate, more purple, and writing Theo’s speech was an unfortunate opportunity to indulge that habit.

[Draconis (Daniel Stelzer)]

While you’re here—what exactly were Roger and Theo intending? I’m a little lost on why exactly Roger separated her from her family and brought her to the manor; my original thought was human sacrifice (always a classic when you’re invoking Elder Gods), but clearly that wasn’t Theo’s goal, if anything it was Roger’s. And then he decided to avenge her.

I know it’s a hopeless task, but I do think it would be cool to put together the stories (as far as we can tell/extrapolate) of all the Cragnes we’ve seen in the game.