Start of a transcript of

Cragne Manor
An Anchorhead tribute by various authors
Release 10 / Serial number 181208 / Inform 7 build 6M62 (I6/v6.33 lib 6/12N) 
Identification number: //1A586AF4-661C-4879-ADFF-7DDE35836AF1//
Interpreter version 1.3.5 / VM 3.1.2 / Library serial number 080126
Standard Rules version 3/120430 by Graham Nelson
Cragne Suite version 2 by Ryan Veeder (including Basic Screen Effects and Modified Exit by Emily Short, as well as modifications by Andrew Plotkin of Epistemology and Conversation Framework by Eric Eve)

Plus modified versions of:
Optimized Epistemology by Andrew Plotkin
Conversation Framework by Eric Eve

>* OK, we're out of virgin territory to plumb, so we need to work backwards
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>* I think for this update, I'll focus on trying to solve puzzles rather than unlock doors, though we'll see how far we get
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>* Let's check the pantry and lab just to be sure
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>w

Court (Ryan Veeder)
Walls paneled with elaborate boiseries curl slowly around this ovular hall. The western vertex of the ellipse is dominated by an enormous window; at the opposite end, a low archway leads east to the foyer. A glass display case is set into the north wall.

In the center of the room, an irregular circle of twelve pedestals surrounds a black monolith.

On the xanthic pedestal is a figurine of a peregrine falcon.

>e

Foyer (Greg Frost)
Standing in the narrow entry hall is like being at the mouth of a cave. The only light comes in through tall windows on either side of the door and a half-round window above. All of the furniture has been removed from the foyer, leaving tracks in the heavy dust. 

Countless stars are appearing in the sky outside. Hallways lead west and east into other parts of the house. A doorway leads north; the front door is to the south.

>e

Gallery (YerrikTRB/Erica Newman)
A long and narrow room, with a satin wallcovering in rich, patterned green above the creamy wainscot paneling. The room is overcrowded with paintings and furniture. There are doors at either end of the gallery, leading north and west.

It's a godawful mess in here and it's entirely your fault. It looks like you've cleared the path through the room, and there may be nothing left to do but enjoy the paintings.

You can see a photograph here.

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

>n

Rec Room (Zack Johnson)
The manor's rec room is short for the manor's recreation room.  Even though it's as old as the manor itself, it looks, as all rec rooms do, like it's stuck in the 1970s.

The room is dominated by a pool table.  Or maybe a billiards table, you were never really sure what the difference is.  An old television sits atop a little wooden stand in front of a comfy-looking easy chair. 

Doors lead south and east, and the north wall is covered entirely in built-in cabinets, whose glass doors lead, predictably, into their interiors.

The noise from the television continues to be unbearable.

>s

Gallery (YerrikTRB/Erica Newman)
A long and narrow room, with a satin wallcovering in rich, patterned green above the creamy wainscot paneling. The room is overcrowded with paintings and furniture. There are doors at either end of the gallery, leading north and west.

It's a godawful mess in here and it's entirely your fault. It looks like you've cleared the path through the room, and there may be nothing left to do but enjoy the paintings.

You can see a photograph here.

>w

Foyer (Greg Frost)
Standing in the narrow entry hall is like being at the mouth of a cave. The only light comes in through tall windows on either side of the door and a half-round window above. All of the furniture has been removed from the foyer, leaving tracks in the heavy dust. 

The night sky is dark and full of stars. One larger star stands out in the center of the fanlight window. Hallways lead west and east into other parts of the house. A doorway leads north; the front door is to the south.

>n

Landing at the Bottom of Stairs (Mark Sample)
This is a dark alcove with a narrow stairway rising into the gloom upstairs. Shadows lurch over a doorway to the south. Opposite those shadows lies another doorway, in even darker shadows. What little light there is seeps in from a small elliptical window high on the wall.

The ramshackle bookshelf lies in a pile of splintered wood on the floor like a fallen scarecrow, arms akimbo.

>n

Dining Room (Roberto Colnaghi)
A long, rectangular mahogany table takes up most of the room. The room is old and dusty, and it seems decades have passed since the last time someone had dinner here. On the table lies a broken machine, and a calendar is pinned on the wall. Doorways lead west, east, and south.

>w

The Kitchen (Edward B)
The Cragne family kitchen. Light from a naked bulb feeds shadow down the spaces between old cabinets, counters and bookshelves. A dusty, doorless fridge overlooks an oven just as worse for wear. You'd guess it's been a minute since anyone's used this room to cook. A doorway leads east, and a wooden door set in the floor appears to lead to a cellar or basement.

>d
Carefully, you descend the creaking steps.

Basement (Ivan Roth)
It's dark and chilly down here. A damp, mildewy carpet of dimly visible design covers half the floor. It must have been luxuriously soft before it started rotting.

A rickety staircase leads back up towards the heavy wooden door to the kitchen. A flimsy plywood door leads north, but you know what lies in that direction. The dimly-lit basement extends in every other direction, south, east and west.

A metal hatch opens into darkness below.

>w

Wine Cellar (Nathaniel Edwards)
You feel cool air swirling around you as you stand in the manor's wine cellar. Stone floors, stone walls, and dim lighting keep the household's dwindling wine collection fresh and oaky.

A large wooden wine rack covers one entire wall of the room, but with only a few bottles left on it. You can see a door to the west Another exit leads east.

You count four bottles of wine lingering on the wine rack. Each bottle has a different name, all either Italian or faux Italian: the Piccoli Uomini Blu, the Prurito Notturno, the Lettera Segreta and the Isole Perdute.

You can see a wine cask here.

>w
Your ears pop and you stumble as you step across the threshold, reeling in a momentary gravitational slippage.

Laboratory (Michael Gentry)
Hard, white light reflected from steel walls pricks painfully at your eyes. Through the glare you can make out the implements of some sort of laboratory, squirming sculptures of metal and glass dripping curdled fluids and spurting foul-smelling puffs of steam. A way out lies east, but otherwise there seem to be no other exits from this place.

The author is here, hunched over and fidgeting intently with a roiling knot of impossible space that floats in the middle of the room.

The impossible space twists excitedly.

"Come on," begs the author. "Complete the work. You must be curious . . ."

>x coffee
The clouds in your cup form a biplane. Modes of transportation mean that your current environment presents challenges that can only be overcome by seeking fresh perspectives elsewhere until you're ready to return.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.

>e
"Don't take too long!" the author calls after you.

Wine Cellar (Nathaniel Edwards)
You feel cool air swirling around you as you stand in the manor's wine cellar. Stone floors, stone walls, and dim lighting keep the household's dwindling wine collection fresh and oaky.

A large wooden wine rack covers one entire wall of the room, but with only a few bottles left on it. You can see a door to the west Another exit leads east.

You count four bottles of wine lingering on the wine rack. Each bottle has a different name, all either Italian or faux Italian: the Piccoli Uomini Blu, the Prurito Notturno, the Lettera Segreta and the Isole Perdute.

You can see a wine cask here.

>e

Basement (Ivan Roth)
It's dark and chilly down here. A damp, mildewy carpet of dimly visible design covers half the floor. It must have been luxuriously soft before it started rotting.

A rickety staircase leads back up towards the heavy wooden door to the kitchen. A flimsy plywood door leads north, but you know what lies in that direction. The dimly-lit basement extends in every other direction, south, east and west.

A metal hatch opens into darkness below.

>e

Pantry (Chris Conley)
You are in a pantry lined with metal shelves stretching the entire length of both walls. Most of the metal shelves' contents lie deep in shadow, as the room is lit by only a single bare bulb hanging three feet above your head. The flat dark stones echo as you walk, and the air down here is cold and damp.

The rest of the basement lies off to the west. A dark doorway beckons to the east.

Pale roots of some unknown plant have broken through the ceiling in one corner, dangling halfway to the floor.

You can also see a disgusting rotting pumpkin here.

>x coffee
The clouds in your cup form a biplane. Modes of transportation mean that your current environment presents challenges that can only be overcome by seeking fresh perspectives elsewhere until you're ready to return.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.

>w

Basement (Ivan Roth)
It's dark and chilly down here. A damp, mildewy carpet of dimly visible design covers half the floor. It must have been luxuriously soft before it started rotting.

A rickety staircase leads back up towards the heavy wooden door to the kitchen. A flimsy plywood door leads north, but you know what lies in that direction. The dimly-lit basement extends in every other direction, south, east and west.

A metal hatch opens into darkness below.

>u

The Kitchen (Edward B)
The Cragne family kitchen. Light from a naked bulb feeds shadow down the spaces between old cabinets, counters and bookshelves. A dusty, doorless fridge overlooks an oven just as worse for wear. You'd guess it's been a minute since anyone's used this room to cook. A doorway leads east, and a wooden door set in the floor appears to lead to a cellar or basement.

>* OK, that's the manor
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>s
You can't go that way.

>e

Dining Room (Roberto Colnaghi)
A long, rectangular mahogany table takes up most of the room. The room is old and dusty, and it seems decades have passed since the last time someone had dinner here. On the table lies a broken machine, and a calendar is pinned on the wall. Doorways lead west, east, and south.

>s

Landing at the Bottom of Stairs (Mark Sample)
This is a dark alcove with a narrow stairway rising into the gloom upstairs. Shadows lurch over a doorway to the south. Opposite those shadows lies another doorway, in even darker shadows. What little light there is seeps in from a small elliptical window high on the wall.

The ramshackle bookshelf lies in a pile of splintered wood on the floor like a fallen scarecrow, arms akimbo.

>s

Foyer (Greg Frost)
Standing in the narrow entry hall is like being at the mouth of a cave. The only light comes in through tall windows on either side of the door and a half-round window above. All of the furniture has been removed from the foyer, leaving tracks in the heavy dust. 

The night sky is dark and full of stars. Hallways lead west and east into other parts of the house. A doorway leads north; the front door is to the south.

>s
(first opening the front door)

Mudroom (Matt Weiner)
The porch is a mudroom, a place for taking off coats and muddy shoes. The marble front wall seems like a sheer cliff face, the porch like a flimsy shelter built onto it. The front door leads inside to the north.

In one corner of the porch a strangely shaped hook is fastened to the wall. A black cloak hangs beside it.

In the other corner of the porch is a small wooden table.

A slightly muddy welcome mat lies in front of the door.

>out

Front Walk (Matt Weiner)
Cragne Manor looms to the north. Its light gray marble front is marred by a screened-in wooden porch, clearly tacked on well after the manor was built. A gravel path bends around the manor to the northeast and northwest, and the driveway leads south back to town.

By the porch steps is a post with a placard reading "31." A strange little manikin is affixed to it.

A noncorporeal trolley stop sign reads Purple Line -- Cragne Manor.

>nw

Outside the greenhouse (James Eagle)
The damp brick path that led you here bends around the squat porch of an old greenhouse half-swallowed by a tangle of bramble and ivy. Water drips from the thick branches overhead; in the undergrowth something - somethings? - creep and rustle.

The path curves away to northeast and southeast. You can also go in to the greenhouse from here.

>ne

The Cragne Manor's Back Garden (Austin Auclair)
Vines splay across the landscape, every direction they shoot, seemingly racing to the tops of trees to pull them down. The vines wind up and around every structure, overrunning them with sheer, sinister mass. The vines grow in hypnotic tracks across the yard, almost to suggest that they were woven, braided, and arranged with care. It's both unnerving and unusually pretty. If there are windows or a door on the back of the manor house they're utterly smothered by the vines that clamber up the wall and onto the roof, and nothing less than a chainsaw could crack open that tomb.

In the center of the yard is a large marble fountain adorned with a chubby cherub. On the left side of the garden is the birdbath that you knocked over. To the left of the fallen birdbath is the outline of a once-hidden pond and a flat stone stuck in the ground where the birdbath used to stand. Near the rear, southeast corner of the garden is a large garden shed with an adjoining shelf of supplies.

>in
You open the door further to allow you to pass through. You go inside the garden shed.

The Shambolic Shack (Michael Fessler)
A dimly-lit shack with crude plywood walls. An octagonal window set high on one wall admits a feeble shaft of moonlight. Rickety wire shelving sits precariously in one dimly lit corner, and a battered metal wheelbarrow rests in the opposite corner. A rough doorway leads back out.

>x coffee
The clouds in your cup form a child's wagon. Modes of transportation mean that your current environment presents challenges that can only be overcome by seeking fresh perspectives elsewhere until you're ready to return.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.

>* nope
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>out

The Cragne Manor's Back Garden (Austin Auclair)
Vines splay across the landscape, every direction they shoot, seemingly racing to the tops of trees to pull them down. The vines wind up and around every structure, overrunning them with sheer, sinister mass. The vines grow in hypnotic tracks across the yard, almost to suggest that they were woven, braided, and arranged with care. It's both unnerving and unusually pretty. If there are windows or a door on the back of the manor house they're utterly smothered by the vines that clamber up the wall and onto the roof, and nothing less than a chainsaw could crack open that tomb.

In the center of the yard is a large marble fountain adorned with a chubby cherub. On the left side of the garden is the birdbath that you knocked over. To the left of the fallen birdbath is the outline of a once-hidden pond and a flat stone stuck in the ground where the birdbath used to stand. Near the rear, southeast corner of the garden is a large garden shed with an adjoining shelf of supplies.

>sw

Outside the greenhouse (James Eagle)
The damp brick path that led you here bends around the squat porch of an old greenhouse half-swallowed by a tangle of bramble and ivy. Water drips from the thick branches overhead; in the undergrowth something - somethings? - creep and rustle.

The path curves away to northeast and southeast. You can also go in to the greenhouse from here.

>in

Greenhouse (Petter Sjölund)
Nothing should be growing here anymore ? the heating and irrigation have been off for years ? but roots seem to have covered everything.

The walls curve inward, forming a huge dome, with a mesh of roots covering it from the floor up to about halfway to the ceiling. Sunlight still breaks through in places, throwing a pattern of bright spots across the room. The roots grow from an enormous tropical tree at the center of the greenhouse, towering all the way up to the ceiling, which it hides behind a thick crown of leaves.

A spiral staircase, seemingly woven of roots, leads to a circular mesh walkway higher up along the wall.

The parrot sculpture protrudes from the roots near the exit.

>x coffee
The clouds in your cup form a roller blade. Modes of transportation mean that your current environment presents challenges that can only be overcome by seeking fresh perspectives elsewhere until you're ready to return.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.

>out

Outside the greenhouse (James Eagle)
The damp brick path that led you here bends around the squat porch of an old greenhouse half-swallowed by a tangle of bramble and ivy. Water drips from the thick branches overhead; in the undergrowth something - somethings? - creep and rustle.

The path curves away to northeast and southeast. You can also go in to the greenhouse from here.

>se

Front Walk (Matt Weiner)
Cragne Manor looms to the north. Its light gray marble front is marred by a screened-in wooden porch, clearly tacked on well after the manor was built. A gravel path bends around the manor to the northeast and northwest, and the driveway leads south back to town.

By the porch steps is a post with a placard reading "31." A strange little manikin is affixed to it.

A ghostly trolley stop sign reads Purple Line -- Cragne Manor.

>s
You round the path and find yourself in a familiar knoll flanked on three sides by tall, dark cliffs. In the center of a clearing before you is a huge pile of rusting railroad track.

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.

Hillside Path (Jack Welch)
You are in a hillside hollow flanked on three sides by sheer granite cliffs and on the other by gnarled vegetation.

Three trailheads hold out some chance of respite: north, southwest, and southeast.

You can see Christabell here.

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

>* We should be able to make some progress ehre
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>christabell, hello
You are already talking to Christabell.

Christabell winks out of existance for just a second.

>t 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?

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

For just a second, you can see through Christabell.

>* They must text back and forth to let each other know when I've gotten to the next stage of heir quest
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>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 "shyt"?  Chrystabell, I am begging you to stop trying so hard
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>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."

>* OK, this seems more nebulous than the Innsmouth-y deep ones, per Draconis's speculation
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>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.

>* nice that we're continuing to play along and say "spirit", not "ghost
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

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

>* ...you're going to make me pronounce it that way, aren't you?
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>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.

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

Chirstabell seems to flicker for a moment.

>* jeez, this LARP has a ton of capitalized terms -- must be a While Wolf one
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>* White, oi
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>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."

>* that one's literally a White Wolf term (hello Changeling!)
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>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".

>* ...yes, definitely White Wolf
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>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.

>* Is Christabell narrating my responses now too?
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>* anyway way too much backstory Christabell, let this stuff come out naturally in play
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>a mattanit
It sounds like Mattanit is something that Christabell worshipped.

>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."

>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.

>a modern
Which do you mean, modern age or The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three (smelling faintly of mildew)?

>modern age
"I know not the Date to-day, for I have long quit the recording of Daye and Neight's passing. Were I to guess, I would needs say, perhaps summe nearly two Millennia since the Appearance of Christ Jesus upon the Earth."

"A bit less, but close enough for government work," you agree.

>t carol
Christabell says that, as a child, Carol used to come visit her frequently.

>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.

For few moments, Christabell fades out of existence, "Sorry," she says, "I do have but little control over this accursed Fading and it is a Botheration."

>*...sigh
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>a xizzi
Christabell reminds you that this is the spell that transfers magical energy from one being to another.

>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."

Christabell is there one instant and gone the next. When she reappears, she seems to be exerting significant effort to remain visible.

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

>* You broke character there!
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>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."

Christabell flickers like a bad light bulb for several seconds, coming and going out of existence.

>* SKIRMISH?  ARE YOU TRYING TO SAY FUCKING SKIRMISH???
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>* This seems pretty badass though
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>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.

>* I think some of these topics have more stuff in them now
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>a lyn
Christabell tells you of growing up in the town of Lin, or as it may be better known by some, Saugus.

>a forge
It seems to be something of a sore point with Christabell. One one hand, she's proud of what her father accomplished in his forge constructed in the town of Lin, but on the other hand, it took him away from Christabell and her mother.

A ghastly spectral cuckoo flies out of the round white wall clock (smelling faintly of mildew) and announces, "The time is now eleven o'clock!" before vanishing into thin air.

>amother
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>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"

>a indians
There used to be a lot of American Indians around this area, but Christabell says that few are seen these days.

>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 kabbalah
Christabell says, "I wish I knew."

"Would that you help me in combatting this afflicktive fading that does vex me," pleads Christabell nervously as she fades yet again.

>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."

>* Oi, more lazy White Wolf syncreticism
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>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."

>* it's a great album!
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>a spirits
Christabell reiterates that she is a spirit and is bound to the pile of railroad tracks in some manner.

Christabell disappears for more than a minute, and when she reappears, she seems fatigued from the effort.

>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."

"Naomi, I do fear that in but a short time my Fading will have become so dire as to put an end to my Visibility"

>save
Ok.

>* Lady if you want me to hurry this up you gotta stop throwing out so many capitalia-letter voacbulary words
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>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."

>* Umm, that's metal
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>* literally
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>* oh, ok!
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>* new Cragne just dropped
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>a manse
"What about the mansion, Christabell," You ask. After you recount some of your experiences at the mansion, Christabell adds, "Being stuck here, I have not mieself even layd Eyes upon this most strange Edifice."

"That's odd," you say. "I can see this hillside from Carol's window. How can it be that I can't see the mansion from here?"

"Carol's Fusion is to the Room itself, and what you do see be naught but her imperfect Memorie of it."

>* huh
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>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."

>* right, dud was a schmuck
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>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!"

>* Your voice seems strong enough from where I'm sitting
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>a sachim
"The Leeder of the Nirramonk were called the Sachim and she did dye in the Skourmuch."

>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 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."

>a beings
"I onely am experimented of Spirits, thow the Nirramonk know many Creatures far weirder that do dwelle in divers corners of the Invisible World."

>a visibility
Christabell explains that with time, she is fading more and more and if something isn't done, she will soon disappear entirely and forever. However, she does suggest that there might be a remedy.

>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.

>a obsession by calvin klein
Christabell says, "Sorry, I don't know."

>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."

>* ...he took a bath? LOL
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>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"
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>* Also there's a railroad here now, so Victor's timing must have been off
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>* This confirms the newspaper in the sewer saying the river's actually a pretty good network for goods, though
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>* And timber is a much smarter industry for the region than coal or meat
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>a sight
Recognizing your difficulty in getting your head around the concept, Christabell patient discusses at length how people gifted with spectral sight can see spirits.

>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."

>* hashtag goals
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>a remedie
"I do see clearly a simple answer to remitte your Libertie of Mouvement: the Bestowance."

Christabell kneels from the exhaustion of trying to remain substantial.

>save
Ok.

>xyzzy
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>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?
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>* I think I might plughke
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>a rayles
Christabell says, "Good question."

>a rayle
Christabell relates that her spirit is bound to the huge pile of railroad tracks because after she and her father died in a vat of iron, that iron was subsequently made into a church bell that more recently was recycled into these railroad tracks.

>* as one does
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>a unfolding
"What little I know from the Lore of the Narramonk, I will to you relate: that one bound in Circular Prison does move always in one Direction in Tymme, but not along a single Path. Most Paths start and end they did in Lyfe, but there are side Paths described by other Runes that can come to being; summe few may put end to the Fusion, freeing the Spirit."

>arunes
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>a runes
Christabell explains that they are sort of a permanent sign of the price paid in the world to perform magic.

>a gifte
You get the impression that Christabell is using this in some sort of theological sense, like a gift from the gods.

>a plover
Christabell says, "That's an interesting question."

>a ploughver
Christabell reminds you that this is the spell that will allow you to magically blink back and forth between Carol's room and this hillside -- but won't work anywhere else.

>* let's get this over with
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>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.

Carol's Room (Ben Collins-Sussman)
[ HINT: you can type "hints" for a hint for this location ]

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.

>* oh, interesting!
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>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.

Carol mutters to herself in some forgotten language.

>x carol
Carol is wearing a her highschool uniform.

Carol does her nails.

>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.

>x blanket
Light blue wool. She will need a heavier one as Vermont slides into autumn.

Carol applies some rouge.

>x pillows
Fluffy white.

Carol doesn't seem aware of your skulking about her room.

>x window
The large bay window is framed in the same age-worn rosewood trim that decorates the rest of this once great mansion.

>x table
A small ivory-colored painted wooden table, just to the side of the window. A few items of makeup are arranged neatly on one corner, and a small, round mirror stands on the other

>x makeup
A modest selection of products, nothing unusual. The brands are familiar -- ones you would typically find at high-end department stores.

>x mirror
Your face is distorted in the makeup mirror and items behind you are a blur.

>look through window
Through thick glass warped by time, you can see the estate grounds far below you. The dark hills, now surrounded by colorful autumn trees, are in the distance.

Carol continues to comb her long hair.

>x lamp
(the waterproof flashlight (smelling faintly of mildew))
A small flashlight, with a rubber ring where it screws together to keep the water out-though some oily substance coats the inside.


Inside the flashlight is a clump of glowing vegetation.

>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.

>x desk lamp
I only understood you as far as wanting to examine the desk.

>x books
You can't use multiple objects with that verb.

>x stack
You can't see any such thing.

>x book
(the old paperback book (smelling faintly of mildew))
The old paperback book is pretty thick, and the pages are yellowed and lacerated here and there. You're not a bookworm, but the condition of the book and the outdated font and style of drawing on the cover tell you it was printed decades ago, maybe at the beginning of the century.

Judging by the cover the book seems to be a bit pulpy. It shows a large, old and eerie house on a clearing in the woods. The title is "ANCHORHEAD. A What-do-I-do-now Book Based on the Works of MICHAEL GENTRY." A scraggy sticker with the insignia of the Backwater Public Library, on it indicates that by no means you want to pay the fine for exceeding the return deadline.

Frost lines the edges of the library insignia.

>x stacks of books
You can't see any such thing.

>x stack of books
You can't see any such thing.

>put all books in book pocket
pocket-sized notebook (smelling faintly of mildew): Done.

You sense that the ploughver spell has recharged.

>close book pocket
You close the book pocket.

>x bok
You can't see any such thing.

>x book
Which do you mean, the stacked books, Mama Hydra's Deep Fried Ones (smelling faintly of mildew), the pink-bound book (smelling faintly of mildew) or Buried Tales of Old Vermont (smelling faintly of mildew)?

>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 colonial
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".

>read it
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 algebra
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".

Carol carefully applies some makeup.

>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. 

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."

Carol appears oblivious to your prescence.

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.

>x turntable
A wooden turntable with speakers built into the cabinet rests on a folding wooden table. There is a record on the turntable, but the turntable is off.

Carol does her nails.

>x nail
A rusted nail driven into the wall and bent up to support a picture with a heavy frame.

Carol doesn't seem aware of your skulking about her room.

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

>take nail
Your hand goes right through it.

>turn on turntable
Your hand goes right through it.

> 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.

Carol continues to comb her long hair.

>open drawers
Your hand goes right through it.

>x newspirnt
You can't see any such thing.

>oops 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.

Carol carefully applies some makeup.

>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."

Carol grins and crosses her legs.

>* I guess Christabell has two kids, and they swap out
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>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."

>* umm
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>a child molesting
Carol says, "I have wondered that myself."

>* yup, typical WW grimdarkness
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>a abuse
Carol says, "Good question."

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

>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."

>* huh?
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>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."

>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."

>* that's the artwork
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>a thresher
It's the sub that the Deep Ones asked for in return for Kennedy.

>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."

>* yeah, definitely different
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>a johnson
"Kennedy's lacky. Not even worth discussing," replies Carol.

>a muskie
Carol says, "I have wondered that myself."

>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."

>x agnew
You can't see any such thing.

>a checkers
Carol says, "I wish I knew."

>a watergate
Carol says, "That's an interesting question."

>a mattanit
"That's one of his many names."

>a names
Carol says, "I don't have a good answer for that one."

>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."

>a younger ones
Carol says, "Sorry, I don't know."

>a younger gods
Carol says, "Good question."

>a middle gods
Carol says, "I wish I knew."

>a third covenant
"That was what Christabell called it -- it's essentially a roadmap to bring about the return of the Elder Gods."

>a first covenant
Carol says, "I have wondered that myself."

>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."

>* This is the famous Miss Porter's School.  JAckie Kennedy went there
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>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.

>* yes, that's Donald Trump, as feareed
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>* well, nuCarol is rather tiresome in a proto-alt-right-with-a-soupcon-of-cthulhu way
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>* You know, "kwisatz haderach" means "shortening of the way"...
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>* not too far off from Yog-Sothoth's sobriquet
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>* Maybe we could have picked a better codeword
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

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

>* Oh jesus
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>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.

>s
Carol stands right in front of you, hands on her hips waiting for an answer, "Listen, due to the metaphysics of complicity or some such, before you go, I need an answer from you -- shall I place my mark?"

>no
"Well unless you know some way out of this room that hasn't occurred to me, we're going to be here together until you do agree, but no hurry on my account. We can come back to the marking issue later."

Carol reminds you that she'd really appreciate it if you would say "yes" so she could get on with the rest of her day.

>s
"Not to be a bore," say Carol, "but I need to ask your consent to mark you before you split; can I place it?"

>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."

>* Ha, and *there's* Vaadignephod's origin
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>a daughter
"Oh don't worry, Naomi. The baby will be fine. Oh, and I guess, congratulations in advance."

>a baby
Carol says you have nothing to worry about -- your daughter is doing fine.

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

>x belly
You can't see any such thing.

>x baby
You can't see any such thing.

>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.

Hillside Path (Jack Welch)
You are in a hillside hollow flanked on three sides by sheer granite cliffs and on the other by gnarled vegetation.

Three trailheads hold out some chance of respite: north, southwest, and southeast.

You can see Christabell here.

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

As the day has progressed, the shadows over the hillside deepen, but you easily perceive Christabell, every bit as substantial as you last saw her, walking briskly over to to greet you.

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

>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 verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>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."

>a pregnant
Once again you ask Christabell's reassurance that you are not pregnant, and once again she tells you that there is no supposed mark, that you are not even a little bit pregnant, and that Carol was deceiving you.

>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)."

>* wait, Christabell, weren't you a Mattanit cultist pushing for the third covenant before?
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>* I feel like these folks' grasp on the lore is shaky
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>* Yes anding has its limits
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>a father
Christabell says, "I don't have a good answer for that one."

>x deep ones
You can't see any such thing.

>a deep ones
Christabell says, "That's an interesting question."

>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 ettanit
Christabell says, "Good question."

>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."

>a mattanit
It sounds like Mattanit is something that Christabell worshipped.

A ghastly spectral cuckoo flies out of the round white wall clock (smelling faintly of mildew) and announces, "The time is now nine o'clock!" before vanishing into thin air.

>a mark
"Christabell, you said that a person can only be marked by a spirit once, right?"

"That is the Waie of it."

"Is there any way to remove a mark?"

"Nay, Friend Naomi, there be not, even with Deathe."

>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."

>a windowe
Christabell reiterates that opening Carol's window will give Christabell a chance to cast a spell that will once and for all destroy Carol, who has gotten to powerful and poses a danger to all concerned.

>a disruption
Christabell reiterates the plan to make sure you have it down pat, "Get you to Carol's Bedchamber, and there cause her to be distracted, by such Diversions as you may, and so avoiding her constant Attentions, slyly do heave open the Windowe that I may werke my Magicks past her Wardes."

"Right, got it," you acknowledge.

You sense that the ploughver spell has recharged.

>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."

>* OK weird ghost incest is *definitely* getting me to throw my X card
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>save
Ok.

>* let's get this over with
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>ploughbe
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>ploughver
.

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.

>* ah, there's nixon
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>* a microcomputer already?
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>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.

>* so this would be like 68???
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>x shift
Turquoise and well-cut, ending above the knee.

>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.

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

>x fixture
You can't see any such thing.

>x walls
Which do you mean, the wall or the cliffs?

>x wall
Which do you mean, the wall or the cliffs?

>x cliffs
Through the window's aged glass, you can see the cliffs.

The granite walls are sheer and angle ever so slightly inward, overhanging the clearing.

>x carpet
(the mildewy carpet (smelling faintly of mildew))
This carpet is vast and wetly soft, crawling with mildew, gray molds and skittering black insects. The design is faded and obscured, but it almost looks like an enormous eye...

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.

>x bed
Flat as a slab of marble, and probably just a comfy.

>* The mildewy carpet smelling fainly of mildew is great
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>look under bed
Your hand goes right through it.

>x blanket
Thin and, if you're not mistaken, starched and ironed within an inch of its life.

>x reading light
You can't see any such thing.

>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.

>x manual
You can't see any such thing.

>x wardes
You can't see any such thing.

>x indian
You can't see any such thing.

>The Indian Grammar Begun is a real book, by John Eliot, who was a major missionary to the Algonquians
You can't talk to the pockets of the calfskin coat.

>* He converted a bunch, and tried to get them to settle into English-style villages
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>* also founded Roxbury Latin, who we wrestled
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

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

>x snow
It's a stiff, blue key, powdered with flecks of white. It emits a frosty aura ? brrr.

>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 glass
Which do you mean, the window, the jar of screws (smelling faintly of mildew), the glass shard (smelling faintly of mildew) or the glass jar containing an insect (smelling faintly of mildew)?

>* oh, that's the desk
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>x chair
(the desk chair)
A modern rolling chair that matches the desk.

>x binder
A black binder containing computer printouts.

You sense that the ploughver spell has recharged.

>read it
You flip open the binder into which 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

>g
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

>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.

>l
Carol's Room (Ben Collins-Sussman)
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.

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

>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.

>* what happened to the sheep?
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>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.

>* ...okay?
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>x sculpture
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.

>x black
(the black business card (smelling faintly of mildew))
Congratulations! You've just encountered Vaadignephod's Anti-Personnel Squad!

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.

>x black sculpture
You can't see any such thing.

>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."

>* oh right she's a seer
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>l
Carol's Room (Ben Collins-Sussman)
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.

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

>* guess we can't see the last
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>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".

>push play
You can't see any such thing.

>turn on tape
(the reel to reel recorder)
Your hand goes right through it.

>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.

>x snow
It's a stiff, blue key, powdered with flecks of white. It emits a frosty aura ? brrr.

>x rocker
The switch is pushed upward and you can read the word "ON". It emits a flickery red neon glow.

>push it
Your hand goes right through it.

>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.

>carol, hello
You are already talking to Carol.

>a herself
"Well, Naomi, you pretty much know my whole life story at this point. There isn't all that much more that bears relating."

>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 general dynamics
Carol informs you that General Dynamics is the nation's lead defense contractor for submarine construction.

>x nixon
Nixon's lascivious grin is the first thing that greets Carol every morning.

>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."

>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."

>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."

>g
"Malice hasn't been quite himself lately; he isn't eating like he used to -- I think he may be a little down."

>a sweetpaws
"Am I my monkey's keeper?" Carol asks rhetorically. "He keeps himself busy and comes and goes as he pleases. I try not to micromanage him."

>x sheep
You can't see any such thing.

>a sheep
Carol says, "Sorry, I don't know."

>l
Carol's Room (Ben Collins-Sussman)
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.

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

>a winkelbottom
"Haven't seen her for years," Carol replies. "I don't recall whatever became of her."

>a dad
Carol says her father has worked his way onto President Nixon's National Security Council, where he is privy to the even the most secret machinations of the American government.

A ghastly spectral cuckoo flies out of the round white wall clock (smelling faintly of mildew) and squawks, "The time is now eight o'clock!" before vanishing into thin air.

>x grand-uncle
You can't see any such thing.

>a grand-uncle
Carol sure doesn't know much about this grand-uncle of hers, except that he's a grumpy old guy.

>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."

>eek
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>
I beg your pardon?

>a computer
"I told father that sometimes I felt left out, so he had it set up for me. It helps me keep abreast of what's going on here and there."

>x subs
You can't see any such thing.

>a reel-to-reel
Carol says, "I wish I knew."

>a miss porter's
Carol says, "I have wondered that myself."

>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."

>a nixon
Carol tells you she is his biggest fan. He can do no wrong by her.

>a racism
Carol says, "I don't have a good answer for that one."

>a mlk
Carol says, "That's an interesting question."

>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."

>a jfk
Carol claims that she orchestrated the assassinations of both Robert Kennedy and Martin Luther King with the assistance of the Deep Ones.

>a rfk
Carol claims that she orchestrated the assassinations of both Robert Kennedy and Martin Luther King with the assistance of the Deep Ones.

>a medgar evers
Carol says, "Good question."

>a window
(the window)
Carol says, "I wish I knew."

>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?"

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

>a pregnant
Carol sticks to her argument that you are indeed pregnant and that you baby bears her mark, but that she means no harm by it.

>a mark
Carol sticks to her argument that you are indeed pregnant and that you baby bears her mark, but that she means no harm by it.

>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."

>a elder gods
Carol claims that most of the important events of 1968 were part of her and her father's plan to alter history to bring about the dominion of the Elder Gods.

>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."

>* lol
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>a trunmp
Carol says, "I don't have a good answer for that one."

>a trump
Carol recognizes that her boyfriend back in 1969 was a clod, but it's likely that Christabell pushed her to suicide because of jealousy over Carol's relationship with him.

>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.

>a me
Carol says, "I have wondered that myself."

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

>x coffee
This is odd. As you watch the clouds in your cup, they form a pair of daggers that rotate around the cup, maintaining a steady distance from each other.

You remember that twin objects like this mean you are split between two intricately entangled destinies, and that at any given moment, one of them will be the right place for you to be, but the coffee can't tell which. Way to drop the ball there, coffee.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.

>* hmm, did we talk too much?
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>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.

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.

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.

>* oh jeez now i'm larping
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>hude
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>hide
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>l
Carol's Room (Ben Collins-Sussman)
You can see Carol, a binder and a window (empty) here.

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."

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

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."

>* ...guys, you did the thing where the NPCs get to have the big fight and all the PC does is watch
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>* also again with the grimdark
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>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.

>x book
Which do you mean, the Tome of Naomi, Mama Hydra's Deep Fried Ones (smelling faintly of mildew), the pink-bound book (smelling faintly of mildew) or Buried Tales of Old Vermont (smelling faintly of mildew)?

>tome
(the pink-bound book (smelling faintly of mildew))
A quarto-size volume bound in remarkably ugly pink leather, with a label on the spine. The book bears the title Venator in Tenebris, but no author's name is given. The front endpaper is embossed with the insignia of the Backwater Public Library. On the title page, there is a footnote in which the anonymous author appears to be pleading for forgiveness from a hooligan and some kind of metal cup-holder.

Frost lines the edges of the library insignia.

>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".

>read rune boko
You can't see any such thing.

>read rune book
You can't see any such thing.

>x rune book
You can't see any such thing.

>l
Carol's Room (Ben Collins-Sussman)
Shafts of sunlight filter through the filthy window, which is now closed.

The room is empty: the carpet has been taken up, all furniture removed, and nothing left on the walls. Dust hangs in the air of this room so long abandoned.

You can see an a worn out, decaying picture, a window (closed) and a Tome of Naomi here.

>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!".

>* umm wha
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>x coffee
The clouds in your cup form a blank, mirrored surface. Lack of a symbolic image means that you have accomplished everything you must in your current environment and should move on to find new challenges in order to grow as a person.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.

>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!".

>say ahe'hee
(to yourself)
Talking to yourself is likely to prove unrewarding.

>* oh wait, is this the Navajo thing?
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>take picture
(the a worn out, decaying picture)
Taken.

>l
Carol's Room (Ben Collins-Sussman)
A dusty room, unvisited for more than two decades.

You can see a window (closed) and a Tome of Naomi here.

>x tome
(the pink-bound book (smelling faintly of mildew))
A quarto-size volume bound in remarkably ugly pink leather, with a label on the spine. The book bears the title Venator in Tenebris, but no author's name is given. The front endpaper is embossed with the insignia of the Backwater Public Library. On the title page, there is a footnote in which the anonymous author appears to be pleading for forgiveness from a hooligan and some kind of metal cup-holder.

Frost lines the edges of the library insignia.

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

>x tome of naomi
A thin, leatherbound tome. A title is embossed on the cover: "Tome of Naomi".

>read it
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

>read boat wreck
A 12-man fishing boat, the Miss Step, out of Halifax, was found wrecked yesterday with loss of all hands on Sable Island, a small, isolated island in the Atlantic Ocean, 190 miles southeast of Halifax. The vessel grounded on an sandy bar near the eastern end of the island and by report was discovered yesterday morning by Ronald Lefevre, sub-intendent of the Sable Island Rescue Station. Subsequently, both Mr. Lefevre and Scott McCallister, who was in charge of the two-man Rescue Station, were also lost.

The only other inhabitant of the island, Dr. Martha Klein, reported yesterday's events to the Canadian Coast Guard cutter Hermes by shortwave radio at 10:20 a.m. yesterday morning before herself going missing. The Hermes reached the island within the next two hours, but was unable to launch small landing craft because of gale force squalls. When they did make landfall late that afternoon, there was no evidence of the wreck. The search the island's three inhabitants was aborted this morning due to further foul weather; additional Coast Guard vessels are en route as we go to press.

The Coast Guard has refused to comment on the matter, but a ham radio operator, Edmund Finister, from Prince Edward Island, gave the following account to the press:

"I sometimes listen to the reports going back and forth between Dr. Klein at the Meteorological Station and the mainland, and I wasn't expecting anything at that time of day, but I just happened to have the radio on, more or less to keep the shack warm. Then, out of the blue, I hear Dr. Klein, and she normally has kind of a lilting, friendly voice, but I could hear that she was shaken up. I was in the other room, so I only caught the last part of it, but she was speaking almost too calmly, trying to give all the details, but I could tell she was a hair's breadth from having a breakdown."

"She's talking to the sparky on the cutter, and saying that first the one guy, Lefevre came speeding back along the beach in his jeep to get McCallister, because he had discovered the fishing boat on its side up on the sand. They asked Dr. Klein to call it in and they both took off again, even though Lefevre had said that when he had seen it the first time, he had a good look around and there were no survivors."

"Now, what's weird is what Lefevre told Klein -- while there were no bodies aboard, there were these? things. I only know what she said on the air, that Lefevre had said that there were these fleshy things all over the ship, in different parts of it, down below, up on the deck. They were whitish or translucent, sort of long tubes of the stuff. Heavy, deadweight if you tried to move them. Some were wrapped up in foul weather jackets, and one that Lefevre poked had some coins embedded in it, about halfway up, he said, just a couple inches deep. His best guess was that they were whale fat since they were so oily, but he was just guessing. Also, he said they had kind of a musky smell."

"Whatever they were, they're gone now. All of them."

>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."

>* I think we must have missed these in the early teenaged bedroom?
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>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 time
You can't see any such thing.

>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.

>* I guess those are for each time I/Christabell/Carol used a magic word?
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>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.

>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.

>* of course
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>save
Ok.

>* well that's two rooms down
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>ploughver
Nothing at all happens.

>* phoeey
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>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.

>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.

>* oh geez
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>* the bricked over doorway, huh?
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>* OK
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>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.

Upstairs Hall, north end (Jason Love)
Imposing wooden doors lead north to the nursery (which is open) and east to the master bedroom (which is also open); a smaller doorway between them has been closed off with badly painted bricks. The top of the stairs is accessible through a narrow arch to the west, and the hall continues to the south.

The broken doors to the armoire lie on the floor near the center of the room.

The doorless armoire stands against the north-west wall. There's nothing inside.

Something has changed among your possessions.

>x coffee
The swirls in your cup form -- weird, they've entirely dissipated. Lack of a symbolic image means that you have accomplished everything you must in your current environment and should move on to find new challenges in order to grow as a person.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.

>* ...oh christ
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>i
You are carrying:
  a battered yellow JogMaster (being worn)
  an a worn out, decaying picture
  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 pink-bound book (smelling faintly of mildew)
  a little stoppered vial of blue liquid (smelling faintly of mildew)
  Buried Tales of Old Vermont (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 book New England and the Bavarian Illuminati (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)
  a limp pumpkin stem (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 screws (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 (closed)
    a side pocket (open)
      a book list (smelling faintly of mildew)
    a trash pocket (open)
      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 cast iron spire (smelling faintly of mildew)
  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)
  Daniel Baker's note (smelling faintly of mildew)
  a pull-string doll (smelling faintly of mildew)
  a label (smelling faintly of mildew)
  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 bottle of Pepto-Bismol (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

A ghastly spectral cuckoo flies out of the round white wall clock (smelling faintly of mildew) and announces, "The time is now seven o'clock!" before vanishing into thin air.

>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.

>x carolyn
A portable audio player with an attached lanyard so you can Wear It While You Jog! It's little more than a yellow brick of plastic with a power switch and a slot in which to insert cassette tapes. Damage to the unit includes a jammed battery cover, a missing lever to eject the current cassette, and a crimped headphone jack. A small speaker permits playback even without headphones.Someone carved the name "Carolyn" along one side.

The battered yellow JogMaster is currently switched off.

>x battery cover
A portable audio player with an attached lanyard so you can Wear It While You Jog! It's little more than a yellow brick of plastic with a power switch and a slot in which to insert cassette tapes. Damage to the unit includes a jammed battery cover, a missing lever to eject the current cassette, and a crimped headphone jack. A small speaker permits playback even without headphones.Someone carved the name "Carolyn" along one side.

The battered yellow JogMaster is currently switched off.

>open it
It isn't something you can open.

>eject cassette
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>open jogmaster
It isn't something you can open.

>play jogmaster
>* oops!
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>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."

>* huh
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>turn on jogmaster
That's already on.

"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."

>turn on jogmaster
That's already on.

"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."

>z
Time passes.

"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!"

>z
Time passes.

"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."

>z
Time passes.

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!"
>* huh -- we got this from the notebook already
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>z
Time passes.

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

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

>l
Upstairs Hall, north end (Jason Love)
Imposing wooden doors lead north to the nursery (which is open) and east to the master bedroom (which is also open); a smaller doorway between them has been closed off with badly painted bricks. The top of the stairs is accessible through a narrow arch to the west, and the hall continues to the south.

The broken doors to the armoire lie on the floor near the center of the room.

The doorless armoire stands against the north-west wall. There's nothing inside.

>save
Ok.

>w

Top of Stairs (Q. Pheevr)
You are at the top of a staircase, which leads down to Landing at the Bottom of Stairs (Mark Sample). An archway leads east to Upstairs Hall, north end (Jason Love).

Standing against the west wall is a dilapidated kitchen sink with a pine cabinet under it.

>d

Landing at the Bottom of Stairs (Mark Sample)
This is a dark alcove with a narrow stairway rising into the gloom upstairs. Shadows lurch over a doorway to the south. Opposite those shadows lies another doorway, in even darker shadows. What little light there is seeps in from a small elliptical window high on the wall.

The ramshackle bookshelf lies in a pile of splintered wood on the floor like a fallen scarecrow, arms akimbo.

>s

Foyer (Greg Frost)
Standing in the narrow entry hall is like being at the mouth of a cave. The only light comes in through tall windows on either side of the door and a half-round window above. All of the furniture has been removed from the foyer, leaving tracks in the heavy dust. 

The night sky is dark and full of stars. Hallways lead west and east into other parts of the house. A doorway leads north; the front door is to the south.

>s

Mudroom (Matt Weiner)
The porch is a mudroom, a place for taking off coats and muddy shoes. The marble front wall seems like a sheer cliff face, the porch like a flimsy shelter built onto it. The front door leads inside to the north.

In one corner of the porch a strangely shaped hook is fastened to the wall. A black cloak hangs beside it.

In the other corner of the porch is a small wooden table.

A slightly muddy welcome mat lies in front of the door.

>s

Front Walk (Matt Weiner)
Cragne Manor looms to the north. Its light gray marble front is marred by a screened-in wooden porch, clearly tacked on well after the manor was built. A gravel path bends around the manor to the northeast and northwest, and the driveway leads south back to town.

By the porch steps is a post with a placard reading "31." A strange little manikin is affixed to it.

A mistlike trolley stop sign reads Purple Line -- Cragne Manor.

>s

Hillside Path (Jack Welch)
You are in a hillside hollow flanked on three sides by sheer granite cliffs and on the other by gnarled vegetation.

Three trailheads hold out some chance of respite: north, southwest, and southeast.

You can see a stone altar here.

>x altar
A large, roughly rectangular slab of the same black granite as the surrounding cliffs.

>x coffee
The swirls in your cup form a gentle ripple. Lack of a symbolic image means that you have accomplished everything you must in your current environment and should move on to find new challenges in order to grow as a person.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.

>* whew
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>w
You can't go that way.

>l
Hillside Path (Jack Welch)
You are in a hillside hollow flanked on three sides by sheer granite cliffs and on the other by gnarled vegetation.

Three trailheads hold out some chance of respite: north, southwest, and southeast.

You can see a stone altar here.

>sw

Constabulary Road (Harkness Munt)
The road phases into little more than a wide dirt track winding from the west towards the edge of town to the northeast.  A paved walk wanders through an iron gate which interrupts a high stone wall looming to the north. A memorial bench sits just outside its shadow. A thickly-woven rampart of vegetation obstructs passage to the south, but you notice a narrow deer trail cutting a path through the deep woods.

A barricade spans the road to the northeast, and beyond it a large shallow pit is being excavated. If you're careful, you could skirt the edges of the pit and continue along the northeast road.

A noncorporeal trolley stop sign reads Orange Line -- Constabulary Road.

>w

Outside Pub (Jason Lautzenheiser)
As the street runs east through this side of town, it narrows as the jagged rooftops on either side of the road reach out to each other. To the north is the pub. You can continue to the west where you see a bridge. As you pause on the narrow brick sidewalk which lays unevenly along the ugly, half-crumbling brick walls, you hear a train whistle in the distance. A sign hangs loosely above the pub entrance and to the side is a murky window. 

You can see a newspaper box here.

>n

The Invisible Worm (Sam Kabo Ashwell)
A dimly-lit tavern, old enough that all its straight lines have worn or warped slightly out of shape, and everything feels cluttered and a little too small; you've had apartments with living-rooms bigger than this. Heavy, dark beams support a low ceiling, and the walls are crowded with ancient farm tools and yellowing photographs. A cramped doorway, south, leads back outside.

The bartender impassively surveys the room.

Old-timers monopolize the fireplace nook; a straggle of teenagers hunch in a corner.

The old-timers rehash the time the Saxton brothers caused a scandal by living in sin with Deputy Wright.

>x coffee
The swirls in your cup form a bactrian camel. Modes of transportation mean that your current environment presents challenges that can only be overcome by seeking fresh perspectives elsewhere until you're ready to return.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.

>* Still no joy
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>s

Outside Pub (Jason Lautzenheiser)
As the street runs east through this side of town, it narrows as the jagged rooftops on either side of the road reach out to each other. To the north is the pub. You can continue to the west where you see a bridge. As you pause on the narrow brick sidewalk which lays unevenly along the ugly, half-crumbling brick walls, you hear a train whistle in the distance. A sign hangs loosely above the pub entrance and to the side is a murky window. 

You can see a newspaper box here.

>w
Your feet finally touch down on some blackened shore and into some large subterrane. The slick black stone of the cavern arcs high above your head with strange formations that grow downwards and then out in oddly perpendicular angles. The damp rock moves in and out of focus as some pulsing green light illuminates the space.

Taking a step, you feel the sand pulling at your shoes as though it were thick mud or quicksand. Your feet sink with every step, settling on some solid stone platform just beneath this layer of cloying sand that prevents you from being entirely swallowed.

You pass between two monolithic pillars: oily green-black stone of a height that makes you dizzy to comprehend. Between them, a skeletal bridge stretches out across the chasm.

The crossing spans a ravine of tumultuous water that roars like some uncaged beast and echoes around the cavern. Its Stygian call chills you and draws you in by equal measures as you take the first step onto the slats that form the bridge.

Bridge (Daniel Stelzer and Jemma Briggeman)
You are standing on a bridge spanning east to west in the middle of an echoing cavern. In the center of the bridge is a large insipid sculpture constructed of pipes that climb up to a cauldron filled with an eerily glowing green moss, the only light source in the room. Beneath your feet you can hear the crashing of the river below. Ahead of you, to your horror, there are slats missing on the bridge - you'll never make it across without replacing them.


On the gap in the bridge are some flat bones.

The rope lies abandoned on the ground in a tangle, one end tied to the bridge, the other to some metallic contraption.

>w

Town square, Backwater, VT (Marco Innocenti)
The large, hexagonal-shaped square is paved with big, white stones, polished by rain and wind over the decades; around it, low red-brick buildings look like watching peasants. One single street leaves the square to the north, while less accommodating paths lead west, in the direction of a towering church, and southwest.
Due east, an iron bridge crosses the river, and southeast, a walkway leads down to its bank.

The swollen, slate-colored clouds that blanket the sky are reflected in the shiny, circular shape embellishing the center of the square, muttering ominous portents amongst themselves.

>* OK, let's see what we can do
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>save
Ok.

>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!".

>x circle
Which do you mean, the central circle or the button with a circle on it?

>central
The circle looks solid. Apart from the set of talons that frame it, it has one single mark: a triangle pointing somewhere northeast.

>x talons
The circle looks solid. Apart from the set of talons that frame it, it has one single mark: a triangle pointing somewhere northeast.

>l
Town square, Backwater, VT (Marco Innocenti)
The large, hexagonal-shaped square is paved with big, white stones, polished by rain and wind over the decades; around it, low red-brick buildings look like watching peasants. One single street leaves the square to the north, while less accommodating paths lead west, in the direction of a towering church, and southwest.
Due east, an iron bridge crosses the river, and southeast, a walkway leads down to its bank.

The swollen, slate-colored clouds that blanket the sky are reflected in the shiny, circular shape embellishing the center of the square, muttering ominous portents amongst themselves.

>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       |TLČČ
EAGLE     |PIG       |EYE       |WOODPECKER|CROSS     |FISH.

>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!".

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

>* OK, that's confirmation
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>x coffee
The swirls in your cup form a single cherry. Botanical images mean that while there is much left to accomplish in the present situation, your immediate environment sustains you, and you have everything that you need.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.

>* that too
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>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       |TLČČ
EAGLE     |PIG       |EYE       |WOODPECKER|CROSS     |FISH.

>x picutre
You can't see any such thing.

>turn outer ring
You maneuver the outer ring and it turns one step clockwise. The symbols now are:
The outer ring is bedecked by a series of symbols (starting from the outer ring and going clockwise, from the north):

WOMAN     |FEATHER   |BLACKBIRD |TREE      |SPARROW   |CUBE.

>g
You maneuver the outer ring and it turns one step clockwise. The symbols now are:
The outer ring is bedecked by a series of symbols (starting from the outer ring and going clockwise, from the north):

CUBE      |WOMAN     |FEATHER   |BLACKBIRD |TREE      |SPARROW.

>g
You maneuver the outer ring and it turns one step clockwise. The symbols now are:
The outer ring is bedecked by a series of symbols (starting from the outer ring and going clockwise, from the north):

SPARROW   |CUBE      |WOMAN     |FEATHER   |BLACKBIRD |TREE.

>g
You maneuver the outer ring and it turns one step clockwise. The symbols now are:
The outer ring is bedecked by a series of symbols (starting from the outer ring and going clockwise, from the north):

TREE      |SPARROW   |CUBE      |WOMAN     |FEATHER   |BLACKBIRD.

>g
You maneuver the outer ring and it turns one step clockwise. The symbols now are:
The outer ring is bedecked by a series of symbols (starting from the outer ring and going clockwise, from the north):

BLACKBIRD |TREE      |SPARROW   |CUBE      |WOMAN     |FEATHER.

>* There are only six, so this doesn't really map to the points of the compass, but I guess this in NE?
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>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):

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

>turn inner
You maneuver the inner ring and it turns one step clockwise. The symbols now are:
The inner ring is bedecked by a series of symbols (starting from the outer ring and going clockwise, from the north):

FISH      |EAGLE     |PIG       |EYE       |WOODPECKER|CROSS.

>x picture
(the a worn out, decaying picture (smelling faintly of mildew))
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!".

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.

>* OK maybe it's more complex than this
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>turn inner
You maneuver the inner ring and it turns one step clockwise. The symbols now are:
The inner ring is bedecked by a series of symbols (starting from the outer ring and going clockwise, from the north):

CROSS     |FISH      |EAGLE     |PIG       |EYE       |WOODPECKER.

>g
You maneuver the inner ring and it turns one step clockwise. The symbols now are:
The inner ring is bedecked by a series of symbols (starting from the outer ring and going clockwise, from the north):

WOODPECKER|CROSS     |FISH      |EAGLE     |PIG       |EYE.

>* OK now the cross is at the mark
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>x mark
You can't see any such thing.

>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):

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

>turn outer
You maneuver the outer ring and it turns one step clockwise. The symbols now are:
The outer ring is bedecked by a series of symbols (starting from the outer ring and going clockwise, from the north):

FEATHER   |BLACKBIRD |TREE      |SPARROW   |CUBE      |WOMAN.

>g
You maneuver the outer ring and it turns one step clockwise. The symbols now are:
The outer ring is bedecked by a series of symbols (starting from the outer ring and going clockwise, from the north):

WOMAN     |FEATHER   |BLACKBIRD |TREE      |SPARROW   |CUBE.

>* now the eagle is below the tree
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>* The feather would then go above daan
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>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):

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

>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!

>* Aha!
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

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

>x amulet
(the broken silver amulet (smelling faintly of mildew))
It's a tarnished silver pendant, about the size of your thumb, on a leather cord. The pendant is shaped like an open hand. It's been damaged - a deep groove, like a chisel mark, cuts across the palm, nearly breaking the pendant in half. 

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.

>x copper
(the copper urn (smelling faintly of mildew))
The smell leaches through the metal, clinging to your skin, your hair. Your stomach rumbles. You're almost hungry.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.

>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.

>take it
Taken.

>* huh
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>wear it
You put on the copper amulet (smelling faintly of mildew).

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

>* that was quick
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>x coffee
The clouds in your cup form concentric circles. Lack of a symbolic image means that you have accomplished everything you must in your current environment and should move on to find new challenges in order to grow as a person.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.

>save
Ok.

>* let's try the drinking fountain while we're here
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>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.

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

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.

>ghost, hello
You say hello to the well-dressed ghost (smelling faintly of mildew).

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 badass, but we are an immortal ghoul-queen so y'know
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

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

>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.

>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.

>undo
Drinking Fountain (Lucian Smith)
[Previous turn undone.]

>* ah, fun!
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>* we'll have to try them out
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>x coffee
The swirls in your cup form a dromedary camel. Modes of transportation mean that your current environment presents challenges that can only be overcome by seeking fresh perspectives elsewhere until you're ready to return.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.

>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.

>* er how did we know he was emmett?
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>e
Ivy-covered walls surround the fountain everywhere but to the northeast.

>ne

Town square, Backwater, VT (Marco Innocenti)
The large, hexagonal-shaped square is paved with big, white stones, polished by rain and wind over the decades; around it, low red-brick buildings look like watching peasants. One single street leaves the square to the north, while less accommodating paths lead west, in the direction of a towering church, and southwest.
Due east, an iron bridge crosses the river, and southeast, a walkway leads down to its bank.

The swollen, slate-colored clouds that blanket the sky are reflected in the shiny, circular shape embellishing the center of the square, muttering ominous portents amongst themselves.

>n

Outside the Library (Gavin Inglis)
A short street terminates here. To the south it opens into the town square. To the east, a few worn steps rise to the entrance of the public library, and to the west you can see a real estate office. A gloomy path leads northwest, towards the woods.

You can see a notice board here.

A phantom trolley stop sign reads Blue Line -- Library Square.

>e

Backwater Public Library (Carl Muckenhoupt)
This is unusually spacious for a small-town library. You think you remember something about it being a national historical site? That would explain the decor, at least. It's half rustic colonial, half modern budget-strapped public service, with a meager collection of creaky shelves standing in the middle of an old plank floor. A small display case stands prominently near the entrance, and some weird chairs are scattered around for the comfort of the patrons, none of whom are here at the moment. The sole exit is back to the west.

On the cart are Tolerating An Asinine God, Twin Hearts Between the Planes, The Dollmaker's Journal and a shabby journal.

A librarian stands behind a counter.

>wear glasses
(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 (smelling faintly of mildew).

The librarian nods at you curtly. 

>l
Backwater Public Library (Carl Muckenhoupt)
This is unusually spacious for a small-town library. You think you remember something about it being a national historical site? That would explain the decor, at least. It's half rustic colonial, half modern budget-strapped public service, with a meager collection of creaky shelves standing in the middle of an old plank floor. A small display case stands prominently near the entrance, and some weird chairs are scattered around for the comfort of the patrons, none of whom are here at the moment. The sole exit is back to the west.

On the cart are Tolerating An Asinine God, Twin Hearts Between the Planes, The Dollmaker's Journal and a shabby journal.

A librarian stands behind a counter.

>x god
This book looks to be an old school text book but it is in surprisingly good shape. You're not too sure why you're surprised at this. But there is a faded sticker on the front bearing the insignia of the Backwater Public Library, two back-to-back crescent moons joined by an eye looking down at an open book, which you realize might be redundant.

Frost lines the edges of the library insignia.

The librarian disappears between the shelves for a bit, then returns. 

>i
You are carrying:
  a pair of reading glasses (smelling faintly of mildew) (being worn)
  a cold spot on your collarbone (haunting you) (smelling faintly of mildew)
  a copper amulet (smelling faintly of mildew) (being worn)
  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 pink-bound book (smelling faintly of mildew)
  a little stoppered vial of blue liquid (smelling faintly of mildew)
  Buried Tales of Old Vermont (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 book New England and the Bavarian Illuminati (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)
  a limp pumpkin stem (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 screws (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 (closed)
    a side pocket (open)
      a book list (smelling faintly of mildew)
    a trash pocket (open)
      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 cast iron spire (smelling faintly of mildew)
  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)
  Daniel Baker's note (smelling faintly of mildew)
  a pull-string doll (smelling faintly of mildew)
  a label (smelling faintly of mildew)
  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 bottle of Pepto-Bismol (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

>w

Outside the Library (Gavin Inglis)
A short street terminates here. To the south it opens into the town square. To the east, a few worn steps rise to the entrance of the public library, and to the west you can see a real estate office. A gloomy path leads northwest, towards the woods.

You can see a notice board here.

A noncorporeal trolley stop sign reads Blue Line -- Library Square.

>drop illuminati
Dropped.

>l
Outside the Library (Gavin Inglis)
A short street terminates here. To the south it opens into the town square. To the east, a few worn steps rise to the entrance of the public library, and to the west you can see a real estate office. A gloomy path leads northwest, towards the woods.

You can see a book New England and the Bavarian Illuminati (smelling faintly of mildew) and a notice board here.

An insubstantial trolley stop sign reads Blue Line -- Library Square.

>s

Town square, Backwater, VT (Marco Innocenti)
The large, hexagonal-shaped square is paved with big, white stones, polished by rain and wind over the decades; around it, low red-brick buildings look like watching peasants. One single street leaves the square to the north, while less accommodating paths lead west, in the direction of a towering church, and southwest.
Due east, an iron bridge crosses the river, and southeast, a walkway leads down to its bank.

The swollen, slate-colored clouds that blanket the sky are reflected in the shiny, circular shape embellishing the center of the square, muttering ominous portents amongst themselves.

>n

Outside the Library (Gavin Inglis)
A short street terminates here. To the south it opens into the town square. To the east, a few worn steps rise to the entrance of the public library, and to the west you can see a real estate office. A gloomy path leads northwest, towards the woods.

You can see a book New England and the Bavarian Illuminati (smelling faintly of mildew) and a notice board here.

A noncorporeal trolley stop sign reads Blue Line -- Library Square.

>x book
Which do you mean, Mama Hydra's Deep Fried Ones (smelling faintly of mildew), the pink-bound book (smelling faintly of mildew) or Buried Tales of Old Vermont (smelling faintly of mildew)?

>illuminati
I only understood you as far as wanting to examine the book New England and the Bavarian Illuminati (smelling faintly of mildew).

>take it
That's fixed in place.

>take illuminati
Taken.

>* huh
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>* maybe the books have to be in situ
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>e

Backwater Public Library (Carl Muckenhoupt)
This is unusually spacious for a small-town library. You think you remember something about it being a national historical site? That would explain the decor, at least. It's half rustic colonial, half modern budget-strapped public service, with a meager collection of creaky shelves standing in the middle of an old plank floor. A small display case stands prominently near the entrance, and some weird chairs are scattered around for the comfort of the patrons, none of whom are here at the moment. The sole exit is back to the west.

On the cart are Tolerating An Asinine God, Twin Hearts Between the Planes, The Dollmaker's Journal and a shabby journal.

A librarian stands behind a counter.

>x librarian
An old woman with severe features, primly dressed, with slate-gray hair tied up in a bun. She's almost a caricature, and seems as antique as the building.

>ask her about emmett
She shushes you.

>* ah well
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>put bavarian on shelf
Best leave the reshelving to the library staff. Otherwise they won't know it's been returned.

The librarian stamps something. 

>put bavarian on cart
The librarian indignantly picks the book New England and the Bavarian Illuminati (smelling faintly of mildew) off the cart, then notices the library insignia. 
Klonk-klonk.

>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)
    The Lives of the Roman Emperors
    De Zeven Testamenten van de Krijsende Zeeworm
    Venator in Tenebris
    'Pataphysical Approaches to Quantum Superfluids
    Legends of Lake Champlain and the Hudson River Valley
    A Rudimentary Taxonomy of Known Scent and Grotesque Reactions
    Life Beneath Nightmares
    Buried Tales of Old Vermont
    The Seven Gaunts
    ANCHORHEAD. A What-do-I-do-now Book Based on the Works of MICHAEL GENTRY

There! It changed again! Weird.

>put anchorhead on cart
You can't see any such thing.

>open book bocket
Which do you mean, the bookshelf, Tolerating An Asinine God, Twin Hearts Between the Planes, The Dollmaker's Journal, the shabby journal, De Vermibus Laceris, Mama Hydra's Deep Fried Ones (smelling faintly of mildew), the pink-bound book (smelling faintly of mildew) or Buried Tales of Old Vermont (smelling faintly of mildew)?

>open book pocket
You open the book pocket, revealing 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), The Seven Gaunts (smelling faintly of mildew), The Lives of the Roman Emperors (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), De Zeven Testamenten van de Krijsende Zeeworm (smelling faintly of mildew), a 'Pataphysical Approaches to Quantum Superfluids (smelling faintly of mildew), Legends of Lake Champlain and the Hudson River Valley (smelling faintly of mildew) and an old paperback book (smelling faintly of mildew).

>put anchorhead on cart
Which do you mean, Tatooine 1: Anchorhead (smelling faintly of mildew) or the old paperback book (smelling faintly of mildew)?

>paperback
(first taking the old paperback book (smelling faintly of mildew))
The librarian indignantly picks the old paperback book (smelling faintly of mildew) off the cart, then notices the library insignia. 
Klonk-klonk.

>put lives on cart
(first taking The Lives of the Roman Emperors (smelling faintly of mildew))
The librarian indignantly picks The Lives of the Roman Emperors (smelling faintly of mildew) off the cart, then notices the library insignia. 
Klonk-klonk.

>put backwater on cart
(first taking the library)
That's hardly portable.

The librarian sorts some books. 

>*ha!
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>put personalities on cart
You can't see any such thing.

>x backwater personalities
I only understood you as far as wanting to examine the library.

>i
You are carrying:
  a pair of reading glasses (smelling faintly of mildew) (being worn)
  a cold spot on your collarbone (haunting you) (smelling faintly of mildew)
  a copper amulet (smelling faintly of mildew) (being worn)
  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 pink-bound book (smelling faintly of mildew)
  a little stoppered vial of blue liquid (smelling faintly of mildew)
  Buried Tales of Old Vermont (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)
  a limp pumpkin stem (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 screws (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)
      The Seven Gaunts (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)
      De Zeven Testamenten van de Krijsende Zeeworm (smelling faintly of mildew)
      a 'Pataphysical Approaches to Quantum Superfluids (smelling faintly of mildew)
      Legends of Lake Champlain and the Hudson River Valley (smelling faintly of mildew)
    a side pocket (open)
      a book list (smelling faintly of mildew)
    a trash pocket (open)
      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 cast iron spire (smelling faintly of mildew)
  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)
  Daniel Baker's note (smelling faintly of mildew)
  a pull-string doll (smelling faintly of mildew)
  a label (smelling faintly of mildew)
  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 bottle of Pepto-Bismol (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

>* oh wait I was thinking of buried tales
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>put buried tales on cart
The librarian indignantly picks Buried Tales of Old Vermont (smelling faintly of mildew) off the cart, then notices the library insignia. 
Klonk-klonk.

>put lake on cart
(first taking Legends of Lake Champlain and the Hudson River Valley (smelling faintly of mildew))
The librarian indignantly picks Legends of Lake Champlain and the Hudson River Valley (smelling faintly of mildew) off the cart, then notices the library insignia. 
Klonk-klonk.

The librarian stamps something. 

>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)
    De Zeven Testamenten van de Krijsende Zeeworm
    Venator in Tenebris
    'Pataphysical Approaches to Quantum Superfluids
    A Rudimentary Taxonomy of Known Scent and Grotesque Reactions
    Life Beneath Nightmares
    The Seven Gaunts

By now, you're used to seeing the list shrink dynamically.

>put zeven on cart
You can't see any such thing.

>x testamenten
You can't see any such thing.

>i
You are carrying:
  a pair of reading glasses (smelling faintly of mildew) (being worn)
  a cold spot on your collarbone (haunting you) (smelling faintly of mildew)
  a copper amulet (smelling faintly of mildew) (being worn)
  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 pink-bound book (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)
  a limp pumpkin stem (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 screws (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)
      The Seven Gaunts (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)
      De Zeven Testamenten van de Krijsende Zeeworm (smelling faintly of mildew)
      a 'Pataphysical Approaches to Quantum Superfluids (smelling faintly of mildew)
    a side pocket (open)
      a book list (smelling faintly of mildew)
    a trash pocket (open)
      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 cast iron spire (smelling faintly of mildew)
  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)
  Daniel Baker's note (smelling faintly of mildew)
  a pull-string doll (smelling faintly of mildew)
  a label (smelling faintly of mildew)
  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 bottle of Pepto-Bismol (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

The librarian nods at you curtly. 

>x testamenten
You can't see any such thing.

>x seven
The Seven Gaunts -- a book of Aionist fairy tales, collected by Henry Galtmice. The volume is faded and somewhat worn in the binding, but it's still in excellent shape. Stamped in the endpaper is the insignia of the Backwater Public Library: two back-to-back crescent moons joined by an eye looking down at an open book.

Frost lines the edges of the library insignia.

>put it on cart
(first taking The Seven Gaunts (smelling faintly of mildew))
The librarian indignantly picks The Seven Gaunts (smelling faintly of mildew) off the cart, then notices the library insignia. 
Klonk-klonk.

>put quantum on cart
(first taking the 'Pataphysical Approaches to Quantum Superfluids (smelling faintly of mildew))
The librarian indignantly picks the 'Pataphysical Approaches to Quantum Superfluids (smelling faintly of mildew) off the cart, then notices the library insignia. 
Klonk-klonk.

>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)
    De Zeven Testamenten van de Krijsende Zeeworm
    Venator in Tenebris
    A Rudimentary Taxonomy of Known Scent and Grotesque Reactions
    Life Beneath Nightmares


>put venator on cart
The librarian indignantly picks the pink-bound book (smelling faintly of mildew) off the cart, then notices the library insignia. 
Klonk-klonk.

>put de zeven testamenten on cart
(first taking De Zeven Testamenten van de Krijsende Zeeworm (smelling faintly of mildew))
The librarian indignantly picks De Zeven Testamenten van de Krijsende Zeeworm (smelling faintly of mildew) off the cart, then notices the library insignia. 
Klonk-klonk.

The librarian fusses about behind the counter. 

>* think that's all we have.  Getting close!
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>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


The librarian sorts some books. 

>* we'll see what the glasses do
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>x tome
Which do you mean, the pink-bound book (smelling faintly of mildew), the shabby journal, De Vermibus Laceris or the soggy tome (smelling faintly of mildew)?

>laceris
A massive tome, with ragged pages bound in badly-decayed black leather, laid open on a stand.

>read it
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.


>* we still need a bunch of stuff here
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>w

Outside the Library (Gavin Inglis)
A short street terminates here. To the south it opens into the town square. To the east, a few worn steps rise to the entrance of the public library, and to the west you can see a real estate office. A gloomy path leads northwest, towards the woods.

You can see a notice board here.

An insubstantial trolley stop sign reads Blue Line -- Library Square.

>* guess we'll check the basement by the sewer last
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>s

Town square, Backwater, VT (Marco Innocenti)
The large, hexagonal-shaped square is paved with big, white stones, polished by rain and wind over the decades; around it, low red-brick buildings look like watching peasants. One single street leaves the square to the north, while less accommodating paths lead west, in the direction of a towering church, and southwest.
Due east, an iron bridge crosses the river, and southeast, a walkway leads down to its bank.

The swollen, slate-colored clouds that blanket the sky are reflected in the shiny, circular shape embellishing the center of the square, muttering ominous portents amongst themselves.

>e
Your feet finally touch down on some blackened shore and into some large subterrane. The slick black stone of the cavern arcs high above your head with strange formations that grow downwards and then out in oddly perpendicular angles. The damp rock moves in and out of focus as some pulsing green light illuminates the space.

Taking a step, you feel the sand pulling at your shoes as though it were thick mud or quicksand. Your feet sink with every step, settling on some solid stone platform just beneath this layer of cloying sand that prevents you from being entirely swallowed.

You pass between two monolithic pillars: oily green-black stone of a height that makes you dizzy to comprehend. Between them, a skeletal bridge stretches out across the chasm.

The crossing spans a ravine of tumultuous water that roars like some uncaged beast and echoes around the cavern. Its Stygian call chills you and draws you in by equal measures as you take the first step onto the slats that form the bridge.

Bridge (Daniel Stelzer and Jemma Briggeman)
You are standing on a bridge spanning east to west in the middle of an echoing cavern. In the center of the bridge is a large loathsome sculpture constructed of pipes that climb up to a cauldron filled with an eerily glowing green moss, the only light source in the room. Beneath your feet you can hear the crashing of the river below. Ahead of you, to your horror, there are slats missing on the bridge - you'll never make it across without replacing them.


On the gap in the bridge are some flat bones.

The rope lies abandoned on the ground in a tangle, one end tied to the bridge, the other to some metallic contraption.

>w

Town square, Backwater, VT (Marco Innocenti)
The large, hexagonal-shaped square is paved with big, white stones, polished by rain and wind over the decades; around it, low red-brick buildings look like watching peasants. One single street leaves the square to the north, while less accommodating paths lead west, in the direction of a towering church, and southwest.
Due east, an iron bridge crosses the river, and southeast, a walkway leads down to its bank.

The swollen, slate-colored clouds that blanket the sky are reflected in the shiny, circular shape embellishing the center of the square, muttering ominous portents amongst themselves.

>se

River Walk (Adam Whybray)
A dirt path along the west bank of the Makaskuta - or Blackgourd - River. The air is motionless and sweltry, the urticariate heat drawing sweat profusely from your prickling glands.

Just below you, to your side, the river burbles in vainglorious stupor, foaming in bright patches from the surfacants released from the rotting deposits of the red maples and poplars that line its banks. A single black ash, denuded of leaves, its corky bark blighted with the telltale signs of parasitic infection, quietly interrupts the Autumnal foliage of its deciduous cousins. 

The river's waters slith over rocks as lustrous-gray as seal skin, rending them freshly burnished for the mid-September sun, which casts Her rays in refulgent slats through the rust-honey colored trees. It is though Nature, in celebration of Her own fecundity, has chosen to offer Herself up in Equinoxical sacrifice - the rocks laid out before the blazing altar of the sun.

There is a forbidding sign on the bank of the river.

The way up to Backwater town square is northwest. Following the path north leads under the bridge.

On the Makaskuta river is a buoy.

You can also see a freshwater lobster trap (in which is an eggbound crawfish) and a shattered crawfish here.

An ethereal trolley stop sign reads Aqua Line -- River Walk.

>n

Under the Bridge (Tenth)
The path along the river gives way to a crumbling stone embankment as it passes below the arch of the old stone bridge. A rusty metal hatch is set into the ground opposite from the river, and towards the end of the embankment, a derelict payphone squats, forgotten, under the shadow of the bridge. To the south, the path continues to follow the river.

>d

Subterranean tunnel (Drew M)
Your light reflects off the cold, shin-deep water. Tiny shadows jump and skitter away from you, making it hard to tell where the walls end and the wildlife begins.  The tunnel continues off to the northwest. To the east lies a door. The way back to the surface lies above. To the north, the stones have recessed to form an alcove a few feet deep.

A weird woman waves and watches you wantonly from the wall.

"Hey, you! Over here! Yoohooo?"

>x coffee
The clouds in your cup form a horse in mid-gallop. Modes of transportation mean that your current environment presents challenges that can only be overcome by seeking fresh perspectives elsewhere until you're ready to return.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.

"Hey! C'mere! You're not deaf, are you?"

>w
You can't go that way.

"Psst! This way! Can you hear?"

>l
Subterranean tunnel (Drew M)
Your light reflects off the cold, shin-deep water. Tiny shadows jump and skitter away from you, making it hard to tell where the walls end and the wildlife begins.  The tunnel continues off to the northwest. To the east lies a door. The way back to the surface lies above. To the north, the stones have recessed to form an alcove a few feet deep.

A weird woman waves and watches you wantonly from the wall.

"Hey, you! I'm waiting! Yoohooo?"

>nw

Tunnel Entrance (Grueslayer)
The ladder leading down the funnel ends here at a brick wall with one or two interesting features. Only a little light shines through the funnel and bathes the surroundings in eerie shadows. The ground seems to be made up of treaded down dirt. A masoned, semi-circular tunnel leads southeast, the walls made up from the same musty red bricks as the wall marking its end. The tunnel is about six feet high. Rolled up on the ground in the southwestern corner is a hobo who declared this tunnel his bedroom.

>x coffee
The clouds in your cup form no discernible pattern. Lack of a symbolic image means that you have accomplished everything you must in your current environment and should move on to find new challenges in order to grow as a person.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.

A ghastly spectral cuckoo flies out of the round white wall clock (smelling faintly of mildew) and announces, "The time is now five o'clock!" before vanishing into thin air.

>u

Basement (Sean M. Shore)
A small wall-mounted sodium lamp bathes this area in a sickly yellow light, and produces a faint buzz that reverberates off the close, mildewed walls.  This is an unfinished, spidery basement, damp and dank and one might even say disused, but on further inspection, that may not be the case.  Some obviously dangerous wooden stairs ascend grudgingly, and an opening in the floor gives way to the tunnel below.

In one corner is a huge Panasonic TV/VCR combo, probably from about five years ago.  Next to it is a stack of VHS tapes.  Some discarded clothes litter the floor.

You can also see a power cord and a mannequin here.

>x coffee
The clouds in your cup form a sturdy oak. Botanical images mean that while there is much left to accomplish in the present situation, your immediate environment sustains you, and you have everything that you need.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.

>* oh, we can progress here, that's weird!
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>s
You can't go that way.

>d

Tunnel Entrance (Grueslayer)
The ladder leading down the funnel ends here at a brick wall with one or two interesting features. Only a little light shines through the funnel and bathes the surroundings in eerie shadows. The ground seems to be made up of treaded down dirt. A masoned, semi-circular tunnel leads southeast, the walls made up from the same musty red bricks as the wall marking its end. The tunnel is about six feet high. Rolled up on the ground in the southwestern corner is a hobo who declared this tunnel his bedroom.

>drop copper
Which do you mean, the copper amulet (smelling faintly of mildew) or the copper urn (smelling faintly of mildew)?

>u
You can't see any such thing.

>drop copper amulet
(first taking the copper amulet (smelling faintly of mildew) off)
Dropped.

For a moment you think you see something moving in the shadows, but it's probably just your mind playing tricks on you.

>u

Basement (Sean M. Shore)
A small wall-mounted sodium lamp bathes this area in a sickly yellow light, and produces a faint buzz that reverberates off the close, mildewed walls.  This is an unfinished, spidery basement, damp and dank and one might even say disused, but on further inspection, that may not be the case.  Some obviously dangerous wooden stairs ascend grudgingly, and an opening in the floor gives way to the tunnel below.

In one corner is a huge Panasonic TV/VCR combo, probably from about five years ago.  Next to it is a stack of VHS tapes.  Some discarded clothes litter the floor.

You can also see a power cord and a mannequin here.

>x coffee
The clouds in your cup form a dromedary camel. Modes of transportation mean that your current environment presents challenges that can only be overcome by seeking fresh perspectives elsewhere until you're ready to return.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.

>* OK that is the amulet
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>d

Tunnel Entrance (Grueslayer)
The ladder leading down the funnel ends here at a brick wall with one or two interesting features. Only a little light shines through the funnel and bathes the surroundings in eerie shadows. The ground seems to be made up of treaded down dirt. A masoned, semi-circular tunnel leads southeast, the walls made up from the same musty red bricks as the wall marking its end. The tunnel is about six feet high. Rolled up on the ground in the southwestern corner is a hobo who declared this tunnel his bedroom.

You can see a copper amulet (smelling faintly of mildew) here.

>take copper amulet
Taken.

>u

Basement (Sean M. Shore)
A small wall-mounted sodium lamp bathes this area in a sickly yellow light, and produces a faint buzz that reverberates off the close, mildewed walls.  This is an unfinished, spidery basement, damp and dank and one might even say disused, but on further inspection, that may not be the case.  Some obviously dangerous wooden stairs ascend grudgingly, and an opening in the floor gives way to the tunnel below.

In one corner is a huge Panasonic TV/VCR combo, probably from about five years ago.  Next to it is a stack of VHS tapes.  Some discarded clothes litter the floor.

You can also see a power cord and a mannequin here.

>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.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.

>take tape 11
The VCR can only play one at a time, so there's no point in juggling multiple tapes.

>put tape 11 in vcr
There's already a tape in there.

>open vcr
It isn't something you can open.

>look in vcr
You recall putting tape 8 in the VCR.

>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.

>watch tv
It's a 29-inch model, perhaps even bigger.  It has all the features of a TV and a VCR, including a four-digit counter that tells you where you are on a tape.  A single power button controls the whole thing, and the counter has a reset pin you can push.  With a tape in, you can PLAY, EJECT, REWIND, or FAST-FORWARD TO (FF TO) a specific spot.

The huge Panasonic TV/VCR combo is currently switched on.

>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.

>* yup, figured it was this one
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>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.

>* Peaches?  Those were Mavis's thing
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>* We've heard of an Edwin but no Edmund, yet
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>z
Time passes.

>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 2046.

>x coffee
The clouds in your cup form a gentle ripple. Lack of a symbolic image means that you have accomplished everything you must in your current environment and should move on to find new challenges in order to grow as a person.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.

>* Huh
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>u

Tiny Windowless Office (Llew Mason)
Stark whitewashed brick walls close in on all sides beneath a low vaulted ceiling. There is something fundamentally wrong with the architecture in here. Lines that should be parallel or perpendicular seem ever so slightly off, making you feel distinctly uneasy.

An enormous desk overflowing with stacked papers takes up most of one side of the room. Besides the stairs that you came up, the only exit lies through a door at the north end of the room. 

>x coffee
The clouds in your cup form a biplane. Modes of transportation mean that your current environment presents challenges that can only be overcome by seeking fresh perspectives elsewhere until you're ready to return.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.

>* good place to call it
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>i
You are carrying:
  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)
  a limp pumpkin stem (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 screws (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)
      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 cast iron spire (smelling faintly of mildew)
  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)
  Daniel Baker's note (smelling faintly of mildew)
  a pull-string doll (smelling faintly of mildew)
  a label (smelling faintly of mildew)
  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 bottle of Pepto-Bismol (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

>save
Ok.

>* oh let me check the meatpacking plpant
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>d

Basement (Sean M. Shore)
A small wall-mounted sodium lamp bathes this area in a sickly yellow light, and produces a faint buzz that reverberates off the close, mildewed walls.  This is an unfinished, spidery basement, damp and dank and one might even say disused, but on further inspection, that may not be the case.  Some obviously dangerous wooden stairs ascend grudgingly, and an opening in the floor gives way to the tunnel below.

In one corner is a huge Panasonic TV/VCR combo, probably from about five years ago.  Next to it is a stack of VHS tapes.  Some discarded clothes litter the floor.

You can also see tape 8, a power cord and a mannequin here.

>d

Tunnel Entrance (Grueslayer)
The ladder leading down the funnel ends here at a brick wall with one or two interesting features. Only a little light shines through the funnel and bathes the surroundings in eerie shadows. The ground seems to be made up of treaded down dirt. A masoned, semi-circular tunnel leads southeast, the walls made up from the same musty red bricks as the wall marking its end. The tunnel is about six feet high. Rolled up on the ground in the southwestern corner is a hobo who declared this tunnel his bedroom.

>e
You can't go that way.

You cringe from thinking something has moved in the shadows, but your mind just played a trick on you. You hope.

>se

Subterranean tunnel (Drew M)
Your light reflects off the cold, shin-deep water. Tiny shadows jump and skitter away from you, making it hard to tell where the walls end and the wildlife begins.  The tunnel continues off to the northwest. To the east lies a door. The way back to the surface lies above. To the north, the stones have recessed to form an alcove a few feet deep.

A weird woman waves and watches you wantonly from the wall.

"Hey, you! This way! You're not deaf, are you?"

>u
Taking a deep breath, you grasp the ladder for support and hook your leg up to the first available step. The metal creeks and groans alarmingly as you transfer your weight, but the bolts hold firm. You shakily gather yourself and begin to ascend back up to the surface.

Under the Bridge (Tenth)
The path along the river gives way to a crumbling stone embankment as it passes below the arch of the old stone bridge. A rusty metal hatch is set into the ground opposite from the river, and towards the end of the embankment, a derelict payphone squats, forgotten, under the shadow of the bridge. To the south, the path continues to follow the river.

>s

River Walk (Adam Whybray)
A dirt path along the west bank of the Makaskuta - or Blackgourd - River. The air is motionless and sweltry, the urticariate heat drawing sweat profusely from your prickling glands.

Just below you, to your side, the river burbles in vainglorious stupor, foaming in bright patches from the surfacants released from the rotting deposits of the red maples and poplars that line its banks. A single black ash, denuded of leaves, its corky bark blighted with the telltale signs of parasitic infection, quietly interrupts the Autumnal foliage of its deciduous cousins. 

The river's waters slith over rocks as lustrous-gray as seal skin, rending them freshly burnished for the mid-September sun, which casts Her rays in refulgent slats through the rust-honey colored trees. It is though Nature, in celebration of Her own fecundity, has chosen to offer Herself up in Equinoxical sacrifice - the rocks laid out before the blazing altar of the sun.

There is a forbidding sign on the bank of the river.

The way up to Backwater town square is northwest. Following the path north leads under the bridge.

On the Makaskuta river is a buoy.

You can also see a freshwater lobster trap (in which is an eggbound crawfish) and a shattered crawfish here.

A ghostly trolley stop sign reads Aqua Line -- River Walk.

>nw

Town square, Backwater, VT (Marco Innocenti)
The large, hexagonal-shaped square is paved with big, white stones, polished by rain and wind over the decades; around it, low red-brick buildings look like watching peasants. One single street leaves the square to the north, while less accommodating paths lead west, in the direction of a towering church, and southwest.
Due east, an iron bridge crosses the river, and southeast, a walkway leads down to its bank.

The swollen, slate-colored clouds that blanket the sky are reflected in the shiny, circular shape embellishing the center of the square, muttering ominous portents amongst themselves.

>e
Your feet finally touch down on some blackened shore and into some large subterrane. The slick black stone of the cavern arcs high above your head with strange formations that grow downwards and then out in oddly perpendicular angles. The damp rock moves in and out of focus as some pulsing green light illuminates the space.

Taking a step, you feel the sand pulling at your shoes as though it were thick mud or quicksand. Your feet sink with every step, settling on some solid stone platform just beneath this layer of cloying sand that prevents you from being entirely swallowed.

You pass between two monolithic pillars: oily green-black stone of a height that makes you dizzy to comprehend. Between them, a skeletal bridge stretches out across the chasm.

The crossing spans a ravine of tumultuous water that roars like some uncaged beast and echoes around the cavern. Its Stygian call chills you and draws you in by equal measures as you take the first step onto the slats that form the bridge.

Bridge (Daniel Stelzer and Jemma Briggeman)
You are standing on a bridge spanning east to west in the middle of an echoing cavern. In the center of the bridge is a large ichorous sculpture constructed of pipes that climb up to a cauldron filled with an eerily glowing green moss, the only light source in the room. Beneath your feet you can hear the crashing of the river below. Ahead of you, to your horror, there are slats missing on the bridge - you'll never make it across without replacing them.


On the gap in the bridge are some flat bones.

The rope lies abandoned on the ground in a tangle, one end tied to the bridge, the other to some metallic contraption.

>e

Outside Pub (Jason Lautzenheiser)
As the street runs east through this side of town, it narrows as the jagged rooftops on either side of the road reach out to each other. To the north is the pub. You can continue to the west where you see a bridge. As you pause on the narrow brick sidewalk which lays unevenly along the ugly, half-crumbling brick walls, you hear a train whistle in the distance. A sign hangs loosely above the pub entrance and to the side is a murky window. 

You can see a newspaper box here.

>e

Constabulary Road (Harkness Munt)
The road phases into little more than a wide dirt track winding from the west towards the edge of town to the northeast.  A paved walk wanders through an iron gate which interrupts a high stone wall looming to the north. A memorial bench sits just outside its shadow. A thickly-woven rampart of vegetation obstructs passage to the south, but you notice a narrow deer trail cutting a path through the deep woods.

A barricade spans the road to the northeast, and beyond it a large shallow pit is being excavated. If you're careful, you could skirt the edges of the pit and continue along the northeast road.

A phantom trolley stop sign reads Orange Line -- Constabulary Road.

>e
You can't go that way.

>ne

Hillside Path (Jack Welch)
You are in a hillside hollow flanked on three sides by sheer granite cliffs and on the other by gnarled vegetation.

Three trailheads hold out some chance of respite: north, southwest, and southeast.

You can see a stone altar here.

>se

Outside the Plant (Chandler Groover)
Smoke pours into a bruised sky, rising from chimneys that crowd the Cragne Meatpacking Plant. Its bricks are soot-stained, its stenciled walls weathered by acid rain.

A hole is smashed into its side.

To the northwest, a hill begins to climb toward Cragne Manor.

A spectral trolley stop sign reads Red Line -- Meatpacking Plant.

>in

The meatpacking plant (Kenneth Pedersen)
You are standing in the center of the main room of the meatpacking plant. An open doorway leads west from this huge room to somewhere darker, while some rickety stairs lead up.  A long row of meat hooks are hanging from the ceiling parallel to a bloodstained table. It is not too late to leave yet, by going out the front door.

>x coffee
The clouds in your cup form a kayak. Modes of transportation mean that your current environment presents challenges that can only be overcome by seeking fresh perspectives elsewhere until you're ready to return.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.

>out

Outside the Plant (Chandler Groover)
Smoke pours into a bruised sky, rising from chimneys that crowd the Cragne Meatpacking Plant. Its bricks are soot-stained, its stenciled walls weathered by acid rain.

A hole is smashed into its side.

To the northwest, a hill begins to climb toward Cragne Manor.

A ghostly trolley stop sign reads Red Line -- Meatpacking Plant.

>nw

Hillside Path (Jack Welch)
You are in a hillside hollow flanked on three sides by sheer granite cliffs and on the other by gnarled vegetation.

Three trailheads hold out some chance of respite: north, southwest, and southeast.

You can see a stone altar here.

>w
You can't go that way.

>sw

Constabulary Road (Harkness Munt)
The road phases into little more than a wide dirt track winding from the west towards the edge of town to the northeast.  A paved walk wanders through an iron gate which interrupts a high stone wall looming to the north. A memorial bench sits just outside its shadow. A thickly-woven rampart of vegetation obstructs passage to the south, but you notice a narrow deer trail cutting a path through the deep woods.

A barricade spans the road to the northeast, and beyond it a large shallow pit is being excavated. If you're careful, you could skirt the edges of the pit and continue along the northeast road.

A noncorporeal trolley stop sign reads Orange Line -- Constabulary Road.

>w

Outside Pub (Jason Lautzenheiser)
As the street runs east through this side of town, it narrows as the jagged rooftops on either side of the road reach out to each other. To the north is the pub. You can continue to the west where you see a bridge. As you pause on the narrow brick sidewalk which lays unevenly along the ugly, half-crumbling brick walls, you hear a train whistle in the distance. A sign hangs loosely above the pub entrance and to the side is a murky window. 

You can see a newspaper box here.

>w
Your feet finally touch down on some blackened shore and into some large subterrane. The slick black stone of the cavern arcs high above your head with strange formations that grow downwards and then out in oddly perpendicular angles. The damp rock moves in and out of focus as some pulsing green light illuminates the space.

Taking a step, you feel the sand pulling at your shoes as though it were thick mud or quicksand. Your feet sink with every step, settling on some solid stone platform just beneath this layer of cloying sand that prevents you from being entirely swallowed.

You pass between two monolithic pillars: oily green-black stone of a height that makes you dizzy to comprehend. Between them, a skeletal bridge stretches out across the chasm.

The crossing spans a ravine of tumultuous water that roars like some uncaged beast and echoes around the cavern. Its Stygian call chills you and draws you in by equal measures as you take the first step onto the slats that form the bridge.

Bridge (Daniel Stelzer and Jemma Briggeman)
You are standing on a bridge spanning east to west in the middle of an echoing cavern. In the center of the bridge is a large chthonic sculpture constructed of pipes that climb up to a cauldron filled with an eerily glowing green moss, the only light source in the room. Beneath your feet you can hear the crashing of the river below. Ahead of you, to your horror, there are slats missing on the bridge - you'll never make it across without replacing them.


On the gap in the bridge are some flat bones.

The rope lies abandoned on the ground in a tangle, one end tied to the bridge, the other to some metallic contraption.

>* OK
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>* we now we can go in the crypt
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>*not the office or tunnel
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>w

Town square, Backwater, VT (Marco Innocenti)
The large, hexagonal-shaped square is paved with big, white stones, polished by rain and wind over the decades; around it, low red-brick buildings look like watching peasants. One single street leaves the square to the north, while less accommodating paths lead west, in the direction of a towering church, and southwest.
Due east, an iron bridge crosses the river, and southeast, a walkway leads down to its bank.

The swollen, slate-colored clouds that blanket the sky are reflected in the shiny, circular shape embellishing the center of the square, muttering ominous portents amongst themselves.

>nw
No visible exit there. You can go north, east, west, southwest, and southeast.

>n

Outside the Library (Gavin Inglis)
A short street terminates here. To the south it opens into the town square. To the east, a few worn steps rise to the entrance of the public library, and to the west you can see a real estate office. A gloomy path leads northwest, towards the woods.

You can see a notice board here.

A spectral trolley stop sign reads Blue Line -- Library Square.

>nw

Shack Exterior (Michael Lin)
A clearing, outside a wooden shack. A clockwork doll sits here, utterly incongruous at the edge of the woods.

The woods are to the northwest, while that godforsaken town is to the southeast.

>x coffee
The swirls in your cup form a kayak. Modes of transportation mean that your current environment presents challenges that can only be overcome by seeking fresh perspectives elsewhere until you're ready to return.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.

>* not here
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>sw
You can't go that way.

>w
You can't go that way.

>nw

The Dim Recesses of the Forest (Jacqueline A. Lott Ashwell)
Branches scramble overhead, straining toward one another in a bid to blot out the sky. Mercifully, light manages to filter down through an opening in the canopy above a small pond. Paths slither away into the forest to the north, southwest, and southeast.

>sw

The Churchyard (David Jose)
A neglected and long forgotten cemetery stretches out below you, surrounded by a rusted wrought iron fence. Lopsided gravemarkers, slowly succumbing to the elements, topple downhill like a congregation bent low in prayer. At the very center of the graveyard, set into a low valley, a squat, stone mausoleum crouches menacingly.

To the southwest a dilapidated, stave church rises up obscenely against the night sky.

A dark pine forest crowds against the wrought iron fence to the northeast. You might be able to forge a path between its trees.

>sw

Church Exterior (Andy Holloway)
The gravel road curves here past the doors of an old stone church, which squats defeatedly amid a few straggly trees. Behind it, to the northeast, you can see the first few stones of a modest graveyard. To the east the road narrows to cross a small bridge into the village proper; to the north, it crests the hill toward the train station.

A noncorporeal trolley stop sign reads Gold Line -- Church.

>x coffee
The swirls in your cup form a unicycle. Modes of transportation mean that your current environment presents challenges that can only be overcome by seeking fresh perspectives elsewhere until you're ready to return.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.

>* nope
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>n

Milkweed (Caleb Wilson)
It is possible to feel claustrophobia out of doors. Sunlight fills the sky but somehow doesn't reach you here. Steep banks of bramble rise to the east and west, trapping you within a gloomy trough a dozen yards wide. A poorly-surfaced road leads north and south along the trough's nadir. Just west of it, camouflaged with rust, is the train track.

A tremendous patch of milkweed, the stems abnormally thick and tall, grows on the east side of the road beneath the thorn bank.

A green stone altar, once at the center of the shack, stands amidst broken boards and milkweed.

(That earworm is still lodged in your head.)

A ghastly spectral cuckoo flies out of the round white wall clock (smelling faintly of mildew) and squawks, "The time is now four o'clock!" before vanishing into thin air.

>n

Exterior of Train Station (Emily Short with additions from Graham Nelson)
To the north is the monumental windowless bulk of the train station. Perhaps that is unsurprising, given the rest of the town. A metal trash can squats beneath its carved facade. The town itself is downhill, on the other side of a ravine.

The sky hates you.

>n

Train Station Lobby (Shin)
The surroundings are as dim and dingy as ever. The platform is to the north. The dirty, cobweb-covered windows and the station exit are to the south. The large mirror and the green door are to the east. The restroom door is to the west. You are unsure what you should do.

>x coffee
The clouds in your cup form a roller blade. Modes of transportation mean that your current environment presents challenges that can only be overcome by seeking fresh perspectives elsewhere until you're ready to return.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.

>* nope
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>* maybe we can find the peaches in the pantry?  Other thanthat I think it's just the crrypt we can open
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>s

Exterior of Train Station (Emily Short with additions from Graham Nelson)
To the north is the gigantic windowless bulk of the train station. Perhaps that is unsurprising, given the rest of the town. A metal trash can squats beneath its carved facade. The town itself is downhill, on the other side of a ravine.

The sky hates you.

>s
You pass over the bridge. The ravine has become a white river, teeming with creatures: you see a fin, a gill, a plaintive upturned face, before each is swept away.

Milkweed (Caleb Wilson)
It is possible to feel claustrophobia out of doors. Sunlight fills the sky but somehow doesn't reach you here. Steep banks of bramble rise to the east and west, trapping you within a gloomy trough a dozen yards wide. A poorly-surfaced road leads north and south along the trough's nadir. Just west of it, camouflaged with rust, is the train track.

A tremendous patch of milkweed, the stems abnormally thick and tall, grows on the east side of the road beneath the thorn bank.

A green stone altar, once at the center of the shack, stands amidst broken boards and milkweed.

(That earworm is still lodged in your head.)

>se
You're too tired for bushwhacking; better stick to the road, which runs north and south.

>s

Church Exterior (Andy Holloway)
The gravel road curves here past the doors of an old stone church, which squats defeatedly amid a few straggly trees. Behind it, to the northeast, you can see the first few stones of a modest graveyard. To the east the road narrows to cross a small bridge into the village proper; to the north, it crests the hill toward the train station.

A phantom trolley stop sign reads Gold Line -- Church.

>se
You can't go that way.

>e

Town square, Backwater, VT (Marco Innocenti)
The large, hexagonal-shaped square is paved with big, white stones, polished by rain and wind over the decades; around it, low red-brick buildings look like watching peasants. One single street leaves the square to the north, while less accommodating paths lead west, in the direction of a towering church, and southwest.
Due east, an iron bridge crosses the river, and southeast, a walkway leads down to its bank.

The swollen, slate-colored clouds that blanket the sky are reflected in the shiny, circular shape embellishing the center of the square, muttering ominous portents amongst themselves.

>e
Your feet finally touch down on some blackened shore and into some large subterrane. The slick black stone of the cavern arcs high above your head with strange formations that grow downwards and then out in oddly perpendicular angles. The damp rock moves in and out of focus as some pulsing green light illuminates the space.

Taking a step, you feel the sand pulling at your shoes as though it were thick mud or quicksand. Your feet sink with every step, settling on some solid stone platform just beneath this layer of cloying sand that prevents you from being entirely swallowed.

You pass between two monolithic pillars: oily green-black stone of a height that makes you dizzy to comprehend. Between them, a skeletal bridge stretches out across the chasm.

The crossing spans a ravine of tumultuous water that roars like some uncaged beast and echoes around the cavern. Its Stygian call chills you and draws you in by equal measures as you take the first step onto the slats that form the bridge.

Bridge (Daniel Stelzer and Jemma Briggeman)
You are standing on a bridge spanning east to west in the middle of an echoing cavern. In the center of the bridge is a large reptilian sculpture constructed of pipes that climb up to a cauldron filled with an eerily glowing green moss, the only light source in the room. Beneath your feet you can hear the crashing of the river below. Ahead of you, to your horror, there are slats missing on the bridge - you'll never make it across without replacing them.


On the gap in the bridge are some flat bones.

The rope lies abandoned on the ground in a tangle, one end tied to the bridge, the other to some metallic contraption.

>e

Outside Pub (Jason Lautzenheiser)
As the street runs east through this side of town, it narrows as the jagged rooftops on either side of the road reach out to each other. To the north is the pub. You can continue to the west where you see a bridge. As you pause on the narrow brick sidewalk which lays unevenly along the ugly, half-crumbling brick walls, you hear a train whistle in the distance. A sign hangs loosely above the pub entrance and to the side is a murky window. 

You can see a newspaper box here.

>e

Constabulary Road (Harkness Munt)
The road phases into little more than a wide dirt track winding from the west towards the edge of town to the northeast.  A paved walk wanders through an iron gate which interrupts a high stone wall looming to the north. A memorial bench sits just outside its shadow. A thickly-woven rampart of vegetation obstructs passage to the south, but you notice a narrow deer trail cutting a path through the deep woods.

A barricade spans the road to the northeast, and beyond it a large shallow pit is being excavated. If you're careful, you could skirt the edges of the pit and continue along the northeast road.

A mistlike trolley stop sign reads Orange Line -- Constabulary Road.

>e
You can't go that way.

>ne

Hillside Path (Jack Welch)
You are in a hillside hollow flanked on three sides by sheer granite cliffs and on the other by gnarled vegetation.

Three trailheads hold out some chance of respite: north, southwest, and southeast.

You can see a stone altar here.

>n

Front Walk (Matt Weiner)
Cragne Manor looms to the north. Its light gray marble front is marred by a screened-in wooden porch, clearly tacked on well after the manor was built. A gravel path bends around the manor to the northeast and northwest, and the driveway leads south back to town.

By the porch steps is a post with a placard reading "31." A strange little manikin is affixed to it.

A spectral trolley stop sign reads Purple Line -- Cragne Manor.

>in
You climb the steps to the porch.

Mudroom (Matt Weiner)
The porch is a mudroom, a place for taking off coats and muddy shoes. The marble front wall seems like a sheer cliff face, the porch like a flimsy shelter built onto it. The front door leads inside to the north.

In one corner of the porch a strangely shaped hook is fastened to the wall. A black cloak hangs beside it.

In the other corner of the porch is a small wooden table.

A slightly muddy welcome mat lies in front of the door.

>n

Foyer (Greg Frost)
Standing in the narrow entry hall is like being at the mouth of a cave. The only light comes in through tall windows on either side of the door and a half-round window above. All of the furniture has been removed from the foyer, leaving tracks in the heavy dust. 

The night sky is dark and full of stars. Hallways lead west and east into other parts of the house. A doorway leads north; the front door is to the south.

>n

Landing at the Bottom of Stairs (Mark Sample)
This is a dark alcove with a narrow stairway rising into the gloom upstairs. Shadows lurch over a doorway to the south. Opposite those shadows lies another doorway, in even darker shadows. What little light there is seeps in from a small elliptical window high on the wall.

The ramshackle bookshelf lies in a pile of splintered wood on the floor like a fallen scarecrow, arms akimbo.

>n

Dining Room (Roberto Colnaghi)
A long, rectangular mahogany table takes up most of the room. The room is old and dusty, and it seems decades have passed since the last time someone had dinner here. On the table lies a broken machine, and a calendar is pinned on the wall. Doorways lead west, east, and south.

>w

The Kitchen (Edward B)
The Cragne family kitchen. Light from a naked bulb feeds shadow down the spaces between old cabinets, counters and bookshelves. A dusty, doorless fridge overlooks an oven just as worse for wear. You'd guess it's been a minute since anyone's used this room to cook. A doorway leads east, and a wooden door set in the floor appears to lead to a cellar or basement.

>d
Carefully, you descend the creaking steps.

Basement (Ivan Roth)
It's dark and chilly down here. A damp, mildewy carpet of dimly visible design covers half the floor. It must have been luxuriously soft before it started rotting.

A rickety staircase leads back up towards the heavy wooden door to the kitchen. A flimsy plywood door leads north, but you know what lies in that direction. The dimly-lit basement extends in every other direction, south, east and west.

A metal hatch opens into darkness below.

>e

Pantry (Chris Conley)
You are in a pantry lined with metal shelves stretching the entire length of both walls. Most of the metal shelves' contents lie deep in shadow, as the room is lit by only a single bare bulb hanging three feet above your head. The flat dark stones echo as you walk, and the air down here is cold and damp.

The rest of the basement lies off to the west. A dark doorway beckons to the east.

Pale roots of some unknown plant have broken through the ceiling in one corner, dangling halfway to the floor.

You can also see a disgusting rotting pumpkin here.

>x peaches
You can't see any such thing.

>look for peaches
You can't see any such thing.

>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.

>* yup!
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>x jars
Jars of a dizzying array of sizes and shapes and colors. At least they seem to be organized by contents; fruit here, vegetables there, liquids on the bottom.

>x fruit
You can't see any such thing.

>x jars of fruit
I only understood you as far as wanting to examine the dusty glass jars.

>x jars
Jars of a dizzying array of sizes and shapes and colors. At least they seem to be organized by contents; fruit here, vegetables there, liquids on the bottom.

>g
Jars of a dizzying array of sizes and shapes and colors. At least they seem to be organized by contents; fruit here, vegetables there, liquids on the bottom.

>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.

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

>x liquid
(the little stoppered vial of blue liquid (smelling faintly of mildew))
You see nothing special about the little stoppered vial of blue liquid (smelling faintly of mildew).

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.

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

>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).

>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?

>x coffee
The clouds in your cup form a pair of dandelions. Botanical images mean that while there is much left to accomplish in the present situation, your immediate environment sustains you, and you have everything that you need.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.

You want to stick your face in that peach brine.

>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!
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>* sorry
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>take doll
Taken.

>drink peaches
(the pickled peaches)
There's nothing suitable to drink here.

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

>i
You are carrying:
  a pull-string doll (smelling faintly of mildew)
  a jar of peaches (smelling faintly of mildew) (open)
    some golden peach liquid
      some pickled peaches
  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)
  a limp pumpkin stem (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 screws (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)
      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 cast iron spire (smelling faintly of mildew)
  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)
  Daniel Baker's note (smelling faintly of mildew)
  a label (smelling faintly of mildew)
  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 bottle of Pepto-Bismol (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

You have an irrational urge to climb inside the jar of peaches (smelling faintly of mildew).

>        put pumpkin stem 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
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.)

>consider myself
I only understood you as far as wanting to consider.

>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
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>reconstitute saffron
You flick a crumb into the jar, and within seconds a familiar pinch of saffron (smelling faintly of mildew) pops out. You're ready for it this time, and you manage to grab it in mid-air.

>reconstitute snail paste
You flick a crumb into the jar, and within seconds a familiar pinch of snail paste (smelling faintly of mildew) pops out. You manage to hold on to it.

>i
You are carrying:
  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 jar of peaches (smelling faintly of mildew) (open)
    some golden peach liquid
      some pickled peaches
  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 screws (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)
      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 cast iron spire (smelling faintly of mildew)
  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)
  Daniel Baker's note (smelling faintly of mildew)
  a label (smelling faintly of mildew)
  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 bottle of Pepto-Bismol (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

>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.

You have a craving to dive inside the jar of peaches (smelling faintly of mildew).

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

What drove you to eat this last night?

>* WTF, pistachio is great
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>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.

>reconstitute garlic
You flick a crumb into the jar, and within seconds a familiar pinch of garlic pops out. You manage to hold on to it.

>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 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)

>reconstitute turmeric
You flick a crumb into the jar, and within seconds a familiar pinch of turmeric (smelling faintly of mildew) pops out. You manage to hold on to it.

>reconstitute cardamom
You flick a crumb into the jar, and within seconds a familiar pinch of cardamom (smelling faintly of mildew) pops out. You manage to hold on to it.

>reconstitute cinnamon
You flick a crumb into the jar, and within seconds a familiar pinch of cinnamon (smelling faintly of mildew) pops out. You manage to hold on to it.

>reconstitute pepper
You flick a crumb into the jar, and within seconds a familiar pinch of pepper (smelling faintly of mildew) pops out. You manage to hold on to it.

>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 cardamom (smelling faintly of mildew)

>* hu
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>reconstitute cardomom
That noun did not make sense in this context.

>reconstitute cardamom
The pinch of cardamom (smelling faintly of mildew) gets a little wet. It must not be a good candidate for reconstitution.

>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 cardamom (smelling faintly of mildew)

>x coffee
The swirls in your cup form a row of trees. Botanical images mean that while there is much left to accomplish in the present situation, your immediate environment sustains you, and you have everything that you need.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.

You want to just curl up inside that jar of peaches (smelling faintly of mildew).

>save
Ok.

>i
You are carrying:
  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
  a big slice of cold pizza (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 jar of peaches (smelling faintly of mildew) (open)
    some golden peach liquid
      some pickled peaches
  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 screws (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)
      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 cast iron spire (smelling faintly of mildew)
  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)
  Daniel Baker's note (smelling faintly of mildew)
  a label (smelling faintly of mildew)
  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 bottle of Pepto-Bismol (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

>      eat ice cream
Blecch. You would never willingly eat pistachio. There's no way you had that for dessert last night.

>eat pizza
Tastes just as good as the last time you had it.

A ghastly spectral cuckoo flies out of the round white wall clock (smelling faintly of mildew) and announces, "The time is now three o'clock!" before vanishing into thin air.

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

>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.

>take it
You're carrying too many things already.

>l
Pantry (Chris Conley)
You are in a pantry lined with metal shelves stretching the entire length of both walls. Most of the metal shelves' contents lie deep in shadow, as the room is lit by only a single bare bulb hanging three feet above your head. The flat dark stones echo as you walk, and the air down here is cold and damp.

The rest of the basement lies off to the west. A dark doorway beckons to the east.

Pale roots of some unknown plant have broken through the ceiling in one corner, dangling halfway to the floor.

You can also see a whole large reddish-orange pumpkin and a disgusting rotting pumpkin here.

>i
You are carrying:
  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
  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 jar of peaches (smelling faintly of mildew) (open)
    some golden peach liquid
      some pickled peaches
  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 screws (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)
      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 cast iron spire (smelling faintly of mildew)
  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)
  Daniel Baker's note (smelling faintly of mildew)
  a label (smelling faintly of mildew)
  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 bottle of Pepto-Bismol (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

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

>put spire in trash pocket
You put the cast iron spire (smelling faintly of mildew) into the trash pocket.

>put baker's note in trash pocket
You put Daniel Baker's note (smelling faintly of mildew) into the trash pocket.

You want to stick your face in that peach brine.

>wear label
Which do you mean, the jar of screws (smelling faintly of mildew) or the label (smelling faintly of mildew)?

>put pepto-bismol in trash pocket
You put the bottle of Pepto-Bismol (smelling faintly of mildew) into the trash pocket.

>wear label
Which do you mean, the jar of screws (smelling faintly of mildew) or the label (smelling faintly of mildew)?

>label
Which do you mean, the jar of screws (smelling faintly of mildew) or the label (smelling faintly of mildew)?

>drop jar of crews
I only understood you as far as wanting to drop the jar of peaches (smelling faintly of mildew).

>drop jar of screws
Dropped.

>wear label
(the label (smelling faintly of mildew))
You stick the label to your shirt. Now it looks like your name is "Lost and Found."

>take jar of screws
Taken.

>take pumpkin
(the whole large reddish-orange pumpkin)
Taken.

>save
Ok.

>x coffee
The clouds in your cup form a pair of dandelions. Botanical images mean that while there is much left to accomplish in the present situation, your immediate environment sustains you, and you have everything that you need.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.

>i
You are carrying:
  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
  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 jar of peaches (smelling faintly of mildew) (open)
    some golden peach liquid
      some pickled peaches
  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

>           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 cardamom (smelling faintly of mildew)

>eat al
You can't see any such thing.

>eat all
There are none at all available!

> 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.

>l
Pantry (Chris Conley)
You are in a pantry lined with metal shelves stretching the entire length of both walls. Most of the metal shelves' contents lie deep in shadow, as the room is lit by only a single bare bulb hanging three feet above your head. The flat dark stones echo as you walk, and the air down here is cold and damp.

The rest of the basement lies off to the west. A dark doorway beckons to the east.

Pale roots of some unknown plant have broken through the ceiling in one corner, dangling halfway to the floor.

You can also see a disgusting rotting pumpkin here.

>x roots
The dangling roots are tan-colored, nearly white, thick and veiny. They branch off at strange, sharp angles, ultimately terminating in wispy strands that hang halfway to the floor.

>eat roots
They're plainly inedible.

>reconstitute roots
You probably should try that with something that you can actually pick up.

You have an irrational urge to climb inside the jar of peaches (smelling faintly of mildew).

>reconstitute rotting
You probably should try that with something that you can actually pick up.

>pick up rotting
You succeed only in coating your arms in pumpkin goo.

>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 cardamom (smelling faintly of mildew)

>z
Time passes.

>x peaches
(the pickled peaches)
Orange pickled peach quarters. They look delectable.

>eat peaches
(the jar of peaches (smelling faintly of mildew))
That's plainly inedible.

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

> pickled
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>x pickled
Orange pickled peach quarters. They look delectable.

>eat pickled
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.

>reconstitute peack
That noun did not make sense in this context.

>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 cardamom (smelling faintly of mildew)

>* hmm
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>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.

>* Oh, OK!
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>* ...that's a lot of negatives in the last sentence of the first paragraph there but I think it means I'm not dying
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>x boulders
These are giant things, larger than you, floating suspended in the brine. They must be the pickled peaches.

The tiny light-colored speck darts by once more.

>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.

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

>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
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

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

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

>eat mote
He's plainly inedible.

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

>tell mote about me
A feeling of confusion fills your mind.

>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.

>l
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 metal shelves 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.

A small speck floats in front of you, waiting.

>x shelves
You can barely see the metal shelves from inside here. They're just a big jumbled blob.

>out
You swim up... and up... and break the surface... And suddenly you emerge, wet and dripping, in...

Pantry (Chris Conley)
You are in a pantry lined with metal shelves stretching the entire length of both walls. Most of the metal shelves' contents lie deep in shadow, as the room is lit by only a single bare bulb hanging three feet above your head. The flat dark stones echo as you walk, and the air down here is cold and damp.

The rest of the basement lies off to the west. A dark doorway beckons to the east.

Pale roots of some unknown plant have broken through the ceiling in one corner, dangling halfway to the floor.

You can also see a jar of peaches (smelling faintly of mildew) (in which is some golden peach liquid (in which are some pickled peaches)) and a disgusting rotting pumpkin here.

> x mote
You can't see any such thing.

>enter jar
(the jar of peaches (smelling faintly of mildew))
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 ceiling 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.

A small speck floats in front of you, waiting.

The fleck throbs twice.

>clap
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

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

>say hello to mote
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.

>g
You are already talking to the tiny flitting thing.

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

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

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

>* huh, thought it might be her
You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom.

>eat peacehes
You can't see any such thing.

>eat peach
(the giant orange boulders)
Each one is bigger than you. You don't have all day.

>give peach to mote
(the giant orange boulders to the tiny flitting thing)
(first taking the giant orange boulders)
They're fixed in place.

>take mote
The spot darts away before you can catch it. Then, a moment later, it's back.

>i
You are carrying:
  Nothing you can make use of.

>l
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.

A small speck floats in front of you, waiting.

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

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

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

>tell mote about peaches
The spot... shrugs. Somehow.

>tell mote about salona
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?

>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?

>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.

>* huh
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>* not sure we have anyplace that will work yet
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>* except maybe not-Anchorhead?
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>out
You swim up... and up... and break the surface... And suddenly you emerge, wet and dripping, in...

Pantry (Chris Conley)
You are in a pantry lined with metal shelves stretching the entire length of both walls. Most of the metal shelves' contents lie deep in shadow, as the room is lit by only a single bare bulb hanging three feet above your head. The flat dark stones echo as you walk, and the air down here is cold and damp.

The rest of the basement lies off to the west. A dark doorway beckons to the east.

Pale roots of some unknown plant have broken through the ceiling in one corner, dangling halfway to the floor.

You can also see a jar of peaches (smelling faintly of mildew) (in which is some golden peach liquid (in which are some pickled peaches)) and a disgusting rotting pumpkin here.

>x coffee
The swirls in your cup form no discernible pattern. Lack of a symbolic image means that you have accomplished everything you must in your current environment and should move on to find new challenges in order to grow as a person.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.

>take jar
(the jar of peaches (smelling faintly of mildew))
Taken.

>* Yay
That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later.

>w

Basement (Ivan Roth)
It's dark and chilly down here. A damp, mildewy carpet of dimly visible design covers half the floor. It must have been luxuriously soft before it started rotting.

A rickety staircase leads back up towards the heavy wooden door to the kitchen. A flimsy plywood door leads north, but you know what lies in that direction. The dimly-lit basement extends in every other direction, south, east and west.

A metal hatch opens into darkness below.

>w

Wine Cellar (Nathaniel Edwards)
You feel cool air swirling around you as you stand in the manor's wine cellar. Stone floors, stone walls, and dim lighting keep the household's dwindling wine collection fresh and oaky.

A large wooden wine rack covers one entire wall of the room, but with only a few bottles left on it. You can see a door to the west Another exit leads east.

You count four bottles of wine lingering on the wine rack. Each bottle has a different name, all either Italian or faux Italian: the Piccoli Uomini Blu, the Prurito Notturno, the Lettera Segreta and the Isole Perdute.

You can see a wine cask here.

>w
Your ears pop and you stumble as you step across the threshold, reeling in a momentary gravitational slippage.

Laboratory (Michael Gentry)
Hard, white light reflected from steel walls pricks painfully at your eyes. Through the glare you can make out the implements of some sort of laboratory, squirming sculptures of metal and glass dripping curdled fluids and spurting foul-smelling puffs of steam. A way out lies east, but otherwise there seem to be no other exits from this place.

The author is here, hunched over and fidgeting intently with a roiling knot of impossible space that floats in the middle of the room.

>x coffee
The clouds in your cup form a skateboard. Modes of transportation mean that your current environment presents challenges that can only be overcome by seeking fresh perspectives elsewhere until you're ready to return.

A faint smell of mildew emanates from it.

The impossible space's surface momentarily reflects the author's crazed, pleading face.

>e
"Come back soon!" the author calls after you.

Wine Cellar (Nathaniel Edwards)
You feel cool air swirling around you as you stand in the manor's wine cellar. Stone floors, stone walls, and dim lighting keep the household's dwindling wine collection fresh and oaky.

A large wooden wine rack covers one entire wall of the room, but with only a few bottles left on it. You can see a door to the west Another exit leads east.

You count four bottles of wine lingering on the wine rack. Each bottle has a different name, all either Italian or faux Italian: the Piccoli Uomini Blu, the Prurito Notturno, the Lettera Segreta and the Isole Perdute.

You can see a wine cask here.

>i
You are carrying:
  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

> save
Ok.

>