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, castle or shop! You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >* I guess castle had the secret door, so let's save that for later You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >e Curiosity Shop (Rachel Spitler) A mingling of comfortable scents welcomes you to the small shop -- coffee, apples, cedar, soap, peppercorn -- and below it, just a hint of something metallic you can't quite recognize. The large windows behind you cast a dappled sort of light over the rug-strewn floors, the cheerful back counter with its display case underneath, the walls crowded with goods for sale. The courtyard lies back out to the west. A woman is running a carpet-sweeper over the floor. >* Rachel Spitler appears to be an IF neophyte; some googling suggests she might have done a Webcomic at some point? That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >* called "Runewood Abbey" which is pretty metal That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >x me It's you! >* it's me! That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >smell On the air, you catch a whiff of mint. >g On the air, you catch a whiff of ... surely not blood. >g On the air, you catch a whiff of ozone. >g On the air, you catch a whiff of lemony freshness. >g On the air, you catch a whiff of mildew. >* nice! That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >smell On the air, you catch a whiff of yeast. >g On the air, you catch a whiff of alcohol. >g On the air, you catch a whiff of something fermented. >g On the air, you catch a whiff of shrimp. >g On the air, you catch a whiff of sulfur. >g On the air, you catch a whiff of alcohol. >g On the air, you catch a whiff of mint. >g On the air, you catch a whiff of ... surely not blood. >g On the air, you catch a whiff of alcohol. >g On the air, you catch a whiff of juniper. >g On the air, you catch a whiff of mint. >g On the air, you catch a whiff of yeast. >g On the air, you catch a whiff of sulfur. >g On the air, you catch a whiff of pork fat. >g On the air, you catch a whiff of chocolate and peanut butter. >g On the air, you catch a whiff of vanilla. A ghastly spectral cuckoo flies out of the round white wall clock (smelling faintly of mildew) and squawks, "The time is now seven o'clock!" before vanishing into thin air. >g On the air, you catch a whiff of shrimp. >* that never fails to make me jump That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >l Curiosity Shop (Rachel Spitler) A mingling of comfortable scents welcomes you to the small shop -- coffee, apples, cedar, soap, peppercorn -- and below it, just a hint of something metallic you can't quite recognize. The large windows behind you cast a dappled sort of light over the rug-strewn floors, the cheerful back counter with its display case underneath, the walls crowded with goods for sale. The courtyard lies back out to the west. Jessenia cleans some of the merchandise. >x windows The courtyard waits outside. >x rugs The rugs are a chaotic mish-mash of styles and colors, some clearly mass-produced, others handcrafted with remarkable skill. Still, taken all together they have a pleasing effect -- the patterns are almost complementary, adding up to form a new pattern between them that you can only almost follow. It feels good under your feet, somehow. >look under rugs You find nothing of interest. >take rugs They're hardly portable. >* Oh we know this is Jessenia now That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >x counter The cash register and phone are surrounded by jars of bright-colored rock candy, cinnamon sticks, and other small goodies. A notepad, dark with ink, is pushed off to one side. Underneath the counter, a glass display case prominently features a beat-up violin, a geode, and an elegant tarot deck. >x walls The shelves dominating the north and south walls are all but overflowing with items, useful or delicious or at least interesting. There's no order to them as far as you can tell: spoons, jugs, bottles, sachets of spices, bolts of cloth, barrels of apples, sacks of flour and sugar, knives, ribbons, straw hats, garden trowels, brooms, mouse traps, paints, wooden boxes of tea, heaps of hand-dipped candles. You don't see a brand name anywhere. It all seems charmingly old-fashioned and homely. At first. But... As you look more closely, you start to notice peculiar things scattered among the household goods. A stack of small cast-iron cauldrons; several rolls of thick parchment as tall as your waist. Substances with confounding labels sit innocently together in a wooden rack. Above the display, a line of fearsome masks leer down on you. One shelf holds an assortment of animal skulls, paws, furs, tusks, antlers, feathers; a tiny curtain is drawn across a display of glass jars, but you catch a glimpse of lumpy red that turns your stomach. Cards are sold in packs of 79, but all of them seem to be blank. Crystals of every description stand in bunches among the household tools. It's all rather overwhelming. >* it is rather overwhelming! That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >x woman The shopkeeper is a tall, dark-haired woman with glowing brown skin -- metaphorically glowing -- about half a generation older than you. She speaks with a slight Spanish accent and wears a plain canvas apron over a dark blue blouse and jeans. A small amulet rests over her heart. Although she's keeping very busy, she beams whenever you catch her eye, and it seems to come naturally. At the moment, Jessenia is taking inventory. >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 jessenia's amulet A tiny silver hand with a triangle on its palm, oddly cute, peaceful. It hangs on a thin, mismatched-looking metal chain. >* hah, two people had the same idea! You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >* There was a curiousity shop in Anchorhead, I think, where you get this amulet You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >x cards Looks like you were right. Seventy-nine completely blank cards to each pack, hand-bound in twine and labeled only by number, with no obvious explanation or instruction. >x jars Which do you mean, jar of rock candy or the jars behind the curtain? >rock One of the jars on the counter is open, glittering with champagne-colored candies. >eat rock (the grimy rock (smelling faintly of mildew)) And get it stuck in your throat? >eat rock candy "Please, try one!" says Jessenia. You pop a rock candy into your mouth. It's rough and sweet on your tongue, and slightly spicy, like ginger. >* nice! That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >* this place is far more pleasant than our usual haunts That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >x jars behind You can't see any such thing. >x jars behind curtain As you surmised, the jars behind the curtain hold internal organs, mostly quite small, floating in translucent fluids. A few whole creatures haunt the back, including a variety of frogs and some kind of awful centipede. You let the curtain fall back over them and compulsively wipe your fingers on your pant leg. > x cauldrons They look sturdy enough, but they're too small to cook a meal in. >x scrolls You can't see any such thing. >x parchment You're no expert in parchment-making, but these rolls seem insanely large. Are they seamed together? Are they made from... some kind of buffalo? >x substances One canister says tarragon, another bay leaves. But in the corner of your eye -- does that one say nightmares? No, when viewed straight on it's clearly nutmeg. All throughout your periphery are fleeting impressions of text that slides across labels like oil on water. Those two phials might say perspicacity and ingratitude of children; those others mercy (deserved) and mercy (undeserved). You wonder how often customers lay hands on what they think is mustard seed and end up seasoning their dinners with confusion. >x mask (the giant milkweed leaf (smelling faintly of mildew)) A giant milkweed leaf, curled in such a way that it could cling to your face like a mask. It even has two milk-ringed holes for your eyes. A faint smell of mildew emanates from it. >* oh I like that spice rack That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >x masks The six masks seem to eye you with contempt. They're all brightly colored and monstrous, with horns and other bestial features. Most have fangs, but one has a beak, and another a horrible leechlike sucker. >x beak The six masks seem to eye you with contempt. They're all brightly colored and monstrous, with horns and other bestial features. Most have fangs, but one has a beak, and another a horrible leechlike sucker. >x skulls The assorted animal parts are all extremely clean and well-preserved. >x paws The assorted animal parts are all extremely clean and well-preserved. >x crystals A rainbow of colors in every shape, not all together, but scattered in clusters throughout the other goods. They range in size from your smallest fingerbone up through a bulky blue piece that would take both hands to lift. Each one has a sticker noting its type and where it was cut. >* I like these descriptions -- pretty clearly scenery, but nicely done You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >x notepad When Jessenia's back is turned, you lean over and discern a list of odd phrases in tidy handwriting, some struck through. The first line catches your eye: Avoid Peg Hand >* nice little anagram! That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >g That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >x notepad You take another peek. A line catches your eye: Aphid Gave Nod >* yup That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >x notepad You take another peek. A line catches your eye: Avid Phone Gad >g You take another peek. A line catches your eye: Panda God Hive >g You take another peek. A line catches your eye: Ova-Handed Pig >g You take another peek. A line catches your eye: Dido Have Pang >g You take another peek. A line catches your eye: Dang Vapid Hoe >* oof, those two together are quite the Aeniad critique! You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >x notepad You take another peek. A line catches your eye: Hep Odd Vagina >g You take another peek. A line catches your eye: David Page Hon >* wow That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >x notepad You take another peek. A line catches your eye: Vapid Hag Node >g You take another peek. A line catches your eye: Ho Gaped Divan >g You take another peek. A line catches your eye: Dad Paving Hoe >g You take another peek. A line catches your eye: Vendhi Pagoda 0 >g You take another peek. A line catches your eye: Hi Paved Gonad >* Hi yourself! That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >* We'll stop here That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >l Curiosity Shop (Rachel Spitler) A mingling of comfortable scents welcomes you to the small shop -- coffee, apples, cedar, soap, peppercorn -- and below it, just a hint of something metallic you can't quite recognize. The large windows behind you cast a dappled sort of light over the rug-strewn floors, the cheerful back counter with its display case underneath, the walls crowded with goods for sale. The courtyard lies back out to the west. Jessenia stares thoughtfully out the window. >x phone The cash register and phone are surrounded by jars of bright-colored rock candy, cinnamon sticks, and other small goodies. A notepad, dark with ink, is pushed off to one side. Underneath the counter, a glass display case prominently features a beat-up violin, a geode, and an elegant tarot deck. >x register The cash register and phone are surrounded by jars of bright-colored rock candy, cinnamon sticks, and other small goodies. A notepad, dark with ink, is pushed off to one side. Underneath the counter, a glass display case prominently features a beat-up violin, a geode, and an elegant tarot deck. >x sticks Tiny rolls of cinnamon bark in a surprising variety of shades. You can smell them from here. >x goodies The cash register and phone are surrounded by jars of bright-colored rock candy, cinnamon sticks, and other small goodies. A notepad, dark with ink, is pushed off to one side. Underneath the counter, a glass display case prominently features a beat-up violin, a geode, and an elegant tarot deck. >take stick You can't see any such thing. >take sticks "We have ceylon and cassia cinnamon," Jessenia notes. >* i just learned the difference (one is apparently less-bad for babies?) That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >x violin It looks pretty beat-up to you. Still, there's a sort of sad dignity in its dark curves. The strings almost seem to vibrate of their own accord, as if aching to be played. >x geode A concave riot of gorgeous purple crystals -- orderly yet chaotic, playful yet disciplined, a handspan across and more than you can hold in your mind. >x tarot The exquisite deck of cards is nestled in velvet and protected by a shiny wooden box. The top card is turned perpendicular to the rest to more clearly display its minutely-detailed artwork. The letters XV are inscribed between the wings of a cavorting Devil. Great black brows meet in a sadistic V over his laughing visage, but the man and woman chained at his feet seem not so much frightened as exhausted. The entire tableau is supported on a platform of some 80 tiny human figures, painstakingly rendered. >* Hmm, wonder if we need that You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >greet woman You say hello to Jessenia. >ask woman about herself Who do you mean, the woman, Bethany, Jessenia or the tiny flitting thing? >the tiny flitting thing You engage in some small talk, but she's obviously just being polite. >* Can we back up here? That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >x tiny flitting thing You can't see any such thing. >* er That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >ask woman about bethany You engage in some small talk, but she's obviously just being polite. >ask woman about jessenia "Me? Oh, not much to tell," laughs Jessenia. She seems like a nice lady, but she's not a very good liar. She does go on to explain that she's only been in Backwater for a few years, but dances away from the subject of why she came here. >g "Me? Oh, not much to tell," laughs Jessenia. She seems like a nice lady, but she's not a very good liar. She does go on to explain that she's only been in Backwater for a few years, but dances away from the subject of why she came here. >ask woman about backwater (Backwater Personalities (1915-1925 edition)) You engage in some small talk, but she's obviously just being polite. >* The horror of the broad topics list That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >* applying to all things seen and unseen, known and unknown You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >ask woman about shop You engage in some small talk, but she's obviously just being polite. >ask woman about courtyard You engage in some small talk, but she's obviously just being polite. >ask woman about castle You engage in some small talk, but she's obviously just being polite. >ask woman about the like literal castle that's right outside You engage in some small talk, but she's obviously just being polite. >ask woman about cragne (Cragne Manor folder) You engage in some small talk, but she's obviously just being polite. >ask woman about cragne manor (Cragne Manor folder) You engage in some small talk, but she's obviously just being polite. A ghastly spectral cuckoo flies out of the round white wall clock (smelling faintly of mildew) and announces, "The time is now six o'clock!" before vanishing into thin air. >ask woman about violin "I found that under some junk in the back office," says Jessenia. "Strange, eh? I don't play a note, but I'm told it's in very good condition for being so old and so neglected." >ask woman about geode "Nice, isn't it?" beams the proprietor. "I traded a beautiful old tea set for that." >ask woman about tarot "Those were mailed here anonymously not long ago," says Jessenia reverently. "They're handmade. I'm not even sure what the material is -- it feels like thin slices of ivory. There's real power in a work of art like that -- someone's time, all their attention, the touch of their hands, even before you get to the beauty of it. I wish I knew who made them." >take tarot The display case isn't open. >ask woman for tarot The display case isn't open. Suddenly, Jessenia turns her full attention on you. "Oh! Stupid me -- you want to become a customer, don't you?" (y/n): y "Of course! Well, here's how it works. I run my business on a membership model, like a curiosity cooperative, you see? Instead of charging a fee, I ask that new customers bring in a curiosity to sell to me. It helps me keep my eyes open for things I might not notice. I'll pay you, of course!" She grins. "It doesn't need to be special. In fact, most people bring in something that will attract attention but have no real importance. I bet you can find something good! Good luck!" >* lady, you have no idea You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >x coffee (the smell) You can't seem to find where the scent is coming from. On the air, you catch a whiff of yeast. >* OMG is the coffee disbled here? That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >i You are carrying: 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 sinister iron key 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 (closed) a trash pocket (closed) 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 (being worn) Ed's coveralls (being worn) a pair of leather boots >x half-full The swirls 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. >* Phew That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >* Aww That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >give gold jacket to jessenia (first taking the gold jacket off) Jessenia doesn't seem interested. >give filthy rug to jessenia Jessenia gamely admires your filthy rug (smelling faintly of mildew). "The sort of thing I'm looking for," she says, "is something that will attract attention, but have no real importance. Let me know if you find anything like that!" >give bladder to jessenia Jessenia wrinkles up her nose at your slithering vomit bladder of Katallakh (smelling faintly of mildew). "The sort of thing I'm looking for," she says, "is something that will attract attention, but have no real importance. Let me know if you find anything like that!" >* aww I thought I'd cracked it That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >* Is this a red herring joke? That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >give limp pumpkin stem to jessenai You can't see any such thing. >give limp pumpkin stem to jessenia Jessenia seems nonplussed by your limp pumpkin stem (smelling faintly of mildew). "The sort of thing I'm looking for," she says, "is something that will attract attention, but have no real importance. Let me know if you find anything like that!" >* OK fine That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >w Courtyard (Finn Rosenloev) As you walk cross the square courtyard, you are repeatedly twisting your legs, and you cannot help but wonder how many broken legs these cobblestones have caused over time. A beautifully decorated well built by blocks of granite dominates the courtyard. Opposite it, to the east, is the entrance to the curiosity store. To the north, a secret passage is hidden in the niche near the barred gate. Not too far from the well is the way down to the tunnel. Above you, two guard towers rise majestically on either side of the drawbridge, and a parapet connects them so that soldiers of those days were able to quickly move from one side to the other. You can't help but feel that the castle is watching you with expressionless eyes through the empty windows. > I beg your pardon? >n You maneuver behind the knight and enter the secret passage. 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. An ethereal trolley stop sign reads Orange Line -- Constabulary Road. >s Courtyard (Finn Rosenloev) As you walk cross the square courtyard, you are repeatedly twisting your legs, and you cannot help but wonder how many broken legs these cobblestones have caused over time. A beautifully decorated well built by blocks of granite dominates the courtyard. Opposite it, to the east, is the entrance to the curiosity store. To the north, a secret passage is hidden in the niche near the barred gate. Not too far from the well is the way down to the tunnel. Above you, two guard towers rise majestically on either side of the drawbridge, and a parapet connects them so that soldiers of those days were able to quickly move from one side to the other. You can't help but feel that the castle is watching you with expressionless eyes through the empty windows. >n You maneuver behind the knight and enter the secret passage. 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. >x trail A blade-thin line of bare earth lacerates the woods and offers a means of penetrating southwards. >s Courtyard (Finn Rosenloev) As you walk cross the square courtyard, you are repeatedly twisting your legs, and you cannot help but wonder how many broken legs these cobblestones have caused over time. A beautifully decorated well built by blocks of granite dominates the courtyard. Opposite it, to the east, is the entrance to the curiosity store. To the north, a secret passage is hidden in the niche near the barred gate. Not too far from the well is the way down to the tunnel. Above you, two guard towers rise majestically on either side of the drawbridge, and a parapet connects them so that soldiers of those days were able to quickly move from one side to the other. You can't help but feel that the castle is watching you with expressionless eyes through the empty windows. >* Er what? That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >* The topology here is a little interesting! 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 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. >n You maneuver behind the knight and enter the secret passage. 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 spectral trolley stop sign reads Orange Line -- Constabulary Road. >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. >s Courtyard (Finn Rosenloev) As you walk cross the square courtyard, you are repeatedly twisting your legs, and you cannot help but wonder how many broken legs these cobblestones have caused over time. A beautifully decorated well built by blocks of granite dominates the courtyard. Opposite it, to the east, is the entrance to the curiosity store. To the north, a secret passage is hidden in the niche near the barred gate. Not too far from the well is the way down to the tunnel. Above you, two guard towers rise majestically on either side of the drawbridge, and a parapet connects them so that soldiers of those days were able to quickly move from one side to the other. You can't help but feel that the castle is watching you with expressionless eyes through the empty windows. >d Amorphous Tunnel (Bill Maya) This tunnel bends to the northeast. The walls shimmer slightly, gently undulating in the spectral darkness. To the west, set into the wall, almost invisible in the mortal dimness, is an antediluvian door. Daylight and a slight breeze wafts down some non-euclidean steps that lead up. >ne Malign Tunnel (Damon L. Wakes) The space beneath the boiler room is damp and narrow, little more than a dogleg corridor set into the earth. Something about its shape, its proportions, is deeply unsettling to you. There is a rusting iron ladder leading to the floor above, and a green door leading to the southwest, its paint flaking onto the uneven stone floor. The curving brick walls on either side of you arc gracefully inwards to form a vaulted ceiling. You would be able to stand comfortably were it not for the pipes that stretch like tendons above your head. A noncorporeal trolley stop sign reads Black Line -- Underground. >u Boiler Room (Eric W. Brown) The western side of this windowless brick room is dominated by a huge boiler connected to a confusing network of pipes that eventually delivers heat to the rest of the manor. Between the unpleasant humming, the smell of fuel oil, and the heat leaking out, the boiler is leaving you feeling a little lightheaded. As noticeable as it is, the boiler is hardly the only item of interest. Crammed around it are many devices, at least four of which are clearly bigger and heavier than you. Next to the open doorway leading north there is a keypunch. There's a support column in the middle of the room with a system diagram on it, and lashed to the column there is a faraday cage with a window on its door looking inside. Next to it is a an overlay engine, and behind it a a dimensional stabilizer. Beyond a heavy-duty table near the southwest corner there is a rough hole in the floor, and the surface of the table is dominated by the control panel for the whole system. There is a small steel shelf high on the wall way above the table, and a fluorescent work light above that. On the wall opposite the faraday cage there is a sign hanging from a chain. It looks like the room has hardly been disturbed in decades, and your presence has kicked up a sizable amount of dust. Although there are some cobwebs, you don't see any spiders. Maybe they got fed up with some combination of the loud noises, bad smells, choking dust, and miserable heat and went someplace nicer. On the heavy-duty table are an AE9B711D punch card (smelling faintly of mildew), a 00A02209 punch card (smelling faintly of mildew), a C353F128 punch card (smelling faintly of mildew), a 0B46E931 punch card (smelling faintly of mildew), a FFFFFFFF punch card (smelling faintly of mildew), the Journal of Edwin Cragne (smelling faintly of mildew) and two blank punch cards. >n 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. >* OK, let's try going down I guess You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >d Under the Basement (Ivan Roth) Tentatively, you lower yourself down from the ladder, and discover that you're in a rocky cavern, colder and wetter even than the dank basement. It is also dim and shadowy, but you can make out strange carvings on the rock walls, a sinister iron cage that dangles from the roof of the cave, and a large black cabinet of ornate design, set into the western wall. An ink-black tunnel entrance leads north. You blink, and suddenly right before you is a pale figure ? one that wasn't there only moments ago. The ghost speaks. "I am Fedwick Baines, the sub-librarian of the Cragne library's Forbidden Annex. This is the home of the books that the Cragnes could not allow to circulate; as far as I know, each of these volumes is unique in all the world." >* ...so like this is a subbasement That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >* And our second ghost librarian? That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >u 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. >d Cragne Library Forbidden Annex - Under the Basement (Ivan Roth) You're in a rocky cavern, colder and wetter even than the dank basement. It is also dim and shadowy, but you can make out strange carvings on the rock walls, a sinister iron cage that dangles from the roof of the cave, and a large black cabinet of ornate design, set into the western wall. An ink-black tunnel entrance leads north. The ghost of Fedwick Baines floats solemnly in front of you. >* Oh, this is also by Ivan Roth! Must not be a real location (though that means it has two north exits) You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >x me You can't see yourself directly, but you have a pretty good idea. You have dark circles under your eyes, your hair is frizzed. It hasn't been a good day. Peter has to be somewhere, right? >* presumably That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >x carvings On the wall are strange, unholy hieroglyphs. You can barely make them out, however, because it seems like the carvings have been scorched and defaced?almost like someone was trying to erase them from the wall, but without doing serious damage to the rock. How peculiar. >* Good use of hieroglyphs That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >read them On the wall are strange, unholy hieroglyphs. You can barely make them out, however, because it seems like the carvings have been scorched and defaced?almost like someone was trying to erase them from the wall, but without doing serious damage to the rock. How peculiar. Fedwick peers scornfully at you. >x walls You can't see any such thing. >x cage This heavy iron cage looks like it was last disturbed in the Stone Age. Inside, an angry-looking vampire bat flutters around in a rage. A silver bell on a long chain dangles from the bottom. In the hanging iron cage is a vicious-looking bat. >x bat A black ball of fur and fangs sulks inside the cage. "That little ball of furry malice is sulking because it's in a brand-new enclosure," Fedwick tells you. "Chewed right through the bars of the last one, took me days to catch. I had to chase the infernal rodent through every single room in Cragne Manor." He pats the thick iron cage with a smug expression. "Well, that won't happen again on my watch!" >* You haven't met Nitocris, have you? You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >x bell It's a beautiful, delicate little silver bell, patterned with intricate designs too small for your eyes to make out in the dim light. >ring bell The little bell tinkles softly. >x bat A black ball of fur and fangs flutters helplessly in the cage. >pet bat You can't see any such thing. >touch bat The hanging iron cage isn't open. >open cage It seems to be locked. The sub-librarian busies himself 'dusting' the surface of the black cabinet with a transparent feather duster; when he's done, the duster vanishes. >x cabinet An ornate, ebony cabinet, bedecked with curlicues and wingéd cherubs, has been set, improbably, into the western wall of this stone cavern. >open it The ghost of the librarian bats you away with a spectral hand, a bizarre sensation that chills you to the bone. "Take a book, leave a book," he says icily. "If you want to read something, bring me a book." >i You are carrying: 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 sinister iron key 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 (closed) a trash pocket (closed) 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 sub-librarian hovers sternly in the corner. >* Oh my friend That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >open book pocket You open the book pocket, revealing Tatooine 1: Anchorhead (smelling faintly of mildew), an old newspaper (smelling faintly of mildew), a faded delivery note (smelling faintly of mildew), a soggy tome (smelling faintly of mildew), a moldy, waterlogged journal (smelling faintly of mildew), a tiny leather journal (smelling faintly of mildew), the diary of Phyllis Cragne (smelling faintly of mildew), a postcard of Big Ben (smelling faintly of mildew), The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three (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 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), Mama Hydra's Deep Fried Ones (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 pink-bound book (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). >give mama hydra's deep fried ones to librarian You can't see any such thing. >give mama hydra's deep fried ones to man You can't see any such thing. >take mama hydra Taken. >give it to librarian You can't see any such thing. >give it to man You can't see any such thing. >give it to ghost (the ghost) The ghost snatches the book from your hands. "Ah, fresh pages! I haven't read something new in ages." Turning to the cabinet, he plunges his hand through the door and pulls out a book: The History of the End, or, Last Men. He hands it to you, reluctantly. "Take good care of it," he says. "And give it back to me when you're done." >read history You glance at the cover first. A slim volume, titled "The History of the End, or, Last Men," by Frances Bansaku. You feel vaguely that you've heard the title before?it was one of those "literary events" that was announced and then never released. Now you know why. You flip to the introduction. It begins: "This is an essential moment in the world's history. We are standing now on the howling cliffs of Time. Those, like Atrakut, who would retreat from the edge are doing our civilization no favors. We must face the truth head-on. It is the challenge of our times to confront the teeming darkness which lurks beyond our feeble precipice of understanding. The Millennium has a thousand faces, each more baleful than the last, and it is our job to either slay this monster, or become one with it." >save Ok. >* ...is this like a Francis Fukuyama End of History joke? That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >x lsit You can't see any such thing. >oops list This is a list of the day's arrestees. The date is a week old with no further entries beyond it. The entries are: Jeff Moore - public intoxication. Alana Cook - possession of cannabis. Matthew Grobe - discharging a firearm within city limits. Tony Overton - disorderly conduct. Robert Morales - reckless driving. Eugene Kunkle - petty theft. >x book list You can't see any such thing. >open junk You can't see any such thing. >open junk pocket You open the trash pocket, revealing an ominous-looking painting (smelling faintly of mildew), a brass nameplate (smelling faintly of mildew), an ornate metallic box (smelling faintly of mildew), a black box (smelling faintly of mildew), 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) and a golden eyepiece (smelling faintly of mildew). >open book pocket That's already open. Fedwick peers scornfully at you. >look in book pocket In the book pocket are Tatooine 1: Anchorhead (smelling faintly of mildew), an old newspaper (smelling faintly of mildew), a faded delivery note (smelling faintly of mildew), a soggy tome (smelling faintly of mildew), a moldy, waterlogged journal (smelling faintly of mildew), a tiny leather journal (smelling faintly of mildew), the diary of Phyllis Cragne (smelling faintly of mildew), a postcard of Big Ben (smelling faintly of mildew), The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three (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 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), a pink-bound book (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). >x delivery note A faded and yellowed note which was tucked behind the mirror. A few words are scrawled on it in equally faded ink. A faint smell of mildew emanates from it. [You can type HINT for a hint at any time.] >read it (first taking the faded delivery note (smelling faintly of mildew)) "Delivery: for Anax Cragne -- one mirror, iron frame -- shipped from St Croix via Boston -- May of 1919." Then in smaller letters on the back: "The item has been delivered as it was deposited. The condition of the glass is none of our doing. Warranted by the hand of: Ladoro Feraud." >* Oh, weird You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >i You are carrying: a faded delivery note (smelling faintly of mildew) The History of the End, or, Last Men, by Frances Bansaku (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 sinister iron key 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) Tatooine 1: Anchorhead (smelling faintly of mildew) an old newspaper (smelling faintly of mildew) a soggy tome (smelling faintly of mildew) a moldy, waterlogged journal (smelling faintly of mildew) a tiny leather journal (smelling faintly of mildew) the diary of Phyllis Cragne (smelling faintly of mildew) a postcard of Big Ben (smelling faintly of mildew) The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three (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 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) a pink-bound book (smelling faintly of mildew) Legends of Lake Champlain and the Hudson River Valley (smelling faintly of mildew) an old paperback book (smelling faintly of mildew) a side pocket (closed) 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 >x not You can't see any such thing. >x note Which do you mean, the faded delivery note (smelling faintly of mildew), the note from a seesaw (smelling faintly of mildew) or Daniel Baker's note (smelling faintly of mildew)? >seesaw The note says: THE CIRCLE. 5113 DAYS. YOU WILL SEE MOUNTAIN-CLIMBERS. THEY KEEP THE CIRCLE INSIDE THEIR SYMBOL. THE EARS. 381 DAYS. SAY YOUR NAME. PICK UP THREE TIMES. DO IT AT NIGHT. A faint smell of mildew emanates from it. >* There was another note -- oh bother That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >x book list You can't see any such thing. >open all pockets They aren't something you can open. >open bladder It isn't something you can open. >x side pocket A heavily reinforced pocket to store your sides in, if you're the kind of person who has too many sides to fit on a sidering. Wait, what? No, it's a pocket on one side of the backpack's central cavity. You can put whatever you want in there. >open side opcket You can't see any such thing. >open side pocket You open the side pocket, revealing a book list (smelling faintly of mildew). >* aha! That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >* outsmarted myself 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) 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 New England and the Bavarian Illuminati ANCHORHEAD. A What-do-I-do-now Book Based on the Works of MICHAEL GENTRY >* Confirming this isn't on the list That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >x ghost (the ghost) Hovering before you, pale and ghostly, is an old, bald man wearing a very old-fashioned spectral tailcoat. He bows his head at you when he sees you looking, but there's a faint hint of an amused smile around his lips. A ghastly spectral cuckoo flies out of the round white wall clock (smelling faintly of mildew) and proclaims, "The time is now five o'clock!" before vanishing into thin air. >ghost, hello You are already talking to the ghost. >ask him about himself The ghost just fixes you with a blank stare as you stutter out whatever question you're trying to ask. "I can answer questions about people I've known, and the individuals mentioned in the books we keep here," he says. "Because I've chosen to hold on to those pieces of my memory. I am not a general-purpose almanac." >ask him about himself The ghost just fixes you with a blank stare as you stutter out whatever question you're trying to ask. "I can answer questions about people I've known, and the individuals mentioned in the books we keep here," he says. "Because I've chosen to hold on to those pieces of my memory. I am not a general-purpose almanac." >ask him about cragnes The ghost just fixes you with a blank stare as you stutter out whatever question you're trying to ask. "I can answer questions about people I've known, and the individuals mentioned in the books we keep here," he says. "Because I've chosen to hold on to those pieces of my memory. I am not a general-purpose almanac." >ask him about me "You? I've only met you just now. I didn't even know Peter had been married," he says. >ask him about peter "I knew your husband when he was a little boy, but that was many years ago. I couldn't tell you anything about his recent whereabouts." Something in the phantom's voice gives you chills as he says this. >ask him about library The ghost just fixes you with a blank stare as you stutter out whatever question you're trying to ask. "I can answer questions about people I've known, and the individuals mentioned in the books we keep here," he says. "Because I've chosen to hold on to those pieces of my memory. I am not a general-purpose almanac." >ask him about librarians The ghost just fixes you with a blank stare as you stutter out whatever question you're trying to ask. "I can answer questions about people I've known, and the individuals mentioned in the books we keep here," he says. "Because I've chosen to hold on to those pieces of my memory. I am not a general-purpose almanac." >ask him about annex The ghost just fixes you with a blank stare as you stutter out whatever question you're trying to ask. "I can answer questions about people I've known, and the individuals mentioned in the books we keep here," he says. "Because I've chosen to hold on to those pieces of my memory. I am not a general-purpose almanac." >ask him about frances (Frances Bansaku) "Frances was very sharp, but she tended to get out over her skis. Leopold ? Leopold Cragne, I mean ? met her at an inn at Geneva, as he told it to me; they were lucky to be the only two who escaped that inn without succumbing to a deadly poison that had been introduced in the beer. I believe that was when Leopold started teetotaling. The History of the End was meant to be Ms. Bansaku's magnum opus, but something about it twigged Leopold's suspicions ? he had every copy destroyed but the one in the Annex. That was after her terrible skiing accident in the Alps; naturally, no one told her before the end. Or so I'm led to believe." >ask him about history The ghost just fixes you with a blank stare as you stutter out whatever question you're trying to ask. "I can answer questions about people I've known, and the individuals mentioned in the books we keep here," he says. "Because I've chosen to hold on to those pieces of my memory. I am not a general-purpose almanac." >ask him about history of the end The ghost just fixes you with a blank stare as you stutter out whatever question you're trying to ask. "I can answer questions about people I've known, and the individuals mentioned in the books we keep here," he says. "Because I've chosen to hold on to those pieces of my memory. I am not a general-purpose almanac." >ask him about leopold "Leopold?" the ghost looks surprised. "He never wrote anything. I can comment on the authors of the books on these shelves and some of the people mentioned therein, but my relationship with Leopold Cragne- he was my employer and he took good care of me. I did his bidding, and I have no regrets. That's all I will say on the matter." >give history (to the ghost) The ghost snatches back The History of the End, or, Last Men, by Frances Bansaku (smelling faintly of mildew). "Don't think you're getting another one for giving this back," he says, wagging his finger. "I do this to find new things to read." >save Ok. >* I guess this is a way to unload books? That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >* Doubt he'll take library books That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >give venator (to the ghost) (first taking the pink-bound book (smelling faintly of mildew)) The ghost snatches the book from your hands. "Ah, fresh pages! I haven't read something new in ages." Turning to the cabinet, he plunges his hand through the door and pulls out a book: The Monolith. He hands it to you, reluctantly. "Take good care of it," he says. "And give it back to me when you're done." >l Cragne Library Forbidden Annex - Under the Basement (Ivan Roth) You're in a rocky cavern, colder and wetter even than the dank basement. It is also dim and shadowy, but you can make out strange carvings on the rock walls, a sinister iron cage that dangles from the roof of the cave, and a large black cabinet of ornate design, set into the western wall. An ink-black tunnel entrance leads north. The ghost of Fedwick Baines floats solemnly in front of you. >x venator 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. The sub-librarian busies himself 'dusting' the surface of the black cabinet with a transparent feather duster; when he's done, the duster vanishes. >take venator That seems to belong to the ghost. >ask ghost for venator (the ghost for the pink-bound book (smelling faintly of mildew)) "I'm not in the habit of giving gifts," Fedwick rumbles. >x coffee The clouds 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. Fedwick peers scornfully at you. >* well I guess we'll let this play out That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >* The Monolith like People of the Monolith? That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >x monolith A black-and-white cover of abstract and intersecting lines that looks like it's been photocopied far too many times has been taped to the cover of this binder of typewritten pages. The title reads: The Monolith, by Georgi Vogot. It looks very well-worn, as if somebody has been reading it over and over. >read it The book falls open naturally to one particular page. It reads: "And this is the Monolith, the thing to which we feed our hopes and despairs, whose delphic vision we trouble with our worthless lives. It is like a black sponge of granite, like the cold-hearted eye of some merciless technician-king, ascendant on the mighty throne of pain which the Monolith throws up, for those it deems worthy. But no FSB, no CIA and no meddling Cragne can silence my tongue now, for I have seen the Monolith's true face: It is the name that most men dare not speak ? but if only they knew what joy* the saying brings! I am free to write the name: I type it out, a V, an A, a second A, a D, an-" and there it stops, and when you turn the page you see the next is a blackened, illegible mass, covered in black boils and ruptured cracks, as if it had been blighted by some kind of terrible book-worm or -mold or some flammable oil?something specialized for the destruction of books. >ask him about vogot (Georgi Vogot) The old ghost wrinkles his brow. "Ah, Vogot was a special man. He and Leopold had a long correspondence in the '20s; pen-pals, as Leopold would tell it. But as the political situation worsened it was harder to keep in touch, and Leopold says something about Stalin just broke the man. Georgi was always an idealist, and in the '30s he simply went mad. This manuscript, the Monolith, was smuggled out of Stalingrad in a crate of oranges bound for Cuba, that Georgi's daughter Ana was hiding in, a vain attempt to reunite with her boyfriend Roberto, in Nicaragua, whom she had known during the first war when they were both- ah, I am getting off track." He composes himself for a moment. "The manuscript, yes. After Ana and Roberto both succumbed to a rare, tropical blood-swallowing parasite, the manuscript made its way to Daniel Woodstock, and by means of his corporate spies Leopold contrived to be delivered the only copy. Oh, Woodstock was enraged. But the book made mention of serious things, things that Leopold had let slip to Georgi, or that Georgi had discovered on his own, in what was then the underground labyrinth of Leningrad. Leopold made his own excisions, and for posterity's sake the remains of the book were entrusted to me, and the Forbidden Annex. "The Monolith is all that remains of Georgi Vogot, I am afraid. He perished in the gulags. But the Monolith is here ? his final work." >* Nice vignette That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >i You are carrying: The Monolith, by Georgi Vogot a faded delivery note (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 sinister iron key 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) Tatooine 1: Anchorhead (smelling faintly of mildew) an old newspaper (smelling faintly of mildew) a soggy tome (smelling faintly of mildew) a moldy, waterlogged journal (smelling faintly of mildew) a tiny leather journal (smelling faintly of mildew) the diary of Phyllis Cragne (smelling faintly of mildew) a postcard of Big Ben (smelling faintly of mildew) The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three (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 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) an old paperback book (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 Fedwick peers scornfully at you. >give monolith to ghost (the ghost) The ghost snatches back The Monolith, by Georgi Vogot. "Don't think you're getting another one for giving this back," he says, wagging his finger. "I do this to find new things to read." >ask him about ana The ghost shakes his head. "Ana Vogot was a silly girl who made stupid decisions. She was sharp in some ways, could have been a valuable asset to certain people ? but in the final analysis, I believe she was doomed from the start." >ask him about roberto Which do you mean, Roberto Vasquez or ir-Roberto? >vasquez The ghost grimaces. "Vasquez was a cagey customer. He met little Henry Cragne during one of their vacations in Cancun, and he immediately cottoned that there was something... off about the Cragnes. The man wrote novels like some folks eat bread, and this was the last he churned out before- well, before Leopold got to him. He had it suppressed as a precautionary measure; who knows if some reference, however oblique, to the thing that is wrong with the Cragnes might have slipped through and into the pages of that book." >* oops That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >ask him about henry "Doesn't your husband talk about his older brother? I can see why he wouldn't. ...Perhaps this is one of those matters upon which an outsider should not intrude." The ghost lapses into meaningful silence. >* looks like we sequence-broke a little That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >give tatooine to ghost (the ghost) (first taking Tatooine 1: Anchorhead (smelling faintly of mildew)) The ghost snatches the book from your hands. "Ah, fresh pages! I haven't read something new in ages." Turning to the cabinet, he plunges his hand through the door and pulls out a book: The Ant That Breeds. He hands it to you, reluctantly. "Take good care of it," he says. "And give it back to me when you're done." >x ant This book looks frankly like it was self-published; the cover art is clearly supposed to be an unnerving expressionist design, but you can also spot the telltale stippling of a photocopier. Glancing at the back, you're confronted by a hideous, staring portrait of the author. >read it You flip open to a random page, and it's an incredibly graphic description of someone being flayed alive. Who reads this stuff? As you close the book, something on the inside cover catches your eye. In faint, wabbling pencil marks, someone has scrawled a name: Barach'speroth Arguule. You wonder if the ghost knows his book has been defaced with these strange words... >x name Which do you mean, the daily ledger or the brass nameplate (smelling faintly of mildew)? >ask him about barach'speroth arguule You wouldn't have said it was possible even moments ago, but somehow the pale white ghost manages to blanch with fear. "Bara- uh, that name is not the name of any author, or any human being. If you have to know, B- Ba- Ba- that being is the first servant of the one who binds me here, the one whose name I will not even try to say. The incantation of Arguule may be hidden somewhere in these books; it is not his name, it is something more baleful..." he demurs. "I've said too much," he says, and falls silent. You resolve to examine these books more attentively than ever when you read them, in case you might discover? whatever that is... >* fun! That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >i You are carrying: The Ant That Breeds, by N. W. Nightgrim a faded delivery note (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 sinister iron key 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) an old newspaper (smelling faintly of mildew) a soggy tome (smelling faintly of mildew) a moldy, waterlogged journal (smelling faintly of mildew) a tiny leather journal (smelling faintly of mildew) the diary of Phyllis Cragne (smelling faintly of mildew) a postcard of Big Ben (smelling faintly of mildew) The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three (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 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) an old paperback book (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 >read ant You flip open to a random page, and it's a nauseatingly detailed torture scene. Who reads this stuff? >g You flip open to a random page, and it's a detailed description of a variety of woodland animals being crushed to death under a truck, with no anatomical detail spared. Who reads this stuff? >* eek That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >give it to ghost (the ghost) The ghost snatches back The Ant That Breeds, by N. W. Nightgrim. "Don't think you're getting another one for giving this back," he says, wagging his finger. "I do this to find new things to read." >x old paperback 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 soggy A water-damaged and mud-stained book left forgotten on the riverbank by some freshwater lobster fisherman. Emblazoned upon the cover of the soggy tome is the title Padoson's Rules of Crawfish: A Guide for Men of Maine. The volume appears to be a personal copy rather than a library book. Perhaps the owner had gleaned all he could from the work and made any necessary transformations following Padoson's advice. A faint smell of mildew emanates from it. Fedwick peers scornfully at you. >give it to fedwick (first taking the soggy tome (smelling faintly of mildew)) The ghost snatches the book from your hands. "Ah, fresh pages! I haven't read something new in ages." Turning to the cabinet, he plunges his hand through the door and pulls out a book: Beyond the Dream of Moons. He hands it to you, reluctantly. "Take good care of it," he says. "And give it back to me when you're done." >x moons (Beyond the Dream of Moons) This is one of those slick academic tomes with partly uncracked binding, like no one's ever really tried to read it through. Certainly believable. It's called "Beyond the Dream of Moons: The Orientalist Mode in a Post-modal Context," by Dr. Silas Fong. >ask about nightgrim Please address yourself to someone in particular (like this: ASK GHOST ABOUT PETER). >ask ghost about nightgrim (the ghost about N. W. Nightgrim) "Oh, Nightgrim! I knew that man's father; he was expelled from the Miskatonic University after calling in a bomb threat during a basketball game. The son did no wrong that I know of, but he came very ill in SoHo about ten years ago and wrote a phenomenal number of mad books in his convalescence. The Ant That Breeds was the worst of them, the last one he wrote, edited and published posthumously by his Pinguidite sister. I think he was on the edge of something beautiful..." The ghost lapses into silence, seemingly lost in thought. >ask ghost about pinguidite (the ghost about that) The ghost just fixes you with a blank stare as you stutter out whatever question you're trying to ask. "I can answer questions about people I've known, and the individuals mentioned in the books we keep here," he says. "Because I've chosen to hold on to those pieces of my memory. I am not a general-purpose almanac." >* You got me on "pinguidite" That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >read moon Two back-to-back crescent moons joined by an eye looking down at an open book. Frost lines the edges of the library insignia of the book New England and the Bavarian Illuminati (smelling faintly of mildew). >read moons You flip through the dense academic text. Trying to dive in, you can't help but be reminded of that professor you had in college who tried to make the whole class read Deleuze and Guattari. No rhizomes here, but there's a lot of stuff about modalities and intertextualities and Orientalisms that you don't really understand. Flipping to the illustrated inserts in the middle, you see a lot of facsimiles of pages from a book called "Mysteries of the Red City". >* ugh That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >x red city I only understood you as far as wanting to examine the Red Triangle Key (smelling faintly of mildew). >read moons You flip through the dense academic text. Trying to dive in, you can't help but be reminded of that professor you had in college who tried to make the whole class read Deleuze and Guattari. No rhizomes here, but there's a lot of stuff about modalities and intertextualities and Orientalisms that you don't really understand. Flipping to the illustrated inserts in the middle, you see a lot of facsimiles of pages from a book called "Mysteries of the Red City". You shut the book, but one page catches your eye and you quickly flip it open again. In the margin, someone has scribbled: "It must be said three times, in the presence of the carved seal... that is the only way to banish the spirit and secure what he has stolen... he is covetous, it is the only way... but it is so dangerous that I am afraid to do it, even to retrieve my precious and defiled memory... the god's first servant will be summoned... but I will mark the word, the incantation, before he kills me... it is the only way..." That's tantalizingly little information ? all you need to learn now is what that incantation is! >* huh That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >read moons You flip through the dense academic text. Trying to dive in, you can't help but be reminded of that professor you had in college who tried to make the whole class read Deleuze and Guattari. No rhizomes here, but there's a lot of stuff about modalities and intertextualities and Orientalisms that you don't really understand. Flipping to the illustrated inserts in the middle, you see a lot of facsimiles of pages from a book called "Mysteries of the Red City". >g You flip through the dense academic text. Trying to dive in, you can't help but be reminded of that professor you had in college who tried to make the whole class read Deleuze and Guattari. No rhizomes here, but there's a lot of stuff about modalities and intertextualities and Orientalisms that you don't really understand. Flipping to the illustrated inserts in the middle, you see a lot of facsimiles of pages from a book called "Mysteries of the Red City". >g You flip through the dense academic text. Trying to dive in, you can't help but be reminded of that professor you had in college who tried to make the whole class read Deleuze and Guattari. No rhizomes here, but there's a lot of stuff about modalities and intertextualities and Orientalisms that you don't really understand. Flipping to the illustrated inserts in the middle, you see a lot of facsimiles of pages from a book called "Mysteries of the Red City". >ask ghost about red city (the ghost about that) The ghost just fixes you with a blank stare as you stutter out whatever question you're trying to ask. "I can answer questions about people I've known, and the individuals mentioned in the books we keep here," he says. "Because I've chosen to hold on to those pieces of my memory. I am not a general-purpose almanac." >ask ghost about fong Which do you mean, Beyond the Dream of Moons, by Dr. Silas Fong, Irenius Fong or Silas Fong? >silas (the ghost about Silas Fong) Fedwick sighs. "I knew him from his brief stay in this house, but more so from the stories his father told; old Irenius Fong stayed with us for years in his convalescence. Poor old fool. He and Silas had grown apart, and I think he harbored some bitterness about that. In the end, of course, they were both destroyed by the same... ah, but that's beside the point." The ghost falls silent. >ask ghost about irenius (the ghost about Irenius Fong) "Irenius Fong? When I knew him, he was already an old man; he and his adult son, Silas, lived in this Manor for a while. Irenius was sharp as a whip, although his English was not always perfect. He and Silas would get into the screamingest arguments; Irenius made a small fortune from his memoirs, but Silas thought he was a sellout and a fraud. Especially in later volumes, he made up a lot of absurd and mystical details that he thought would appeal to his American audience. That one, Mysteries of the Red City, is one of the later books; at least half of it is outright fiction. But there was something in there that Leopold didn't want to be seen, so he suppressed it and locked the only copy here. Boy, was Irenius furious when he found out. That might have been the last straw for him ? he threw himself out of the seventh-story tower window the next week. They never found his body." >x seal You can't see any such thing. >give fong to ghost (the ghost) The ghost snatches back Beyond the Dream of Moons, by Dr. Silas Fong. "Don't think you're getting another one for giving this back," he says, wagging his finger. "I do this to find new things to read." >give phyllis to ghost (the ghost) (first taking the diary of Phyllis Cragne (smelling faintly of mildew)) The ghost snatches the book from your hands. "Ah, fresh pages! I haven't read something new in ages." Turning to the cabinet, he plunges his hand through the door and pulls out a book: Between God and Madness. He hands it to you, reluctantly. "Take good care of it," he says. "And give it back to me when you're done." >x bod You can't see any such thing. >x god "Between God and Madness," by Hiram Strangecraft. It's a somewhat beat-up old book that looks like it used to be a library copy. The inside front cover is marked with a strange seal. >* ha That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >x seal You already have that. A seal of curious design, stamped in red ink with such force that it impacted the pages behind it. The design appears to be just an abstract shape, although maybe it's writing in a script you can't read. It gives you the shivers, a little bit. The sub-librarian busies himself 'dusting' the surface of the black cabinet with a transparent feather duster; when he's done, the duster vanishes. >read it You already have that. A seal of curious design, stamped in red ink with such force that it impacted the pages behind it. The design appears to be just an abstract shape, although maybe it's writing in a script you can't read. It gives you the shivers, a little bit. >ask him about strangecraft (Hiram Strangecraft) "They used to keep Strangecraft up in the attic, which seemed cruel to me, but I suppose there was no other solution. He was absolutely mad. And they couldn't turn him over to the Asylum ? not with everything he'd heard, and not with Dr. Wagner still running the Asylum like his personal panopticon. There are some things that have to stay in the household. I convinced Leopold not to burn all the man's manuscripts, but of course they could never be published, so I keep them here in the Forbidden Annex." >ask him about wagner A dark look passes over Fedwick's eyes. "Doctor Wagner ran the asylum downtown for many years. He was an extremely sharp and observant man. When Leopold found a letter from Wagner in Dr. Stashwart's study, during a visit, he flew into a rage that lasted months; he wouldn't even look the good doctor in the eye when they passed on Main Street. Understandably, of course. Doctor Wagner was a natural spy, as sure as they come. He got what was coming to him eventually." >ask him about stashwart "Stashwart is a distinguished researcher in the field of blood-swallowing parasites; a brightly-burning woman. She would come over some times to show Leopold some of the things she was working on; he had an amateur interest in parasitology. Someone once claimed to me, and I won't say who, that that she wrote The Imagined Worm as an amusement for her young nephew. But as far as I know, she never had a nephew, and it doesn't seem like much of a children's book to me..." A ghastly spectral cuckoo flies out of the round white wall clock (smelling faintly of mildew) and announces, "The time is now four o'clock!" before vanishing into thin air. >* Stashwart is a good Gormenghastian name That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >read hiram You open up to a random page and start reading: "them. The nightmares come again, faster this time, as if driven by some invisible engine that makes as it destroys, loosening the innermost screws that hold perception to experience, fastening mortal souls to the invisible word. It is God, it is the Devil, it is the infernal nothingness of an ancient rite betrayed. There is no name for the horror I must face; it is eternal, unburied, unbroken, even though O God I so dearly wish that it could be destroyed, that the endless midnight of my spirit could be leavened by its absence; but absence is all that it is not; it is slithering, it is dripping, it is the god before the god that ever made machine, ..." It goes on and on like that. Don't you have better things to do? >g You flip through the book again, but it's all the same: the endless, meaningless ramblings of an insane person. He doesn't even name the thing that's frightening him; you would need some kind of religious reason to be interested in this. >g You flip through the book again, but it's all the same: the endless, meaningless ramblings of an insane person. He doesn't even name the thing that's frightening him; you would need some kind of religious reason to be interested in this. >g You flip through the book again, but it's all the same: the endless, meaningless ramblings of an insane person. He doesn't even name the thing that's frightening him; you would need some kind of religious reason to be interested in this. >g You flip through the book again, but it's all the same: the endless, meaningless ramblings of an insane person. He doesn't even name the thing that's frightening him; you would need some kind of religious reason to be interested in this. >g You flip through the book again, but it's all the same: the endless, meaningless ramblings of an insane person. He doesn't even name the thing that's frightening him; you would need some kind of religious reason to be interested in this. >g You flip through the book again, but it's all the same: the endless, meaningless ramblings of an insane person. He doesn't even name the thing that's frightening him; you would need some kind of religious reason to be interested in this. >g You flip through the book again, but it's all the same: the endless, meaningless ramblings of an insane person. He doesn't even name the thing that's frightening him; you would need some kind of religious reason to be interested in this. >g You flip through the book again, but it's all the same: the endless, meaningless ramblings of an insane person. He doesn't even name the thing that's frightening him; you would need some kind of religious reason to be interested in this. >g You flip through the book again, but it's all the same: the endless, meaningless ramblings of an insane person. He doesn't even name the thing that's frightening him; you would need some kind of religious reason to be interested in this. >g You flip through the book again, but it's all the same: the endless, meaningless ramblings of an insane person. He doesn't even name the thing that's frightening him; you would need some kind of religious reason to be interested in this. >g You flip through the book again, but it's all the same: the endless, meaningless ramblings of an insane person. He doesn't even name the thing that's frightening him; you would need some kind of religious reason to be interested in this. >copy seal That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >take seal You already have that. That seems to be a part of Between God and Madness, by Hiram Strangecraft (smelling faintly of mildew). >i You are carrying: Between God and Madness, by Hiram Strangecraft (smelling faintly of mildew) a faded delivery note (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 sinister iron key 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) an old newspaper (smelling faintly of mildew) a moldy, waterlogged journal (smelling faintly of mildew) a tiny leather journal (smelling faintly of mildew) a postcard of Big Ben (smelling faintly of mildew) The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three (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 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) an old paperback book (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 >give seal to ghost (the ghost) You already have that. (first taking the strange seal in Between God and Madness, by Hiram Strangecraft (smelling faintly of mildew)) You already have that. That seems to be a part of Between God and Madness, by Hiram Strangecraft (smelling faintly of mildew). >take hiram to ghost I only understood you as far as wanting to take Between God and Madness, by Hiram Strangecraft (smelling faintly of mildew). >give hiram to ghost (the ghost) The ghost snatches back Between God and Madness, by Hiram Strangecraft (smelling faintly of mildew). "Don't think you're getting another one for giving this back," he says, wagging his finger. "I do this to find new things to read." >give postcard to ghost (the ghost) (first taking the postcard of Big Ben (smelling faintly of mildew)) The ghost snatches the book from your hands. "Ah, fresh pages! I haven't read something new in ages." Turning to the cabinet, he plunges his hand through the door and pulls out a book: The Monolith, by Georgi Vogot. He hands it to you, reluctantly. "Take good care of it," he says. "And give it back to me when you're done." Fedwick peers scornfully at you. >read monolith The book falls open naturally to one particular page. It reads: "And this is the Monolith, the thing to which we feed our hopes and despairs, whose delphic vision we trouble with our worthless lives. It is like a black sponge of granite, like the cold-hearted eye of some merciless technician-king, ascendant on the mighty throne of pain which the Monolith throws up, for those it deems worthy. But no FSB, no CIA and no meddling Cragne can silence my tongue now, for I have seen the Monolith's true face: It is the name that most men dare not speak ? but if only they knew what joy* the saying brings! I am free to write the name: I type it out, a V, an A, a second A, a D, an-" and there it stops, and when you turn the page you see the next is a blackened, illegible mass, covered in black boils and ruptured cracks, as if it had been blighted by some kind of terrible book-worm or -mold or some flammable oil?something specialized for the destruction of books. >g The book falls open naturally to one particular page. It reads: "And this is the Monolith, the thing to which we feed our hopes and despairs, whose delphic vision we trouble with our worthless lives. It is like a black sponge of granite, like the cold-hearted eye of some merciless technician-king, ascendant on the mighty throne of pain which the Monolith throws up, for those it deems worthy. But no FSB, no CIA and no meddling Cragne can silence my tongue now, for I have seen the Monolith's true face: It is the name that most men dare not speak ? but if only they knew what joy* the saying brings! I am free to write the name: I type it out, a V, an A, a second A, a D, an-" and there it stops, and when you turn the page you see the next is a blackened, illegible mass, covered in black boils and ruptured cracks, as if it had been blighted by some kind of terrible book-worm or -mold or some flammable oil?something specialized for the destruction of books. >g The book falls open naturally to one particular page. It reads: "And this is the Monolith, the thing to which we feed our hopes and despairs, whose delphic vision we trouble with our worthless lives. It is like a black sponge of granite, like the cold-hearted eye of some merciless technician-king, ascendant on the mighty throne of pain which the Monolith throws up, for those it deems worthy. But no FSB, no CIA and no meddling Cragne can silence my tongue now, for I have seen the Monolith's true face: It is the name that most men dare not speak ? but if only they knew what joy* the saying brings! I am free to write the name: I type it out, a V, an A, a second A, a D, an-" and there it stops, and when you turn the page you see the next is a blackened, illegible mass, covered in black boils and ruptured cracks, as if it had been blighted by some kind of terrible book-worm or -mold or some flammable oil?something specialized for the destruction of books. >undo Cragne Library Forbidden Annex - Under the Basement (Ivan Roth) [Previous turn undone.] >undo Cragne Library Forbidden Annex - Under the Basement (Ivan Roth) [Previous turn undone.] >undo Cragne Library Forbidden Annex - Under the Basement (Ivan Roth) [Previous turn undone.] >undo Cragne Library Forbidden Annex - Under the Basement (Ivan Roth) [Previous turn undone.] >undo Cragne Library Forbidden Annex - Under the Basement (Ivan Roth) [Previous turn undone.] >i You are carrying: Between God and Madness, by Hiram Strangecraft (smelling faintly of mildew) a faded delivery note (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 sinister iron key 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) an old newspaper (smelling faintly of mildew) a moldy, waterlogged journal (smelling faintly of mildew) a tiny leather journal (smelling faintly of mildew) a postcard of Big Ben (smelling faintly of mildew) The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three (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 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) an old paperback book (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 sub-librarian busies himself 'dusting' the surface of the black cabinet with a transparent feather duster; when he's done, the duster vanishes. >* oh is it just the regular same That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >say vaadignephod You can only do that to something animate. >vaadignephod That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >say vaadignephod to ghost (the ghost) There is no reply. >say vaadignephod to seal You can only do that to something animate. >read monolith You can't see any such thing. >read book Which do you mean, the diary of Phyllis Cragne (smelling faintly of mildew), the soggy tome (smelling faintly of mildew), Tatooine 1: Anchorhead (smelling faintly of mildew), the pink-bound book (smelling faintly of mildew), Mama Hydra's Deep Fried Ones (smelling faintly of mildew), Buried Tales of Old Vermont, Between God and Madness, by Hiram Strangecraft (smelling faintly of mildew), the faded delivery note (smelling faintly of mildew), the old newspaper (smelling faintly of mildew), the moldy, waterlogged journal (smelling faintly of mildew), the tiny leather journal (smelling faintly of mildew), the postcard of Big Ben (smelling faintly of mildew), The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three (smelling faintly of mildew), the small blue journal (which you know is a journal because it says "Mein Journal" on the front) (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), the 'Pataphysical Approaches to Quantum Superfluids (smelling faintly of mildew), Legends of Lake Champlain and the Hudson River Valley (smelling faintly of mildew) or the old paperback book (smelling faintly of mildew)? > anchorhead Which do you mean, Tatooine 1: Anchorhead (smelling faintly of mildew) or the old paperback book (smelling faintly of mildew)? >tatooine (first taking Tatooine 1: Anchorhead (smelling faintly of mildew)) That seems to belong to the ghost. You can't read Tatooine 1: Anchorhead (smelling faintly of mildew) from here. The sub-librarian hovers sternly in the corner. >i You are carrying: Between God and Madness, by Hiram Strangecraft (smelling faintly of mildew) a faded delivery note (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 sinister iron key 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) an old newspaper (smelling faintly of mildew) a moldy, waterlogged journal (smelling faintly of mildew) a tiny leather journal (smelling faintly of mildew) a postcard of Big Ben (smelling faintly of mildew) The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three (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 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) an old paperback book (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 >give big ben to ghost (the ghost) (first taking the postcard of Big Ben (smelling faintly of mildew)) The ghost snatches the book from your hands. "Ah, fresh pages! I haven't read something new in ages." Turning to the cabinet, he plunges his hand through the door and pulls out a book: Reading the Sky. He hands it to you, reluctantly. "Take good care of it," he says. "And give it back to me when you're done." >x sky Reading the Sky, by Roberto Vasquez, is a slim paperback, with an artsy sketch of the night sky on the cover. The text on the back is in Spanish. >read it ...this book is in Spanish. You had to take a couple Spanish classes in college, but since then you've gotten really rusty. Flipping through Reading the Sky, about all you can glean is that it's some kind of romance(?) between a man named Umberto and a woman name Julia. Maybe it's a romance. There are no illustrations. >g ...this book is in Spanish. You had to take a couple Spanish classes in college, but since then you've gotten really rusty. Flipping through Reading the Sky, about all you can glean is that it's some kind of romance(?) between a man named Umberto and a woman name Julia. Maybe it's a romance. There are no illustrations. On the back cover, you notice a blemish, and you realize it's a smear of blood ? but when you tilt your head you see that there are dozens of blood smears on the cover, spelling out a single word: ANGARITHEP. The P trails off, as if the one who scrawled it was being dragged away... >* aha That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >angarithep The ghost shudders and flickers. For a moment you see a glimpse of tangled limbs. Upon reconstituting, he whispers hoarsely. "Do not say that word!" Out of the corner of your eye, you thought you saw the carvings on the wall glow red. >x carvings On the wall are strange, unholy hieroglyphs. You can barely make them out, however, because it seems like the carvings have been scorched and defaced?almost like someone was trying to erase them from the wall, but without doing serious damage to the rock. How peculiar. >angarithep The ghost flickers again, and takes on form after form. A squirming mass of tentacles, a waterfall of slime, a thousand cockroaches in the shape of a body, a blazing orb of purple light, and then again the shuddering form of Fedwick Baines. "Stop, I beg of you! I'll give you anything!" He pulls out a stoppered vial and a stack of books, trying to hand them to you, but they flicker and shudder along with his ghostly body. >x vial You see nothing special about the little stoppered vial of blue liquid. >take it That seems to belong to the ghost. >angarithep The ghost shudders and flickers. For a moment you see a glimpse of tangled limbs. Upon reconstituting, he whispers hoarsely. "Do not say that word!" Out of the corner of your eye, you thought you saw the carvings on the wall glow red. >angarithep The ghost flickers again, and takes on form after form. A squirming mass of tentacles, a waterfall of slime, a thousand cockroaches in the shape of a body, a blazing orb of purple light, and then again the shuddering form of Fedwick Baines. "Stop, I beg of you! I'll give you anything!" He pulls out a stoppered vial and a stack of books, trying to hand them to you, but they flicker and shudder along with his ghostly body. >angarithep You say the word again, but the moment that the last syllable slips out you can only regret it. This time, the ghost screams, before flickering so violently that it gives you a searing pain behind your eyes. An eviscerated tiger; a flock of screaming crows; a burning book, with yellow, judging eyes in the dancing flames; your husband, Peter, his arms bound and a thrashing tentacle forcing its way out of his throat; the tilt of a nauseous ship; the wail of an injured child; a leopard with a thousand eyes instead of spots. And then it's Fedwick Baines again, but his ghostly form is cut, as if with a razor, bleeding from ragged lacerations that criss-cross his torso, almost in the form of a star. His voice is curt and ragged. "You did th-" But at that moment, a mass of enormous, toothy tentacles bursts from his chest, splattering his ghostly organs in every direction and cutting him off mid-speech. The tentacles flail and grab, seizing chunks of his spectral body and pulling them into the void of his ruptured chest, now seemingly a portal to another dimension. The tentacles are reaching towards you, too, now, and you flinch in terror as one ice-cold, rubbery tentacle brushes your jaw. You need to act fast. >save Ok. >touch seal You hesitate, and a tentacle seizes you. One wraps around your ankle, one hooks its chitinous tooth into your shirt and finally one wraps its whole girth around your torso, dragging you by force into the horrible void of Fedwick's mutilated chest. You try to struggle, thrashing your arms to get away and screaming, but a tentacle pours through your mouth and into your digestive tract; your spasms of nausea only allow its bone to slice your organ linings faster. As you're dragged inexorably into the ragged void, for a moment, all that you can see is stars... *** You really fucked up *** Would you like to RESTART, RESTORE a saved game, QUIT, UNDO the last command or TAKE BACK the action that sealed your fate (for when UNDO is not enough)? > undo Cragne Library Forbidden Annex - Under the Basement (Ivan Roth) [Previous turn undone.] >u You scramble up the ladder in a mad rush, those hideous tentacles lapping at your thighs, and you just slip through the hatch as they're reaching for your body, trying to pull you down. You slam the hatch shut and stand on it, shaking. It's impossible not to hear the slapping and scraping of those horrible tentacles, wherever they come from, desperately searching for something in the Forbidden Annex to devour. 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. >d Cragne Library Forbidden Annex - Under the Basement (Ivan Roth) You're in a rocky cavern, colder and wetter even than the dank basement. It is also dim and shadowy, but you can make out strange carvings on the rock walls, a sinister iron cage that dangles from the roof of the cave, and a large black cabinet of ornate design, set into the western wall. An ink-black tunnel entrance leads north. The ghost of Fedwick Baines floats solemnly in front of you. You can also see a mass of tentacles here. >x ghost (the ghost) You hesitate, and a tentacle seizes you. One wraps around your ankle, one hooks its chitinous tooth into your shirt and finally one wraps its whole girth around your torso, dragging you by force into the horrible void of Fedwick's mutilated chest. You try to struggle, thrashing your arms to get away and screaming, but a tentacle pours through your mouth and into your digestive tract; your spasms of nausea only allow its bone to slice your organ linings faster. As you're dragged inexorably into the ragged void, for a moment, all that you can see is stars... *** You really fucked up *** Would you like to RESTART, RESTORE a saved game, QUIT, UNDO the last command or TAKE BACK the action that sealed your fate (for when UNDO is not enough)? > undo Cragne Library Forbidden Annex - Under the Basement (Ivan Roth) [Previous turn undone.] >z You hesitate, and a tentacle seizes you. One wraps around your ankle, one hooks its chitinous tooth into your shirt and finally one wraps its whole girth around your torso, dragging you by force into the horrible void of Fedwick's mutilated chest. You try to struggle, thrashing your arms to get away and screaming, but a tentacle pours through your mouth and into your digestive tract; your spasms of nausea only allow its bone to slice your organ linings faster. As you're dragged inexorably into the ragged void, for a moment, all that you can see is stars... *** You really fucked up *** Would you like to RESTART, RESTORE a saved game, QUIT, UNDO the last command or TAKE BACK the action that sealed your fate (for when UNDO is not enough)? > undo Cragne Library Forbidden Annex - Under the Basement (Ivan Roth) [Previous turn undone.] >u You scramble up the ladder in a mad rush, those hideous tentacles lapping at your thighs, and you just slip through the hatch as they're reaching for your body, trying to pull you down. You slam the hatch shut and stand on it, shaking. It's impossible not to hear the slapping and scraping of those horrible tentacles, wherever they come from, desperately searching for something in the Forbidden Annex to devour. 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. >z You hum a little. >z You hum a little. > I beg your pardon? >z You hum a little. >listen You hear nothing unexpected. >open hatch That's already open. >d Cragne Library Forbidden Annex - Under the Basement (Ivan Roth) You're in a rocky cavern, colder and wetter even than the dank basement. It is also dim and shadowy, but you can make out strange carvings on the rock walls, a sinister iron cage that dangles from the roof of the cave, and a large black cabinet of ornate design, set into the western wall. An ink-black tunnel entrance leads north. A pile of things lies on the cave floor, where Fedwick was standing. You can see Buried Tales of Old Vermont, a little stoppered vial of blue liquid, Mama Hydra's Deep Fried Ones (smelling faintly of mildew), a pink-bound book (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) and a postcard of Big Ben (smelling faintly of mildew) here. >* OK hes done That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >x things You can't use multiple objects with that verb. >x pile You can't see any such thing. >x buried tales This looks like more of a textbook than a book someone would actually sit down and read. According to the back, it's a collection of historical essays about this area of Vermont, edited by Alex Justin Poirot. The cover is stamped with the insignia of the Backwater Public Library, two back-to-back crescent moons joined by an eye looking down at an open book. >* aha! That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >read it (first taking Buried Tales of Old Vermont) You flip through Buried Tales of Old Vermont, and an essay called "Cragne and Woodstock: Rivals in Vermont's Age of Iron" catches your eye. Apparently Leopold Cragne and one Daniel Woodstock were engaged in all kinds of corporate skullduggery back around mid-century. You're always surprised by how little you know about your husband's family history. >g You flip through Buried Tales of Old Vermont, and an essay called "Cragne and Woodstock: Rivals in Vermont's Age of Iron" catches your eye. Apparently Leopold Cragne and one Daniel Woodstock were engaged in all kinds of corporate skullduggery back around mid-century. You're always surprised by how little you know about your husband's family history. >* book That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >x vial You see nothing special about the little stoppered vial of blue liquid. >smell it You smell nothing unexpected. >open it Blue fumes waft out of the vial, and it melts out of your hand, just like everything else in the room, everything else in the world... [Press any key to continue] Outside Cragne Manor Rain lashes your feeble umbrella as you ring the clanging doorbell again, but it's long, agonizing minutes before the black door of Cragne Manor opens. To your relief, it's Mrs. Flannery, Leopold's maid; she's always been kind to you. "Silas! Are you here to see your father?" You hesitate. "I'm here to... ask about my father's condition. I'm not sure if he'll want to see me," you say. Mrs. Flannery grimaces. "Silas, your father's not in any position to choose who visits his chambers." Seeing your rain-soaked state, and the inadequacy of your umbrella, she hastily adds "Come in, come in! You're going to catch cold out there..." >entermanor Entry Hall The richly appointed entrance hall seems grim and haunted in the dim light. Gray shadows play on the velvet curtains and the delicate carvings of the stairs. The terrible roar of thunder still fills you as you shake yourself off, trying to get dry. "Master!" Mrs. Flannery calls. There's a CRASH of thunder and a flash of light; when you blink, Leopold Cragne is standing at the top of the stair. "Mr. Fong," he says. "I've been expecting you." "Really? I wasn't honestly expecting to come here myself," you say. Leopold cracks a smile. "We have things to discuss, while your father is still alive," he says. But another sound rattles in your brain, sending shivers down your spine. A howling that seems to emanate from the highest levels of the house. >askleopoldabouthowling Entry Hall "Is that him, howling in the attic? Is that where you're keeping him?" Leopold blinks, then starts to chuckle. "No, of course not," he says. Craning his head towards the ceiling, he shouts "Hiram, you old fool! Be silent! The young Mr. Fong is here, to see his father!" "Where is he, then?" you ask. Cragne turns away and climbs the carven, mahogany stairs. He gestures for you to follow. "Irenius is staying in the Crimson Bedroom, of course. Right this way." >goup Nervously, you follow him up the stairs, but with every step a pit of dread builds in your gut. Something isn't right... Suddenly, your vision swims. Your eyes lapse into darkness, but the voices continue. It's as if someone didn't want you to see what happened next. Whether it was Silas, or Leopold Cragne, or someone else who put this memory here, it's as if they've placed their thumb over the lens, and for now you can only hear and feel. You feel yourself tread carefully up a long staircase, feet padding on the soft carpet. And then- "Mr. Fong, may I see your briefcase for a moment?" A pause, and you feel yourself trembling in fear. "Your briefcase. Mr. Fong, I have known you since you were a babe in arms,. Do you really think I can't tell when you're lying to me?" Mr. Cragne's voice is even, but menacing. >givebriefcasetoCragne You hold your breath as you hear a click, and then a strange noise. Leopold's voice is solemn. "Aha. Just as I thought. Are you working for Daniel Woodstock, now?" You swallow. After trying and failing two or three times, you manage to begin. "N-not all of us are born into vast fortunes, Mr. Cragne," you say. He answers. "Some of us don't realize the extent of our inheritances," he says. "Now come this way." >gowest "Mr. Fong, did you read your father's final book?" You feel yourself nodding. "Regrettably, for critical purposes." "For critical purposes. Mr. Fong, do any of your present or forthcoming publications discuss the contents of Mysteries of the Red City?" You feel a spasm. "Mr. Cragne, isn't the Crimson Bedroom that way?" "You came to my house, Mr. Fong, and under quite disadvantageous circumstances. You will go where I ask you. Now please answer my question: Have you referred to the contents of Mysteries of the Red City in any-" Cragne Library Forbidden Annex - Under the Basement (Ivan Roth) You're in a rocky cavern, colder and wetter even than the dank basement. It is also dim and shadowy, but you can make out strange carvings on the rock walls, a sinister iron cage that dangles from the roof of the cave, and a large black cabinet of ornate design, set into the western wall. An ink-black tunnel entrance leads north. You can see a little stoppered vial of blue liquid, Mama Hydra's Deep Fried Ones (smelling faintly of mildew), a pink-bound book (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) and a postcard of Big Ben (smelling faintly of mildew) here. The vial seems to have rematerialized, and re-stoppered itself, in your possession. Hmm. >take vial Taken. >take hydra You can't see any such thing. >take pink Taken. >take tatooine Taken. >take soggy Taken. >take phyllis Taken. >take ben Taken. >* our preciouses That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >l Cragne Library Forbidden Annex - Under the Basement (Ivan Roth) You're in a rocky cavern, colder and wetter even than the dank basement. It is also dim and shadowy, but you can make out strange carvings on the rock walls, a sinister iron cage that dangles from the roof of the cave, and a large black cabinet of ornate design, set into the western wall. An ink-black tunnel entrance leads north. You can see Mama Hydra's Deep Fried Ones (smelling faintly of mildew) here. >take hydra You can't see any such thing. >take mama You can't see any such thing. >take mama hydra Taken. >l Cragne Library Forbidden Annex - Under the Basement (Ivan Roth) You're in a rocky cavern, colder and wetter even than the dank basement. It is also dim and shadowy, but you can make out strange carvings on the rock walls, a sinister iron cage that dangles from the roof of the cave, and a large black cabinet of ornate design, set into the western wall. An ink-black tunnel entrance leads north. >x cavinet You can't see any such thing. >x cabinet An ornate, ebony cabinet, bedecked with curlicues and wingéd cherubs, has been set, improbably, into the western wall of this stone cavern. >open it You open the bookcase, revealing Beyond the Dream of Moons, by Dr. Silas Fong, The Ant That Breeds, by N. W. Nightgrim, The Monolith, by Georgi Vogot, The History of the End, or, Last Men, by Frances Bansaku (smelling faintly of mildew), In Defense of Reason, The Reign of Reason, The Broken Tongue, Mysteries of the Red City, The Liquid Sky, Out of the Infinite, Roceau's Dictionary of Crime and Criminality - Centennial edition, Across Black Oceans, The Searcher in Darkness, Out of the Screaming Planet, The Imagined Worm and The Doctrine of the Long Stick. >* aha! That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >read defense of reason You can't read it if you're not carrying it. >take it Taken. >read it You glance at the cover first. This looks like a flimsy college copy of a book of philosophy. It's called "In Defense of Reason", by someone named Scott Andersen, and there's some generic lineart of interlocking triangles on the cover. It purports to provide a fuller account of the apprehension of epistemological certitude under conditions of instantiated postmodern collapse.... blah blah blah. You flip through it, but man, this stuff looks boring. Don't you have better things to do than read analytic philosophy? On the back cover, you notice a blemish, and you realize it's a smear of blood ? but when you tilt your head you see that there are dozens of blood smears on the cover, spelling out a single word: ANGARITHEP. The P trails off, as if the one who scrawled it was being dragged away... A ghastly spectral cuckoo flies out of the round white wall clock (smelling faintly of mildew) and squawks, "The time is now three o'clock!" before vanishing into thin air. >x it This looks like a flimsy college copy of a book of philosophy. It's called "In Defense of Reason", by someone named Scott Andersen, and there's some generic lineart of interlocking triangles on the cover. It purports to provide a fuller account of the apprehension of epistemological certitude under conditions of instantiated postmodern collapse.... blah blah blah. >read it You flip through it, but man, this stuff looks boring. Don't you have better things to do than read analytic philosophy? On the back cover, you notice a blemish, and you realize it's a smear of blood ? but when you tilt your head you see that there are dozens of blood smears on the cover, spelling out a single word: ANGARITHEP. The P trails off, as if the one who scrawled it was being dragged away... >x reign (first taking The Reign of Reason) You're carrying too many things already. >i You are carrying: In Defense of Reason, by Scott Andersen Mama Hydra's Deep Fried Ones (smelling faintly of mildew) a postcard of Big Ben (smelling faintly of mildew) the diary of Phyllis Cragne (smelling faintly of mildew) a soggy tome (smelling faintly of mildew) Tatooine 1: Anchorhead (smelling faintly of mildew) a pink-bound book (smelling faintly of mildew) a little stoppered vial of blue liquid Buried Tales of Old Vermont (smelling faintly of mildew) Reading the Sky, by Roberto Vasquez (smelling faintly of mildew) Between God and Madness, by Hiram Strangecraft (smelling faintly of mildew) a faded delivery note (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 sinister iron key 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) an old newspaper (smelling faintly of mildew) a moldy, waterlogged journal (smelling faintly of mildew) a tiny leather journal (smelling faintly of mildew) The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three (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 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) an old paperback book (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 >put all books in book pocket Which do you mean, the bookcase, Beyond the Dream of Moons, by Dr. Silas Fong, The Ant That Breeds, by N. W. Nightgrim, The Monolith, by Georgi Vogot, The History of the End, or, Last Men, by Frances Bansaku (smelling faintly of mildew), The Reign of Reason, The Broken Tongue, Mysteries of the Red City, The Liquid Sky, Out of the Infinite, Roceau's Dictionary of Crime and Criminality - Centennial edition, Across Black Oceans, The Searcher in Darkness, Out of the Screaming Planet, The Imagined Worm, The Doctrine of the Long Stick, In Defense of Reason, by Scott Andersen, the postcard of Big Ben (smelling faintly of mildew), the diary of Phyllis Cragne (smelling faintly of mildew), the soggy tome (smelling faintly of mildew), Tatooine 1: Anchorhead (smelling faintly of mildew), Reading the Sky, by Roberto Vasquez (smelling faintly of mildew), Between God and Madness, by Hiram Strangecraft (smelling faintly of mildew), the faded delivery note (smelling faintly of mildew), the old newspaper (smelling faintly of mildew), the moldy, waterlogged journal (smelling faintly of mildew), the tiny leather journal (smelling faintly of mildew), The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three (smelling faintly of mildew) or the small blue journal (which you know is a journal because it says "Mein Journal" on the front) (smelling faintly of mildew)? >all bookcase: (first taking the bookcase) That's hardly portable. Beyond the Dream of Moons, by Dr. Silas Fong: (first taking Beyond the Dream of Moons, by Dr. Silas Fong) You're carrying too many things already. The Ant That Breeds, by N. W. Nightgrim: (first taking The Ant That Breeds, by N. W. Nightgrim) You're carrying too many things already. The Monolith, by Georgi Vogot: (first taking The Monolith, by Georgi Vogot) You're carrying too many things already. The History of the End, or, Last Men, by Frances Bansaku (smelling faintly of mildew): (first taking The History of the End, or, Last Men, by Frances Bansaku (smelling faintly of mildew)) You're carrying too many things already. The Reign of Reason: (first taking The Reign of Reason) You're carrying too many things already. The Broken Tongue: (first taking The Broken Tongue) You're carrying too many things already. Mysteries of the Red City: (first taking Mysteries of the Red City) You're carrying too many things already. The Liquid Sky: (first taking The Liquid Sky) You're carrying too many things already. Out of the Infinite: (first taking Out of the Infinite) You're carrying too many things already. Roceau's Dictionary of Crime and Criminality - Centennial edition: (first taking Roceau's Dictionary of Crime and Criminality - Centennial edition) You're carrying too many things already. Across Black Oceans: (first taking Across Black Oceans) You're carrying too many things already. The Searcher in Darkness: (first taking The Searcher in Darkness) You're carrying too many things already. Out of the Screaming Planet: (first taking Out of the Screaming Planet) You're carrying too many things already. The Imagined Worm: (first taking The Imagined Worm) You're carrying too many things already. The Doctrine of the Long Stick: (first taking The Doctrine of the Long Stick) You're carrying too many things already. In Defense of Reason, by Scott Andersen: Done. postcard of Big Ben (smelling faintly of mildew): Done. diary of Phyllis Cragne (smelling faintly of mildew): Done. soggy tome (smelling faintly of mildew): Done. Tatooine 1: Anchorhead (smelling faintly of mildew): Done. Reading the Sky, by Roberto Vasquez (smelling faintly of mildew): Done. Between God and Madness, by Hiram Strangecraft (smelling faintly of mildew): Done. faded delivery note (smelling faintly of mildew): Done. old newspaper (smelling faintly of mildew): (first taking the old newspaper (smelling faintly of mildew)) Done. moldy, waterlogged journal (smelling faintly of mildew): (first taking the moldy, waterlogged journal (smelling faintly of mildew)) Done. tiny leather journal (smelling faintly of mildew): (first taking the tiny leather journal (smelling faintly of mildew)) Done. The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three (smelling faintly of mildew): (first taking The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three (smelling faintly of mildew)) Done. small blue journal (which you know is a journal because it says "Mein Journal" on the front) (smelling faintly of mildew): (first taking the small blue journal (which you know is a journal because it says "Mein Journal" on the front) (smelling faintly of mildew)) Done. >x reign (first taking The Reign of Reason) Taken. "The Reign of Reason", by Godos Atrakut, is an old red book with yellowed pages, but the curious design on the cover looks distinctly modern. >reda it That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >x design (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. >read reign You open to a random page: "It's true. In gazing at that perfect Law, that unassailable and genius invention of those unsurpassed sages legalis in ancient Istanbul... I was enlightened, or lifted from my body, or something changed spiritually within me. I am not ashamed to say it: damn all those religious men! It is not Christ who enlightened me! In the great library of Constantinople, a statute got me high..." On the back cover, you notice a blemish, and you realize it's a smear of blood ? but when you tilt your head you see that there are dozens of blood smears on the cover, spelling out a single word: ANGARITHEP. The P trails off, as if the one who scrawled it was being dragged away... >drop reign Dropped. >x cabinet An ornate, ebony bookcase, its black doors standing open, has been set, improbably, into the western wall of this stone cavern. >look in cabinet In the bookcase are Beyond the Dream of Moons, by Dr. Silas Fong, The Ant That Breeds, by N. W. Nightgrim, The Monolith, by Georgi Vogot, The History of the End, or, Last Men, by Frances Bansaku (smelling faintly of mildew), The Broken Tongue, Mysteries of the Red City, The Liquid Sky, Out of the Infinite, Roceau's Dictionary of Crime and Criminality - Centennial edition, Across Black Oceans, The Searcher in Darkness, Out of the Screaming Planet, The Imagined Worm and The Doctrine of the Long Stick. >x broken (the broken knife handle (smelling faintly of mildew)) A broken wooden knife handle. The blade is long gone, but there are dark stains at one end. A faint smell of mildew emanates from it. >x broken tongue (first taking The Broken Tongue) Taken. The Broken Tongue looks like an old academic text, by one Noah Chaplinski. There's some weird lettering in an unfamiliar alphabet on the cover. >take it You already have that. >read it You open to the first page, and the symbols you see are incomprehensible. You flip to a random page, and its the same. Not even an alphabet you recognize ? although it may match the symbols on the cover. On the back cover, you notice a blemish, and you realize it's a smear of blood ? but when you tilt your head you see that there are dozens of blood smears on the cover, spelling out a single word: ANGARITHEP. The P trails off, as if the one who scrawled it was being dragged away... >read it You open to the first page, and the symbols you see are incomprehensible. You flip to a random page, and its the same. Not even an alphabet you recognize ? although it may match the symbols on the cover. On the back cover, you notice a blemish, and you realize it's a smear of blood ? but when you tilt your head you see that there are dozens of blood smears on the cover, spelling out a single word: ANGARITHEP. The P trails off, as if the one who scrawled it was being dragged away... >drop it Dropped. >look in cabinet In the bookcase are Beyond the Dream of Moons, by Dr. Silas Fong, The Ant That Breeds, by N. W. Nightgrim, The Monolith, by Georgi Vogot, The History of the End, or, Last Men, by Frances Bansaku (smelling faintly of mildew), Mysteries of the Red City, The Liquid Sky, Out of the Infinite, Roceau's Dictionary of Crime and Criminality - Centennial edition, Across Black Oceans, The Searcher in Darkness, Out of the Screaming Planet, The Imagined Worm and The Doctrine of the Long Stick. >take mysteries Taken. >read it You glance at the cover first. An old-fashioned red cloth cover with inlaid gold print so faded you can scarcely read it says: "Mysteries of the Red City", and the author's name, "Fong". You flip through the pages randomly. There are all kinds of illustrations, including a weird symbol, but none catches your eye. The page you land on begins: "I tried to seize the advantage, but the old master had played many times at chess. His pawns drove me into the river..." Huh. You feel like you lack some crucial information to find what you need in here. On the back cover, you notice a blemish, and you realize it's a smear of blood ? but when you tilt your head you see that there are dozens of blood smears on the cover, spelling out a single word: ANGARITHEP. The P trails off, as if the one who scrawled it was being dragged away... >read it You flip through the pages randomly. There are all kinds of illustrations, including a weird symbol, but none catches your eye. The page you land on begins: "It is said that the ancient master Weeping Bear declared: All those who would make war shall find their wrath rained down a thousand times upon their own heads..." Huh. You feel like you lack some crucial information to find what you need in here. On the back cover, you notice a blemish, and you realize it's a smear of blood ? but when you tilt your head you see that there are dozens of blood smears on the cover, spelling out a single word: ANGARITHEP. The P trails off, as if the one who scrawled it was being dragged away... >drop it Dropped. >look in cabinet In the bookcase are Beyond the Dream of Moons, by Dr. Silas Fong, The Ant That Breeds, by N. W. Nightgrim, The Monolith, by Georgi Vogot, The History of the End, or, Last Men, by Frances Bansaku (smelling faintly of mildew), The Liquid Sky, Out of the Infinite, Roceau's Dictionary of Crime and Criminality - Centennial edition, Across Black Oceans, The Searcher in Darkness, Out of the Screaming Planet, The Imagined Worm and The Doctrine of the Long Stick. >take sky Which do you mean, The Liquid Sky or Reading the Sky, by Roberto Vasquez (smelling faintly of mildew)? >liquid Taken. >read it You glance at the cover first. In black type on the cover of this thin volume are the words "The Liquid Sky", and under them, "Ostregot". It looks like a book of poetry. A faint smell of mildew emanates from it. You flip open to a dog-eared page: Phantasms I think they say that Marco Polo walked through endless passages of polished stone or thumbed through stacks that no one mind had pulled apart, and reconvened with red twine and indices and keyboard dust and forum jokes and tacks but only two things are certain, says Ben Franklin: the death of the body and the mind, obliterated, dust to dust and the death of the spirit of the book after it has been read and read again every passage explored, inspected, made to fit by British tax collectors so when they had Prohibition they built secret rooms under the stairs, with combination locks and now the Prohibition house is a museum and the museum is open twenty days a week and you can sign up for a VR tour that takes in every detail and every visitor knows more than Warren Harding did when the bomb went off I guess that's why we have terrorists so we can keep reading On the back cover, you notice a blemish, and you realize it's a smear of blood ? but when you tilt your head you see that there are dozens of blood smears on the cover, spelling out a single word: ANGARITHEP. The P trails off, as if the one who scrawled it was being dragged away... >* Kind of good but kind of bad? That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >i You are carrying: The Liquid Sky, by Robert N. Ostregot (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 sinister iron key 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 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 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) an old paperback book (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 >drop liquid Which do you mean, The Liquid Sky, by Robert N. Ostregot (smelling faintly of mildew) or the little stoppered vial of blue liquid (smelling faintly of mildew)? >sky Dropped. >look in cabinet In the bookcase are Beyond the Dream of Moons, by Dr. Silas Fong, The Ant That Breeds, by N. W. Nightgrim, The Monolith, by Georgi Vogot, The History of the End, or, Last Men, by Frances Bansaku (smelling faintly of mildew), Out of the Infinite, Roceau's Dictionary of Crime and Criminality - Centennial edition, Across Black Oceans, The Searcher in Darkness, Out of the Screaming Planet, The Imagined Worm and The Doctrine of the Long Stick. >x infinite (first taking Out of the Infinite) Taken. This book promises more poetry from the mind of Robert N. Ostregot. It looks a little more well-loved than the other Ostregot book. >x it This book promises more poetry from the mind of Robert N. Ostregot. It looks a little more well-loved than the other Ostregot book. >read it You flip through the ratty pages and read a short verse: What is the point of the end of the world if under its skin, you are trembl this is the tidepool so cling to it, wait for it this is the cataclysm Hmm. You're not sure you like this one very much. It reminds you uncomfortably of Strangecraft's writing. You wonder if the author was unwell. On the back cover, you notice a blemish, and you realize it's a smear of blood ? but when you tilt your head you see that there are dozens of blood smears on the cover, spelling out a single word: ANGARITHEP. The P trails off, as if the one who scrawled it was being dragged away... >g You flip through the ratty pages and read a short verse: What is the point of the end of the world if under its skin, you are trembl this is the tidepool so cling to it, wait for it this is the cataclysm Hmm. You're not sure you like this one very much. It reminds you uncomfortably of Strangecraft's writing. You wonder if the author was unwell. On the back cover, you notice a blemish, and you realize it's a smear of blood ? but when you tilt your head you see that there are dozens of blood smears on the cover, spelling out a single word: ANGARITHEP. The P trails off, as if the one who scrawled it was being dragged away... >drop it Dropped. >x centennial You can't see any such thing. >x dictionary (first taking Roceau's Dictionary of Crime and Criminality - Centennial edition) Taken. A faded and falling apart reference work, apparently on all matters of criminality. It's pretty heavy, but you could look things up in it if there's a crime you're curious about. >read it You flip to a random page and start to read: "...(1831). But even beheading being deemed too good for the saboteurs, they were drawn and quartered in the old Norwegian style; wherein the captive's wounds are salted with a curious mixture of those Danish salts..." On the back cover, you notice a blemish, and you realize it's a smear of blood ? but when you tilt your head you see that there are dozens of blood smears on the cover, spelling out a single word: ANGARITHEP. The P trails off, as if the one who scrawled it was being dragged away... >look up jack in the ripper You can't see any such thing. >look up jack in the ripper in dictionary You can't see any such thing. >read dictionary You flip to a random page and start to read: "Burglary is one of the great perversities of man, the seizure by force of that which not only is rightfully held by another, but is located in the other man's very sanctum of security ? his home." On the back cover, you notice a blemish, and you realize it's a smear of blood ? but when you tilt your head you see that there are dozens of blood smears on the cover, spelling out a single word: ANGARITHEP. The P trails off, as if the one who scrawled it was being dragged away... >look up murder I only understood you as far as wanting to look up. >look up murder in dictionary You flip through the pages, but it seems impossible to determine how this work is organized. You eventually give up the task and close the book. >read dictionary You flip to a random page and start to read: "...penalties may be lessened in the case of a minor child, or whereverat there may be a grave miscarriage of justice in the sentencing, legitimate or illegitimate, of a person so vulnerable in such a state,..." On the back cover, you notice a blemish, and you realize it's a smear of blood ? but when you tilt your head you see that there are dozens of blood smears on the cover, spelling out a single word: ANGARITHEP. The P trails off, as if the one who scrawled it was being dragged away... >g You flip to a random page and start to read: "...making off with the grand jewel of the whole collection, Majarahandiri, shoved into his enormous mouth. He could not speak, of course, while in such a state, but his loyal capuchin (a beastly Indic primate, of the kind which is so often trained by pickpockets..." On the back cover, you notice a blemish, and you realize it's a smear of blood ? but when you tilt your head you see that there are dozens of blood smears on the cover, spelling out a single word: ANGARITHEP. The P trails off, as if the one who scrawled it was being dragged away... >drop dictionary Dropped. >save Ok. >look in cabinet In the bookcase are Beyond the Dream of Moons, by Dr. Silas Fong, The Ant That Breeds, by N. W. Nightgrim, The Monolith, by Georgi Vogot, The History of the End, or, Last Men, by Frances Bansaku (smelling faintly of mildew), Across Black Oceans, The Searcher in Darkness, Out of the Screaming Planet, The Imagined Worm and The Doctrine of the Long Stick. >take balck You can't see any such thing. >take oceans Taken. >x it This old book is called "Across Black Oceans", written by Eunice Salvoni. >read it "As we clung to the rain-lashed rafters of our tiny ship, blasted across the walls of roaring water, pummeled by the ravenous gullies of the aquarian beast, the irresistible tide of oceanographical infamy?O, Poseidon! Plumber of the incalculable deepnesses! Defender of the sea-slicked and pearleascent realm of the crustacean abominates, yet unknown to either man of science, or, indeed, to yon watcher of the distant stars-" holey moley this is unreadable. The book looks pretty old, but surely publication standards were never that low. On the back cover, you notice a blemish, and you realize it's a smear of blood ? but when you tilt your head you see that there are dozens of blood smears on the cover, spelling out a single word: ANGARITHEP. The P trails off, as if the one who scrawled it was being dragged away... >g "As we clung to the rain-lashed rafters of our tiny ship, blasted across the walls of roaring water, pummeled by the ravenous gullies of the aquarian beast, the irresistible tide of oceanographical infamy?O, Poseidon! Plumber of the incalculable deepnesses! Defender of the sea-slicked and pearleascent realm of the crustacean abominates, yet unknown to either man of science, or, indeed, to yon watcher of the distant stars-" holey moley this is unreadable. The book looks pretty old, but surely publication standards were never that low. On the back cover, you notice a blemish, and you realize it's a smear of blood ? but when you tilt your head you see that there are dozens of blood smears on the cover, spelling out a single word: ANGARITHEP. The P trails off, as if the one who scrawled it was being dragged away... >* I dunno I kinda like it That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >drop it Dropped. >look in cabinet In the bookcase are Beyond the Dream of Moons, by Dr. Silas Fong, The Ant That Breeds, by N. W. Nightgrim, The Monolith, by Georgi Vogot, The History of the End, or, Last Men, by Frances Bansaku (smelling faintly of mildew), The Searcher in Darkness, Out of the Screaming Planet, The Imagined Worm and The Doctrine of the Long Stick. >x darkness (the metal hatch) A ladder leads down through the open hatch and into the darkness below. >x searcher (first taking The Searcher in Darkness) Taken. This leatherbound, pocket-sized volume reminds you of those "worst-case survival" books, but the title etched on the cover in lacy handwriting suggests a different tone: Searcher in Darkness, by Endrew Skeinweld. It smells old, but maybe it's just mildewy. >read it You flip through the little pages of Searcher in Darkness. There's a lot of cave maps, and a diagram of an old-fashioned oil lamp. One unusual illustration catches your eye: What looks like a rubbing of a weird stone carving, a seven-pointed star encircled by an open eye. Something about it looks familiar, like you flipped past it in another book... The caption says it was found in Gorogoth Cave, right here in Vermont, by a spelunker named Barnabus Trail. The second sentence of the caption has been blotted out with black ink, and a cursory glance suggests there's no further discussion of the carving. On the back cover, you notice a blemish, and you realize it's a smear of blood ? but when you tilt your head you see that there are dozens of blood smears on the cover, spelling out a single word: ANGARITHEP. The P trails off, as if the one who scrawled it was being dragged away... >* huh That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >drop it Dropped. >look in cabinet In the bookcase are Beyond the Dream of Moons, by Dr. Silas Fong, The Ant That Breeds, by N. W. Nightgrim, The Monolith, by Georgi Vogot, The History of the End, or, Last Men, by Frances Bansaku (smelling faintly of mildew), Out of the Screaming Planet, The Imagined Worm and The Doctrine of the Long Stick. >take screaming Taken. >read it You glance at the cover first. This old book is called "Out of the Screaming Planet", written by Hiram Strangecraft. The edges are a little bit singed, as if someone had tried to burn it. You flip between pages of gibberish and pages of almost-sensical word salad. It reminds you of having to read Ulysses in high school, but this guy ? Strangecraft ? probably wasn't being as deliberate as James Joyce. You can't pull a single meaningful sentence out of the whole thing. On the back cover, you notice a blemish, and you realize it's a smear of blood ? but when you tilt your head you see that there are dozens of blood smears on the cover, spelling out a single word: ANGARITHEP. The P trails off, as if the one who scrawled it was being dragged away... >x it This old book is called "Out of the Screaming Planet", written by Hiram Strangecraft. The edges are a little bit singed, as if someone had tried to burn it. >* Nitocris needs to work on her cover identities, nobody reads Ulysses in high school You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >read it You flip between pages of gibberish and pages of almost-sensical word salad. It reminds you of having to read Ulysses in high school, but this guy ? Strangecraft ? probably wasn't being as deliberate as James Joyce. You can't pull a single meaningful sentence out of the whole thing. On the back cover, you notice a blemish, and you realize it's a smear of blood ? but when you tilt your head you see that there are dozens of blood smears on the cover, spelling out a single word: ANGARITHEP. The P trails off, as if the one who scrawled it was being dragged away... >drop it Dropped. >look in cabinet In the bookcase are Beyond the Dream of Moons, by Dr. Silas Fong, The Ant That Breeds, by N. W. Nightgrim, The Monolith, by Georgi Vogot, The History of the End, or, Last Men, by Frances Bansaku (smelling faintly of mildew), The Imagined Worm and The Doctrine of the Long Stick. >take worm Taken. >x it The cover is appropriately worm-y, and prints the title ? "The Imagined Worm: My Journey Through the World of Creepy-Crawlies, by Elizabeth P. Stashwart" ? in big, loopy script; but it doesn't give you much sign as to why this book is in the Forbidden Annex. A ghastly spectral cuckoo flies out of the round white wall clock (smelling faintly of mildew) and announces, "The time is now two o'clock!" before vanishing into thin air. >read it The pages of this book are densely-printed and rice-paper thin. You flip through it until you reach an illustration: a cross-section of some kind of slug-like worm. It certainly sounds nasty, but you can't understand half of the words on this page. You're a few college degrees away from getting much out of this book. On the back cover, you notice a blemish, and you realize it's a smear of blood ? but when you tilt your head you see that there are dozens of blood smears on the cover, spelling out a single word: ANGARITHEP. The P trails off, as if the one who scrawled it was being dragged away... >g The pages of this book are densely-printed and rice-paper thin. You flip through it until you reach an illustration: a cross-section of some kind of slug-like worm. It certainly sounds nasty, but you can't understand half of the words on this page. You're a few college degrees away from getting much out of this book. On the back cover, you notice a blemish, and you realize it's a smear of blood ? but when you tilt your head you see that there are dozens of blood smears on the cover, spelling out a single word: ANGARITHEP. The P trails off, as if the one who scrawled it was being dragged away... >drop it Dropped. >* That one was mentioned That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >x stick (first taking The Doctrine of the Long Stick) Taken. "The Doctrine of the Long Stick" by Samuel W. Trail is an old hardcover book with a line drawing of a cowboy on the cover. It smells like an old library. >read it You flip through The Doctrine of the Long Stick. It's mostly just a practical guide to various "frontier" skills; if you ever want to learn how to tie a, uh, "cowman knot", this is the place. The type is huge. Is this a kids' book? The introduction, which looks a little more substantial (or is at least printed in smaller type), reads: "In my many years of ranching and riding with my many compatriots, some simple lessons have become clear to me. I taught my little son, Barnabus, each of them, from the day he was old enough to get on a horse. My first lesson: Never get close to a cave-lion. That's good advice, whether you're out on the plains or deep in a freshly plumbed cave. The rest of my lessons take a little longer, but I hope to give you a taste of them in these pages. By the end, you'll be whip-snortin' with the best of us! Yee-haw!" On the back cover, you notice a blemish, and you realize it's a smear of blood ? but when you tilt your head you see that there are dozens of blood smears on the cover, spelling out a single word: ANGARITHEP. The P trails off, as if the one who scrawled it was being dragged away... >g You flip through The Doctrine of the Long Stick. It's mostly just a practical guide to various "frontier" skills; if you ever want to learn how to tie a, uh, "cowman knot", this is the place. The type is huge. Is this a kids' book? The introduction, which looks a little more substantial (or is at least printed in smaller type), reads: "In my many years of ranching and riding with my many compatriots, some simple lessons have become clear to me. I taught my little son, Barnabus, each of them, from the day he was old enough to get on a horse. My first lesson: Never get close to a cave-lion. That's good advice, whether you're out on the plains or deep in a freshly plumbed cave. The rest of my lessons take a little longer, but I hope to give you a taste of them in these pages. By the end, you'll be whip-snortin' with the best of us! Yee-haw!" On the back cover, you notice a blemish, and you realize it's a smear of blood ? but when you tilt your head you see that there are dozens of blood smears on the cover, spelling out a single word: ANGARITHEP. The P trails off, as if the one who scrawled it was being dragged away... >drop it Dropped. >* Fun! 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 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. >l Cragne Library Forbidden Annex - Under the Basement (Ivan Roth) You're in a rocky cavern, colder and wetter even than the dank basement. It is also dim and shadowy, but you can make out strange carvings on the rock walls, a sinister iron cage that dangles from the roof of the cave, and a large black cabinet of ornate design, set into the western wall. An ink-black tunnel entrance leads north. You can see The Doctrine of the Long Stick, by Samuel W. Trail (smelling faintly of mildew), The Imagined Worm, by Elizabeth P. Stashwart, Out of the Screaming Planet, by Hiram Strangecraft (smelling faintly of mildew), The Searcher in Darkness, by Endrew Skeinweld, Across Black Oceans, by Eunice Salvoni, Roceau's Dictionary of Crime and Criminality - Centennial edition, Out of the Infinite, by Robert N. Ostregot, The Liquid Sky, by Robert N. Ostregot (smelling faintly of mildew), Mysteries of the Red City by Irenius Fong, The Broken Tongue, by Noah Chaplinski and The Reign of Reason, by Godos Atrakut here. >open cage It seems to be locked. >i You are carrying: 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 sinister iron key 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 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) an old paperback book (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 >unlock cage with key Which do you mean, the ornate bronze key (smelling faintly of mildew), the Red Triangle Key (smelling faintly of mildew), the sinister iron key, the frosty blue key, the intricately folded origami key, the silver and ivory key, the splintery wooden key (smelling faintly of mildew), the small desk key (smelling faintly of mildew), the small rusty iron key (smelling faintly of mildew), the Allen key (smelling faintly of mildew), the thin steel key (smelling faintly of mildew), the white key (smelling faintly of mildew), the key from an urn (smelling faintly of mildew), the bronze key green from age (smelling faintly of mildew), the aluminum key (smelling faintly of mildew), the large brass key (smelling faintly of mildew) or the brass winding key (smelling faintly of mildew)? >ornate bronze That doesn't seem to fit the lock. >unlock cage with red triangle That doesn't seem to fit the lock. >unlock cage with sinister (the hanging iron cage) (first taking the hanging iron cage) That's hardly portable. >unlock cage with sinister iron cage (first taking the hanging iron cage) That's hardly portable. >unlock cage with sinister iron key (first taking the sinister iron key) You unlock the hanging iron cage. >* OMG! That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >x bat A black ball of fur and fangs rattles against the iron bars. >pet bat You can't see any such thing. >touch bat The hanging iron cage isn't open. >open cage You let the creaking iron bars swing open. The vampire bat squeaks and flies out of the cage at top speed, circles a few times and zooms through the opening in the ceiling. >* be free! That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >* Er but don't eat anybody That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >save Ok. >* that can't possibly be a bad idea That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >n Hesitantly, you enter the mouth of the cavern, and start feeling your way through the tunnel... Please press SPACE to continue. You feel your way through enveloping darkness, and then pad in silence through the rough-hewn tunnels of the deeper caves... You clamber over domes of rock, and then claw apart loose basalt, stumble onto a cliff and peer over at the steaming jungle at the center of the earth... topple over... You collapse on blue soil, under an unknown moon... [Press any key to continue] *** Didn't anyone ever tell you not to go into the caves? *** Would you like to RESTART, RESTORE a saved game, QUIT, UNDO the last command or TAKE BACK the action that sealed your fate (for when UNDO is not enough)? > undo Cragne Library Forbidden Annex - Under the Basement (Ivan Roth) [Previous turn undone.] >* Er OK, let's not go that way You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >save Ok. >* let's go upstairs and see if any doors have unlocked That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >* and check that armoire! That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >u 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. >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. >u 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. >e Upstairs Hall, north end (Jason Love) Imposing wooden doors lead north to the nursery (which is open) and east ; 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 massive black armoire still stands against the north-west wall; you can now see a pocket-sized notebook inside it. It would seem that the armoire doors have somehow been torn off since you were last here. They lie on the floor nearby. >* and here we are! That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >x armoire (the doorless armoire) The massive wardrobe's doors have been torn off entirely; trios of splintered screw-holes show where the hinges previously attached in the upper and lower corners. There's a pocket-sized notebook inside. In the doorless armoire is a pocket-sized notebook. Why do you suddenly fear that you've left your keys in The Kitchen (Edward B)? You know where your keys are, don't you? (And where's this name coming from?) >* er ,what? You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >i You are carrying: 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 (open) 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) an old paperback book (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 Distant thunder echoes. >I mean I think I have them? I only understood you as far as wanting to take inventory. >* There's kinda a lot That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >x doors You can't use multiple objects with that verb. >x door Which do you mean, the east door, the nursery door or the bricked-up door? >east Astonishingly large and assembled of thick oak planks with iron banding and trim; the door glistens redly from a thick coat of shellac. This would almost be more suitable as an exterior door, but in place of a knocker, a Cragne family crest has been set into the wood with iron filigree. The handle is little more than a bent metal prong next to an oversized keyhole. An unexpected waft of cold air makes your skin crawl. >* hmm maybe the red triangle key? That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >x notebook (the torn notebook (smelling faintly of mildew)) Many pages are torn out, and those that remain are mostly smudged or otherwise illegible. One, however, stands out because it appears to have been pasted into the notebook. It looks like a letter. "September 21, 1908 "...les Cragne, Rufous Alderman, "I was pleased to hear of your success with ... of the ritual... "...Sinclair's pamphlet will bring unwanted atte... ...ven to your remote operation. I hope I need not remind you ...tance of ... role ... "... can get ... blood befo... ...crifice must be complete by the coming full moon... Vaadignephod will... "Yours in fraternity "... of the Variegated Court" The facing page contains the notation "Cattle: 10 gal, 200 / hr, 24000 gal Hog: 5 gal, 500 / hr, 30000 gal Man: 10 pt, 1 / day, 10 pt" A faint smell of mildew emanates from it. >x pocket-sized A pocket-sized composition notebook with a marbled black-and-white cardboard cover. Many pages have been torn out, judging by the number of strands of torn paper still caught in the wire spiral binding. >take it Taken. Something moves abruptly on the edge of your peripheral vision, but when you turn, it's not clear what you could have seen moving. >read it Turning to the first page, you find a series of notes inscribed with thin, looping letters. "July 6, I think? We've been here three days now. Uncle Roger said my luggage was destroyed on its way to the house. He sounded mad, but I don't think he was mad that I lost all my things. I think he's mad that I don't believe him. Uncle Theo gave me this note book to replace my journal. He also told me that he's actually not my uncle--he's my cousin, once removed, whatever that means. That seems wrong, though! He looks older than uncle Roger!" (To continue to the next page, simply read the notebook again.) >read it "The house was almost empty when we got here, but people I don't recognize have been arriving all day today. I'm used to Roger not telling me what's going on, but all Theo would say was that it's like a family reunion. I don't like being around this many strangers, so I am hiding in the bathroom with my music and some tracing-gears." >read it This page is filled with doodled art: flowers, irises, spirals, and starbursts, traced with the aid of some geometric toy. >read it Most of the next page has been torn out:"The old folks let down their guard when they think I'm not listening, so I [. . .] with my headphones on, and I heard some [. . .] say to Theo how honored he [. . .] to the Very Gated Court. He[. . .] to [. . .]" Several more pages after this one are missing. You catch a faint smell of smoke. >read it The notes resume: "All this time, he has been envious of Uncle Theo. That's why my parents are gone. That's why he brought me here. I am glad that he's furious. He sneered at me, said the only reason I wasn't dead already was because I mispronounced the name. Because I used five syllables instead of four. But he's wrong. It worked. I can feel their dead eyes upon me, and I KNOW things. I KNOW that Theodorus Cragne, my uncle Roger's first cousin, is the Fuscous Alderman of the Variegated Court. And I can feel his fear. The same way he fears Uncle Theo. He dreads what I may do next, just as he dreads Theo's return to the house. He will try to kill me for this. "But I will already be gone." >read it If any more notes were written, they have all been torn out. A long-legged ungulate has been drawn with heavy pen-strokes on the inside of the back cover of the notebook. It has been captioned in block letters: THE WHITE ANTELOPE. >* One more! 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 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. An unexpected waft of cold air makes your skin crawl. >* OK, can't get the door open You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >s Hallway South (Matt Schneider) The threadbare carpet holds only the vaguest hints of its original hue, and the yellowing wallpaper is crisscrossed with a web of cracks. The hole that you tore through the wallpaper emits a gentle light. The hallway continues to the north, and there are doors leading to the west, south, and east. >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. >* okay! That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >x door A simple door, made from a rich, dark wood. An oval window takes up the upper third of the door, but is covered in such a thick layer of dust and grime that you can hardly see through it. The small brass knob is surrounded by a circular design of inlaid triangles cut out of deep, reddish-brown cherry wood. The rain dashes across the window in waves. You'd hate to be out in this. The hallway echoes with the sound of rain hammering on the walls and roof of the manor. >* ah maybe this is the red triangle That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >x red triangle A small metal key with a red triangle etched into the handle. It's sticky and it smells like grapes. A faint smell of mildew emanates from it. >unlock door with red triangle You unlock the wooden door. >* yay! That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >save Ok. >s (first opening the wooden door) Balcony (Reina Adair) The balcony has definitely seen better days. Once it was more than likely a fine place to sit and look out over the skyline or whatever one desired to do out here. However, its charm has been lost with the passage of time. The wood, once more than likely shiny and well polished, is now rotten and peeling in various spots. Somehow, despite the way the architecture has aged, the railing at the end of the balcony itself is still somewhat sturdy. All around, the view of the scenery is breathtaking, albeit somewhat unsettling for some reason. Occasionally, a slight breeze blows past you, but you can't tell if its supposed to be warm or cool. The only exit from here is to the north. A statue with a very strange appearance to it is standing here, almost as if it is watching the area. An insubstantial trolley stop sign reads Lavender Line -- Cragne Manor Balcony. >* Reina Adair doesn't seem to have any other credits -- but she has a cool name FWIW That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >* We've got another new trolley stop That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >x me As good-looking as ever. You bear the trauma of a woman who has been eye to eye with an eburnean pond kraken. > I beg your pardon? >* Lots of ambivalence in the description here That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >l Balcony (Reina Adair) The balcony has definitely seen better days. Once it was more than likely a fine place to sit and look out over the skyline or whatever one desired to do out here. However, its charm has been lost with the passage of time. The wood, once more than likely shiny and well polished, is now rotten and peeling in various spots. Somehow, despite the way the architecture has aged, the railing at the end of the balcony itself is still somewhat sturdy. All around, the view of the scenery is breathtaking, albeit somewhat unsettling for some reason. Occasionally, a slight breeze blows past you, but you can't tell if its supposed to be warm or cool. The only exit from here is to the north. A statue with a very strange appearance to it is standing here, almost as if it is watching the area. An ethereal trolley stop sign reads Lavender Line -- Cragne Manor Balcony. >x railing You can't see any such thing. >x balcony You see nothing special about the wooden door. >x door You see nothing special about the wooden door. >x sceneery You can't see any such thing. >oops scenery You can't see any such thing. >x skyline You can't see any such thing. >x sky Reading the Sky, by Roberto Vasquez, is a slim paperback, with an artsy sketch of the night sky on the cover. The text on the back is in Spanish. A faint smell of mildew emanates from it. >x wood This splintery wooden key looks like it's ready to fall apart at any moment. A faint smell of mildew emanates from it. >x railing You can't see any such thing. >* Thought I might need to rappel down off the balcony, glad not to! You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >x statue This statue looks to be in the shape of a human, although it is next to impossible to make out what the gender is supposed to be. Built using pure black marble, all one can do is make out the basic shape of the various body parts, such as the head, the arms, the legs, etc. The position is somewhat bizarre, almost like the person in question is reeling back in terror or fear. Looking closer at the statue, you notice that the right arm is extended outwards almost as if it is holding out its hand. In its hand, you discover a key! You go ahead and take it. >i You are carrying: a sturdy key a pocket-sized notebook 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 (open) 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) an old paperback book (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 >x sturdy This key looks like it's seen some use throughout its time, yet it still looks and feels very sturdy. While it shows some slight hints of rust, it has lost very little of its original color. >* huh That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >x statue head I only understood you as far as wanting to examine Strange Statue. >x head (the pull-string doll (smelling faintly of mildew)) The doll has a ferocious scowl on its face and a pull-string in the middle of its back. It has the sort of head with two faces, one of which is hidden by its hair. Rotate the head and the other face will be forward. A faint smell of mildew emanates from it. >x statue This statue looks to be in the shape of a human, although it is next to impossible to make out what the gender is supposed to be. Built using pure black marble, all one can do is make out the basic shape of the various body parts, such as the head, the arms, the legs, etc. The position is somewhat bizarre, almost like the person in question is reeling back in terror or fear. >x arms You can't see any such thing. >x legs You can't see any such thing. >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. >* ...guess that was it That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >* Wonder whether this unlocked that door in the hallway? That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >n Hallway South (Matt Schneider) The threadbare carpet holds only the vaguest hints of its original hue, and the yellowing wallpaper is crisscrossed with a web of cracks. The hole that you tore through the wallpaper emits a gentle light. The hallway continues to the north, and there are doors leading to the west, south, and east. >n Upstairs Hall, north end (Jason Love) Imposing wooden doors lead north to the nursery (which is open) and east ; 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. >x coffee The swirls in your cup form a pear shape, complete with stem. 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. >* yup! That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >unlock door with sturdy Which do you mean, the east door, the nursery door or the bricked-up door? >east You unlock the east door. A ghastly spectral cuckoo flies out of the round white wall clock (smelling faintly of mildew) and squawks, "The time is now one o'clock!" before vanishing into thin air. >save Ok. >e (first opening the east door) MASTER BEDROOM (ROWAN LIPKOVITS) Et voila! Here we have the master bedroom of Cragne Manor, which is by turns contradictorily capacious and cramped. Though you can't put your finger on it, something about this windowless chamber sucks the very air out of your lungs and puts you on edge. One would have to be a master indeed to achieve any rest in this offputting room. Though it is relatively sparsely furnished, it wouldn't be much of a bedoom without a bed -- and there it is, a four-poster tall, dingy, imposing and unsettling. Next to it is a bedside table, on which resides some torturously elongated lamp -- apparently the dim room's only light source, currently turned off. To the west is the hallway door through which you first arrived, and to the east there is also a door to what is most likely a walk-in closet. >* Master bedroom! That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >* And also only bedroom, so far You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >* All those uncles and cousins must be getting pretty friendly in an attic garret I guess That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >* Rowan Lipkovits has some other games going back to the 90s, under the pseudonym "Cthulu" so that's a good fit You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >x me As good-looking as ever. You bear the trauma of a woman who has been eye to eye with an eburnean pond kraken. >* Nitocris has been have a pretty good run here of looking nice That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >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 elongated Due to the peculiar shape of the bedside lamp and the unusual angle at which the table supports it, you are unable to interact with the lamp without first being in the bed, so in you go! (sitting on the bed first) You warily sidle up to the uncomfortable-looking grey bed and briefly perch on its (now confirmed-uncomfortable) edge. It's a bedroom, the bed is its central, nay defining feature -- why not try out the bed, right? Worked out OK for Goldilocks, didn't it? Well, turns out this would have been a bad idea had you thought of doing it instead of momentarily losing agency and having it done on your behalf. Right in the middle of ... whatever it was you were trying to accomplish anyway, you're hit by an invisible wave that feels like a Mack truck pulling a tractor trailer full of fatigue, you briefly lose consciousness and collapse as a veil of sooty burlap is dragged across your field of vision and a thousand thousand chittering things argue spiritedly at the periphery of your mind. When you awaken from troubled dreams, you find yourself transformed in this bed into a horrible vermin. >* that's not good! That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >x me Now you are a cockroach. You have a head, a thorax and an abdomen. Your wingless carapace glints dully in the dim light of the room, which is just peanuts compared to your three pairs of limbs. >* I jinxed it with the "I've been looking *fine*" thing, huh You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >fly That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >i You are carrying nothing. >x head You can't see any such thing. >* figures That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >x thorax Your body is surrounded by a dully reflective exoskeleton. You've never contemplated what it would be like to exist in this world with your bones on the outside, and now that you're in a position to consider it, the screaming habdads preclude any hypothetical attempts at scientific inquiry. >x habdad You can't see any such thing. >* I guess that's like the howling fantods That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >l SAMSA WAS HERE (ROWAN LIPKOVITS) (on the bed) The good news is that you are still on the bed. The bad news is that the you that is on the bed is now, rather than the intrepid human female Naomi Cragne, instead the nauseating cockroach female Naomi Cragne. Worst of all, while lying down was no problem for human-Naomi, it poses a nigh-existential challenge for cockroach-Naomi, who finds herself unable to right herself. On the bright side, the one thing you can easily achieve in this awkward position is turning on the lamp and illuminating the room a little. >turn on lamp (turning on lamp) At the sound of the lamp's switch, your hitherto unimagined cockroach instincts kick in like an unstoppable force; drawing on some reservoir of limber grace and vigor -- practically racing the lamp's light to the corners of the room, you find yourself instinctively flinging your roachy self off of the bed , making a bee-line for the nearest wall -- which you proceed to scurry up -- and on to the ceiling. Along the way, the lamp's pull-cord snags on one of your legs, and its inadequate illumination once again fades like the camera bulb in a disposable Polaroid. It is upside-down on this ceiling where, unbeknownst to you, you inadvertently crawl over a magical pentacle of cancellation that has been wallpapered over. It quietly works its protective charms on you, but "protective" is relative, as you find you resume your human form and quickly discover, from your ceiling vantage point, that gravity effects humans differently from cockroaches. Down you crash, but happily, you don't seem to break anything too mission-critical. >l MASTER BEDROOM (ROWAN LIPKOVITS) Here we have the master bedroom of Cragne Manor, which is by turns contradictorily capacious and cramped. Though you can't put your finger on it, something about this windowless chamber sucks the very air out of your lungs and puts you on edge. One would have to be a master indeed to achieve any rest in this offputting room. Though it is relatively sparsely furnished, it wouldn't be much of a bedoom without a bed -- and there it is, a four-poster tall, dingy, imposing and unsettling. Next to it is a bedside table, on which resides some torturously elongated lamp -- apparently the dim room's only light source, currently turned off. To the west is the hallway door through which you first arrived, and to the east there is also a door to what is most likely a walk-in closet. >* umm That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >x bed You warily sidle up to the uncomfortable-looking grey bed and briefly perch on its (now confirmed-uncomfortable) edge. It's a bedroom, the bed is its central, nay defining feature -- why not try out the bed, right? Worked out OK for Goldilocks, didn't it? Well, turns out this would have been a bad idea had you thought of doing it instead of momentarily losing agency and having it done on your behalf. Right in the middle of ... whatever it was you were trying to accomplish anyway, you're hit by an invisible wave that feels like a Mack truck pulling a tractor trailer full of fatigue, you briefly lose consciousness and collapse as a veil of sooty burlap is dragged across your field of vision and a thousand thousand chittering things argue spiritedly at the periphery of your mind. >x me As good-looking as ever. You bear the trauma of a woman who has been eye to eye with an eburnean pond kraken. >i You are carrying: a sturdy key a pocket-sized notebook (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 (open) 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) an old paperback book (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 >look under bed Fool me once, shame on me; fool me twice... I'm not going to allow myself to be transformed into a giant cockroach again. >* a sound policy That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >take lamp (the waterproof flashlight (smelling faintly of mildew)) You already have that. >take elongated As fun as our lamp adventure was, we'd rather blunder about in a dim room than repeat it. >l MASTER BEDROOM (ROWAN LIPKOVITS) (on the bed) Here we have the master bedroom of Cragne Manor, which is by turns contradictorily capacious and cramped. Though you can't put your finger on it, something about this windowless chamber sucks the very air out of your lungs and puts you on edge. One would have to be a master indeed to achieve any rest in this offputting room. Though it is relatively sparsely furnished, it wouldn't be much of a bedoom without a bed -- and there it is, a four-poster tall, dingy, imposing and unsettling. Next to it is a bedside table, on which resides some torturously elongated lamp -- apparently the dim room's only light source, currently turned off. To the west is the hallway door through which you first arrived, and to the east there is also a door to what is most likely a walk-in closet. >x table Is it even possible for a carpenter to perform conventional joinery with water-swollen driftwood? Alls you know is that while this is clearly a bedside table, the boards it's fashioned from look odd and warped, subtly skewed according to the dictates of some strange non-Euclidian geometry. It has no drawers, and nothing rests atop it save the similarly attenuated lamp. >look behind table You can't see any such thing. >* maybe just the closet? That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >e (first getting off the bed) (first opening closet door) A Shadowy Closet (Molly Ying) This large closet, illuminated only by the light coming through the door, is so filled with a jumble of clothes that your head spins as you contemplate the mess. In fact, it's so untidy that it's difficult to look at the disorder directly. Squinting through the chaos, you see shelves leading up to the ceiling on one side and a cabinet on the other. >undo MASTER BEDROOM (ROWAN LIPKOVITS) [Previous turn undone.] >* no, that's a new room You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >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. >* OK, just a jump-scare You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >save Ok. >* let's do one more That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >e (first getting off the bed) (first opening closet door) A Shadowy Closet (Molly Ying) This large closet, illuminated only by the light coming through the door, is so filled with a jumble of clothes that your head spins as you contemplate the mess. In fact, it's so untidy that it's difficult to look at the disorder directly. Squinting through the chaos, you see shelves leading up to the ceiling on one side and a cabinet on the other. >* another one-and-doner That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >x clothes The impossible mess of disorganized clothes covers the shelves like a tangled collection of spiderwebs. >x me As good-looking as ever. You bear the trauma of a woman who has been eye to eye with an eburnean pond kraken. >search clothes You find nothing of interest. >* the run of X ME continues That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >x shelves You can't see how these strangely tilted shelves are staying upright and together, but it's lucky for you that they are, as the piles of clothes and forgotten possessions would bury you if they failed. Their contents are piled high to the point that the ceiling is obscured. >x possessions The impossible mess of disorganized clothes covers the shelves like a tangled collection of spiderwebs. >climb shelves The mess of clothing is far too precarious for you to be climbing all over it. >* aww That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >x cabinet Your eye can't quite resolve the angles of the cabinet, but the three (three?) drawers it contains are plain to see. There is an empty frame on the top that might have held a mirror once, but whatever was inside it has been removed. >x frame (the frame) An empty frame that might once have held a mirror. The unoccupied grooves suggest that something could be placed upright within. >x grooves You can't see any such thing. >* huh That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >open top You can't see any such thing. >open top drawer You can't see any such thing. >x drawers You can't see any such thing. >open cabinet It isn't something you can open. >l A Shadowy Closet (Molly Ying) This large closet, illuminated only by the light coming through the door, is so filled with a jumble of clothes that your head spins as you contemplate the mess. In fact, it's so untidy that it's difficult to look at the disorder directly. Squinting through the chaos, you see shelves leading up to the ceiling on one side and a cabinet on the other. >x cabinet Your eye can't quite resolve the angles of the cabinet, but the three (three?) drawers it contains are plain to see. There is an empty frame on the top that might have held a mirror once, but whatever was inside it has been removed. >x drawer Which do you mean, the upper drawer, the middle drawer or the lower drawer? >upper You see nothing special about the upper drawer. >open it You open the upper drawer. >look in it The upper drawer is empty. >open middle You open the middle drawer. >look in it The middle drawer is empty. >open lower You open the lower drawer. >look in it The lower drawer is empty. >* huh That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >climb cabinet Little is to be achieved by that. >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. >* blarg That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >* let's just try the rec room re keys That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >w MASTER BEDROOM (ROWAN LIPKOVITS) Here we have the master bedroom of Cragne Manor, which is by turns contradictorily capacious and cramped. Though you can't put your finger on it, something about this windowless chamber sucks the very air out of your lungs and puts you on edge. One would have to be a master indeed to achieve any rest in this offputting room. Though it is relatively sparsely furnished, it wouldn't be much of a bedoom without a bed -- and there it is, a four-poster tall, dingy, imposing and unsettling. Next to it is a bedside table, on which resides some torturously elongated lamp -- apparently the dim room's only light source, currently turned off. To the west is the hallway door through which you first arrived, and to the east there is also a door to what is most likely a walk-in closet. >w 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 moves abruptly on the edge of your peripheral vision, but when you turn, it's not clear what you could have seen moving. >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. >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. >* no keys That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >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. >e Sitting Room (Buster Hudson) The floorboards groan against your footsteps as you enter the dusty sitting room. Light struggles to penetrate the grimy bay window, hinting at the space around you. Various pieces of furniture are covered by moldy, moth-bitten sheets. The remains of a portrait hang above the fireplace. Leaning against a wall is a large mirror. >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. >w 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 sky outside is purple, with a few stars already visible. 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. >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 television continues to spew its infuriating idiot noise. >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. The television continues blaring. >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. 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. >* OK, we're out of the manor again starting next time! You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >save Ok. >