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, I sorta faked things last time by ending the update before I actually opened the door You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >l Mudroom (Matt Weiner) The porch is a mudroom, a place for taking off coats and muddy shoes. The marble front wall seems like a sheer cliff face, the porch like a flimsy shelter built onto it. The front door leads inside to the north. In one corner of the porch a strangely shaped hook is fastened to the wall. A calfskin coat hangs beside it. In the other corner of the porch, a teapot sits on a small wooden table. A slightly muddy welcome mat sticks out partway from under the front door. Against the front wall are a pair of blue cloth slippers and a single brown leather boot. >s Front Walk (Matt Weiner) Cragne Manor looms to the north. Its light gray marble front is marred by a screened-in wooden porch, clearly tacked on well after the manor was built. A gravel path bends around the manor to the northeast and northwest, and the driveway leads south back to town. By the porch steps is a post with a placard reading "31." A strange little manikin is affixed to it. A spectral trolley stop sign reads Purple Line -- Cragne Manor. >n You climb the steps to the porch. Mudroom (Matt Weiner) The porch is a mudroom, a place for taking off coats and muddy shoes. The marble front wall seems like a sheer cliff face, the porch like a flimsy shelter built onto it. The front door leads inside to the north. In one corner of the porch a strangely shaped hook is fastened to the wall. A calfskin coat hangs beside it. In the other corner of the porch, a teapot sits on a small wooden table. A slightly muddy welcome mat sticks out partway from under the front door. Against the front wall are a pair of blue cloth slippers and a single brown leather boot. >s Front Walk (Matt Weiner) Cragne Manor looms to the north. Its light gray marble front is marred by a screened-in wooden porch, clearly tacked on well after the manor was built. A gravel path bends around the manor to the northeast and northwest, and the driveway leads south back to town. By the porch steps is a post with a placard reading "31." A strange little manikin is affixed to it. A noncorporeal trolley stop sign reads Purple Line -- Cragne Manor. >n You climb the steps to the porch. Mudroom (Matt Weiner) The porch is a mudroom, a place for taking off coats and muddy shoes. The marble front wall seems like a sheer cliff face, the porch like a flimsy shelter built onto it. The front door leads inside to the north. In one corner of the porch a strangely shaped hook is fastened to the wall. A calfskin coat hangs beside it. In the other corner of the porch, a teapot sits on a small wooden table. A slightly muddy welcome mat sticks out partway from under the front door. Against the front wall are a pair of blue cloth slippers and a single brown leather boot. >* Ah, so this is the other half of Matt Weiner's room -- that makes sense, the drive was pretty stripped-down You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >save Ok. >unlock door What do you want to unlock the front door with? >brass Which do you mean, the brass winding key, the brass nameplate or the large brass key (smelling faintly of mildew)? >large You can't see any such thing. >unlock door with large brass key That's unlocked at the moment. >lock door with large brass key You lock the front door. >unlock door with large brass key You unlock the front door. >* OK, now we've reenacted what we need to reenact You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >l Mudroom (Matt Weiner) The porch is a mudroom, a place for taking off coats and muddy shoes. The marble front wall seems like a sheer cliff face, the porch like a flimsy shelter built onto it. The front door leads inside to the north. In one corner of the porch a strangely shaped hook is fastened to the wall. A calfskin coat hangs beside it. In the other corner of the porch, a teapot sits on a small wooden table. A slightly muddy welcome mat sticks out partway from under the front door. Against the front wall are a pair of blue cloth slippers and a single brown leather boot. >x wall Gray Barre marble, smooth and cold. >touch it The manor's marble wall is smooth and cool to the touch. >* Barre is a quarry town in Vermont That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >x porch Mudroom (Matt Weiner) The porch is a mudroom, a place for taking off coats and muddy shoes. The marble front wall seems like a sheer cliff face, the porch like a flimsy shelter built onto it. The front door leads inside to the north. In one corner of the porch a strangely shaped hook is fastened to the wall. A calfskin coat hangs beside it. In the other corner of the porch, a teapot sits on a small wooden table. A slightly muddy welcome mat sticks out partway from under the front door. Against the front wall are a pair of blue cloth slippers and a single brown leather boot. >x door The front door is made of heavy dark wood with bronze bands across it. The enormous lock plate is also bronze. Bronze numbers reading 31 are screwed into the door, though surely no one could see them from the road. >x numbers (the bronze numbers) Bronze numbers reading 31, weathered green, and almost certainly useless if their purpose is to tell the emergency services that they're at the right house. >take numbers (the bronze numbers) They are part of the door. >x bands The front door is made of heavy dark wood with bronze bands across it. The enormous lock plate is also bronze. Bronze numbers reading 31 are screwed into the door, though surely no one could see them from the road. >x plate (the brass nameplate) "Charles Cragne, Owner" >x lock plate It looks like the sort of old-fashioned keyhole that you could poke a key out of from the other side. If there were a key in it, which there doesn't seem to be. >take it It is part of the door. >look in it It's too dark to see through the keyhole. >l Mudroom (Matt Weiner) The porch is a mudroom, a place for taking off coats and muddy shoes. The marble front wall seems like a sheer cliff face, the porch like a flimsy shelter built onto it. The front door leads inside to the north. In one corner of the porch a strangely shaped hook is fastened to the wall. A calfskin coat hangs beside it. In the other corner of the porch, a teapot sits on a small wooden table. A slightly muddy welcome mat sticks out partway from under the front door. Against the front wall are a pair of blue cloth slippers and a single brown leather boot. >x hook (the hooks) A black metal hook protrudes from the wall, twisting in strange ways, like the outline of the human form projected through some alien dimension. A calfskin coat hangs beside it. The floor below the hooks is lost in an unusually deep black shadow. >* umm That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >x coat (Peter's jacket) Peter's comfy old fleece jacket. >x calfskin A thigh-length belted calfskin coat, clean as if it's never been outside. >take it Taken. >wear it You put on the calfskin coat. >* another thing to wear That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >x shadow It is no mere shadow on the floor, but a crumpled cloak, of a black so black that its folds cannot be seen. >* ...OMG is this a cloak of darkness? That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >take cloak Taking the cloak reveals a leather boot, mate to the first one. The cloak tingles strangely in your hands. >wear it You seem to be pulling on darkness itself. Where the cloak touches your body, both disappear. The cowl settles over your head, and with it come darkness... numbness... and then nothing at all. *** You have been lost to the darkness *** 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 Mudroom (Matt Weiner) [Previous turn undone.] >* aww, that's too bad, I wanted a cloak of invisibility You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >l The cloak clouds your mind so, you can think of nothing else while you hold it. Your hands begin to feel numb where they touch the cloak. >put cloak on hook (the hooks) You put the black cloak on the hooks. Your senses return to normal. >turn hook (the hooks) They are fixed in place. >l Mudroom (Matt Weiner) The porch is a mudroom, a place for taking off coats and muddy shoes. The marble front wall seems like a sheer cliff face, the porch like a flimsy shelter built onto it. The front door leads inside to the north. In one corner of the porch a strangely shaped hook is fastened to the wall. A black cloak hangs beside it. In the other corner of the porch, a teapot sits on a small wooden table. A slightly muddy welcome mat sticks out partway from under the front door. Against the front wall are a pair of blue cloth slippers and a single brown leather boot. You can also see the mate of the first leather boot here. >x shadow You can't see any such thing. >turn hook (the hooks) They are fixed in place. >push hook (the hooks) The hook is rough and oddly twisted. An ingenious design, though, that could accommodate clothing of any shape. >pull hook (the hooks) The hook is rough and oddly twisted. An ingenious design, though, that could accommodate clothing of any shape. >l Mudroom (Matt Weiner) The porch is a mudroom, a place for taking off coats and muddy shoes. The marble front wall seems like a sheer cliff face, the porch like a flimsy shelter built onto it. The front door leads inside to the north. In one corner of the porch a strangely shaped hook is fastened to the wall. A black cloak hangs beside it. In the other corner of the porch, a teapot sits on a small wooden table. A slightly muddy welcome mat sticks out partway from under the front door. Against the front wall are a pair of blue cloth slippers and a single brown leather boot. You can also see the mate of the first leather boot here. >x pot It's a silver teapot tarnished brown on the spout and sides. Through the tarnish you can read the engraving, "Jane Cragne, RMS Queen Mary, 2 Oct 1942." >* hmm, wonder if jane is a member of the court... You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >take pot Taken. [This is the only item you need to take from this room or the front walk, and the only other thing you need to do here is unlock the door with the key, when you have it. But there are other things here you can explore, if you like.] >* ah! OK, that's helpful but a little invasive You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >open pot There's nothing inside it but a faint brown mark. >x mark You can't see any such thing. >x brown mark A faint brown mark at the bottom of the teapot. From tea, no doubt. >lick it That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >touch it You feel nothing unexpected. >i You are carrying: a teapot a calfskin coat (being worn) a dull machete a half-full styrofoam coffee cup an old newspaper a bottle of Pepto-Bismol a metal flask (smelling faintly of mildew) a moldy, waterlogged journal a small blue journal (which you know is a journal because it says "Mein Journal" on the front) a brass winding key a familiar gold wristwatch a suitcase (open but empty) a plastic bubble (open but empty) a golden eyepiece a glass jar containing an insect a giant milkweed leaf (smelling faintly of mildew) a label a pull-string doll (smelling faintly of mildew) The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three a postcard of Big Ben the diary of Phyllis Cragne a repaired page a wad of cash a cast iron spire an antique locket (closed) a Jansport backpack (open) a hidden pocket (open but empty) a key pocket (open but empty) a book pocket (open but empty) a side pocket (open but empty) a trash pocket (open but empty) a trolley schedule a backpack features guide Peter's jacket a library card (smelling faintly of mildew) a grimy rock (smelling faintly of mildew) a long hooked pole a soggy tome (smelling faintly of mildew) a book list (smelling faintly of mildew) an employee ID card (smelling faintly of mildew) a shard of shattered carapace (smelling faintly of mildew) some yellowed newspapers a rusty piece of metal (smelling faintly of mildew) a clipboard loose bricks (smelling faintly of mildew) an aluminum key a black business card a glass shard (smelling faintly of mildew) a trophy for a dog race (smelling faintly of mildew) a rusty flathead screwdriver (smelling faintly of mildew) a bronze key green from age a pair of garden shears a gallon jug of white vinegar some mildewed leather gloves a key from an urn a bronze urn (open but empty) a silver urn (smelling faintly of mildew) (open but empty) a copper urn (open but empty) some rotten flowers a pewter box (smelling faintly of mildew) (open but empty) The Lives of the Roman Emperors a torn notebook a thin steel key (smelling faintly of mildew) a piece of yellowed newsprint an enormous dessicated rat corpse a broken knife handle a brass nameplate a waterproof flashlight (smelling faintly of mildew) a mallet (smelling faintly of mildew) a pamphlet of home listings (smelling faintly of mildew) an old paperback book (smelling faintly of mildew) the first candle (smelling faintly of mildew) the second candle (smelling faintly of mildew) an Allen key (smelling faintly of mildew) a tiny leather journal (smelling faintly of mildew) an ornate metallic box (open but empty) a large brass key (smelling faintly of mildew) Daniel Baker's note (smelling faintly of mildew) a gold jacket (being worn) a filthy rug (smelling faintly of mildew) a well-dressed ghost (haunting you) (smelling faintly of mildew) a trolley pass (being worn) Ed's coveralls (being worn) You are also wearing a pair of extremely muddy clogs. >l Mudroom (Matt Weiner) The porch is a mudroom, a place for taking off coats and muddy shoes. The marble front wall seems like a sheer cliff face, the porch like a flimsy shelter built onto it. The front door leads inside to the north. In one corner of the porch a strangely shaped hook is fastened to the wall. A black cloak hangs beside it. In the other corner of the porch is a small wooden table. A slightly muddy welcome mat sticks out partway from under the front door. Against the front wall are a pair of blue cloth slippers and a single brown leather boot. You can also see the mate of the first leather boot here. >x table The table is thigh-high, as if sized for a child's tea party, but its deep brown wood is so finely carpentered that the legs and tabletop seem carved from one piece. There is a round brown tea stain on it, but no cups or saucers. >x stain The table is thigh-high, as if sized for a child's tea party, but its deep brown wood is so finely carpentered that the legs and tabletop seem carved from one piece. There is a round brown tea stain on it, but no cups or saucers. >put teapot on table You put the teapot on the table. >take it Taken. >l Mudroom (Matt Weiner) The porch is a mudroom, a place for taking off coats and muddy shoes. The marble front wall seems like a sheer cliff face, the porch like a flimsy shelter built onto it. The front door leads inside to the north. In one corner of the porch a strangely shaped hook is fastened to the wall. A black cloak hangs beside it. In the other corner of the porch is a small wooden table. A slightly muddy welcome mat sticks out partway from under the front door. Against the front wall are a pair of blue cloth slippers and a single brown leather boot. You can also see the mate of the first leather boot here. >x mat A welcome mat sticks partway out from under the front door. At least, you suppose it's a welcome mat. The letters you can see spell "COME." >look under mat You find nothing of interest. >take mat There's no need to stuff a muddy welcome mat into your pockets. >* true That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >l Mudroom (Matt Weiner) The porch is a mudroom, a place for taking off coats and muddy shoes. The marble front wall seems like a sheer cliff face, the porch like a flimsy shelter built onto it. The front door leads inside to the north. In one corner of the porch a strangely shaped hook is fastened to the wall. A black cloak hangs beside it. In the other corner of the porch is a small wooden table. A slightly muddy welcome mat sticks out partway from under the front door. Against the front wall are a pair of blue cloth slippers and a single brown leather boot. You can also see the mate of the first leather boot here. >x slippers A lightly scuffed pair of indoor slippers. >wear slippers (first taking the pair of blue cloth slippers) You don't want to change into strange slippers. >* Oh well, so much for hygiene You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >x boot (the mate of the first leather boot) A brown leather boot like the first, but without the mud. You think you glimpse something behind its pulled-out tongue. >pull tongue You can't see any such thing. >look in first (the first candle (smelling faintly of mildew)) You find nothing of interest. >look in first boot You find nothing of interest. >x first boot One leather boot with a muddy sole. >x second boot I only understood you as far as wanting to examine the second candle (smelling faintly of mildew). >look in mate You discover a slip of paper inside the boot. >x slip It says "Inspected by Number 8." >take it You already have that. >take slip of paper You already have that. >l Mudroom (Matt Weiner) The porch is a mudroom, a place for taking off coats and muddy shoes. The marble front wall seems like a sheer cliff face, the porch like a flimsy shelter built onto it. The front door leads inside to the north. In one corner of the porch a strangely shaped hook is fastened to the wall. A black cloak hangs beside it. In the other corner of the porch is a small wooden table. A slightly muddy welcome mat sticks out partway from under the front door. One boot stands against the front wall; its mate lies under the hooks. >i You are carrying: a slip of paper a pair of blue cloth slippers a teapot a calfskin coat (being worn) a dull machete a half-full styrofoam coffee cup an old newspaper (smelling faintly of mildew) a bottle of Pepto-Bismol a metal flask (smelling faintly of mildew) a moldy, waterlogged journal a small blue journal (which you know is a journal because it says "Mein Journal" on the front) a brass winding key a familiar gold wristwatch a suitcase (open but empty) a plastic bubble (open but empty) a golden eyepiece a glass jar containing an insect a giant milkweed leaf (smelling faintly of mildew) a label a pull-string doll (smelling faintly of mildew) The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three a postcard of Big Ben the diary of Phyllis Cragne a repaired page a wad of cash a cast iron spire an antique locket (closed) a Jansport backpack (open) a hidden pocket (open but empty) a key pocket (open but empty) a book pocket (open but empty) a side pocket (open but empty) a trash pocket (open but empty) a trolley schedule a backpack features guide Peter's jacket a library card (smelling faintly of mildew) a grimy rock (smelling faintly of mildew) a long hooked pole a soggy tome (smelling faintly of mildew) a book list (smelling faintly of mildew) an employee ID card (smelling faintly of mildew) a shard of shattered carapace (smelling faintly of mildew) some yellowed newspapers a rusty piece of metal (smelling faintly of mildew) a clipboard loose bricks (smelling faintly of mildew) an aluminum key a black business card a glass shard (smelling faintly of mildew) a trophy for a dog race (smelling faintly of mildew) a rusty flathead screwdriver (smelling faintly of mildew) a bronze key green from age a pair of garden shears a gallon jug of white vinegar some mildewed leather gloves a key from an urn a bronze urn (open but empty) a silver urn (smelling faintly of mildew) (open but empty) a copper urn (open but empty) some rotten flowers a pewter box (smelling faintly of mildew) (open but empty) The Lives of the Roman Emperors a torn notebook a thin steel key (smelling faintly of mildew) a piece of yellowed newsprint an enormous dessicated rat corpse a broken knife handle a brass nameplate a waterproof flashlight (smelling faintly of mildew) a mallet (smelling faintly of mildew) a pamphlet of home listings (smelling faintly of mildew) an old paperback book (smelling faintly of mildew) the first candle (smelling faintly of mildew) the second candle (smelling faintly of mildew) an Allen key (smelling faintly of mildew) a tiny leather journal (smelling faintly of mildew) an ornate metallic box (open but empty) a large brass key (smelling faintly of mildew) Daniel Baker's note (smelling faintly of mildew) a gold jacket (being worn) a filthy rug (smelling faintly of mildew) a well-dressed ghost (haunting you) (smelling faintly of mildew) a trolley pass (being worn) Ed's coveralls (being worn) You are also wearing a pair of extremely muddy clogs. >l Mudroom (Matt Weiner) The porch is a mudroom, a place for taking off coats and muddy shoes. The marble front wall seems like a sheer cliff face, the porch like a flimsy shelter built onto it. The front door leads inside to the north. In one corner of the porch a strangely shaped hook is fastened to the wall. A black cloak hangs beside it. In the other corner of the porch is a small wooden table. A slightly muddy welcome mat sticks out partway from under the front door. One boot stands against the front wall; its mate lies under the hooks. >wear boot (the mate of the first leather boot) (first taking the mate of the first leather boot) This is someone else's boot, and it doesn't even look like it'll fit you. >wear first (the first candle (smelling faintly of mildew)) You can't wear that! >wear first boot (first taking the single brown leather boot) This is someone else's boot, and it doesn't even look like it'll fit you. >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. >* OK, all done You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >open door You open the front door. >in 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. This house must have been abandoned for years. It's empty, and silent, and cold. "Peter!" you shout. There's no reply. Not even an echo comes back to you. Of course he's not here. You expected that; he wouldn't have locked you out. But whatever happened to him, this house is at the dark heart of it. Morning light slants across the floor. Hallways lead west and east into other parts of the house. A doorway leads north; the front door is to the south. >* morning light, so we must have spent the night in the sewer You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >* Greg Frost helps organize the Seattle IF Meetup, which I've attended a couple times You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >* And I was going to say hadn't put out anything else, since I think that was true when I met him in 2020, but looks like he's also put out a part of the abortive Advent Calendar project so I should chec that out! You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >l 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. Morning light slants across the floor. Hallways lead west and east into other parts of the house. A doorway leads north; the front door is to the south. >x light (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. >* oh, I thought that broke. Yay! You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >l 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. Morning light slants across the floor. Hallways lead west and east into other parts of the house. A doorway leads north; the front door is to the south. >x floor Where the dust has been cleared, you can see that the hardwood's in pretty bad shape. There are discolored patches under the windows where the sun has bleached out the wood. There are also lots of scratches around the front door - deep ones. The owner must have had a big dog. >* yes, clearly You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >x dust Dust covers most surfaces in the foyer. Tracks on the floor show where people have been more recently; the dust is deeper along the walls. Near the west wall there is a dark line. >x line (the broken silver amulet) There is a small object under the dust. You lean over to look at it, trying not to sneeze. It's a tarnished silver pendant, about the size of your thumb, on a leather cord. It must have been dropped behind some piece of furniture and forgotten. >* oh, interesting! You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >take it You take the pendant and sneeze as dust gets in your face. The charm is a silver hand, tarnished and dented. You hold the pendant at arm's length and shake the dust off. >x it 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. >x groove 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. >wear pendant You can't wear that! >* why not? That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >l 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. Morning light slants across the floor. Hallways lead west and east into other parts of the house. A doorway leads north; the front door is to the south. >clean dust You rub the dust. >dust (the mate of the first leather boot) The boot squeezes under your touch, then pops back to its original shape. >* huh That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >dust dust You rub the dust. >l 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. Morning light slants across the floor. Hallways lead west and east into other parts of the house. A doorway leads north; the front door is to the south. >i You are carrying: a broken silver amulet a pair of leather boots a slip of paper a pair of blue cloth slippers (smelling faintly of mildew) a teapot a calfskin coat (being worn) a dull machete a half-full styrofoam coffee cup an old newspaper (smelling faintly of mildew) a bottle of Pepto-Bismol a metal flask (smelling faintly of mildew) a moldy, waterlogged journal a small blue journal (which you know is a journal because it says "Mein Journal" on the front) a brass winding key a familiar gold wristwatch a suitcase (open but empty) a plastic bubble (open but empty) a golden eyepiece a glass jar containing an insect a giant milkweed leaf (smelling faintly of mildew) a label a pull-string doll (smelling faintly of mildew) The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three a postcard of Big Ben the diary of Phyllis Cragne a repaired page a wad of cash a cast iron spire an antique locket (closed) a Jansport backpack (open) a hidden pocket (open but empty) a key pocket (open but empty) a book pocket (open but empty) a side pocket (open but empty) a trash pocket (open but empty) a trolley schedule a backpack features guide Peter's jacket a library card (smelling faintly of mildew) a grimy rock (smelling faintly of mildew) a long hooked pole a soggy tome (smelling faintly of mildew) a book list (smelling faintly of mildew) an employee ID card (smelling faintly of mildew) a shard of shattered carapace (smelling faintly of mildew) some yellowed newspapers a rusty piece of metal (smelling faintly of mildew) a clipboard loose bricks (smelling faintly of mildew) an aluminum key a black business card a glass shard (smelling faintly of mildew) a trophy for a dog race (smelling faintly of mildew) a rusty flathead screwdriver (smelling faintly of mildew) a bronze key green from age (smelling faintly of mildew) a pair of garden shears a gallon jug of white vinegar some mildewed leather gloves a key from an urn a bronze urn (open but empty) a silver urn (smelling faintly of mildew) (open but empty) a copper urn (open but empty) some rotten flowers a pewter box (smelling faintly of mildew) (open but empty) The Lives of the Roman Emperors a torn notebook a thin steel key (smelling faintly of mildew) a piece of yellowed newsprint an enormous dessicated rat corpse a broken knife handle a brass nameplate a waterproof flashlight (smelling faintly of mildew) a mallet (smelling faintly of mildew) a pamphlet of home listings (smelling faintly of mildew) an old paperback book (smelling faintly of mildew) the first candle (smelling faintly of mildew) the second candle (smelling faintly of mildew) an Allen key (smelling faintly of mildew) a tiny leather journal (smelling faintly of mildew) an ornate metallic box (open but empty) a large brass key (smelling faintly of mildew) Daniel Baker's note (smelling faintly of mildew) a gold jacket (being worn) a filthy rug (smelling faintly of mildew) a well-dressed ghost (haunting you) (smelling faintly of mildew) a trolley pass (being worn) Ed's coveralls (being worn) >dust slip The paper crinkles. >dust handle Which do you mean, the dull machete or the broken knife handle? >dull You rub the dull machete. >l 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. Morning light slants across the floor. Hallways lead west and east into other parts of the house. A doorway leads north; the front door is to the south. >x windows Two tall, rectangular windows are set into the wall on either side of the front door. They look like they were added later. Maybe the new owner thought the foyer needed more light. The morning sun casts long shadows across the grounds. >x round You see nothing special about the round button. >* er, is that on a box? You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >push round You press the round button, but nothing happens. >l 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. Morning light slants across the floor. Hallways lead west and east into other parts of the house. A doorway leads north; the front door is to the south. >s Mudroom (Matt Weiner) The porch is a mudroom, a place for taking off coats and muddy shoes. The marble front wall seems like a sheer cliff face, the porch like a flimsy shelter built onto it. The front door leads inside to the north. In one corner of the porch a strangely shaped hook is fastened to the wall. A black cloak hangs beside it. In the other corner of the porch is a small wooden table. A slightly muddy welcome mat lies in front of the door. >x round You see nothing special about the round button. >n Foyer (Greg Frost) Standing in the narrow entry hall is like being at the mouth of a cave. The only light comes in through tall windows on either side of the door and a half-round window above. All of the furniture has been removed from the foyer, leaving tracks in the heavy dust. Morning light slants across the floor. Hallways lead west and east into other parts of the house. A doorway leads north; the front door is to the south. >* OK, must be from elsewhere You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >x half-round The half-round window (fanlight?) above the front door has thick, wavy glass. Morning light slants across the floor. >x glass Which do you mean, the fanlight, the glass jar containing an insect or the glass shard (smelling faintly of mildew)? >fanlight The fanlight above the front door has thick, wavy glass. Morning light slants across the floor. >break it Why would you want to break the window? Besides, it's too high to reach. >break windows You'd tear your hands to ribbons if you broke the glass. >* OK that would be motiveless That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >* Except if I were worried the door won't open again That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >x coffee The clouds in your cup form a 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. >* Guess we just needed that amulet That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >* let's do the rooms, then corridors You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >x door It's a solid wooden door, painted white with black hardware. It's currently hanging open. The outside is grimy and faded. >close door You close the front door. >x it It's a solid wooden door, painted white with black hardware. It's closed. >open it You open the front door. >* whew That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >close door You close the front door. >l 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. Morning light slants across the floor. Hallways lead west and east into other parts of the house. A doorway leads north; the front door is to the south. >x doorway A doorway leads north. The elaborate moulding is dented in several places. >x molding You can't see any such thing. >* hrm That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >open doorway It isn't something you can open. >n Landing at the Bottom of Stairs (Mark Sample) This is a dark alcove with a narrow stairway rising into the gloom upstairs. The landing feels unwanted, neglected, as if its sole purpose were to get you somewhere else more important. You know that feeling well. You touch your wedding ring in an offhand way. 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. A ramshackle bookshelf squats under the window like a sunken chest on a murky seafloor. >* oh do we have a wedding ring now! That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >x ring (the Your wedding band) You remember the day you swore to be Peter's, forever. You look down at the gold band and study its intricate woven inlay that almost looks like--No, that can't be. >* oops 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 ring (the Your wedding band) Maybe it's the dim thanatopic light writhing through the elliptical window overhead, but something seems different about the ring. You feel like you're looking at its woven pattern for the first time. It reminds of you of chains, gates. Cages. >* thanatopic is a good word That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >x it Maybe it's the dim thanatopic light writhing through the elliptical window overhead, but something seems different about the ring. You feel like you're looking at its woven pattern for the first time. It reminds of you of chains, gates. Cages. >g Maybe it's the dim thanatopic light writhing through the elliptical window overhead, but something seems different about the ring. You feel like you're looking at its woven pattern for the first time. It reminds of you of chains, gates. Cages. >take it That's hardly portable. >turn it Strange, the wedding band usually slides right off, but something about this house seems to have tightened the ring around your finger. Constricting, that's the word that comes to mind. >l A sudden gust of wind batters the house. The eerie silence that follows is defined as much by what's there as by what's not. 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. A ramshackle bookshelf squats under the window like a sunken chest on a murky seafloor. >x alcove The hole in the floorboards is a moldering, rotting place. There's something here. A thing. >x floor The oak floorboards are worn bare and uneven, the way hardwood gets after water damage. You wonder whether the manor was ever flooded. >* huh That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >look in alcove The hole in the floorboards is a moldering, rotting place. There's something here. A thing. >enter it That's not something you can enter. >enter alcove That's not something you can enter. >touch alcove You feel nothing unexpected. >x thing In the gloaming of the landing you can't see clearly into the foul hole. You're afraid you'll have to pick up the thing to see what it is. >take it You gasp when you touch the slippery, oozing thing. In your hand is a gelatinous piece of severed tentacle. You think there might be something else in the alcove. >* oh, yummy You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >eat it With some primeval impulse you cannot fathom, you decide to taste the awful raw tentacle. You bite down, imagining the tentacle is an exquisite ceviche. It tastes like... Power. The original, cosmic power. You feel the tentacle's warmth spreading through your body. And suddenly it's a torrent of thick, clotted blood roiling through your veins. And your eyes. Oh, your eyes. They see everything. Through every layer of reality you see, through all of them. As if every dimension of space and time turned transparent. A yawning, moorless chasm lies beyond. And finally, you see, you sense--you know--just what it means to be a god. Please press SPACE to continue. And then your mind, your consciousness, your soul, whatever you call it, stretches inside out and covers you whole and thus everted you vanish into the maw of nothingness. You are more than dead. You are no more. *** The End *** 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 Landing at the Bottom of Stairs (Mark Sample) [Previous turn undone.] >* Aww. That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >* That's the good ending for Nitocris right there That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >x alcove The hole in floorboards is a moldering rotting place. Now that you've pulled out the loathsome tentacle you see a thin leather volume lying in the hole. >x volume (The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three) A dog-eared, stained paperback called The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three. The cover features three teenage girls of varying ethnicities laughing over the body of a dead cow, each one holding a section of entrails. Reading the blurb on the back makes you suspect that the authors used up all of the more normal divination methods in volumes one and two, and are now scraping the barrel for the really weird stuff. >x leather (the mate of the first leather boot) A brown leather boot like the first, but without the mud. >x thin leather I only understood you as far as wanting to examine the thin steel key (smelling faintly of mildew). >x thin leather volume I only understood you as far as wanting to examine the thin steel key (smelling faintly of mildew). >x leather volume The title of the thin volume appears in distinctive heavy gothic lettering. It's called De Zeven Testamenten van de Krijsende Zeeworm. There's a--what's it called, the snake eating its own tail?--etched onto the cover. The book is bound in a wrinkled leathery material. You can't quite place the feel of the material. The back of the ancient book is defaced with a sticker bearing some sort of insignia that makes it clear the book belongs to the Backwater public library. The insignia looks vaguely Masonic. Two sallow crescent moons stand guard on either side of an icy, watchful eye. And the eye gazes down upon an open book. >* yay, another book! You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >take it The book is damp and clammy but you pick it up. It's like shaking hands with a cadaver. >show book to man Which do you mean, De Zeven Testamenten van de Krijsende Zeeworm, the old newspaper (smelling faintly of mildew), the moldy, waterlogged journal, the small blue journal (which you know is a journal because it says "Mein Journal" on the front), The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three, the postcard of Big Ben, the diary of Phyllis Cragne, the soggy tome (smelling faintly of mildew), The Lives of the Roman Emperors, the old paperback book (smelling faintly of mildew) or the tiny leather journal (smelling faintly of mildew)? >zeven You can't see any such thing. >show leather volume to man You hold the book out to the man, who nods and approaches, drifting slowly towards you. He reaches out a hand and touches the book, which becomes encrusted with frost as the man fades from sight. Finally, the man reappears and nods to you as the frost sublimates away, leaving only traces in the library insignia. >x man The outline of an African-American man in a suit and tie fades in and out of view around a hovering spark. A faint smell of mildew emanates from it. >* I think it's every two that he "upgrades", right? You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >read it You crack open the thin volume--quite literally. The leather binding cracks as you open the book. It must be ancient. You can't imagine why a public library would have such a book in circulation. Even more incomprehensible is why the book was hidden under the floorboards. Afraid to break the binding more, you close the book without reading it. >* that doesn't sound like Nitocris! That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >read it You've just moved to town and you want to destroy a possibly priceless library book? No thanks. Besides, with its slimey, cracked, leathery hide, the book frankly creeps you out. >g You've just moved to town and you want to destroy a possibly priceless library book? No thanks. Besides, with its slimey, cracked, leathery hide, the book frankly creeps you out. You feel a queer tickle ripple through your body. Looking down, you see the horrible tentacle disintegrate and disappear before your eyes. You sense that some primordial godhead has left this world. >* aww That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >l 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. A ramshackle bookshelf squats under the window like a sunken chest on a murky seafloor. >x stairs You can't see any such thing. >x stairway You can't see any such thing. >x doorway You can't see any such thing. >x shadows You can't see any such thing. >x shadow You can't see any such thing. >x window A vague recollection of This Old House stirs in your mind. A cameo window, you think it's called. Warped wooden muntins crisscross the horizontal ellipse, reminding you of sties on an infected eye. The glass is filthy, hazy. It's not a window so much as a cheerless smear looking out to grounds of the Cragne Manor beyond. You stand on your tippy toes, but you can't quite see through the window from here. >x bookcase The bookshelf might once have been the centerpiece of the landing but now it's tired and battered, leaning unsteadily to the right. The dark wood is heavily burled, triggering a dim recollection in the back of your mind. A few picture frames rest on top. >x wood The wood is cruelly knotted. You inexplicably recall an episode of This Old House when Bob Vila explained that the burls so prized in Victorian furniture were often the result of horrible fungal infections. >* sigh more fungus That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >* Also, This Old House is a nice contemporary reference You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >x burls You can't see any such thing. >x burl The wood is cruelly knotted. You inexplicably recall an episode of This Old House when Bob Vila explained that the burls so prized in Victorian furniture were often the result of horrible fungal infections. >touch wood You feel nothing unexpected. >taste wood You taste nothing unexpected. >x fungus You can't see any such thing. >l 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. A ramshackle bookshelf squats under the window like a sunken chest on a murky seafloor. >push bookshelf It is fixed in place. >stand on it You slowly step onto the bookshelf. It creaks. It strains. But it appears to hold your weight. For now. Landing at the Bottom of Stairs (Mark Sample) (on the bookshelf) You're standing on the ramshackle bookshelf. What little light there is seeps in from a small elliptical window that's now eye-level. >x window Panes of glass streaked with grime obscure most of the view. You catch a glimpse of movement in the shadows outside. Is it the white pines, so tall they resemble a fleet of square riggers bemasted with gigantic fascicles of needles? Or is it something else in the shadows? Whatever it is, it's big. >clean window You rub the small elliptical window. >look through window You thought you saw something through the window, but now you're not so sure. The towering trees sway in the wind, but there's nothing there. >open it It isn't something you can open. >break it You toy with the idea of breaking the elliptical window, but what would be the point? >* ventilation? That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >* more glass shards, can't have too many of those You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >l Landing at the Bottom of Stairs (Mark Sample) (on the bookshelf) You're standing on the ramshackle bookshelf. What little light there is seeps in from a small elliptical window that's now eye-level. >x bookshelf The bookshelf might once have been the centerpiece of the landing but now it's tired and battered, leaning unsteadily to the right. A few picture frames rest on top. >x frames A grey mold blossoms across all the frames. Funny, you never saw mold growing on metal before. The photographs are torn out of every frame. Only the ragged edge of each photo remains, jagged white teeth encircling a vacant center. >* eek That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >take frames Plumes of grey spores float above the moldy picture frames. No way are you touching those. >look behind frames You can't see any such thing. >smell frames You smell nothing unexpected. >smell At first you can't smell anything in particular, but after a moment you catch a low throbbing funk, as if some decaying thing were entombed just below the surface of reality. >jump The floorboards moan, and a hollow thud vibrates up your spine. >* oops1 That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >x coffee The clouds in your cup form a 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. >* OK, just needed the book You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >l Landing at the Bottom of Stairs (Mark Sample) (on the bookshelf) You're standing on the ramshackle bookshelf. What little light there is seeps in from a small elliptical window that's now eye-level. >d You shift your weight to step down from the bookshelf. A sharp crack breaks the silence of the alcove. The bookshelf collapses and you scramble away, slamming onto the old wooden floor. You hear another crack but thankfully it's not your own bones. A thick, putrid effluvium wafts up from the floor. >smell The stench is primordial. Like a sickly yellow vitality that's been rotting since the dawn of time. It's coming from below the broken bookshelf. >look under bookshelf The fallen bookshelf seems to have smashed through a floorboard underneath it, revealing a small alcove. >* oh, there's the alcove You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >* sequence broke a bit That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >* good to know for the inevitable speedrun! That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >save Ok. >l 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. >x bookshelf A heap of gnarled wood lies on the floor. It looks like your fall has broken through the rotten floorboards underneath the old shelf, revealing a small alcove. The smell of ancient sewage emanates from the alcove. >* keep going north I guess; we'll be back for the stairs That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >n As you walk through the doorway, you realize you've stumbled onto a dinner. Dining Room (Roberto Colnaghi) Three men are sitting at a long table, intently sipping coffee at the end of a formal dinner and conversing about serious-sounding matters. They don't seem to be aware of your presence. You notice a calendar on the wall. The man at the head of the table says: "I hope you enjoyed my hospitality. As you know, I'm interested in the new developments of science. Particularly, I think the acknowledgement of a fourth dimension, together with that of non-Euclidian geometry applied to space-time, is a big step towards the understanding of reality, on a cosmic scale." >* Roberto Colnaghi has one more IFDB credit, an EctoComp tribute to the Misfites (sounds fun You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >x calendar Today is the 14th of April, 1951. Wait, last time you checked, it was 1996! One of the guests answers: "Well, Mr. Cragne, that's true in general, but for most of our experience, space-time just follows regular, Euclidian geometry. It appreciably bends itself in a non-Euclidian way only in the presence of an enormous mass, or energy. Said condition is inconceivable for our everyday experience in this world..." >* spooky! That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >* Because I thought it was 1998 That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >* these folks appear to understand orthodox relativity That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >turn calendar No need to move it around. "...and yet, Dr. Einstein's theory predicts this as something possible, Dr. Fermi. I know there is speculation about black holes, things so massive that they bend the very fabric of reality. My question for you, respected gentlemen, is this: what do you think these 'black holes' can be?" >* Oh, this is Enrico Fermi! Winner of the Nobel Prize in Physics at 37, one of the real heavyweights in the Manhattan Project You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >* Recognized the existence of the neutrino, discovered the weak nuclear force... You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >* just a baller That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >* his wife was Jewish which helped prompt him to GTFO of Fascist Italy and become an American That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >x fermi Something's wrong with these people. They seem translucent and blurred. The other guest says: "We don't know. It could be a collapsed star, attracting more and more matter..." "I must disagree, Dr. Von Braun," Fermi interrupts. "Also Dr. Einstein himself thinks these 'black holes' are just theoretical solutions of his general relativity equations, not things happening in reality..." >* and this is Wernher Von Braun, a Nazi You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >* Inventor of the V2 rocket, intended for the indiscriminate bombing of Allied cities, later brought to the US via Operation PAperclip You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >x cragne (the diary of Phyllis Cragne) A small brown book with embossed letters on the front, mostly worn away, spelling "DIARY". Inside it's filled with spidery letters in faded ink. According to the name inscribed inside the cover, this belonged to Phyllis Cragne. You think you remember your husband speaking of a "Great Aunt Phyl," a sprightly old lady who haunted his earliest memories and always wore tartan trousers. "And yet, the universe is so vast, and we know only a very tiny part of it. Maybe Dr. Einstein is wrong. Maybe, somewhere, something so massive and energetic can exist. It could even be a living thing." >x man (the men) Something's wrong with these people. They seem translucent and blurred. "Anyway, I think Einstein could be wrong about something else: what if the speed of light could be beaten? The consequences of that would be daunting: the very notion of simultaneity, as we understand it, is based on the speed of light. But if something, someway, could beat it..." "We could break the rules of space-time, travel through time, and see things that happened in the past..." Von Braun speculates. >* er guys I'm not sure that's what he meant That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >x table The wooden table is set for dinner, but the meal seems to be just finished. "In the distant, ancestral past," Cragne intervenes. "I gathered you here, revered scientists, to show you my recent discovery. You can freely take it, if you want. Maybe you can derive new scientific progress from it, or even build some device which can take us where we couldn't possibly even think of, until now. Do you dare to look in the abyss?" The two men stare at their host, curious and frightened all the same, as their bodies become more and more translucent, until they disappear, together with the plates, the glasses, the tablecloth and all the rest, leaving just an old, dusty table. 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 strange machine, and a calendar is pinned on the wall. Doorways lead west, east, and south. Next to the machine there is also an old magazine cutting. >x calendar Today is the 22nd of April, 1996. >* Is it? That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >x table Instead of the tablecloth and dishes that crowded the table before, it is now covered by dust--and a bizarre machine. On the table is an Italian magazine cutting. >x cutting This is a cutting from an old Italian magazine. Printed on a corner is "La Domenica del Corriere, 2 Maggio 1972", and is apparently an article about an Italian monk and his alleged invention. In particular, a photo on the page strikes you. Attached to the newspaper cutting is what seems a typewritten translation of the article in English. >take it Taken. >read it The article is an interview with Father Pellegrino Ernetti, a Benedictine monk and official exorcist of Venice, as well as physics and electronic amateur, about his invention. He claims his "chronovisor" is the fruit of years of research with twelve of the best minds of his time, Enrico Fermi and Wernher von Braun among them. Receiving all kinds of electromagnetic and sound waves with its sensors and antennae, the chronovisor can show images and sounds from any place, at any past time, no matter how distant. He claims to have seen many historic figures from the past, and through it he was able to transcribe a lost tragedy of Ennio, and to record an image of Christ on the cross (published in the magazine). It seems that the monk is very jealous of his invention, as he refuses to show it to anyone. >* whoo boy That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >x device (the golden eyepiece) A misshapen golden disc, studded with lenses. It is cracked and misshapen now. On its surfaces are a round button, a triangular button, and a small rectangular slot. The golden eyepiece is currently switched off. >put device in junk You can't see any such thing. >put device in junk pocket (the golden eyepiece in the trash pocket) You put the golden eyepiece into the trash pocket. >close it It isn't something you can close. >close trash You can't see any such thing. >close trash pocket You close the trash pocket. >x device It seems straight out of a 60s science fiction movie: a big cathodic screen is hooked up to an electronic board with some controls on it, which in turn is hooked up to a bunch of different sensors. It takes up most part of the table. The machine is currently switched off. >x dust Instead of the tablecloth and dishes that crowded the table before, it is now covered by dust--and a bizarre machine. >look under table You find nothing of interest. >l 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 strange machine, and a calendar is pinned on the wall. Doorways lead west, east, and south. >turn on device As you push the button, you hear an electric buzz, and the lights on the electronic board start blinking. The screen is now on and shows the manor from the outside. The machine emits a very low hum. >x board (the clipboard) This is a clipboard holding together some paperwork that seems to be some sort of daily ledger. The machine emits a very low hum. >x electronic board This board is connected to both the screen and the sensors. It is filled with LEDs and lights, and prominently a steel dial and a machine control button. The machine emits a very low hum. >x screen The most recognizable part of this contraption is a big steel-encased glass screen, with a speaker mounted on it. The screen shows the manor from the outside. The machine emits a very low hum. >x dial (the lock) A four-digit combination lock, currently turned to 0319. The machine emits a very low hum. >x button Which do you mean, the machine control button, large flat button, the button with an X-shape on it, the button with a Y-shape on it, the button with a V-shape on it, the button with a line on it or the button with a circle on it? >machine I only understood you as far as wanting to examine the machine. >x machine control The machine control button is lit in red. The machine emits a very low hum. >push it The screen instantly shuts off, as the dial comes back to the starting position and the humming slowly gets lower and lower, until there is only silence. >x dial (the lock) A four-digit combination lock, currently turned to 0319. >set dial to 0419 (the lock to that) There's no need to try combinations when the suitcase is already open. >* oh, oops You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >put suitcase in trash pocket You unzip the trash pocket, deposit the suitcase, then zip the trash pocket back up again. >x dial A rotating steel disc, plain and simple. No arrows or gauge around it. The dial is turned all the way to the left. >turn dial Nothing happens. Maybe you should turn on the machine. >turn on machine As you push the button, you hear an electric buzz, and the lights on the electronic board start blinking. The screen is now on and shows the manor from the outside. The machine emits a very low hum. >turn dial You turn the dial right and it stops with a click. You joggle it back left, but it's stuck. Looks like you can only turn it right. The LEDs on the electronic board start blinking faster. The hum of the machine changes pitch, going up as the images on the screen change abruptly. The screen seems to show the same location as before, but with the manor gone. Instead you can see a tribe of natives dancing around a wooden totem. The machine's humming is still quite low. >x totem A Native American tribe is singing and dancing around a totem. The totem depicts animals, but mostly fishes or crustaceans, a strange thing considering this place is nowhere near the sea. The machine's humming is still quite low. >x tribe A Native American tribe is singing and dancing around a totem. The totem depicts animals, but mostly fishes or crustaceans, a strange thing considering this place is nowhere near the sea. The machine's humming is still quite low. >listen The machine's humming is still quite low. >turn dial The images on the screen change again. The LEDs blink faster and faster as the humming gets higher in pitch. Now you can only see the hill on which the manor stands, with no artifacts, no trails and no other trace of human presence. The hill also seems slightly taller. The machine is emitting a high tone sound. >x hill The hill shown on the screen seems higher, yet it strongly resembles the one on which the manor sits. The vegetation is much thicker, with green conifers covering the landscape. As you look harder, you notice fast movements, probably wild animals. The machine is emitting a high tone sound. >* hmm That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >x movements You can't see any such thing. >x animals You can't see any such thing. >x conifers You can't see any such thing. >x vegetation You can't see any such thing. >x movement You can't see any such thing. >x movements You can't see any such thing. >turn dial The screen now shows a mountain, with vegetation you've only seen in some science textbook. Still, you feel this must be the same place you are in now. Suddenly, something dives from the right of the view, screaming fiercely before vanishing quickly. A prehistoric flying reptilian, by the looks of it. The sound of the machine is now a high pitched shriek. >x mountain The mountain on the screen seems to be the very same hill you've been watching, only seen as it was millions of years ago. Ancient plants dominate the view, and huge reptilians can be seen wandering around. The sound of the machine is now a high pitched shriek. >x plants You can't see any such thing. >x reptile You can't see any such thing. >x reptilian The mountain on the screen seems to be the very same hill you've been watching, only seen as it was millions of years ago. Ancient plants dominate the view, and huge reptilians can be seen wandering around. The sound of the machine is now a high pitched shriek. >turn dial The images on the screen change again. No mountain anymore, no animals or plants, not even earth, just empty space. There's only darkness now, pointed by stars. Something in the middle of the screen catches your attention: it's like a whirl, turning in the blackness of deep space. The humming is now a piercing shriek, and the lights on the electronic board are blinking like crazy. You feel an impulse to keep watching the whirl on the screen. The sound emitted by the machine is very acute, bordering to ultrasound. >x black (the black business card) Congratulations! You've just encountered Vaadignephod's Anti-Personnel Squad! The sound emitted by the machine is very acute, bordering to ultrasound. >x whirl A black vortex at the screen's center whirls. Stars orbit around it with increasing speed until they are sucked in. Then you notice the vortex becoming bigger or nearer. Only when the thing has completely covered the screen, you realize that there's actually something in that blackness. The LEDs are blinking so fast you can't even see them, and the scream of the machine is breaking your ears. But you're totally paralyzed, watching the writhing appendages dwelling in the vortex, as you realize that hideous thing is a living being, swarming the cosmos and wreaking havoc through galaxies. Then, some circuitry on the electronic board burns out. The shriek drops to a very low frequency, as most of the lights burn, and the machine becomes silent. But you just can't forget that horrific image, as the word VAADIGNEPHOD echoes in your brain. >* a shadow out of time indeed 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 stochastic pattern resembling television static. 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. >* OK, was that just atmosFEAR? You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >save Ok. >l 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. >* West? That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >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. >save Ok. >* ...well, in the interim between these two commands, we just had a major leak spring up in our shower You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >* I am listening carefully for engine vroomingg That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >* Edward B is another mystery -- IFDB has a prolific author of mid-80s adventures named Edward Beck but it strains credulity to be the same person That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >x bub You can't see any such thing. >x bulb (the naked bulb) An uncovered lightbulb. Eyeing the walls, you can't seem to find the switch... >take it That's hardly portable. >unscrew it It is fixed in place. >turn it off It isn't something you can switch. >break it Violence isn't the answer to this one. >lick it That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >smell it You smell nothing unexpected. >taste it You taste nothing unexpected. >touch it You feel nothing unexpected. >ogle it That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >x shadow You can't see any such thing. >* lots o shadow in here That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >x cabinets A pair of old wood cabinets sit above the sink on the northern wall. When they were new, they were probably quite lovely. The handles are missing from their doors, but a bit of pressure could pop them open. >open them That noun did not make sense in this context. >open it You finagle your fingers around the cabinet doors and wiggle them open. >x it A few dirty plates and cups sit forgotten in the cabinets. In the cabinet are red-rimmed porcelain cups and red-rimmed porcelain plates. >x cabinet A few dirty plates and cups sit forgotten in the cabinets. In the cabinet are red-rimmed porcelain cups and red-rimmed porcelain plates. >x plates A stack of five red-rimmed porcelain plates. You could see yourself selling these at a yard sale, when all is said and done. >take them You can't see 'them' (nothing) at the moment. >take it Taken. >i You are carrying: red-rimmed porcelain plates an Italian magazine cutting De Zeven Testamenten van de Krijsende Zeeworm a broken silver amulet a pair of leather boots a slip of paper a pair of blue cloth slippers (smelling faintly of mildew) a teapot (smelling faintly of mildew) a calfskin coat (being worn) a dull machete (smelling faintly of mildew) a half-full styrofoam coffee cup an old newspaper (smelling faintly of mildew) a bottle of Pepto-Bismol a metal flask (smelling faintly of mildew) a moldy, waterlogged journal a small blue journal (which you know is a journal because it says "Mein Journal" on the front) a brass winding key a familiar gold wristwatch a plastic bubble (open but empty) a glass jar containing an insect (smelling faintly of mildew) a giant milkweed leaf (smelling faintly of mildew) a label a pull-string doll (smelling faintly of mildew) The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three a postcard of Big Ben the diary of Phyllis Cragne a repaired page a wad of cash a cast iron spire (smelling faintly of mildew) an antique locket (closed) a Jansport backpack (open) a hidden pocket (open but empty) a key pocket (open but empty) a book pocket (open but empty) a side pocket (open but empty) a trash pocket (closed) a trolley schedule (smelling faintly of mildew) a backpack features guide Peter's jacket (smelling faintly of mildew) a library card (smelling faintly of mildew) a grimy rock (smelling faintly of mildew) a long hooked pole a soggy tome (smelling faintly of mildew) a book list (smelling faintly of mildew) an employee ID card (smelling faintly of mildew) a shard of shattered carapace (smelling faintly of mildew) some yellowed newspapers a rusty piece of metal (smelling faintly of mildew) a clipboard loose bricks (smelling faintly of mildew) an aluminum key a black business card a glass shard (smelling faintly of mildew) a trophy for a dog race (smelling faintly of mildew) a rusty flathead screwdriver (smelling faintly of mildew) a bronze key green from age (smelling faintly of mildew) a pair of garden shears (smelling faintly of mildew) a gallon jug of white vinegar some mildewed leather gloves a key from an urn a bronze urn (open but empty) a silver urn (smelling faintly of mildew) (open but empty) a copper urn (open but empty) some rotten flowers a pewter box (smelling faintly of mildew) (open but empty) The Lives of the Roman Emperors a torn notebook a thin steel key (smelling faintly of mildew) a piece of yellowed newsprint an enormous dessicated rat corpse (smelling faintly of mildew) a broken knife handle a brass nameplate a waterproof flashlight (smelling faintly of mildew) a mallet (smelling faintly of mildew) a pamphlet of home listings (smelling faintly of mildew) an old paperback book (smelling faintly of mildew) the first candle (smelling faintly of mildew) the second candle (smelling faintly of mildew) an Allen key (smelling faintly of mildew) a tiny leather journal (smelling faintly of mildew) an ornate metallic box (open but empty) a large brass key (smelling faintly of mildew) Daniel Baker's note (smelling faintly of mildew) a gold jacket (being worn) a filthy rug (smelling faintly of mildew) a well-dressed ghost (haunting you) (smelling faintly of mildew) a trolley pass (being worn) Ed's coveralls (being worn) >* yay That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >x cups Three red-rimmed porcelain cups. Not one is without a chip or crack. >take it Taken. >l 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. >x cabinets A pair of old wood cabinets lay open above the sink on the northern wall. >x counters A light pine counter occupies the kitchen's northwestern corner. It seems to have faired well enough post-abandonment. A stocked spice rack sits alone on the counter-space closest to the fridge and a sink rests in the countertop directly beneath a pair of cabinets. >x rack A simple wooden spice rack. It holds an oddly complete collection of spices in contrast to the empty shelves and fridge. You spot jars of saffron, roast garlic, turmeric, cardamom, cinnamon, dill, salt, pepper, MSG, and something called snail paste... most look fresh enough to use. Safe to test with a sniff or a taste, you imagine. Does spice go bad? Does snail paste? >smell saffron You hold the little jar to your nose. The saffron gives off an electric, leathery smell. Quite nice! >taste it You pinch out a red thread and slip it in your mouth. It doesn't taste like much at first, just the funny feeling of a little twig on your tongue. After swallowing it, you notice a lingering earthy sweet funk. >take it You put a few threads into a pocket. Might as well... the stuff's supposed to be worth its weight in gold. >* it's true! That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >x garlic A small glass jar with the words "roasted garlic" written in marker on its side. All the strangeness going on today... was there a vampire in there somewhere? >* handy for vamps That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >take it You gather a pinch of garlic and sprinkle it into your pocket. >smell it You hold the jar to your nose and take in a hearty whiff. It's a strong smell, one that conjures memories of your garlicy meals of yesteryear. In fact, your mind can't help but add a phantom scent of meat. Brains are funny little things. >taste it You lightly press a fingertip on the surface of the spice and bring the clinging bits of garlic to your tongue. Not an awesome taste, all on its own. A punchy, acrid flavor that creeps up your nose. >x turmeric A small glass jar hand-labeled "turmeric." What a delightfully orange spice. You wonder if Peter's extended family was into curry. >take it You throw a pinch of the bright spice directly in your pocket. >i You are carrying: a pinch of turmeric a pinch of garlic a pinch of saffron red-rimmed porcelain cups (smelling faintly of mildew) red-rimmed porcelain plates an Italian magazine cutting De Zeven Testamenten van de Krijsende Zeeworm a broken silver amulet a pair of leather boots a slip of paper a pair of blue cloth slippers (smelling faintly of mildew) a teapot (smelling faintly of mildew) a calfskin coat (being worn) a dull machete (smelling faintly of mildew) a half-full styrofoam coffee cup an old newspaper (smelling faintly of mildew) a bottle of Pepto-Bismol a metal flask (smelling faintly of mildew) a moldy, waterlogged journal a small blue journal (which you know is a journal because it says "Mein Journal" on the front) a brass winding key a familiar gold wristwatch a plastic bubble (open but empty) a glass jar containing an insect (smelling faintly of mildew) a giant milkweed leaf (smelling faintly of mildew) a label a pull-string doll (smelling faintly of mildew) The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three a postcard of Big Ben the diary of Phyllis Cragne a repaired page a wad of cash a cast iron spire (smelling faintly of mildew) an antique locket (closed) a Jansport backpack (open) a hidden pocket (open but empty) a key pocket (open but empty) a book pocket (open but empty) a side pocket (open but empty) a trash pocket (closed) a trolley schedule (smelling faintly of mildew) a backpack features guide Peter's jacket (smelling faintly of mildew) a library card (smelling faintly of mildew) a grimy rock (smelling faintly of mildew) a long hooked pole a soggy tome (smelling faintly of mildew) a book list (smelling faintly of mildew) an employee ID card (smelling faintly of mildew) a shard of shattered carapace (smelling faintly of mildew) some yellowed newspapers a rusty piece of metal (smelling faintly of mildew) a clipboard loose bricks (smelling faintly of mildew) an aluminum key a black business card a glass shard (smelling faintly of mildew) a trophy for a dog race (smelling faintly of mildew) a rusty flathead screwdriver (smelling faintly of mildew) a bronze key green from age (smelling faintly of mildew) a pair of garden shears (smelling faintly of mildew) a gallon jug of white vinegar (smelling faintly of mildew) some mildewed leather gloves a key from an urn a bronze urn (open but empty) a silver urn (smelling faintly of mildew) (open but empty) a copper urn (open but empty) some rotten flowers a pewter box (smelling faintly of mildew) (open but empty) The Lives of the Roman Emperors a torn notebook a thin steel key (smelling faintly of mildew) a piece of yellowed newsprint an enormous dessicated rat corpse (smelling faintly of mildew) a broken knife handle a brass nameplate a waterproof flashlight (smelling faintly of mildew) a mallet (smelling faintly of mildew) a pamphlet of home listings (smelling faintly of mildew) an old paperback book (smelling faintly of mildew) the first candle (smelling faintly of mildew) the second candle (smelling faintly of mildew) an Allen key (smelling faintly of mildew) a tiny leather journal (smelling faintly of mildew) an ornate metallic box (open but empty) a large brass key (smelling faintly of mildew) Daniel Baker's note (smelling faintly of mildew) a gold jacket (being worn) a filthy rug (smelling faintly of mildew) a well-dressed ghost (haunting you) (smelling faintly of mildew) a trolley pass (being worn) Ed's coveralls (being worn) >smell it You hold the jar to your nose. Even after a deep huff, the smell is faint... like a brighter dirt. >taste it You dip your finger in the jar and have a little taste. It's earthy, but not especially strong. There's a hint of something minty to it. >* that's my main objection to turmeric right there That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >* like why it instead of cumin, or just it instead of it + cumin? You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >* don't tell my wife's family, they're Persian You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >x cardamom A small glass jar with a colorful commercial label reading "Forgotten Frontier's whole cardamom pods." Light brown, oblong seed pods fill about two-thirds of the jar. Funny looking things. >take it You slip a few pods into your pocket. >smell it You unscrew the top and let the smell waft up your nose. Mmm. An invigorating peppery-sweet smell. Floral too. >taste it You know enough to know the pods themselves ain't for eating. >grind it That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >push it It is fixed in place. >x rack A simple wooden spice rack. It holds an oddly complete collection of spices in contrast to the empty shelves and fridge. You spot jars of saffron, roast garlic, turmeric, cardamom, cinnamon, dill, salt, pepper, MSG, and something called snail paste... most look fresh enough to use. Safe to test with a sniff or a taste, you imagine. Does spice go bad? Does snail paste? >x cinnamon A small glass jar hand-labeled "cinnamon." It's packed with (presumably) cinnamon. >take it You take a pinch of cinnamon and toss it in your pocket. >smell it You hold the jar to your nose. The pungent, spicy smell of cinnamon stick to your nostrils. A familiar smell, like an old friend. >taste it You take a small pinch of cinnamon to your lips. The familiar woody-sweet taste reminds you of happier days. Peter's signature dessert was cinnamon rolls with cream cheese. ?Did you just say "was?" Oh god. Peter's fine, you tell yourself. You'll find him soon. You will. You have to. >* this is nice That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >x dill A small glass jar of loose dill. The leaves have gone a gray-green with age. >take it You take a pinch of dill and straight drop it in your pocket. >smell it You give the jar a shake and hold it to your nose. A sweet, musky, grassy smell. You can almost taste it. >taste it You drop a few threads of dill into your palm and pop them in your mouth. It tastes dill-icious! Ha. Not really, time has sapped most of the flavor from these little leaves. > x salt A five-sided glass jar with a colorful commercial label that reads "Forgotten Frontier's hyper-corporeal salt." Wait, was it five sides? When you look again it seems to only have four... >take it Omigod! As you reach in the container, the sensation of touch on your fingertips becomes incredibly intense! The detail is beyond what you've ever experienced, you're reminded of the time you wore your first pair of glasses... The grooves of your pointer finger and thumb rake across the salt, taking in each grain's jagged voyage down your fingerprint step by step. Experimentally, you prod and roll a single grain of salt. You're positive you could take the salt out grain by grain. In fact, feeling more than a few grains at a time is overwhelming... the very idea of trying to take all the salt at once makes you shiver. You hoist one grain from the jar and drop it in your pocket. The hyper-sensitivity in your fingers quickly fades as they leave the jar. >take it As you reach in the container, the sensation of touch on your fingertips becomes incredibly intense! The detail is beyond what you've ever experienced, you're reminded of the time you wore your first pair of glasses... The grooves of your pointer finger and thumb rake across the salt, taking in each grain's jagged voyage down your fingerprint step by step. Experimentally, you prod and roll a single grain of salt. You're positive you could take the salt out grain by grain. In fact, feeling more than a few grains at a time is overwhelming... the very idea of trying to take all the salt at once makes you shiver. You hoist one grain from the jar and drop it in your pocket. The hyper-sensitivity in your fingers quickly fades as they leave the jar. >* huh, interesting You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >eat it Whoa! As you reach in the container, the sensation of touch on your fingertips becomes incredibly intense! Like a breath of winter-cool air, the fogginess of everyday feeling is overtaken by an exhilarating precision. The grooves of your pointer finger and thumb rake across the salt, taking in each grain's jagged voyage down your fingerprint step by step. Experimentally, you prod and roll a single grain of salt. You're positive you could take the salt out grain by grain. In fact, feeling more than a few grains at a time is overwhelming... the very idea of trying to take ALL the salt at once makes you shiver. You hoist one grain from the jar and drop it in your mouth. You hardly taste a thing. The intensity all seems to stay within the strange container. >take all salt You decide to go for it, no time for this one-by-one nonsense! You press your fingers against the surface of the salt, trying to dig in. But it's too much! Hundreds of angry grains bite against your flesh with gobs of detail. You can't help but pull your hand back in shock. Determined, you try again. You take a deep breath... pull your hand back... and strike the salt like a snake! Jamming your thumb, pointer, and middle fingers deep into the salt jar. OH SHIT! OH NO. N-O. O... Your death from shock felt eternal. Ceaseless cascades of sodium-flavored information multiplying by layers, angles, and skin. An endless, hopeless, pointless parade of every particle pressing every particle. A boring story told in an elongated instant. In that infinite place, everything you once were was lost. You died as nothing but a few fingers touching six hundred and thirty eight thousand, four hundred and fifteen grains of salt... There are none at all available! >* umm That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >l *** Give or take a grain. *** 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)? > * LOL Please give one of the answers above. 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 The Kitchen (Edward B) [Previous turn undone.] >l *** Give or take a grain. *** 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 The Kitchen (Edward B) [Previous turn undone.] >undo The Kitchen (Edward B) [Previous turn undone.] >l *** Give or take a grain. *** 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 The Kitchen (Edward B) [Previous turn undone.] >undo The Kitchen (Edward B) [Previous turn undone.] >undo The Kitchen (Edward B) [Previous turn undone.] >undo The Kitchen (Edward B) [Previous turn undone.] >l 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. >x rack A simple wooden spice rack. It holds an oddly complete collection of spices in contrast to the empty shelves and fridge. You spot jars of saffron, roast garlic, turmeric, cardamom, cinnamon, dill, salt, pepper, MSG, and something called snail paste... most look fresh enough to use. Safe to test with a sniff or a taste, you imagine. Does spice go bad? Does snail paste? >x pepper A small glass jar of ground black pepper. Squinting, you can barely make out that someone has written "pepper" in black marker on the jar. >take it You place a pinch of pepper in your patulous pocket. >smell it You hold the jar to your nose and... and... ah... ACHOO! >* I sense a puzzle That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >eat it You grab a small pinch of pepper, throw your head back, and sprinkle it onto your tongue. Pretty good! That prickly, piney, hot-but-not taste of decent black pepper is always welcome. >l 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. >x rack A simple wooden spice rack. It holds an oddly complete collection of spices in contrast to the empty shelves and fridge. You spot jars of saffron, roast garlic, turmeric, cardamom, cinnamon, dill, salt, pepper, MSG, and something called snail paste... most look fresh enough to use. Safe to test with a sniff or a taste, you imagine. Does spice go bad? Does snail paste? >x msg A short glass jar hand-labeled "MSG." Intrigued, you pick it up for a closer look. You know that's the stuff restaurants use as like a savory salt but... something about those initials makes you feel very strange. It's as if some progenitive force looms over these letters. "MSG!" shouts a voice from the center of your mind "god above gods!" Your eyes roll back and blindly you drop the jar. Your body convulses with waves of dark unknowable MSG. Some minutes later, you return to your senses. Using the counter to keep steady, you lift yourself from the floor. The jar of... that spice... sits quietly on the spice rack where you found it. You shudder and try to think of something else. >take it You try to think of something else. >take it You try to think of something else. >smell it You try to think of something else. >x paste A small glass jar with a colorful commercial label reading "Forgotten Frontier's Floridian Snail Paste." The jar is full of a sickly purple-gray sludge. There's not much information on the small label... Nutrition facts read simply: "Melanoides tuberculata - 2 oz." >take it You scoop a bit of the goop into your pocket. >smell it You hold the jar to your nose and chance a little sniff. It's fishy and a bit peppery, not altogether unpleasant. >taste it You twist open the lid and gingerly dip your finger in the goo. It looks totally frightening but maybe it's a delicacy? After a moment's hesitation, you drop your tainted finger in your mouth. BLEH! It's a complicated flavor. HNNG! Several distinct notes express themselves at once. GAK! A hint of uncooked mushroom, a dash of pine dish soap, the sense of some VAAD! dirt flavored beer, a pervasive line of copper... and it feels like the paste in your mouth is moving a bit on its own. IGN! You vision begins to redden at the edges. EPH! Your eyes dart wildly around the kitchen for a trashcan and, not finding one, spit the ooze out in the sink. Yuck. >l 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. >x counter A light pine counter occupies the kitchen's northwestern corner. It seems to have faired well enough post-abandonment. A stocked spice rack sits alone on the counter-space closest to the fridge and a sink rests in the countertop directly beneath a pair of cabinets. >x sink A metal sink, browning at the edges. It's dry as a bone. >* fun That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >turn on sink You twist the knobs fruitlessly. >take knovs You can't see any such thing. >take knobs You can't see any such thing. >put paste in sink (the pinch of snail paste in the ed-sink) That can't contain things. >* oops! That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >l 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. >x bookshelves A blue plywood bookshelf leans haphazardly against the wall beside the fridge. Marks on the dusty shelves suggest a formerly robust collection. A few of the remaining cookbooks catch your eye... On the bookshelf are Hyper-Gastronomy, Exactness, and String Theory: a Theoretical Subdiscipline of Cooking and Baking by Chef Wheldrake, A Culinary Overview of Superstitions in the Miskaton Valley Region by S. Jarret Zornwharf and Mama Hydra's Deep Fried Ones. >x gastronomy You can't see any such thing. >x hyper-gastronomy A ragged book with a dark green cover. >take it Taken. >read it Flipping through the pages, you can see that this work is clearly over your head... or more likely straight gobbledygook. Many pages are nothing but mathematic equations but one chapter appears to cover the "mouthfeel" of different Quarks in great detail. Another rants about the differing politics and ideologies of "certain well-known mineral deposits." Good lord. >g Flipping through the pages, you can see that this work is clearly over your head... or more likely straight gobbledygook. Many pages are nothing but mathematic equations but one chapter appears to cover the "mouthfeel" of different Quarks in great detail. Another rants about the differing politics and ideologies of "certain well-known mineral deposits." Good lord. >x string 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 string theory I only understood you as far as wanting to examine the pull-string doll (smelling faintly of mildew). >x culinary A massive tome of a cookbook, bigger than The Joy of Cooking by half. The back of the book says the author lived in villages up and down the Miskaton river and painstakingly gathered "an oral history of superstitious meals and snacks" throughout his life. >take it Taken. >read it A few of the passages stand out... Introduction The Legend of Goad Cragne The Ritual of Lost Luck The Chewed Pit and Other Detritus The "Rat Hole" Legend The "Ghost Libation" Legend >g A few of the passages stand out... Introduction The Legend of Goad Cragne The Ritual of Lost Luck The Chewed Pit and Other Detritus The "Rat Hole" Legend The "Ghost Libation" Legend >read introduction One of the more rambling, self-righteous introductions you've seen for a cookbook. Lots of unreadable lines, a highlight being: "Food takes on this form of expression which no doubt all families are bound to take part in and in the case of aforementioned societal trauma a way of speaking these so-called unspeakable or unknowable things sidestepping logic insisted upon in language with a primal glance towards truth one never sees or hears but rather smells or feels." ...yikes. >read goad Cragne Sandwich Serves Two Ingredients: 1 jar pickled Herring 4 slices rye bread 1 beet, cubed 1 teaspoon mustard 4 tablespoons sour cream 2 tablespoons olive oil 374 grains salt ½ shallot, thinly sliced 3 sprigs green onions 2 springs dil 1 tablespoon butter 4 teaspoons capers 2 tablespoons broccoli florets 1 hardboiled egg Instructions: "Goad was a fisherman called towards cruelty. It was Goad's youngest who they say finally put a stop to him. Seven years old, poisoned her father's favorite lunch. They say he dropped dead on the first bite, the little one hadn't known what was too much or too little. But then... they also say Goad stood up the next morning. Say he walked straight to the Miskaton, caught twenty eight fish in two hours, and died again. No one really admits they believe that part of the story... but you can tell by the droop in their eye which ones tasted the fish Goad caught that day." >read luck Lost Luck Soup Serves Six Ingredients: 2 pounds Yukon Gold potatoes, unpeeled and chopped 4 to 5 white or yellow onions 3 tablespoons unsalted butter 3 cloves garlic, crushed 7 cups chicken broth 3 springs thyme 3 bay leaves 3866 grains salt ¼ teaspoon ground black pepper 1 cup heavy cream Instructions: "What sickens me is how quickly the vendors arrive, only minutes after the search party. The soup they hawk is an expected element of the searching ritual. We never find a child lost to the Miskaton River. We always have a bowl of soup." "Last chance for luck! One bowl's one prayer! The cost's unkind but the price is fair! First bowl for luck! Second's for grief! The third spits a curse on the whole belief!" >read pit Pit Pie Filling Serves Six to Eight Ingredients: 1 Peach Pit 3 cups blueberries 3 cups blackberries 2 tablespoons butter 1/3 cup white sugar 2/3 cup brown sugar 3 tablespoons cornstarch 18041 grains salt 1/4 cup lemon juice Instructions: "No one had time to think that day. I think that's why none of us went mad. We were all so busy undamming the river, up to our waists in shit... not one of us had the energy to... to see what we were pulling out. It wasn't all just bags and bike tires. It... No one else'll talk to me about it. Fuck, I don't even know what there would be to say. Anyways, it's like I said, after that day is when we started getting berries growing along the river. I don't think I'd like to talk much more about it." >read rat (the enormous dessicated rat corpse (smelling faintly of mildew)) It's the size of a large cat or a small dog, but it is definitely a rat. It is completely dried and its tail is missing, but it shows no other signs of decay. Dust is matted in what remains of its fur. A faint smell of mildew emanates from it. >read rat hole Amaranth "Rat" Cakes Serves Twelve to Sixteen Ingredients: 2 cup amaranth grain 1 ounce dried chanterelle mushrooms 4 tablespoons shallots 2 eggs 4 tablespoons flour 62031 grains salt 2 teaspoons Floridian snail paste 2 tablespoons fresh summer savory Instructions: "Holes that are crisp to the eye which appear in wide turns of our river at no particular time nor for any godly purpose." "Nothing but beer to drink and Verm Cakes to eat, that's the trad aspect. But you know, I think back in the day people drank somethin nicer than beer... (laughs) And it was a Rat Cake back then! Not a Verm... But yeah, usually it takes a few days a" waiting. Lucky when it does show it's loud enough to wake us if we're sleepin... so yeah we all hustle to dump what the Verm Hole wants into the river. They, that stuff, it always floats straight to the hole, every time so yeah. It's not pretty but at the other hand it's honest work... three of my grandparents fed the Verm Holes. And like... I mean, sometimes it's just a cow." >read ghost (the Ghost Libation Legend) The Lonesome Keen Serves One Ingredients: 1 part cold gin 2 parts warm apple cider 1 pinch cinnamon 8 grains salt Instructions: "It alls means something, thids drink. My great-grandfather... a Cragne! Keening Ken Cragne! Through from the... to the top. Is he here now? Is he dead? (laughs) And we remember wha (unintelligible) Kenneth Cragne! It all meanses something... listen to me... listen... Two parts cider, yeah? Because two days outta three, ol" Ken Cragne put cider in his flask! Calm days, they say. My dad said thad. Calm Ken days... Calm. But I wasn't alive then I don't (unintelligible.) But still I remember the gin days, you know? I shouldn't remember 'em right? Because that's crazy, right? (laughs) Why do I remember Ken Bastard Cragnes cold gin days, huh? Thas weird, right? My grandpa's the only kid of nine to like... Hold on okay. Lemme EXPLAIN the DRINK. The pinch of cinn- of cinnda- the punch a cibadon... cinnamon. That's Ken's lonely work! Train conductor, and actually the only one in my family to do that particular occupation. Big money becauss he smuggled cinner... cinn... he smuggled lots of things actually. They'd all be dead by now anyways, right? (unintelligible) What were we talking about? Oh! Oh god! EIGHT GRAINS OF SALT! EXACT! PRECISE OR HE DOES THE THING OKAY? Eight kids eight grains eight bloody brains. I would sing thadt. Perfect or Ken... Ken is here right now, right? Don't tell him I said- he just dead but he's here... He usedta beat up my mom and dad... after they died! I don't know knowww whyyy. We Cragne's got space in our blood. Space times. Very dignified, do you hear me? Very dignified! That's the name. That's hell. LISTEN TO (unintelligible) dig... we got.. we... please... >* well that seems promising That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >l 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. >x overn You can't see any such thing. >oops oven You look over the broken down oven. It's dented, the glass window on the door is shattered, and sitting on top of the stove is... another stove? You take a closer look and yes, some Cragne of the recent past put a cooktop stove on top of this oven. The cooktop stove is connected to a little tank of gas. >open open You can't see any such thing. >open oven You pull open the oven door. It looks empty inside. No leftover shards of glass, that's good. >x cooktop A dirty steel cooktop stove with two gas burners. Something about seeing dirt stuck to a so-called stainless steel piece of cookware fills you with a sick pleasure. A little hose runs out the back of the cooktop stove and down to a tank of gas on the floor. >x hose You can't see any such thing. >x tank A little green tank of gas. The meter's needle is resting firmly against the E. You can't help but think of the dumbest joke your husband always makes when your car is running low... in the exact same deadpan every time, he looks off into the distance and says "E... Enough gas." What a goober. >take tank It's a bit large for your pockets, plus it's empty. Might as well leave it alone. >i You are carrying: A Culinary Overview of Superstitions in the Miskaton Valley Region by S. Jarret Zornwharf Hyper-Gastronomy, Exactness, and String Theory: a Theoretical Subdiscipline of Cooking and Baking by Chef Wheldrake a pinch of snail paste a pinch of pepper a total of two grains of salt a pinch of cardamom a pinch of cinnamon a pinch of cardamom a pinch of turmeric (smelling faintly of mildew) a pinch of garlic a pinch of saffron red-rimmed porcelain cups (smelling faintly of mildew) red-rimmed porcelain plates an Italian magazine cutting (smelling faintly of mildew) De Zeven Testamenten van de Krijsende Zeeworm a broken silver amulet a pair of leather boots a slip of paper (smelling faintly of mildew) a pair of blue cloth slippers (smelling faintly of mildew) a teapot (smelling faintly of mildew) a calfskin coat (being worn) a dull machete (smelling faintly of mildew) a half-full styrofoam coffee cup an old newspaper (smelling faintly of mildew) a bottle of Pepto-Bismol (smelling faintly of mildew) a metal flask (smelling faintly of mildew) a moldy, waterlogged journal (smelling faintly of mildew) a small blue journal (which you know is a journal because it says "Mein Journal" on the front) a brass winding key a familiar gold wristwatch a plastic bubble (open but empty) a glass jar containing an insect (smelling faintly of mildew) a giant milkweed leaf (smelling faintly of mildew) a label a pull-string doll (smelling faintly of mildew) The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three a postcard of Big Ben (smelling faintly of mildew) the diary of Phyllis Cragne a repaired page a wad of cash a cast iron spire (smelling faintly of mildew) an antique locket (closed) a Jansport backpack (open) a hidden pocket (open but empty) a key pocket (open but empty) a book pocket (open but empty) a side pocket (open but empty) a trash pocket (closed) a trolley schedule (smelling faintly of mildew) a backpack features guide Peter's jacket (smelling faintly of mildew) a library card (smelling faintly of mildew) a grimy rock (smelling faintly of mildew) a long hooked pole a soggy tome (smelling faintly of mildew) a book list (smelling faintly of mildew) an employee ID card (smelling faintly of mildew) a shard of shattered carapace (smelling faintly of mildew) some yellowed newspapers a rusty piece of metal (smelling faintly of mildew) a clipboard loose bricks (smelling faintly of mildew) an aluminum key a black business card a glass shard (smelling faintly of mildew) a trophy for a dog race (smelling faintly of mildew) a rusty flathead screwdriver (smelling faintly of mildew) a bronze key green from age (smelling faintly of mildew) a pair of garden shears (smelling faintly of mildew) a gallon jug of white vinegar (smelling faintly of mildew) some mildewed leather gloves a key from an urn a bronze urn (open but empty) a silver urn (smelling faintly of mildew) (open but empty) a copper urn (open but empty) some rotten flowers a pewter box (smelling faintly of mildew) (open but empty) The Lives of the Roman Emperors a torn notebook (smelling faintly of mildew) a thin steel key (smelling faintly of mildew) a piece of yellowed newsprint an enormous dessicated rat corpse (smelling faintly of mildew) a broken knife handle a brass nameplate a waterproof flashlight (smelling faintly of mildew) a mallet (smelling faintly of mildew) a pamphlet of home listings (smelling faintly of mildew) an old paperback book (smelling faintly of mildew) the first candle (smelling faintly of mildew) the second candle (smelling faintly of mildew) an Allen key (smelling faintly of mildew) a tiny leather journal (smelling faintly of mildew) an ornate metallic box (open but empty) a large brass key (smelling faintly of mildew) Daniel Baker's note (smelling faintly of mildew) a gold jacket (being worn) a filthy rug (smelling faintly of mildew) a well-dressed ghost (haunting you) (smelling faintly of mildew) a trolley pass (being worn) Ed's coveralls (being worn) >l 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. >x fridge A refrigerator with no door. It's funny, you actually had a doorless, broken fridge in your first apartment. You and your friends used it as a bookshelf. >look in fridge You find nothing of interest. >x bookshelves A blue plywood bookshelf leans haphazardly against the wall beside the fridge. Marks on the dusty shelves suggest a formerly robust collection. One of the cookbooks catches your eye... On the bookshelf is Mama Hydra's Deep Fried Ones. >x fried You can't see any such thing. >x mama You can't see any such thing. >x ones You can't see any such thing. >x cookbook Which do you mean, Mama Hydra's Deep Fried Ones, A Culinary Overview of Superstitions in the Miskaton Valley Region by S. Jarret Zornwharf or Hyper-Gastronomy, Exactness, and String Theory: a Theoretical Subdiscipline of Cooking and Baking by Chef Wheldrake? >mama hydra's A funny little cookbook. The cover is a picture of a massive deep fryer sitting in a vast cavern. It must be a doctored photograph, the fryer looks like it's the size of a swimming pool. >take it Taken. >read it Flipping through the pages, it seems to be a rather standard cookbook. The pictures, however, are disgusting. >g Flipping through the pages, it seems to be a rather standard cookbook. The pictures, however, are disgusting. >x coffee The clouds in your cup form a dromedary camel. Modes of transportation mean that your current environment presents challenges that can only be overcome by seeking fresh perspectives elsewhere until you're ready to return. >x cellar You can't see any such thing. >x door A wooden door with a rusty iron lock is set in the northeastern corner between the counter and the fridge. It looks heavy. >x lock You can't see any such thing. >ne You can't go that way. >open ne You must name something more substantial. >l 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. >x door A wooden door with a rusty iron lock is set in the northeastern corner between the counter and the fridge. It looks heavy. >x lock You can't see any such thing. >x rusty iron You can't see any such thing. >* OK, that looks like the same one You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >* wonder if that's the only puzzle, or if we also need to cook something? You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >* This is 4 (and a half) rooms, but the transcript is pretty small so let's keep exploring You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >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. >x coffee The swirls in your cup form a blank, mirrored surface. Lack of a symbolic image means that you have accomplished everything you must in your current environment and should move on to find new challenges in order to grow as a person. >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. >x coffee The clouds in your cup form a gentle ripple. Lack of a symbolic image means that you have accomplished everything you must in your current environment and should move on to find new challenges in order to grow as a person. >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. >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. Seems like no one has used this room in some time. >* Buster Hudson is of course the author of The Wizard Sniffer, winner of the 17 Comp You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >* no mention of exits? That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >l Sitting Room (Buster Hudson) You are standing in a dusty sitting room, surrounded by furniture under moldy, moth-bitten sheets. The remains of a portrait hang above the fireplace. Leaning against the wall near the dining room entrance to the west is a large mirror. >*oh, there we go You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >x floorboards Dusty. >x dust Dusty. >dust (the mate of the first leather boot) The boot squeezes under your touch, then pops back to its original shape. >dust dust You don't want to touch anything in here if you don't have to. >* That never gets old! That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >x furniture Merely looking at the dusty, sheet-covered furniture has you itching to take an antihistamine. >x sheets Merely looking at the dusty, sheet-covered furniture has you itching to take an antihistamine. >take sheets You don't want to touch anything in here if you don't have to. >look under sheets You don't want to touch anything in here if you don't have to. >touch sheets You don't want to touch anything in here if you don't have to. >x mirror You gaze at yourself in the mirror, marveling at the way the afternoon sun shimmers across the gold and gray hues in your neatly coiffed hair. Moira has such a talent for the latest styles that you can hardly help but employ her assistance every morning, even when you have no plans to go into town. Today you chose to wear one of your violet dresses with thin black stripes and velvet trim. The high neck and full sleeves of the tailored coat are double-lined to protect against any errant draughts. Lord knows how they like to scurry through the house this time of year. And it has been so especially cold as of late. "Really, darling, with all the time you spend gawking at your own reflection, I don't know how you have much time for anything else," Eustace says, his words soaked in irritation. The argument from the night before lingers between the two of you. You can already taste a bitter retort forming on your lips. You swallow it back down. He continues. "Would you be a dear and ring Moira for me? I believe I saw the postman come through and am expecting an important letter." He motions to the bell pull before turning his newspaper to the next page and shaking it stiff. >* umm this doesn't seem like Nitocris' bag That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >l Sitting Room (Buster Hudson) With a roaring fire and the sunlight streaming in through the large bay window, the sitting room might pass for inviting. You've asked Eustace if you could paper the walls with a brighter color and perhaps move the domineering portrait of the Cragne ancestor to the study, but he refuses a single change. That is, save for the mirror, which you were permitted to hang near the entrance to the dining room to the west. Having your reflection nearby always gives you comfort, as if without the frequent reminder, you would begin to forget yourself. Eustace is reading the paper in his chair by the window. >undo Sitting Room (Buster Hudson) [Previous turn undone.] >undo Sitting Room (Buster Hudson) [Previous turn undone.] >l Sitting Room (Buster Hudson) With a roaring fire and the sunlight streaming in through the large bay window, the sitting room might pass for inviting. You've asked Eustace if you could paper the walls with a brighter color and perhaps move the domineering portrait of the Cragne ancestor to the study, but he refuses a single change. That is, save for the mirror, which you were permitted to hang near the entrance to the dining room to the west. Having your reflection nearby always gives you comfort, as if without the frequent reminder, you would begin to forget yourself. Eustace is reading the paper in his chair by the window. >undo Sitting Room (Buster Hudson) [Previous turn undone.] >undo Sitting Room (Buster Hudson) [Previous turn undone.] >l Sitting Room (Buster Hudson) You are standing in a dusty sitting room, surrounded by furniture under moldy, moth-bitten sheets. The remains of a portrait hang above the fireplace. Leaning against the wall near the dining room entrance to the west is a large mirror. >x portrait Whoever it was has been ripped to shreds. >x fireplace It's empty. >* OK, here we go yo You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >x mirror You gaze at yourself in the mirror, marveling at the way the afternoon sun shimmers across the gold and gray hues in your neatly coiffed hair. Moira has such a talent for the latest styles that you can hardly help but employ her assistance every morning, even when you have no plans to go into town. Today you chose to wear one of your violet dresses with thin black stripes and velvet trim. The high neck and full sleeves of the tailored coat are double-lined to protect against any errant draughts. Lord knows how they like to scurry through the house this time of year. And it has been so especially cold as of late. "Really, darling, with all the time you spend gawking at your own reflection, I don't know how you have much time for anything else," Eustace says, his words soaked in irritation. The argument from the night before lingers between the two of you. You can already taste a bitter retort forming on your lips. You swallow it back down. He continues. "Would you be a dear and ring Moira for me? I believe I saw the postman come through and am expecting an important letter." He motions to the bell pull before turning his newspaper to the next page and shaking it stiff. >i You are carrying nothing. >* blarg That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >l Sitting Room (Buster Hudson) With a roaring fire and the sunlight streaming in through the large bay window, the sitting room might pass for inviting. You've asked Eustace if you could paper the walls with a brighter color and perhaps move the domineering portrait of the Cragne ancestor to the study, but he refuses a single change. That is, save for the mirror, which you were permitted to hang near the entrance to the dining room to the west. Having your reflection nearby always gives you comfort, as if without the frequent reminder, you would begin to forget yourself. Eustace is reading the paper in his chair by the window. >x newspaper The Vermont Phoenix, dated yesterday, Friday, February 3, 1899. Most of the print is too small to read without your nose pressed against it, but you do notice the headline exclaiming how a fire burned down the S. A. Smith and Co plant. Someone captured an exposure of the event and thought to put it on the front page. To think you live in a world where one would rather photograph a fire than help put it out. >x picture You can't see any such thing. >x fire The fire does its best to repel the deep February chill. Above the fireplace is a portrait, and beside that is the bell pull. >x portrait The great Horace Cragne is perched above the fireplace, maintaining a constant vigilance over the sitting room. You think he would serve better in the study. At the very least, he would avoid frightening the ladies from church when they visit for tea after Sunday service. His face is gaunt, features severe, and his eyes are rimmed a deep crimson. You prefer not to meet his gaze. Hanging next to the portrait is a bell pull. >meet gaze That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >* ah well That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >x window Through the window you have a view of the front porch, from which hangs the peculiar chimes that whistle and clang eerily with each passing breeze. Beyond is the wide yard, and beyond that the forest line, and farther still, Backwater. If you squint hard enough, you can sometimes make out a few townspeople wandering about, attempting to find some significance in their lives. >x townspeople You can't see any such thing. >x mirror What's this? Who is this woman staring back at you? She is dressed... bizarrely, to put it mildly. And yet, there is something familiar about her. Something... oh. Oh God. What... what just happened? Your eyes adjust to the dimness of the dusty room. You check yourself over, and find you are yourself again. Were you dreaming? Or were you a woman from another time? It's hard to tell. You've been feeling like someone else everywhere you go in Backwater. >* "dressed bizarrely" seems fair 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 unicycle. Modes of transportation mean that your current environment presents challenges that can only be overcome by seeking fresh perspectives elsewhere until you're ready to return. >* ah well, let's see if we can get further You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >x mirror A regal woman with graying hair and harsh features stares back at you. "Might you ring for Moira? I'd like to receive today's post," Eustace says. >x eustace He has aged considerably in recent years. His hair has retreated backwards as if terrified of his own face. Even his beard and mustache refuse to grow. His eyes are always burdened by heavy bags, no matter how much sleep he manages the night before. >x me You are Lillian, lady of Cragne Manor. Some days, you wish you were someone else. But only some. >* Oops! That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >ask eustace about horace "I believe the portrait would be more dignified in the study. Perhaps we could move the landscape in here." Eustace grimaces. "As I have already said, if you would like the portrait to be displayed at all, it will have to be in here. Otherwise, it goes in the attic," he says. >ask eustace about attic You don't consider that a worthy enough topic of conversation. >ask eustace about fireplace You already know Eustace's feelings on the subject of the sitting room's decor. Best not exhume the same argument. >ask eustace about town You doubt Eustace cares about anything beyond the window. >ask eustace about me "I was thinking of taking up shooting again, when the weather is warmer," you say. "Father always insisted upon my skill with a rifle. You don't think it too brazen for a lady, do you?" "If you wish it," Eustace replies, in such a way that you know he wasn't listening. >ask eustace about cragne He seems set on having the portrait hanging in here, and you certainly are not going to stow it away in the attic. >ask eustace about cragnes You don't consider that a worthy enough topic of conversation. >ask eustace about moira "I don't know that Moira's work has been satisfactory. We might consider someone else." "Moira?" Eustace asks, perplexed by the suggestion. "She has been splendid. Even you admit you prefer the way she does your hair." "Well, yes. It's one reason to retain her. I am sure you have reasons to keep her nearby, too," you say. To that, Eustace doesn't reply. >pull bell pull You ring the bell, and Moira arrives soon after, a flurry of freckles and red curls. She stumbles into a curtsey. "Ma'am. Sir." Her brogue is strong, lending her a tendency to be brief whenever possible. "Has the post arrived today?" Eustace asks, and she confirms that it has before disappearing into the next room and returning with two envelopes. She hands both of them to you. You dismiss her promptly. >x pull The rope descends from the ceiling. If pulled, it will ring a bell in the servant's hall. >pull pull You see no need to summon Moira again. >i You are carrying a formal letter to Eustace and a handwritten letter to you. >x formal It's from Yale University and addressed to Eustace. It's sealed. >open it Eustace would berate you for days if you opened a letter addressed to him. >give formal to eustace (to Eustace) Eustace tucks the newspaper under an arm and takes the envelope. "Thank you, darling. This appears to be what I was waiting for." He rises from his chair and opens the secretary, rifling through the various nooks and drawers. His search comes up empty. "Darling," he says, "have you misplaced my letter opener yet again? You know how protective I am of it." >l Sitting Room (Buster Hudson) A large bay window allows for ample light into the elegant sitting room. Above the fireplace hangs the portrait of the sneering Cragne ancestor. Near the westward entrance to the dining room hangs a mirror. Eustace is searching for his letter opener in the secretary. >x desk You can't see any such thing. >x secretary While not as functional as a full desk, the secretary offers a convenient place to keep stationery and ink on hand. >open it You do not see why you should be concerned with the secretary. >w You have the urge to look in the mirror before you depart. It's a quirk of yours you can't seem to avoid. >open window It isn't something you can open. >push eustace Eustace might not like that. >murder him No. Not yet. >* HA! That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >* Well played, Buster Hudson You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >i You are carrying a handwritten letter to you. >x handwritten It's addressed to you from Christopher, off at boarding school. All that's left is to open it. >read it You use your fingers to open the envelope like a heathen, then unfold the letter within. My dear mother, I hope you are well and remain so through this dreadful winter. I am happy to report your Christmas fruit cake survived the journey unscathed and has been enjoyed with great enthusiasm by the other boys. I am passing along their compliments. Second term is just beginning, and much work is anticipated. I will try to keep regular correspondence as you requested. My nightmares have been growing worse as of late. Even though I never met grandfather, I know it is he who visits me. I pray every night, but God seems to ignore me. What am I to do? Might you send some funds for a doctor? Perhaps he could prescribe a tonic to aid me in my sleep. I love you, mother, in so many ways and more. Give father my love. I will write again soon. Your beloved son, Christopher >ask horace about christopher You can't see any such thing. >ask eustace about christopher "Christopher has written," you say. "He's doing well. I suspect he'll be top of his class this year. Wouldn't you agree?" "Yes, I'm sure he will," Eustace says curtly. >g As you open your mouth to speak, Eustace rudely interrupts. "That's enough talk for today, darling. Perhaps a visit with Mrs. Hanover is in order. She does like to prattle on so. After you return my letter opener, of course." It seems you have your task and there is nothing more to say. >i You are carrying a handwritten letter to you. >w You have the urge to look in the mirror before you depart. It's a quirk of yours you can't seem to avoid. >l Sitting Room (Buster Hudson) A large bay window allows for ample light into the elegant sitting room. Above the fireplace hangs the portrait of the sneering Cragne ancestor. Near the westward entrance to the dining room hangs a mirror. Eustace is searching for his letter opener in the secretary. >x window Through the window you have a view of the front porch, from which hangs the peculiar chimes that whistle and clang eerily with each passing breeze. Beyond is the wide yard, and beyond that the forest line, and farther still, Backwater. If you squint hard enough, you can sometimes make out a few townspeople wandering about, attempting to find some significance in their lives. >open window It isn't something you can open. >x fireplace The fire does its best to repel the deep February chill. Above the fireplace is a portrait, and beside that is the bell pull. >x opener You can't see any such thing. >* maybe that's what we need to find? That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >* And then use to kill eustace? That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >x mirror You look upon the strange woman in the mirror, and suddenly you are yourself again. >x coffee The clouds in your cup form a roller blade. Modes of transportation mean that your current environment presents challenges that can only be overcome by seeking fresh perspectives elsewhere until you're ready to return. >save Ok. >* maybe one more That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >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 noon sun casts shafts of light into the center of the room. Hallways lead west and east into other parts of the house. A doorway leads north; the front door is to the south. >w Court (Ryan Veeder) Walls paneled with elaborate boiseries curl slowly around this ovular hall. The western vertex of the ellipse is dominated by an enormous window; at the opposite end, a low archway leads east to the foyer. A glass display case is set into the north wall. In the center of the room, an irregular circle of twelve pedestals surrounds a black monolith. A white key lies on the floor. Rain rattles impatiently against the stained glass. >undo Foyer (Greg Frost) [Previous turn undone.] >* OK we're not doing the Ryan Veeder one yet! That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >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. The door behind you exits to the west, and a door at the end of the gallery on the left wall leads to the north. This gallery is quite narrow for displaying large paintings; perhaps the width of two people laid end to end. Its narrowness and clutter only feel more claustrophobic when set against the high ceilings. The slim path through the room's center makes you apprehensive about walking through. There are at least three large paintings and an abstract photograph that particularly catch your attention. Various hulking pieces of furniture are pressed into four dark corners and distributed sporadically along the walls. Tacky bric-a-brac crowds every flat surface. Someone may have hoarded these misfit objects here to keep them from fouling the rest of the house. An oversized mirror in a heavy wooden frame is casually propped against the door to the north, and you don't see another way through. >l 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. This gallery is quite narrow for displaying large paintings; perhaps the width of two people laid end to end. Its narrowness and clutter only feel more claustrophobic when set against the high ceilings. The slim path through the room's center makes you apprehensive about walking through. There are at least three large paintings and an abstract photograph that particularly catch your attention. Various hulking pieces of furniture are pressed into four dark corners and distributed sporadically along the walls. Tacky bric-a-brac crowds every flat surface. Someone may have hoarded these misfit objects here to keep them from fouling the rest of the house. An oversized mirror in a heavy wooden frame is casually propped against the door to the north, and you don't see another way through. >* Erica Newman doesn't have anything else on IFDB, but from googling YerrikTRB appears to be her pseudonym and she makes music, including for Frog Fractions 2 (with Jenni Polodna) You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >* Anyway I'm liking this, you had me at wainscoting You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >* lotta mirrors about these days too That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >l 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. This gallery is quite narrow for displaying large paintings; perhaps the width of two people laid end to end. Its narrowness and clutter only feel more claustrophobic when set against the high ceilings. The slim path through the room's center makes you apprehensive about walking through. There are at least three large paintings and an abstract photograph that particularly catch your attention. Various hulking pieces of furniture are pressed into four dark corners and distributed sporadically along the walls. Tacky bric-a-brac crowds every flat surface. Someone may have hoarded these misfit objects here to keep them from fouling the rest of the house. An oversized mirror in a heavy wooden frame is casually propped against the door to the north, and you don't see another way through. >x stain You can't see any such thing. >x satin The walls are covered in rich, patterned green satin above the creamy wainscot paneling. >x paneling The walls are covered in rich, patterned green satin above the creamy wainscot paneling. >x paintings Which do you mean, the painting of birds, the painting of meat, the painting of a child or elaborate painted panels? >* we'll come back here You can't see any such thing. >x furniture Which do you mean, the fainting couch, the credenza or the standing chest? >x bric You can't see any such thing. >x bric-a-brac Chintzy houseware that may have been popular in the 1950s, but far too much of it. >take it You don't really want any of this stuff. And judging by the way it's displayed, it could easily fall on you. >x mirror An oversized mirror in a heavy wooden frame. The bottom left corner is cracked and broken into large shards. A painting of a child is posed directly opposite the mirror, and glancing at your reflection, you can see her dispassionate gaze over your left shoulder. A sliver of otherworldly moonlight is spilled onto the floor next to the mirror's broken corner. On closer inspection, it is a mirror shard, glowing as if it were showing a private reflection of a moonsoaked world. >x child This painting is unusually realistic. You can see that looking at it one time won't reveal its full mystery. The painting of the child faces the doorway to the west. Ah yes, you have seen this one before. Thomas Cooper Gotch, The Child Enthroned. A wise child sits on a wooden chair against a deep green background. The child herself is encased in sumptuous robes of blue and black velvet edged with wide gold lace. Her patterned red satin dress with a bright green sash speaks of opulence and taste. A halo, like the moon, rises from the child's head. Although her neutral expression gives you no clue to her thoughts, this only invites you to imagine some emotion for her. >* A late-Pre-Raph -- I checked it out, it's definitely a creepy painting You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >x door You can't see any such thing. >x birds This painting is unusually realistic. You can see that looking at it one time won't reveal its full meaning. Paintings of birds often focus on flight to evoke feelings of freedom, hope, and escape. This one feels like gravity extending its hold with physical hands. A label in the center of the stained green wooden frame reads The Sparrow's Nest -or- The Triumph of Nature >x child On further examination, you notice that this is very much not the marble-skinned darling with delicate, square features and gold tresses from the original Gotch. This child clearly resembles you. >g Your mind races. This child is certainly your spitting image. >g Your mind races. This child is certainly your spitting image. >g Your mind races. This child is certainly your spitting image. >spit That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >x child Your mind races. This child is certainly your spitting image. >touch child You feel nothing unexpected. >x bird There are four separate images painted on the top of the box, arranged from one end to the other. The first is a bird. The second is a camel. The third is a strange three-legged toad. The fourth is a snake. >x birds The cowbird chick sits heavy and obvious on its adopted siblings. They must only be a few days old given their lack of feathers, but the cowbird is easily five times as large as the three other struggling chicks. The smaller chicks' closed eyes are black orbs encased in thin skin. Their eyes will never open to the light. Their mouths open in different directions, with wide, pink gapes frozen in permanent, begging hunger. >g The oversized cowbird is using one foot to steady itself on the edge of the grass nest, distorting the dry grass with its weight. A cracked eggshell is visible next to the cowbird chick, and the remains of a dried sparrow embryo and its yolk have dripped down the side of the nest and dried where the cowbird rests its claws. >g The stare of this huge cowbird chick is crisp and blank. Unlike portraits whose eyes seemingly follow you around the room, the cowbird chick seems to stare some distance directly behind you. The heavy-edged flanges of its mouth and the wispy eyebrow feathers common to baby birds give it an air of seriousness, like that of an old general. >g This painting is unusually realistic. You can see that looking at it one time won't reveal its full meaning. Paintings of birds often focus on flight to evoke feelings of freedom, hope, and escape. This one feels like gravity extending its hold with physical hands. A label in the center of the stained green wooden frame reads The Sparrow's Nest -or- The Triumph of Nature >g The cowbird chick sits heavy and obvious on its adopted siblings. They must only be a few days old given their lack of feathers, but the cowbird is easily five times as large as the three other struggling chicks. The smaller chicks' closed eyes are black orbs encased in thin skin. Their eyes will never open to the light. Their mouths open in different directions, with wide, pink gapes frozen in permanent, begging hunger. >x cowbird The oversized cowbird is using one foot to steady itself on the edge of the grass nest, distorting the dry grass with its weight. A cracked eggshell is visible next to the cowbird chick, and the remains of a dried sparrow embryo and its yolk have dripped down the side of the nest and dried where the cowbird rests its claws. >x eggshel You can't see any such thing. >x eggshell You can't see any such thing. >x sparrow You can't see any such thing. >x sparrows You can't see any such thing. >x embryo You can't see any such thing. >touch cowbird You feel nothing unexpected. >l 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. This gallery is quite narrow for displaying large paintings; perhaps the width of two people laid end to end. Its narrowness and clutter only feel more claustrophobic when set against the high ceilings. The slim path through the room's center makes you apprehensive about walking through. There are at least three large paintings and an abstract photograph that particularly catch your attention. Various hulking pieces of furniture are pressed into four dark corners and distributed sporadically along the walls. Tacky bric-a-brac crowds every flat surface. Someone may have hoarded these misfit objects here to keep them from fouling the rest of the house. An oversized mirror in a heavy wooden frame is casually propped against the door to the north, and you don't see another way through. You can see a shard here. >x pictures You can't see any such thing. >x paintings Which do you mean, the painting of birds, the painting of meat, the painting of a child or elaborate painted panels? >meat This painting is unusually realistic. You can see that looking at it one time won't reveal its depth. An oversized painting in an elaborate gold-tinged wood frame. The painting depicts a large and haphazardly piled group of undercooked meats. In the center is a jumble of pinkish hams with crisped skins, darkened in thick lines where they have touched hot metal bars. The hams are freshly cut, exposing flesh dripping with juices traced through with blood. The liquids have congealed into a pool of white grease, surrounding the velvety black figs and turgid cornichons carefully placed around the meaty heap. >* gross That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >x figs You can't see any such thing. >x meat A label in the bottom center of the frame reads, simply, '?teamed meats.' And they called these ?teamed meats despite the fact they are obviously grilled. >* LOL is that a steamed hams joke? That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >x meat This painting is unusually realistic. You can see that looking at it one time won't reveal its depth. An oversized painting in an elaborate gold-tinged wood frame. The painting depicts a large and haphazardly piled group of undercooked meats. In the center is a jumble of pinkish hams with crisped skins, darkened in thick lines where they have touched hot metal bars. The hams are freshly cut, exposing flesh dripping with juices traced through with blood. The liquids have congealed into a pool of white grease, surrounding the velvety black figs and turgid cornichons carefully placed around the meaty heap. >g A label in the bottom center of the frame reads, simply, '?teamed meats.' And they called these ?teamed meats despite the fact they are obviously grilled. >g This painting is unusually realistic. You can see that looking at it one time won't reveal its depth. An oversized painting in an elaborate gold-tinged wood frame. The painting depicts a large and haphazardly piled group of undercooked meats. In the center is a jumble of pinkish hams with crisped skins, darkened in thick lines where they have touched hot metal bars. The hams are freshly cut, exposing flesh dripping with juices traced through with blood. The liquids have congealed into a pool of white grease, surrounding the velvety black figs and turgid cornichons carefully placed around the meaty heap. >l 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. This gallery is quite narrow for displaying large paintings; perhaps the width of two people laid end to end. Its narrowness and clutter only feel more claustrophobic when set against the high ceilings. The slim path through the room's center makes you apprehensive about walking through. There are at least three large paintings and an abstract photograph that particularly catch your attention. Various hulking pieces of furniture are pressed into four dark corners and distributed sporadically along the walls. Tacky bric-a-brac crowds every flat surface. Someone may have hoarded these misfit objects here to keep them from fouling the rest of the house. An oversized mirror in a heavy wooden frame is casually propped against the door to the north, and you don't see another way through. You can see a shard here. >x photo (the photograph) A rather abstract photograph in black and white. You're not sure what it represents. Perhaps a line drawing of a hand with an eye in the center? >g (the photograph) A rather abstract photograph in black and white. You're not sure what it represents. Perhaps a line drawing of a hand with an eye in the center? >x hand You can't see any such thing. >x furntiure You can't see any such thing. >x furniture Which do you mean, the fainting couch, the credenza or the standing chest? >fianting You can't see any such thing. >x fainting You can't see any such thing. >x couh You can't see any such thing. >x couch A fainting couch that looks like it could be from a museum. >sit on it That's not something you can sit down on. >lie on it That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >x credenza This is a low, long piece of furniture that is being used as a china cabinet, with a half-shelving unit perched precariously on it. The shelves are full of old, worn import porcelain in bland, cheap designs that have aged poorly. >open it It isn't something you can open. >x shelving You can't see any such thing. >x porcelain Which do you mean, bric-a-brac, red-rimmed porcelain cups (smelling faintly of mildew) or red-rimmed porcelain plates? >x import You can't see any such thing. >x chest A dark wooden standing chest, on tall, thin, wooden turned legs. The woodwork is ornate. A door is open, revealing that this chest has served as someone's covert liquor bar. >open it It isn't something you can open. >x liquor Exciting brown, green, and clear bottles nestled in under a row of hanging martini glasses. >x bottles You can't see any such thing. >x glasses You can't see any such thing. >look in liquor You find nothing of interest. >take it That's not for you. >take all shard: As you stoop for the shard, you see a thin strip of paper that had been stuck in some of the broken pieces of the mirror. Taken. >undo Gallery (YerrikTRB/Erica Newman) [Previous turn undone.] >x shard Which do you mean, the shard, the shard of shattered carapace (smelling faintly of mildew) or the glass shard (smelling faintly of mildew)? >shard Which do you mean, the shard, the shard of shattered carapace (smelling faintly of mildew) or the glass shard (smelling faintly of mildew)? >x glass Which do you mean, the glass jar containing an insect (smelling faintly of mildew) or the glass shard (smelling faintly of mildew)? >shard You see nothing special about the glass shard (smelling faintly of mildew). A faint smell of mildew emanates from it. >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. That's odd. When you first entered the house it was morning, but judging by the light coming through the windows it's already afternoon. Hallways lead west and east into other parts of the house. A doorway leads north; the front door is to the south. >i You are carrying: Mama Hydra's Deep Fried Ones A Culinary Overview of Superstitions in the Miskaton Valley Region by S. Jarret Zornwharf (smelling faintly of mildew) Hyper-Gastronomy, Exactness, and String Theory: a Theoretical Subdiscipline of Cooking and Baking by Chef Wheldrake a pinch of snail paste a pinch of pepper a total of two grains of salt a pinch of cardamom a pinch of cinnamon a pinch of cardamom a pinch of turmeric (smelling faintly of mildew) a pinch of garlic a pinch of saffron red-rimmed porcelain cups (smelling faintly of mildew) red-rimmed porcelain plates an Italian magazine cutting (smelling faintly of mildew) De Zeven Testamenten van de Krijsende Zeeworm a broken silver amulet a pair of leather boots a slip of paper (smelling faintly of mildew) a pair of blue cloth slippers (smelling faintly of mildew) a teapot (smelling faintly of mildew) a calfskin coat (being worn) a dull machete (smelling faintly of mildew) a half-full styrofoam coffee cup an old newspaper (smelling faintly of mildew) a bottle of Pepto-Bismol (smelling faintly of mildew) a metal flask (smelling faintly of mildew) a moldy, waterlogged journal (smelling faintly of mildew) a small blue journal (which you know is a journal because it says "Mein Journal" on the front) a brass winding key a familiar gold wristwatch a plastic bubble (open but empty) a glass jar containing an insect (smelling faintly of mildew) a giant milkweed leaf (smelling faintly of mildew) a label a pull-string doll (smelling faintly of mildew) The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three (smelling faintly of mildew) a postcard of Big Ben (smelling faintly of mildew) the diary of Phyllis Cragne a repaired page a wad of cash a cast iron spire (smelling faintly of mildew) an antique locket (closed) a Jansport backpack (open) a hidden pocket (open but empty) a key pocket (open but empty) a book pocket (open but empty) a side pocket (open but empty) a trash pocket (closed) a trolley schedule (smelling faintly of mildew) a backpack features guide Peter's jacket (smelling faintly of mildew) a library card (smelling faintly of mildew) a grimy rock (smelling faintly of mildew) a long hooked pole a soggy tome (smelling faintly of mildew) a book list (smelling faintly of mildew) an employee ID card (smelling faintly of mildew) a shard of shattered carapace (smelling faintly of mildew) some yellowed newspapers a rusty piece of metal (smelling faintly of mildew) a clipboard loose bricks (smelling faintly of mildew) an aluminum key a black business card a glass shard (smelling faintly of mildew) a trophy for a dog race (smelling faintly of mildew) a rusty flathead screwdriver (smelling faintly of mildew) a bronze key green from age (smelling faintly of mildew) a pair of garden shears (smelling faintly of mildew) a gallon jug of white vinegar (smelling faintly of mildew) some mildewed leather gloves a key from an urn a bronze urn (open but empty) a silver urn (smelling faintly of mildew) (open but empty) a copper urn (open but empty) some rotten flowers a pewter box (smelling faintly of mildew) (open but empty) The Lives of the Roman Emperors a torn notebook (smelling faintly of mildew) a thin steel key (smelling faintly of mildew) a piece of yellowed newsprint an enormous dessicated rat corpse (smelling faintly of mildew) a broken knife handle a brass nameplate a waterproof flashlight (smelling faintly of mildew) a mallet (smelling faintly of mildew) a pamphlet of home listings (smelling faintly of mildew) an old paperback book (smelling faintly of mildew) the first candle (smelling faintly of mildew) the second candle (smelling faintly of mildew) an Allen key (smelling faintly of mildew) a tiny leather journal (smelling faintly of mildew) an ornate metallic box (smelling faintly of mildew) (open but empty) a large brass key (smelling faintly of mildew) Daniel Baker's note (smelling faintly of mildew) a gold jacket (being worn) a filthy rug (smelling faintly of mildew) a well-dressed ghost (haunting you) (smelling faintly of mildew) a trolley pass (being worn) Ed's coveralls (being worn) >* that is odd! That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >drop shard Which do you mean, the shard of shattered carapace (smelling faintly of mildew) or the glass shard (smelling faintly of mildew)? >both shard of shattered carapace (smelling faintly of mildew): Dropped. glass shard (smelling faintly of mildew): Dropped. >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. This gallery is quite narrow for displaying large paintings; perhaps the width of two people laid end to end. Its narrowness and clutter only feel more claustrophobic when set against the high ceilings. The slim path through the room's center makes you apprehensive about walking through. There are at least three large paintings and an abstract photograph that particularly catch your attention. Various hulking pieces of furniture are pressed into four dark corners and distributed sporadically along the walls. Tacky bric-a-brac crowds every flat surface. Someone may have hoarded these misfit objects here to keep them from fouling the rest of the house. An oversized mirror in a heavy wooden frame is casually propped against the door to the north, and you don't see another way through. You can see a shard and a photograph here. >x shard A sharply pointed triangular shard of the mirror that could fit nicely into your hand, like a primitive knife. >take it As you stoop for the shard, you see a thin strip of paper that had been stuck in some of the broken pieces of the mirror. Taken. >i You're carrying a shard of a mirror. Nothing else in your possession would seem to help you here. >* intruiging That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >x photo (the photograph) A rather abstract photograph in black and white. You're not sure what it represents. Perhaps a line drawing of a hand with an eye in the center? >take it A black and white photograph that measures half the span of your arms; a large photograph in a simple but surprisingly heavy frame. That's fixed in place. >* huh That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >touch it You feel nothing unexpected. >x it A rather abstract photograph in black and white. You're not sure what it represents. Perhaps a line drawing of a hand with an eye in the center? >x eye 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 old paperback book (smelling faintly of mildew). >x strip A scrap of paper providing more of a declaratory statement than a fortune. It reads "The answer is inside you." On its reverse, it says "Full moon tonight; Beware the updog. Lucky numbers 4, 7, 69, 13." >* what's updog That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >what's updog Not much. What's up with you? >* LOL That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >x me You look fine. You were even having a good hair day earlier. You could probably check your reflection in that mirror at the end of the gallery. >x mirror An oversized mirror in a heavy wooden frame. The bottom left corner is cracked and broken into large shards. A painting of a child is posed directly opposite the mirror, and glancing at your reflection, you can see her dispassionate gaze over your left shoulder. The fortune cookie seems to think that you contain the answer. Maybe the way out of this is not so straightforward as you think. Maybe this requires a bit more sharp thinking to cut through the confusion. You gaze into the mirror, looking from yourself, to the painting that resembles you so, and back to yourself. >cut me You stare at your left wrist, and contemplate the shard in your right hand. Do you really have the nerve to do this? Are you certain this is what the message in the fortune meant? Don't think about it. Don't think about it. DON'T THINK ABOUT IT You take aim at your left wrist and stab. The pain is intense. More intense than you can bear. Before you black out, you grab the mirror frame, which pivots suddenly on the uneven floor. I hope I didn't sever the tendons, you think. In Rube-Goldberg fashion, the old behemoth crashes down a moment after you hit the ground. The mirror's frame slides out and hits the credenza, which unloads its fragile junk onto the floor, and in doing so, nudges the standing chest, whose thin, wooden legs gave way under it. Like ugly, misshapen dominoes, the objects in the room fall into a kind of ordered destruction. When you come to, you see that you are now surrounded by broken, useless, tacky chaos. Not even a single lidded beer stein or mini-pendulum clock made it through unscathed. >l 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. >i You're carrying a shard of a mirror. Nothing else in your possession would seem to help you 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. >undo Gallery (YerrikTRB/Erica Newman) [Previous turn undone.] >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. Afternoon light slants across the floor. Hallways lead west and east into other parts of the house. A doorway leads north; the front door is to the south. You can see a glass shard (smelling faintly of mildew) and a shard of shattered carapace (smelling faintly of mildew) here. >take all glass shard (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken. shard of shattered carapace (smelling faintly of mildew): Taken. >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. >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. >take photo (the photograph) That's fixed in place. >* OK, guess we're done You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >save Ok. >i You're carrying a shard of a mirror. Nothing else in your possession would seem to help you 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. Outside the windows, the sunset is an ominous red. Hallways lead west and east into other parts of the house. A doorway leads north; the front door is to the south. >i You are carrying: a shard of shattered carapace (smelling faintly of mildew) a glass shard (smelling faintly of mildew) a shard Mama Hydra's Deep Fried Ones A Culinary Overview of Superstitions in the Miskaton Valley Region by S. Jarret Zornwharf (smelling faintly of mildew) Hyper-Gastronomy, Exactness, and String Theory: a Theoretical Subdiscipline of Cooking and Baking by Chef Wheldrake a pinch of snail paste a pinch of pepper a total of two grains of salt a pinch of cardamom a pinch of cinnamon a pinch of cardamom a pinch of turmeric (smelling faintly of mildew) a pinch of garlic a pinch of saffron red-rimmed porcelain cups (smelling faintly of mildew) red-rimmed porcelain plates an Italian magazine cutting (smelling faintly of mildew) De Zeven Testamenten van de Krijsende Zeeworm a broken silver amulet a pair of leather boots a slip of paper (smelling faintly of mildew) a pair of blue cloth slippers (smelling faintly of mildew) a teapot (smelling faintly of mildew) a calfskin coat (being worn) a dull machete (smelling faintly of mildew) a half-full styrofoam coffee cup an old newspaper (smelling faintly of mildew) a bottle of Pepto-Bismol (smelling faintly of mildew) a metal flask (smelling faintly of mildew) a moldy, waterlogged journal (smelling faintly of mildew) a small blue journal (which you know is a journal because it says "Mein Journal" on the front) a brass winding key a familiar gold wristwatch a plastic bubble (open but empty) a glass jar containing an insect (smelling faintly of mildew) a giant milkweed leaf (smelling faintly of mildew) a label a pull-string doll (smelling faintly of mildew) The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three (smelling faintly of mildew) a postcard of Big Ben (smelling faintly of mildew) the diary of Phyllis Cragne a repaired page a wad of cash a cast iron spire (smelling faintly of mildew) an antique locket (closed) a Jansport backpack (open) a hidden pocket (open but empty) a key pocket (open but empty) a book pocket (open but empty) a side pocket (open but empty) a trash pocket (closed) a trolley schedule (smelling faintly of mildew) a backpack features guide Peter's jacket (smelling faintly of mildew) a library card (smelling faintly of mildew) a grimy rock (smelling faintly of mildew) a long hooked pole a soggy tome (smelling faintly of mildew) a book list (smelling faintly of mildew) an employee ID card (smelling faintly of mildew) some yellowed newspapers a rusty piece of metal (smelling faintly of mildew) a clipboard loose bricks (smelling faintly of mildew) an aluminum key a black business card a trophy for a dog race (smelling faintly of mildew) a rusty flathead screwdriver (smelling faintly of mildew) a bronze key green from age (smelling faintly of mildew) a pair of garden shears (smelling faintly of mildew) a gallon jug of white vinegar (smelling faintly of mildew) some mildewed leather gloves a key from an urn a bronze urn (open but empty) a silver urn (smelling faintly of mildew) (open but empty) a copper urn (open but empty) some rotten flowers a pewter box (smelling faintly of mildew) (open but empty) The Lives of the Roman Emperors a torn notebook (smelling faintly of mildew) a thin steel key (smelling faintly of mildew) a piece of yellowed newsprint an enormous dessicated rat corpse (smelling faintly of mildew) a broken knife handle a brass nameplate a waterproof flashlight (smelling faintly of mildew) a mallet (smelling faintly of mildew) a pamphlet of home listings (smelling faintly of mildew) an old paperback book (smelling faintly of mildew) the first candle (smelling faintly of mildew) the second candle (smelling faintly of mildew) an Allen key (smelling faintly of mildew) a tiny leather journal (smelling faintly of mildew) an ornate metallic box (smelling faintly of mildew) (open but empty) a large brass key (smelling faintly of mildew) Daniel Baker's note (smelling faintly of mildew) a gold jacket (being worn) a filthy rug (smelling faintly of mildew) a well-dressed ghost (haunting you) (smelling faintly of mildew) a trolley pass (being worn) Ed's coveralls (being worn) >