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Hermetian posted:Remember how we smeared one of the mirrors with fish oil? Yeah, let's give him the fishy one with the right dimensions. Tasteful Dickpic posted:I hate to be the guy who goes Yeah, this, but yeah, let's give him the gunky mirror.
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Oct 13, 2015 08:41
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Before we hand over the thing, can we say "Ialbadolototh" or whatever the thing is called? I'm curious if there will be a reaction.
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Oct 13, 2015 08:48
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He's already gone. kill michael with hook Actual suggestion, give him a glob of fishy mirror.
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Oct 13, 2015 20:50
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It is us who are truly the monster, not William.
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Oct 14, 2015 02:31
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ThirdPartyView posted:It is us who are truly the monster, not William. All the more reason to give not-Michael the old hook in the eye trick.
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Oct 14, 2015 03:35
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No Gravitas posted:Before we hand over the thing, can we say "Ialbadolototh" or whatever the thing is called? I'm curious if there will be a reaction. This should be fun!
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Oct 14, 2015 22:13
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My vote goes to lalalala-borf because I can't wait to see what sort of hideous gruesome death the not-Michael has waiting for us.
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Oct 15, 2015 00:40
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A Quick Notice (and a cheap way to save this thread from sinking into archives) Enough people have poked me with a stick for me to declare, officially, I DO plan to finish this Anchorhead LP probably with in the month. Declaring it, I hope, will make myself accountable, to myself if to no one else. Q: So, what happened? That's a complicated question. It started with Bedbugs, then a family member losing a kidney, then me getting bronchitis, and from all of that my fragile drawing ego getting fractured and me wavering back and forth whether or not I wanted to still be an artist. Add a healthy does of mid-life crisis for spice (I'm nearly 40 *shudder*) and guilt for not finishing the Vampire LP for flavor, and you have the train-wreck that is my mind over the past 7 months. BUT, my Mentor, Max Kirin, has told me time and time again that you learn more from finishing what you start before launching to your next project. Uh... Then I started that Dark Souls LP... That's a whole other story. So, this weekend, I was cleaning my drawing tablet and since I started streaming some drawing on twitch, I feel comfortable arting again. Tomorrow, I'll post the LONG awaited response and continue Miranda Carter's nearly concluded journey into madness and kleptomania. This won't be too much longer. We're right at the end.
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May 9, 2016 05:06
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Grimwit posted:Tomorrow, I'll post the LONG awaited response and continue Miranda Carter's nearly concluded journey into madness and kleptomania.  I'm glad you're back!
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May 9, 2016 05:23
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I hesitate to ask, but did anything come of the offer to provide graphics to the author for a graphical version of the game? Glad to see you back, regardless.
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May 9, 2016 18:52
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RickVoid posted:I hesitate to ask, but did anything come of the offer to provide graphics to the author for a graphical version of the game? After life got in the way...uh...I was sort of lifed to death, so no. Gentry needed someone more reliable, which is fine. I gave him tips on how to shop around for another artist. No hard feelings. Last Time, on Anchorhead... ..Miranda Carter has been having one hell of a weekend. Her husband, Micheal Carter, seems to be possessed by his late, incestious, evil, great great great grandfather and her cousin in law is a hulking tinticled boy-child with a hook stuck in his eye. She's crawled through sewers, escaped mental hospitals, called forth other worldly portals, and given porn to insane men. It's been wild! Now, she stands atop the lighthouse north of Anchorhead with her husband and his goons ready to rip her to shreds if she doesn't hand over a special mirror she stole from the old mill. Will Miranda escape and somehow bring her husband back to his senses? Stay tuned cadets! rabiddeity posted:My vote goes to lalalala-borf because I can't wait to see what sort of hideous gruesome death the not-Michael has waiting for us. Maybe Miranda can distract them and high tail it out of this place! >Ialdabaoloth Michael's hand flickers out and cracks you soundly across the face. "Don't you EVER blaspheme in my presence, you ignorant, insolent cow," he whispers hoarsely. Michael glares at you with impatience. "Give me the mirror, woman," he hisses into your face. "Don't make me damage you..." You son of a- No one strikes Miranda Carter, Super Thief, and gets away with it! gbuchold posted:He's already gone. Yeah! Bastard! >Attack Mike with hook (first taking the meat hook) (slipping the amulet into the pocket of your trenchcoat to get a hand free) Before Michael or his guards can react, you whip the meat hook up in a vicious underhand arc, burying its point deep under your husband's breastbone. Michael shrieks and sinks to his knees, feebly plucking at the hook's wooden handle, which vibrates in time with his impaled heart. Blood suddenly pours from his mouth in a hot geyser, splattering onto the ground and onto your clothes. He looks up at you, gasping, and in his eyes you see a feeble, flickering spark of identity, one last dying spark left of the man you once knew and loved -- and suddenly you realize: He's there. In that body -- the body that you just killed. It's Michael you're looking at. You have just killed your husband. "...why..." he whispers, through a dark bubble of blood. But you cannot answer. You are too busy screaming.  *** You have gone utterly mad *** In that game you scored 62 out of a possible 100 points; this is your darkest hour. Would you like to RESTART, RESTORE a saved game, UNDO your last move, give the FULL score for that game or QUIT? In the words of the immortal Sparky Sweets PhD: He Dead. Of course, it would be ridiculous to have such a short update after 7 months of absences, so lets quickly rewind and go with the popular decision. > restore Ok. >Give Mike Mirror 3 (first taking the mirror labeled #3) (slipping the amulet into the pocket of your trenchcoat to get a hand free) "That's more like it," Michael says. Michael pauses, glances down at the mirror in his hand, then smirks at you. "But of course, there's no telling where else you've been poking around, what you might have gotten your dirty little hands on, hmm?" What do you take me for? A Thief?! He leans in close to you, and you can smell corruption on his breath like rotting oranges. "I've been wondering where this had gotten off to," he murmurs in your ear, taking the caliper-like instrument from you. Oh...uh... How did THAT get there? He applies the instrument to the mirror, and frowns as he checks the readout. Then he smiles. "Well, that's that then," he says, placing the mirror back in its receptacle. He nods toward the guards, who seize you and begin dragging you down the stairs. "It's time to clue you in to just what's been going on around here," Michael says, following behind you. "First hand. I think you'll find it quite... enthralling." You are dragged bodily down to the foot of the lighthouse and around to the rocky outcropping, where the island of flesh floats just beyond the breakwater's tip. The guards shove their way through the crowds of robed supplicants, carrying you to the island's center. They force you to your knees and, despite your best efforts at escape, manhandle you into a pair of handcuffs looped through an iron ring set in a heavy stone block. The block is so low, you are forced to remain kneeling in the squelchy muck, craning your neck to watch the orgiastic ceremoney taking place... and your husband -- no, you tell yourself, not your husband; the creature that your husband has become -- leading the terrible rites. Island of Flesh The island is barely forty feet across, its surface covered with an ankle-deep layer of slime and muck. Underneath the muck, the ground throbs -- heaving rhythmically to a blasphemous, living pulse. Ugh! Ew! Gross Gross Gross! The sea thrashes against the shore with storm-driven fury. The robed guards hover to either side of you, waiting for you to make a move. Michael stands in the center of it all, leading the hellish rites. Robed cultists crowd around on every side -- some of them brandishing flaming torches, some of them chanting in some hideous, archaic tongue, all of them swaying to the hypnotic pulse that rises up from the depths of the fleshy ground. You are handcuffed to one of several heavy stone blocks set in a rough semicircle around the center of the island. Lashed to a stake in the center of the island is a young boy. It may be possible to reason with Mike! Maybe get through to him! >Mike, Stop this! "Speak when you're spoken to," Michael snaps. Nope. What follows is basically waiting. Miranda can't do anything for a while at this point. If she tries, the guards on either side rough her up. But she can at least look around a bit. >look at Mike He is someone else, now, someone you have never known and would never want to know. His flesh is gaunt; his skin waxy and pale; his forehead burning and feverish. And his eyes... you can't bear to look into the seething madness of those wild, red-rimmed eyes. Your husband is gone, now -- some other, alien force has devoured him from within and now animates his body. Michael takes up a torch from one of the crowd. Holding it high above his head, he turns to the lighthouse and intones: "Iach! That Which May Not Be Named, I call upon Thee! Formless Drifter of the Gulfs Between, I summon Thee!" The crowd murmurs in ecstatic encouragement. >look at boy (the boy) A skinny, tow-headed boy of eight or so, he bears all the markings of a recent victim of trauma. His face is smudged with dirt, his wrists are raw and red from the tight bindings, and his eyes are shadowed with deep, purple half-circles. For all this, however, you instantly recognize his face from the newspaper story: it's Jeffrey Greer, the boy who was kidnapped two days ago. "I cast aside the Seals! I throw open the Gates!" Michael traces a mystic sigil in the air in front of him with the flaming torch. The flames seem to hang for a moment in strange patterns before twisting away into nothing. "OHODOS - SCIES - ABYSSON!" The torch flares up with a roar, and the ocean waves seem to respond with sudden, inexplicable fury, crashing brutally against the island. Hey, maybe now's the time to call up Ill-Bleed-Doth-Dude! >Ialdabaoloth A heavy fist crashes down on the back of your head. "Keep silent, bitch!" snarls the guard. Ow! Yeah, that. Michael turns his back on the lighthouse, facing out to sea. "To the East, where the Spawning Chaos seethes and suppurates within the Crucible of Grum, from whose bursting pustules arise the Million Unseeable Forms, I summon Thee!" The boy cries pitifully, his sobs going unheeded by the chanting cultists and the raging storm. >look at cultists The throng of cultists presses around the small clearing in the middle of the island from all directions, chanting, waving torches, and swaying rhythmically to the terrible beat of whatever monstrous heart lies beneath this island. Michael makes a quarter-turn to his left. "To the North, where the Howling Hunger sweeps invisibly across the Yellow Plains and gnaws upon the entrails of the pious, I summon Thee!" A monstrous bolt of lightning licks down from the sky and strikes the sea just north of the island, sending a spume of steam and boiling water fifty feet into the shrieking sky. Screams of fear and rapture erupt throughout the pressing crowd, almost inaudible beneath the deafening peal of thunder. >pull cuffs Nothing obvious happens. Michael isn't even fazed. He makes a half-turn to the right and continues: "To the South, where the Seven Corpulent Sultans of Slaas'tha stand in judgment over the Heretics of Kron, and force their vile copulations upon the repentant, I summon Thee!" Another lightning bolt, this time striking just south of the island, and another spume of water. The crowd begins to writhe and gibber madly, like a single, plasmic organism. >look at ground The fleshy surface of this island is covered in reeking slime. It shivers beneath you to some horrible pulse. Michael makes a three-quarter turn to his left, coming all the way around to face the lighthouse once more. "To the Ultimate West, wherein lies the Void That Conquers All, I summon Thee!" The top of the lighthouse begins to glow with an unwholesome, violet light. A low, ominous vibration creeps up from the ground, crawling up through your bones and reverberating painfully in your teeth. >look at lighthouse Its towering shadow seems to lean menacingly over you, eclipsing half the sky. It is an old and brooding thing, heavy with the weight of centuries of dark memories. Craning your neck to see the top of it, you can't help but make the comparison with a lightning rod, as if this building were the focus for whatever restless forces seem to be stirring through the turbid atmosphere above. The top of the lighthouse flares brightly with a venomous violet glow. The air around the lighthouse is rippling now. Several cultists fall convulsing to the mud; others are screaming in strange, strangled tongues. The earth shakes, and the air is split by a high-pitched harmonic ringing, like a crystal about to shatter. Michael raises the torch, preparing to thrust it into the pyre at the child's feet. He throws his head back and shrieks directly into the eye of the storm: "IACH! PIOTH XENOBETHAKLES! ULUTUK FH'TAGHN!! BY THE KEYS OF IOK-SOTOT I NAME THEE! "!!! IALDABAOLOTH !!! COME FORTH !!!" Oh God! It's COMING! >Scream Okay, NOW you're frightened. You scream your bloody head off. What happens next is rather unexpected. The high-pitched ringing sound reaches a crescendo, and without warning the upper half of the lighthouse explodes violently in a boiling fireball of violet flames. For a moment, Michael's lunatic grin of triumph remains frozen in place, licked by the purple radiance, not yet cognizant that the ritual has gone wrong. In the next instant, however, he is stricken.  "The mirror..." he whispers hoarsely. Bits of burning debris are raining down on the island. The cultists fall back in panic and start pushing at each other to get off the island and escape. Many are pushed off into the water, where clusters of ropy, jellyfish-like tentacles immediately drag them screaming beneath the waves. A burning chunk of masonry strikes one of your guards in the head, and he drops to the mud next to you with a mass of chewed-spaghetti pulp where his face used to be. The other guard takes a quick, frightened look around, then bolts without a backward glance. "Come back!" screams Michael. "Come back, cowards!" But no one heeds him. With a strangled curse he turns and hurls the torch into the sea.  Your score has just gone up by five points. Alright, goons. Time to really pick up where we left off. Miranda has her chance to do what needs doing. Put those ideas in Bold! Inventory         In Coat                            
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May 9, 2016 23:52
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Pick cuffs with needle
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May 10, 2016 00:29
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Hooray! Glad you're back! (And horrified by the list of misfortunes) Will you show what happens if you give Michael a) the wrong mirror, and b) the right mirror but not besmirched by oil? Picking the cuff sounds smart.
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May 10, 2016 04:11
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Also, is it possible to lose the calipers so he can't check the mirror when you hand it to him?
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May 10, 2016 04:14
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I kind of figured that was what happened. Too bad, but I've been there. Alright, we've successfully stopped the summoning, and we killed(?) the monster. All that's left is to banish Grandpa back to hell. Pick cuffs with needle Waiting for inspiration for where to go from there.
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May 10, 2016 08:32
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Solumin posted:Also, is it possible to lose the calipers so he can't check the mirror when you hand it to him? I've tried this in another game. He just pulls out the calipers from his jacket/sweater-vest. Kacie posted:Will you show what happens if you give Michael a) the wrong mirror, and b) the right mirror but not besmirched by oil? To the first, he checks the mirror, then slaps you for giving him the wrong one. To the second... I don't actually know. I'll put that in a bonus update. For now, Miranda needs to get off this island of Ick! >pick cuffs with needle (first taking the crusty needle) The metal cuffs bite painfully into your wrists, but with a little bit of excruciating contortion you manage to insert the end of the needle into the keyhole. For what seems like endless minutes, you jiggle the needle fruitlessly around, biting your lip against the cramps that keep trying to seize your painfully bent hands and bitterly reflecting that Linda Hamilton makes it look deceptively easy on the big screen To you mellinials, Linda Hamilton was a young actress who fought the terminator and survived, but not before becoming finely aged beef jerky. -- and suddenly the cuff snaps open. Quickly you free your other wrist, and the handcuffs slide free, landing in the muck. The horrible, fleshy ground shudders beneath you. Bubbles begin to boil up around the island's edges. "You -- " Michael snarls at you, his voice a barely intelligible choke. The malice pouring out of his expression is almost more than you can bear to look at. "If I had the time I'd gut you right here and now -- " suddenly the ground lurches slightly, and Michael smiles. "But perhaps I won't need to." With a mocking bow he strides past you and hops over to the shore. "I'm sorry I can't stay around to watch you die," he calls over his shoulder, "but I have some rather urgent business to attend to." The next moment he is gone, running down the breakwater toward town. This is a serious! Miranda needs those cuffs! >put cuffs in coat (first taking the handcuffs) (slipping the umbrella into the pocket of your trenchcoat to get a hand free) You slip the handcuffs into the pocket of your trenchcoat. They're not for anything in the game, but Miranda needs them. >boy, run! The boy only weeps piteously. The boiling is becoming more violent. You also notice that the tide seems to be striking the island a bit higher than before, even though the waves themselves aren't getting any taller. Bah, Mellinials. I'm sure he doesn't know who Linda Hamilton is, either. >untie boy (the boy) Quickly you untie the bonds holding the boy to the stake; as his hands slip free he jumps away from you and eyes you warily. Then, sniffling and rubbing his arms, he runs to the edge of the island, hops over onto the breakwater and starts sprinting home. The island is definitely sinking now.  Your score has just gone up by five points. Miranda was brought here without a real frame of reference, so how do you leave when you don't have time to look which dirrection the land is? Well, the author sort of thought of that. >leave island You hop across the water-filled gap. Rocky Spur The sea thrashes against the shore with storm-driven fury. Beyond the breakwater's tip, where before there was only a patch of oddly turbulent water, a small island has risen from the sea. It is quickly sinking back into the churning waters. Not much time left; the water is lapping up almost to the island's center, and the gap between the island and the rocky spur is nearly too wide to jump across. I like the attention here. It's been a while since I tried my hand programing Inform games, but I'm pretty sure giving the option to "leave" isn't built into the language. >sw The trail turns northwest, following the curve of the lighthouse wall. At the Foot of the Lighthouse The sea thrashes against the shore with storm-driven fury. The great bronze door of the lighthouse stands slightly ajar, revealing a narrow rectangle of blackness within. A flurry of dead leaves goes skittering along the ground, swirling past you in the wind. Overhead, the swollen clouds flicker ominously with a greenish haze of sheet lightning. Before we head off to stop our husband for good, we need to take care of something. >sw Breakwater The sea thrashes against the shore with storm-driven fury. >w Mill Road >w As you cross the railroad tracks, the air becomes warmer, more dingy, and slightly more difficult to breathe. Entrance to the Paper Mill >north Shanty Town The young boy you freed from the island is standing here. He gives you a fearful glance. The clouds overhead mutter restlessly to themselves. Miranda won't get points for it, but I think it's important. >knock on door 11 The door opens a crack and the woman peers fearfully out; but when she sees it is you, she smiles and beckons you inside. Then she stops. She looks past you, at her little boy standing in the rain just a few feet away. And in that moment, it seems, she becomes a little younger. "My baby..." you hear her say, and then she is on her knees, and he is running to her, and she folds her son into her arms. She stands, still holding him, and looks over his shoulder at you. "Thank you," she says. Her eyes speak volumes of gratitude that her words will never be able to express. "Thank you for bringing him home." And then she goes inside, and the door slowly closes behind her. > Where to, goons? How are we to stop Croseus for good? Throw them ideas out in BOLD. Inventory In Coat 
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May 13, 2016 00:06
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No points for bringing a kidnapped child home?
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May 13, 2016 07:21
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BurningStone posted:No points for bringing a kidnapped child home? We did get points for untying him. We could have just left him on the island.
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May 13, 2016 07:27
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So, without suggestions as to where to go, I figured we could, I donno, wait around for a little bit. >z Time passes. >z Time passes. The cold wind blows harder, tugging at the hem of your trenchcoat. >z Time passes. A sizzling bolt of lightning cuts through the night sky, illuminating your surroundings in a sudden sheet of blinding white radiance that leaves eerie, green afterimages scarred onto your retinas. >z Time passes. *** ka-WHAM!!! *** A monstrous clap of thunder rolls across the sky, shaking the whole town to its foundations. >z Time passes. A gust of wind blows your hair into your face. >z Time passes. Curtains twitch behind a grimy windowpane, and you glance over in time to see a lean, suspicious face pulling back into the shadows. >z Time passes. Flakes of ash drift gently down from the sky like gray snow, coating everything with a thin layer of soot, which is quickly washed away by the rain. >z Time passes. The rain slackens off momentarily to a weak drizzle, then returns afresh in a brief, freezing downpour. >z In the distance, you can hear the lonesome keening of a train whistle drifting on the wind. You look to the east in time to see the train go by, rolling southwest past the mill toward less melancholy climes. >z You hear a soft rattle behind you, like an empty tin can rolling across the uneven ground. When you turn, there is no one there. The cold wind blows harder, tugging at the hem of your trenchcoat. I cut out a whole lot of nothing, but I've rarely seen this kind of thing. Depending on where you are in the city, there's idle background description. It's a strength on the part of the author. So now what. Hmmm... You know, there's a couple of places I've always wanted to check, but never thought to. First up... >s Entrance to the Paper Mill >e As you cross the railroad tracks, the air seems to lift slightly, becoming more breathable once again. Mill Road The cold wind cuts through your clothes, chilling you to the bone. >e The road heads out over a narrow breakwater jutting out into the ocean. Breakwater The sea thrashes against the shore with storm-driven fury. >ne At the Foot of the Lighthouse The sea thrashes against the shore with storm-driven fury. The great bronze door of the lighthouse stands slightly ajar, revealing a narrow rectangle of blackness within. I've never gone into the Light House after it exploded. I wonder what'll happen. >enter lighthouse Bottom of the Lighthouse Nothing has happened. Huh. >up The stairs now lead to nowhere but broken masonry and empty sky. Oh. I guess that makes sense. Are the stairs broken somehow? >look at stairs The stairs lead up in a spiral to the top of the lighthouse. No they don't. >Look at Sky You can't see any such thing. Hmmm... I guess there was a small rush when completing this last chapter. >out The rain is still coming down, so you open your umbrella. (first taking the umbrella) At the Foot of the Lighthouse The sea thrashes against the shore with storm-driven fury. The great bronze door of the lighthouse stands slightly ajar, revealing a narrow rectangle of blackness within. So, there's one other place, I never checked out. Maybe I can sequence break with it. >sw Breakwater The sea thrashes against the shore with storm-driven fury. >w Mill Road A sudden gust of wind suddenly snatches the umbrella from your hands. Aw, My umbrella! But no time for that now! >s Junction >e Narrow Street >e Outside the Real Estate Office >se Alley High up on the wall of the northern building there is a narrow, transom-style window. One of the garbage cans has been pushed up against the wall directly underneath it. The clouds overhead mutter restlessly to themselves. >enter fence Dropping to your hands and knees, you wriggle underneath the loose board and scramble down a muddy slope. Narrow Beach The sea thrashes against the shore with storm-driven fury. Near the bottom of the slope, a sewage outflow pipe juts out over the beach, about three feet above the ground. A roaring gout of water pours from the mouth of the pipe out onto the sand. A sizzling bolt of lightning cuts through the night sky, illuminating your surroundings in a sudden sheet of blinding white radiance that leaves eerie, green afterimages scarred onto your retinas. I was never sure if the pipe was a one-way street. >d You can't get much lower than the ground. *** ka-WHAM!!! *** A monstrous clap of thunder rolls across the sky, shaking the whole town to its foundations. Not that way. >enter pipe (the outflow pipe) You'd never be able to push your way in through that rushing outflow of water. The cold wind blows harder, tugging at the hem of your trenchcoat. Looks like Miranda can't get back into the sewers from here. Pity. Guess we'll go across the bridge. >u You pick your way up the slope, push the loose board aside and slip back in through the gap. Alley High up on the wall of the northern building there is a narrow, transom-style window. One of the garbage cans has been pushed up against the wall directly underneath it. >nw Outside the Real Estate Office >w Narrow Street A sudden gust of wind blows a cold spray of rain into your face. >s Whateley Bridge The clouds overhead mutter restlessly to themselves. >s Town Square Michael -- or rather, the thing that has possessed Michael's body -- is standing here. Oh, hey, Hubby. Uh... The poor old man's mutilated corpse hangs from the top of the obelisk. A sizzling bolt of lightning cuts through the night sky, illuminating your surroundings in a sudden sheet of blinding white radiance that leaves eerie, green afterimages scarred onto your retinas. Michael looks at you and smiles. It is not a particularly pleasant smile. He walks over to the obelisk and places his hand against the bloodstained stone, then mutters something guttural under his breath. The twisted hieroglyphs begin to shine with an eerie phosphorescence which quickly brightens and envelopes Michael. His form wavers, then becomes transparent, and when the light fades he has disappeared. The obelisk is still glowing. Well, Miranda better head back to the house, ASAP! >look at man The poor man's torn and broken body has been savaged nearly beyond recognition. You can hardly bear to look at him. *** ka-WHAM!!! *** A monstrous clap of thunder rolls across the sky, shaking the whole town to its foundations. The obelisk is still glowing. I wonder how many New England towns have Egyptian structures just jutting out of the center of their communities. >look at obelisk The obelisk measures about two feet square at its base, narrowing slightly as it rises a good fifteen feet to a bluntly pointed tip. An iron ring is embedded in the stone high up on one side, about two feet from the top. Dense, twisting hieroglyphs cover all four sides of the obelisk, although they are too worn to be read clearly. The obelisk is glowing with an eerie, green phosphorescence. The green phosphorescence fades away; the obelisk is only dark stone once again. Well, time to high-tail it. >e Riverwalk >s Chilly Avenue The rain slackens off momentarily to a weak drizzle, then returns afresh in a brief, freezing downpour. >sw The ground begins to rise sharply as the road climbs up into the hills south of town. Scenic View The top of the lighthouse has been blasted away, leaving only a blackened stump of shattered masonry. Miranda smirks at her good work, no doubt. >nw Outside the House The front door stands open to the north. The Verlac mansion looms before you, casting an air of menace over the clearing. >look at sky The clouds overhead are a boiling, flickering mass of blackness; flashing here and there with violent bursts of sheet lightning. The chaos seems to center on the whirling hole over the lighthouse, all of the storm's fury gradually spiraling closer and closer toward its center. The sight of that horrible, whirling hole makes you shudder, involuntarily recalling that hideous entity that lurks behind those clouds. I guess the powers that be still think everything is going down at the old light house. >n Foyer The front door stands open to the south. Your luggage is still here, spread out all over the foyer. It's gonna be dark in the basement. I can't remember if the flashlight works. >turn on flashlight You flip the switch on and off uselessly. The water must have finally done your poor flashlight in. The flashlight doesn't work. >n Darkness A sudden chill creeps up your legs from the ground. Looking down, you see milky tendrils of a clammy mist rising sinuously around your feet, entwining themselves about your legs. You start to run, but the mist seems to entangle you and hold you in place. "I told you, the game was over," murmurs a thick, blackly evil voice from somewhere just behind your ear. "There was never any way you could escape me. And now you are dead, and I have your husband. You may have delayed my plans for now... "... but I'll find another wife." The mist slithers up your nostrils and down your throat. It is like inhaling liquid putrefaction, and you have passed out from the sheer, nauseating horror of it long before you actually suffocate.  *** You have died *** In that game you scored 72 out of a possible 100 points; this is your darkest hour. Would you like to RESTART, RESTORE a saved game, UNDO your last move, give the FULL score for that game or QUIT? Ideas?
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May 15, 2016 01:15
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Let's mess around with the obelisk! Play the flute at it, mutter gutteral things at it, just get to where Michael went. Glad this LP is back!
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May 15, 2016 02:11
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Decoy Badger posted:mutter gutteral things at it Clearly now is finally when you're supposed to say xyzzy. Or Hello Sailor.
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May 15, 2016 03:12
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Say the name of the eldritch horror. I'm sure it will end well. I kind of feel like ee've reach the point of this game where the solution is rub all the things on all the other things.
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May 15, 2016 03:40
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Does the lantern work? If so, light it and walk back into the darkness. If it's empty, pour some fish oil into the tank.
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May 15, 2016 10:21
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Following Michael couldn't possible cause us to come to harm, right? touch the obelisk and try to say Ialdabaoloth
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May 15, 2016 12:16
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Let's back up to the Bridge before we start messing with our inventory and Lamps. Whateley Bridge A flurry of dead leaves goes skittering along the ground, swirling past you in the wind. It's been a while since I looked, but what does Miranda's inventory look like now that we're at the end of the game. >i You are wearing your trenchcoat, a silver locket, your clothes and your wedding ring; in addition, you have in your hands a crusty needle, the real mirror and a hooded robe. The pockets of your trenchcoat contain a pair of handcuffs, your umbrella, an amulet, a keyring, on which are eight keys (a long steel key, a tarnished bronze key, a small steel key, an old-fashioned brass key, a small copper key, an old-fashioned iron key, a key to the house and a key to the cellar), a meat hook, a cell key, a name tag, a lantern, a torn square of canvas, an old tin (which is closed), three mirrors (the mirror labeled #4, the mirror labeled #2 and the mirror labeled #1), a blueprint rolled into a loose tube, a towel, a hastily written letter, a flask (which is closed), a tattered drawing, Michael's faculty card, a letter opener, a newspaper, a strange metal flute, a jewelry box (which is closed), the Cryptical Haermoniacon, an animal's skull, The Compleat Manual of Wardes and Seales, a puzzle box (which is open but empty), a styrofoam cup, a family album, a torn journal, a flashlight, a bundle of soggy pages and a typewritten notice. A gust of wind blows your hair into your face. Woof. If this is what it looks like after three days, imagine what Miranda's coat was like before she moved to Anchorhead. Let's do some clean up. >put needle in coat You slip the crusty needle into the pocket of your trenchcoat. >put mirror in coat (the real mirror in the trenchcoat) You slip the real mirror into the pocket of your trenchcoat. >wear amulet (first taking the amulet) You slip the amulet around your neck and drop it inside your shirt. >look at lamp It's an old-fashioned hurricane lamp, with a tall glass chimney to protect it from the wind. In the distance, you can hear the lonesome keening of a train whistle drifting on the wind. A sizzling bolt of lightning cuts through the night sky, illuminating your surroundings in a sudden sheet of blinding white radiance that leaves eerie, green afterimages scarred onto your retinas. The rain slackens off momentarily to a weak drizzle, then returns afresh in a brief, freezing downpour. Tasteful Dickpic posted:Does the lantern work? If so, light it and walk back into the darkness. If it's empty, pour some fish oil into the tank. >lite lamp That's not a verb I recognise. Crap, this again. >turn on lamp That's not something you can switch. *** ka-WHAM!!! *** A monstrous clap of thunder rolls across the sky, shaking the whole town to its foundations. Hmmm... It occurs to me that Miranda sort of needs Matches to use the lamp. Okay, let's ignore the lamp for now and try something else. >s Town Square Michael -- or rather, the thing that has possessed Michael's body -- is standing here. The poor old man's mutilated corpse hangs from the top of the obelisk. Michael looks at you and smiles. It is not a particularly pleasant smile. He walks over to the obelisk and places his hand against the bloodstained stone, then mutters something guttural under his breath. The twisted hieroglyphs begin to shine with an eerie phosphorescence which quickly brightens and envelopes Michael. His form wavers, then becomes transparent, and when the light fades he has disappeared. The obelisk is still glowing. Seyser Koze posted:Clearly now is finally when you're supposed to say xyzzy. Or Hello Sailor. >xyzzy That's not a verb I recognise. >Hello Sailor You can't see any such thing. Nope. Faraday Cage posted:Following Michael couldn't possible cause us to come to harm, right? touch the obelisk and try to say Ialdabaoloth Maybe it's the password to the chamber below. Sharp readers might remember the alter room is at the base of the obelisk. >Ialdabaoloth The blasphemous syllables crawl loathsomely from your lips. The word lingers in the air like a cyst -- just hearing the sound of it makes you nauseous. Nature itself seems to draw back from the sound, as though horrified by your very voice. The obelisk is still glowing. Oh, right. We have to touch the thing first. >touch obelisk As your fingers touch the gore-streaked stone, the green light grows brighter, fanning out to envelope you. The odor of rotting fruit briefly assails your nostrils; your vision streaks, then blurs; there is the sound of rushing air, and when your eyes clear, you are somewhere else... Burial Mound The cave is lined, floor to ceiling, with mummified human corpses. Shrunken and desiccated, they lie in jumbled heaps inside irregularly carved niches. Carvings cover the rock walls in between the niches -- grotesque, leering faces too horrible even to look upon, their features twitching and smirking in the wavering light that sifts down from above. Michael -- or rather, the thing that has possessed Michael's body -- is standing here. The obelisk base stands before you, vast and shadowy in the green, murky light. At the narrower, northern end of the vaguely egg-shaped cavern sits a massive stone altar, flanked on either side by a pair of strange, vibrating columns. Suddenly Michael lunges forward and grabs your arms. He shakes you, causing your head to whip back and forth and your teeth to click painfully together. "Bitch -- " he hisses, " -- rotten, filthy bitch -- you never give up, do you? You've foiled me for the last time! There's no way to fix what you've undone tonight, but by all the unholy spawn of darkness I will put you in a stone cold place for it!!" And his hands lock tightly around your throat and begin to squeeze. Cripes! Spousal Abuse! >Mike, stop! You can't speak; you can't force any air past your strangled throat. Grimly, Michael continues to strangle you... Maybe... the charm... that old man gave us... >show mike Amulet You can't; not while he's strangling you to death. His iron grip has closed your throat completely; you cannot even draw in enough breath to cry for mercy. As inky black flowers bloom in your vision, you desperately search Michael's eyes for some sign, some glint of the person he once was, the husband you knew and loved. Sadly, you find nothing. As drool from his crazed rictus grin spatters down on your face and the world goes black, the last sight you see is the madness burning in Michael's red-rimmed eyes.  *** You have died *** In that game you scored 72 out of a possible 100 points; this is your darkest hour. Would you like to RESTART, RESTORE a saved game, UNDO your last move, give the FULL score for that game or QUIT? > This one's tough, but you guys can figure it out.
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May 17, 2016 21:56
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It breaks my heart to say this, but there's no way we're getting out of this without a sacrifice. Without paying some deep and terrible personal cost. We're going to have to give up on our hopes and dreams of domestic bliss, of the joys of motherhood, of hearing the pitter-patter of tiny grabbing fingers as we raise a family of little kleptomaniacs just like us. Kick our husband in the bollocks.
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May 17, 2016 22:58
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Maybe we could show Michael our wedding ring?
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May 17, 2016 23:35
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Princey posted:Maybe we could show Michael our wedding ring? Yes, do this.
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May 18, 2016 10:51
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Okay, I don't know what's up with me, but there's no reason we shouldn't knock this out in the next week. So, let's see how Miranda can deal with Mike. Suddenly Michael lunges forward and grabs your arms. He shakes you, causing your head to whip back and forth and your teeth to click painfully together. "Bitch -- " he hisses, " -- rotten, filthy bitch -- you never give up, do you? You've foiled me for the last time! There's no way to fix what you've undone tonight, but by all the unholy spawn of darkness I will put you in a stone cold place for it!!" And his hands lock tightly around your throat and begin to squeeze. inflatablefish posted:Kick our husband in the bollocks. >Kick Mike in the balls I only understood you as far as wanting to kick Michael. Oh, come on. Didn't program the family jewels in the game, did we? >Kick Mike Without even blinking, Michael backhands you hard enough to send sparks across your vision. "Silly bitch," he sneers. "There's nothing you can do to hurt me." Grimly, Michael continues to strangle you... Princey posted:Maybe we could show Michael our wedding ring? Michael! Remember who you are?! Remember the good times we had together? >Show Mike ring There is one chance -- if you can only somehow reach whatever weak flicker of humanity still survives within that shell; if the person who was your husband still exists somewhere, buried beneath the part that is Croseus Verlac... Silently, you raise up your left hand, your wedding ring gleaming softly in the strange, green light. Remember when I stole this from Kay's Jewelers, and you freaked out, insisting we engraved it so even if the police discovered the truth, they'de have to destroy it cuz if I couldn't have the ring, no one could?! Michael is transfixed. He seems to want to recoil from the sight, yet is somehow simultaneously drawn to it. You said you'de picked the message to engrave, but when you tried to pay, I had your wallet. Um... I have your wallet, still. Sorry about that. I needed your ID card to steal a book. The point is, we promised we would be together forever! Suddenly, his face crumbles, the madness and stoic evil falling away to reveal confusion, fear, vulnerability and anguish -- all superimposed upon the malevolent features of Croseus, struggling to regain control.  Your score has just gone up by five points. Cool! He's distracted! Now Miranda can kick him in the balls. >Kick Mike in the balls I only understood you as far as wanting to kick Michael. drat it! >Kick Mike Without even blinking, Michael backhands you hard enough to send sparks across your vision. "Silly bitch," he sneers. "There's nothing you can do to hurt me." For just a moment, he is almost back with you; his features soften, his grip around your throat weakens. For just a moment, the thing that possesses him falters and loosens its hold. > Huh. Maybe, for once, violence and theft isn't the answer. But... If not those, then what? Inventory In Coat
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May 30, 2016 20:04
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Kiss him, you fool!
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May 30, 2016 20:46
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How about a kiss?
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May 30, 2016 23:45
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This is all very sweet but he needs protection against eldritch forces. Give him the amulet.
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May 31, 2016 00:51
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Double Plus Undead posted:This is all very sweet but he needs protection against eldritch forces. Give him the amulet. This, please. And if that doesn't work, try hand-cuffing him?
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May 31, 2016 04:46
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Tasteful Dickpic posted:Kiss him, you fool! Added Space posted:How about a kiss? Sure! Maybe it was the fair maiden's kiss that calmed the beast. >kiss mike This is not your husband anymore; you don't even want to get near it. For just a moment, he is almost back with you; his features soften, his grip around your throat weakens. For just a moment, the thing that possesses him falters and loosens its hold. Yeah, no. Miranda isn't kissing that thing. Double Plus Undead posted:This is all very sweet but he needs protection against eldritch forces. Give him the amulet. Well, it didn't work for the bum, but maybe... >give mike amulet In his moment of hesitation, you see your chance; straining against his choking grip, you slip the amulet's cord around Michael's neck, letting the silver pendant drop to his chest. Instantly Michael begins convulsing, arching his back and clawing at his chest. His jaws stretch open as if to release a howl of torment, but instead of voice, a thick, ropy stream of ectoplasmic mist pours from his throat. It pools into the center of the room, roils about, then coalesces into a human form -- the vaporous, half-rotted apparition of Croseus Verlac himself! Michael begins shaking uncontrollably.  Your score has just gone up by five points. So, the Ghost of Croseus finally appeared in the flesh. In the Ectoplasm. Whatever. Where even ARE we? >look Burial Mound The cave is lined, floor to ceiling, with mummified human corpses. Shrunken and desiccated, they lie in jumbled heaps inside irregularly carved niches. Carvings cover the rock walls in between the niches -- grotesque, leering faces too horrible even to look upon, their features twitching and smirking in the wavering light that sifts down from above. The disembodied ghost of Croseus Verlac floats before you, howling its rage. Your husband is here; weak and battered, but nevertheless your husband again. The obelisk base stands before you, vast and shadowy in the green, murky light. At the narrower, northern end of the vaguely egg-shaped cavern sits a massive stone altar, flanked on either side by a pair of strange, vibrating columns. Well, screw this! Now isn't a time for talk about things reasonably! ATTACK! >attack croseus with hook (first taking the meat hook) The ghost laughs as your futile attack passes straight through its body as if it were empty air. The ghost lets out a chilling, sepulchral laugh. "You useless, puny mortal," it cries. "Did you really think that there was any way on earth you could stop me? I have lived and thrived for over four hundred years -- not even Death can claim me!" Michael is doubled over with racking coughs, bringing up a thin trickle of blood. Okay, maybe the hook wasn't the best idea. Best get Mike and get out of here. >pick up mike You can't see any such thing. Game. >drag mike south You can't see any such thing. Game, don't do this. Miranda needs to get her husband out of here. >mike, go south You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. Seriously, Game. Mike is right here. We all can see him. >look Burial Mound The cave is lined, floor to ceiling, with mummified human corpses. Shrunken and desiccated, they lie in jumbled heaps inside irregularly carved niches. Carvings cover the rock walls in between the niches -- grotesque, leering faces too horrible even to look upon, their features twitching and smirking in the wavering light that sifts down from above. The disembodied ghost of Croseus Verlac floats before you, howling its rage. Your husband is here; weak and battered, but nevertheless your husband again. The obelisk base stands before you, vast and shadowy in the green, murky light. At the narrower, northern end of the vaguely egg-shaped cavern sits a massive stone altar, flanked on either side by a pair of strange, vibrating columns. "You sabotaged my dimensional beacon -- I will build another. You drove me from my host body -- I will find another. What next? Will you track down my disciples, one by one, and kill them all? Will you set this whole town to the torch?" Michael is doubled over with racking coughs, bringing up a thin trickle of blood. >put hook into coat You slip the meat hook into the pocket of your trenchcoat. "There will be more towns, woman, and more bodies, and more disciples, and always will I be there. And there is NOTHING YOU CAN DO TO STOP ME!" Maybe we can find another use for this needle? I mean, maybe? >poke croseus with needle That's not a verb I recognise. Mental note: If I ever make another IF game, I'll create the verb Poke for everything. >hit croseus with needle (first taking the crusty needle) The ghost laughs as your futile attack passes straight through its body as if it were empty air. "It would almost be too kind to kill you," muses the ghost. "I've half a mind to simply let you go, and spend the next four hundred years tormenting and violating your future daughters and grand-daughters through the next twelve generations. You've only got one amulet, you know; you can't protect all your children at once." I know you guys want Miranda to say this. Let's see what happens. >Ialdabaoloth The ghost cackles madly as you form the horrible word. "He cannot hear your feeble plea now, woman!" shrieks Verlac. "But no," it finally says. "After all you've done, I think that death would be most appropriate. But just to make sure you suffer, I think I'll start with your beloved husband." Tendrils of ectoplasm snake out from the ghost's outstretched arms and wrap themselves around Michael, who begins flailing weakly. You rush to help him, but Michael is powerless and you are too slow to prevent the tendrils from pushing into his mouth and nostrils, stopping his throat and filling his lungs with noxious gas. You work desperately, trying to administer CPR even as his body stiffens and his face turns blue; but in the end, there is nothing you can do. Michael gags one last time, arches his back, and dies in your arms. Thin, thread-like streamers of mist ooze from his mouth along with his final breath. "You're next," chuckles the ghost. No! Husband! >kiss mike You lean over and kiss his cold cheek, tears welling up in your eyes. The tendrils wriggle toward you like eels, and you barely resist as they embrace you. There is nothing left to fight for. As the mist creeps down your throat and begins to drown you in its foetid breath of graves, you welcome the coming oblivion.  *** You have lost everything *** In that game you scored 82 out of a possible 100 points; you are in sight of daylight with the foul breath of hell at your back. Would you like to RESTART, RESTORE a saved game, UNDO your last move, give the FULL score for that game or QUIT? > We're right at the end. I know you can do this.
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Jun 2, 2016 20:54
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I guess we have to lure the ghost onto the altar and use the flute to send him to the hell dimension?
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Jun 2, 2016 22:10
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Gazing in dismay at our overwhelming list o' items in the coat - the Flute is our best bet. Like Mort said- lure ghost to altar and use the flute. Or use the flute and drive him to the altar.
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Jun 3, 2016 07:55
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Shine a light on him Luigi's mansion style to drive him to the altar and then perform flute plan.
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Jun 3, 2016 15:09
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Grimwit posted:No! I thought it was your use of "mike" instead of "michael" that kept you from dragging him or talking to him, but apparently not. Also I am really impressed the author programmed this action right here; that's attention to detail. Singspiel die Zauberflöte bitte!
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Jun 3, 2016 18:23
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Play that funky flute, white girl!
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Jun 3, 2016 18:44
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| # ? Apr 29, 2024 09:06 |
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Also maybe grab hold of your husband and something sturdy so you don't join Croseus in the hell dimension.
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Jun 3, 2016 23:34
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