|
Agreed! 
|
#
?
Jun 15, 2015 15:01
|
|
|
|
| # ? Apr 20, 2024 00:36 |
|
|
PlaceholderPigeon posted:Out of the frying pan into the fire here! Teddy! Protect me! >throw bear at townsfolk (first taking the teddy bear) It might not be a good idea to provoke them. The townsfolk shuffle a bit closer, raising their weapons in anticipation of the kill. Er... Okay, enough screwing around, let's get out of here. >East You dart past the men on your right, making a break for the church. The townsfolk hover around the entrance to the churchyard but do not follow you, confident that there is no way you can escape. Churchyard >look Churchyard A low, wrought-iron fence, its spike-tipped bars bent or leaning at crazy angles, surrounds the overgrown yard of this dark, abandoned church. A gap in the fence leads back west, while a bare path beaten through the groping weeds leads around the church to the southeast. Alright, we've been here before. It may feel like a dead end, because it is, but drat it it's OUR dead end! >Southeast The path bends northeast, around the side of the church. Behind the Church >put all in coat teddy bear: You slip the teddy bear into the pocket of your trenchcoat. Last time Miranda was here, she had a problem. >look at lock The padlock, which is the size of your fist, is so thoroughly rusted that it looks like one huge homogeneous lump of corrosion. Although it's still quite strong, you might be able to break it if you had something heavy enough. Well, now we have something. >look at hook The crossbar fits in your palm, leaving the hook part to stick out between the third and fourth fingers. It's a heavy sucker, nearly fifteen inches long from handle to point, made for hauling around carcasses with a minimum of ceremony. You wouldn't like to think what this could do to a living person.  >strike lock with hook (first taking the meat hook) You raise the meat hook high over your head and bring it squarely down onto the padlock. The rusted metal casing splits open, the hasp falls loose, and the padlock, now nothing but a broken shell, slides to the ground. Your score has just gone up by one point. >open door You open the trap door. >down As you drop to the floor, the trap door suddenly slams shut above you. You hear noises outside -- something thumping against the door, and low voices. You hear someone muttering, and a brief round of unpleasant laughter. Then the voices drift away. Awesome! Miranda has them right where she wants them. Church Cellar Centipedes and beetles scurry away across the rotten floorboards as you shine your light across the room. Over in the corner sits a hulking shape of black metal that was probably once a wood-burning furnace; aside from that, the cellar looks empty. A dark alcove, the shadows within too thick to see through, opens in the west wall, and a trap door in the ceiling leads back up to the outside. At the very edge of your light's glow, you can just make out a horribly suggestive shape lying in the shadows behind the furnace. >look at furnace It's a big, pot-bellied iron furnace, blackened from years of use, with a hatch on one side and numerous twisting pipes which snake out of the top and grope their way up to the ceiling. At least it'll be warm down here. Maybe Miranda can catch and eat something, too. >open hatch Your throat tightens as you slowly open the bloodstained hatch... Slow horror washes over you. It's the real estate agent's severed head. Annnd Miranda's appetite is gone. >look at head It's the gore-spattered head of the real estate agent -- you recognize her from the cover of a brochure she sent you in the mail several months ago. The eyes are still open and the mouth thrown wide in a silent scream. >look at shape It's the dead body of a woman. Her head has been raggedly hacked away, and her clothes above the waist are soaked through with blood. As you fight to control your rising gorge, you note that the body cannot have been here for very long; the decay, though bad, is not very far advanced. She must have been killed within the last couple of days at most. This explains why the agent didn't show up to meet Miranda. I guess she's off the suspect list, too. >search shape Gingerly, trying to avoid the worst of the blood, you lift the woman's lapel, hoping to find something -- identification, maybe. Her wallet is missing; however, you do find, tucked into the pocket of her blazer, a small, steel key. >take steel key You already have that. Miranda is such a klepto, she takes things now without being told. I guess in times of stress we all fall back on our vices. >put steel key on keyring The small steel key is now on the keyring. >look at pipes It's a big, pot-bellied iron furnace, blackened from years of use, with a hatch on one side and numerous twisting pipes which snake out of the top and grope their way up to the ceiling. >West Empty Stairwell This alcove used to house a stairwell leading up and down; now it contains only a few rotted boards jutting from the walls and an empty shaft dropping down out of sight. Above you hang the broken-off remains of the stairs leading up to the ground floor, the last shattered riser only a couple of tantalizing feet out of reach. >look at shaft The walls of the shaft are rough stone, dropping down farther than you can see. >look into shaft The bottom is lost to darkness. >look at stairs It looks as though it might bear your weight; unfortunately it's just a couple of feet beyond your reach. This probably violates some safety and fire hazard codes. >jump unto riser I only understood you as far as wanting to jump. >up You can't quite reach the bottom riser of the stairs above you. >jump on riser You take a few steps back, draw in a deep breath, and make a dash for the edge. At the last possible second you jump, sailing out over the pit as you make a desperate grab for the bottom riser...  ... and catch it. Unfortunately, you lose your grip on the meat hook while trying to grab the riser, and it tumbles into the darkness below. R.I.P. Meat hook. Look, I even made an inventory icon for it.  On a side note, I'm pretty sure we were supposed to lose the flashlight, too. See, the light coming from Miranda's coat is a glitch (I think), which is why there's two light sources (The Flashlight and the Lamp). The riser bends ominously under your weight but doesn't give. Panting, you haul yourself up onto the creaking stairs. Broken Stairs The stairs stop short about seven feet shy of the basement floor, the bottom-most steps hanging suspended over an empty shaft that descends beyond sight into the shadowy depths. What's left of the structure creaks and shifts uneasily under your feet. At the top of the stairs to the north, a doorway opens onto the ground floor of the church. The creaking under your feet is getting louder. Uh... I don't think I'll show this death off. I'm personally very afraid of heights, and Miranda's died the last two updates already. >up Vestibule A dim antechamber, opening onto the main chapel to the east. To the west, the main doors to the church have been solidly nailed shut, and through a shadowy doorway to the south you can see stairs leading down. Piled in one dusty corner is a heap of old cloth. Maybe this is where that bum was hanging out? >look at cloth It's a hooded robe, left in a rumpled heap on the floor. From the stairwell behind you there is a sudden, painful shriek of nails ripping out of stone, a loud, protracted splintering, and finally a thunderous crash that seems to echo up the shaft from far below. GAH! What was that?! >south Broken Stairs The stairs are completely gone, now. All that's left is a narrow ledge overlooking an empty shaft, and a fair portion of the railing still nailed to the wall. From far below you hear the faint lapping of water.  >n Vestibule Piled in one dusty corner is a heap of old cloth. >take cloth Taken. >put cloth in coat No matter how tightly you roll up the heavy robe, it is still too big to fit in your pocket. I guess we got something else for the China Cabinet, then. >East Chapel Broken shards from the shattered the stained glass windows grits under your feet as you step around rows of overturned pews. The dust and cobwebs have been busy here, reclaiming another bit of this town's abandoned history. To the west lies the vestibule; to the east, a small doorway behind the pulpit leads to the back of the church. The big wooden cross that once hung above the pulpit has fallen, split in half. On the pulpit is a huge, black tome. Awesome! I can finally use this smile!  >look at pew The once orderly procession of benches is now a jackstraw jumble of broken wood >look at cross From the way it fell, it looks as though it must have been hung upside-down. >look at tome Which do you mean, the huge, black tome or The Compleat Manual of Wardes and Seales? Oh yeah. That's still in Miranda Amazing Hammer Space Trenchcoat. >black It lies open atop the pulpit, thicker than an unabridged dictionary. Its thousands of yellowed, crinkly pages are bound in a strange black material that looks like some kind of hide but clearly isn't leather. Your first thought was that it might be a Bible, but a glance is sufficient to tell you otherwise. The text within is arranged in two columns, the first in what looks like Latin, the second a translation in English. There are illustrations, as well: horrible icons that make your skin crawl to look at. >look at illustrations The stained-glass windows are tame by comparison. At least the saints depicted there look remotely human. As an artist, no comment. >east Behind the Chapel This little room behind the chapel is hardly bigger than a broom closet. A ladder bolted to the wall leads up through a hatch, presumably up into the steeple. >look at ladder It's an ordinary wooden ladder. There's no such thing, Game! Anyway, it looks sturdy enough. >up Steeple A tiny space inside the tip of the church's steeple, barely five feet across, the walls tapering to only two feet across some twelve feet above your head. There is a narrow window, but it seems to have been painted black at some point. The only exit seems to be the ladder from which you just emerged. An old length of rope dangles down from a square hole cut in the ceiling. > Welp, it's time to figure a way out of here. We still need to get to the library. Maybe hunt down our hubby and knock him unconcious, then drag him to a saner place. Arkham, maybe? King's Port? What do you guys think? Think in Bold. Items       In Trenchcoat                       
|
|
#
?
Jun 15, 2015 16:43
|
|
|
Get the Necronomicon, read it, and climb up the rope into the top of the steeple.
|
|
#
?
Jun 15, 2015 18:41
|
|
|
Yup, read the book. Time to learn about this dump. Then maybe dress up in robes and walk out, if there is some exit?
|
|
#
?
Jun 15, 2015 20:24
|
|
|
Ghostwoods posted:Get the Necronomicon, read it, and climb up the rope into the top of the steeple. Well, let's start with the rope. >look at rope It's about twenty feet long, frayed in a few places but still sturdy enough. >climb rope You haul yourself up onto the rope, bringing your whole weight to bear. It holds for about three seconds -- then there is a sharp snap from above you and a muffled clank. The rope falls, spilling you to the floor amidst an untidy tangle of coils. Bah. Useless rope. >take rope Taken. Just because it's useless doesn't mean Miranda won't store it in her coat for a couple of days. >look at window It's just an ordinary-looking narrow window. Sure. One that's been painted black. >down Behind the Chapel >l Behind the Chapel This little room behind the chapel is hardly bigger than a broom closet. A ladder bolted to the wall leads up through a hatch, presumably up into the steeple. There must be some other way out of here. >w Chapel The big wooden cross that once hung above the pulpit has fallen, split in half. On the pulpit is a huge, black tome. Alright, let's take the evil book with us. It's just a book. >take tome (the huge, black tome) A horrid coldness seeps into your fingers as you try to pick the book up; it flows from the book itself into your body, soaking into your bones and making your back teeth ache. Quickly, you set the book down again, absently trying to rub the unpleasant sensation from your hands. Just a cold, evil, malicious tome of black knowledge. No Gravitas posted:Yup, read the book. Time to learn about this dump. How... How about we find some way out first. >w Vestibule >look at door At least a dozen sturdy boards have been nailed across the sturdy oak doors; even with proper tools, it would take you days to pry them loose. Guess not here. And the stairs are gone... Sooo... >e Chapel The big wooden cross that once hung above the pulpit has fallen, split in half. On the pulpit is a huge, black tome. Sigh. Alright. Let's read the evil book. >read book Which do you mean, the huge, black tome, the Cryptical Haermoniacon, The Compleat Manual of Wardes and Seales, the torn journal or the book of matches? >black As you lean closer over the pages to make out the words in this dim light, the letters seem to writhe and crawl across the page, twisting themselves into strange combinations, horrible words that you've never read before... and yet, somehow, you can understand their repulsive meaning. Something about a "Blessed Event", which will happen very soon, and a hideous god whose name may not be spoken... Is this the book that was preached in this church before it fell to ruin? Are these the gods these people worshipped? You want to tear your eyes from the page in revulsion, but some small, gleefully filthy part of you wants to keep reading, to uncover the secrets that the people of Anchorhead uncovered... Will you read on? ... No. >yes Miranda! What are you doing? As your hungry eyes lap up word after blasphemous word, it all becomes clear to you: you come to understand the true nature of He Who Is Named Not, and what the Verlacs were trying to accomplish all these years, preparing the people of Anchorhead for the Blessed Event... it all makes sense to you now. You step back, smiling, from the podium. There's no need to be afraid, you realize, for neither yourself nor your husband are in any danger. It's all right. It all makes sense. And when you raise your hands to your face and slowly push the fingernails of your first and middle fingers into each eye, digging the soft, bloody tissue out and dragging it down your cheeks in ropy smears... why, that's all right, too.  It's the most natural thing in the world. *** You have gone utterly mad *** In that game you scored 42 out of a possible 100 points; you are hopelessly enmeshed in the tentacles of an ancient and sinister plot. Would you like to RESTART, RESTORE a saved game, UNDO your last move, give the FULL score for that game or QUIT? > full In that game you scored 42 out of a possible 100 points; you are hopelessly enmeshed in the tentacles of an ancient and sinister plot. The score was made up as follows: 2 points for finding the house keys 2 points for showing the keys to Michael 1 point for taking a bath 1 point for getting the key from the cellar 1 point for getting the key from the attic 2 points for finding the journal 2 points for finding the diary 1 point for finding the safe 2 points for opening the safe 2 points for opening the puzzle box 2 points for guessing Michael's computer passcode 5 points for receiving the amulet 2 points for giving the bum whiskey 5 points for giving the bum the amulet 5 points for learning the name IALDABAOLOTH 2 points for spying on Michael 2 points for opening the secret door behind the wine racks 2 points for hiding from the monster at the slaughterhouse 1 point for breaking into the church 42 total (out of 100) Would you like to RESTART, RESTORE a saved game, UNDO your last move, give the FULL score for that game or QUIT? >
|
|
#
?
Jun 16, 2015 16:21
|
|
|
Welp. WELP. Clearly the town's Obelisk is a Marker, and Miranda popping her eyes out like that just ruined any chance they had of being made whole. Oh well, there goes that plot angle. (also this was totally spoiled with that one painting in the living room) That railing is still there over the gap where the stairs were, maybe we can do something with that?
|
|
#
?
Jun 16, 2015 17:48
|
|
|
We have matches, right? Can we burn the book?
|
|
#
?
Jun 16, 2015 18:00
|
|
|
pkfan2004 posted:Welp. WELP. Clearly the town's Obelisk is a Marker, and Miranda popping her eyes out like that just ruined any chance they had of being made whole. Oh well, there goes that plot angle. (also this was totally spoiled with that one painting in the living room) Altman Be Praised!
|
|
#
?
Jun 16, 2015 19:32
|
|
|
Welp, we got the Lovecraft ending, so we're done here, folks. 
|
|
#
?
Jun 17, 2015 00:17
|
|
|
*Ahem* Let's try that again. >read black tome As you lean closer over the pages to make out the words in this dim light, the letters seem to writhe and crawl across the page, twisting themselves into strange combinations, horrible words that you've never read before... and yet, somehow, you can understand their repulsive meaning. Something about a "Blessed Event", which will happen very soon, and a hideous god whose name may not be spoken... Is this the book that was preached in this church before it fell to ruin? Are these the gods these people worshipped? You want to tear your eyes from the page in revulsion, but some small, gleefully filthy part of you wants to keep reading, to uncover the secrets that the people of Anchorhead uncovered... Will you read on? >no You step away from the podium with a shudder. pumpinglemma posted:We have matches, right? Can we burn the book? I imagine if we don't now, we will later. >strike match (first taking the book of matches) One of the matches starts to burn. >burn black tome Petty arson isn't going to solve your problems. Come on! >Burn black tome Petty arson isn't going to solve your problems. Ouch! You drop the match as it burns down to your fingers. Alas, no. We should, tho, but no such luck. pkfan2004 posted:That railing is still there over the gap where the stairs were, maybe we can do something with that? Good call. >w Vestibule >s Broken Stairs >look at rail This length of railing is the only part of the stairs that didn't pull free of the wall and go crashing into the empty shaft below. It seems sturdy enough. >look at shaft The walls of the shaft are rough stone, dropping down farther than you can see. But that seems pretty deep. We need to test how far down it goes. >drop robe into shaft The hooded robe drops down out of sight, and a few seconds later you hear a faint splash. Oh. There's water down there. Movies and TV has taught me that falling into water never does damage. Bonus! >tie rope to rail You tie the rope securely to the railing, letting the other end dangle down into the dark shaft. >down You'll need both hands free before you climb down that rope. >put all in coat book of matches: You slip the book of matches into the pocket of your trenchcoat. >down Gripping the end of the rope tightly, you lower yourself off the edge and shimmy down into the darkness. Hanging From the Rope Your feet dangle over empty space. Looking down, you can barely make out a faint glimmer of water, far below. >down You're at the end of the rope; there's nowhere else to go. I don't think this counts as a Verb search, but it feels that way. It's down that I want to go, now how do I phrase it? >drop self You should probably put the nothing down first. >what? That's not a verb I recognise. >let go of rope You take a deep breath, shut your eyes tight, say a quick prayer... and let go of the rope.  There we go. The heart-stopping plunge lasts only a second or two before you hit shockingly cold water. Your flashlight goes out and blackness envelopes you. Water rushes into your mouth and nose; the stone bottom slams into your side and nearly knocks the wind out of you... and then you find your feet, and your head breaks the surface. Blindly, you thrash about until you find higher ground, and you crawl, choking and sputtering, feeling cold brick beneath your fingers. Darkness It is pitch dark, and you can't see a thing. Your score has just gone up by two points. >turn on flashlight The flashlight must not be quite as waterproof as you originally thought; the beam flickers unsteadily, and you have to bang it against the palm of your hand a couple of times to get it to work. Vaulted Tunnel The walls of this long, rectangular chamber are made of crumbling brick, not concrete; most likely it was built at some earlier period than the rest of the tunnels. The ceiling is lost in darkness above you, but from the sounds of the echoes it must be pretty high. Water flowing in from the northwestern tunnel has pooled in a depression sunk into the limestone floor, becoming quite deep near the far end. The shattered wreckage of the church stairway lies half submerged in the water-filled depression. You're lucky to have missed it in your fall. You can also see a hooded robe and a meat hook here. This place looks familiar. Like we've been here before. >take all hooded robe: Taken. meat hook: Taken. >put all in coat meat hook: You slip the meat hook into the pocket of your trenchcoat. hooded robe: No matter how tightly you roll up the heavy robe, it is still too big to fit in your pocket. Oh yeah. This is the sewers. At least that means we can get out and to the library. Hopefully the crowd has dispersed now that they think we're trapped in the church. With luck, they'll have set that place on fire. >search depression You can't see the bottom, standing at the side as you are. And while you think you might just be capable of wading out there, there's no way on earth you'd ever put your head under. >northwest Sewer Tunnel The tunnel is ankle-deep in brackish water, though raised walkways on either side provide relatively dry footing. The walls are slick, the air damp and foul. The main tunnel runs north and southeast. Numerous smaller pipelines lead in all directions, but all are too small for you to crawl through. Iron rungs embedded in the wall lead up through an access shaft, back to the surface. >n Dripping Tunnel >n Broken Tunnel Set in the low ceiling is an old iron hatch. We still don't know where this hatch leads. >look at hatch It's a rectangle of corroded metal, just over a foot long on each side. There are hinges along one edge on this side; if you could get your fingers under the opposite edge, you could probably pry it open. Maybe it's loosened up since yesterday? >open hatch You dig your fingers under the edge and tug, but the hinges are rusted nearly solid. You can't make it budge. >look at rust It's a rectangle of corroded metal, just over a foot long on each side. There are hinges along one edge on this side; if you could get your fingers under the opposite edge, you could probably pry it open. Wow. It's so rusty that the game recognizes it as "The Rust." >s Dripping Tunnel >s Sewer Tunnel >u Access Shaft In the north wall is a small metal door. Please be unlocked. Please be unlocked. Please be unlocked. >open door You open the small metal door. YES! I'm just gonna save. No real reason. Just saving to save. >save Ok. Yup. >n Under the Bridge A small metal door, blotchy with rust, is set into the south bank of the river, underneath the bridge. >up Riverwalk Good. The angry townsfolk are gone. >w Town Square There appears to be a commotion of sorts to the north, where a group of townsfolk have gathered. In the center of the square, rising from a circular lawn of unhealthy-looking grass and weeds, stands a strange, stone obelisk. It seems to be a monument of some sort, although you can see no plaque or marker anywhere near it. A commotion? Is it a party? >look at group The townsfolk have gathered in a small crowd on Whateley Bridge. Word of your snooping must have gotten around quickly; these fellows are obviously not taking any chances on the possibility of you escaping from the church, and are keeping a sharp lookout. Well, maybe if we tell them the terrible things written in that book they'll understand. >north Whateley Bridge A group of wary-looking townsfolk has gathered, keeping a watchful eye on the streets leading to and from the bridge. There is no time to run. Heavy boots on the cobblestones; hands lunging toward you -- they are everywhere, grabbing you from every side, immobilizing you. Someone's huge, calloused paw closes around your windpipe and starts to squeeze. Just before you black out, you can feel yourself being lifted off your feet...  *** You have died *** In that game you scored 44 out of a possible 100 points; you are hopelessly enmeshed in the tentacles of an ancient and sinister plot. Would you like to RESTART, RESTORE a saved game, UNDO your last move, give the FULL score for that game or QUIT? > Grimwit fucked around with this message at 19:42 on Jun 17, 2015 |
|
#
?
Jun 17, 2015 16:38
|
|
|
Hmm, so we can't cross the bridge. I wish I knew what was and wasn't on this side of the river so I could guess about where to go. Can we get to the library from here?
|
|
#
?
Jun 18, 2015 02:41
|
|
|
Old Grey Guy's map (oh thank you for making a map!) says we can get to: the empty lot, a chilly avenue, the court house, the dark corner -> asylum. We could see if our friend the bum is in the empty lot; probably not. He seemed keen on getting out of dodge. I forget - did we ever do/get anything from the chilly avenue? Maybe the court house will have some help for us? And we could always try to get asylum in the asylum...
|
|
#
?
Jun 18, 2015 04:06
|
|
|
Alright. So the townsfolk of Anchorhead aren't as friendly as, say, Dallas, but we can still win them over, I'm sure. Just...uh... Not now. Kacie posted:Old Grey Guy's map (oh thank you for making a map!) says we can get to: the empty lot, a chilly avenue, the court house, the dark corner -> asylum. Not sure the Courthouse will give us anything other than records, but it doesn't hurt to check. >south Courthouse >south Courthouse Basement >sw Death Records >ne Courthouse Basement >se Birth Records >nw Courthouse Basement >n Courthouse >n Town Square There appears to be a commotion of sorts to the north, where a group of townsfolk have gathered. Nnnnnnopes. Of course, there's the empty lot and the Warf, still. >e Riverwalk >e Vacant Lot A filthy old mattress lies among the weeds over in one corner of the lot. You can also see a flask (which is empty) here. Oh, Hi, Flask. I missed you. >put flask in coat (first taking the flask) (closing the flask first) You slip the flask into the pocket of your trenchcoat. The flashlight beam flickers uncertainly for a moment, then comes back a bit weaker than before. Uh oh. >turn off flashlight You switch the flashlight off. >se Wharf >look Wharf The gentle creaking of hawsers and the hollow slap of water beneath the wooden pier provide a faint counterpoint to the endless, rhythmic surging of the sea. The fishing industry (like the paper industry) has all but died away in Anchorhead; nonetheless there are still a few boats tied to the pier. A path leads back through an opening in a chain-link fence to the northwest; otherwise, it's just you and the ocean. Nothing here. We know there's very little south, having just been there. What about the Asylum? >nw Vacant Lot >w Riverwalk >w Town Square >w Dark Corner >s Asylum Courtyard >s Waiting Room An orderly sits by the gate, leisurely perusing a pornographic magazine. A large key dangles from the orderly's belt. Airy strains of vacuous elevator music waft through the room from invisible speakers. Oh, it's Chuck. Hey, Chuck. Shits crazy outside. >ask orderly about townsfolk You can't think of anything to say about that for the moment. Nevermind, Chuck. Miranda just realized who she's talking to. >n Asylum Courtyard Thinking about it, Miranda bets she could get that hatch open, after all. It would at least be some place new. >n Dark Corner >e Town Square >e Riverwalk >n Under the Bridge >s Access Shaft >down Darkness >turn on flashlight The flashlight must not be quite as waterproof as you originally thought; the beam flickers unsteadily, and you have to bang it against the palm of your hand a couple of times to get it to work. The flashlight beam flickers uncertainly for a moment, then comes back a bit weaker than before. Sewer Tunnel The tunnel is ankle-deep in brackish water, though raised walkways on either side provide relatively dry footing. The walls are slick, the air damp and foul. The main tunnel runs north and southeast. Numerous smaller pipelines lead in all directions, but all are too small for you to crawl through. Iron rungs embedded in the wall lead up through an access shaft, back to the surface. Okay, the flashlight may be on it's last leg. >n Dripping Tunnel >n Broken Tunnel Set in the low ceiling is an old iron hatch. Miranda figures if it's rusty, it just needs some WD40. Or, failing that... >take tin Taken. >look at tin It's dented and rusty, and you can barely make out the words "Skagen, Denmark" printed along the side. The lid is closed. It is now pitch dark in here! Huh? >turn on flashlight You flip the switch on and off uselessly. The water must have finally done your poor flashlight in. Kibbit Kibbit Kibbit. How fortunate that we have a replacement handy. >take lamp Taken. >take matches Taken. >strike match One of the matches starts to burn. Broken Tunnel This looks to be an older part of the sewer system that has fallen into disrepair. Many of the pipes here have crumbled and are filled with debris. Set in the low ceiling is an old iron hatch. >light lamp with match The lantern is now lit. Tho for the life of me, I'm not sure what you're supposed to do if you didn't grab the lamp in the Tavern. Maybe that's why the town hates Miranda. She's stole their lamp... And whiskey... And hook, and robe, and broke into the office, and... >put all in coat book of matches: You slip the book of matches into the pocket of your trenchcoat. lantern: It wouldn't be very wise to put the lantern in your pocket while it's still burning. old tin: You slip the old tin into the pocket of your trenchcoat. hooded robe: No matter how tightly you roll up the heavy robe, it is still too big to fit in your pocket. Ouch! You drop the match as it burns down to your fingers. >get tin Taken. >open tin You open the old tin, revealing a smelly quantity of fish oil. One has to wonder the uses of fish oil in a tin. >put oil on hatch (first getting some fish oil) You dip your finger in and come up with a small glob of pungent fish oil. You rub a good amount of fish oil all over the rusty hinges. >open hatch The oiled hinges give a little, allowing you to wiggle your fingers further under the door's edge. A sharp tug -- and the door swings down suddenly, spilling filthy water into your face. >put tin in coat (closing the old tin first) You slip the old tin into the pocket of your trenchcoat. >enter hatch Outflow Tunnel From the smell of it, this must be a sewage outflow tunnel. Filthy water swirls past a metal grate to the west and eddies around your hands and knees, on which you are forced to crawl in this cramped cylindrical passageway. To the east, the tunnel narrows still further, terminating about twenty feet further in a circle of dim light. Much of the water is pouring through an open hatch set in the floor of the tunnel. Charming. >east You reach the end of the pipe and wriggle your way out, dropping awkwardly to the sand. Narrow Beach Near the bottom of the slope, a sewage outflow pipe juts out over the beach, about three feet above the ground. A thin stream of acrid-smelling sewer water trickles out over the lip of the pipe, forming a puddle in the sand. This place looks familiar. >up 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. >west You can only exit the alley to the northwest or crawl through the loose board to the east. Hooooly crap. Miranda has gone full circle! We're back in the alleyway from the start of the game! >enter window The window is too high. The cold wind cuts through your clothes, chilling you to the bone. >get on trashcan You clamber onto the wobbling garbage can, precariously balanced. You can just reach the lower edge of the window from here. The cold wind blows harder, tugging at the hem of your trenchcoat. >enter window It's a tight squeeze, but you just manage to wriggle through, dropping quietly to the floor inside. File Room Peering through the murk, you can make out the blocky outlines of filing cabinets lining the walls and a doorway to the west. A window high up on the south wall lets in a very faint illumination. >west Office The office door is open. Sitting on the corner of the paper-strewn desk are a telephone and an answering machine. >look at desk The top of the desk is littered with paperwork -- notes, messages, files, etc.; the way most desks tend to get at the end of a busy day. A telephone sits on one corner, next to a digital answering machine. There is a small drawer to one side. Did Miranda ever frisk the drawer in this place? >open drawer It seems to be locked. You can hear a fly buzzing around, right around your head. Ah, but the dead body of our house agent gave us a key. Sounds kind of trippy, now that I reread that sentence. >unlock drawer (first taking the keyring) You go through all the keys on your keyring, trying each one in turn, and after several false attempts you discover that the small steel key fits the lock. You unlock the drawer. >open drawer You open the drawer, revealing a hastily written letter and a tarnished bronze key.  Your score has just gone up by two points. >look at bronze key It is heavy and apparently very old, crusted over in places with a thin rime of verdigris. There's an unusual amount of verdigris in this town. >put bronze key on keyring (first taking the tarnished bronze key) The tarnished bronze key is now on the keyring. >look at letter Which do you mean, the hastily written letter or the letter opener? >hastily It consists of several pages torn from a yellow legal pad and stapled in the corner; each page is covered on both sides, top to bottom, with erratic, frightened handwriting. It is dated two days ago -- the day you arrived in Anchorhead. Interesting... Could it be? >take hastily letter Taken. Is this the proverbial info dump in all horror stories? >read hastily letter The letter reads: "To whom it may concern -- "My name is Claudia Benson, and I attest that I am of sound mind and body, at least for what little time I have left. "If you are reading this anywhere within the city limits of Anchorhead, be aware that your life is in grave and immediate danger. Nearly all of the inhabitants of this city are members of a secret cult that has thrived since before the first settlers arrived here in the early 1600s and is still strong today. Its members are fanatical and quite insane, and will kill anyone who learns their secrets. I received a phone call early this morning which I believe is a threat to my life; I assume the cult somehow discovered that I was planning to divulge information to an outsider and now plans to silence me. In case I don't make it, I am leaving this testimony for someone to find; hopefully it will be someone who can put a stop to this madness once and for all. "The cult originally evolved from the rituals of the ancient Misquat Indian tribe that once lived in this region. Although this tribe is now extinct, its beliefs have been passed down relatively unchanged through generations of settlers for nearly four centuries. These beliefs center around the worship of some sort of demon or god from the outer reaches of space, which visited the earth millions of years ago and will return some day to wreak terrible destruction. I am unclear on the exact details as there is very little historical information available on this tribe, unless the University is hiding material from me, which I am half-convinced it may well be. "The ringleaders of this cult are and have always been the Verlac family. Every second generation a male Verlac is born, and the role of high priest is passed down from grandfather to grandson, following some arcane ritual of ascension. There is a persistent legend that this ritual somehow involves a transmigration of souls -- that, in fact, all male Verlacs are actually the reincarnation of the original founder of the American line. Although this is obviously nothing more than local superstition, the legend has such a hold on the people of the region that it may have become a self-perpetuating delusion on the part of the members of the Verlac family, each male child honestly believing that he is his own grandfather reborn. Edward Verlac rejected this obscene birthright, and I believe that the townspeople drove him to insanity for it. "Regardless of the truth behind these legends, the cult is planning to act very soon. In the 1920s, Edward's grandfather Mordecai Verlac began preaching that the return of the 'Nameless God' was imminent -- specifically, that it would occur the day after tomorrow. He re-opened the defunct paper mill, converting it into a factory to build some sort of device, a 'beacon' with which to facilitate the Nameless God's entry into this world. This device is very nearly finished, and in two days they will be ready to enact their great ritual -- what they call the 'Blessed Event'. It will most likely entail the wholesale slaughter of every non-cultist man, woman and child in the city. The child abductions of the past few years were most likely preparatory sacrifices perpetrated by the cult, and there is no reason to believe that the killing will stop once their great ritual is complete. "If you are, in fact, the young man who planned to move into the Verlac estate, you must be careful. The cult is almost certainly watching your every move, and will attempt to induct and brainwash you into their cult or, failing that, murder both you and your wife. I had hoped to warn you upon your arrival; however, as the message on my answering machine this morning attests, I don't have much time left. With any luck, I'll be out of the city by tonight. If I don't make it, please try to stop these people. This key might help -- I managed to dig it out our old property file on the lighthouse. I know they consider that building important for some reason. Do what you can with it. And be careful. These cultists are a menace, inbred and insane to the last man, and no one will be safe until they are wiped off the face of the earth. "Good luck, and be careful. -- Claudia Benson" > Well, we finally got to the other side of the bridge and of town. We have a key to the Lighthouse, but let's put that off until the end. The question now is, what to do next? Items  In Trenchcoat  
|
|
#
?
Jun 18, 2015 15:45
|
|
|
Wait, can we stab Chuck with the letter opener? Also, we should put on the hooded robe. It might make the locals less hostile.
|
|
#
?
Jun 18, 2015 21:14
|
|
|
quote:Smear fish oil on rusty hinges ...and this is why I am terrible with text adventures (or Interactive Fiction for the hip kids). I would never have thought to do that. Hide in the well from the Dunwich Horror, slot the weird black lens into the telescope, all the great Lovecraftian bits - yes. Have the brilliant sideways leaps of intuition or try everything in my inventory at every opportunity to hit on this sort of thing? Nope, I suck at that. Is Claudia a native? Because otherwise, she's an amazing scholar/detective to have put all that together. That's a hell of a lot of unpaid overtime investigative work over a long time, to put that all together! I would have been a bit more satisfied if the info dump came from the university somehow, but there is a solid "return to the beginning" connection this way, and Claudia made the (nearly) ultimate sacrifice. 'tis churlish to complain about her investigative skills; perhaps she always dreamed of being a detective. Also satisfying to prove her "I hope that husband gets things saved" assumption wrong - go Miranda! Standing request to return the teddy to poor Mum, whenever convenient. Seconding wear the robe to go incognito if that helps. If we are on the right side of the river, visit the university library. Feels like we don't have what we need yet, to go to the lighthouse - but if we're out of options, maybe we can find something there?
|
|
#
?
Jun 19, 2015 04:39
|
|
|
Ghostwoods posted:Wait, can we stab Chuck with the letter opener? God, I wish. Ghostwoods posted:Also, we should put on the hooded robe. It might make the locals less hostile. Seems reasonable. >put all in coat hastily written letter: You slip the hastily written letter into the pocket of your trenchcoat. keyring: You slip the keyring into the pocket of your trenchcoat. lantern: It wouldn't be very wise to put the lantern in your pocket while it's still burning. hooded robe: No matter how tightly you roll up the heavy robe, it is still too big to fit in your pocket. >wear robe You'll have to take off the trenchcoat first. A bit out of character, but if we want to blend in... >remove trenchcoat You take off the trenchcoat. >put on robe You put on the hooded robe. Kacie posted:Standing request to return the teddy to poor Mum, whenever convenient. Miranda IS on the correct side of the river for the Library. >w Outside the Real Estate Office The office door is open. >close door You close the real estate office door. >w Narrow Street There appears to be a commotion of sorts to the south, where a group of townsfolk have gathered. Even tho she has the robe on now, Miranda doesn't want to risk a confrontation with the townsfolk. >west Junction >nw University Court There are numerous buildings surrounding this cobbled court, but the only one you are interested in is the library to the west. >w Library >n Circulation Desk Hanging on the wall next to the counter is a small, printed sign. Beneath the sign sits a heavy, dog-eared register, and sitting next to the register is a bell. Alright, let's look up two people in the register and see what's what... >look at register It's basically a log, recording what book was checked out, who checked it out, and when. There must be hundreds of names here. >look up Michael in Register (in the dog-eared register) Your husband's name is down at the bottom. The title of the book is A Historical Overview of Superstitions in the Miskaton Valley Region by J. Arnsworth Frazer, pub. 1906. Quite a mouthful. As with the books in the Verlac study, it's best to reffer to them by author. This book, for example, is called "Frazer." Now, about Claudia Benson... >Look up Benson in register (in the dog-eared register) Claudia Benson's name is up near the top of the page. She has checked out several books in the last few weeks: A Historical Overview of Superstitions in the Miskaton Valley Region by J. Arnsworth Frazer; The Righteous Invasion: a History of Indian/Settler Conflicts in the Colonial Period by Warner Greene; Mechanics of Metempsychosis by C. C. H. Horne; and N-Fold Transduction and the Space-Time Barrier: a New Theory in Particle Physics by Lord Wheldrake. Strange; you can't help but wonder why your real estate agent would have amassed such an esoteric reading list. Wow, what a load. These books are Frazer, Greene, Horne, Wheldrake. This update will be large enough, so later on I'll post the full content of these books. For now, I'll just save this under a different file. >save Ok. On to the Mill. >s Library >e University Court >se Junction >n 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 Flakes of ash drift gently down from the sky like gray snow, coating everything with a thin layer of soot. Lovely. >n Shanty Town >take teddy from coat You remove the teddy bear from the trenchcoat. >knock on shack 11 After a moment or two of silence, you hear a furtive rattling, and the door opens a crack to reveal a woman's pale and haggard face. She stares out you with a mixture of trepidation and mistrust. Hey, lady. It's me again! Remember! The one that brought up terrible memories?  Yeah, I found your dead son's bear. >give teddy to woman The woman's eyes widen in sudden recognition, and she takes the teddy bear from you, turning it over to read the name stitched on the back. Tears well up in her eyes, spilling over onto her pale, sunken cheeks. "This is my boy's," she whispers. "This is Jeffrey's." She looks at you suddenly. "Where did you find this? Did you find..." but then she stops. She can see from your face that you have not found her son, only this one clue. But... even one clue, however tenuous, offers possibility. And the woman's face softens, just a little bit, with something that you guess hasn't made its home there in a very, very, long time: Hope. "Come in," she says softly. "Thank you for bringing me this. Please, come in." She steps aside from the door, and you enter her home. #11 Mill Town Road A dirty, ramshackle home, scraped together out of the bits and ends of working-class poverty. The floor is warped and broken wood, bare dirt showing through the cracks between boards. Rags hang across the window in lieu of curtains. Over in the far corner is a rickety old stove; in the opposite corner a threadbare cot; it hits you suddenly that a family of three once lived, slept and ate all in this single room, which is slightly smaller than your bedroom back at the house. The woman watches you expectantly. On the threadbare cot is a teddy bear. A set of grime-smeared overalls hangs on a hook next to the front door to the west. Your score has just gone up by two points. I'm sure she's fine with letting a cloaked cultish figure into her humble home. >ask woman about herself The woman shrugs tiredly. "I get by," she says softly. "I get by. Though without my Jeffrey, there doesn't seem to be much point to it, these days." >ask about jeffrey "It came in the night," the woman tells you, her voice barely above a whisper, "just like when it took all the other children over the years. It came through the window and took him away while we slept." The woman's voice breaks, and she shakes her head, trying not to weep. "Without my Jeffrey, I don't know if I can go on." Her look implores you. "If you do find him, please tell me. Please bring my boy back to me!" >Ask woman about shack You can't think of anything to say about that for the moment. >ask woman about overalls She smiles, sad and wistful. "Max did maintenance work up at the mill," she says, "until the accident. It was five years ago this September. One of the big presses must have malfunctioned... they told me there were no remains to speak of..." She sighs. "Max was a good man. He took care of Jeffrey and me. I keep his overalls there to remember him by." I guess Max was her husband. Poor woman has nothing left. >look at overalls They look like a normal set of industrial overalls, the kind of uniform you'd see mill workers in. Stitched into the fabric just above the breast pocket is the name "Max". >look in pocket Which do you mean, the overalls or the trenchcoat? >overalls In the overalls is a long steel key. >ask woman about steel key "Max had lots of keys to the mill. He did maintenance work there." >take steel key (the long steel key) That key might just come in handy; while the woman is looking in the other direction, you quickly pluck it from the overall pocket. Your score has just gone up by one point. And now she has less. >put steel key on keyring (the long steel key on the keyring) The long steel key is now on the keyring. I guess we'll have to break the news to her. >tell woman about well The woman presses her fist against her mouth and looks away. "No," she says softly, "I can't believe that. I can't believe my little boy could be down in that..." She breaks off, unable even to complete the thought. >tell woman about william She shakes her head. "I don't know much about those folks, except that they're bad all the way through. I try to stay away from their business. They said it was Edward who was stealing all those children, but I guess that wasn't ever true." I try and tell her about the Verlacs and Michael, but she says the same thing. Game wise, I feel she's just here to give us the key, but I can't help but feel sorry for her. After all this is over, Miranda will return and take everything else of value. > There's really only the one place to go with this key as we rapidly approach the end of the game. Tomorrow, we head inside the Mill. Items In Trenchcoat 
Grimwit fucked around with this message at 15:56 on Jun 21, 2015 |
|
#
?
Jun 19, 2015 15:38
|
|
|
That robe looks really rad on Miranda.
|
|
#
?
Jun 20, 2015 18:30
|
|
|
I feel really badly for that woman.  Nicely written, game.
|
|
#
?
Jun 20, 2015 19:12
|
|
|
You forgot to remove the teddy from your drawn inventory
|
|
#
?
Jun 20, 2015 21:11
|
|
|
Thesaya posted:You forgot to remove the teddy from your drawn inventory Fixed. --->
|
|
#
?
Jun 21, 2015 15:57
|
|
|
I like how the picture of the keyring reflects the number of keys that are on it.
|
|
#
?
Jun 21, 2015 17:00
|
|
|
Alright, alright. I'm updating now, despite saying I'd do it earlier. All I can offer as excuse is that Skyrim is a hell of a drug. You may remember we were inside the house of poor woman who lost her boy. We were dressed like one of the cultists that stole her child and returning her dead son's teddy bear and maybe his skull. Today, Miranda will need your help in over coming a puzzle. >w The woman attempts a wan smile as you make ready to leave. "Thank you," she says softly, indicating the stuffed bear. "If you discover anything else, please let me know." You're welcome, lady. I'll tell you when we desecrate his corpse. Shanty Town >s Entrance to the Paper Mill A gust of wind blows your hair into your face. >s The path curves southwest, leading you into an overgrown area behind the mill. Bare Foundations Set into the base of the mill wall, nearly covered by the thickets, is a metal hatch. A gust of wind blows your hair into your face. >look at metal hatch It's just an ordinary-looking metal hatch. Ah, this thing. When I first played Anchorhead, I had to look up a walk through to find this hatch. Now, I'm an old hand at adventure games, point-and-click, text-adventure, CYOA, etc... When I have to look up an answer nine times out of ten it's because of a pixel hunt. I'm no fan of finding this hatch. >open hatch It seems to be locked. >unlock hatch (first taking the keyring) You go through all the keys on your keyring, trying each one in turn, and after several false attempts you discover that the long steel key fits the lock. You unlock the metal hatch. >enter hatch (opening the metal hatch first) Maintenance Access Tunnel You are at the southern end of a long, narrow crawlway leading northward into the mill. All around you, through the metallic walls, you can hear the oppressive thumping and grinding of heavy machinery. The air in here is hot and smells of burnt engine oil. A large metal valve wheel juts out from the middle of one of the many fat, sweating pipes lining the walls. Just to its left is a gauge of some sort. Just as the mechanical noises reach a crescendo, the pipes at the north end of the crawlway suddenly give vent to an enormous gout of superheated steam. The entire north half of the crawlway is momentarily filled with vapor and intense heat, which just as quickly dissipates. The noise behind the walls recedes to a calmer level, and the needle on the gauge swings back down to zero. After years, I think, the machinery is still on auto? >look at valve It's a large, spoked metal wheel, about a foot in diameter, for opening and shutting a valve somewhere inside the pipes. >touch valve Yowch! The wheel is sizzling hot! The needle slowly creeps up the dial. So Miranda can't touch the valve without gloves or something. And oh, a handy dial. >look at dial The gauge has a circular face with a needle that sweeps in a 270 degree arc across a set of numbered calibrations, most of which are colored green. The last 30 degrees or so are colored bright red. The needle is slowly rising, about a quarter way up the dial. The noise of machinery is growing steadily louder. Maybe Miranda can come up with something on her own. >think You pause momentarily, lost in thought. The machines behind the walls are reaching a feverish pitch, and an unpleasant vibration ripples up and down the crawlway. Okay, she can't hear herself think in this. Maybe if she shouts her thoughts out loud. >yell Come now; you're not that frightened. Just as the mechanical noises reach a crescendo, the pipes at the north end of the crawlway suddenly give vent to an enormous gout of superheated steam. The entire north half of the crawlway is momentarily filled with vapor and intense heat, which just as quickly dissipates. The noise behind the walls recedes to a calmer level, and the needle on the gauge swings back down to zero. Good! The steam seems to take care of itself after a few turns. Let's explore now. Oh. And, uh... >save Ok. Obviously. >north The air grows hotter the farther in you go, and it is becoming difficult to breathe. Maintenance Access Tunnel You are roughly at the center of the access crawlway, which stretches north and south from here. >north Maintenance Access Tunnel The north end of the access crawlway ends at a sturdy metal hatch. A thick haze of steam hangs in the air, and the heat is like an oven -- the walls and floor are almost blistering to the touch. The hatch is closed. >look at hatch The hatch is round and quite sturdy-looking. There is a handle on this side, and a small notice fixed to the wall nearby. The noise of machinery is growing steadily louder. Must... Steal... >get notice (the printed sign) That's fixed in place. The machines behind the walls are reaching a feverish pitch, and an unpleasant vibration ripples up and down the crawlway. Not a lot of time, Miranda. Just read it and escape. >read notice Which do you mean, the printed sign or the typewritten notice? >small "Maintenance hatch operates on a timed-release mechanism. Door will unlock approx. 15 s after handle is pulled."  With a sudden shriek, an enormous blast of steam erupts from the pipes above your head, engulfing you in a cloud of superheated vapor well in excess of 300 degrees Fahrenheit. The pain is intense but mercifully brief as your skin scalds instantly and peels from your body like cheap wallpaper. *** You have died *** In that game you scored 49 out of a possible 100 points; you are hopelessly enmeshed in the tentacles of an ancient and sinister plot. Would you like to RESTART, RESTORE a saved game, UNDO your last move, give the FULL score for that game or QUIT? > Suggestions?
|
|
#
?
Jun 22, 2015 15:44
|
|
|
>Use the towel as an oven glove and turn the valve.
|
|
#
?
Jun 22, 2015 15:51
|
|
|
Use either the meathook or the umbrella's handle as a grabbing tool to turn the valve.
|
|
#
?
Jun 22, 2015 19:22
|
|
|
There sure are a lot of ways to die in this game. Are you keeping count?
|
|
#
?
Jun 23, 2015 03:46
|
|
|
Zoe posted:There sure are a lot of ways to die in this game. Are you keeping count? So far, we've come across about 8. I missed one, tho. They're highlighted in Red on the OP.
|
|
#
?
Jun 23, 2015 04:00
|
|
|
Seconding the above ideas. If the valve is rusty, then use that stupid fish oil on it, too. And if the valve doesn't work, try dashing in and pulling the handle using the towel, meat hook, or umbrella handle. Then dash back to safety, let the steam blast, then rush back down the passage since that hatch says it is on a 15 sec. timer.
|
|
#
?
Jun 23, 2015 05:05
|
|
|
LoonShia posted:>Use the towel as an oven glove and turn the valve. Another use for the Towel. >put towel over valve (first taking the towel) You drape the towel over the valve wheel. >turn valve You grip the sides of the wheel -- even through the towel, you can feel the heat radiating from it -- and haul it clockwise with all your strength. It squeaks reluctantly at first, then gives all at once. From down the corridor you hear an enormous hissing rush as steam is vented from the pipes, and the needle in the gauge drops abruptly down to zero.  Your score has just gone up by one point. No matter where you go or what you do, you gotta have your towel. >take towel Taken. >put towel in coat You slip the towel into the pocket of your trenchcoat. That seems to have quelled the machinery, and now Miranda can proceed without peril. >north The air grows hotter the farther in you go, and it is becoming difficult to breathe. Maintenance Access Tunnel You are roughly at the center of the access crawlway, which stretches north and south from here. >north Maintenance Access Tunnel The north end of the access crawlway ends at a sturdy metal hatch. A thick haze of steam hangs in the air, and the heat is like an oven -- the walls and floor are almost blistering to the touch. The hatch is closed. >open hatch You shove the handle down, and it remains in the lowered position when you let go. Behind the metal walls you can hear mechanisms clanking into gear, and a faint, rapid ticking sound. That sign said 15 seconds. I'm not sure how long each of these turns are in the game. >wait Time passes. I figured, like, a minute each? >z Time passes. You hear a heavy clunking sound from within the hatch. >open hatch With a sharp tug, the heavy metal door swings open. >north Mill Floor Waves of heat and noise assault you from every corner. Towering above you on all sides are the enormous vats, presses and sundry machinery, the ever-churning inner workings of the paper mill. An opening in the base of the south wall leads back to the maintenance crawlway, and narrow aisles lead in several other directions through the chugging machinery. A grilled catwalk high over your head provides a more direct route across the factory; however, you see no way to get up there from here. A long chain dangles from overhead, its last few feet pooled on the floor next to a bank of controls. Well, THAT'S conspicuous. >look at chain It runs all the way up past the catwalk to the ceiling. Its links look somewhat greasy. >look at controls The waist-high bank has all number of arcane lights, dials and gauges on it; however, the only two controls that bear mentioning are a lever and a large red button. Oh boy! A big red button! >push button The control panel emits a nasty buzzing sound. Oh. A light lit up saying "Please do not press this button again." Of course, we will. >pull lever You feel something click as the lever activates a hidden releasing mechanism; then, suddenly, the chain snaps up into the air with a loud metallic rattle. You quickly step back as a large block of heavy equipment -- attached to the other end of the chain -- comes plummeting down from the ceiling. At the last instant, a system of reducing pulleys slows the block's descent and prevents it from crashing into the floor. GAH! >look at block A dense conglomeration of tubes and compressors packed into a sturdy metal frame; a bit like a cooling unit from the back of a refrigerator, only larger and even more technical looking. It's securely attached to the end of a chain, which in turn must be attached to some kind of pulley system up near the ceiling. What is this thing? Why would you need this thing? >pull lever The lever pulls down and then snaps back up -- ka-chunk! >push button You hear the sound of something large and mechanical powering up, a low whirring sound, and the block of heavy equipment is lifted gently from the floor and carried up into the air. The other end of the chain snakes down from above, its last few feet coming to rest in a small pile of links next to the control bank. At least Miranda has the chain back. I'll be honest here. This is one of those puzzles with two or more answers. Originally, you were supposed to tie the chain to the broom, but who keeps a broom on themselves? Let's try other items, first. >tie chain to umbrella There's no good spot on the umbrella to tie the chain to. This seems like bull. Miranda's Umbrella has a hook on one end. >put all in coat keyring: You slip the keyring into the pocket of your trenchcoat. lantern: It wouldn't be very wise to put the lantern in your pocket while it's still burning. >tie hook to chain That's not something you can tie to things. Okaaaaay. >tie animal skull to chain That's not something you can tie to things. Maybe there's something around here to look at. >look at vats The machines squat like gigantic mechanical trolls all around you, ceaselessly clanking, groaning, vibrating and spitting steam. Strange; although you could hardly call yourself acquainted with the workings of a paper mill, you can't help but notice that none of the machines you can see seem to be involved with anything like the making of paper. At any rate, you don't see any paper -- or any wood pulp, or any dye, or anything else you might reasonably assume a paper mill would have on hand -- anywhere. The machines are definitely busy churning out something -- but what? >look at pulley You can just make out the system of pulleys through which the chain is threaded, way up at the ceiling. >climb up chain The chain is too greasy for you to get a good grip on it. >look at aisles You needn't worry about that. Well, we can go exploring the aisles, I guess. Maybe there's something there. >n You take a deep breath, check your clothing for any loose, dangling hems that could be caught by a hungry gear shaft, and edge your way into the works. Narrow Aisle You are picking your way through a narrow gap between high banks of vibrating machinery. Twisting aisles branch off in numerous directions, some of them so narrow you'd have to turn sideways to make your way through. >n Narrow Aisle You are picking your way through a narrow gap between high banks of vibrating machinery. Twisting aisles branch off in numerous directions, some of them so narrow you'd have to turn sideways to make your way through. >w Your path is blocked by a towering bank of chugging machinery. >e Your path is blocked by a towering bank of chugging machinery. The Narrow Aisles is another one of those mazes that don't make sense. I know there's a way out somewhere, because I found it my first play through. >n Narrow Aisle You are picking your way through a narrow gap between high banks of vibrating machinery. Twisting aisles branch off in numerous directions, some of them so narrow you'd have to turn sideways to make your way through. >s Your path is blocked by a towering bank of chugging machinery. >se Your path is blocked by a towering bank of chugging machinery. A red light bulb set high up on one of the machines begins blinking on and off. >look at light (the flashlight) It's battery-powered, and waterproof too, by the look of it. The flashlight is currently switched off. >look at blinking light You can't see any such thing. Huh. I've played this game a while now. Never saw that light before. >sw Narrow Aisle You are picking your way through a narrow gap between high banks of vibrating machinery. Twisting aisles branch off in numerous directions, some of them so narrow you'd have to turn sideways to make your way through. You notice a light bulb set high up on one of the machines, blinking bright, angry red. >s Your path is blocked by a towering bank of chugging machinery. Honestly? I've never seen the following happen and am not even sure how to draw it. Soooo... >w Narrow Aisle Without warning, a shrieking steam-release valve lets loose a scalding gout of vapor right in front of you, causing you to stagger backward, strike a low railing with the back of your knees, and topple over into a stainless-steel mixing vat twenty feet deep. Before you can recover from the fall, two dozen jet nozzles set around the inner circumference of the vat's rim squirt several hundred gallons of high-density mold-injection polymer onto you, at a temperature high enough to set cloth on fire -- although this is not a major concern for you, since you are almost instantaneously submerged and completely cut off from the air. The vat is filled to the rim in less than a second and a half -- slightly less time than it takes for the heat and lack of oxygen to kill you, and you are still to some degree conscious when the hydraulic mold-press slams down onto the seething liquid, generating a pressure that rapidly turns your body into something resembling a wet, wadded-up beach towel.  *** You have died *** In that game you scored 50 out of a possible 100 points; you are hopelessly enmeshed in the tentacles of an ancient and sinister plot. Would you like to RESTART, RESTORE a saved game, UNDO your last move, give the FULL score for that game or QUIT? >
|
|
#
?
Jun 23, 2015 16:13
|
|
|
 Christ these deaths get brutal. Can Miranda...tie the chain to herself.? I"m sure nothing bad will happen.
|
|
#
?
Jun 23, 2015 21:50
|
|
|
Can we stand on the engine block, and then poke the button with our umbrella or other reach item, and ride up on the engine block?
|
|
#
?
Jun 24, 2015 03:54
|
|
|
Ugh. It's getting harder and harder to stay on time with these updates because of Skyrim. I haven't been this distracted since Fallout 3. BUT, Miranda Carter must continue her own quest! Kacie posted:Can we stand on the engine block, and then poke the button with our umbrella or other reach item, and ride up on the engine block? Worth a shot. >pull lever You feel something click as the lever activates a hidden releasing mechanism; then, suddenly, the chain snaps up into the air with a loud metallic rattle. You quickly step back as a large block of heavy equipment -- attached to the other end of the chain -- comes plummeting down from the ceiling. At the last instant, a system of reducing pulleys slows the block's descent and prevents it from crashing into the floor. >stand on block You get onto the block of heavy equipment. >push button You can't quite reach the button while standing on the piece of heavy equipment. Hmmm... Maybe if Miranda had something long. >push button with umbrella (first taking the umbrella) The umbrella doesn't reach that far. >put umbralla in coat You can't see any such thing. >oops umbrella You slip the umbrella into the pocket of your trenchcoat. Maybe something Longer, then. Something like a broom? >get down You get off the block of heavy equipment. Mill Floor A large block of heavy equipment sits here next to the control bank, attached to the end of the chain. On a side note, I looked up some hints (there aren't many places to look them up) and someone found a way through the Narrow Aisles maze. It's apparently six rooms and it's timed. I just never gave it a thought when I played on my own. Zoe posted:Can Miranda...tie the chain to herself.? I"m sure nothing bad will happen. It's worth a try. >push button You hear the sound of something large and mechanical powering up, a low whirring sound, and the block of heavy equipment is lifted gently from the floor and carried up into the air. The other end of the chain snakes down from above, its last few feet coming to rest in a small pile of links next to the control bank. >tie chain around self I didn't understand that sentence. >tie chain to self You wrap the chain around your waist a few times. >pull lever You feel something click as the lever activates a hidden releasing mechanism; then, suddenly, the chain pulls taut and jerks you off your feet, hauling you up through the air -- narrowly missing a piece of heavy equipment sailing past you on its way down -- all the way up to the catwalk, where the chain slows and finally stops, depositing you safely, though left somewhat breathless, on the grilled surface.  Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!! Catwalk The catwalk stretches north, a narrow ribbon of metal grillwork dangling fifty feet over the factory floor and shuddering dangerously in time with the machines beneath it. There are no railings of any kind. At the far end you can see what looks like a wide balcony with several large banks of equipment. A long chain dangles from overhead, its last few feet wrapped securely around your waist. Your score has just gone up by two points. >untie chain You disentangle yourself from the chain. >n Workshop Several workbenches and racks of arcane electronic equipment have been dragged together to form a sort of open laboratory on this wide balcony overlooking the mill. A wide table dominates the area, strewn with precision tools, bits of wire, and scribbled calculations. To the south, a narrow catwalk hangs above the mill floor, and a metal ladder leads down into the machinery below. Prominent among the strange tools scattered across the table is a strange caliper-like instrument. On the workbenches are some notes and some arcane electronic equipment. One of the racks contains a number of circular mirrors, stacked side by side like dishes in a dishwasher. Tacked up on the wall is a large technical blueprint. Wow. Where to begin with this place. >look at calculations The notes are a mess of incomprehensibly scrawled numbers; long printouts of technical data, tangled diagrams and complex formulae. Even if you had the slightest idea what all the calculations meant, the numbers are barely even legible. Lifting up a sheet of cribbed equations, you notice what looks to be a general memo to all mill workers. All this for making paper? >read memo It's a flimsy sheet of paper with the following message printed on it: !!NOTICE TO ALL BRETHREN!! The focusing mirrors must be kept absolutely clean at ALL TIMES. Even the slightest smudge of dirt or grease can create dangerous instabilities in the refraction patterns. All mirrors must receive ionization treatment as a matter of course. As an extra precaution, however, always use sterilized surgical gloves when handling them. In the Name of He Who Is Named Not, the Mgt. All this for making mirrors. >look at mirrors Which do you mean, the mirror labeled #1, the mirror labeled #2, the mirror labeled #3 or the mirror labeled #4? >#1 The mirror is perfectly round and exquisitely polished. It is very slightly concave on its reflecting surface, distorting the edges of your face as you stare into it. On the back is a small label with the number 1 written on it. What the heck are they for? Maybe this blueprint will make more sense. >look at blueprint The blueprint is a technical schematic for some extremely complicated device, the exact purpose of which is anything but clear. It looks a bit like a telescope, a bit like a microwave oven turned inside out, and a bit like the "industrial laser" from Goldfinger. The inner workings of the device involve a complicated arrangement of lenses and mirrors and a hopeless tangle of circuitry that vaguely resembles several dozen street maps of Manhattan laid across each other. Some of the notations on the circuitry don't even look like technical symbols; they look more like cabbalistic runes. Next to what must represent the main focusing mirror of the device, someone has written the number "0.0113"; someone else, in another handwriting, has scratched that number out and written below it, "0.0162". I'm sure that won't come in handy. >look at caliper Made of stainless steel, molded in a strangely flowing, almost organic design, the calipers -- if that is what they are -- resemble no other tool you've ever seen. It has three independently adjustable arms, each ending in a needle-point pincer, which fold back on themselves at grotesque, asymetrical angles toward a floating center point. There is a calibrated readout set near the base, which presumably provides a measure of whatever strange contortion of space is occupied by whatever object is placed between the pincers at the tool's other end. What the heck is it? What's a Caliper? Google posted:noun >take all blueprint: The blueprint curls up into a loose tube as you pull it from the wall. >put blueprint in coat You slip the blueprint into the pocket of your trenchcoat. >take caliper Taken. >take mirror Which do you mean, the mirror labeled #1, the mirror labeled #2, the mirror labeled #3 or the mirror labeled #4? >all mirror labeled #1: Your hands are full. mirror labeled #2: Your hands are full. mirror labeled #3: Your hands are full. mirror labeled #4: Your hands are full. So we've finally run into this problem. Honestly, we've been taking Miranda's Trenchcoat of Holding for granted. >i You are wearing a hooded robe, a gold locket, a silver locket, your clothes and your wedding ring; in addition, you have in your hands a pair of calipers, 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 lantern (providing light) and your trenchcoat. >put all in coat calipers: You slip the calipers into the pocket of your trenchcoat. keyring: You slip the keyring into the pocket of your trenchcoat. lantern: It wouldn't be very wise to put the lantern in your pocket while it's still burning. Since this caliper is for measuring things, I imagine we'll have to check all these mirrors. >use caliper on mirror #1 That's not a verb I recognise. >look at mirror #2 The mirror is perfectly round and exquisitely polished. It is very slightly concave on its reflecting surface, distorting the edges of your face as you stare into it. On the back is a small label with the number 2 written on it. They all say the same thing if I look at them. But if I measure them, we get a different reading. >measure mirror #1 with caliper (first taking the calipers) The instrument holds the mirror delicately clamped between its pincers; the readout reads "0.0112". >measure mirror #2 with caliper The instrument holds the mirror delicately clamped between its pincers; the readout reads "0.0131". >measure mirror #3 with caliper The instrument holds the mirror delicately clamped between its pincers; the readout reads "0.0162". >measure mirror #4 with caliper The instrument holds the mirror delicately clamped between its pincers; the readout reads "0.0110". Looks like Mirror #3 is what we want. >put mirror in coat Which do you mean, the mirror labeled #1, the mirror labeled #2, the mirror labeled #3 or the mirror labeled #4? >1 (first taking the mirror labeled #1) You slip the mirror labeled #1 into the pocket of your trenchcoat. Oh man. This is gonna take a while. Just imagine I typed that 3 more times. Miranda has all the mirrors. >down Narrow Aisle You are picking your way through a narrow gap between high banks of vibrating machinery. Twisting aisles branch off in numerous directions, some of them so narrow you'd have to turn sideways to make your way through. Bolted to the side of one of the machines is a steel ladder, leading up. And this would be the end point of the maze. If you didn't figure out the chain puzzle, nor had the broom, you could possibly snake yourself here after many Saves. >up Workshop On the workbenches are a printed memo, some notes and some arcane electronic equipment. You can also see a rack (which is empty) here. >south Catwalk A long chain dangles from overhead, its last few feet dangling in the air just beyond the edge of the catwalk. Its other end is looped over a pulley system up in the ceiling, and continues all the way down, past the catwalk, to the floor. >down You slide down the chain, landing awkwardly on the large block of heavy equipment at the bottom. Mill Floor, on the block of heavy equipment Waves of heat and noise assault you from every corner. Towering above you on all sides are the enormous vats, presses and sundry machinery, the ever-churning inner workings of the paper mill. An opening in the base of the south wall leads back to the maintenance crawlway, and narrow aisles lead in several other directions through the chugging machinery. A grilled catwalk high over your head provides a more direct route across the factory; however, you see no way to get up there from here. I find it interesting that it gives me a full description here. Kind of means being on the equipment block is it's own room. >get down You get off the block of heavy equipment. Mill Floor A large block of heavy equipment sits here next to the control bank, attached to the end of the chain. >s Maintenance Access Tunnel The hatch is open. >s Maintenance Access Tunnel >s Maintenance Access Tunnel A large metal valve wheel juts out from the middle of one of the many fat, sweating pipes lining the walls. Just to its left is a gauge of some sort. >s Bare Foundations Set into the base of the mill wall, nearly covered by the thickets, is a metal hatch. >ne The path curves to the north, leading you around to the front of the mill. Entrance to the Paper Mill Finally, we can get out of this place. Maybe find Michael, smack him on the side of the head, and drag him away from this crazy town. >east As you cross the railroad tracks, the air seems to lift slightly, becoming more breathable once again. Mill Road A distant flicker of movement draws your eyes to the faraway lighthouse. A lone figure, tiny in the distance, makes its way stealthily around the small spur of rock at the end of the breakwater and slips inside the door at the tower's base. It's impossible to see the person's face from this distance, but the hair, the way he walks... you'd swear it was Michael. Speak of the Devil. > Items In Trenchcoat  
|
|
#
?
Jun 24, 2015 18:21
|
|
|
Might as well go to the lighthouse and see if we can put that mirror where it's supposed to go. Also see if we can smudge it up a bit.
|
|
#
?
Jun 24, 2015 18:31
|
|
|
Welp. Time for a divorce. Send the paperwork from somewhere very far away.Hermetian posted:Might as well go to the lighthouse and see if we can put that mirror where it's supposed to go. But do this first.
|
|
#
?
Jun 24, 2015 19:19
|
|
|
Hermetian posted:Might as well go to the lighthouse and see if we can put that mirror where it's supposed to go. drat straight.
|
|
#
?
Jun 24, 2015 22:30
|
|
|
Hermetian posted:Might as well go to the lighthouse and see if we can put that mirror where it's supposed to go. Yeah, see if we can smear some rancid fish oil on it! That will mess it up! Bit of oil on a nice reflective surface, screw you, mirror! (Seriously, hating the fish oil puzzle.)
|
|
#
?
Jun 25, 2015 04:08
|
|
|
Hermetian posted:Might as well go to the lighthouse and see if we can put that mirror where it's supposed to go. Yeah, you all want the oil on the mirror, but you didn't say which one! So I'm gonna put oil on all of them and you're gonna sit there and read it. >open tin (first taking the old tin) You open the old tin, revealing a smelly quantity of fish oil. >put calipers in coat You slip the calipers into the pocket of your trenchcoat. >take mirror 1 Taken. >smear oil onto mirror 1 (first getting some fish oil) You dip your finger in and come up with a small glob of pungent fish oil. You rub a small bit of fish oil onto the reflective surface of the mirror, leaving a barely perceptible smear. The cold wind cuts through your clothes, chilling you to the bone.  Just hang on, Michael! I'm do'n something! >put mirror 1 in coat You slip the mirror labeled #1 into the pocket of your trenchcoat. >take mirror 2 Taken. >smear oil on mirror 2 (first getting some fish oil) You dip your finger in and come up with a small glob of pungent fish oil. You rub a small bit of fish oil onto the reflective surface of the mirror, leaving a barely perceptible smear. This is important! This MEANS something! >put mirror 2 in coat You slip the mirror labeled #2 into the pocket of your trenchcoat. >take mirror 3 Taken. In the distance, you can hear the lonesome keening of a train whistle drifting on the wind. You look to the west in time to see the train go by, rolling southwest past the mill toward less melancholy climes. >smear oil onto mirror 3 (first getting some fish oil) You dip your finger in and come up with a small glob of pungent fish oil. You rub a small bit of fish oil onto the reflective surface of the mirror, leaving a barely perceptible smear. >put mirror 3 into coat You slip the mirror labeled #3 into the pocket of your trenchcoat. Almost done, Husband! Hang on! Hang on! >take mirror 4 Taken. >put oil onto mirror 4 (the old tin onto the mirror labeled #4) Putting things on the mirror labeled #4 would achieve nothing. What, seriously? >smear oil onto mirror 4 (first getting some fish oil) You dip your finger in and come up with a small glob of pungent fish oil. You rub a small bit of fish oil onto the reflective surface of the mirror, leaving a barely perceptible smear. >put mirror 4 into coat You slip the mirror labeled #4 into the pocket of your trenchcoat. >close tin You close the old tin. >put tin in coat You slip the old tin into the pocket of your trenchcoat. There! OK, HUSBAND! READY OR NOT, HERE I COME! >e The road heads out over a narrow breakwater jutting out into the ocean. Breakwater >ne At the Foot of the Lighthouse The great bronze door of the lighthouse stands slightly ajar, revealing a narrow rectangle of blackness within. The cold wind cuts through your clothes, chilling you to the bone. Oh! Seems like Michael has opened the door for us! Makes me wonder why Miranda got this bronze key. >look At the Foot of the Lighthouse You stand in a circular clearing among the stones, surrounded on nearly every side by the sea. Before you looms the ancient, massive lighthouse, a vertiginous pillar of pale brick jabbing defiantly up at the sky. The road from the southwest ends here, although it looks as though you could pick your way down the rocks to the southeast, around the structure's base. The great bronze door of the lighthouse stands slightly ajar, revealing a narrow rectangle of blackness within. If you look, you'll notice there's nothing that says which direction the light house is. I don't know if that means anything, but I thought I would point it out. >east Bottom of the Lighthouse The sound of the ocean is muffled behind the thick cinderblock walls, and the air is damp and heavy. You can almost feel the weight of two hundred feet of hoary old whitewashed brick pressing down on you from above. To the west, a narrow strip of dim light marks the exit. Cracked concrete steps lead up. >up You climb the winding stairs in a gradual spiral around the inner circumference of the tower, and finally emerge, breathless, at the top. Michael? Are you up here? Top of the Lighthouse The stairs give onto a wide, circular chamber surrounded by windows. The glass is old and streaked with grime, but you still have to catch your breath at the magnificence of the view. In one direction, the dying heath and the stunted cluster of buildings that is Anchorhead; in the other, the ocean like a vast, undulating blanket. Sitting in the middle of the room is what looks like a swivel mount of some kind, although nothing is mounted on it now. Looking up, you see that it rests directly below a large, hexagonal skylight. Oh, this bodes well. >look at mount The mounting is ring-shaped, about three feet in diameter, and is designed to allow whatever is to be mounted on it to turn freely in all directions. It was probably originally intended to hold the beacon when the lighthouse was still in operation. >look at skylight That big, churning hole in the sky is perfectly framed by the hexagonal skylight. Hmmm... Mike isn't here. Maybe we passed him, somehow. >down You hastily descend the winding steps to the bottom. Bottom of the Lighthouse There is a faint scuffing noise from the shadows behind you -- before you can turn around, something slams into the back of your head with brutal force. Sparks go off in front of your eyes, and you fall to the cool concrete floor with the world reeling under you. As you kneel there, dazed and struggling not to pass out, your assailant walks slowly around you. He pauses, as if wondering whether or not to finish you off. Terror and nausea wash over you in alternating waves. You are too weak to look up and see his face, but you recognize his shoes easily enough. After all, you helped him pick them out not three weeks ago. More footsteps come down the stairs, and you sense a number of men standing around you. "We'll take care of her, Your Holiness," rasps an old, weathered voice. Rough hands start to drag you to your feet. "No," says Michael, and the hands pause. "Your Holiness, she has seen too much," protests the raspy voice. "She must be killed." "That won't be necessary," Michael says. "Put her somewhere out of the way, where she can't get into any more trouble. I'll deal with her myself... after the Blessed Event."  The horror and pain are too much; the darkness overwhelms you. You try to catch a glimpse of your husband's face as the men drag you away, but in your clouding vision all you can see are a pair of burning, red-rimmed eyes... ...next up, a little of what we missed...
|
|
#
?
Jun 25, 2015 21:05
|
|
|
Good game. Ending was a little abrupt.
|
|
#
?
Jun 26, 2015 05:07
|
|
|
Because we're so near the end, (yes there's more), before the last chapter, I figured now is a good time for... We'll start with what happens if Miranda steals her husband's faculty card. >search pants (Michael's pants) You find Michael's wallet. >open wallet (first taking the wallet) With a nervous glance toward the bathroom, you slip the wallet from Michael's pants. You open the wallet, revealing Michael's faculty card. Keep in mind, at this point, Miranda is naked after waking up... >take card The shower suddenly stops. Quickly you palm the card, replace the wallet and arrange the pants the way you found them. A moment later Michael emerges from the bathroom, toweling his hair. "My, don't you look tempting this morning," he says, giving you a kiss. He tosses the towel back into the bathroom and gets dressed. "I think I'm going to stay home and get some writing done. I don't actually start work until tomorrow, so..." He kisses you on the cheek as he walks out into the hall. "If you go out today, see if you can find a newspaper. I want to learn as much as I can about this town." He looks at you for a moment, and his voice becomes serious. "I love you, hon. You know that, don't you? I really want us to try and be happy here." Then he turns and pads down the hall. You take a deep breath as he goes. You've never lied to Michael or hidden anything from him before, ever; now, hardly two days into your new life, you're already sneaking through his wallet. Oh yeah. You're off to a great start. That last line makes me believe Michael and Miranda Carter got married this year. Later, there was another way to open the puzzle box. My first time through, this was my method of getting the lens from inside. Railroad Tracks The trail heads up a short embankment and emerges from the thicket alongside the railroad tracks. The tracks run down from the northeast and past the mill, continuing southwest but slowly curving westward until they cross the Miskaton River some miles outside of town. From the embankment you can look out over the entire heath: jagged, shadowy rooftops to the south; the oily ribbon of the Miskaton to the west; and to the east, the lighthouse sentinel and the leaden waters of the Atlantic beyond. >take puzzle box Taken. >put puzzle box on tracks You put the puzzle box on the railroad tracks. Flakes of ash drift gently down from the sky like gray snow, coating everything with a thin layer of soot. >z Time passes. >z Time passes. Flakes of ash drift gently down from the sky like gray snow, coating everything with a thin layer of soot. >z Time passes. >z Time passes. >z Time passes. >z Time passes. >z Time passes. >z Time passes. You can hear a low rumbling and a distant, plaintive whistle coming from the northeast. Flakes of ash drift gently down from the sky like gray snow, coating everything with a thin layer of soot. Here is comes. >z Time passes. >z Time passes. The train lumbers into view, its rumbling passage growing louder as it approaches. >z Time passes. The ground beneath your feet begins to vibrate as the rumbling grows to a roar. The whistle lets out an urgent shriek. The train is bearing down quickly now, very, very close. Ever put a penny on a train track? >z Time passes. With a sudden, hot gust of wind and a tremendous blast of noise, the train hurtles past, boxes and flats flickering by like frames in a kinetoscope. The ground is literally shaking now, sending bits of gravel bouncing down the sides of the embankment. The train rolls right over the puzzle box. For an instant you can see it being torn to shreds beneath the crushing iron wheels, and then it is gone. One fragment, some bit of black material from the box, flies out from under the train and lands in the gravel nearby. Flakes of ash drift gently down from the sky like gray snow, coating everything with a thin layer of soot. Your score has just gone up by two points. >look at fragment It's a dark, glassy circle, about the width of your hand in diameter and half an inch thick in the middle, tapering off to thinness toward the edge like a convex lens. Its color is the deep, oily black of obsidian, though you fancy you can see faint swirls of color inside it like the rainbow sheen of oil on water. Its curved surface is cool and perfectly smooth. Although incredibly hard, the material does not feel like stone; there is an odd, yielding quality to it, almost like something organic... almost, you realize with disquiet, like skin. As abruptly as it arrived, the train is past, the last swaying car receding quickly down the line to the west. >take lens Taken. Finally, for this bonus, we have the Library to contend with. If we took the Faculty Card from our Hubby's wallet, we would know to look him up in the register and find his name next to Frazer's book (again, it's best to refer to books by their authors). We would, however, realize that Claudia Benson had already been here. Even if we guessed, we could find she not only looked up Frazer, but Greene, Horne, and Wheldrake. So, let's take a read! Circulation Desk A high counter divides the public portion of the library from the reserved stacks -- all the more esoteric and mysterious volumes from the university's collection. If anything, the area behind the counter is even more shadowy than the side you're on. The main reading area lies south. Hanging on the wall next to the counter is a small, printed sign. Beneath the sign sits a heavy, dog-eared register, and sitting next to the register is a bell. >ring bell Ding. A moment later, the gaunt and fishy-eyed librarian emerges silently from the shadows behind the counter. >show card to librarian (first taking the faculty card) (slipping the torn journal into the pocket of your trenchcoat to get a hand free) The librarian looks the card over, nods slowly, and hands it back to you without a word. I had a lot of stuff in Miranda's hands for this update. >ask librarian for Frazer Wordlessly the librarian retreats back into the shadows, only to reappear the next moment carrying the thick, dusty tome you saw your husband with earlier. Dutifully, you sign the register, and the librarian hands you the book before disappearing again. Your score has just gone up by two points. >read frazer As you open the book, a slip of paper falls from its pages and flutters to the ground. Oh? What's this? >look at slip Someone was apparently using it as a bookmark. There's some writing on one side. >read slip It says: born-died same date? have to chk. records The handwriting is unmistakably Michael's. Seems like Michael had the same idea that Miranda did. >put slip in coat (first taking the slip of paper) (slipping the keyring into the pocket of your trenchcoat to get a hand free) You slip the slip of paper into the pocket of your trenchcoat. >read frazer As soon as we read the book, we get the following menu.  Yup. This is one of those BIG weighty tomes of Eldritch knowledge. Starting with the Introduction... A thick and weighty tome, its full title is A Historical Overview of Superstitions in the Miskaton Valley Region by J. Arnsworth Frazer, published in 1906. It begins: "Although New England has always been an abundant storehouse of American myth and folklore, the Miskaton River Valley has long been recognized as particularly fecund ground for tall tales and fanciful superstition. Legends abound of hideous, inhuman races living within the venerable hills; of pagan rituals enacted at unholy burial grounds and dedicated to ancient, blasphemous gods..." and continues along the same lines in the typically dry and bombastic style of those times. [Please press SPACE.] Next The Legend of Croseus Verlac This chapter deals with the strange mythology surrounding the person of Croseus Verlac, the first of the American Verlacs, who immigrated from the Black Forest region of Germany in the early 1600s. He settled in the Miskaton Valley and there helped establish the small fishing port soon to be known as Anchorhead. Croseus sired six raven-haired daughters and schooled all of them at home. The girls were reclusive and odd of habit, and by the time the eldest turned fifteen the town had all but openly accused them of witchcraft. The townsfolk shunned the Verlac daughters and called them "the Old Man's Coven" -- although never within earshot, since Croseus was already a very powerful and influential man in that region. Although he never had a son, Croseus apparently sired a number of grandsons by more than one of his daughters -- ostensibly to keep the Verlac blood pure, such practice being not uncommon in the more secluded and xenophobic early settlements. However, most of the male children were born dead, or horribly deformed, or both, and there were furtive whispers that Croseus was practicing some form of dark sorcery on his progeny. The fact that Croseus fell ill on the day that the first healthy male child was born (to his youngest daughter), and died before day's end, did not go unnoticed. After Croseus died, the townspeople turned against the "coven", burning all of them to death except for Eustacia, the youngest, who managed to escape along with her infant son, Wilhelm. She returned some years later, after an outbreak of smallpox wiped out much of the town's older population, including the Calvinist minister and every last man and woman who had participated in the burning of Verlac's brood. [Please press SPACE.] The Ritual of the Misquat Indians... Little is known about the enigmatic Misquat Indians. They are believed to have occupied a small, unobtrusive area around southeastern Massachusetts, along the banks of the river which now bears their name. At the time that this book was published, various property disputes prevented any thorough archaeological investigation of the area; information regarding this tiny, sequestered tribe is therefore scarce and based largely on hearsay and folklore. Analysis of the only known fossil -- a partial skull -- has led some anthropologists to conclude that the Misquat were not indigenous to the region. One popular theory holds that the tribe is most closely related to certain degenerate branches of the northern Esquimeaux, and were perhaps driven from their original sub-arctic clime and forced to settle in exile in what would become the northeastern United States. Although precious few physical artifacts have been recovered -- chief among them a pair of ritual masks and a crudely carved, seven-holed wind instrument -- tall tales of Misquat ritual abound. They appear to have been a unilaterally reviled tribe. Most of the whispered stories involve horrid, ululating chants around blazing bonfires in the dead of winter night, grotesque copulations performed in honor of bestial gods, and of course abundant human sacrifice. The Misquat were generally known as child-stealers, creeping through open windows at night to perpetrate foul kidnappings. None of these claims can of course be verified; nearly all Indian tribes encountered by the first European settlers have been subject to such prejudices at one time or another. It is known that the Misquat were most likely star-worshippers, and possessed what was likely a quite complex theology involving entities that dwelled beyond "the bowl of tiny fires" -- their term for the night sky. These entities granted wisdom or insanity, bestowed prosperity or famine, according to how well or how laxly the tribe performed its ritual appeasements. The rituals attempted to contact or possibly summon aspects of these entities through elaborately carved "beacons" -- mounds of stones or obelisks placed at significant geographical locations. The few eroded hieroglyphs left by them (oddly, the Misquat were one of the few North American tribes to have developed a system of writing prior to any contact with Europeans) have proved a compelling but so far intractable puzzle for linguists today; all further detail about their ritual and mythology remains yet a mystery. [Please press SPACE.] The Dark Man and Other Aspects... Nearly all of the early European settlements circulated stories of a being known as "The Dark Man" that lived in the primordial woods beyond the settlements' borders. Deeply religious and at the same time almost hysterically superstitious, clinging precariously to the edges of an unexplored and therefore terrifying continent, it was only natural for people in those times to project their collective fears onto the unknown. For the predominantly fundamentalist Protestant sects that first colonized the New World, these projections typically were embodiments of the Christian concept of the Devil. The Dark Man generally takes the form of a man, sometimes of large or even giant stature but more often no larger than a natural human. He is invariably dark-skinned, although rarely described as a Negro -- most often he is a Caucasian with jet-black skin, thus combining the refined, cunning intelligence of the European with the base carnality of the African. He is regularly portrayed as the consort of witches. He has many names: The Dark Man, The Grinning Man, Old Scratch, Springheel Jack, The Evil One, etc., but always his formal, Biblical appellation -- "Lucifer" or "Satan" -- is scrupulously avoided, a holdover from the tradition that to speak a demon's name is to attract his attention and perhaps even summon him. More interesting to the folklorist are the names that harken further back than these simple Christian superstitions, recalling a more pagan portrayal of the dark and unknown. These tales, which originate from the more reclusive colonies, often bring out the more animalistic, nature-worshipping aspect of the Dark Man. He is sometimes pictured as being covered with hair, or having hooves instead of feet, resembling Classical images of Pan. His names are more obscure: The Wicker (or Wicca) Man; The Black Goat With A Thousand Young. Therein lie tantalizing clues offering the enterprising folklorist still deeper glimpses into the collective unconscious. A few rare instances of The Dark Man have been uncovered that point beyond even these antiquated references -- bizarre aspects that seem to reflect some of the less understood concepts of Native American mysticism. Such baroque names as "The Lurker At The Threshold" or "The Watcher Beyond The Stars" point to a substratum of human mythology as yet untouched. These versions typically describe not physical manifestations, but rather abstract concepts of Evil and Time that some scholars have linked to the pre-Roman god Saturn, before he became characterized as merely the father of Zeus, when he was instead identified with the Ouroburos Dragon, Devourer of Worlds. Hopefully, as more archaeological evidence is uncovered, we will be able to speak of these primordial connections with greater confidence. [Please press SPACE.] The Strangling Mist Legend Rather unique to the lower Miskaton River Valley, this tale centers around a seemingly malevolent fog that roams the forests and lonely night roads, choking the unwary traveler with invisible, untouchable hands. The experience of being attacked by this strange entity is described in an 1855 journal as: "...lyke as thowe a deade man were to put his corpsey fingers downe yr throate withe one hande, & up yr nostrille withe the other..." No two tellings can agree on the origins of this terrible mist. Some accounts insist that it is a spirit of the restless dead; others attribute the effect to malicious hobgoblins. Other versions implicate witchcraft, a pirate's curse, swamp faerie... the list goes on. Some of the more esoteric explanations seem to indicate that the legend was adapted by white settlers from native superstitions held by the tribes indigenous to the Miskaton region; however, there is no evidence as yet that the "strangling mist" existed in any form prior to the appearance of Europeans. [Please press SPACE.] And finally the Ghost Train... Yet another colorful folk legend involves the recurring image of a "ghost train" -- a spectral locomotive that materializes from nowhere, glides across the haunted track for a short period of time, and then disappears as mysteriously as it came. This story did not originate among the first white settlers, of course; obviously it only came into being after the advent of the steam locomotive in our burgeoning Machine Age. The earliest known recorded version of this story, in fact, is dated 1882. Nonetheless, the legend provides us with an interesting example of how the collective unconscious adapts itself to changing aspects of our culture, cloaking old symbolism in the trappings of new technology. Although many versions hold that the ghost train represents the ghastly echoes of a locomotive that was wrecked (derailed and lost off a mountain pass is the most popular means of destruction), this is in fact a simplistic interpretation not seen until many decades after the myth originated. More intriguing and more useful to the folklorist are versions that explain the ghost train as a transport to the land of the dead -- a modernized boat of Charon, ferrying damned souls across the shroud to the devil's newly industrial Hell. These are the versions which most faithfully maintain links to the traditions of the past, and demonstrate the curious evolutionary behavior of the myth. In some of these tellings, the traveling soul must have a ticket to present to the grim conductor -- an element directly analogous to the ancient custom of placing of gold coins beneath the tongue to buy passage to the underworld. Living souls who ventured too near the tracks as the ghost train made its nightly sojourn would find themselves swept along -- echoing the Celtic/Germanic myth of the Wild Hunt, in which witness were compelled to join as either hunter or prey. Those who thus boarded the train by accident, madness or mere foolishness were inevitably carried back to whatever eldritch dimension from whence the train originated. Tales of return voyages are rare and generally held by those who pass them along to be apocryphal. [Please press SPACE.] You can see why I opted to wait until a break in the story before reveiling this text. There's SO much of it! Circulation Desk A high counter divides the public portion of the library from the reserved stacks -- all the more esoteric and mysterious volumes from the university's collection. If anything, the area behind the counter is even more shadowy than the side you're on. The main reading area lies south. Hanging on the wall next to the counter is a small, printed sign. Beneath the sign sits a heavy, dog-eared register, and sitting next to the register is a bell. >ring bell Ding. A moment later, the gaunt and fishy-eyed librarian emerges silently from the shadows behind the counter. >give frazer to librarian Wordlessly the librarian takes the tome from you and spirits it back to the shadowy depths of the reserved stacks. Every single time the Librarian does something, she goes away afterwards. That means each book requires two rings of the bell. Once to ask for the book. Once to return the book. >ring bell Ding. A moment later, the gaunt and fishy-eyed librarian emerges silently from the shadows behind the counter. >ask for greene Wordlessly the librarian retreats back into the shadows, only to reappear the next moment carrying the book you requested. Dutifully, you sign the register, and the librarian hands you the book before disappearing again. Thankfully, Miranda doesn't have to show the card to the Librarian over and over. >read greene Its full title is The Righteous Invasion: a History of Indian/Settler Conflicts in the Colonial Period by Warner Greene. It's a slim volume, published by Miskaton Press in 1943. According to the introduction, the book's purpose is to give an objective account of the social and economic factors which led some of the early American colonies into violent conflict with the tribes of the northeast, concluding with a transitional discussion of how the "Indian policies" which took shape early on evolved into Western Expansionism and the idea of Manifest Destiny. The author, reflecting the more conservative decade in which he wrote, tends to paint a more sympathetic picture of the European side of the issue than would be fashionable today; but all in all it seems an intelligent, thoughtful analysis. Glancing through the table of contents, you notice that there is a short chapter on the Misquat Indians. Curious, you flip to the page. The fate of the Misquat tribe, states the author, is an enigma which may never be solved. Diplomatic relationships with the original river valley settlers seemed doomed from the beginning. Documents from the period paint the tribe as aggressively pagan, degenerate savages. Nevertheless, Croseus Verlac managed to hammer out a peace treaty of sorts with the tribal leader, and the two groups led an uneasy coexistence for over a century. The exact circumstances which led up to the "battle" of Quattac Bend in 1772 are unclear. One document makes mention of an "uprising", although since as far as is known, the Misquats were never in a subservient relationship to the Anchorhead settlers, the use of this term is more puzzling than revealing. In fact, no evidence has yet been discovered that corroborates the notion that the Misquat Indians initiated any sort of hostility whatsoever. What is known is this: the Battle of Quattac Bend took place in the dead of night. It was led by Croseus' descendant, Heinrich Verlac, and "fought" by some twenty town men, who crept through the woods and ambushed the small tribe during one of its holy ceremonies. There are no lists of casualties. Although the diary of one soldier tells of many prisoners being taken, there is no mention of where these prisoners were kept or what was eventually done to them. No known document makes even the vaguest allusion to the Misquat Indians after 1772. From that date onward, the tribe effectively ceases to exist. >ring bell Ding. A moment later, the gaunt and fishy-eyed librarian emerges silently from the shadows behind the counter. >give Greene to Librarian Ma'am, here's the book, but could you also get me- Wordlessly the librarian takes the tome from you and spirits it back to the shadowy depths of the reserved stacks.  >ring bell Ding. A moment later, the gaunt and fishy-eyed librarian emerges silently from the shadows behind the counter. >ask librarian for Horne Wordlessly the librarian retreats back into the shadows, only to reappear the next moment carrying the book you requested. Dutifully, you sign the register, and the librarian hands you the book before disappearing again. >read horne According to the author's foreword, the term "metempsychosis" means the transmigration of souls -- that is, the reincarnation of a soul into another body. The book, which was published in 1922, is an examination of various traditions' explanations of how and why this happens. The author's tone is very matter-of-fact; it's unclear whether he is approaching the subject from the standpoint of a mythologist or if he actually believes in reincarnation and is evaluating the various theories based on their "scientific" validity. Flipping through the book, you find a passage that has been highlighted: "Among tribes with a strong ancestor-worship tradition, one often discovers the quaint notion that one may be reincarnated as one's own descendant. Asking such people whether they must share a single body with the spirit of their ancestor (inheritance), or if they themselves are in essence their own grandfather (identity), is generally futile; among primitives, concepts of self-identity are poorly defined at best. Often there exists no word in their native language to express the idea. One can assume, however, that the primitive tribesman's conception of the situation is probably closer to the latter option; otherwise, over the course of generations one would have to contend with dozens of ancestral spirits fighting for room within a single body. However, the theory of identity also begs the question: how far back does the chain of reincarnation go? One could conceivably be dealing with a tribe of 'first' men, present at the day of Creation and renewing themselves over the aeons with each succeeding generation." Well, this is oddly prophetic. >ring bell Ding. A moment later, the gaunt and fishy-eyed librarian emerges silently from the shadows behind the counter. >give horne to Librarian Ma'am, I just need one other book, I wonder if I could- Wordlessly the librarian takes the tome from you and spirits it back to the shadowy depths of the reserved stacks. >ring bell Ding. A moment later, the gaunt and fishy-eyed librarian emerges silently from the shadows behind the counter. >ask librarian for Wheldrake Wordlessly the librarian retreats back into the shadows, only to reappear the next moment carrying the book you requested. Dutifully, you sign the register, and the librarian hands you the book before disappearing again. >read Wheldrake This is a very thin volume, more of a tract than a proper book. You notice with some interest that it was published in 1918 by Miskaton University Press, though who "Lord Wheldrake" was you cannot begin to fathom. Even without a background in physics, you can immediately tell that this is nothing but the purest pseudoscience. The author claims to have made "startling advances" relating to a heretofore unknown medium through which energy can travel. As far as you can tell, he performed no actual experiments; his entire thesis is built on extrapolation from his own creative reasoning. One bit near the middle has been marked with a highlighter: "Having established the existence of the N-space medium, we can then reasonably posit the existence of a special wave-length capable of traveling through that medium; we will call this form of energy, appropriately enough, N-rays. Due to the fundamentally extradimensional nature of N-space, N-rays cannot logically be located at any one point of the electromagentic spectrum; they instead exist at every point along the spectrum, traveling perpendicular it. Naturally, the practical ramifications of being able to transmit extradimensionally are dwarfed by the theoretical implications..." Good grief, you can't help thinking. What drivel. >s Library Shadows roost thickly in the vaulted ceiling, and small, green-shaded desk lamps cast pools of warm radiance here and there around the library's dim interior. You pause a moment to let the hushed peacefulness of this place soak in -- a welcome relief from the unsettling events of the day. An exit lies east, and a small alcove to the north houses the circulation counter. I'm sure you're all wondering what happens if Miranda tries to leave. >e You're not allowed to leave the library with the book. She won't. She can try to put these books in her coat, but... >put book in coat You can't see any such thing. ...she'll forget what a book is. Of course, it's best to refer to the books by author, but... >put wheldrake in coat You can't see any such thing. Miranda may have the onset of Alzheimer's. And before you say "Maybe she doesn't have the book on her anymore... >i You are wearing a silver locket, your trenchcoat, your clothes and your wedding ring; in addition, you have in your hands N-Fold Transduction and the Space-Time Barrier by Lord Wheldrake, Michael's faculty card, a strange black disk and an old-fashioned iron key. Nope. No clue why the book acts this way. I know a little Inform (the language used to program this game) and I'd LOVE to see how the Author handled these Books as objects. Anyway, that's enough of that. Next up... The Last Night.
|
|
#
?
Jun 26, 2015 20:42
|
|
|
Fun fact: N-rays were actually a mainstream scientific theory once! You see, a guy called Blondlot came up with this experiment where if you looked really really hard at a phosphorescent surface in a darkened room, you could see the brightness subtly - almost imperceptibly - change under certain conditions. So clearly there had to be a mechanism, and he came up with the theory of N-rays. A while later, he was replicating one of his experiments for another scientist called Wood. Wood used the cover of darkness to secretly remove an important prism from the apparatus, and replace the "N-ray emitter" with a block of wood. Lo and behold, Blondlot still saw the almost imperceptible changes in brightness, and concluded that N-rays were clearly present. N-rays are no longer a mainstream scientific theory.
|
|
#
?
Jun 26, 2015 21:11
|
|
|
|
| # ? Apr 20, 2024 00:36 |
|
|
Pretty nifty that the librarian has the "Innsmouth Look" going on with those fish eyes...  
|
|
#
?
Jun 26, 2015 22:48
|
|