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These news makes me happy.
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Sep 1, 2015 23:01
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Alright, tomorrow I'll begin again, but here's the story of where I've been and why I'm so late. Spoiler tag for those who don't like wining or some guy sharing his feelings as this tale has nothing to do with Anchorhead. I post this half to fulfill the curiosity of others that have noticed that I'm usually very punctual, but mostly because, man, I just need to tell someone and you guys are a semi-captive audience. This will not become a habit. I love my wife and call her "Queeny." She's the bread winner. Because I'm a lowly artist who only works in a humble books store, I try my damnedest to make Queeny happy and relaxed. One of the things I do is rub her feet after she gets back from work. About two-ish months ago I started to notice she had a kind of rash on her feet. I had one, too, but chalked it up to summer and allergies. Eventually I catch a bug crawling on me and Queeny gets curious. She looks it up... Bedbugs. Bedbugs are notoriously difficult to get rid of and dine almost exclusively on human blood. Often they come with used furniture. We have none, so the best we can think of is that I must have carried it in on my bags while I was out traveling. Bedbugs are also known for showing up in hotels, after all. So the way I see it, this is my fault. I still think this, but I'm calmer now. This is a four bedroom house with six occupants, so bedbugs could spin wildly out of control unless I move fast. As hard as I clean and as carefully as I spray, I still rub my wife's feet and the bites on her legs are getting worse and more numerous. I'm racked by guilt. I'm a man unused to guilt. I've been so saturated by bad news in the media and watching my family rot to pieces that if someone were to say that 10,000 people died in a huge fire, my reaction is "That's not even 1% of the American population. What's the big deal?" Most every tragedy I encounter is lost in numbers. But these bugs hit me in my weak spot. My wife. And I feel it's my fault she is hurting. To her credit, she shrugs it off, since she has a business to run and these things are unimportant to her. Between cleaning the house up with my sweat and the guilt, I have a complete break down. Maybe two. Eventually I became sunk into a depression that keeps me from drawing or doing anything at all. (Those who have seen my comics may notice I've been just reposing things I've already worked on.) So my wife says "What's the big deal? We hire an exterminator." Did I mention she was the bread winner? It's because, despite her own opinion, she is incredibly able. She waltzes into the bank and comes out with a large enough loan to pay the $2,000 dollars for Orkin to visit (again, it's a four bedroom house) and more to clean and replace furniture, like our bed, our dresser, my recliner, computer chairs, desks, etc... The process of extermination should take about a month and a half and we're still in the middle of it, but life is slowly (oh so slowly) returning to normal and I can draw again. Queeny is my hero. Like Miranda Carter, minus the kleptomaniac, she jumps in and solves the puzzles while, like Micheal Carter, I'm losing my senses. My wife is more awesome than yours. Alright, that's enough personal story. I'm going to spend today rereading this thread and playing Anchorhead to get back into the groove. I apologize for the delay and will return to a daily scheduled tomorrow. Updates will take place in the evenings of east-coast time, around Eight.
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Sep 27, 2015 16:47
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Hey, guy. Thanks for sharing your story. I think I speak for most of us (except possibly Thesaya) when I say: Don't sweat it. Let's Play is basically the definition of "not serious business", take your time. That said, I'm totally looking forward to Miranda's future adventures in the asylum and I will be watching this space.
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Sep 27, 2015 18:41
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Tasteful Dickpic posted:Hey, guy. Thanks for sharing your story. I think I speak for most of us (except possibly Thesaya) when I say: Don't sweat it. Let's Play is basically the definition of "not serious business", take your time. ..I have no idea why I would be excepted from this? I 100% agree with the no pressure thing. Anyway, I have had this problem myself,when I was a kid and my parents solved it by putting all the sheets, duvets, pillows and stuff in the freezer. I do not know if it would help in your case, but yeah...
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Sep 28, 2015 01:27
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It was just a joke. Not a very funny one, mind.
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Sep 28, 2015 05:18
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Tasteful Dickpic posted:It was just a joke. No worries. At least I got the jest. Looking over my old notes and sketches is weird. Like, in all my save files, Miranda has the Pottery Magazine, but I don't remember picking it up, yet. Also, the guide I'm following is telling me the wrong thing, like to use a hair pin which doesn't exist in this version of the game. I have to remind myself what the hell I was thinking two months ago and what the real solutions are. This promises to be fun. Update later tonight.
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Sep 28, 2015 19:24
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Grimwit posted:Bedbugs. *SHUDDER*. Oh man, that really sucks. I spent about eight months infested with bedbugs that I couldn't get rid of (turned out they were coming under the floor from another apartment). It was a fecking nightmare -- painful, draining, humiliating. I totally and completely sympathise.
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Sep 28, 2015 22:38
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Ghostwoods posted:I suspect we'll need the porn mag to get the keys for some adventure-logic reason. You are SO right. >take magazine You reach through the bars and snag the magazine. >read magazine There's not a whole lot in this magazine that you actually read. The target audience for this sort of thing is generally more interested in the pictures than in the articles. Metal Gear Solid 3 and up has taught us the worth of random magazines. >take key (the cell key) Taken. >look at cell key Presumably, it opens the barred gates, providing access into (or out of) the asylum. Of course if you try and open the lock without first distracting the Madman, he eats you, again. Miranda doesn't need this Magazine about pottery. >give magazine to madman The madman snatches the magazine from your hand and begins pawing through it like an over-sexed adolescent, giggling and occasionally squeezing his crotch. >unlock gate with cell key You unlock the barred gate. >n The madman, noticing you trying to sneak off, tosses the magazine aside and hobbles after you. (opening the barred gate first) Waiting Room The orderly is lying face down in a pool of blood in the middle of the room. The orderly's name tag lies on the floor nearby. The madman lurches after you. The madman stops, stoops down, and picks a bit of gristly stuff out of the back of the orderly's head. He pops it into his mouth and chews it rapidly, rubbing his belly. Well, this has turned lovely. >n The rain is still coming down, so you open your umbrella. (first taking the umbrella) If you don't remember, Miranda was keeping her umbrella in her coat. Asylum Courtyard The madman comes prancing out the front door of the asylum, and suddenly stops dead in his tracks. He looks around, utterly dumbfounded. He looks up at the sky, and feels the raindrops striking his face. Slowly it dawns on his addled brain that he is outside; that he is, in fact, free. With a wild whoop of pure joy, the madman hobbles away down the street, laughing and chattering to himself with such unabashed happiness that for a moment you almost forget that you have just let loose a dangerous and quite probably homicidal psychotic into the world at large. Then again, you think, in this town he might just fit right in. *** ka-WHAM!!! *** A monstrous clap of thunder rolls across the sky, shaking the whole town to its foundations. A sudden gust of rain puts the lantern out.  Your score has just gone up by two points. Uh... Well, at least our heroin is free, too. Feels like she's been in that asylum for months! Thesaya posted:can we not take all? What an excellent idea! Back inside we go. >south You close your umbrella, as is your habit after coming indoors. Waiting Room The orderly is lying face down in a pool of blood in the middle of the room. The orderly's name tag lies on the floor nearby. >look at tag It reads: "CHUCK". Miranda nearly missed this. >put tag in coat (first taking the name tag) (slipping the lantern into the pocket of your trenchcoat to get a hand free) You slip the name tag into the pocket of your trenchcoat. Before you ask, Miranda is now without any light sources, so back tracking further is currently impossible. She didn't want that dirty jug magazine anyway. >north The rain is still coming down, so you open your umbrella. Asylum Courtyard A sizzling bolt of lightning cuts through the night sky, illuminating your surroundings in a sudden sheet of blinding white radiance that leaves eerie, green afterimages scarred onto your retinas. Cover your ears, everyone! >n Dark Corner *** ka-WHAM!!! *** A monstrous clap of thunder rolls across the sky, shaking the whole town to its foundations. Man, that's loud. >e Town Square 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. As you step into the open square you hear a sudden commotion -- several crowds of people are converging onto the town square from different directions. You can hear their shouts and see the flickering glow of their torches as the mob begins to swarm in from the north and east. A sudden gust of wind suddenly snatches the umbrella from your hands. GAH! Our umbrella! And trouble. Big trouble. Only YOU can save Miranda. Remember to put your suggestions in Bold. Items       In Trenchcoat                              
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Sep 29, 2015 01:56
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Clearly we gotta put on the cult hoodie and then put Chuck's nametag on it. Good ol' Chuck the Cultist. Totally brought cupcakes at the last sacrifice and they were absolutely gluten free because Margaret has Celiac's.
Vox Valentine fucked around with this message at 06:12 on Sep 29, 2015 |
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Sep 29, 2015 02:43
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Yeah, this.
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Sep 29, 2015 05:00
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Hostile V posted:Good ol' Chuck the Cultist. Gotta be worth a try!
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Sep 29, 2015 05:30
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Hostile V posted:Clearly we gotta put on the cult hoodie and then put Chuck's nametag on it. Good ol' Chuck the Cultist. Totally brought cupcakes at the last sacrifice and they were absolutely gluten free because Margaret has Celiac's. See, despite Chuck's affinity for porn, he really WAS a good guy. Oh yeah. And the whole... Murder cult... thing. Anyway... >take off coat You take off the trenchcoat. The obelisk glows red with the bloody light of their torches. They are almost here; you'd better find somewhere to hide, quickly. Cool. >wear robe You put on the hooded robe. Robed men brandishing torches pour into the square, rallying around the obelisk at its center. Several of them seem to be struggling with someone. You huddle back into the shadows, but no one seems to notice yet another robed figure in the midst of the crowd. For the moment, it seems, you are safe. >wear tag (first taking the name tag) You can't wear that! Aw. Come on! We're Chuck! Swear to Ialdabaoloth! The struggling men step forward, and you can see they have the old bum from the vacant lot. His wrists are bound and his arms held by two cultists on either side. Although he screams and writhes with frantic desperation, the frail old drunkard is no match for his captors. Someone raises his hands for silence -- you can't quite see him from where you are -- and the mob quiets down. Even the old bum's screams lower to a fearful whimpering. The old man wails pitifully, begging his captors for mercy. Oh man. This is no time for name tags! >put tag in coat You slip the name tag into the pocket of your trenchcoat. "My brethren," intones the leader, "we are gathered here to mete out bloody justice upon one who has sinned against us. This one," -- he jabs a finger at the old bum -- "has divulged our secrets to an outsider and betrayed the sacred trust of our brotherhood! For this, his soul must be condemned forever, embraced and encysted within the necrotic folds of the Womb of Nehilim!" Oh I've been there. Womb of Nehilim is the worse tourist trap. At this, the crowd lets loose with a roar of approval, while the old bum throws back his head and shrieks helplessly into the storm. >wait You wait, helplessly. The cultists drag the bum over to the monument and prepare to lift him up. Suddenly, he makes a break for it, bolting through the pressing crowd and running, by some grotesque twist of luck, straight at you. The old man stops short. The flickering torchlight illuminates your face, and his eyes widen in recognition. He opens his mouth to speak...  Uh... Oh! Hello again. How's the amulet working out for you? And four burly cultists tackle him simultaneously, pulling him down. As the old man's body hits the ground, a small, shiny object falls out of the bum's clothes and bounces out across the cobblestones, unnoticed by all. What was that? The cultists carry the bum back and lift him up onto the monument, hanging him by the wrists from the iron ring set into its tip. A sizzling bolt of lightning cuts through the night sky, illuminating your surroundings in a sudden sheet of blinding white radiance that leaves eerie, green afterimages scarred onto your retinas. Maybe we can find whatever that is. >look Town Square A wide expanse of uneven pavestones lies open to the sky, bordered on all sides by the leaning, steep-roofed architecture that looms over everything in this city. The municipal courthouse stands at the south end of the square, next to the mouth of a dark, narrow alley to the southwest. Avenues to the west and east lead back into the cramped and ingrown streets, while to the north lies Whateley Bridge. Your amulet is lying on the cobblestones a few yards away from the obelisk. Apparently, it didn't give the old bum as much luck as he'd hoped.  Woop! Woop! The square is packed with an angry, screaming mob of cultists. 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. You can also see your umbrella here. Oh, that old thing. "Please," sobs the old man pitifully, "please, I didn't, I swear, I didn't tell nobody nothing, so I didn't! I SWEAR TO GOD I DIDN'T TELL -- " Before the poor old man can finish his plea, a dozen cultists brandishing long metal rods begin brutally beating him. You avert your eyes; his screams are quickly cut off as his ribs are staved in, and soon all you can hear are the horrible thuds, and the wet snapping sound of breaking bones. *** ka-WHAM!!! *** A monstrous clap of thunder rolls across the sky, shaking the whole town to its foundations. Don't mind me, fellow cultists. >put umbrella in coat (first taking the umbrella) (closing the umbrella first) You slip the umbrella into the pocket of your trenchcoat. Although it seems to go on forever, the slaughter is finished in less than a minute. The crowd backs away, its cheering and chanting diminished to a low, hypnotic murmur. The cultists quickly disperse back into the streets, and within moments the square is once again empty... except for the mutilated thing hanging from the obelisk. >wear amulet (first taking the amulet) You pick up the amulet, musing sadly that it must not have brought the poor old bum as much luck as he'd hoped.  Your score has just gone up by two points. Miranda's once more... ...at a cost. >look at obelisk The obelisk measures about two feet square at its base, narrowing slightly as it rises a good fifteen feet to a bluntly pointed tip. An iron ring is embedded in the stone high up on one side, about two feet from the top. Dense, twisting hieroglyphs cover all four sides of the obelisk, although they are too worn to be read clearly. The sides of the obelisk are streaked with blood, gradually washing away in the rain. >look at bum The poor man's torn and broken body has been savaged nearly beyond recognition. You can hardly bear to look at him. >look at self The voluminous robe covers you from head to foot. As long as no one looks too closely under the hood, it makes a pretty effective disguise. > Well, let's have a little quiz. Where are we going now? Remember to use a number 2 pencil and leave your answers in Bold. Items  In Trenchcoat 
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Sep 30, 2015 02:12
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Home? I have no idea...
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Sep 30, 2015 06:59
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Yeah. I've forgotten what our beloved madman is doing at this point, so maybe we should go home and see if everything is alright.
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Sep 30, 2015 09:30
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Yeah, let's see how the hubbs reacts to the cult robe. Go home
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Sep 30, 2015 12:05
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Yay! You're back! Oi vey - bed bugs are horrible.  Weren't we trying sneak in and swap in a smudged glass lens in the lighthouse?
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Oct 1, 2015 05:12
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Old Grey Guy posted:Yeah, let's see how the hubbs reacts to the cult robe. Go home Be it ever so cursed with unspeakable horror, there's no place like home. Onwards! >east Riverwalk >south Chilly Avenue >southwest The ground begins to rise sharply as the road climbs up into the hills south of town. Scenic View >northwest Outside the House The front door stands open to the north. The Verlac mansion looms before you, casting an air of menace over the clearing. Seems like Miranda is forgetting something. >look at sky The clouds overhead are a boiling, flickering mass of blackness; flashing here and there with violent bursts of sheet lightning. The chaos seems to center on the whirling hole over the lighthouse, all of the storm's fury gradually spiraling closer and closer toward its center. The sight of that horrible, whirling hole makes you shudder, involuntarily recalling that hideous entity that lurks behind those clouds. Oh yeah. Armageddon. Well, it'll work itself out. Let's go back to bed. >north Foyer The front door stands open to the south. Your luggage is still here, spread out all over the foyer. >up Upstairs Landing >north Master Bedroom Home sweet Hell. >take off robe You take off the hooded robe. >look in dressing mirror  You look good, considering you're smeared with smelly fish oil, covered in grimy ash, filthy from splashing around in the sewers and soaking wet. A bit rattled by recent events, perhaps, but well-poised and collected, all the same. Kacie posted:Weren't we trying sneak in and swap in a smudged glass lens in the lighthouse? I mean, Miranda COULD try and sleep, too. >sleep It's too early to be thinking about sleep. Except it's too early to think about sleep, guys. That was a terrible suggestion. We should be trying to sabatage the light house! Let's get there right now! >put on coat You put on the trenchcoat. >south Michael will be out of the shower any minute now. He'll be awfully suspicious if he finds his wallet inexplicably missing. What? Is... Is Michael in the shower right now? >west Bathroom There's no one in the shower right now. >east Master Bedroom So... We can go, right? >south Michael will be out of the shower any minute now. He'll be awfully suspicious if he finds his wallet inexplicably missing. >listen You hear nothing unexpected. Well, game, I half expected to hear Mike in the shower. Is he in the shower or isn't he? >look Master Bedroom The master bedroom is a picture-postcard of rustic New England charm. Faded sketches of rural landscapes adorn the walls; a beautifully carved dressing mirror stands in one corner; an old-fashioned accordion radiator gurgles quietly beneath the window. The most striking feature, an enormous, antique, four-poster bed, must be the largest piece of furniture in the house. Doorways lead west and south. Uh.. Okay, game. Let's just get rid of the drat wallet, then. >take wallet Taken. >drop wallet Dropped. >south The sight of Michael's wallet lying out gives you pause. If he finds it like that, he might think you've been rummaging through his pockets. Of course, you have been rummaging through his pockets, but do you really want him to know about it? . . . >take wallet Taken. Fine, let's put the wallet back into the imaginary pants. >put wallet in pants Those can't contain things. . . . You are loving kidding me. 
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Oct 2, 2015 02:41
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Best ending so far.
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Oct 2, 2015 02:55
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We should make like the Sierra Madre casino and begin again.
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Oct 2, 2015 05:07
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Forget the talk of Armageddon, those pants are just too strong for any mortal mind to comprehend!
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Oct 2, 2015 07:36
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You cannot comprehend the true form of Michael's pants.
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Oct 2, 2015 10:30
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Hi everyone. I'm Mike Gentry, the guy who wrote Anchorhead. This thread is awesome. Grimwit, I'd like to get in touch with you about using your illustrations in an illustrated version of Anchorhead. Friend or message me on facebook. edromia fucked around with this message at 00:03 on Oct 8, 2015 |
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Oct 7, 2015 14:01
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Now that sounds like an utterly awesome outcome for the thread.
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Oct 7, 2015 14:25
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Wow. That's amazing.
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Oct 9, 2015 22:40
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edromia posted:Hi everyone. I'm Mike Gentry, the guy who wrote Anchorhead. This thread is awesome. How did I not notice this before? Wow. Cool.
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Oct 9, 2015 23:32
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Sent Edromia an email. Of course now I HAVE to finish this LP. I'll start again tomorrow and try and keep consistent this time. I'll just stave off the minions of the Itch God while I do that. *sigh*
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Oct 10, 2015 03:22
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Okay, Miranda is still in the bedroom with the wallet, but something occured to me. Actually, I'm surprised no one else thought of this. >west Bathroom >drop wallet Dropped. A sudden flash of lightning from outside momentarily etches the room in sharp black and white contrast. >e Master Bedroom *** ka-WHAM!!! *** A monstrous clap of thunder rolls across the sky, shaking the whole town to its foundations. >s Upstairs Landing Problem solved! Incidentally, for those skimming through the thread, the author, Michael Gentry, contacted me and I swear I could hear his email grumbling about the wallet/pants glitch. Now, we must make it to the light house! Onward! >d Foyer The front door stands open to the south. Your luggage is still here, spread out all over the foyer. >s The rain is still coming down, so you open your umbrella. (first taking the umbrella) Outside the House The front door stands open to the north. The Verlac mansion looms before you, casting an air of menace over the clearing. >se Scenic View The wind tugs viciously at your umbrella. >ne Chilly Avenue >n Riverwalk >w Town Square The poor old man's mutilated corpse hangs from the top of the obelisk. Maybe we shouldn't think about that old man. Miranda is sorry the amulet didn't protect him, but if he were low enough, she'd steal the shoes off his feet anyway. No crowd around. Let's see if the bridge is clear. >north Whateley Bridge As you approach the bridge, you see a hulking shadow lurking about on the far bank. You slow down warily, remembering the townsfolk who threatened you earlier, peering through the darkness and obscuring rain to catch a glimpse of the person. Then the figure moves slightly, and you realize that it's much larger than a man; in fact, the figure isn't shaped anything like a man at all. A sudden crack of lightning illuminates the bridge for a brief, horrible instant -- and in that instant, you see it. In the next few moments, your battered mind manages to blot out the memory of that bloated, barrel-like, armless trunk; those thick, double-jointed legs that end in shiny black hooves; that writhing forest of fleshy tendrils crowning the torso in place of a proper head -- but you are not, and will never be, able to banish the horrible, searing memory of the thing's misplaced face which leers madly out at you from the side of the trunk -- that child's face on a monster's body! The creature lurches toward you, its hooved feet thumping heavily on the old stone bridge. What did he look like? I'm sure there's no harm is examining closer... >look at William Which do you mean, the monster or the boy's picture? >Monster Unfortunately, forcing yourself to gaze into the monster's countenance is, finally, more than your mind can bear, and your senses snap inside your head like so many rotted hawsers. You can only stand, paralyzed, as the thing lumbers toward you with its tendrils writhing and groping; and your hysterical laughter is drowned out by the thunder, and your horrified tears are washed away by the rain.  *** You have died *** In that game you scored 60 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 60 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 2 points for escaping from the church 2 points for opening Claudia Benson's desk drawer 2 points for giving the teddy bear to Jeffrey's mother 1 point for getting the long steel key 1 point for shutting off the steam valve 2 points for getting up to the mill laboratory 2 points for escaping the strait jacket 2 points for finding Edward Verlac's last testament 2 points for escaping the asylum 2 points for recovering the amulet 60 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? >Well, that was a short update. Any ideas?
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Oct 11, 2015 01:44
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Run away?
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Oct 11, 2015 01:51
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Elric posted:Run away? Yes, run in the opposite direction of the monster.
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Oct 11, 2015 05:03
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Yeah, run, or better: RUN!
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Oct 11, 2015 14:53
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I'm going to be the odd man out and say we run toward the monster! >attack monster It can't hurt to try  .
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Oct 11, 2015 15:29
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Alright, back to Town Square, Miranda must head up to the Light house. But, when she tries... >north Whateley Bridge The creature lurches toward you, its hooved feet thumping heavily on the old stone bridge. WOOOOOHHHHAAAHHH!!! Step one: Don't look at the creature! Elric posted:Run away? No Gravitas posted:Yes, run in the opposite direction of the monster. Old Grey Guy posted:Yeah, run, or better: RUN! Step Two: Run the gently caress away! >south Mind reeling, you flee from the monstrous aberration on the bridge. Town Square The poor old man's mutilated corpse hangs from the top of the obelisk. There MUST be something in Miranda's Hammer Space coat to help! Otherwise, why has she been stealing everything? >i Inventory  In Coat  SimonChris posted:>attack monster Of course! Beat the Hell out of it! Why didn't Miranda think of that before! >take hook (slipping the cell key into the pocket of your trenchcoat to get a hand free) Taken. The cold wind blows harder, tugging at the hem of your trenchcoat. >north Whateley Bridge The hideous aberration looms before you, blotting out much of the night sky. The creature lurches toward you, its hooved feet thumping heavily on the old stone bridge. You can take Miranda's Life...! But you will never take...! HER HUSBAND!!! >attack monster with hook With an agility you would not have suspected in something that big, the creature easily sidesteps your attack. Squawling like a hungry infant, it turns on you, lashing out with its tentacles; the ropy tendrils wrap tightly around your neck and start to squeeze; and the rasping, slobbering face of the boy presses against you, and starts to bite...  *** You have died *** In that game you scored 60 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? > Nope. One last guess, folks.
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Oct 12, 2015 03:33
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Maybe show him his picture?
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Oct 12, 2015 04:31
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No Gravitas posted:Maybe show him his picture? Either that or show him his mother's picture.
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Oct 12, 2015 06:39
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Seconding the two ideas above this post - show William his locket and his mother's locket.
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Oct 12, 2015 07:03
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These ideas seem logical, let's do that.
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Oct 12, 2015 18:18
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Kacie posted:Seconding the two ideas above this post - show William his locket and his mother's locket. Ding Ding Ding! But first... >take hook (slipping the cell key into the pocket of your trenchcoat to get a hand free) Taken. The wind tugs viciously at your umbrella. A sudden gust of wind blows a cold spray of rain into your face. For... No reason. >n Whateley Bridge As you approach the bridge, you see a hulking shadow lurking about on the far bank. You slow down warily, remembering the townsfolk who threatened you earlier, peering through the darkness and obscuring rain to catch a glimpse of the person. Then the figure moves slightly, and you realize that it's much larger than a man; in fact, the figure isn't shaped anything like a man at all. A sudden crack of lightning illuminates the bridge for a brief, horrible instant -- and in that instant, you see it. In the next few moments, your battered mind manages to blot out the memory of that bloated, barrel-like, armless trunk; those thick, double-jointed legs that end in shiny black hooves; that writhing forest of fleshy tendrils crowning the torso in place of a proper head -- but you are not, and will never be, able to banish the horrible, searing memory of the thing's misplaced face which leers madly out at you from the side of the trunk -- that child's face on a monster's body! The wind tugs viciously at your umbrella. The creature lurches toward you, its hooved feet thumping heavily on the old stone bridge. Wait! William! Remember, you weren't always like this! >give silver locket to monster The creature doesn't seem remotely interested. The little boy's face opens its mouth and lets forth a horrible, wailing squawl, a sound like a frightened infant calling for its mother. Okay, that's a shade left of creepy. William, no! Remember your mother! Would she want to ripping strangers to shreds?! >give gold locket to creature You toss the gold locket at the monster's feet, and the clasp springs open when it hits the cobblestones, revealing the woman's portrait inside. The creature looks down and is immediately captivated. It bends over awkwardly, delicately grasps the chain with the tip of one tentacle, and holds the locket up to its face. For a single heartbeat of time, even the storm seems to hold still. The little boy's face gazes at the picture in the locket for a long, aching moment. And a silent tear wells up in the corner of its eye and trickles down its cheek. The monster ignores you for the moment, fascinated by the portrait of its mother. Aw. Finalely now, William may remember some peace. We can be friends, after all. >attack monster with hook With a hoarse yell of desperation, you raise the meat hook over your head and fly at the monster while its attention is absorbed by the tiny picture of its mother. It never even sees you coming. With brutal accuracy, you sink the meat hook deep into the left eye of the little boy's face. It screams, a high, squawling wail like a frightened infant, and a thick, black ichor spurts from the wound. It thrashes about helplessly, knocking you onto the ground, and you scramble back on your hands and feet crab-style, trying to get away from its struggles. Another flash of lightning, and you see the thing stagger over to the side of the bridge. One tentacle manages to pluck out the hook, which clatters to the pavement -- but the damage has been done. The monster hits the stone parapet, overbalances, and goes over the side, taking the locket with it. It hits the water with a giant splash and is instantly engulfed by the raging current. By the time you get to your feet, rush to the side and look over, the monster's body is gone.  Your score has just gone up by two points. >put hook in coat (first taking the meat hook) You slip the meat hook into the pocket of your trenchcoat. Mustn't forget our only weapon. >n Narrow Street The clouds overhead mutter restlessly to themselves. After that, Miranda could use a drink. Let's see if the pub is open! Maybe get some Tears of Madness. >n You close your umbrella, as is your habit after coming indoors. Local Pub >l Local Pub A dank, drafty old drinking hole lit by flickering, oil-burning lanterns. Smoke collects in greasy pools among the rafters, and shadows crowd thick around. The bar runs the length of the room to your right, while to the south a low doorway opens onto the street. Points to the author for striping the locals from the pub during this last night. Clearly there is less than a reason to be here. >s The rain is still coming down, so you open your umbrella. Narrow Street The wind tugs viciously at your umbrella. The clouds overhead mutter restlessly to themselves. >w 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 You close your umbrella, as is your habit after coming indoors. 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. Here is what happens if you try and go book reading after being konked on the head by the Husband formerly known as Michael. >ring bell Ding. Service! >z Time passes. Yup. Somewhere in that mob of angry cultists is a quiet librarian with a torch.  >s Library >e The rain is still coming down, so you open your umbrella. University Court >se Junction >n Mill Road >e The road heads out over a narrow breakwater jutting out into the ocean. Breakwater The sea thrashes against the shore with storm-driven fury. A flurry of dead leaves goes skittering along the ground, swirling past you in the wind. Dead WET leaves. Lest we forget it's raining it's balls off. >ne At the Foot of the Lighthouse The sea thrashes against the shore with storm-driven fury. The great bronze door of the lighthouse is closed. The clouds overhead mutter restlessly to themselves. Here it is. The lighthouse, once more. Twas not only fate that drew Miranda carter to this accursed structure, but greed. She never got a chance to steal that mirror up there. First, to make sure the coast is clear... >se Carefully, you climb down the rocks. The path bends northeast, following the curve of the lighthouse wall. Rocky Spur The sea thrashes against the shore with storm-driven fury. Beyond the breakwater's tip, where before there was only a patch of oddly turbulent water, a small island has risen from the sea. Robed figures are crowding onto it, and some kind of ritual seems to be taking place; though you can't see it from where you're standing. In the distance, you can hear the lonesome keening of a train whistle drifting on the wind. The rain slackens off momentarily to a weak drizzle, then returns afresh in a brief, freezing downpour. >look at island The slick, muddy surface of the island seems to pulse slightly, as if it were made of flesh; as if it were the humped, slimy back of some vile monster half-risen from the sea. The hellish torchlight transforms the cultists' faces into hideous, twisted masks. They howl like animals, hungry for blood. Lovely. We may get the chance to say hello to Michael! >e You hop across to the island, but the crowd is so thick that you can't make your way to the center to see what's going on. Eventually the jostling gets so intense that you are forced to hop back onto the shore to keep from being pushed off into the water. Keep in mind, Miranda isn't wearing her robe at this time. Those guys must be SUPER into chanting or whatever they're doing over there. >sw The trail turns northwest, following the curve of the lighthouse wall. At the Foot of the Lighthouse The sea thrashes against the shore with storm-driven fury. The great bronze door of the lighthouse is closed. >open door It seems to be locked. Another wave crashes against the rocks, sending a cloud of spray into the air.  >take keyring Taken. >unlock door You go through all the keys on your keyring, trying each one in turn, and after several false attempts you discover that the tarnished bronze key fits the lock. You unlock the massive bronze door. >put keys in coat You slip the keyring into the pocket of your trenchcoat. >open door With great effort, you manage to pull the ancient, creaking door open a few inches, enough to slip through. Shiney Mirror, here we come! >e You close your umbrella, as is your habit after coming indoors. Bottom of the Lighthouse >u You climb the winding stairs in a gradual spiral around the inner circumference of the tower, and finally emerge, breathless, at the top. Top of the Lighthouse Sitting in the middle of the room, beneath a large, hexagonal skylight, is the most bizarre, incomprehensibly complicated device you have ever seen. >look in device In the strange device is the real mirror. >put real mirror in coat (first taking the real mirror) The receptacle lets go of the mirror with a metallic click and a pneumatic hiss. "Well, well; if it isn't the loyal wife." You whirl around to find Michael standing in the doorway, flanked by two robed guards who stare at you with a distinct glitter of malice in their eyes. Uh... Oh. I guess this would be our chance, then... >Michael, hello The thing wearing Michael's face sneers at you. "Hello, dear," he says. "I would tell Michael you sent your regards, but you see I only just now left Hell, and I won't be going back for quite a while yet; so I won't be seeing your husband for some time, I'm afraid. Michael smirks as he advances on you. "You're quite a persistent little tart, aren't you? Quite the gutsy little irritant. I suppose Michael must have been one of those 'modern' men; didn't go in for the submissive type." Michael -- or whatever fiend is speaking from behind Michael's face -- sneers. "Didn't have the balls for it, is my guess. In my day, we knew how to keep our wives. A headstrong woman should be broken in, just like a headstrong horse." Technically, Miranda isn't headstrong, as much as a klepto... >ask Michael about Croseus "I've no patience for your chatter, woman," Michael snarls. Michael walks past you and runs his fingers along the strange device. "My, my, you do keep busy," Michael remarks when he finds the focusing mirror missing. "It's a good thing I caught you in time." He turns to you and holds out his hand. "Your little game is over now, woman, and you've lost. Give me the mirror now." Um... Inventory In Coat
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Oct 13, 2015 03:56
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Remember how we smeared one of the mirrors with fish oil? Yeah, let's give him the fishy one with the right dimensions.
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Oct 13, 2015 04:01
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The plot thickens. I hate to be the guy who goes Yeah, this, but yeah, let's give him the gunky mirror.
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Oct 13, 2015 05:15
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| # ? Apr 23, 2024 08:57 |
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quote: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". quote:>measure mirror #3 with caliper Give him mirror #3, in case he rechecks the mirror.
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Oct 13, 2015 06:08
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