Guess the Verb!
Leonard Richardson
built-in hints carnival castle cave cave crawl child protagonist Comedy cover art dwarf female protagonist gender choice IF Competition 2000 IFComp Game mad scientist magic parser silly spaceship spells wizard
Now you too can GUESS THE VERB for fun and prizes! Read evocative and amusing room descriptions while manipulating interesting objects! Interact with the simulated motives and desires of quirky NPCs! No thesaurus required!
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Would you like to start a NEW game, RESTORE a saved game, start a SCRIPT, or QUIT?
Girl
"And what's your name, little girl?"
You look at Lalrry
The parser looks much the way Peter Norton would look if Peter Norton were made of stainless steel and had, instead of a head, an Ethernet hub with two small surveillance cameras attached on top and a speaker attached underneath. I guess what I'm trying to say is that the parser is wearing a shirt and a tie.

He's also wearing a straw hat and a nametag that says "Hello! My name is LALRRY." A series of lights in his forehead monitor the traffic that flows through an Ethernet cable plugged into where Peter Norton's left cheek would be, which cable disappears down into the booth.

As a natural language parser, Lalrry can deal with a reasonable subset of some human language (English, in his case), through some combination of recursive grammars and ad-hoc tricks. Most such parsers were created in the 1980s to answer queries and to help people find treasures and kill trolls. Nowadays, most parsers are working at Web start-ups. The fact that Lalrry is working as a carnival barker does not say much for his language handling capabilities.

"Step right up, step right up!", says Lalrry with perfectly synthesized heartiness.
About yourself
You are a perfectly normal eleven-year-old girl, not yet aware of anything more interesting than video games or dinosaurs.

"One shiny quarter gets you a spin of the wheel!"
You check your inventory
You are carrying:
a tarnished quarter
a corn dog
your identity bracelet (being worn)
You give quarter to Lalrry
Lalrry takes the quarter and scrutinizes it carefully. "Sorry, Isqui," he says, handing the coin back to you. "This is not a shiny quarter."
You look at the box
The metal box is about the size of a deck of cards and is decorated with black plastic trim. An LED and two switches (one orange, the other blue) are mounted on the front of the box, and a cord runs from either end up into the booth.

The LED is currently glowing green. Both switches are in the on position.
You examine the moon
The light from the harvest moon seems magical tonight. If Neil Young were here, he would undoubtedly write a song about it.
You get the moon
You are insane.
You press the orange switch
It is fixed in place.
You examine the cord
The cords run from either end of a metal box up into the booth.
You turn off the orange switch
You switch the orange switch off.
You examine the machine
The quarter shining machine sits in the middle of a line of similar machines which accept coins of smaller denomination, like pennies, and do more interesting things to them, like smush them up and imprint them with touristy slogans. In the face of such intense competition, the quarter shining machine has taken to mimicry, hoping to trap unsuspecting coins intended for a less boring (if also less shiny) fate in another machine.

Its innards are exposed, an unnecessarily complicated mesh of shiny gears and pistons. A prominent notice on the side of the machine assures you with alarming urgency that the practice of quarter-shining is legal under federal statute BH-2510958. The coin tray has two quarter-shaped slots; the left one to contain payment and the right to contain the quarter you want shined and dropped into the receptacle near the bottom of the machine.

The left coin slot is empty. The right coin slot is also empty. The receptacle is also also empty.
You examine the left slot
A small, round slot in the coin tray. It would just hold a quarter.
You examine the corn dog
The corn dog is a curious creature. Its life cycle begins when the larval corn dog is cooked and put on a stick. The corn dog is dipped in batter to form a cocoon and fried. Inside the batter cocoon, the baby corn dog metamorphoses into an adult phase which is then purchased, slathered with mustard, and eaten. The rumbling of your stomach tells you that the end is near for this particular corn dog. We will miss you, corn dog.
You eat corn dog
My, that was a yummy corn dog!
You examine the stand
The concession stand offers a variety of deep-fried and/or sugary items, for a price.
Go north
N = next subject                                        P = previous RETURN = read subject                              Q = previous menu

What am I trying to do?
> Why won't Lalrry accept my quarter?
How can I shine my tarnished quarter?
So how do I get to play the game?
So I win every time, is that your little game?
Go north
N = next subject                                        P = previous RETURN = read subject                              Q = previous menu

What am I trying to do?
Why won't Lalrry accept my quarter?
> How can I shine my tarnished quarter?
So how do I get to play the game?
So I win every time, is that your little game?
(Press H for another hint, or SPACE to return.)

You need to use the quarter shining machine on the midway.
You look at the box
The metal box is about the size of a deck of cards and is decorated with black plastic trim. An LED and two switches (one orange, the other blue) are mounted on the front of the box, and a cord runs from either end up into the booth.

The LED is currently glowing green. The blue switch is in the on position, and the orange switch is in the off position.
You give quarter to Lalrry
"Yuck!", says Lalrry, rejecting your offer. "A tarnished!"
You turn off the blue switch
As you flip the switch, the LED suddenly goes dark.
You turn on the orange switch
As you flip the switch, the LED suddenly lights up green.
You guess reconfigure
"Hey, guess! And so I spin the wheel..."

Lalrry gives the wheel a good push and it begins rapidly rotating, spinning faster now, now slowly winding down until it...stops...on...

Lalrry shrugs and says "Luck next time!"

You shrug too, and try to look nonchalant, but you feel a hollowness in the pit in your stomach which is something more than simple disappointment. The lights of the midway seem uncomfortably close, the music incessant and loud. You wonder if you aren't coming down with something, and blink to clear the glare from your eyes.

Suddenly you are falling.

You claw at the air, then at the unidentifiable blurs that race past you, then at your own body, which is unaccountably absent from this mad scene. You open your hypothetical mouth and emit a potential scream which never quite materializes, and then with the feeling of suddenly waking up from a nightmare, you are somewhere else.

And a little dwarf is in the room with you.
  

He's relatively young, as dwarves go; only about a hundred or so. At first he starts, surprised to meet a human one-on-one, but he quickly remembers his manners, and, doffing his miner's helmet, bows low. "Duran son of Czadhan, at your service."

You return the bow to the extent your heavy sack will allow. "Isqui, at yours."

"By the load you bear," says he, indicating his own bulging backpack, "I see the factors that brought me to scenic Wyrmsworth Caverns have been at work upon you as well."

"Love of the underground realms," you reply.

Duran nods, and, with a twinkle in his eye, acknowledges the one strongest commonality, so often unstated, between human and dwarf.

"And greed."

The floor of this room is covered with shattered pieces of slate, peeled off from the ceiling above. The glow of your lantern is swallowed up by the dark material of which the ceiling, floor, and walls are made. There is a wide, rounded portal to the northwest, a narrower entrance to the south, and a passage to the north which opens up after a little way.

Duran the dwarf stands beside you.
You ask Duran about the lantern
"Nice brass."
You ask Duran about the slate
"Fairly low-grade slate."
You ask Duran about the orthoclase
There is no reply.

Duran rests his hand momentarily on the haft of his axe.
Inventory
You are carrying:
a wristwatch with compass (being worn)
a canister of vintage celluloid
a copy of the Clamshell Book
a Sack of Infinite Capacity (which is open)
a jade idol
the McGuffin
a brass lantern (providing light)
You examine the wristwatch
A combination wristwatch and compass, indispensable for any adventurer. The current time is 184.50 AST.
You examine the canister
A canister of celluloid, labeled "Nov. 1921 - B. Keaton." Not the sort of treasure one normally expects to find in a cave, but valuable nonetheless.
You look at the copy
A white book with a blue spine, entitled "Dungeon Exploration". There's a picture of a giant clamshell on the cover, thus the nickname. Flipping through the book brings nothing to your eye that seems relevant to your current situation.

You hear echoing voices from the north.
You look at Sack
The Sack of Infinite Capacity is truly a wondrous device. No matter how many things you put into it, it never fills or becomes too heavy to carry. The depressing thing is that this makes the sack much more valuable than just about anything you might find to put in it.

You hear echoing voices from the north.
You examine the idol
A jade idol of a great and terrible god, probably once an integral part of some ritual ceremony. Oh well, defilement is all in a day's work!

You hear echoing voices from the north.
You look at McGuffin
It seems to shift under your gaze--now an ankh-shaped amulet, now the deed to an orphanage, now a piece of futuristic machinery. In another world, perhaps, this item would complete your quest. Now, however, it is merely one of many treasures you wish to find.

A group of tourists, led by a trollish guide, enters from the north.

Duran strokes his beard a moment in thought.
You look at the tourists
A group of fat, belching tourists congregates around a frazzled trollish tour guide who reluctantly explains the wonders of treasure-laden Wyrmsworth Caverns. Most of the tourists are dwarves or orcs, and each appears to have won his or her local Loudest Hawaiian Shirt competition before moving on to the regionals here in the cave.

"The slate room, here, was once a mine which provided much of the state's slate, from 1941 until the cave complex was made a national park in 1973."
You look at the troll
A young bleary-eyed troll points out interesting formations to the spellbound tourists, occasionally dropping hints relating to the wondrous treasures to be found in the Wyrmsworth complex. His flip-flop sandals slap against the cave floor as he walks slowly backwards, gesturing and pointing.

A dwarvish child trips over a thick slab of slate, skinning her knees. The guide and the child's parents help her up and dust her off.

"Um, to the northwest, here," says the guide, "we have one of the most spectacular sights to grace Wyrmsworth Caverns."
You wait awhile
Time passes.

The tour leaves to the northwest.

"Tourists!" Duran snorts derisively, lowering his voice. "They come to the caverns and what do they do? They take pictures! I don't know why the cave trolls put up with it. These orcs and Southern dwarves know nothing of a good adventure."
You go to the northwest
The large quartz crystals that cover the rounded walls of this small room give you the feeling of being inside an oversized geode. The lamplight reflects, and reflects, and reflects again from the glittering display that surrounds you. The crystals are clear near the ceiling at the far end of the room, but gradually take on a purplish sheen towards the exit to the southeast.

A group of tourists sloughs its way through the caverns.

"This is what we call the 'geode room', because it resembles the inside of a geode. It's not really a geode, though. The quartzite crystals are part of a quartz vein that runs through this area, and were caused by dwaeomer-oxidization as this whole section of rock was undergoing magical erosion about twenty thousand years ago."

Duran whistles appreciatively at the crystals, even though they are valueless quartz. Apparently dwarves can appreciate beauty even unalloyed by riches.
You examine the crystals
Myriad glittering crystals cover the walls and ceiling of this room. An awesome sight.

"I'd like to point out that the stunning beauty of the geode room is reminiscent of the great riches that are hidden within Wyrmsworth, waiting to be discovered by intrepid adventurers. In fact, as recently as 1996, a diamond the size of a cockatoo's egg was found near here." The guide pauses, searching his audience for signs of interest.
You ask the guide about the diamond
"The Cockatoo's Egg Diamond is a flawless blue diamond, considered priceless by many," says the guide. "It's indicative of the many treasures still to be found in the caves." He gives you a theatrical wink.

"Well," says the guide. "This is just about the halfway point on our tour... follow me, please."
You wait for a while
Time passes.

The tour leaves to the southeast.
Go southeast
The floor of this room is covered with shattered pieces of slate, peeled off from the ceiling above. The glow of your lantern is swallowed up by the dark material of which the ceiling, floor, and walls are made. There is a wide, rounded portal to the northwest, a narrower entrance to the south, and a passage to the north which opens up after a little way.

A group of tourists sloughs its way through the caverns.

"Will we be seeing any stalagmites on this tour?", asks an elderly orc.

Duran follows you.
You ask the guide about the stalagmites
"Those form on the cave floor."

"Yes, of course," says the guide. "After all, what would a cave tour be without stalagmites? Actually, we're on our way to the stalagmites right now, if you'll just follow me up this slope." The guide glances behind him, not anxious to trip over a chunk of slate as he walks.
You take the slate
The slate stains your fingers, and is insufficiently valuable to carry around anyway.

The tour leaves to the south.
You go to the south
You are in a chasm, studded with stalagmites, running from the north to the southeast. A swaying rope bridge runs from west to east, far above your head.

A group of tourists sloughs its way through the caverns.

"Here are, uh, the stalagmites," says the guide, waving in their direction. "These were formed by gradual accretion of--"

"Excuse me," says an elf, pointing a delicate finger toward a stalagmite nearly as tall and thin as she is, "I thought these were stalactites, these on the bottom."

Duran follows you.
13
A particularly large stalagmite. Apart from its size and the crude "13" carved into it, it is unremarkable.

"No, that's a common misconception," says the troll. "Stalactites are formations that accrete from the ceiling. Stalagmites are those that accrete on the cave floor, such as this one, Stalagmite 13."
You ask the troll about 13
"No one knows the real meaning of the carving. Or if they do, they're not telling."

"This chasm we're in extends a little to the south," says the guide, pointing down the narrowing gulf. "Er, southeast, I suppose. But we'd never all fit down there, so this is as far as we'll go there. We'll start making our way back to the stairs, now."
You examine the bridge
Made of ropes and wood, the bridge sways high above your head.

The tour leaves to the north.
Go southeast
The chasm ends here, its walls narrowing to nothing. You can only proceed back to the northwest.

There are rare stamps here!

Duran follows you.
You take the stamps
Taken.
You examine the stamps
Misprints, first-day covers, you name it.

Duran takes a lump of coal out of his pocket and offers you a piece. When you decline, he shrugs and bites into it, chewing with gusto.
Go northwest
You are in a chasm, studded with stalagmites, running from the north to the southeast. A swaying rope bridge runs from west to east, far above your head.

Duran follows you.
You go north
The floor of this room is covered with shattered pieces of slate, peeled off from the ceiling above. The glow of your lantern is swallowed up by the dark material of which the ceiling, floor, and walls are made. There is a wide, rounded portal to the northwest, a narrower entrance to the south, and a passage to the north which opens up after a little way.

Duran follows you.
You go northwest
The large quartz crystals that cover the rounded walls of this small room give you the feeling of being inside an oversized geode. The lamplight reflects, and reflects, and reflects again from the glittering display that surrounds you. The crystals are clear near the ceiling at the far end of the room, but gradually take on a purplish sheen towards the exit to the southeast.

Duran follows you.
You go to the north
This room is so large, it makes you claustrophobic. You cannot help but think how far underground you must be, that a cave ceiling might be so impossibly high without opening to blue sky. The tremendous mass of empty air above you seems to press harder than mere rock ever could. But you cannot look away, for running down the walls are breathtaking waterfalls of stone, enormous calcite formations that seem to have been formed from the discarded candles of a million million visitors. Sloping arches form stone awnings over paths to the south and northeast, and a tight crawl leads west.

You hear echoing voices from the northeast.

As Duran enters the room, he lets out a chuckling roar. "By the gods!", he murmurs. "This splendid room would make a dining hall worthy of the dwarves of old!"
You go to the north-east
A winding stairway reaches up into the blackness here. Another natural chimney; about a hundred feet up, it opens up to a large room to the southwest (accessible to you through an arch). Far above you, you can hear the sounds of someone, as yet invisible, slowly rappeling down.

A group of tourists sloughs its way through the caverns.

As the old tour group begins to disappear into the darkness above, the new guide clears his throat, preparing to begin his tour.

Duran follows you.
Go upwards
You and Duran climb the stairway for several minutes, but seem no closer to the cave exit than before. Winded, the two of you rest a while and come back down.

"Okay," says the new guide, "here we are near the winding stair, where our tour of the lower levels will begin and end -- should take about thirty turns."

Duran rests his hand momentarily on the haft of his axe.
Go southwest
This room is so large, it makes you claustrophobic. You cannot help but think how far underground you must be, that a cave ceiling might be so impossibly high without opening to blue sky. The tremendous mass of empty air above you seems to press harder than mere rock ever could. But you cannot look away, for running down the walls are breathtaking waterfalls of stone, enormous calcite formations that seem to have been formed from the discarded candles of a million million visitors. Sloping arches form stone awnings over paths to the south and northeast, and a tight crawl leads west.

You hear echoing voices from the northeast.

Duran follows you.
You go to the west
A stooped, gravely crawl that tightens to the west. The sloping tunnel at the west end would be impassable for an adult, but a determined eleven-year-old should be able to squeeze through it. (What luck! You happen to be a determined eleven-year-old!) Even if you weren't, you'd still be able to back out to the east, where the crawl abruptly opens up into a much larger room.

There is a bowling trophy here!

Duran follows you.
You take the bowling trophy
(putting the rare stamps into the Sack of Infinite Capacity to make room)
(putting the canister of vintage celluloid into the Sack of Infinite Capacity to make room)
(putting the copy of the Clamshell Book into the Sack of Infinite Capacity to make room)
(taking the rare stamps back out of the Sack of Infinite Capacity because we didn't really need that much room after all)
(taking the canister of vintage celluloid back out of the Sack of Infinite Capacity because we didn't really need that much room after all)
Taken.
Go west
You and Duran scramble through a short crawl, and find yourselves...

Few people ever visit this subterranean clifftop, since few can get here in the first place--the wandering children of tourists, perhaps, or of the trolls who inhabit these caves. Hopefully, none are too young to know that those who play too close to the edges of cliffs inevitably end up as object lessons to others.

About thirty feet below, your light glints off metal. There's no way down there, though; only east into a tight crawl.

A rusted iron hook protrudes from the wall above the cliff.

Duran leans over the ledge, shining his headlamp into the murky darkness below. "Gold!" he exclaims, rubbing his hands together. "Thousands of points worth!"

The dwarf pulls a coil of rope from his backpack. "I knew this would come in handy," he says, hefting the coil in his hands.
You examine the hook
Oddly enough, this hook is a completely natural iron precipitation. Although rusty, its fusion to the rock wall stands any test of strength you can think to apply to it.

"Perfect!", says Duran, spotting the iron hook and gauging the distance between it and the cliff bottom. "I'll just tie rope to hook, here..." Hastily tying a loop into one end of the rope, Duran slips it over the hook and begins to tighten the knot.
You wait
Time passes.

Duran peers at the rope in his hands, which has inexplicably slipped off the hook and become untied. "That's odd..." Retying the knot, Duran mutters the incantation "Tie rope to hook!"
Wait
Time passes.

Again Duran finds himself holding an untied knot. "Okay, let's try another one," he mutters. "Put rope on hook!"
Wait
Time passes.

Duran looks dismayed, and pokes at his ill-behaved rope. "That's always worked before," he mutters, "so there can't be anything wrong with the rope. Don't worry, I'll figure it out."
You fasten the rope to the hook
Duran shrugs and hands you the rope. You quickly tie a rudimentary knot and loop it over the hook. Amazingly, the knot holds!

"Astounding!" exclaims Duran. "'Fasten'--who would have thought?"

Duran gestures at the rope.
You check what you're carrying
You are carrying:
a candy bar
a shiny trophy
your identity bracelet (being worn)
Examine candy bar
A sugar-packed Buttertonsils bar, in its characteristic golden wrapper. You're not sure how you got ahold of it, but they're not bad.
You examine trophy
A dented but shiny bowling trophy of bronze. Inscribed on the base are the words, "LEAGUE CHAMPIONS 1992".
You give the trophy to Lalrry
"You earned that trophy, you should keep it," says Lalrry.
You eat the bar
The candy bar slides down your throat, and your stomach quickly is full.
You give the candy to Lalrry
Lalrry politely declines your offer.

Lalrry mumbles to himself.
Inventory
You are carrying:
a shiny trophy
your identity bracelet (being worn)
Dance
You perform a little jig. The producers of Riverdance won't be calling you anytime soon.
Sing
Your singing is abominable.
You examine the machine
The quarter shining machine sits in the middle of a line of similar machines which accept coins of smaller denomination, like pennies, and do more interesting things to them, like smush them up and imprint them with touristy slogans. In the face of such intense competition, the quarter shining machine has taken to mimicry, hoping to trap unsuspecting coins intended for a less boring (if also less shiny) fate in another machine.

Its innards are exposed, an unnecessarily complicated mesh of shiny gears and pistons. A prominent notice on the side of the machine assures you with alarming urgency that the practice of quarter-shining is legal under federal statute BH-2510958. The coin tray has two quarter-shaped slots; the left one to contain payment and the right to contain the quarter you want shined and dropped into the receptacle near the bottom of the machine.

The left coin slot is empty. The right coin slot is also empty. The receptacle is also also empty.
Search machine
In the quarter shining machine are a small receptacle, a coin tray, a left coin slot and a right coin slot.
You examine the coin tray
The coin tray has two slots for quarters. The left one contains payment for the shining service, the right contains the quarter to be shined.
You examine the iD
A white plastic embarassment which your parents make you wear on those rare occasions on which you are allowed off on your own. In little red letters just above your wrist, it says "My name is _ISQUI_. In case of emergency, call my mother's cell phone at (210) 603-3999."
You examine the orange
It's orange.
The orange switch is currently switched on.
You turn the orange off
As you flip the switch, the LED suddenly goes dark.
You examine the booths
The canvas walls of the booths are constructed according to an ancient carnival ritual involving a variety of swear words and a certain amount of duct tape. They look a bit rickety, but they'll hold until the carnival moves on.
You read the boots
(in the metal box)
You discover nothing of interest in the metal box.
You look at box
The metal box is about the size of a deck of cards and is decorated with black plastic trim. An LED and two switches (one orange, the other blue) are mounted on the front of the box, and a cord runs from either end up into the booth.

The LED is currently dark. The blue switch is in the on position, and the orange switch is in the off position.
You examine the cord
The cords run from either end of a metal box up into the booth.
You look at the blue switch
It's blue.
The blue switch is currently switched on.
You give the trophy to Lalrry
Lalrry gladly takes the trophy from your outstretched hands. With the flair of a showman, he tosses it into the air and fails to notice as it crashes to the ground inside the booth. Stepping back, Lalrry indicates the wheel.

"Guess a, any!", says Lalrry, indicating the wheel of fortune.
You guess undo
"Hey, good! And so spin the..."

Lalrry gives the wheel a good push and it begins rapidly rotating, spinning faster now, now slowly winding down until it...stops...on...

"Sorry!", says Lalrry with a shrug. "Better luck next!"

You close your eyes and brace yourself for the fall you feel is inevitable. It isn't until your body fades away, leaving your consciousness without any eyelids to shield it, that you realize that you have been falling for quite a while. Before you have time to get properly panicked again, though, you are somewhere else.
  

The UCLA Computer Science student lounge is a hacker's paradise: a line of Linux machines and X terminals runs parallel to the south and west wall, ending in a Windows machine and an old Macintosh (for contrarians) in the northwest corner. A couch makes the environment conducive to overnighters and software design bull sessions. The exit is to the east.

Four computer geeks are here; Fred, Mark, Dan, and Leonard, by name.

You can also see a rollable whiteboard here.

"I have this bizarre feeling that I keep saying the same things over and over again," muses Dan. "And I know I've written this function before. Maybe there's something to Nietzsche's idea of eternal recurrence."

Mark loads the Cruel Site of the Day into his web browser, and laughs hysterically.
You examine Fred
If a character as unlikely as Frederick Lee did not exist, it would be necessary to invent him. Computer science students are common enough, but Fred possesses that most uncommon trait among computer science students, a lust for free software. Indeed, he has gone so far as to swear eternal vengeance against any and all forms of proprietary code--a move previously unheard of. His thick glasses, buzz cut, and casual mode of dress give him a look unlike any nerd you have ever seen.

Fred is currently logged into fire, sweating over the nameserver configuration.

"Actually," Leonard confides to you, "this scenario setup is perfect. It lets me write a college game in the manner of Save Princeton without opening me up to charges of actually having written a college game."

"Did I tell you about my internship with VA Linux?", asks Mark of the room in general. No one seems interested, and Mark soon goes back to his terminal.

Dan toys with the idea of starting his paper on Berkeley, but decides against it. "It'd only disappear when I wasn't working on it," he says resignedly.
You look at the whiteboard
A rollable whiteboard, intended for scratch work, mounted on casters so as to be pushed about. It's covered with geometric diagrams on one side and the de facto API for a group project on the other. There is also a scoreboard of some sort: "DAN 7 LUG 2".

"Okay, it should work now," says Fred.

Mark types in a command and shakes his head. "Nope."
You examine Leonard
In addition to being a sensitive yet manly human being, Leonard Richardson is a musical genius and a coding god. This is primarily due to the fact that, as the author of this game, it fell upon him to write the previous sentence. His T-shirt advertises the Second Annual Lake Arrowhead Rubber Ducky Race (1988).

"I can't figure out what's wrong with the configuration," says Fred, pounding on fire's keyboard.
You ask Leonard about himself
Leonard shrugs. "What's to say?"

"What's the volume of the intersection of a cone and a circle?", asks Dan, in case someone has this fact memorized. No one has.

"This part of the game is a little too self-referential for my taste," says Leonard, indicating an especially indulgent monologue on his screen. "In fact, I shouldn't be here at UCLA in the first place, since I graduated before I even started this game--so did Adam, incidentally. But authorial self-insertion is a time-honored IF trope, and it seemed a shame to miss such a golden opportunity to make use of it."
You examine the fire
fire.csua.ucla.edu is CSUA's main machine, and hosts hundreds of user accounts. From the way Fred keeps frantically switching between configuration files, you get the feeling that something is wrong with that machine.

Dan sketches a diagram on some scratch paper.
Look around
The UCLA Computer Science student lounge is a hacker's paradise: a line of Linux machines and X terminals runs parallel to the south and west wall, ending in a Windows machine and an old Macintosh (for contrarians) in the northwest corner. A couch makes the environment conducive to overnighters and software design bull sessions. The exit is to the east.

Four computer geeks are here; Fred, Mark, Dan, and Leonard, by name.

You can also see a rollable whiteboard here.

Leonard makes a frustrated noise. "Look at this," he says, quoting from his screen. "'Unlike C, Inform uses a colon to divide parts of a 'for' loop specification.' Why?"
Go east
A balcony to your east overlooks the garden at the center of Boelter Hall. Palm trees planted there reach for the sky but are dwarfed by the brick structure that surrounds them on all sides. An open double door to your west bears a sign saying "CSUA - We Make the Digital Future Happen". Another doorway lies to the north.
You look at what you're carrying with you
You are carrying:
a digital watch (being worn)
Go north
Somewhere, deep inside Boelter Hall, there is a hallway that passes by the lab for CS152B, the dreaded digital design class. Somehow you have found your way to this foreboding place, a place so desolate that there is a door leading east and a hallway leading west to the balcony. (I know that made no sense, but I had to tell you that somewhere.) The walls are covered with posterboards which detail the work of UCLA's computer science graduate students.
You look at the posterboards
Some are dry and technical, some flush with the thrill of discovery; some use flashy graphics to try to cover up the fact that the research in question is something a sophomore might cook up over winter break.
You go to the east
Tables line the walls of this room, illuminated by intrusive fluorescent lights on the ceiling; tables that bear twenty identical computers; computers that bear the Windows NT login banner, enticing passers-by to make use of the cut-rate circuit simulation software within. The only exit is to the west, and it looks quite inviting.

A shiny paperclip lies unnoticed on the floor.

Adam Kaplan seethingly regards the schematic on his screen.

Adam curses under his breath as the circuit design software, predictably, does The Wrong Thing.
You examine Adam
Normally, Adam is an amiable and pleasant fellow. But now, he is at war. At war with a hypothetical piece of hardware, and an all-too-real piece of software. The workstation he has claimed is surrounded by empty coffee cups and apple juice bottles, and his head hangs heavy as he contemplates the mess of pixelated wires on the screen. He has not slept for a while.

Adam tries to check his email, but fails. "I guess fire is still down," he says.
You ask Adam about the fire
"That's where I get my email," says Adam. "Usually, I mean."

"Y'know," says Adam, casting his eye in your direction, "I may or may not have items you might find valuable which I might or might not trade for certain services once performed in the classic text adventure fashion." Somewhat embarrassed, he looks back at his screen.
Inventory
You are carrying:
a shiny paperclip
a digital watch (being worn)

Adam drags some wires around with his mouse.
You ask Adam about the paperclip
"Yeah, it's a paperclip, all right."

Adam consults a notebook filled with hand-drawn schematics.
You ask Adam about Leonard
"He's a cool dude. I've played a couple sets with him. Wish he was here helping me with this."
You go to the west
Somewhere, deep inside Boelter Hall, there is a hallway that passes by the lab for CS152B, the dreaded digital design class. Somehow you have found your way to this foreboding place, a place so desolate that there is a door leading east and a hallway leading west to the balcony. (I know that made no sense, but I had to tell you that somewhere.) The walls are covered with posterboards which detail the work of UCLA's computer science graduate students.
You go downwards
I suppose you think there are stairs or something.
You examine the trees
The palm trees rear up into the sky like excited French poodles.
You climb the trees
The trees are out of reach, and too thin to climb anyway.
You go to the west
The UCLA Computer Science student lounge is a hacker's paradise: a line of Linux machines and X terminals runs parallel to the south and west wall, ending in a Windows machine and an old Macintosh (for contrarians) in the northwest corner. A couch makes the environment conducive to overnighters and software design bull sessions. The exit is to the east.

Four computer geeks are here; Fred, Mark, Dan, and Leonard, by name.

You can also see a rollable whiteboard here.

"You know," says Leonard, "I could write a better IF language than Inform."

"That's the spirit!", says Dan.
You examine the whiteboard
A rollable whiteboard, intended for scratch work, mounted on casters so as to be pushed about. It's covered with geometric diagrams on one side and the de facto API for a group project on the other. There is also a scoreboard of some sort: "DAN 7 LUG 2".

Mark stifles a laugh.

"What are you laughing at?", asks Leonard.

"This post on Slashdot."

"Ah yes," says Fred.

"I didn't think it was that funny," says Leonard.

"It was all right," says Dan.
You ask Mark about the fire
"You can't get onto fire yet," says Mark. "Fred's fu--uh, messing around with the configuration files."

"It must be something in the host configuration,", says Fred.

Mark loads the Cruel Site of the Day into his web browser, and laughs hysterically.
You examine the fire
fire.csua.ucla.edu is CSUA's main machine, and hosts hundreds of user accounts. From the way Fred keeps frantically switching between configuration files, you get the feeling that something is wrong with that machine.

"No, that didn't work," says Fred to himself.

"What's the volume of the intersection of a cone and a circle?", asks Dan, in case someone has this fact memorized. No one has.
You ask Dan about the fire
"Fred's working on it," says Dan. "The stupid network is always going down."

Mark obsesses about the next UCLA LUG meeting.

"This part of the game is a little too self-referential for my taste," says Leonard, indicating an especially indulgent monologue on his screen. "In fact, I shouldn't be here at UCLA in the first place, since I graduated before I even started this game--so did Adam, incidentally. But authorial self-insertion is a time-honored IF trope, and it seemed a shame to miss such a golden opportunity to make use of it."

Dan toys with the idea of starting his paper on Berkeley, but decides against it. "It'd only disappear when I wasn't working on it," he says resignedly.

"I don't understand it," says Fred. "I thought I'd set up fire's configuration to rid of this problem, the last time this happened."
You ask Fred about the fire
"It'll be up in a minute," says Fred. "I just have to fix the DNS configuration."

Dan toys with the idea of starting his paper on Berkeley, but decides against it. "It'd only disappear when I wasn't working on it," he says resignedly.

Mark curses the 405 freeway, bane of his commute.

"Hey, I want to be in the game," declares a man whom you suddenly notice is standing in the room. "Okay," says Leonard, and the man abruptly disappears.
Xyzzy
A grown-up with curly blond hair and glasses appears out of thin air, shouts "I like beans!", and promptly vanishes.
About yourself
You are a perfectly normal eleven-year-old girl on a field trip to UCLA.

Mark stifles a laugh.

"What are you laughing at?", asks Leonard.

"This post on Slashdot."

"Ah yes," says Fred.

"I didn't think it was that funny," says Leonard.

"It was all right," says Dan.
You eat the paperclip
That's plainly lacking the "edible" flag.

"Stupid web browser," says Mark, killing his X session and restarting.

"Use lynx," suggests Fred.

A confused light show erupts from xorn's monitor as Dan runs his game with a gravitational constant of 0.59. Dan smiles the manic grin of one who enjoys tormenting his data structures.
Examine xorn
xorn, aka linux.ucla.edu, is the hosting machine for the UCLA Linux Users Group, and for the standing LUG Nethack tournament. Green shapes flicker on its screen as Dan tests the latest additions to his game.

"When was the last time anybody managed to get onto fire?", asks Fred.

"Last night," says Mark.

"Earlier this morning," says Dan.

Fred shakes his head.
You look at the mac
plasma, an old Macintosh.

"Did I tell you about my internship with VA Linux?", asks Mark of the room in general. No one seems interested, and Mark soon goes back to his terminal.

"I wonder if something's wrong with the firewall," says Fred.
Inventory
You are carrying:
a shiny paperclip
a digital watch (being worn)

Mark loads the Cruel Site of the Day into his web browser, and laughs hysterically.

"This part of the game is a little too self-referential for my taste," says Leonard, indicating an especially indulgent monologue on his screen. "In fact, I shouldn't be here at UCLA in the first place, since I graduated before I even started this game--so did Adam, incidentally. But authorial self-insertion is a time-honored IF trope, and it seemed a shame to miss such a golden opportunity to make use of it."
You look at fire
fire.csua.ucla.edu is CSUA's main machine, and hosts hundreds of user accounts. From the way Fred keeps frantically switching between configuration files, you get the feeling that something is wrong with that machine.

"Oops!", says Leonard, and taps some keys. "There was no way to get from the balcony to the snack bar. I put in some stairs. Sorry about that."

"No, that didn't work," says Fred to himself.
Go south
You can't go that way.

"I wonder if something's wrong with the firewall," says Fred.
Describe the surroundings
The UCLA Computer Science student lounge is a hacker's paradise: a line of Linux machines and X terminals runs parallel to the south and west wall, ending in a Windows machine and an old Macintosh (for contrarians) in the northwest corner. A couch makes the environment conducive to overnighters and software design bull sessions. The exit is to the east.

Four computer geeks are here; Fred, Mark, Dan, and Leonard, by name.

You can also see a rollable whiteboard here.

Mark obsesses about the next UCLA LUG meeting.

"It must be something in the host configuration,", says Fred.
You go east
A balcony to your east overlooks the garden at the center of Boelter Hall. Palm trees planted there reach for the sky but are dwarfed by the brick structure that surrounds them on all sides. Stairs lead up here, and an open double door to your west bears a sign saying "CSUA - We Make the Digital Future Happen". Another doorway lies to the north.
Go downward
The downwards stairs lead only to classrooms and maintenance rooms.
Go up
You climb the stairs a bit, and end up...

The strains of punk rock emanate from the door to your west, the entrance to the SEAS Cafe. A bulletin board nearby is covered in flyers, posted by people who share the quixotic goal of making engineering students think about something other than classes and projects. A hallway to your east leads into the South Campus quad, and stairs lead down.
You look at the flyers
The flyers on the bulletin board attempt to entice students to play broomball, attend a job fair, or join the Marines.
Go west
The Cafe is normally a busy, boisterous place, but midterms have brought a horde of students swarming in to lay waste to the land, purchasing practically everything on the large wire racks and in the refrigerated containers, and otherwise reducing the number of objects which must be implemented in this game. Only the arcade games in the corner and the geeky drawings on the walls bear witness to the Cafe's previous glory.

A bottle of cola is the only item of merchandise remaining.

A surly cashier sits beside the cash register, studying for her midterms.
You examine the games
This is the enumeration of the arcade games: Street Fighter, Galaga (in a Ms. Pac-Man casing, oddly enough), and the old favorite Bust A Move. All of them are currently in demo mode.
You look at the cashier
She is sitting behind the counter near the cash register, reading a book on soil mechanics. Her primary concern right now seems to be passing her midterms.
You ask the cashier about the soil mechanics
"Dull as dirt."
You ask the cashier about the soda
Taken.

"It's cold. It's caffeinated. It's brown. It's also eighty cents," she responds, not looking up from her book.
You take the cola
You already have that.
You buy the cola
You have no money. Yet the cola is not free.
You give the watch to the cashier
"The soda costs eighty cents," says the cashier disinterestedly.
You examinthe pac-man
This is the enumeration of the arcade games: Street Fighter, Galaga (in a Ms. Pac-Man casing, oddly enough), and the old favorite Bust A Move. All of them are currently in demo mode.
Look around
The Cafe is normally a busy, boisterous place, but midterms have brought a horde of students swarming in to lay waste to the land, purchasing practically everything on the large wire racks and in the refrigerated containers, and otherwise reducing the number of objects which must be implemented in this game. Only the arcade games in the corner and the geeky drawings on the walls bear witness to the Cafe's previous glory.

A surly cashier sits beside the cash register, studying for her midterms.
You examine the drawings
Mostly renditions in marker of popular anime characters. A few American comic strip characters also make their appearance. Pretty good, artistically speaking.
You examine the racks
Some of the wire racks reach close to the ceiling. They normally contain candy bars, trail mix, muffins, potato chips, styrofoam bowls of ramen noodles, over-the-counter medications, and other necessities for studying. They are completely bare, and will be until restocking tomorrow.
Go east
The cashier blocks your way and will not let you leave! Maybe you should pay for that cola first.
You drop the cola
Dropped.
Go east
The strains of punk rock emanate from the door to your west, the entrance to the SEAS Cafe. A bulletin board nearby is covered in flyers, posted by people who share the quixotic goal of making engineering students think about something other than classes and projects. A hallway to your east leads into the South Campus quad, and stairs lead down.
You go east
You walk briefly down the hallway for a bit, but turn back, feeling that you still have some important task to perform in the engineering building.
Go west
The Cafe is normally a busy, boisterous place, but midterms have brought a horde of students swarming in to lay waste to the land, purchasing practically everything on the large wire racks and in the refrigerated containers, and otherwise reducing the number of objects which must be implemented in this game. Only the arcade games in the corner and the geeky drawings on the walls bear witness to the Cafe's previous glory.

A surly cashier sits beside the cash register, studying for her midterms.

You can also see a bottle of cola here.
You examine the register
It's a thirty-two-bit register, holding multiples of four dollars.
You take the cola
Taken.
Go down
You take the stairs down a bit, and end up on the...

A balcony to your east overlooks the garden at the center of Boelter Hall. Palm trees planted there reach for the sky but are dwarfed by the brick structure that surrounds them on all sides. Stairs lead up here, and an open double door to your west bears a sign saying "CSUA - We Make the Digital Future Happen". Another doorway lies to the north.
You go to the east
Tables line the walls of this room, illuminated by intrusive fluorescent lights on the ceiling; tables that bear twenty identical computers; computers that bear the Windows NT login banner, enticing passers-by to make use of the cut-rate circuit simulation software within. The only exit is to the west, and it looks quite inviting.

Adam Kaplan seethingly regards the schematic on his screen.
You ask Adam about the cashier
Adam seems on the verge of losing patience.

"I wonder what's wrong with fire," says Adam. "I'd really like to check my email."
You ask Adam about the cola
Adam seems on the verge of losing patience.
You look at the computers
The identical computers all seem to be running Windows NT. To the north, Bill Gates is counting his money.

Adam curses under his breath as the circuit design software, predictably, does The Wrong Thing.
You go to the north
You can't go that way.

"Y'know," says Adam, casting his eye in your direction, "I may or may not have items you might find valuable which I might or might not trade for certain services once performed in the classic text adventure fashion." Somewhat embarrassed, he looks back at his screen.
You go to the west
Somewhere, deep inside Boelter Hall, there is a hallway that passes by the lab for CS152B, the dreaded digital design class. Somehow you have found your way to this foreboding place, a place so desolate that there is a door leading east and a hallway leading west to the balcony. (I know that made no sense, but I had to tell you that somewhere.) The walls are covered with posterboards which detail the work of UCLA's computer science graduate students.
Go west
A balcony to your east overlooks the garden at the center of Boelter Hall. Palm trees planted there reach for the sky but are dwarfed by the brick structure that surrounds them on all sides. Stairs lead up here, and an open double door to your west bears a sign saying "CSUA - We Make the Digital Future Happen". Another doorway lies to the north.
You go west
The UCLA Computer Science student lounge is a hacker's paradise: a line of Linux machines and X terminals runs parallel to the south and west wall, ending in a Windows machine and an old Macintosh (for contrarians) in the northwest corner. A couch makes the environment conducive to overnighters and software design bull sessions. The exit is to the east.

Four computer geeks are here; Fred, Mark, Dan, and Leonard, by name.

You can also see a rollable whiteboard here.

Mark curses the 405 freeway, bane of his commute.

"This part of the game is a little too self-referential for my taste," says Leonard, indicating an especially indulgent monologue on his screen. "In fact, I shouldn't be here at UCLA in the first place, since I graduated before I even started this game--so did Adam, incidentally. But authorial self-insertion is a time-honored IF trope, and it seemed a shame to miss such a golden opportunity to make use of it."
You go west
You can't go that way.

Mark obsesses about the next UCLA LUG meeting.
You check what you're carrying
You are carrying:
a shiny paperclip
your identity bracelet (being worn)

Lalrry mumbles to himself.
Look around
The UCLA Computer Science student lounge is a hacker's paradise: a line of Linux machines and X terminals runs parallel to the south and west wall, ending in a Windows machine and an old Macintosh (for contrarians) in the northwest corner. A couch makes the environment conducive to overnighters and software design bull sessions. The exit is to the east.

Four computer geeks are here; Fred, Mark, Dan, and Leonard, by name.

You can also see a rollable whiteboard here.

"I wonder if something's wrong with the firewall," says Fred.

Dan expresses his regret that Descartes and Hume were not contemporaries of the pay-per-view cage match.
You give the paperclip to Lalrry
Lalrry gladly takes the paperclip from your outstretched palm. With the flair of a showman, he tosses it into the air and catches it in his shirt pocket. Stepping back, he indicates the wheel.

"Guess a, any!", says Lalrry, indicating the wheel of fortune.
You guess scrutinize
"Hey, good! And so spin the..."

Lalrry gives the wheel a good push and it begins rapidly rotating, spinning faster now, now slowly winding down until it...stops...on...

"Hey, win!" Lalrry seems genuinely excited as he hands you your prize--a large plush doll made in the unauthorized image of a certain tap-dancing animated frog.

"I love that little!", Lalrry confides in you. "Always makes laugh!"

"Now guess another, Isqui!"

"Guess a, any!", says Lalrry, indicating the wheel of fortune.
You examine the frog
A green and yellow plush copyright violation: a cartoon frog wearing a top hat.

"Guess a, any!", says Lalrry, indicating the wheel of fortune.
Guess disembark
"Hey, good! And so spin the..."

Lalrry gives the wheel a good push and it begins rapidly rotating, spinning faster now, now slowly winding down until it...stops...on...

"Sorry!", says Lalrry with a shrug. "Better luck next!"

You watch, only slightly disconcerted, as the fairgrounds waver and fade away. You fall, but the fall is no longer frightening; it is exhilarating. All the same, it is worrying just how far you are falling--it seems much longer than last time--just as you begin to wonder whether something has gone wrong, you are somewhere else.
  

Uh-oh, you can see your hands. The invisibility potion must have worn off! Your tactic for getting past the giant crab quickly changes from quietly sneaking to running like mad for the oaken door on the opposite side. Hearing the crunch of your sneakers against the shell-ridden floor, the crab frantically scuttles around toward you, but you have reached the door. It's unlocked! You open the door a crack, dart through, and slam it shut again.

A dull thud echoes from the other side of the door, followed by a soft scratching. Breathing a sigh of relief, you turning around, noticing for the first time just how close you are to the end of your quest. For this is the...

The stone walls on either side of you reach high into the darkening sky--the smell of fresh air is exhilarating after your travails within the depths of the castle. This short hallway was once covered in lush red carpet, but its exposure to the elements and its proximity to a trigger-happy warlock have scorched and rotted it, exposing the cobblestones beneath. Black mold grows on the few patches of carpeting that remain. West is the large oaken door you so recently fled through; east you can see into the the lighted study of the dread warlock Do'papoc.
You check your inventory
You are carrying:
a plush frog
a Bracelet of Citrus Resistance (being worn)
a school-issue spellbook
a manual of demonology
a stuffed parrot
a Carelka quarter (providing light)
a shapeless blob of brown wax
a book of lore
a bag of Eldritch Farm cookies
You look at Bracelet
Drawing its power from the Kinda-Sorta-Semi-Quasi-Para-Elemental Plane of Citrus, this magical bracelet grants you immunity to all citrus-based attacks. Its gemstones sparkle the color of lemons, grapefruits, and oranges.
You examine spellbook
This slight, spiral-bound tome has "Isqui's Spellbook" written on the blue cover. It contains seven spells, laboriously copied from your school textbook. Unfortunately, your school textbook, "Harry Potter and the 2000 Middle School Magical Education Standards", tends to focus less on the "cause mighty warlock to tremble in fear" type spells and more on the "subject target to sharp kick in pants" type spells. In fact, "subject target to sharp kick in pants" is probably your best spell, apart from "open even locked or enchanted objects", which you can't even memorize anymore, since you got strawberry jam all over the runes.

Your spellbook contains the following spells:
funyun spell: cause spell caster to memorize wrong spell.
geordi spell: bring simulacrum of animal to life.
foobar spell: make the inedible edible.
rekn0g spell: Bj*e,ev%n.l/((-%d o(fen.na5t*d o2*l70.
bismol spell: subject target to sharp kick in pants.
formic spell: summon being's mother.
eldspa spell: sharpen pencil.
You learn the rekn0the g.
Using your best study habits, you commit the rekn0g spell to memory.
You rekn0g yourself
** Run-time error: rekn0g_spell (object number 242)  has no property magic to send message **
You learn the bismol
Using your best study habits, you commit the bismol spell to memory.
You learn the funyun
Using your best study habits, you commit the funyun spell to memory.
You look at the manual
"How To Summon Demons and Influence People" concerns itself primarily with powerful and dangerous fiends like the iCthulu, summonable in eight deadly colors. The spells of summoning have bizarre names like "lexyacc" and "perlsed", and are very complicated, some requiring material components. Only one spell near the beginning seems even remotely comprehensible to you:

awkgrep spell: summon extremely minor demon.
You learn the foobar
Using your best study habits, you commit the foobar spell to memory.
Foobar frog
The plush frog suddenly looks edible. In fact, it looks downright tasty.
You eat the frog
You eat the plush frog. Not bad.
You examine the lore
It looks like a normal book, "Lup's Compendium of Tales Most Ancient". Opening it up, however, reveals that the book is completely blank, except for a few lines of verse in the middle of a page near the beginning:

Ye Hound of Cern imprisoned be
From now until ye End of Time
And naught but 'tis a flaming Snail
Will break his curse, and bring to thee
A refreshing Splash of Lemon-Lyme
Place Snail on Stone where Hound is kep't
And he for whome all Nature wep't
A Prisoner no more will rise:
REQUIRE, BEND, and CAUTERIZE
You examine the frog
A green and yellow plush copyright violation: a cartoon frog wearing a top hat.
You examine the wax
A blob of wax about six inches in diameter, the melted remains of the snail candle. The wick is probably still in there somewhere.
You look at the cookies
It's a bag of Eldritch Farm cookies -- "Remember when the sun guttered out and inky slithering blackness engulfed the earth? Eldritch Farm remembers." The instructions on the bag indicate that the chocolatey cookies may be eaten, or used as spell components when summoning demons of unimaginable power. There are four cookies left.
You look at the parrot
This parrot looks real enough to have been alive at one point, but it may simply be a well-crafted construction. In any event, it's not alive right now. Lovely plumage, though; brilliant blues, greens, and yellows. Now that you've separated it from its perch, it has no particular orientation, and dangles upside-down from your hand. Its glass eye stares at you balefully, blaming you for subjecting it to the rigors of gravity.
Examine quarter
A quarter from the sprite nation of Carelka. It glows with a magical light.
Look around
The stone walls on either side of you reach high into the darkening sky--the smell of fresh air is exhilarating after your travails within the depths of the castle. This short hallway was once covered in lush red carpet, but its exposure to the elements and its proximity to a trigger-happy warlock have scorched and rotted it, exposing the cobblestones beneath. Black mold grows on the few patches of carpeting that remain. West is the large oaken door you so recently fled through; east you can see into the the lighted study of the dread warlock Do'papoc.
You examine the mold
The black mold is in an advanced state of growth.
You examine the carpet
The surviving bits of the red carpet are covered in mold.
You look at cobblestones
The exposed cobblestones are smooth and worn by the passage of time.
Smell
Fresh air with a hint of ozone. Damp mold and rotting wood, the kind of smell found under logs.
You go east
The sumptuously decorated study of Do'papoc is decorated in bookshelves, full of tomes radiating power. A large, bone-white candle drips wax onto an oaken table, shedding light on a large, ancient spellbook and a terribly inaccurate globe.

An aged man dressed in black robes sits at the table. Looking up from his book, he chuckles, shaking his head.

"You poor, miserable fool!", he says. "If only you had found the obnoxious parrot, preparing beforehand with the funyun, bismol, and formic spells... then you may have stood a chance against me! But now, the might of the brussel spell will turn you into 7,904 individually wrapped jawbreakers!"

Before you can react, the warlock casts a spell at you! It tingles a bit, but its most noticeable effect is its complete and utter failure at turning you into so many as ten individually wrapped jawbreakers.

Do'papoc looks extremely embarrassed and hastily consults the online documentation for the brussel spell. "Blast!", he spouts, tearing at his beard. "The brussel spell is for ages 12 and up! Local Sorcerers 503 was clever to send a mere child to do battle with me!" Reaching for his spellbook, the warlock becomes calmer and more pensive. "No matter," he muses with a snarl. "I'll simply make use of 'brussel junior', the brussel spell for the younger set!"

Do'papoc turns to his book and begins furiously memorizing a spell! You've only got one shot at this--whatever you do, it'd better be good!
You learn the formic
Using your best study habits, you commit the formic spell to memory.
Spells
You have the formic spell, funyun spell and bismol spell memorized.
Spellbook
This slight, spiral-bound tome has "Isqui's Spellbook" written on the blue cover. It contains seven spells, laboriously copied from your school textbook. Unfortunately, your school textbook, "Harry Potter and the 2000 Middle School Magical Education Standards", tends to focus less on the "cause mighty warlock to tremble in fear" type spells and more on the "subject target to sharp kick in pants" type spells. In fact, "subject target to sharp kick in pants" is probably your best spell, apart from "open even locked or enchanted objects", which you can't even memorize anymore, since you got strawberry jam all over the runes.

Your spellbook contains the following spells:
funyun spell: cause spell caster to memorize wrong spell.
geordi spell: bring simulacrum of animal to life.
foobar spell: make the inedible edible.
rekn0g spell: Bj*e,ev%n.l/((-%d o(fen.na5t*d o2*l70.
bismol spell: subject target to sharp kick in pants.
formic spell: summon being's mother.
eldspa spell: sharpen pencil.
You learn the geordi
Using your best study habits, you commit the geordi spell to memory.
You learn the rekn0the g.
Using your best study habits, you commit the rekn0g spell to memory. You have so much buzzing around in your head, though, that it's likely something may have been forgotten in the shuffle.
You learn the bismol
Using your best study habits, you commit the bismol spell to memory once again. You have so much buzzing around in your head, though, that it's likely something may have been forgotten in the shuffle.
Spells
You have the bismol spell (twice), formic spell and funyun spell memorized.
You learn the eldspa
Using your best study habits, you commit the eldspa spell to memory. You have so much buzzing around in your head, though, that it's likely something may have been forgotten in the shuffle.
Spells
You have the eldspa spell, bismol spell, formic spell and funyun spell memorized.
You learn the geordi
Using your best study habits, you commit the geordi spell to memory. You have so much buzzing around in your head, though, that it's likely something may have been forgotten in the shuffle.
Geordi parrot
The parrot suddenly comes alive in your hands! Squawking and swearing in the gravelly tongue of the parrots, it wrests free from your grasp and perches on your head.
You examine the parrot
While a humble simulacrum, the parrot was a genteel if unwieldy companion. Your gift of life seems wasted on it, as the animate parrot is smelly, raucous, prone to shed feathers, and fond of perching on your head.
Spells
You have the bismol spell, formic spell and funyun spell memorized.
Formic parrot
You're the closest thing the parrot has to a mother, and you're already here.
You examine spellbook
This slight, spiral-bound tome has "Isqui's Spellbook" written on the blue cover. It contains seven spells, laboriously copied from your school textbook. Unfortunately, your school textbook, "Harry Potter and the 2000 Middle School Magical Education Standards", tends to focus less on the "cause mighty warlock to tremble in fear" type spells and more on the "subject target to sharp kick in pants" type spells. In fact, "subject target to sharp kick in pants" is probably your best spell, apart from "open even locked or enchanted objects", which you can't even memorize anymore, since you got strawberry jam all over the runes.

Your spellbook contains the following spells:
funyun spell: cause spell caster to memorize wrong spell.
geordi spell: bring simulacrum of animal to life.
foobar spell: make the inedible edible.
rekn0g spell: Bj*e,ev%n.l/((-%d o(fen.na5t*d o2*l70.
bismol spell: subject target to sharp kick in pants.
formic spell: summon being's mother.
eldspa spell: sharpen pencil.
You learn the awkgrep
Using your best study habits, you commit the awkgrep spell to memory. The parrot squawks woodenly.
Awkgrep
There is a puff of smoke, and Tim the demon appears next to your shoulder. Noticing the parrot on your head, Tim buzzes frantically and vanishes back into his native plane.
With a final screech, the obnoxious parrot reverts to its inanimate form and plummets lifeless to the ground.
Wait
Time passes.
With a final screech, the obnoxious parrot reverts to its inanimate form and plummets lifeless to the ground.
Awkgrep
In a puff of smoke, Tim the demon appears next to your shoulder. "Tim!", he says, indicating himself. He shows no sign of recognizing you from previous summons, but begins buzzing around your head, awaiting your instructions.
Hi
Bzzzz!
Kiss tim
Kissing a demon is a federal offense.
You eat tim
(first taking Tim the demon)
Tim buzzes out of your reach.

Tim whistles a demonic tune.
You ask Tim about the rekn0g
There is no reply.

Tim buzzes urgently.
You make you a the sandwich
Bzzzz!

There is a pop, and Tim is gone from this plane.
You learn the geordi
Using your best study habits, you commit the geordi spell to memory.
Geordi parrot
The parrot suddenly comes alive! Squawking and swearing in the gravelly tongue of the parrots, it flaps into the air and perches on your head.
Funyun do'papoc
Do'papoc seems confused momentarily, and shakes his head as if to clear his eyes, then goes back to his book and finishes the preparations for his spell.

Do'papoc points at you and utters a word of power: "bokbar!"

Unsurprisingly, nothing happens. The bokbar spell is "turn human into parrot", and since there is already a parrot in the vicinity, the enchantment has no effect. (Wow, I guess those arbitrary, inconvenient limitations on spells cut both ways!)

Do'papoc is not pleased, and, shamelessly disregarding the rules of turn-based magical combat, casts another spell at you. Suddenly, a sheepish-looking goblin carrying a dagger appears and cowers in the corner. "Kill!", demands the warlock, pointing at you, and the whimpering goblin begins a valiant attempt to approach you menacingly without ever reducing the distance between you and him.
Bismol goblin
The goblin squeals and leaps into the air, clutching his posterior. Waving his knife, he flees through a side passageway into the depths of the keep.
"Bah!", expectorates the warlock. "Enough of this! I will destroy you and your pathetic but exceedingly well-chosen spells with one mighty blow!"

Reaching into his pocket, Do'papoc tosses a handful of magical dust into the air, speaking a summons of great power -- "borax!"

The dust explodes, filling the air with smoke, and from the billowing black clouds emerges a bronzed warrior, clad in equally bronze mail and carrying a decidedly steely bast--er, broadsword. He looks at you with a smirk, and, nodding his head in acknowledgement of an unheard order, begins to stride purposefully towards you.
Spells
You have the bismol spell and funyun spell memorized.
You learn the formic
Using your best study habits, you commit the formic spell to memory.
Inventory
You are carrying:
a Canadian quarter
a spelling book
a plush frog
your identity bracelet (being worn)
You look at the canadian
A newly minted millennial Canadian quarter. You're not sure how you ended up with it.
You examine the spelling
A sixth-grade spelling book, with lists of words and definitions. Words that are spelled oddly--one or two per lesson--are for some reason given the name of 'snurks'. You're not really sure how you ended up with the book.
Spells
Huh?

Lalrry makes a long-winded, heartfelt speech which you can't understand at all.
You give quarter to Lalrry
"I don't understand what you're trying to do," says Lalrry, rejecting your offer.

"Fabulous, fabulous, fabulous!"
Guess disembark
"Sorry," says Lalrry, "but I need a shiny from before can GUESS THE!"

Lalrry briefly pulls you aside. "The crowned of have guessed at my," he says confidentially. "The Queen was quite on, although the of would hear of but, rather, should say." You nod in what you hope looks like agreement.
You turn on blue
That's already on.