Mentula Macanus: Apocolocyntosis
One of the Bruces
afterlife ancient gods ancient world bibliographical references bisexuality built-in hints cover art Egypt Gay/queer protagonist I7 source available last lousy point long-form male protagonist necrophilia parser Rome sex sexual content silly Spring Thing 2011 Spring Thing Game Stiffy Makane transgressive unsurprisingly pornographic Xyzzy Awards 2011 XYZZY Best Individual PC
Stiffy Makane, or rather his ancestor Mentula Macanus, is here subjected to an increasingly-unlikely series of crudely sexual romps through the ancient world. It's sort of like the Satyricon, except not nearly as funny.
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The battlement perches precariously over the long, long drop into the black waters of the lake. The rest of the castle is accessible through a doorway to the south.

You can see the Gostak chief here.

[To look up a reference, use REFERENCE number-of-reference]
You examine the chief
The Gostak chief [reference 2] [reference 3] is a giant of a man, with lank, thinning blond hair [reference 4]. He carries an enormous mace, which he wields as if it weighed nothing at all.

The Gostak chief aims a vicious blow at your head. You twist away desperately, skidding on the wet flagstones. The mace smashes into the stone, throwing a shower of sparks.
You look at what you're carrying with you
You are carrying:
the Golden Banana of Discord
a toga (being worn)

The giant jabs at you with the mace, forcing you to retreat towards the edge of the battlement.
You examine Banana
The Golden Banana Of Discord is about ten inches from tip to tip.
It's slightly curved. Its brass-and-bronze peel has been split away, revealing the golden fruit within. In short, a banana, made out of gold.

The chieftan sneers. "I'll distim your dosh, laddie!" he cries in a barbarically thick accent. He looks quite pleased with himself for this linguistic feat.
You kill the chief
The giant contemptuously beats aside your puny blow with his gargantuan mace. You are, after all, a lover, not a fighter.

The giant pulverizes a flagstone from which you leapt just in time.
Offer Banana
(to the Gostak chief)
the Gostak chief doesn't seem interested.

The Gostak chief drives you towards the drop with a terrifying flourish of his mace.
Kiss chief
You'd have to get past the mace first. Not much chance of that.

A glancing blow catches your shoulder, sending you reeling to the very verge of the battlement.
You throw Banana
Not after all you went through to get it.

A crushing blow from the giant's mace strikes you full in the chest. Your mouth fills with blood as you pinwheel towards the dark water far below.
Go south
The Gostak chief steps smoothly into the doorway, laughing nastily as he twirls his mace.

The Gostak chief aims a vicious blow at your head. You twist away desperately, skidding on the wet flagstones. The mace smashes into the stone, throwing a shower of sparks.
You look at the mace
The huge iron mace crackles with eldritch fire.

The giant jabs at you with the mace, forcing you to retreat towards the edge of the battlement.
Look around
The battlement perches precariously over the long, long drop into the black waters of the lake. The rest of the castle is accessible through a doorway to the south.

You can see the Gostak chief here.

The chieftan sneers. "I'll distim your dosh, laddie!" he cries in a barbarically thick accent. He looks quite pleased with himself for this linguistic feat.
Go down
The only way down is to jump. You might not survive the fall or the subsequent immersion.

The giant pulverizes a flagstone from which you leapt just in time.
You jump
Offering up a silent prayer, you leap from the battlement and plummet toward the water below...

*SPLASH*

Surfacing and spitting out dark, bitter water, you realize that you seem to have survived. However, in water this icy, you surely will not for long.

The lake waters are deadly cold. The craggy southern shore, upon which is perched the Gostak castle, seems impossibly far away. In all other directions, the lake stretches without visible end.

The frigid water is sapping your strength.
Dive
It seems likely that you'll be headed that way soon enough.

You hear your blood roaring in your ears as you frantically try to stay afloat.
You go to the south
You paddle painfully towards shore, but make only the tiniest progress.

Something cold and wriggly brushes your foot.
You go south
You paddle painfully towards shore, but make only the tiniest progress.

You start to slip beneath the water, but, choking, get your head above the surface again.
You remove toga
You take off the toga.

Your strength is nearly exhausted.

As you flounder feebly in the lake, something slimy and tentacular grabs your leg and yanks you under the surface. As the frigid waters close around you and everything goes black, the voice of the seer echoes in your ears: Fear death by water [reference 2].

As your life passes before your eyes, your recollections pause at that fateful morning in the Forum when all your adventures, and all your troubles, began.
Y.
Are you sure you want to restart?

la migliore fabbra. [reference 1]

The battlement perches precariously over the long, long drop into the black waters of the lake. The rest of the castle is accessible through a doorway to the south.

You can see the Gostak chief here.

[To look up a reference, use REFERENCE number-of-reference]
You remove toga
You take off the toga.

The giant glances at your blue-glowing genitals and sniggers.

The Gostak chief aims a vicious blow at your head. You twist away desperately, skidding on the wet flagstones. The mace smashes into the stone, throwing a shower of sparks.
About yourself
Stiffy Makane (Mentula Macanus [footnote 1]): perhaps not the noblest Roman of them all [reference 2], but certainly one of the better-hung.

The giant glances at your blue-glowing genitals and sniggers.

The giant jabs at you with the mace, forcing you to retreat towards the edge of the battlement.

[To look up a footnote, use FOOTNOTE number-of-footnote]
You drop toga
Dropped.

The giant glances at your blue-glowing genitals and sniggers.

The chieftan sneers. "I'll distim your dosh, laddie!" he cries in a barbarically thick accent. He looks quite pleased with himself for this linguistic feat.
Go downward
The only way down is to jump. You might not survive the fall or the subsequent immersion.

The giant glances at your blue-glowing genitals and sniggers.

The giant pulverizes a flagstone from which you leapt just in time.
You jump
Offering up a silent prayer, you leap from the battlement and plummet toward the water below...

*SPLASH*

Surfacing and spitting out dark, bitter water, you realize that you seem to have survived. However, in water this icy, you surely will not for long.

The lake waters are deadly cold. The craggy southern shore, upon which is perched the Gostak castle, seems impossibly far away. In all other directions, the lake stretches without visible end.

The frigid water is sapping your strength.
Footnote 1
[To disable poncy footnotes, you can type PONCY OFF]

[Footnote 1]: Lucius Macanus Mentula, to be pedantic about it.
Go south
You paddle painfully towards shore, but make only the tiniest progress.

You hear your blood roaring in your ears as you frantically try to stay afloat.
Go south
You paddle painfully towards shore, but make only the tiniest progress.

Your strength is nearly exhausted.

As you flounder feebly in the lake, something slimy and tentacular grabs your leg and yanks you under the surface. As the frigid waters close around you and everything goes black, the voice of the seer echoes in your ears: Fear death by water [reference 3].

As your life passes before your eyes, your recollections pause at that fateful morning in the Forum when all your adventures, and all your troubles, began.

This is the Forum. White marble stretches off in all directions. To the west is the Temple of Jupiter Virilis. The Curia is north, its steps cluttered with a knot of men. To the east you can see the Via Sacra, and the Temple of Eris gleams golden to the south. Crowds of people fill the space.
About yourself
Stiffy Makane (Mentula Macanus): perhaps not the noblest Roman of them all, but certainly one of the better-hung.
You examine the jupiter virilis
The temple of Jupiter Virilis juts into the sky, a cylindrical building in pink marble, capped with a red sandstone dome.
You examine the men
(the sycophants)
It looks like Caesar and his friends, but it's hard to be sure from here.
You examine Caesar
It looks like Caesar and his friends, but it's hard to be sure from here.
You look at Via Sacra
The Sacred Way is off to your east.
You examine Temple of Eris
The Temple of Eris is a smallish square building, painted yellow and hung with brass plates around the walls. It's Greek in appearance, with a peaked brass-plated roof.

Driven by a cruel-looking legionnaire with a whip, a string of miserable prisoners in chains is marched past.
You look at the prisoners
You've lost sight of them in the crowd.

A juggler with a monkey on a leash passes through the crowd, the monkey catching coins that passers-by fling.
You examine the crowd
Crowds of men and women throng the streets, Romans going about the daily business of the greatest city in the world.
You go north
The Curia Steps lead up to the Curia to the north; the Forum is south.

Julius Caesar is here: a surprisingly short, surprisingly bald, man, although rather handsome and certainly charismatic.

A gaggle of sycophants surround Caesar.
You examine gaggle
Anthony, Brutus, Marcus, Quintus, Naughtius Maximus, Biggus Dickus, Magnus Prickus, and a few others you don't know. Frankly, they're pretty much interchangeable. They're "stabbing" Caesar with their "daggers."
About yourself
Stiffy Makane (Mentula Macanus): perhaps not the noblest Roman of them all, but certainly one of the better-hung.
You remove toga
(the toga)
You take off the toga.
You check your inventory
You are carrying:
your penis
a toga
You examine penis
The root of all existence, at least for you.
Stab caesar
You join in the fun, which is considerable: Caesar is both talented and well-practiced. After a few minutes, Caesar "dies," covered in "blood" from multiple "stab wounds." As he and his friends rearrange their togas and leave, he blows you a kiss and flips you a coin.
You check your inventory
You are carrying:
an aureus
your penis
a toga
You examine the aureus
An aureus: a small golden coin, with the Roman wolf on one face and a winged phallus on the other.
Look around
The Curia Steps lead up to the Curia to the north; the Forum is south.
You go north
The Curia is still under reconstruction; renovations won't be completed for quite some time [footnote 2]. For the time being, the Senate still meets over at Pompey's porch. Frankly, this place is basically just a construction site. Steps to the Forum lead down to the south.

An olive-colored velvet bag rests empty on the ground here.
Footnote 2
[Footnote 2]: The Curia Hostilia burned in 52 BC; Julius Caesar started its renovation, but the Curia Julia (named in his honor) was not completed until 29 BC during the reign of Augustus. I hope you now feel better-educated.
You look at the bag
This is an olive-colored velvet bag; it's large enough to hold, say, a large melon, or a human head. Unfortunately, it has a fairly large hole partway down one side.
You get the bag
Taken.
You examine the hole
It's a hole maybe three inches across and an inch high. It is large enough and near enough the bottom of the bag to make trying to carry things in the bag a bad idea.
You check your inventory
You are carrying:
a velvet bag
an aureus
your penis
a toga
You wear toga
You put on the toga.
Wear bag
But then you couldn't see. The hole isn't that near the bottom.
You remove toga
You take off the toga.
Go south
This is the Forum. White marble stretches off in all directions. To the west is the Temple of Jupiter Virilis. The Curia is north. To the east you can see the Via Sacra, and the Temple of Eris gleams golden to the south. Crowds of people fill the space.

In the distance, a mustachioed Gaul with a despondent bear on a chain briefly coaxes it into a shambling dance. The crowd cheers.
Go east
The Via Sacra doesn't look too sacred from here, although it is choked with people rushing past on errands of their own. The Forum is west. To the north and east, the city deteriorates into a maze of twisty little alleys, all alike.
You examine the people
Crowds of men and women throng the streets, Romans going about the daily business of the greatest city in the world.

A small knot of arguing senators wanders past in their purple-striped togas, surrounded by menacing bodyguards with clubs.
Go east
This is a maze of twisty little alleys, all alike.
You go north
This is a maze of little twisty alleys, all alike.
Go north
This is an almost unimaginably seedy tavern. Wine, of the undigested, partially digested, and completely digested varieties, stains all visible surfaces. The exit is south.

The Priest of Jupiter Virilis sways gently from side to side as he sits on a bench at a wooden table.

A clay bottle of wine, adorned with a leering satyr, rests on a leaning table.
You look at Priest
The priest's long white beard is stained with wine, and his eyes are vaguely defocussed. He has clearly had better days.

An eructation, a whiff of sour wine, a splash, a thump, and stentorian snores signify the end of someone else's drinking evening.
You examine bottle
A clay bottle filled, presumably, with cheap wine.

A drunkard begins to sing an obscene song, but can't remember the words, and lapses into besotted silence.
You get the bottle
The priest glowers so fiercely that you meekly retreat.
You talk to Priest
All conversations in Mentula Macanus: Apocolocyntosis are of the form ASK [SOMEONE] ABOUT [SOMETHING].

A drunkard begins to sing an obscene song, but can't remember the words, and lapses into besotted silence.
You ask Priest about the jupiter
"The god withholds his strength from me."

[ At any point you can review conversations you have had with the RECAP command. ]

An eructation, a whiff of sour wine, a splash, a thump, and stentorian snores signify the end of someone else's drinking evening.
You ask Priest about the wine
"Mine!"

A drunkard begins to sing an obscene song, but can't remember the words, and lapses into besotted silence.
You ask Priest about the beard
"Shut up. I'm trying to drink here."
You ask Priest about the sex
"It's the nose. I just....can't. Oh! The shame! If only she looked like, say, Syra. Ah, Syra."

A drunkard begins to sing an obscene song, but can't remember the words, and lapses into besotted silence.
You ask Priest about Syra
"Ah, yes. Syra. Another woman with a large and ugly nose. Yet...alluring. Olive complexion, hair like midnight, eyes like topaz, skin like velvet, breasts like melons, ass like Caesar's, lips like wine, a kiss like fire." He sighs.
You ask Priest about yourself
"Shut up. I'm trying to drink here."

A drunkard begins to sing an obscene song, but can't remember the words, and lapses into besotted silence.
You ask Priest about the nose
"If, perhaps, something were to hide it, to cover it with something more alluring."

An eructation, a whiff of sour wine, a splash, a thump, and stentorian snores signify the end of someone else's drinking evening.
Sing
Your singing is abominable.
You give the bag to Priest
The priest looks at the bag. "Enh," he says. "It's not exactly alluring, now is it?"
You examine table
The table is about as stained as everything else in here.

On the table is a bottle of wine.

A drunkard begins to sing an obscene song, but can't remember the words, and lapses into besotted silence.
You go east
This is a hovel of the sort classically frequented by artists. The exit is west. A sign on the wall reads: "Portraits 1 aureus. Bring your own canvas."

An insufferable-looking artist sits behind an easel.
You look at artist
The artist is a young man with a small goatee. If eyeglasses had been invented yet, he would have little rectangular ones with heavy black frames [footnote 3].
Footnote 3
[Footnote 3]: This is a rather loose translation from the original.
You examine the sign
"Portraits 1 aureus. Bring your own canvas."
You ask the artist about the artist
The artist is much too hip to talk to the likes of you.
You give the bag to the artist
The artist takes the velvet bag from you and indicates the first sentence of the sign with a small twitch of his goatee in its direction.
You give aureus to the artist
The artist bites down on the coin, then flinches. "You coulda told me it was one of Big Julie's, eh? Dude, that's totally been in his butt. Nasty, man. Nasty."

"Hmmm," says the artist. "A bag. Kinky." He rolls his eyes. "Guess you're wanting it to put over someone's head, to make him...her?...more alluring, huh? Yeah, I get a lot of these...So. Guy? Girl? Eh, it doesn't matter. I'll put one on each side. That way, if it's a girl, you can do her from the front and then flip her over and do her up the butt and it'll be like doing a guy. Only a guy with a broken neck.
But some people like that, you know?

"Anyway, so, yeah. Interesting olive color, velvety texture. Reminds me of this totally hot MILF I knew named Syra. Wow. She was like riding one of the mares of Diomedes...Hey, there's a hole over here already for the mouth. Cool. Tell you what, I'll cut a matching slit on the other side for that picture too, so you can kiss him...or her, hey, whatever floats your boat, man...or, you know, receive oral."

In a few minutes, he paints a portrait of an attractive, if not very young, woman on one side of the bag, and an attractive young man on the other. He hands you the bag and lapses again into sullen silence.
You go north
This is an almost unimaginably seedy tavern. Wine, of the undigested, partially digested, and completely digested varieties, stains all visible surfaces. The exit is south.

The Priest of Jupiter Virilis sways gently from side to side as he sits on a bench at a wooden table.

A clay bottle of wine, adorned with a leering satyr, rests on a leaning table.

An eructation, a whiff of sour wine, a splash, a thump, and stentorian snores signify the end of someone else's drinking evening.
You give the bag to Priest
The priest looks at the mask, comprehension dawning on his sodden features. "Yes!" he cries. "This looks a lot like Syra! I think this will do!" He downs the rest of the wine, smashes the empty bottle on the floor, and dashes off, mask grasped in his hand.