text: [Themes: Lovecraftian, Literary, homage, drugs, Edgar Allan Poe, horror, adaptation, male protagonist]
  
  > Go down
  Even with a lamp, you would not chance these stairs in the darkness. The merest slip would send you plummeting.
  
  The coca rush fades, but the sense of alertness remains.
  
  > jump
  The cold night beckons seductively, but you resist. There is work you must be about.
  
  Lightning forks the sky overhead, followed immediately by clamouring thunder.
  
  > go north
  The great iron gate to the south, black as time, stands here to seal the tower's entrance. A dark corridor, worn by countless centuries of forgotten feet, leads back north into the cryptic maze which you -- and in those brief, happy, vanished days, Lenore -- once called a home.
  
  > go north
  You pause. The wind is cold, and a storm is brewing. It would not be prudent to leave the gate ajar, on such a night as this.
  
  > close the gate
  You pull the great iron gate to and bolt it carefully.
  
  > Go north
  Stone columns, either side of the northwest arch to your study, brace the ceiling, whose upper reaches are lost in darkness that your lamp cannot pierce. The hallway winds deeper into the tower to the northeast; but a faint wisp of draft seeps in from the south.
  
  > Go northwest
  Stone walls, wreathed in shadows and velvet curtains, rise into the gloom overhead. The old oak writing desk -- once your father's, now your own -- is wedged beneath the window lattice, with a velvet couch before it. A low fire smoulders in its ancient hearth. To the southeast, a bust of Pallas sits atop an arch with darkness beyond.
  
  The room is still for a moment, and then the gentle rapping continues.
  
  > open window
  You swing wide the shutters, letting the cold night air gust into the room.
  
  In a sudden flurry of wings, a night-black raven flits through the lattice and into the room. It circles silently, fixing you with a baleful stare, then folds its wings and roosts on the bust of Pallas, above the archway. Her marble hair moves with a slight 'chink' as it lands.
  
  > examine Raven
  A bird of night-black plumage, stern and lordly in its bearing, the raven returns your stare with an unwinking eye, and gives no hint of what it might signify.
  
  The raven preens its feathers.
  
  An icy gust from the window sends the curtains reeling.
  
  > ask Raven about Lenore
  There is no reply.
  
  The raven watches you silently from the bust of Pallas.
  
  The curtains billow gently in the draft.
  
  > give the peyote to Raven
  The raven doesn't seem interested.
  
  The raven shifts slightly on the bust of Pallas, with a soft 'chink'.
  
  > ask Raven about the key
  There is no reply.
  
  The raven caws. "Nevermore!"
  
  The curtains move softly, caressed by the breeze.
  
  > Go south
  Cold stone blocks your way.
  
  The raven eyes you balefully.
  
  > go to the southeast
  Stone columns, either side of the northwest arch to your study, brace the ceiling, whose upper reaches are lost in darkness that your lamp cannot pierce. The hallway winds deeper into the tower to the northeast; but a faint wisp of draft seeps in from the south.
  
  The raven flutters after you.
  
  > go south
  The great iron gate to the south, black as time, stands here to seal the tower's entrance. A dark corridor, worn by countless centuries of forgotten feet, leads back north into the cryptic maze which you -- and in those brief, happy, vanished days, Lenore -- once called a home.
  
  The raven flutters after you.
  
  > open gate
  You unbolt the great iron gate and swing it slowly open, revealing the night outside.
  
  > go to the south
  Here at the tower's brink, a sheer staircase carved into the living rock falls down the cliff into blackness. Behind you, to the north, stands the great iron gate. The tower rises above you, shapeless and gaunt; the night is bleak, windy, with all moon and stars fled, leaving only the unfathomable emptiness of the distant plain, invisible far below.
  
  A small bright object glitters halfway down the cliff, well out of reach.
  
  The raven flutters after you.
  
  > get the object
  The raven has better things to do.
  
  The raven flutters into the air, circling the rock stairs, then dives for the tiny glittering object. It rises, circles, and with a self-satisfied flurry returns to your side, dropping a small silver key at your feet.
  
  > get the key
  Taken.
  
  Lightning forks the sky overhead, followed immediately by clamouring thunder.
  
  > look at the key
  It is the small silver key to your laboratory, that you threw away last night in a fit of terror and now has been recovered by the raven. Perhaps that grim bird is an omen of good, after all. Perhaps you now have a chance to reverse the disaster you caused.
  
  The raven preens its feathers.
  
  The great iron gate to the south, black as time, stands here to seal the tower's entrance. A dark corridor, worn by countless centuries of forgotten feet, leads back north into the cryptic maze which you -- and in those brief, happy, vanished days, Lenore -- once called a home.
  
  The raven flutters after you.
  
  A dull, dark weariness drifts over you.
  
  > sniff the coca
  You inhale a quantity of coca powder.
  
  The raven caws. "Nevermore!"
  
  A sense of raw alertness rushes through your nerves, setting them all on edge.
  
  > Go north
  You pause. The wind is cold, and a storm is brewing. It would not be prudent to leave the gate ajar, on such a night as this.
  
  The raven preens its feathers.
  
  The coca rush fades, but the sense of alertness remains.
  
  > close the gate
  You pull the great iron gate to and bolt it carefully.
  
  The raven screeches discordantly.
  
  > go northeast
  The dust of ages -- and of your family for so many generations -- clings to crooked stone walls, here in this gallery that twists from southwest to east as it winds through the tower and ends at a stout wooden door. Wider archways open to the north and southeast.
  
  A portrait of Lenore, radiant on your wedding day, adorns the wall.
  
  The raven flutters after you, and perches on the portrait.
  
  > look at the portrait
  It is Lenore as she was and as you always wish to remember her -- and though memory is cruel, it is all that now remains of the most joyous time in your life. The portrait was painted by a master in Venice on finest canvas,  and it is worth a princely sum, though you care little for its value in gold.
  
  Tears flow unbidden from your eyes, at the sight of what -- if tonight you fail -- you have lost forever.
  
  The raven screeches discordantly.
  
  > Go north
  The stacks of obscure volumes tower to the vaulted ceiling. Your father had eclectic tastes in literature, and you have extended his collection with your own research. Many of these manuscripts are originals, costly in both getting and reading. A dark archway to the south leads back out to the gallery.
  
  The raven swoops into the room, and perches on the stacks.
  
  Your tears continue to flow.
  
  > Examine books
  The stacks of books fill the spaces all around you. Your eye is drawn chiefly to Ex Sanguine Vita, Adams' Pharmacopia, Inhumanities, Principia Caelestium Mysteriorum and Arts of the Chaldean Magi.
  
  The raven screeches discordantly.
  
  Your tears run dry, but the grief remains.
  
  > examine the pharmacopia
  "Pharmacopia", a recent monogram by the Reverend Doctor Charles Fitzworth Adams of Oxford, is a brief scholarly investigation of the reputed properties of certain notable herbal and chemical substances, and their association with religious rituals. It is useful mainly as a general guide to the field; you have found practical experience to be a more enlightening path of research.
  
  The raven screeches discordantly.
  
  > look up the peyote in the pharmacopia
  You discover nothing of interest in Adams' Pharmacopia.
  
  The raven caws. "Nevermore!"
  
  > read the pharmacopia
  You try to read, but the strange words blear and swirl in the lamplight. Perhaps in your study you will be able to make more sense of them.
  
  The raven preens its feathers.
  
  > take the books
  There are far too many books to remove them all. You should select a volume by name.
  
  The raven stares down from the stacks.
  
  > take all from the shelves
  Ex Sanguine Vita: Removed.
  Adams' Pharmacopia: Removed.
  Inhumanities: Removed.
  Principia Caelestium Mysteriorum: Removed.
  Arts of the Chaldean Magi: Removed.
  
  The raven pecks at a dusty volume.
  
  > Go south
  The dust of ages -- and of your family for so many generations -- clings to crooked stone walls, here in this gallery that twists from southwest to east as it winds through the tower and ends at a stout wooden door. Wider archways open to the north and southeast.
  
  A portrait of Lenore, radiant on your wedding day, adorns the wall.
  
  The raven flutters after you, and perches on the portrait.
  
  > go east
  The wooden door is closed, and bars your way.
  
  The raven caws. "Nevermore!"
  
  > open the door
  It seems to be locked.
  
  The raven preens its feathers.
  
  > unlock the door with the key
  You unlock the wooden door.
  
  The raven shifts its grip on the portrait.
  
  > Go east
  The wooden door is closed, and bars your way.
  
  The raven eyes you balefully.
  
  > open the door
  You open the wooden door.
  
  The raven screeches discordantly.
  
  > Go east
  The place of your secret labor and craft, where even Lenore did not lightly enter -- oh, if only she had not! -- and no other friends have ever been invited. The room is small, though not cramped, for all the elements and reagents are precisely in their places on the low wooden table. A space extends a little beyond, to the southeast, and there the darkness is complete. The wooden door is to the west.
  
  The raven swoops into the room, perching on the table.
  
  A dull, dark weariness drifts over you.
  
  > sniff the coca
  You inhale a quantity of coca powder.
  
  The raven caws. "Nevermore!"
  
  A sense of raw alertness rushes through your nerves, setting them all on edge.
  
  > examine table
  The wooden table is simple, hewn from a single slab of living oak, representing the unity of all things and the constant striving for growth and knowledge in the craft. It is also old, an artifact from a certain French metaphysical society whose roots, some scholars believe, go back to Solomon the Wise.
  
  On the table are a skull mortar, a glass retort, a cask of aqua vitae, a bottle of aqua regis, a flask of quicksilver, a vial of brimstone, a porcelain platter and a lightning cage.
  
  The raven preens its feathers.
  
  A faint tingling runs down your spine.
  
  The coca rush fades, but the sense of alertness remains.
  
  > read pharmacopia
  You try to read, but the strange words blear and swirl in the lamplight. Perhaps in your study you will be able to make more sense of them.
  
  The raven leers at you from the table.
  
  The lightning-cage sparks faintly for a moment. A storm must be gathering outside; but either it is too distant, or the lightning-trap is too ineffectual, to capture more than a ghost of its power.
  
  > go to the north-west
  Stone walls, wreathed in shadows and velvet curtains, rise into the gloom overhead. The old oak writing desk -- once your father's, now your own -- is wedged beneath the window lattice, with a velvet couch before it. A low fire smoulders in its ancient hearth. To the southeast, a bust of Pallas sits atop an arch with darkness beyond.
  
  The raven follows you through the archway, and roosts on the bust of Pallas.
  
  > Inventory
  You are carrying:
  Arts of the Chaldean Magi
  Principia Caelestium Mysteriorum
  Inhumanities
  Adams' Pharmacopia
  Ex Sanguine Vita
  a silver key
  opium resin
  an opium pipe
  a peyote button
  Concerning Immortality
  an oil-lamp (providing light)
  a paper sachet (which is open)
  coca powder
  a gold ring (being worn)
  
  The raven watches you silently from the bust of Pallas.
  
  > read the inhumanities
  You hunt feverishly through the pages of Inhumanities, and discover:
  
  "The Death of the Messenger: this is how it came to be. The Bright Messenger did travel to the Temple in search of Living Water, but he found neither King nor Queen. When the Weight of the World did press upon him sorely, and after three days and nights he fell into the Pit. This is the Death of the Messenger."
  
  The raven screeches discordantly.
  
  The curtains billow gently in the draft.
  
  > read the Arts
  You hunt feverishly through the pages of Arts of the Chaldean Magi, and discover:
  
  "Concerning Signs, Seals and Sigils: let the Scholar of these Arts be Warned most Sorely that he Obey all the Law as Instructed, with no Shade of Turning nor Repentance. For the Spirit be Strong, and the Flesh Weak. This is the Greatest Error in the Art."
  
  The raven preens its feathers.
  
  The curtains move softly, caressed by the breeze.
  
  > read principia
  You hunt feverishly through the pages of Principia Caelestium Mysteriorum, and discover:
  
  "Water of the King; most rare, most deadly. Tears, and Grief, and Ruin of Great Houses are its part. Yet may it Move the Highest to Compassion."
  
  The raven eyes you balefully.
  
  > read the pharmacopia
  You hunt feverishly through the pages of Adams' Pharmacopia, and discover:
  
  "The properties of the cola nut are as yet unknown, although some personal research in the South Seas suggests that when combined with coca leaf and the juice of the sugar cane, it may make for a potent and greatly addictive tonic, whose use could rival alcohol in the future. This, however, is merely the author's speculation and has no basis in scientific prediction."
  
  The raven screeches discordantly.
  
  An icy gust from the window sends the curtains reeling.
  
  > read the pharmacopia
  You hunt feverishly through the pages of Adams' Pharmacopia, and discover:
  
  "The leaves of the hasheesh or hemp, when dried and smoked, may produce a sensation of relaxation and general suggestibility. In combination with certain rhythmical musical ceremonies such as the drumming rituals of Africa or the dances of Jamaica, these leaves have been long associated with the sprit world."
  
  The raven watches you silently from the bust of Pallas.
  
  An icy gust from the window sends the curtains reeling.
  
  > read the pharmacopia
  You hunt feverishly through the pages of Adams' Pharmacopia, and discover:
  
  "Peyote, a cactus found on the American continent, when dried in "button" form has remarkable properties of provoking visionary states of mind and has been used extensively by native shamans in magical rituals, where it is said to provide great wisdom and insight. It does not induce sleep, however, which makes its use all the more controversial."
  
  The raven caws. "Nevermore!"
  
  > continue
  You hunt feverishly through the pages of Adams' Pharmacopia, and discover:
  
  "The leaf of the coca plant is a mild stimulant and is most effective when prepared as a herbal tonic for the refreshment of body and mind during times of great fatigue. However, excessive use without pause for recuperation of stamina may cause mental or bodily collapse."
  
  The raven eyes you balefully.
  
  > keep going
  You hunt feverishly through the pages of Adams' Pharmacopia, and discover:
  
  "Opium is beneficial generally as an hypnotic and sedative; it induces a state of sleepfulness and promotes vivid and imaginative dreams. It has few side effects beyond the occasional tendency toward hallucinations and sleepwalking, though care should be taken not to prescribe it for long periods. In times of extreme stress and panic it can be an essential restorative to calm the mind."
  
  The raven caws. "Nevermore!"
  
  The curtains billow gently in the draft.
  
  > keep going
  You hunt feverishly through the pages of Adams' Pharmacopia, and discover:
  
  "The leaf of the coca plant is a mild stimulant and is most effective when prepared as a herbal tonic for the refreshment of body and mind during times of great fatigue. However, excessive use without pause for recuperation of stamina may cause mental or bodily collapse."
  
  The raven eyes you balefully.
  
  The curtains move softly, caressed by the breeze.
  
  > read vita
  You hunt feverishly through the pages of Ex Sanguine Vita, and discover:
  
  "That "the Life is in the Blood" is no idle saying; it is the Foundation of all that the Art seeks to work on Earth, under the Heavens."
  
  The raven preens its feathers.
  
  > Continue
  You hunt feverishly through the pages of Ex Sanguine Vita, and discover:
  
  "Blood of the Sacrifice, being a most Efficacious Remedy for the Restitution of things Lost and the means of their Return; it is Substance of Absence, Substance of Presence, Water of the Heart, and the Beloved Ash, all upon Desire."
  
  (This entire paragraph has been heavily underlined.)
  
  The raven preens its feathers.
  
  > continue
  You hunt feverishly through the pages of Ex Sanguine Vita, and discover:
  
  "The Elements of the Earth, that is, of the Life, are not to be mixed with those of Heaven; they are to remain Apart, in a Vessel called and chosen for themselves. That is their place and portion."
  
  The raven caws. "Nevermore!"
  
  An icy gust from the window sends the curtains reeling.
  
  > Hint
  N = next subject                                        P = previous RETURN = read subject                                Q = resume game
  
  > Beginnings
  Study
  Hall
  Drugs
  Books
  Raven
  Lightning
  Blood and Tears
  Laboratory
  Ritual
  Endgame
  
  > No
  HOME ]