text: rtainly not amused.
  
  > Sing
  You belt out this cracking ditty you heard at last month's symposium -- "hop lightly, hoplite!"
  
  There are real guffaws in the crowd -- this is the stuff!
  
  > Dance
  The cothurni make you rather totter as you give a twirl, follow up with a split, and finish with a high-kick, head-bobbing all the while.
  
  There are real guffaws in the crowd -- this is the stuff!
  
  Despite your best efforts, boredom has overtaken the crowd once again. "Best give it a breather," Puffy advises, "come back when you've fine-tuned your act and your persona. And try to look the part!"
  
  > Joke
  You clear your throat slightly. "Who do actors never want to see in the theater? Boo-eatians."
  
  > ask Puffy about ritural
  Puffy blinks at you, perhaps taken aback by your rather outlandish getup.
  
  You get a blank look of the sort with which you're well acquainted.
  
  > ask puffy about the ritual
  Puffy blinks at you, perhaps taken aback by your rather outlandish getup.
  
  "Yes, let's get on with it," says Puffy, sniffing in what's either irritation or a coming head-cold. "Where was I..."
  
  "Alright, let's have some more comedy," Puffy says, his lowered expectations written across his face.
  
  > Joke
  You clear your throat slightly. "Why are Minoans good at keeping secrets? They're very dis-Crete."
  
  There are real guffaws in the crowd -- this is the stuff!
  
  > Continue
  You clear your throat slightly. "Who's the Athenian lady who lives on the tallest spot in Athens? Thea Kropolis."
  
  There are real guffaws in the crowd -- this is the stuff!
  
  > keep going
  You clear your throat slightly. "Apologies if you don't like puns, but it's Sparta the act."
  
  You get a few scattered laughs, but you detect a note of restlessness in the crowd -- might be time to change things up!
  
  > Sing
  You belt out this cracking ditty you heard at last month's symposium -- "rock me, Menelaus".
  
  There are real guffaws in the crowd -- this is the stuff!
  
  > Sing
  You belt out this cracking ditty you heard at last month's symposium -- "hop lightly, hoplite!"
  
  There are real guffaws in the crowd -- this is the stuff!
  
  Wave after wave of laughter convulses the crowd, and even Puffy exhales a sharp chortle or two. "Oh, good show!" he says.
  
  "Last part," says Puffy, putting a lot of cheek into a heavy exhalation (now you remember where the nickname came from!). "You lot need to pass an hour in silent prayer and meditation while the kykeon brews."
  
  > wait for a while
  Time passes.
  
  > meditate
  Your prayer starts out strong, but as you get to a particularly dull bit reciting the list of which birds give good omens, your left eyelid starts to droop down -- for you, an infallible herald of an oncoming nap -- and you jerk awake in horror. If there's one thing your Great-Aunts have taught you about prayer vigils, it's that you can't sleep through them.
  
  > wear the toothpick
  Carefully -- very carefully! -- you use the toothpick to prop your left eyelid open. After a bit of fiddling, you get it wedged in there pretty good! It's not exactly comfortable, but there's little risk you'll nod off while it's there.
  
  > meditate
  You're getting through your prayers, but you're interrupted by a wheeze, and not the diverting kind -- searching for the source, you see that Machon Ephippus-Ephipus' slouch has turned into more of a fully-horizontal jobby. Puffy was quite specific about all of you keeping the vigil, so you resolve to do your part to get him through -- it's the brotherly thing to do!
  
  > wake machon
  You rouse Macon with a gentle shake. He smiles his thanks, then emits a small yawn.
  
  > meditate
  Ephippus-Ephipus is nodding off again, poor lamb, and emits a dry, repetitive snore. You can't very well keep prodding him awake while you're in the middle of your meditations, though -- you might need some help with this.
  
  > check your inventory
  You are carrying:
  a feather boa (being worn)
  a silly floppy tam (being worn)
  a set of cothurni (being worn)
  a toothpick (currently propping open your left eye)
  a cup
  a largish chunk of amphora
  a frayed rope
  a heavily-smoking torch (providing light)
  a well-tailored chiton (being worn)
  
  > sit on the chunk
  Your cousin's never been especially good at doing what others ask, and this probably isn't the evening that changes.
  Besides, he's sleeping now, which adds an extra element of
  challenge.
  
  > DROP HAT, SHOES, BOA
  silly floppy tam: (first taking the silly floppy tam off)
  The tam jingles as you sweep it off the pate.
  
  Dropped.
  shoe bench: The shoe bench is already here.
  feather boa: (first taking the feather boa off)
  With a tinge of regret, you unclasp the boa from about your hips.
  
  Dropped.
  
  > look at what you're carrying with you
  You are carrying:
  a set of cothurni (being worn)
  a toothpick (currently propping open your left eye)
  a cup
  a largish chunk of amphora
  a frayed rope
  a heavily-smoking torch (providing light)
  a well-tailored chiton (being worn)
  
  > drop the cothurni
  (first taking the set of cothurni off)
  You slide the cothurni off, relieved that now only children and the exceptionally short will be able to see your nose-hairs.
  
  Dropped.
  
  > go to the south
  In theory, the ceremony in the telesterion is the main event, but the spread on offer in this room make it a close-run thing. A crowd of your soon-to-be-fellow initiates mob the comestibles and imbibables spread across the tables, breaking into song when the mood hits and intermittently flit to one of the numberless couches for a lie-down when the system needs a touch of strengthening. Alky is amidst the mob but somehow not of it, elegant and poised even as he gobbles down a handful of grapes.
  
  You could go back to the peristyle by going north if you prefer pillars to prandial delights.
  
  > examine the food
  If you had any doubts about the divine nature of the mysteries, this sm��rg��sbord would remove all doubt. There's more kinds of food and libation here than you can count (admittedly a low-ish number, as the somewhat-clunky Attic numeral system isn't doing you any favors on this score). Olives, dates, figs, and grapes, each plumper than the last, overflow the tables, and that's just the roundish things! There's a massive roast and dozens of cheeses -- oh, you could get used to this.
  
  A pepper pot and a sampling-platter of honeyed cakes round things out, and some toothpicks are neatly piled at the far end of the table.
  
  > look at the roast
  You run through the admittedly-scanty competition before concluding that yes, this is the most enticing you've ever seen a goat look.
  
  > go east
  You'd rate this as one of your grander halls, with pillars towering upwards to a dimly-visible and smoky ceiling, nicely turned-out furniture lending a note of class, and a crowd of the already-initiated bustling about to witness the ceremonies. Some tasteful harp music is piping in from a low grating at the back of the hall, behind a cleared area that's doing its best impression of a stage.
  
  The peristyle is back to the west.
  
  Good old Machon Ephippus-Ephipus slouches on a couch, having temporarily lost his struggle to stay upright.
  
  > look at Machon
  Machon is your cousin, with one or two additional removes you've never been able to keep straight. He's something of a gourmand, with a physique to match.
  
  > go south
  In theory, the ceremony in the telesterion is the main event, but the spread on offer in this room make it a close-run thing. A crowd of your soon-to-be-fellow initiates mob the comestibles and imbibables spread across the tables, breaking into song when the mood hits and intermittently flit to one of the numberless couches for a lie-down when the system needs a touch of strengthening. Alky is amidst the mob but somehow not of it, elegant and poised even as he gives a date a dainty nibble.
  
  You could go back to the peristyle by going north if you prefer pillars to prandial delights.
  
  > take the toothpick
  You already have that.
  
  > take the cheese
  You make up a plate from the goodies on offer.
  
  Alky explains to you his plan for invading Sicily -- or maybe it's his plan of attack for dinner, you get confused midway through and, to be fair, hot oil features in both.
  
  > Go east
  You'd rate this as one of your grander halls, with pillars towering upwards to a dimly-visible and smoky ceiling, nicely turned-out furniture lending a note of class, and a crowd of the already-initiated bustling about to witness the ceremonies. Some tasteful harp music is piping in from a low grating at the back of the hall, behind a cleared area that's doing its best impression of a stage.
  
  The peristyle is back to the west.
  
  Your cousin Machon Ephippus-Ephippus is seated on a couch, doing his best to stay upright.
  
  > give the plate to the cousin
  If Machon Ephippus-Ephipus is hungry, he can make up his own plate -- this one's yours!
  
  > examine the plate
  A plate of scrummy delights -- ooh, that olive looks good!
  
  > Inventory
  You are carrying:
  a plate of food
  a lump of honey cake
  a toothpick (currently propping open your left eye)
  a cup
  a largish chunk of amphora
  a frayed rope
  a heavily-smoking torch (providing light)
  a well-tailored chiton (being worn)
  
  > meditate
  Ephippus-Ephipus is nodding off again, poor lamb, and emits a dry, repetitive snore. You can't very well keep prodding him awake while you're in the middle of your meditations, though -- you might need some help with this.
  
  > Go south
  In theory, the ceremony in the telesterion is the main event, but the spread on offer in this room make it a close-run thing. A crowd of your soon-to-be-fellow initiates mob the comestibles and imbibables spread across the tables, breaking into song when the mood hits and intermittently flit to one of the numberless couches for a lie-down when the system needs a touch of strengthening. Alky is amidst the mob but somehow not of it, elegant and poised even as he contemplates an olive.
  
  You could go back to the peristyle by going north if you prefer pillars to prandial delights.
  
  > ask Alky about the snoring
  You get a blank look of the sort with which you're well acquainted.
  
  Alky tells you something clever he heard off of that Socrates fellow, but it's a bit hard to follow and leaves you knowing less than when you started.
  
  > ask Alky about the meditation
  "That bit is rather a bore. Want some company in your meditations?" Alky asks. "I suppose I could be bothered." He saunters out of the banquet hall, shooting you a come-hither look.
  
  > go east
  You'd rate this as one of your grander halls, with pillars towering upwards to a dimly-visible and smoky ceiling, nicely turned-out furniture lending a note of class, and a crowd of the already-initiated bustling about to witness the ceremonies. Some tasteful harp music is piping in from a low grating at the back of the hall, behind a cleared area that's doing its best impression of a stage.
  
  The peristyle is back to the west.
  
  Good old Machon Ephippus-Ephipus slouches on a couch, having temporarily lost his struggle to stay upright.
  
  Alky is sitting next to you, offering a quick elbow to the ribs or an acid witticism whenever you're in danger of nodding off.
  
  > meditate
  Ephippus-Ephipus is nodding off again, poor lamb, and emits a dry, repetitive snore. You can't very well keep prodding him awake while you're in the middle of your meditations, though -- you might need some help with this.
  
  Alky is sitting next to you, offering a quick elbow to the ribs or an acid witticism whenever you're in danger of nodding off.
  
  > give the toothpick to Machon
  Machon, emitting the occasional snore, is insensible to the world about him.
  
  Alky is sitting next to you, offering a quick elbow to the ribs or an acid witticism whenever you're in danger of nodding off.
  
  > wake machon
  You rouse Macon with a gentle shake. He smiles his thanks, then emits a small yawn.
  
  Alky is sitting next to you, offering a quick elbow to the ribs or an acid witticism whenever you're in danger of nodding off.
  
  > give the toothpick to Machon
  Machon looks dubiously at the toothpick. "That doesn't seem especially pleasant," he squeaks. "I'll stay awake this time, I promise!"
  
  Alky is sitting next to you, offering a quick elbow to the ribs or an acid witticism whenever you're in danger of nodding off.
  
  > wear the toothpick
  You're already wearing the toothpick (currently propping open your left eye)!
  
  Alky is sitting next to you, offering a quick elbow to the ribs or an acid witticism whenever you're in danger of nodding off.
  
  > tell Alky about Machon
  "He could use some help staying awake, couldn't he?" Alky says, taking up a position near his couch and giving him a friendly prod back to awareness.
  
  Alky is looming over poor Machon, prodding him when he's in danger of slipping into Hypnos' embrace.
  
  > meditate
  You mumble your way through an hour's worth of prayers.
  
  Finally, well after you've started looking about for a water-clock to check whether the hour is up, Puffy's assistant returns, carefully tottling in a brim-ful oinochaio, or is it an oinochoai, or an oinocha-cha -- a jug, you decide, a brim-ful jug. "The kykeon is ready," Puffy declares, and gosh, this bird is good at bringing the portent. "You are about to become full initiates into the mysteries -- so from now on you can't talk about not talking about what you can't talk about. Right?" You think you're supposed to nod, so you do, while taking the opportunity to de-toothpick your eye. Meanwhile the assistant runs out to the banquet-hall to round up the rest of the crowd, making the telesterion rather a standing-room-only concern and throwing you, Machon, and Alky into a neighborly clump.
  
  Puffy raises the jug to his lips, not without a bit of sloshing, and drinks quite the quaff. He makes a face, then hands it back to the assistant, who circles the room offering a chug to each personage in their turn. "We stand together in Eleusis to celebrate the most sacred mysteries of life, which have been vouchsafed to us for obeisance and -- say, fellows," Puffy breaks off, laying an unsteady hand against the nearest pillar, "why aren't you standing still? This is no -- time for dancing --". He sinks to the floor.
  
  You shoot a look at Machon -- maybe this is a gag they pull on all the new initiates, and that wheeze about dancing means there's about to be a musical number? There was this one supper club where you had to promise to sing in order to get in (and then once you were in and they'd heard you, promise to stop singing in order to stay). But no, this doesn't seem like a gag, as others are now reeling about the same way Puffy is. "I thought the kykeon tasted off," one of them slurs, and for a moment you wonder whether your standards with respect to barley-freshness might need to be recalibrated -- but there's hardly time to assess the impact of agricultural decay on human metabolism before the fellows who've already swallowed their share of the kykeon interrupt your cogitations by making the most frightful stir.
  
  In a metamorphosis worthy of a poet, the crowd has suddenly become a mob, with scuffles breaking out left and right, chaps racing flat-out into pillars, and a few unlucky sods crawling  back to the jug for seconds and thirds of the perhaps-too-potent kykeon. Suddenly Puffy springs back up, lets out an uninhibited bellow, then sprints out of the room and clear out of the sanctuary, bringing most of the rest of the crowd along in his wake. In the confusion, you kick over the kykeon, in a closing-the-barn-door-after-it's-too-late sort of way, then follow so you don't miss too much of the excitement.
  
  Great-Aunt Agnes says that things always go wrong when you're around, and you have to allow there's perhaps a smidgen of truth in that -- though now that you think of it, you're always around when you're around -- or to put it another way, you're never around when you're not around -- so you can't say as you have an adequate baseline from which to measure.
  
  At any rate, thing are certainly going wrong now. The mob is milling about, somewhere a horse gives a frightened whinny, and who knows where Puffy's wound up.
  
  Oh, hang on, there he is!
  
  He's on the roof.
  
  "Seems to me as though things are wrapping up here," sniffs Alky as he comes over to you and Machon. "Time to head back to Athens for the after party, I think. Oh don't worry," he says, to your questioning look, "you've been properly initiated and all. Or at least that's what we'll tell Puffy once he's better. Though Hippy rather panicked and smashed up my chariot," Alky says, throwing a judgmental glance westward, "so you'll need to see to my horse and vehicle before we can go. And I suppose you should see to Puffy, as well."
  
  You're not sure why you've been dragooned into taking care of all of this, but then you see how fetching Alky looks as he leans suavely against a pillar, puckishly tossing his curls, and you resign yourself to playing the dogsbody once again.
  
  The hexastyle entrance into the sanctuary of Eleusis has seen calmer evenings. A mob of the fellows swarm around its august pillars, unclear on direction now that the initiation has taken something of an unexpected turn. Directly before the entrance stands a statue, the final herm in the long chain running from Athens to Eleusis. Atop the roof of the temple, Puffy is leaping and capering about like he's taken leave of his gourd (upon reflection, you think that might actually be what's happened).
  
  To the east, the peristyle promises some degree of peace, a small yard lies westward, and there's a small path running around the side of the sanctuary to the north.
  
  Alky stands amidst but not of the confusion, stifling a yawn while he waits for the hubbub to die down.
  
  Machon is here, looking no different now that he's preliminarily initiated into the mysteries of Eleusis.
  
  > look at the pillars
  The sanctuary is reasonably big as such things go -- you should know, you've been faffing about in and under it all evening. The portico and steps leading into it do what they can to impress, from the stately pillars to the delicately-painted pediment (or so you assume, your eyesight isn't the best, but Puffy doesn't seem the type of bird to skimp out on the little things). You remember your Great-Uncle once telling you why this sort of jobby is called "hexastyle", but in your somewhat jumbled recollection it had to do either with the number six or with witches, you can't remember which, though probably that's neither here nor there (unless it's witches). Currently, the impression made by the old slab is somewhat undermined by the mob of maniacs milling about and the high priest raving like a loon while dancing around the roof.
  
  > go to the east
  Come to think, you've never had the foggiest what a peristyle is, but this pillar-and-porch number here seems as reasonable a candidate as any (though twist your arm, it looks just like a courtyard to you).
  
  There's a small closet in an outbuilding to the north and the exit to the countryside lies west, but more appealing are the paths southward, where lies the now-deserted banquet hall, and eastwards, whence the sour smells of the spilled kykeon waft. The stairs back down to the cellars are off in a dingy corner.
  
  There's a stone fountain at the center of the courtyard, happily burbling just the way you do after Alky's made you drink number seven.
  
  > look at the pillars
  They say if you've seen one pillar, you've seen them all, and by the evidence here you agree (though you do have just a touch of nearsightedness, so possibly there's some excitement going on somewhere in all those ceiling-adjacent blurs).
  
  > Go west
  The hexastyle entrance into the sanctuary of Eleusis has seen calmer evenings. A mob of the fellows swarm around its august pillars, unclear on direction now that the initiation has taken something of an unexpected turn. Directly before the entrance stands a statue, the final herm in the long chain running from Athens to Eleusis. Atop the roof of the temple, Puffy is leaping and capering about like he's taken leave of his gourd (upon reflection, you think that might actually be what's happened).
  
  To the east, the peristyle promises some degree of peace, a small yard lies westward, and there's a small path running around the side of the sanctuary to the north.
  
  Alky stands amidst but not of the confusion, looking up at the moon to guess at the time while he waits for the hubbub to die down.
  
  Machon is here, looking no different now that he's preliminarily initiated into the mysteries of Eleusis.
  
  > go west
  This nice little yard, bounded by a low wall, is the kind of lovely, bucolic place you'd never be caught dead in if you had the choice.
  
  The Sacred Way begins through a gap in the wall to the west, by which stands the penultimate herm on the way from Athens to Eleusis, and eastward lies the portico. A shed-like building, or possibly just a shed, stands to the south.
  
  Alky's horse Hippy is here, wildly pawing the grass (well, hooving, perhaps).
  
  There's a pig hungrily rooting around the yard. Hippy shies away every time the pig comes near her.
  
  > look at Hippy
  Alky's horse, much like her master, is a good-looking animal with questionable self-control. She rears away from the pig, her wide eyes glancing and rolling every which way, like a rampaging Great-Aunt.
  
  > examine the pig
  Despite Hippy's dislike, this pig seems all right to you -- he snuffles over to you, tongue lolling out.
  
  > go to the south
  The ambiance here in this workshop -- with its worktable, scattering of tools, and general aura of hard, honest toil -- makes you positively allergic.
  
  A low opening to the north leads to the only-better-by-comparison yard.
  
  Alky's second-best chariot is here, somewhat the worse for wear.
  
  > examine the chariot
  Alky's chariot is a sporty little thing, with flashy gilded inlays and a low, sleek profile. Unfortunately, currently one of the wheels is listing, and the reins hang in tatters from their anchoring ring, somewhat limiting the chariot's top speed.
  
  > tie the rope to the reins
  You're dubious that the frayed rope is a long-term solution to this rum critical-dearth-of-reins situation, but it only needs to get Alky back to Athens, you reason. You tie it extra tight just to be sure.
  
  That's one makeshift rein in, so everything's set so long as Alky only turns left.
  
  > look at the wheel
  You quickly diagnose the concern here -- a significant portion of the rim has been smashed away. With this much wood missing, it's currently somewhat-ineffective qua wheel. You'll need to effect some repairs before it's fit to turn once again.
  
  > examine the axle
  Alky's chariot is a sporty little thing, with flashy gilded inlays and a low, sleek profile. Unfortunately, currently the reins hang in tatters from their anchoring ring, somewhat limiting the chariot's top speed. The chariot also currently violates the fairly strict requirement that chariots have at least two wheels.
  
  > check your inventory
  You are carrying:
  a wheel
  a plate of food
  a lump of honey cake
  a toothpick
  a cup
  a largish chunk of amphora
  a heavily-smoking torch (providing light)
  a well-tailored chiton (being worn)
  
  > drop the wheel
  Dropped.
  
  > go north
  Besides the wall that encloses it and the penultimate herm, there's not much to this yard.
  
  The Sacred Way begins through a gap in the wall to the west, and eastward lies the portico. A shed stands to the south.
  
  Alky's horse Hippy is here, wildly pawing the grass (well, hooving, perhaps).
  
  There's a pig hungrily rooting around the yard. Hippy shies away every time the pig comes near her.
  
  > Go east
  The hexastyle entrance into the sanctuary of Eleusis has seen calmer evenings. A mob of the fellows swarm around its august pillars, unclear on direction now that the initiation has taken something of an unexpected turn. Directly before the entrance stands a statue, the final herm in the long chain running from Athens to Eleusis. Atop the roof of the temple, Puffy is leaping and capering about like he's taken leave of his gourd (upon reflection, you think that might actually be what's happened).
  
  To the east, the peristyle promises some degree of peace, a small yard lies westward, and there's a small path running around the side of the sanctuary to the north.
  
  Alky stands amidst but not of the confusion, stifling a yawn while he waits for the hubbub to die down.
  
  Machon is here, looking no different now that he's preliminarily initiated into the mysteries of Eleusis.
  
  > ask Machon about Alky
  "Sounds like one of your fancy friends," Machon says.
  
  > go east
  The hexastyle entrance into the sanctuary of Eleusis has seen calmer evenings. A mob of the fellows swarm around its august pillars, unclear on direction now that the initiation has taken something of an unexpected turn. Directly before the entrance stands a statue, the final herm in the long chain running from Athens to Eleusis. Atop the roof of the temple, Puffy is leaping and capering about like he's taken leave of his gourd (upon reflection, you think that might actually be what's happened).
  
  To the east, the peristyle promises some degree of peace, a small yard lies westward, and there's a small path running around the side of the sanctuary to the north.
  
  Alky stands amidst but not of the confusion, idly cleaning a nail while he waits for the hubbub to die down.
  
  Machon is here, looking no different now that he's preliminarily initiated into the mysteries of Eleusis.
  
  > Pet pig
  He seems to like that!
  
  > Ride pig
  It would be beneath the pig's dignity to carry you around.
  
  > go to the east
  The hexastyle entrance into the sanctuary of Eleusis has seen calmer evenings. A mob of the fellows swarm around its august pillars, unclear on direction now that the initiation has taken something of an unexpected turn. Directly before the entrance stands a statue, the final herm in the long chain running from Athens to Eleusis. Atop the roof of the temple, Puffy is leaping and capering about like he's taken leave of his gourd (upon reflection, you think that might actually be what's happened).
  
  To the east, the peristyle promises some degree of peace, a small yard lies westward, and there's a small path running around the side of the sanctuary to the north.
  
  Alky stands amidst but not of the confusion, twiddling his thumbs while he waits for the hubbub to die down.
  
  Machon is here, looking no different now that he's preliminarily initiated into the mysteries of Eleusis.
  
  > go to the east
  Come to think, you've never had the foggiest what a peristyle is, but this pillar-and-porch number here seems as reasonable a candidate as any (though twist your arm, it looks just like a courtyard to you).
  
  There's a small closet in an outbuilding to the north and the exit to the countryside lies west, but more appealing are the paths southward, where lies the now-deserted banquet hall, and eastwards, whence the sour smells of the spilled kykeon waft. The stairs back down to the cellars are off in a dingy corner.
  
  There's a stone fountain at the center of the courtyard, happily burbling just the way you do after Alky's made you drink number seven.
  
  > Go east
  You'd rate this as one of your grander halls, with pillars towering upwards to a dimly-visible and smoky ceiling, nicely turned-out furniture lending a note of class, and now, post-ceremony, an overall air of ravishment and mayhem, with the large pool of kykeon spilling out of its ceremonial jug the most obvious factor depressing property values.
  
  The peristyle is back to the west.
  
  > examine jug
  If you were to imagine a drink of minty, fermented barley, then imagined that it was ten times worse than the way you first imagined it, you'd be approaching an idea of the foul liquid spilling out of this jug.
  
  > examine the ceiling
  You lift your eyes heavenward, thinking that's the sort of thing one does in the middle of a ceremony. The marble ceiling is nice enough, but you quickly grow bored.
  
  > Go north
  The path leads to a cozy, tree-lined nook off to the side of the sanctuary, which would be quite the place for peaceful contemplation were it not for the mob tramping about the portico and Puffy dancing one of your louder species of tarantella up on the roof.
  
  Of course, one of the things that would make it so suited for a piece of the said peaceful cont. is that it's rather dull -- besides all the trees, there's not much here besides the path leading back south to the portico.
  
  > examine pillars
  A row of pillars runs down the length of the sanctuary, so regimented and regular that you wonder how the architect made it through the project without nodding off. From this angle you can make out enough of the roof to confirm that Puffy has yet to see reason and come down.
  
  > Go upward
  You lay a preliminary hand on a low branch, but recoil when the buzzing of the bees rises to a menacing key.
  
  > examine the bees
  This hive's sporting one of your bigger dents, as though it ran afoul of a particularly uncoordinated bear; honey oozes about the hole. Unsurprisingly given the threat to hearth and home, it's positively popping with bees, who are crawling about in patterns so complicated it makes your brain hurt to try to follow them. You feel bad for the blighters, since you've always liked bees -- your Great-Uncle took up apiculture a few years back, in point of fact, so you've got a bit of a family connection.
  
  > put the cake in the hive
  They've already got rather a lot of honey stored up in their hive.
  
  > show the cake to the bees
  Works better when you try that on a person (or at least an animal), in your experience.
  
  > go upward
  You haul yourself up the tree and thence to the roof, not without some difficulty.
  
  The first thing you learn upon reaching the summit of the sanctuary is that roofing-tiles have a decided tendency to slip out from under one if one isn't paying the utmost attention. The second thing you learn is that paying the utmost attention is not exactly on the menu when a deranged Puffy is gamboling towards you with an ominous glint in the eye.
  
  "You!" he snarls (yes, you'd have to say "snarls") -- "you bollixed everything up! I'll beat you into a jelly!" You utter a note of protest -- if nothing else, this is rum doings after you came up here to help him! -- and do what you can to evade the lunge with which he apparently intends to commence the jellying process. Sadly, the roofing-tiles do not cooperate with your plan, giving out under you as you attempt to flee. Scrabbling about for an anchor-point at the same time Puffy is scrabbling about for your throat, the two of you meet in a less-than-brotherly embrace and immediately tumble off the roof.
  
  It's something of a task to disentangle yourself and Puffy, and sort out which limbs belong to whom -- including an awkward moment where it seems as though the thing might not come off and one might need to discuss non-custodial visitation rights vis a vis an ambiguous elbow. At least the fall seems to have knocked some sense into Puffy, as he looks like he's back to his old, lovable, long-suffering self, albeit somewhat the worse for wear. Besides the dirt smeared on his face like greasepaint and the twigs sprouting from his hair, he also has a bit of honeycomb stuck to his chiton (he must have had a run-in with bees on his way to the roof).
  
  "Thanks awfully, old chap," he croaks at you, then swallows heavily. "I suppose that wasn't the best batch of kykeon I've brewed, but it can't be helped." Alky and Machon, acting something like a Greek chorus, loudly agree with the sentiment, which seems to reassure him. "I think I need a bit of a lie-down," this somewhat-rattled Puffy says, "good night." He slumps down, landing on what you have to admit is the portico's comfiest-looking pillar.
  
  As you dust yourself off and stand, you notice that Puffy seems to have bounced off the herm on his way down, and as a result the statue's unmentionable has been knocked clean off.
  
  The hexastyle entrance into the sanctuary of Eleusis has seen calmer evenings. A mob of the fellows swarm around its august pillars, unclear on direction now that the initiation has taken something of an unexpected turn. Directly before the entrance stands a statue, the final herm in the long chain running from Athens to Eleusis. Puffy is collapsed against a pillar off to the side of the entrance.
  
  To the east, the peristyle promises some degree of peace, a small yard lies westward, and there's a small path running around the side of the sanctuary to the north.
  
  Alky stands amidst but not of the confusion, stifling a yawn while he waits for the hubbub to die down.
  
  Machon is here, looking no different now that he's preliminarily initiated into the mysteries of Eleusis.
  
  > look at herm
  Herms are little monuments sacred to Hermes -- the tell is in the name, most people don't know that -- which line the Sacred Way to Eleusis, helping protect it and fend off evil spirits and all that sort of thing. There's a rather ho-hum bust of Hermes atop a stone pillar, and an anything-but-ho-hum central attribute midway down that typically makes things awkward when it comes up in conversation with, say, one's Great-Aunt. The unmentionable is rather the worse for wear.
  
  > examine the honeycomb
  This chunk of honeycomb has suffered more than its share of bludgeoning, and there are still a few bees buzzing desultorily about, but it remains sticky and delicious.
  
  > give the honeycomb to the pig
  pig might enjoy the honeycomb, but then, you might enjoy it too.
  
  > put the honeycomb on the pig
  That would just make a sticky mess.
  
  > eat the honeycomb
  You bring the honeycomb near your mouth for a nibble, but the upset buzzing of the bees still inside it puts you off.
  
  > Smoke honeycomb
  What do you want to smoke the honeycomb with?
  
  > Go south
  The ambiance here in this workshop -- with its worktable, scattering of tools, and general aura of hard, honest toil -- makes you positively allergic.
  
  A low opening to the north leads to the only-better-by-comparison yard.
  
  Alky's second-best chariot is here, somewhat the worse for wear.
  
  You can also see a wheel here.
  
  > put the honeycomb on the wheel
  You squeeze a generous helping of honey onto the wheel, making the wood on either side of the gap quite sticky. This turns the comb into a mashed lump of honey, wax, and deeply miffed honeybees, so you dispose of it posthaste (and lick your fingers clean best as you can).
  
  > examine the gap
  You quickly diagnose the concern here -- a significant portion of the rim has been smashed away. With this much wood missing, it's currently somewhat-ineffective qua wheel. You'll need to effect some repairs before it's fit to turn once again. The wood around the gap has been coated in copious layers of honey, like the world's most splintery baklava.
  
  > check your inventory
  You are carrying:
  a lump of honey cake
  a toothpick
  a cup
  a largish chunk of amphora
  a heavily-smoking torch (providing light)
  a well-tailored chiton (being worn)
  
  > put the cake in the gap
  You squeeze a generous helping of honey onto the wheel, making the wood on either side of the gap quite sticky. The de-honeyed cake is rather unappetizing, so you discreetly chuck it away (and lick your fingers clean best as you can).
  
  > look at the worktable
  You're more acquainted with tables than with work, but you think you've got this sorted out -- there's a flat surface, there's a toothy apparatus you recognize as a saw, then a jumble of miscellaneous tools, parts, and whatsits.
  
  > examine the jumble
  The saw you can make out, but otherwise your eyes glaze over as they take in a hodge-podge of pegs, nails, joints (you think), joists (perhaps?), adzes, awls.... If you're fuzzy on the nom