text: [Themes: Humor, male protagonist, ancient Greece]
  
  Sing, O Muse, of war and fame,
  The striving of men and the ruin--
  Oh hang it, the ruin of something
  Or other, I forget the line
  Though nothing for it but to go
  On with this poem best I can
  Sing now of struggle and plunder
  I think that the word's plunder,
  From topless towers that - no, no,
  Wrong word again, topless towers of--
  Look I know I'll remember,
  From topless towers tum-tumpety-tum
  Tumpety tumpety -- wait a tic
  Dash it all plunder is wrong
  Maybe pillage or flotsam and
  Jetsam or I don't quite recall,
  The words are just sticking on the
  v. tip of the old tongue;
  I may have three sheets to the wind
  Or one sheet too many in the event
  To land this epic poetry jobby.
  
  I say, speaking of being sloshed though, here's one I do remember --
  
  Well, isn't this a lark! The capital's been rather dull of late, but after solid years of going after old Alky to let you in on that Mysteries wheeze of his, at last tonight's the night! He's dragged you off to Eleusis for some sort of to-do, but no sooner had you clapped eyes on the amphorae and canapés amply spread across the courtyard than he informed you of a spot of work in need of doing before the festivities can commence -- and you've drawn the short straw in terms of fetching some paraphernalia up from the temple undercroft.
  
  It made sense at the time -- or so you think, you must admit you nodded off midway through the explanation -- Alky at least wrote it all down for you, the dear.
  
  Less lamb-like of him, he's standing guard over the stairs that lead back to the party. Nothing for it but to get to work -- you've heard of work, you're sure you'll be good at it!
  
  When Alky told you he was taking you to a party, this low, earthen-walled cellar wasn't exactly what you pictured -- though you're trying to be fair-minded and not hold it against what might be a perfectly lovely undercroft once you get to know it.
  
  Rough wooden stairs lead back up to the temple proper, with Alky perching beguilingly yet also obstructively upon the top step to keep you from joining the party before you've done your bit. Openings gape westward and southward, and from the flickering oil-light coming from them you'd guess that they're in regular use. The cellar extends further eastward into darkness, getting less homely and more cave-like by the inch.
  
  [Author's Note: Well, isn't this a lark! After solid years of going after old Alky to let you in on that Mysteries wheeze of his, at last tonight's the night. He's dragged you from Athens to Eleusis for the to-do, but no sooner had you clapped eyes on the wine and canapés than he informed you of a spot of work in need of doing. You've heard of work, you're sure you'll be good at it!]
  
  > About yourself
  It's a mark of ill-breeding to be a judge in one's own cause, and you are if nothing else well-bred -- but if, hypothetically, one were to have one's hypothetical arm twisted, then one might venture to relate that some -- no, many! -- of one's contemporaries are of the opinion that one is a dashing young thing of appealing and prepossessing aspect, and the moustache one has recently grown, after much consideration, adds just the right note of danger and flair (these contemporaries to whose opinion one is referring the matter, it is to be understood, hold themselves to high standards of probity and are quite fetching themselves, to boot, but no, one couldn't possibly relate their names right now, and shame on you for asking).
  
  Currently, you're wearing a well-tailored chiton.
  
  You've got a tickle of an itch right at your temple.
  
  > look at the chiton
  (the well-tailored chiton)
  Your manservant detests this chiton, sniffing superciliously about the canary-yellow color being d��class��, but he can soak his head -- as far
  as you're concerned, it is just the thing!
  
  > scratch itch
  As your fingers brush the side of your head, they come across a hard, cylindrical object.
  
  > take the object
  Hang on, this is that knife you lost! You take it down from your ear, nicking your fingers only twice or thrice in the process.
  
  > examine the knife
  A steel knife, sharper than your wits, hopefully. Or, wait, perhaps the other way round?
  
  > look at what you're carrying with you
  You are carrying:
  a knife
  a well-tailored chiton (being worn)
  the list of ceremonial desiderata
  
  > look at the list
  Alky helpfully handed over this list of all the ritual bric-a-brac he lost in the cellars during his last bender. There are rather a lot of words, so you'll have to really commit if you want to read it.
  
  > read the list
  -The krater of the east (a krater is a sort of large vase)
  -An amphora of clear water (an amphora is a different sort of large vase)
  -A knife. Any knife will do, and there are probably some up here now that I think of it, but you might as well pick one up for us while you're down there, eh?
  -An ear of barley, for the kykeon (you'll like the kykeon!)
  -A sprig of pennyroyal, adds a delightful minty flavor to the kykeon (look for the lavender flowers!)
  
  You see Alky at the top of the stairs, flirting with anything that comes within arm-span.
  
  > go west
  You smell this room before you enter it -- it gives off the kind of rank odor you rarely encounter outside the odd visit to a Great-Aunt who's rather let the housekeeping go to seed. The culprit is easy to detect: heaps of mostly-rotten grain clog the room everywhere you turn. There's a vase in the corner -- no, hang on, that's an amphora, though admittedly a rather vase-like example of the type.
  
  The main cellar, offering a relative respite for your nose, lies east.
  
  > look at the amphora
  This is definitely an amphora, and not a vase. Or is that backwards? It's got a very narrow neck and stands about two feet tall, and is tied to iron rings in the wall by a well-knotted rope that's seen better days. There are a few ears of barley at the very bottom of the amphora, looking at least marginally fresher than the rotten grain in the granary.
  
  > take it
  This works less well than you'd hoped, inasmuch as the amphora is anchored to the wall by the rope.
  
  > cut the rope with the knife
  You slash the frayed rope with the knife.
  
  > take the amphora
  Taken.
  
  > take the barley
  You strain -- gosh, do you strain! -- but try as you might to cram your hand into the amphora, the neck is just too narrow.