text: [Themes: Lovecraftian, Literary, alchemy, horror, drugs, male protagonist, homage, Lovecraftian, adaptation, Edgar Allan Poe]
  
  Study (on the velvet couch)
  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.
  
  NEVERMORE is a work of Interactive Fiction by Nate Cull (culln@xtra.co.nz), written for the 2000 IF Competition, and based very loosely on the poem "The Raven" by Edgar Allan Poe. All box quotes are from the www.eserver.org text of the poem. Everything else is original, bears no relation to any known literary work or historical fact, and is quite probably indicative of some deep unresolved psychological trauma in the author's childhood.
  
  For help at any time, type HINT. To see if the game is still winnable, type WINNABLE.
  
  Thanks to: the ifMUD gang at http://ifmud.port4000.com for support with Inform coding lore and a constant supply of monkey jokes; Admiral Jota and the Emily who is not called Emily, for help with Latin; and various betatesters including Peter Berman, Doug Jones and Nick Montfort. Also, to L. Ross Raszewski for his wonderful Hints.h hint library.
  
  You are granted unconditional right to freely copy and distribute this game, in any form, as long as it remains unaltered. This includes the right to commercial redistribution. If you obtained this game on a CD-ROM, or as part of any other commercial distribution, you should be aware that you do not owe the author or any other entity anything for playing or copying it.
  
  If you have difficulty finding the latest version, or you would simply like to talk to a human about this game, post a message on the Usenet newsgroup rec.games.int-fiction, or failing that, feel free to email the author.
  
  Dedicated to: Alex. Want corknut! Awwk!
  
  [Author's Note: A short tale of mystery and madness inspired by Poe's "The Raven".]
  
  > look at the desk
  A relic from Byzantine days, perhaps. It was the first piece of furniture you touched as a child, and the oldest you have seen in all your travels. Simply a slab of polished oak, with four curiously carved legs, and nothing more. On the desk are a paper sachet, an oil-lamp and Concerning Immortality.
  
  You hear the tapping sound again.
  
  > check what you're carrying
  You are carrying:
  a gold ring (being worn)
  
  A staccato rap echoes through the room.
  
  > examine the sachet
  A thin paper envelope, of the kind in which exotic substances are stored. The sachet is closed.
  
  There is silence for a moment; then the soft rapping returns.
  
  > open the sachet
  You open the paper sachet, revealing coca powder.
  
  The gentle tapping sounds again.
  
  > examine the Immortality
  "Some Thoughts Concerning Immortality and The Means Thereof", by Ambrosius of Cyrene (a copy, not the original, as the pages of this slim volume date no earlier than the fifteenth century). A most difficult book, but you have returned to its pages many times; surely, the key to the whole process must be here, if only you could read its meaning.
  
  A staccato rap echoes through the room.
  
  > look at the coca
  A white powder consisting of an extract of the South American coca leaf, which an acquaintance in Mexico has found a new process of refining.
  
  > sniff the coca
  You inhale a quantity of coca powder.
  
  A sense of raw alertness rushes through your nerves, setting them all on edge.
  
  > About yourself
  You look like a gentleman of ease, but that is not how you feel.
  
  A staccato rap echoes through the room.
  
  The coca rush fades, but the sense of alertness remains.
  
  > open the window
  You swing wide the shutters, letting the cold night air gust into the room.
  
  A staccato rap echoes through the room.
  
  The curtains move softly, caressed by the breeze.
  
  > examine the curtains
  Purple silken curtains hang down each side of the window, and extend around the room to soften the harsh stonework. A cold draft from the window is billowing the curtains outward into the room, leaving a slight gap between them and the wall.
  
  A staccato rap echoes through the room.
  
  The curtains move softly, caressed by the breeze.
  
  > look at lamp
  An oil-lamp of copper and glass, warm to the touch and old as time. Like the desk it is a family heirloom, predating perhaps even the tower itself. It burns with a soft, subtle light, casting strange shadows in all directions.
  
  An icy gust from the window sends the curtains reeling.
  
  > look in the gap
  You find nothing of interest.
  
  The gentle tapping sounds again.
  
  > Close window
  You pull the shutters closed, sealing out the cold night air.
  
  > look behind the curtains
  The curtains are flush against the stone walls, concealing whatever might be there.
  
  There is silence for a moment; then the soft rapping returns.
  
  > take the lamp
  Taken.
  
  The gentle tapping sounds again.
  
  > look behind the curtains
  You swing wide the shutters, letting the cold night air gust into the room.
  
  The gentle tapping sounds again.
  
  The curtains move softly, caressed by the breeze.
  There seems to be a substantial gap between the curtains and the stone wall, into which with a little effort you could insinuate yourself.
  
  There is silence for a moment; then the soft rapping returns.
  
  The curtains move softly, caressed by the breeze.
  
  > listen
  It is hard to pinpoint the sound; it seems to shift as you listen.
  
  The curtains move softly, caressed by the breeze.
  
  > touch the curtains
  You feel nothing unexpected.
  
  A staccato rap echoes through the room.
  
  > stand
  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.
  
  > look at Pallas
  The eyes of Pallas, Greek goddess of Wisdom, stare back at you from white unblinking marble, under locks of pale sculpted hair. She of all the Classical pantheon was your patron; though now after the horror your studies have wrought, it is hard to look her in the face.
  
  There is silence for a moment; then the soft rapping returns.
  
  > take Pallas
  That's hardly portable.
  
  The gentle tapping sounds again.
  
  > touch the couch
  You feel nothing unexpected.
  
  There is silence for a moment; then the soft rapping returns.
  
  > Kiss pallas
  You can only do that to something animate.
  
  > get the hair
  That's hardly portable.
  
  An icy gust from the window sends the curtains reeling.
  
  > move the hair
  You tip back the goddess' sculpted hair, revealing a hollow space inside the bust, inside which you can see a peyote button, an opium pipe and opium resin.
  
  A staccato rap echoes through the room.
  
  An icy gust from the window sends the curtains reeling.
  
  > look at the peyote
  A small round button of dried peyote cactus, obtained from a South American shaman.
  
  The gentle tapping sounds again.
  
  An icy gust from the window sends the curtains reeling.
  
  A dull, dark weariness drifts over you.
  
  > take all from Pallas
  peyote button: Removed.
  opium pipe: Removed.
  opium resin: Removed.
  
  There is silence for a moment; then the soft rapping returns.
  
  The curtains move softly, caressed by the breeze.
  
  A dull, dark weariness drifts over you.
  
  > eat the peyote
  You chew a little of the bitter cactus slowly. Most of the button remains intact.
  
  There is silence for a moment; then the soft rapping returns.
  
  An odd, visionary feeling stabs at your eyelids.
  
  A dull, dark weariness drifts over you.
  
  > open the window
  That's already open.
  
  Your surroundings shift weirdly; a vision forms itself before your eyes.
  
  The room is much larger; or you are much younger. Your father sits at the writing desk, poring over obscure books. His hair is grey, his face lined with care. The purple curtains, vast and shadowy, billow above you in a draft from the window; the gap between them and the floor seems cavernous. You toddle toward the gap. Somewhere, a raven caws...
  
  The visionary sense fades, and normal sight returns.
  
  A dull, dark weariness drifts over you.
  
  > put the resin in the pipe
  You put opium resin into the opium pipe.
  
  A dull, dark weariness drifts over you.
  
  > examine the curtains
  Purple silken curtains hang down each side of the window, and extend around the room to soften the harsh stonework. A cold draft from the window is billowing the curtains outward into the room, leaving a slight gap between them and the wall.
  
  There is silence for a moment; then the soft rapping returns.
  
  An icy gust from the window sends the curtains reeling.
  
  A dull, dark weariness drifts over you.
  
  > put the resin in the pipe
  You need to be holding opium resin before you can put it into something else.
  
  A staccato rap echoes through the room.
  
  The sense of awful weariness grows stronger and heavier every moment.
  
  > enter the gap
  You step cautiously behind the curtains...
  
  Here behind the curtains, you have discovered a tiny alcove of stonework, hidden from the rest of your study. The purple silk billows out around you, dim firelight casting strange disturbing shadows onto the ancient masonry. Old memories rise, of hiding here as a child while your father worked at his books. Those days are long gone, but something urges you to stay and watch the play of light and colour.
  
  The sense of awful weariness grows stronger and heavier every moment.
  
  > get the resin
  You remove the opium resin from the pipe.
  
  The gentle tapping sounds again.
  
  The sense of dreadful weariness has nearly overpowered you. You must revive yourself, urgently.
  
  > sniff the coca
  You can't see any such thing.
  
  You can't see any such thing.
  
  > Go outside
  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.
  
  A staccato rap echoes through the room.
  
  A bone-deep weariness seizes you, and you are unable to take another step. Your eyes close, you slump against the stone, and darkness overwhelms your mind.
  
  Slowly, the dream begins to darken. There are screams, echoes, footsteps running down nameless corridors. Your feet are cold on haunted stone, forever following Lenore's distant echo, forever pursued...
  
  The dream fades to reality. A confusion of images; a precipice, falling... and then your head strikes stone, and reality ends.
  
  It is a dangerous place, this tower, to dream alone.
  
  Please give one of the answers above.
  
  > stand
  You get off the velvet couch.
  
  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.
  
  You hear the tapping sound again.
  
  > examine the couch
  A velvet-inlaid couch -- what the Italians call a loveseat -- from the early Renaissance period, a souvenir of your travels in Rome. You bought it to please Lenore, and it was a wise choice.
  
  > About yourself
  You look like a gentleman of ease, but that is not how you feel.
  
  There is silence for a moment; then the soft rapping returns.
  
  > look at the desk
  A relic from Byzantine days, perhaps. It was the first piece of furniture you touched as a child, and the oldest you have seen in all your travels. Simply a slab of polished oak, with four curiously carved legs, and nothing more. On the desk are a paper sachet, an oil-lamp and Concerning Immortality.
  
  There is silence for a moment; then the soft rapping returns.
  
  > Xyzzy
  The name of old, lost magic briefly echoes, then is gone.
  
  The gentle tapping sounds again.
  
  > take all from the desk
  paper sachet: Removed.
  oil-lamp: Removed.
  Concerning Immortality: Removed.
  
  > say lenore
  (to yourself)
  There is no reply.
  
  There is silence for a moment; then the soft rapping returns.
  
  > take all from Pallas
  You tip back the goddess' sculpted hair, revealing a hollow space inside the bust, inside which you can see a peyote button, an opium pipe and opium resin.
  
  The gentle tapping sounds again.
  peyote button: Removed.
  opium pipe: Removed.
  opium resin: Removed.
  
  A dull, dark weariness drifts over you.
  
  > open the sachet
  You open the paper sachet, revealing coca powder.
  
  There is silence for a moment; then the soft rapping returns.
  
  A dull, dark weariness drifts over you.
  
  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.
  
  There is silence for a moment; then the soft rapping returns.
  
  A dull, dark weariness drifts over you.
  
  > go 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.
  
  A dull, dark weariness drifts over you.
  
  > sniff the coca
  You inhale a quantity of coca powder.
  
  The gentle tapping sounds again.
  
  A sense of raw alertness rushes through your nerves, setting them all on edge.
  
  > 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.
  
  There is a sudden scratching and scrabbling beyond the iron gate, as of some creature seeking admittance. Then the sound is gone as quickly as it came.
  
  The coca rush fades, but the sense of alertness remains.
  
  > open gate
  You unbolt the great iron gate and swing it slowly open, revealing the night outside.
  
  The gentle tapping sounds again.
  
  > go 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.
  
  Out of the silence comes a quiet sense of motion, as if some creature were circling further around the tower, searching for a more subtle approach. The lamp gutters erratically for a moment. The sound retreats; perhaps it was simply your fevered imagination.
  
  > Down
  Even with a lamp, you would not chance these stairs in the darkness. The merest slip would send you plummeting.
  
  > look at the opium
  Which do you mean, opium resin or the opium pipe?
  
  > Resin
  A black wad of opium resin for smoking, prepared to a closely-guarded Tong formula for maximum potency and speed.
  
  > examine the coca
  A white powder consisting of an extract of the South American coca leaf, which an acquaintance in Mexico has found a new process of refining.
  
  Lightning forks the sky overhead, followed immediately by clamouring thunder.
  
  > look at the peyote
  A small round button of dried peyote cactus, obtained from a South American shaman.
  
  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.