Adventure Gamers - Forums

Karlok - 01 October 2016 07:23 PM

But I’m beginning to realize that Anchorhead may be too big for a CP. I’ll host it as long as people are interested.

Nonsense. It’ll just last a while.

By the time I caught up with a handful of pages in Violet, the game was finished. Here it seems I just missed the intro while catching up.


It’ll be a lot more taxing on you than on us, though. Maybe too big to host alone?

>l in hole
In the ragged hole is a bundle of soggy pages.

>get pages
You pick up the bundle of soggy pages. It appears to have been someone’s diary. There must have been a leak at some time behind the wall where it was hidden, because most of the pages are water-logged and completely illegible. However, portions of a few entries remain untouched.

Your score has just gone up by two points.

>read pages
Carefully, you turn the tattered pages. The handwriting is that of a young girl. You idly wonder if this might have been the diary of one of Edward Verlac’s daughters—but then you notice part of a date, just visible in the corner of the page: 1953. This must have been written, then, several years before Edward was born.

The entries that are legible read as follows:

...Father came again to my bed last night… mother doesn’t… tells me I can’t… to be a good daughter. Sometimes it hurts, but Father always tells me I shouldn’t cry. Father says a daughter must do her Duty if she wants to get into Heaven. And I do want to get into Heaven…

[this entry dated 1957] ...my poor little William. Father calls him an aberration, child of the Devil, but I don’t believe… locked in the attic. I go to see him whenever Father is away. I sing to him, sometimes, through the keyhole, and slip him sweets through the crack under the door… my baby is beautiful… can’t let him hurt my dear baby William… to the doctor, and he has a plan… I can never… this locket, William, and I will always keep yours… to always remember my face…

Nothing else is readable except for one fragmented entry near the very end of the book, the date in the corner reading February 27, 1961:

...dead, but not dead yet… will not allow him to do to Edward what he wanted to do to William… have learned… given him the charm against the… never take it off, dear Edward… [a page has been torn away] ...fear to sleep… mist at the window—

And that’s all.

and in the dining room:

>x lining
The lining is soft, dusky burgundy. One corner in back is pulled up a bit and slightly torn.

>pull lining
You pull the lining back a bit further and discover a thin, palm-sized journal tucked underneath it. Intrigued, you pull the little book free.

Your score has just gone up by two points.

>read journal
It’s a slim little book, no bigger than your hand, bound in imitation leather. The mice really have been at it; most of the pages have been chewed away.

What’s left of the journal reads:

Desperate. Went back to the old twisting lane and found only a blank wall. Without the amulet, how can I resist—

...bottles, bottles…

Getting worse. People I have never met smile knowingly at me in the street. The police believe I am a child molester, but have brought no charges against me as yet. Why? Head hurts all the time. I have turned the cellar upside-down… damn it all, where is it?

Dreamed of Father again. Dreamed of Grandfather. Those horrible, red-rimmed eyes…

—into the safe, finally. 57-12-44. Won’t forget THAT soon. Ha!

CANNOT DISCOVER ENTRANCE IN THE CELLAR!!! Secret eludes me still but I WILL FIND IT!!! The clue is in their names, that pestilential procession of names! If I could only—

The text breaks off as several more pages are missing. the last fragmented entry reads:

—will fail. There is no recourse left. I know now what I must do. Julia—

>look up julia in album
No mention of Edward’s wife, since the book was published in 1944 and she probably wasn’t even born yet. Even so, you’re uncertain whether Julia Ward would have even counted as a proper Verlac.

>look up edward in album
Since this book was only published in 1944, there is no mention of Edward Verlac or his family. He probably wasn’t even born yet.

Library
>turn dial to 57
The tumblers tick quietly as you turn the dial to 57…

>turn dial to 12
The tumblers tick quietly as you turn the dial to 12…

>turn dial to 44
The tumblers tick quietly as you turn the dial to 44… and with a hollow thunk, the safe suddenly swings open.

Your score has just gone up by two points.

>l in safe
In the safe are a puzzle box and a strange metal flute.

>x puzzle box
It’s roughly the size and shape of a cigar box, carved from some dark and oddly streaked wood that you can’t identify. All six surfaces are decorated in a complex arrangement of grooves and panels, most of which are illustrated with leering, demonic faces and obscene designs. As far as you can tell, it is in fact a box, and meant to be opened; however, you see no obvious way to do so.

>x flute
(the strange metal flute)
It appears to be some kind of wind instrument, fashioned out of ornately carved, greenish metal. Seven holes of varying sizes are drilled along the top.

TimovieMan - 01 October 2016 09:16 PM

It’ll be a lot more taxing on you than on us, though. Maybe too big to host alone?

Nah, it’s okay. Nice to be back in evil Anchorhead. I even like making maps.

wilco - 02 October 2016 05:25 AM

So much stuff already (and we haven’t got in the kitchen). Creepy stuff…

Yeah, the kitchen… and more.

Also maybe we should check if Julia is in the album
Don’t know how the verb should be, the others are probably too young

What do you mean, have we already found the names of other family members?

EDIT: Oh yes, William!

>look up william in album
You cannot find that name anywhere in the album.

>get box
(slipping the silver locket into the pocket of your trenchcoat to get a hand free)
Taken.

>get flute
(the strange metal flute)
(slipping the family album into the pocket of your trenchcoat to get a hand free)
Taken.

>play flute
(the strange metal flute)
You blow an open chord into the little flute, and it resonates with an eerie, metallic warble. The sound lingers in the air for a moment, then gently fades away.

>open box
That’s the problem; you’re not sure how.

Dining Room

>n

Kitchen
Where once pots and skillets and various utensils hung in profusion, the kitchen walls are now merely ranks of dusty cabinets and a forest of empty hooks. Doorways lead east and south, a small pantry lies to the northwest, and the back door to the north leads out of the house.

Someone’s flashlight is lying on the kitchen counter; one of the movers must have left it.

An odd feeling of gloom overtakes you momentarily, and you find yourself thinking about the Verlac family’s personal effects—the everyday mundanities, such as kitchen utensils. Were they thrown out, or donated to charity, or auctioned off as grisly souvenirs? What about the canned goods? Did anyone think to take them? The cabinets might even still be stocked. Morbidly, you wonder what Mrs. Edward Verlac might have been cooking for dinner the night her husband blew her head off.

>x flashlight
It’s battery-powered, and waterproof too, by the look of it.

The flashlight is currently switched off.

>x counter
It’s just an ordinary-looking kitchen counter.

>x cabinets
You can’t see inside, since the cabinet is closed.

>x hooks
You needn’t worry about that.

Karlok - 01 October 2016 07:23 PM

But I’m beginning to realize that Anchorhead may be too big for a CP. I’ll host it as long as people are interested.

I can only speak for myself, but the reason I am not that active is that during the day I barely have time to check the thread, and by the time it’s evening I spend a lot of time catching up before I can contribute again. That does not mean I’m not interested, it’s just a time issue

Great, we have something to light up the dark attic!
>Take flashlight

Although I’d like to check out whether it works first
>switch on flashlight
>switch off flashlight (saving batteries, how thoughtful )

>open cabinets
>x cabinets

>get flashlight
(slipping the bundle of soggy pages into the pocket of your trenchcoat to get a hand free)
Taken.

>turn it on
The flashlight emits a warm yellow beam.

>turn it off
You switch the flashlight off.

>open cabinet
The cabinets are not, after all, still stocked—much to your relief. There’s nothing in there but an old book of matches.

>get matches
(slipping the torn journal into the pocket of your trenchcoat to get a hand free)
You pick up the book of matches. A label on the side reads, “Water-resistant matches. Strike on cover.” There are six matches left.

I don’t remember if you can leave the flashlight on permanently. To be on the safe side, I’ll switch it off when we don’t need it.

wilco - 02 October 2016 06:59 AM

Flashlight, matches, we can now go to dark places!
Lets check the pantry first

Talk about dark places…

>nw

Darkness
It is pitch dark, and you can’t see a thing.

>turn on flashlight
The flashlight emits a warm yellow beam.

Pantry
The pantry is empty save for a layer of dust on the shelves. A door to the south leads down to the cellar, or you can return to the kitchen to the southeast.

Leaning in the corner is an old broom.

>x broom
It’s just an ordinary-looking broom.

>get it
(slipping the puzzle box into the pocket of your trenchcoat to get a hand free)
Taken.

(Side note, Karlok, the text adventure bug caught me and I started playing Trinity this weekend, the verbs seem a bit more limited to I’m getting used to it but did get through the opening part)

Yeah, the parser is ancient of course. But it’s a great game and Brian Moriarty knows how to tell a story. I found it moving at some point.

>unlock door with key
Which do you mean, the key to the house or the key to the cellar?

>cellar
(first taking the keyring)
(slipping the strange metal flute into the pocket of your trenchcoat to get a hand free)
You unlock the cellar door.

>s
(opening the cellar door first)
You descend the gloomy steps into the dank cellar.

Cellar
The old, flagstone walls gleam with unwholesome-smelling moisture, and the sagging timbers creak uneasily above your head. Ancient, frayed wiring festoons the ceiling like some strange species of clinging vine. Portions of the cellar extend south and east into the clammy darkness, though you could always beat a hasty retreat up the stairs to the north.

One largish bundle of wires leads down to a rusty old fuse cabinet bolted to the far wall.

>scream
Come now; you’re not that frightened.

>x wires
The wiring runs back and forth across the ceiling in every direction—wrapped around timbers, in and out of rusted, broken conduits, crossing and re-crossing itself in a dozen places. You can see several places where the insulation is cracked or stripped altogether. It’s enough to send any self-respecting fire marshall into conniptions.

>x cabinet
It’s an ancient, clunky metal box, about the size of a kid’s lunchbox. There’s some sort of lettering on the cover, but it’s too corroded to read.

>i
You are wearing your trenchcoat, your clothes and your wedding ring; in addition, you have in your hands a keyring, on which are two keys (a key to the house and a key to the cellar), a broom, a book of matches with six matches left and a flashlight (providing light).

The pockets of your trenchcoat contain a strange metal flute, a puzzle box (which is closed), a torn journal, a bundle of soggy pages, a family album, a silver locket, The Compleat Manual of Wardes and Seales, a typewritten notice, a towel, Michael’s faculty card, your umbrella and a flask (which is closed).

Posting the inventory is not a hint or anything. I just though it would be good to be reminded of the stuff we carry around.

Ah, THE cellar!

Now to do the obvious:
>open cabinet