OK here's my
> location name
and
> location description
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
Ye Olde Pastie Shoppe
The Pastie Shoppe, established some time in the eighteenth century, is one
of the oldest surviving businesses in Bolton and the building itself dates
back to the fifteenth or sixteenth century. It is a small but busy shop,
selling meat pies, various sweet pastries and the meat and potato
pasties for which it earned its name. Warm smells of fresh baking waft
from the kitchens at the back of the shop and tantalise your nostrils.
Trays of food lie behind glass counters
[ and an elderly lady in a blue and white striped apron smiles at you
inquiringly from behind the cash register. "What d'you want, luv?" ]
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
Since you didn't ask for NPC's yet I've bracketed the last bit out as
not-necessarily-essential but it would be a shame if there was no-one to
serve you one of those mouthwatering custard tarts...
For those who don't know, Bolton is a large town in Lancashire (I suppose
some would say it's in Greater Manchester) in England, and one of the
birthplaces of the industrial revolution.
Fit that one in.
Cheers,
Den
Here you are, Your Holy Inconti-- I mean Eminence,
location name
Red Jelly Plain
location description
The sea of sticky red jelly stretching away to the horizon in every
direction shimmers in the mid-summer sun. It undulates with the
faintest breath of air or the slightest movement upon its glistening
surface; you are finding it increasingly difficult to remain upright.
Behind you the imprints of your own passage quiver gently in the
aftershock of your foot-fall, but otherwise the entire plain remains
smooth and unmarked.
I mean "jelly" in the sense of that sticky stuff you had at parties as a kid
(or perhaps still do)-- "jello", or whatever you Americans call it, not jam.
And it's strawberry flavoured, not raspberry.
The idea of the undulating surface is that, eventually, it will wobble so
much that the player will be unable to retain his footing, and will go
sprawling to the ground. Obviously this, or any other movement, will only
increase the wobble.
Of course, jelly is sticky, and this will affect any objects placed on it,
and could hinder the player's attempts to pick thing up. And what about that
sun? Won't the heat increase the stickiness?
The jelly is just the right consistency to support an average human, but what
about a human with a full rucksack? Oh yes, the foot-prints. Well, needless
to say anything else placed on the jelly will leave its mark too.
Should the player examine or look closely at the jelly:
Peering into the murky depths of the jelly, you fancy you can make
out a shape below. You strain to pick out some detail, shielding your
eyes from the reflective glare of that angry sun. Slowly, a definite
form assimilates itself in your mind-- could it be? Is that possible?
Buried in the jelly is what looks to be a human being. Although it is
impossible to precisely guess his depth, you would wager a month's
pay that he is stuck well over a quarter of a mile below the surface.
And if that is so, you could not begin to estimate his height-- this
man beneath the jelly must truly be...
...a GIANT!
Devoutly yours,
Jools
Amidst the Swarming Bees, on the Ostrich
A maelstrom of buzzing bees makes it very difficult for you to
hear or even think. Each bee looks to be the size of your hand,
and those stingers look mean. Through this storm of insects you
can make out thousands of honeycombs. You might be able to climb
even higher through the hive, or return back to the tree by moving
downwards.
The ostrich shakes violently, apparently greatly distressed by
all of this activity.
+-------------------------------------------------------+
| Jonathan Fry ---------------------- jf...@skidmore.edu |
| --- COMING: 1996 I-F COMPETITION ENTRY: STARGAZER --- |
+-------------------------------------------------------+
You are buried up to your chin in fine sand, staring across the empty
seats of a dark theater. There is absolute silence, as though every
molecule in the building is waiting for someone or something to happen.
It is difficult to think clearly. Your mind is constantly drawn to
tangents. Are you an actor? Are you watching the empty auditorium, or is
the empty auditorium in rapt attention, studying you?
/--- Sphere Discovery: an Interactive Prologue ---\
|----- Interactive Fiction by Russ Bryan -----|
\----- Coming for I-F Contest 1996 -----/
Rules:
1. Please supply only what I ask for; nothing more, nothing less. You
may have a great idea for a game, but I want stupid stuff. Use your
good ideas in your own games.
2. You need make no attempt to have your contributions agree with the
contributions of others in any way. That is, story consistency and
logic are not considerations. In fact, you are encouraged to play
"Stump the Cardinal" to your heart's content by giving me the most
outrageous things you can come up with.
That's it. Easy enough, eh? Ok, for the first round, I'm asking for
locations. Please supply a single--one per family, please--game
location, in the following form:
location name
location description
(I'd ask for exits and doors, but I know you'd bury me in 'em, so I'll
supply those myself. On the other hand, if you can restrain your
inclination to put ten locked doors in every room and go ahead and
supply me with the info, I'll consider using it.)
Please keep the room descriptions to a reasonable length, but go ahead
and reference whatever objects and/or characters you want within the
descriptions, even if they're not things you'd be supplying later when
I get to those rounds.
Thanks in advance. Here's hoping for a decent turnout.
--Cardinal T
I mean, what the hell kind of villain thwarts the hero's
progress with soup cans in the kitchen pantry?
--Russ Bryan
Cardinal, I follow up your post in the hopes that some
day I too will be quoted in your sig.
--Matthew Amster-Burton
Museum of Frozen Emotions
The museum is only dimly lit, by a glow seeming to come from the exhibits
themselves. And what exhibits! On a marble pedestal to the north stands
Happiness. Melancholy is to the south, flanked by Gloom. Jealousy looms
next to Anger, which in turn almost completely hides Fear. Lust and Love
stand to the east, so close as to be almost indistinguishable. In the
middle of the room, swaying slightly, is Discontentment.
--
dan shiovitz scy...@u.washington.edu sh...@cs.washington.edu
slightly lost author/programmer in a world of more creative or more sensible
people ... remember to speak up for freedom because no one else will do it
for you: use it or lose it ... carpe diem -- be proactive.
my web site: http://weber.u.washington.edu/~scythe/home.html some ok stuff.
Grassy Knoll
This pleasant stretch of grassland is a welcome, peaceful oasis in the urban
jungle of downtown Dallas. You have an unobstructed view of the crowds
assembled in Daly Plaza, awaiting the Presidential motorcade.
You can see a rifle, a walkie-talkie and a suitcase (which is closed) here.
======
Steven Howard
bl...@ibm.net
Along the parade route (in the Popemobile)
You are imprisoned in a large plexiglas cage of sorts, being transported
down a road. Ahead, you can make out the tail end of a high school
marching band, while on either side of you the street is filled with
throngs of jubilant yet reverent worshippers, waving and shouting and
bowing and generally fighting for your attention. Small air holes have
been drilled through the ceiling for your breathing convenience, but other
than that there seems to be no discernible exit.
You see a small microphone and a pointy hat here.
--
tv's Spatch, MSTie #43790 and bastard spawn of Norman Rockwell
Pick Up The Phone Booth and Die: http://www.javanet.com/~spatula/booth.html
Do you sing like Olive Oyl on purpose?
You guys must be into the Eurythmics. - TMBG
Your Office, in The Year 2020
Many things appear to have changed here since 1996. The compact discs on
the shelf where textbooks used to be. The brightly crayoned stick figure
drawings labelled "Daddy" on the wall. The brand new copy of Avalon on
the desk. A note to yourself to thank Gareth for his kind review. So many
things you never thought would happen.
- David Dyte
(never posted here before, but yes, I do have a game in progress, and no,
don't ask when it will happen, I'm writing a thesis)
Chickens run amuck outside this dilapidated farmhouse. The exposed earth of the
nearby dirt road is Georgia red clay red, meaning a red that is just shy of
being orange, but not nearly as as orange as the General Lee, a muscular 1969
Dodge Charger complete with a huge "01" painted on each of its doors, both
welded shut to facilitate easier entry through the windows. The car nearly
takes your breath away. The sight of Daisy Duke washing her Jeep "Dixie" does
take your breath away, primarily because the thought of having to breathe in the
shorts she's wearing very nearly brings on an asthma attack. To the south, the
gravel road leads through the countryside toward the Boar's Nest. Around the
house, to the east, you can hear Uncle Jesse banging away on his truck.
Jeff Miller
jeff...@ix.netcom.com
Well, now you've done it. The gazebo's got you pinned but good. The
weight of its floorboards pins you to the grassy earth, and after that
last charge, it appears to have gone to sleep on top of you. You can see
a trapdoor leading up into the gazebo proper just tantalizingly out of
arm's reach. The remnants of the flask are strewn all around, making
it a minor miracle you weren't cut when you fell. On the bright side,
there's no sign of that Off-White... person.
You seem to have dropped the tetrahedral saw. It probably fell out of
the bathtub in all the confusion of the chase.
The gazebo shifts uneasily over you and snores a bit.
--
Scott Johnson |
za...@io.com | This space intentionally left... oh, you know.
|
>Rules:
>1. Please supply only what I ask for; nothing more, nothing less. You
>may have a great idea for a game, but I want stupid stuff. Use your
>good ideas in your own games.
>2. You need make no attempt to have your contributions agree with the
>contributions of others in any way. That is, story consistency and
>logic are not considerations. In fact, you are encouraged to play
>"Stump the Cardinal" to your heart's content by giving me the most
>outrageous things you can come up with.
>location name
The Centre Of The Universe.
>location description
Everthing revolves around this point, like a big chunk of mostly
nothing floating around a concept. God, it feels good to be here.
[Away in the distance all manner of processes, micro and macro, are
constantly emitting radiation, blowing up stars, and mutating snails
with the kind of reckless abandon that large explosions always seem to
generate. At least it's all heading in the opposite direction.
[you know what he wrote]
Control Room
You expected this room to be filled with technical equipment, but it seems
rather bare. A sign fixed sideways on the wall reads "Please do not tamper
with the controls of the gravitational field inducer - this may seriously
inconvenience our staff." Both ceiling and floor are carpetted in a
tasteful pastel blue.
A large dial is labelled "Strength". A large lever is labelled with a
double-headed arrow, and currently points downwards.
--
David Fletcher
: Oh, you Brits. Jam is jelly and jelly is jello. Don't you know
: anything?
Gee, can't you Americans think in terms of anything other than
trademarked corporate brand names? You should get out of the house and
watch a little less teevee advertising.
- Neil K. (typing on his Macintosh, considering hoovering the apartment,
and thinking maybe his Walkman needs new Duracells.)
--
Neil K. Guy * ne...@sfu.ca * n...@vcn.bc.ca
49N 16' 123W 7' * Vancouver, BC, Canada
The cubic space beneath Moore Creek Dam
CT> location description
Travel in the cubic space was notoriously turbulent, probably
because the dam silted up so long ago. The "fasten seat belt"
sign has been illuminated all through the trip, and the
flight attendants regularly and uncaringly spill gin and
hot coffee into your lap. However the jacarandas are in full bloom
and, since the other guests had long ago fallen into drugged sleep,
you could enjoy their singing in peace.
Salut,
Geo.
What you imagined to be a neatly organised series of files dating back to your earliest childhood memories are in fact quite the opposite. An image of that girl you met four years ago passes the chess game your dad beat you at when you were eight. At the front of the room is a somewhat odd looking cloud which you assume is the whatever lies at the front of your mind.
>Examine Cloud
You move towards the cloud, pressing youself against it. Suddenly you are one with the cloud. All you can see is you examining the cloud which is showing you examining the cloud which is showing you examining the cloud which is showing you examining the cloud which is. Everything goes quite. As you fall into the depths of madness you vaguly notice the words 'Recursion Error, Stack Overflow, Heap Corrupted'.
--
Name :Ben Chalmers. The Anti-Hedgehog(tm) Taking hedgehogs away
Email:b...@bench.demon.co.uk from the common folk
since 1996
Piles of identifiable and not-so-identifiable pig parts cover the floors,
hang from hooks in the ceiling, and are duct-taped to the walls. The floor
is awash in blood and industrial chemicals. At the north end of the
factory there is a huge rusty machine with a chute opening onto a conveyor
belt; at the south end, the conveyor belt empties its load into a huge,
bubbling vat of Scrapple-to-be.
With a hideous squeal, the rusty machine spits a mass of bloody pig parts
onto the conveyor belt.
The conveyor belt trundles farther along. You are now about three-quarters
of the way to the vat.
A pile of pig pieces disappears into the vat with a horrible "schlupp"
sound.
Adam
--
ad...@phoenix.princeton.edu | Viva HEGGA! | Save the choad! | 64,928 | Fnord
"Double integral is also the shape of lovers curled asleep":Pynchon | Linux
Thanks for letting me rearrange the chemicals in your head. | Team OS/2
You can have my PGP passphrase when you pry it from my cold, dead brain.
The Left of Nowhere
You always keep hearing people speak of "The Middle of Nowhere", but no
one ever speaks of other points within nowhere. Nowhere continues on to
the east, while to the west is something that appears to be somewhere.
THe most noteworthy feature of the nowhere is that there is nothing
there. In fact, it looks like a curtain of black with no fixed
dimentions or boundaries. There is no visible light source, and yet, you
can see yourself. The only other thing here is a large wooden sign
identifying this refion as "The Left of Nowhere"
>In a Beckett Play
>You are buried up to your chin in fine sand, staring across the empty
>seats of a dark theater.
Russ, my friend, you are truly a master.
>There is absolute silence, as though every
>molecule in the building is waiting for someone or something to happen.
>It is difficult to think clearly. Your mind is constantly drawn to
>tangents. Are you an actor? Are you watching the empty auditorium, or is
>the empty auditorium in rapt attention, studying you?
Ahhh, this will fit right in with the J.P. Sartre Amusement Park...
>location description
> The sea of sticky red jelly stretching away to the horizon in every
> direction shimmers in the mid-summer sun. It undulates with the
> faintest breath of air or the slightest movement upon its glistening
> surface; you are finding it increasingly difficult to remain upright.
> Behind you the imprints of your own passage quiver gently in the
> aftershock of your foot-fall, but otherwise the entire plain remains
> smooth and unmarked.
>I mean "jelly" in the sense of that sticky stuff you had at parties as a kid
>(or perhaps still do)-- "jello", or whatever you Americans call it, not jam.
Oh, you Brits. Jam is jelly and jelly is jello. Don't you know
anything?
>And it's strawberry flavoured, not raspberry.
Good thing you cleared that up. I had it as raspberry.
>The idea of the undulating surface is that, eventually, it will wobble so
>much that the player will be unable to retain his footing, and will go
>sprawling to the ground. Obviously this, or any other movement, will only
>increase the wobble.
>Of course, jelly is sticky, and this will affect any objects placed on it,
>and could hinder the player's attempts to pick thing up. And what about that
>sun? Won't the heat increase the stickiness?
>The jelly is just the right consistency to support an average human, but what
>about a human with a full rucksack? Oh yes, the foot-prints. Well, needless
>to say anything else placed on the jelly will leave its mark too.
Just couldn't resist providing a puzzle, could you, Jools <g>? That's
ok, this is a good one and I've already got the solution for it.
>Should the player examine or look closely at the jelly:
> Peering into the murky depths of the jelly, you fancy you can make
> out a shape below. You strain to pick out some detail, shielding your
> eyes from the reflective glare of that angry sun. Slowly, a definite
> form assimilates itself in your mind-- could it be? Is that possible?
>
> Buried in the jelly is what looks to be a human being. Although it is
> impossible to precisely guess his depth, you would wager a month's
> pay that he is stuck well over a quarter of a mile below the surface.
> And if that is so, you could not begin to estimate his height-- this
> man beneath the jelly must truly be...
>
> ...a GIANT!
Hmm, the giant the player saw back in the Jolly Green, perhaps?
>A maelstrom of buzzing bees makes it very difficult for you to
>hear or even think. Each bee looks to be the size of your hand,
>and those stingers look mean. Through this storm of insects you
>can make out thousands of honeycombs. You might be able to climb
>even higher through the hive, or return back to the tree by moving
>downwards.
>The ostrich shakes violently, apparently greatly distressed by
>all of this activity.
Geez, you people are cruel. Now I've got to justify having a flying
ostrich in the game (actually, though, I think he has those spiked
boots, like linemen wear; we'll see).
Thanks for your contribution. It'll fit well with...um, something.
>Under the Gazebo
>Well, now you've done it. The gazebo's got you pinned but good. The
>weight of its floorboards pins you to the grassy earth, and after that
>last charge, it appears to have gone to sleep on top of you. You can see
>a trapdoor leading up into the gazebo proper just tantalizingly out of
>arm's reach. The remnants of the flask are strewn all around, making
>it a minor miracle you weren't cut when you fell. On the bright side,
>there's no sign of that Off-White... person.
>You seem to have dropped the tetrahedral saw. It probably fell out of
>the bathtub in all the confusion of the chase.
>The gazebo shifts uneasily over you and snores a bit.
Very nice. Thanks.
>Julian Arnold <jo...@arnod.demon.co.uk> wrote:
>>location name
>> Red Jelly Plain
>Hmm, the giant the player saw back in the Jolly Green, perhaps?
Wouldn't he have to be the "Jello Green Giant"?
Ho ho ho.
--
KEN FAIR - U. Chicago Law | Power Mac! | Net since '90 | Net.cop
kjf...@midway.uchicago.edu | CABAL(tm) Member | I'm w/in McQ - R U?
"Your grasp of science lacks opposable thumbs."
- Ben Waggoner
> LOOK
In The Garden
Leafy stalks tower high above you. You strain your head back, searching
for the sun, but you can only see the light filtering down through the
vegetation. Shaking your abdomen, you crunch over the dirt between two
enormous pebbles.
Your antennae detect a faint scent trail, running north to southwest.
The trail is at least a day old, but it signals food to the north.
You might be able to cut a low-lying leaf here with your mandibles.
> DIAGNOSE
You are a perfectly healther worker ant.
--
KEN FAIR - U. Chicago Law | Power Mac! | Net since '90 | Net.cop
kjf...@midway.uchicago.edu | CABAL(tm) Member | I'm w/in McQ - R U?
"You're fooling yourself. We're living in a dictatorship, a
self-perpetuating autocracy..." - Dennis
Ooh, fast worker. :) Good thing I dumped my anti-gravity idea then.
Jools
Stuck in a Blueberry Pie
Well, I guess you shouldn't have annoyed the Baker's Wife after all.
But then again, who would have thought she would shrink you with her
rolliing pin and add you as an ingreedient to a bluberry pie.
Now if you can just think of a way to get out of here before you become part
of a cooked blueberry pie.
Jeff
I never watch teevee, though I've been known to watch TV. And I
don't have a house, I live in an apartment -- which Brits seem to think is
two-dimensional.
} - Neil K. (typing on his Macintosh, considering hoovering the apartment,
}and thinking maybe his Walkman needs new Duracells.)
Take an aspirin while you're at it -- this thread is probably giving you a
headache.
Amongst the Sausage Trees
You are surrounded by the source of all fats and cholesterols: the
sausage trees of lower New Guinea. Nothing but sausages as far as the eye
can see. Bacon grass crisps gently under the blazing sun, while the
porkchop petalled piglacs turn to follow its slow arc across the sky.
There is a dead man laying under a nearby tree.
>x man
He seems to have died of cholesterol poisoning.
You can feel the cholesterol all around you seeping into your skin.
--
"Day turns to night in a single step. A gleaming pool of silvery
water captures the moon within its shivering arms and holds it near."
-An excerpt from "Avalon", a game under construction.
As usual, I'm too preoccupied to answer the phone.
BTW - can't WAIT for your request for actors.
--
John Baker
"What the hell does that mean? Huh? 'China is here.'?
I don't even know what the hell that means!"
- Jack Burton
On Top of the Space Needle
You've managed to scramble up to a breathtaking view of downtown
Seattle. You can see the white arches of the Science Center below you,
and walking amongst them, the blue-capped U.N. soldiers. A spire towers
above you, with a red light on top which blinks periodically.
>x spire
The spire towers above you. On top is a blinking red light. A cap of
some kind seems to be caught between some of the guide wires.
>x cap
The blue cap has a stylized yellow 'M' on the front, so that it looks
like it was made from two arches.
>x soldiers
Most of these U.N. soldiers are wearing blue caps, although you spot one
with a red cap with a wavy white line on it. They seem to be looking for
something.
Enjoy!
-Lucian "Lucian" Smith
>Scrapple Factory, on the conveyor belt
>
>Piles of identifiable and not-so-identifiable pig parts cover the floors,
>hang from hooks in the ceiling, and are duct-taped to the walls. The floor
>is awash in blood and industrial chemicals. At the north end of the
>factory there is a huge rusty machine with a chute opening onto a conveyor
>belt; at the south end, the conveyor belt empties its load into a huge,
>bubbling vat of Scrapple-to-be.
You misspelled "Snapple".
Ken "Now I know what's in Mango Madness" Fair
--
KEN FAIR - U. Chicago Law | Power Mac! | Net since '90 | Net.cop
kjf...@midway.uchicago.edu | CABAL(tm) Member | I'm w/in McQ - R U?
Also, I'm impressed that he's giving a personal response to each room
description. it's sorta the usenet equivalent of getting a chocolate mint
on my pillow.
--
dan shiovitz scy...@u.washington.edu sh...@cs.washington.edu
slightly lost author/programmer in a world of more creative or more sensible
people ... remember to speak up for freedom because no one else will do it
for you: use it or lose it ... carpe diem -- be proactive.
my web site: http://weber.u.washington.edu/~scythe/home.html some ok stuff.
Pity I didn't dump _my_ anti-gravity idea. ;-)
--
David Fletcher
>: Oh, you Brits. Jam is jelly and jelly is jello. Don't you know
>: anything?
> Gee, can't you Americans think in terms of anything other than
>trademarked corporate brand names? You should get out of the house and
>watch a little less teevee advertising.
Well, I for one am an American who thinks we all ought to call it
something like 'gelatin'. So there.
--
/<-= -=-=- -= Admiral Jota =- -=-=- =->\
__/><-=- http://www.tiac.net/users/jota/ =-><\__
\><-= jo...@mv.mv.com -- Finger for PGP =-></
\<-=- -= -=- -= -==- =- -=- =- -=->/
>location name
>location description
The Nucleus
You stand atop one of the outer protons of the nucleus, held in place by
your negative personality. Electrons swarm above you like angry bees.
Other atoms float by in the distance, much too far away for you to reach.
The green thing suddenly realizes you're still here, and begins to approach.
>On Sat, 27 Apr 1996, Cardinal Teulbachs wrote. Quite an achievement
>because it's only Friday 26th. Cardinal, you're mucking about with time
>again, you rascally poster, you.
That was nothing. Wait'll you see what I do with space <g>
>Ye Olde Pastie Shoppe
>The Pastie Shoppe, established some time in the eighteenth century, is one
>of the oldest surviving businesses in Bolton and the building itself dates
>back to the fifteenth or sixteenth century. It is a small but busy shop,
>selling meat pies, various sweet pastries and the meat and potato
>pasties for which it earned its name. Warm smells of fresh baking waft
>from the kitchens at the back of the shop and tantalise your nostrils.
>Trays of food lie behind glass counters
>[ and an elderly lady in a blue and white striped apron smiles at you
>inquiringly from behind the cash register. "What d'you want, luv?" ]
>--------------------------------------------------------------------------
>Since you didn't ask for NPC's yet I've bracketed the last bit out as
>not-necessarily-essential but it would be a shame if there was no-one to
>serve you one of those mouthwatering custard tarts...
Ok, the lady stays.
>For those who don't know, Bolton is a large town in Lancashire (I suppose
>some would say it's in Greater Manchester) in England, and one of the
>birthplaces of the industrial revolution.
Question, since I'm too lazy to go find a map: is Bolton on the coast
or inland?
>Fit that one in.
Piece of cake, so to speak <g>.
>Many things appear to have changed here since 1996. The compact discs on
>the shelf where textbooks used to be. The brightly crayoned stick figure
>drawings labelled "Daddy" on the wall. The brand new copy of Avalon on
>the desk. A note to yourself to thank Gareth for his kind review. So many
>things you never thought would happen.
Avalon on the desk? Gareth's kind review? I see I'll be writing a
fantasy....<g>
Those three were child's play compared to this. I have an idea, though
(a new one, now that I can't use the Akira-esque dream sequence <g>).
>Museum of Frozen Emotions
>The museum is only dimly lit, by a glow seeming to come from the exhibits
>themselves. And what exhibits! On a marble pedestal to the north stands
>Happiness. Melancholy is to the south, flanked by Gloom. Jealousy looms
>next to Anger, which in turn almost completely hides Fear. Lust and Love
>stand to the east, so close as to be almost indistinguishable. In the
>middle of the room, swaying slightly, is Discontentment.
Yikes. John Baker, your office is calling...
Thanks for the contribution, Dan.
>You expected this room to be filled with technical equipment, but it seems
>rather bare. A sign fixed sideways on the wall reads "Please do not tamper
>with the controls of the gravitational field inducer - this may seriously
>inconvenience our staff." Both ceiling and floor are carpetted in a
>tasteful pastel blue.
>A large dial is labelled "Strength". A large lever is labelled with a
>double-headed arrow, and currently points downwards.
A long, wooden staff, glowing with some innate wisdom and superhuman
consciousness, rotates slowly about a spot in the center of the room.
I like it. Thanks.
: Well, I for one am an American who thinks we all ought to call it
: something like 'gelatin'. So there.
Oh course in Britain this would be called "possibly-BSE-infected-cow
product of questionable safety".
:-)
David
On 29 Apr 1996, Matthew Russotto wrote:
> In article <4m0coq$h...@milo.vcn.bc.ca> n...@vcn.bc.ca (Neil K. Guy) writes:
> } - Neil K. (typing on his Macintosh, considering hoovering the apartment,
> }and thinking maybe his Walkman needs new Duracells.)
>
> Take an aspirin while you're at it -- this thread is probably giving you a
> headache.
Huh? Is 'aspirin' a TM in America? I'd say "Take an Anadin" but I don't
know if that would work across the Atlantic
On Wed, 1 May 1996, Cardinal Teulbachs wrote of my posting:
> Question, since I'm too lazy to go find a map: is Bolton on the coast
> or inland?
Inland. When you leave the universe of fantasy and weirdness through the
portal in the centre of our universe (the only stationary place and
therefore the only safe place to build such a tunnel), take the warp ship
to Earth, dock in at Lapis Lazuli station and take a shuttle down to
Madrid. Take a plane to Gatwick then a air shuttle to Manchester Airport.
Take the train to Manchester Picadilly then the commuter train to Bolton.
Walk into town then turn right into Deansgate and follow it down into
Churchgate - the Pastie Shoppe is over on your left as you head towards
the parish church.
Having now seen other people's entries, I'm almost embarrassed by the
mundanity of my entry - but I can at least say that without something
altogether normal, the sheer bizarreness of other locations loses out a
little because there's nothing to contrast with. Possibly. At least I
might be able to buy one of the pasties that my dad makes in the game...
But I'm waiting impatiently for the opportunity to use my imagination on
the objects of the game...
Den
Not in the US. I'd heard it was in Canada, but we hear all sorts of
strange things about Canadians -- apparently they also wear these
funny hats, and some of them even speak French. It's hard to know
what to believe :-) It was, at one point, a TM of Bayer.
--
Matthew T. Russotto russ...@pond.com russ...@his.com
"Extremism in defense of liberty is no vice, and moderation in pursuit
of justice is no virtue."
>On Wed, 1 May 1996, Cardinal Teulbachs wrote of my posting:
>> Question, since I'm too lazy to go find a map: is Bolton on the coast
>> or inland?
> the Pastie Shoppe is over on your left as you head towards
>the parish church.
>Having now seen other people's entries, I'm almost embarrassed by the
>mundanity of my entry -
Well ... since a pastie is an ... article of clothing? (I suppose that would be
stretching a bit) ... used by dancers in exotic nightclubs here in the states,
particularly in areas that have laws against full nuditiy, your location could
be quite exotic indeed.
> Den
Jeff Miller
jeff...@ix.netcom.com
Pixels swirl all around you in a mesmerizing dance, as windows are
created and destroyed. Above, load-monitors trundle along on their
never-ending task, accompanied by the relentless ticking of a clock. Once
in a while it's possible to catch a glimpse of an X-rated background.
A Netscape icon is lying here.
An Angband window appears on your right.
_ _ _ _ __ _ _ | I think TWINKLE's a nice word. So's
( )/ )( \/ )/__\ ( \( ) | VIRIDIAN. I met a lady once who had
) ( \ //(__)\ ) ( @diku.dk | an imaginary FISH.
(_)\_) \/(__)(__)(_)\_) | Delirium.
*******************************************
* Visit http://www.diku.dk/students/kvan/ *
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: }Huh? Is 'aspirin' a TM in America?
: Not in the US. I'd heard it was in Canada, but we hear all sorts of
: strange things about Canadians -- apparently they also wear these
: funny hats, and some of them even speak French. It's hard to know
: what to believe :-) It was, at one point, a TM of Bayer.
Hm. Aspirin is no longer a trademark in the US, eh? Pretty sure it still
is here. I have a bottle in the bathroom marked ASA to avoid the use of
Bayer's trademark. There are lots of words that lost their trademark
status owing to general use by the public... like escalator and zipper.
That's why companies like Disney (Mickey Mouse etc.) and Lucasfilm (Star
Wars) and Hormel (Spam) and Xerox (Xerox) and TSR (Dungeons and Dragons)
and so on send around slavering packs of lawyers when they see people
using their intellectual (sic) property in print.
- Neil K.
--
the Vancouver CommunityNet * http://www.vcn.bc.ca/
(formerly the Vancouver Regional FreeNet)
: Hm. Aspirin is no longer a trademark in the US, eh? Pretty sure it still
: is here. I have a bottle in the bathroom marked ASA to avoid the use of
: Bayer's trademark. There are lots of words that lost their trademark
Aspirin is indeed a public domain term in the US.
: status owing to general use by the public... like escalator and zipper.
: That's why companies like Disney (Mickey Mouse etc.) and Lucasfilm (Star
: Wars) and Hormel (Spam) and Xerox (Xerox) and TSR (Dungeons and Dragons)
: and so on send around slavering packs of lawyers when they see people
: using their intellectual (sic) property in print.
I think Xerox has indeed lost it, that's the example companies like
Kimberly-Clark (Kleenex) are always panicking about.
--
Jason Compton jcom...@xnet.com
Editor-in-Chief, Amiga Report Magazine (847) 741-0689 FAX
Dirty old mountain all covered in smoke. Better start doing it right.
AR on Aminet - docs/mags/ar???.lha AR Mailing list - Mail me
WWW - http://www.omnipresence.com/Amiga/News/AR, www.cucug.org/ar/ar.html
>
> On 29 Apr 1996, Matthew Russotto wrote:
>
> > In article <4m0coq$h...@milo.vcn.bc.ca> n...@vcn.bc.ca (Neil K. Guy) writes:
>
> > } - Neil K. (typing on his Macintosh, considering hoovering the apartment,
> > }and thinking maybe his Walkman needs new Duracells.)
> >
> > Take an aspirin while you're at it -- this thread is probably giving you a
> > headache.
>
> Huh? Is 'aspirin' a TM in America? I'd say "Take an Anadin" but I don't
> know if that would work across the Atlantic
>
Shouldn't be.. it's a name of a chemical used by a metric tonne of
different products... And, no, I have no idea what the heck an adin is.
....T...I...M...B...U...K...T...U... ____________________________________
.________________ _/>_ _______......[George Caswell, CS '99. 4 more info ]
<___ ___________// __/<___ /......[http://the-eye.res.wpi.edu/~timbuktu]
...//.<>._____..<_ >./ ____/.......[Member LnL+SOMA, sometimes artist, ]
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</.............</...................
Packed in with you are 24 blackbirds.
> inventory
You have a piebald coat (being worn), 6 cents, and some rye (in the coat
pocket).
Inside the painting
You find yourself on some stairs, which lead upwards and downwards.
Looking up and around, you see the stairs seem to form a square border
around a dark, cavernous pit. While you're deciding which way to go, you
try and recall the name on the painting - was it Esha? Echeir? Esher?
Something like that....
Aquarius
--
"The grand plan that is Aquarius proceeds apace." - 'Ronin', Frank Miller.
s.i.la...@durham.ac.uk | http://www.dur.ac.uk/~d4f8bu/ | Mail for PGP key
"I do believe in God. And the only think that scares me is Kaiser Sosek."-TUS
location name: Inside the Cage
location description:
You yawn, stretch and shuffle out of your small wooden house, pausing to
sniff at the air as you walk out into the expanse of pine shavings that
lines the floor of your cage. You make the rounds. Everything smells pretty
well the same way it did a few hours ago. Your wheel, the small cold
dish full of unappetizing alfalfa pellets, the water bottle with its
usual ration of murky room temperature water.
From beyond the thin metal bars you hear strange sounds that fall alien
on your ears, but since you can't smell anything out of the ordinary you
clamber onto your wheel and run for a while. Not particularly exciting,
but such is the life of a hamster.
- Neil K. Guy
--
Neil K. Guy * ne...@sfu.ca * n...@vcn.bc.ca
49N 16' 123W 7' * Vancouver, BC, Canada
Coventry
CT> location description
You are in Coventry. It is very, very quiet. And lonely. Three
loudspeakers pointed in your direction are making no noise, and the grand
piano in the corned is openly ignoring you. For some reason the floor
smells of Peach Melba.
--
Lucian
Okay, maybe I've been playing too much LGOP lately, but a place with the name
"The Olde Pastie Shop" brought the following snippet to mind:
> Ask lady for pastie
The elderly lady hands you a small box.
> Examine box
It is a small box printed with the name of the Pastie Shop.
> Open box
Opened.
> Look in box
You look in the box. Inside are two small metal cones. The base
of the cones are about the same diameter as a large coin.
Each cone is covered in silver sequins. A silver tassel extends
from the point of each cone.
I'd love to see the puzzle for *that* one. :-)
<<<John>>>
--
John Ruschmeyer jrus...@csc.com
Computer Sciences Corp.
Eatontown, NJ 07724 908-542-8383
You should have payed more attention to the warning tag when it said,
"Speakers are not intended for vehicular use." Now you're trapped inside,
and the rhythmic beating of the large paper cone is growing stronger every
second. The only escape seems to be through a fine metal grating, far too
small for a human to fit through.
[ A strong magnetic field snatches away all of your magnetic possessions,
embedding them in the cone. ]
--
Jesse "Monolith" McGrew
http://www.concentric.net/~jmcgrew
It's a window in which is running the game Angband. Angband is a roguelike
game (similar to Rogue, NetHack, and others).
Jools
>Here is my contribution
Thanks very much.
>Stuck in a Blueberry Pie
> Well, I guess you shouldn't have annoyed the Baker's Wife after all.
>But then again, who would have thought she would shrink you with her
>rolliing pin and add you as an ingreedient to a bluberry pie.
>Now if you can just think of a way to get out of here before you become part
>of a cooked blueberry pie.
Gonna be lots of food in this story, I'll tell you that...
> There is a dead man laying under a nearby tree.
>>x man
>He seems to have died of cholesterol poisoning.
>You can feel the cholesterol all around you seeping into your skin.
>--
Attack of the Killer Fat Molecules! Didn't I see this on MST3K? Or was
it a PSA? I can't remember...
> "Day turns to night in a single step. A gleaming pool of silvery
>water captures the moon within its shivering arms and holds it near."
> -An excerpt from "Avalon", a game under construction.
Aside: Anyone taking bets on whether I can beat Whizzard to market
<g>?
Anyway, thanks for the input, Gerry. Much obliged.
>You stand atop one of the outer protons of the nucleus, held in place by
>your negative personality. Electrons swarm above you like angry bees.
>Other atoms float by in the distance, much too far away for you to reach.
>The green thing suddenly realizes you're still here, and begins to approach.
Ok. Nucleus, negative personality, bees, and green thing. The links
are all there, but this is not exactly the way I had it pictured.
Ouch.
But anyway, thanks (I think <g>).
Thanks again to everyone who has contributed to the game. I've gotten
a better response than I'd expected, to be honest with you. This is
just a note to let you all know that Round One will be officially
ending in a couple of days (although I'll probably accept stragglers
if they have notes from their mothers) and Round Two beginning. Please
keep the locations coming, but start twisting those evil minds of
yours in preparation for the Silly Objects Round, which comes up next.
Note: My Net provider's news server seems to be on the fritz somehow,
since I'm getting most of this stuff pretty late, and I suspect some
of it I'm not getting at all. Hopefully it'll show up in the days
ahead, but if not I want to apologize up front to those who might get
left out because of it. Everything I do receive will be used; this is
not just some sneaky way of weeding out the ones I don't like (there
aren't any I don't like, anyway). If anyone's just dying to be
immortalized in what is destined to become the oddest game ever and
suspects that I haven't received his contribution (for instance,
because I haven't responded), he should feel free to email me with it
(card...@earthlink.net) and I'll happily add it to my little list of
curiosities.
Thanks and regards,
His Most Undaunted Perplexedness,
--Cardinal T
[this space intentionally left blank until the Cardinal recreates the
sig he just realized he deleted the other day]
>Scrapple Factory, on the conveyor belt
>Piles of identifiable and not-so-identifiable pig parts cover the floors,
>hang from hooks in the ceiling, and are duct-taped to the walls. The floor
>is awash in blood and industrial chemicals. At the north end of the
>factory there is a huge rusty machine with a chute opening onto a conveyor
>belt; at the south end, the conveyor belt empties its load into a huge,
>bubbling vat of Scrapple-to-be.
>With a hideous squeal, the rusty machine spits a mass of bloody pig parts
>onto the conveyor belt.
>The conveyor belt trundles farther along. You are now about three-quarters
>of the way to the vat.
>A pile of pig pieces disappears into the vat with a horrible "schlupp"
>sound.
Scrapple is PEOPLE! IT'S PEEEEEEPLE...
Ok, bad acting job. Soylent Green, anyone?
Thanks for this one, Adam.
--Cardinal T
>On the screen
>Pixels swirl all around you in a mesmerizing dance, as windows are
>created and destroyed. Above, load-monitors trundle along on their
>never-ending task, accompanied by the relentless ticking of a clock. Once
>in a while it's possible to catch a glimpse of an X-rated background.
>A Netscape icon is lying here.
>An Angband window appears on your right.
Adventures in Flatland. What's an Angband window?
Thanks.
--Cardinal T
>The Left of Nowhere
>You always keep hearing people speak of "The Middle of Nowhere", but no
>one ever speaks of other points within nowhere. Nowhere continues on to
>the east, while to the west is something that appears to be somewhere.
>THe most noteworthy feature of the nowhere is that there is nothing
>there. In fact, it looks like a curtain of black with no fixed
>dimentions or boundaries. There is no visible light source, and yet, you
>can see yourself. The only other thing here is a large wooden sign
>identifying this refion as "The Left of Nowhere"
Glancing anxiously at your watch, you notice the date: The Twelfth of
Never. Though you can't see much, you now feel certain that Donny
Osmond must be here somewhere, waiting...hungry...watching you...
Thanks, Ross,
--Cardinal T