Let's Play Anchorhead - 05
20:27
Remember when I told you that this couldn't get any weirder? Well, I was wrong...
We rob a crypt (talk about tomb raiding xD), impersonate Michael at a public library and we discover the most mind blowing event in the history of this game. Stay tuned to discover the grotesque family tradition that the Verlacs have been handing down for generations.
**********
Title : Anchorhead
Author : Michael S. Gentry
Year : 1997
Genre : Text Adventure (Interactive Fiction)
Platform : Z-Machine (played on Dosbox)
Tags: Let's Play Lets Play Let's Lets Play LP Anchorhead 05 Text Adventure Text Adventure Interactive Fiction Interactive Fiction Michael Gentry Michael Gentry
Added: 8 months ago
From: JamesKurosawa
Views: 147
From wikipedia.org:
Anchorhead is a Lovecraftian horror interactive fiction game, originally written and published by Michael S. Gentry in 1998. The game is heavily inspired by the works and writing style of H.P. Lovecraft, particularly the Cthulhu mythos. Anchorhead takes place in a fictional New England town of the same name, where the unnamed protagonist and her husband, a professor and aspiring writer, have relocated to in order to take possession of his ancestral family home. Through historical investigation of the town and her husband's family, the protagonist uncovers a conspiracy to perform a ritual that will summon a Great Old One and put the planet in jeopardy. The protagonist must stop the ritual from occurring and save her husband.
The game story takes place across three days, with the first two corresponding to whole days and the third day divided into a number of segments. There is no time limit in the first two days; each day ends when the player has completed a required task or tasks. Only during the third day does the game impose constraints on the number of turns a player can take to solve the necessary puzzles.
Anchorhead was hailed by critics and players as one of the best interactive fiction games available due to its complex and intricate backstory and well-written dialogue and descriptions. In the 1998 XYZZY Awards, Anchorhead received the award for Best Setting, and was also nominated for Best Game.
Story
The game is set in November 1997 in the fictional Maine coastal town of Anchorhead, where the protagonist and her husband Michael have moved to after inheriting the mansion of his recently deceased ancestral family, the Verlacs. The protagonist begins the game exploring her new home and the town and meeting Anchorhead's odd denizens while Michael researches his family. As time passes, Michael becomes more obsessed and withdrawn into his research. The protagonist begins her own investigation of her husband's family and learns that the Verlacs are hereditary high priests of a demonic cult that dominates the town. Croseus Verlac, Michael's 17th century ancestor, used sorcery to transfer his consciousness into a baby's body at the moment of his own death, beginning an obscene "family tradition" that spanned generations. Upon further investigation, she learns that the town sits on a focal point where, through the correct ritual, a gate can be opened to the Domain of Nephilim. Eventually it becomes evident that Croseus's soul, disembodied since the suicide of its last direct-line descendant, now seeks to inhabit Michael's body. Worse yet, Croseus's followers intend to use a sophisticated optical device to summon a Great Old One whose home, a comet, is approaching a flyby with Earth. The protagonist must uncover the secrets of the derelict town, escape from an increasingly dangerous series of traps, stop the insane townspeople from bringing a vengeful being of godlike power to Earth, and save her husband by banishing Croseus to the Domain of Nephilim.
Development
Anchorhead was written in the Inform 6 programming language, entirely by Michael Gentry while living in Austin, Texas. Development took approximately a year, with several weeks dedicated to designing the game map and writing the story, "at least six solid hours of coding every day," and an additional three months dedicated to debugging. Gentry based the two main characters on himself and his wife. The game heavily draws elements from Lovecraftian literature, specifically The Shadow Over Innsmouth, The Dunwich Horror, The Music of Erich Zann, and The Festival,[1] as well as direct references, such as the Miskatonic River and the city of Arkham.
---
From dwheeler.com:
University Court
Isolated and serene within its high, ivy-covered walls, Miskaton University
represents this benighted town's single, if somewhat dubious, claim to cultural
achievement. Founded some time in the early 1800s, the school's reputation and
enrollment have diminished somewhat as Anchorhead drifts further and further
into the abyss of provincial backwaterism. Still, it is generally recognized for
its collection of folklore and esoteric mythology (one of the oldest and most
extensive on the east coast). The Board of Deans was also kind enough to offer
Michael a full professorship upon hearing of his recently discovered heritage
and his plans to move into the estate. Ivory tower, perhaps, but at least they
take care of their own.
There are numerous buildings surrounding this cobbled court, but the only one
you are interested in is the library to the west, where Michael told you he'd be
until he came back to the real estate agent's office to pick you up. Which,
incidentally, he has not yet done.
>w
You close your umbrella, as is your habit after coming indoors.
Library
Shadows roost thickly in the vaulted ceiling, and small, green-shaded desk lamps
cast pools of warm radiance here and there around the library's dim interior.
You pause a moment to let the hushed peacefulness of this place soak in -- a
welcome relief from the unsettling events of the day. An exit lies east, and a
small alcove to the north houses the circulation counter.
Peering through the shadows, you spot your husband sitting at one of the reading
desks, absorbed in some sort of weighty tome and clearly oblivious to the time.
>x lamps
The lamps have curved, brass stands and frosted green shades; the kind of thing
you'd expect to see on an accountant's desk in the 1930s.
The reading lamp is currently switched on.
>x husband
Tall and a bit on the skinny side, in an endearingly awkward sort of way; a
serious, thoughtful face topped with an unruly tangle of brown hair; deep brown
eyes framed by wire-rimmed glasses -- yep, that's the man you married, all
right.
At the moment, Michael is largely absorbed in his reading, and is paying little
attention to you.
>x michael
Tall and a bit on the skinny side, in an endearingly awkward sort of way; a
serious, thoughtful face topped with an unruly tangle of brown hair; deep brown
eyes framed by wire-rimmed glasses -- yep, that's the man you married, all
right.
At the moment, Michael is largely absorbed in his reading, and is paying little
attention to you.
>x book
Michael looks up, startled, then realizes it's you and smiles. "Hi, hon," he
says, closing the book and stretching. Then he glances at his watch. "Good
grief, what happened to the time? I'm so sorry -- I just lost track." He smiles
sheepishly.
"Well?" he asks. "Did you get the keys?"
>ask michael about keys
"The real estate agent is supposed to be holding them at her office," he says.
>ask michael about agent
He frowns as you tell him about the real estate agent's disappearance. "That is
rather odd," he says. "I wonder where she could be?"
>save
Ok.
>ask michael about help
You can't think of anything to say about that for the moment.
>examine book
Michael jerks the book away from you. "Excuse me," he says, a bit more sharply
than you had expected, "I'll be done with it in a minute."
>examine book
It's obvious Michael is trying to hide something from you, and while you very
much want to know what in the world it is, it would be best not to make a scene
about it here.
>ask michael about keys
"The real estate agent is supposed to be holding them at her office," he says.
>n
Circulation Desk
A high counter divides the public portion of the library from the reserved
stacks -- all the more esoteric and mysterious volumes from the university's
collection. If anything, the area behind the counter is even more shadowy than
the side you're on. The main reading area lies south.
Hanging on the wall next to the counter is a small, printed sign. Beneath the
sign sits a heavy, dog-eared register, and sitting next to the register is a
bell.
>read sign
"All restricted books must be signed for on the register, and may not be removed
from this building. Please have your faculty ID ready when you make your
request."
>read register
It's basically a log, recording what book was checked out, who checked it out,
and when. There must be hundreds of names here.
>ring bell
Ding.
A moment later, the gaunt and fishy-eyed librarian emerges silently from the
shadows behind the counter.
>x librarian
Her slack, pallid skin looks as if it has seen little more than the inside of a
cave for most of her life. She stares at you silently with disturbingly large
and watery eyes.
>ask librarian for help
The librarian purses her thin, fishy lips at you. Apparently, she only lends out
library books.
>s
Without a word, the librarian fades back into the shadows.
Library
Shadows roost thickly in the vaulted ceiling, and small, green-shaded desk lamps
cast pools of warm radiance here and there around the library's dim interior.
You pause a moment to let the hushed peacefulness of this place soak in -- a
welcome relief from the unsettling events of the day. An exit lies east, and a
small alcove to the north houses the circulation counter.
Peering through the shadows, you spot your husband sitting at one of the reading
desks, absorbed in some sort of weighty tome and clearly oblivious to the time.
>e
The rain is still coming down, so you open your umbrella.
University Court
Isolated and serene within its high, ivy-covered walls, Miskaton University
represents this benighted town's single, if somewhat dubious, claim to cultural
achievement. Founded some time in the early 1800s, the school's reputation and
enrollment have diminished somewhat as Anchorhead drifts further and further
into the abyss of provincial backwaterism. Still, it is generally recognized for
its collection of folklore and esoteric mythology (one of the oldest and most
extensive on the east coast). The Board of Deans was also kind enough to offer
Michael a full professorship upon hearing of his recently discovered heritage
and his plans to move into the estate. Ivory tower, perhaps, but at least they
take care of their own.
There are numerous buildings surrounding this cobbled court, but the only one
you are interested in is the library to the west, where Michael told you he'd be
until he came back to the real estate agent's office to pick you up. Which,
incidentally, he has not yet done.
[...]
Library
Shadows roost thickly in the vaulted ceiling, and small, green-shaded desk lamps
cast pools of warm radiance here and there around the library's dim interior.
You pause a moment to let the hushed peacefulness of this place soak in -- a
welcome relief from the unsettling events of the day. An exit lies east, and a
small alcove to the north houses the circulation counter.
>n
Circulation Desk
A high counter divides the public portion of the library from the reserved
stacks -- all the more esoteric and mysterious volumes from the university's
collection. If anything, the area behind the counter is even more shadowy than
the side you're on. The main reading area lies south.
Hanging on the wall next to the counter is a small, printed sign. Beneath the
sign sits a heavy, dog-eared register, and sitting next to the register is a
bell.
>ring bell
Ding.
A moment later, the gaunt and fishy-eyed librarian emerges silently from the
shadows behind the counter.
>x librarian
Her slack, pallid skin looks as if it has seen little more than the inside of a
cave for most of her life. She stares at you silently with disturbingly large
and watery eyes.
>show card
You won't get much of a response.
>show card to librarian
(first taking the faculty card)
(slipping the keyring into the pocket of your trenchcoat to get a hand free)
The librarian looks the card over, nods slowly, and hands it back to you without
a word.
>ask librarian for book
Wordlessly the librarian retreats back into the shadows, only to reappear the
next moment carrying the thick, dusty tome you saw your husband with earlier.
Dutifully, you sign the register, and the librarian hands you the book before
disappearing again.
Your score has just gone up by two points.
>x book
(A Historical Overview of Superstitions by J. Arnsworth Frazer)
A thick and weighty tome, its full title is A Historical Overview of
Superstitions in the Miskaton Valley Region by J. Arnsworth Frazer, published in
1906. It begins: "Although New England has always been an abundant storehouse of
American myth and folklore, the Miskaton River Valley has long been recognized
as particularly fecund ground for tall tales and fanciful superstition. Legends
abound of hideous, inhuman races living within the venerable hills; of pagan
rituals enacted at unholy burial grounds and dedicated to ancient, blasphemous
gods..." and continues along the same lines in the typically dry and bombastic
style of those times.
>read book
Which do you mean, A Historical Overview of Superstitions by J. Arnsworth
Frazer, the book of matches or the torn journal?
>read frazer
As you open the book, a slip of paper falls from its pages and flutters to the
ground.
>get paper
(the slip of paper)
(slipping the animal's skull into the pocket of your trenchcoat to get a hand
free)
You pick up the slip of paper. Someone was apparently using it as a bookmark.
There's some writing on one side.
>read paper
Which do you mean, the slip of paper or the newspaper?
>read slip of paper
It says:
born-died same date?
have to chk. records
The handwriting is unmistakably Michael's.
>read historical
A thick and weighty tome, its full title is A Historical Overview of
Superstitions in the Miskaton Valley Region by J. Arnsworth Frazer, published in
1906. It begins: "Although New England has always been an abundant storehouse of
American myth and folklore, the Miskaton River Valley has long been recognized
as particularly fecund ground for tall tales and fanciful superstition. Legends
abound of hideous, inhuman races living within the venerable hills; of pagan
rituals enacted at unholy burial grounds and dedicated to ancient, blasphemous
gods..." and continues along the same lines in the typically dry and bombastic
style of those times.
Introduction
Rituals of the Misquat Indians
The Dark Man and Other Aspects
The 'Strangling Mist' Legend
The 'Ghost Train' Legend
[Please press SPACE.]
This chapter deals with the strange mythology surrounding the person of Croseus
Verlac, the first of the American Verlacs, who immigrated from the Black Forest
region of Germany in the early 1600s. He settled in the Miskaton Valley and
there helped establish the small fishing port soon to be known as Anchorhead.
Croseus sired six raven-haired daughters and schooled all of them at home. The
girls were reclusive and odd of habit, and by the time the eldest turned fifteen
the town had all but openly accused them of witchcraft. The townsfolk shunned
the Verlac daughters and called them "the Old Man's Coven" -- although never
within earshot, since Croseus was already a very powerful and influential man in
that region.
Although he never had a son, Croseus apparently sired a number of grandsons by
more than one of his daughters -- ostensibly to keep the Verlac blood pure, such
practice being not uncommon in the more secluded and xenophobic early
settlements. However, most of the male children were born dead, or horribly
deformed, or both, and there were furtive whispers that Croseus was practicing
some form of dark sorcery on his progeny. The fact that Croseus fell ill on the
day that the first healthy male child was born (to his youngest daughter), and
died before day's end, did not go unnoticed.
After Croseus died, the townspeople turned against the "coven", burning all of
them to death except for Eustacia, the youngest, who managed to escape along
with her infant son, Wilhelm. She returned some years later, after an outbreak
of smallpox wiped out much of the town's older population, including the
Calvinist minister and every last man and woman who had participated in the
burning of Verlac's brood.
With a start, you remember the pattern you uncovered in the city archives --
each Verlac dying on the very day his grandson is born... no parents listed on
the birth certificates... no marriage records, only sons then daughters then
sons... and a sickening, horrifying thought begins to take shape: what if the
foul tradition begun by Croseus Verlac did not end with his death?
What if, for centuries, the Verlacs have been raping their own daughters in
order to sire grandsons?
What in God's name was wrong with this family? How could this have gone on for
so long without anyone knowing about it or trying to stop it? And why does each
Verlac die on the very day his grandson is born?
Edward Verlac, the man from whom Michael inherited the house and all its
madness, must have been the last of his line, the child of his mother and his
mother's own father. He went insane and killed his entire family, and now his
legacy has been passed on to your husband. With a sudden rush of urgency and
fear, you realize that you have to get out of this town, and you have to get
Michael out with you, as soon as humanly possible.
[Please press SPACE.]
Little is known about the enigmatic Misquat Indians. They are believed to have
occupied a small, unobtrusive area around southeastern Massachusetts, along the
banks of the river which now bears their name. At the time that this book was
published, various property disputes prevented any thorough archaeological
investigation of the area; information regarding this tiny, sequestered tribe is
therefore scarce and based largely on hearsay and folklore.
Analysis of the only known fossil -- a partial skull -- has led some
anthropologists to conclude that the Misquat were not indigenous to the region.
One popular theory holds that the tribe is most closely related to certain
degenerate branches of the northern Esquimeaux, and were perhaps driven from
their original sub-arctic clime and forced to settle in exile in what would
become the northeastern United States.
Although precious few physical artifacts have been recovered -- chief among them
a pair of ritual masks and a crudely carved, seven-holed wind instrument -- tall
tales of Misquat ritual abound. They appear to have been a unilaterally reviled
tribe. Most of the whispered stories involve horrid, ululating chants around
blazing bonfires in the dead of winter night, grotesque copulations performed in
honor of bestial gods, and of course abundant human sacrifice. The Misquat were
generally known as child-stealers, creeping through open windows at night to
perpetrate foul kidnappings. None of these claims can of course be verified;
nearly all Indian tribes encountered by the first European settlers have been
subject to such prejudices at one time or another.
It is known that the Misquat were most likely star-worshippers, and possessed
what was likely a quite complex theology involving entities that dwelled beyond
"the bowl of tiny fires" -- their term for the night sky. These entities granted
wisdom or insanity, bestowed prosperity or famine, according to how well or how
laxly the tribe performed its ritual appeasements. The rituals attempted to
contact or possibly summon aspects of these entities through elaborately carved
"beacons" -- mounds of stones or obelisks placed at significant geographical
locations.
The few eroded hieroglyphs left by them (oddly, the Misquat were one of the few
North American tribes to have developed a system of writing prior to any contact
with Europeans) have proved a compelling but so far intractable puzzle for
linguists today; all further detail about their ritual and mythology remains yet
a mystery.
[Please press SPACE.]
Nearly all of the early European settlements circulated stories of a being known
as "The Dark Man" that lived in the primordial woods beyond the settlements'
borders. Deeply religious and at the same time almost hysterically
superstitious, clinging precariously to the edges of an unexplored and therefore
terrifying continent, it was only natural for people in those times to project
their collective fears onto the unknown. For the predominantly fundamentalist
Protestant sects that first colonized the New World, these projections typically
were embodiments of the Christian concept of the Devil.
The Dark Man generally takes the form of a man, sometimes of large or even giant
stature but more often no larger than a natural human. He is invariably dark-
skinned, although rarely described as a Negro -- most often he is a Caucasian
with jet-black skin, thus combining the refined, cunning intelligence of the
European with the base carnality of the African. He is regularly portrayed as
the consort of witches. He has many names: The Dark Man, The Grinning Man, Old
Scratch, Springheel Jack, The Evil One, etc., but always his formal, Biblical
appellation -- "Lucifer" or "Satan" -- is scrupulously avoided, a holdover from
the tradition that to speak a demon's name is to attract his attention and
perhaps even summon him.
More interesting to the folklorist are the names that harken further back than
these simple Christian superstitions, recalling a more pagan portrayal of the
dark and unknown. These tales, which originate from the more reclusive colonies,
often bring out the more animalistic, nature-worshipping aspect of the Dark Man.
He is sometimes pictured as being covered with hair, or having hooves instead of
feet, resembling Classical images of Pan. His names are more obscure: The Wicker
(or Wicca) Man; The Black Goat With A Thousand Young. Therein lie tantalizing
clues offering the enterprising folklorist still deeper glimpses into the
collective unconscious.
A few rare instances of The Dark Man have been uncovered that point beyond even
these antiquated references -- bizarre aspects that seem to reflect some of the
less understood concepts of Native American mysticism. Such baroque names as
"The Lurker At The Threshold" or "The Watcher Beyond The Stars" point to a
substratum of human mythology as yet untouched. These versions typically
describe not physical manifestations, but rather abstract concepts of Evil and
Time that some scholars have linked to the pre-Roman god Saturn, before he
became characterized as merely the father of Zeus, when he was instead
identified with the Ouroburos Dragon, Devourer of Worlds. Hopefully, as more
archaeological evidence is uncovered, we will be able to speak of these
primordial connections with greater confidence.
[Please press SPACE.]
Rather unique to the lower Miskaton River Valley, this tale centers around a
seemingly malevolent fog that roams the forests and lonely night roads, choking
the unwary traveler with invisible, untouchable hands.
The experience of being attacked by this strange entity is described in an 1855
journal as: "...lyke as thowe a deade man were to put his corpsey fingers downe
yr throate withe one hande, & up yr nostrille withe the other..."
No two tellings can agree on the origins of this terrible mist. Some accounts
insist that it is a spirit of the restless dead; others attribute the effect to
malicious hobgoblins. Other versions implicate witchcraft, a pirate's curse,
swamp faerie... the list goes on. Some of the more esoteric explanations seem to
indicate that the legend was adapted by white settlers from native superstitions
held by the tribes indigenous to the Miskaton region; however, there is no
evidence as yet that the "strangling mist" existed in any form prior to the
appearance of Europeans.
[Please press SPACE.]
Yet another colorful folk legend involves the recurring image of a "ghost train"
-- a spectral locomotive that materializes from nowhere, glides across the
haunted track for a short period of time, and then disappears as mysteriously as
it came.
This story did not originate among the first white settlers, of course;
obviously it only came into being after the advent of the steam locomotive in
our burgeoning Machine Age. The earliest known recorded version of this story,
in fact, is dated 1882. Nonetheless, the legend provides us with an interesting
example of how the collective unconscious adapts itself to changing aspects of
our culture, cloaking old symbolism in the trappings of new technology.
Although many versions hold that the ghost train represents the ghastly echoes
of a locomotive that was wrecked (derailed and lost off a mountain pass is the
most popular means of destruction), this is in fact a simplistic interpretation
not seen until many decades after the myth originated. More intriguing and more
useful to the folklorist are versions that explain the ghost train as a
transport to the land of the dead -- a modernized boat of Charon, ferrying
damned souls across the shroud to the devil's newly industrial Hell. These are
the versions which most faithfully maintain links to the traditions of the past,
and demonstrate the curious evolutionary behavior of the myth.
In some of these tellings, the traveling soul must have a ticket to present to
the grim conductor -- an element directly analogous to the ancient custom of
placing of gold coins beneath the tongue to buy passage to the underworld.
Living souls who ventured too near the tracks as the ghost train made its
nightly sojourn would find themselves swept along -- echoing the Celtic/Germanic
myth of the Wild Hunt, in which witness were compelled to join as either hunter
or prey. Those who thus boarded the train by accident, madness or mere
foolishness were inevitably carried back to whatever eldritch dimension from
whence the train originated. Tales of return voyages are rare and generally held
by those who pass them along to be apocryphal.
[Please press SPACE.]
Circulation Desk
A high counter divides the public portion of the library from the reserved
stacks -- all the more esoteric and mysterious volumes from the university's
collection. If anything, the area behind the counter is even more shadowy than
the side you're on. The main reading area lies south.
Hanging on the wall next to the counter is a small, printed sign. Beneath the
sign sits a heavy, dog-eared register, and sitting next to the register is a
bell.
Your score has just gone up by one point.
>save
Ok.
>read book
Which do you mean, A Historical Overview of Superstitions by J. Arnsworth
Frazer, the book of matches or the torn journal?
>read frazer
Circulation Desk
A high counter divides the public portion of the library from the reserved
stacks -- all the more esoteric and mysterious volumes from the university's
collection. If anything, the area behind the counter is even more shadowy than
the side you're on. The main reading area lies south.
Hanging on the wall next to the counter is a small, printed sign. Beneath the
sign sits a heavy, dog-eared register, and sitting next to the register is a
bell.
>read frazer
Circulation Desk
A high counter divides the public portion of the library from the reserved
stacks -- all the more esoteric and mysterious volumes from the university's
collection. If anything, the area behind the counter is even more shadowy than
the side you're on. The main reading area lies south.
Hanging on the wall next to the counter is a small, printed sign. Beneath the
sign sits a heavy, dog-eared register, and sitting next to the register is a
bell.
>ring bell
Ding.
A moment later, the gaunt and fishy-eyed librarian emerges silently from the
shadows behind the counter.
>give frazer to librarian
Wordlessly the librarian takes the tome from you and spirits it back to the
shadowy depths of the reserved stacks.
[...]
Circulation Desk
A high counter divides the public portion of the library from the reserved
stacks -- all the more esoteric and mysterious volumes from the university's
collection. If anything, the area behind the counter is even more shadowy than
the side you're on. The main reading area lies south.
Hanging on the wall next to the counter is a small, printed sign. Beneath the
sign sits a heavy, dog-eared register, and sitting next to the register is a
bell.
>look up benson
(in the dog-eared register)
Claudia Benson's name is up near the top of the page. She has checked out
several books in the last few weeks: A Historical Overview of Superstitions in
the Miskaton Valley Region by J. Arnsworth Frazer; The Righteous Invasion: a
History of Indian/Settler Conflicts in the Colonial Period by Warner Greene;
Mechanics of Metempsychosis by C. C. H. Horne; and N-Fold Transduction and the
Space-Time Barrier: a New Theory in Particle Physics by Lord Wheldrake. Strange;
you can't help but wonder why your real estate agent would have amassed such an
esoteric reading list.
>ring bell
Ding.
A moment later, the gaunt and fishy-eyed librarian emerges silently from the
shadows behind the counter.
>ask librarian for greene
Wordlessly the librarian retreats back into the shadows, only to reappear the
next moment carrying the book you requested. Dutifully, you sign the register,
and the librarian hands you the book before disappearing again.
>read greene
Its full title is The Righteous Invasion: a History of Indian/Settler Conflicts
in the Colonial Period by Warner Greene. It's a slim volume, published by
Miskaton Press in 1943. According to the introduction, the book's purpose is to
give an objective account of the social and economic factors which led some of
the early American colonies into violent conflict with the tribes of the
northeast, concluding with a transitional discussion of how the "Indian
policies" which took shape early on evolved into Western Expansionism and the
idea of Manifest Destiny. The author, reflecting the more conservative decade in
which he wrote, tends to paint a more sympathetic picture of the European side
of the issue than would be fashionable today; but all in all it seems an
intelligent, thoughtful analysis.
Glancing through the table of contents, you notice that there is a short chapter
on the Misquat Indians. Curious, you flip to the page.
The fate of the Misquat tribe, states the author, is an enigma which may never
be solved. Diplomatic relationships with the original river valley settlers
seemed doomed from the beginning. Documents from the period paint the tribe as
aggressively pagan, degenerate savages. Nevertheless, Croseus Verlac managed to
hammer out a peace treaty of sorts with the tribal leader, and the two groups
led an uneasy coexistence for over a century.
The exact circumstances which led up to the "battle" of Quattac Bend in 1772 are
unclear. One document makes mention of an "uprising", although since as far as
is known, the Misquats were never in a subservient relationship to the
Anchorhead settlers, the use of this term is more puzzling than revealing. In
fact, no evidence has yet been discovered that corroborates the notion that the
Misquat Indians initiated any sort of hostility whatsoever.
What is known is this: the Battle of Quattac Bend took place in the dead of
night. It was led by Croseus' descendant, Heinrich Verlac, and "fought" by some
twenty town men, who crept through the woods and ambushed the small tribe during
one of its holy ceremonies. There are no lists of casualties. Although the diary
of one soldier tells of many prisoners being taken, there is no mention of where
these prisoners were kept or what was eventually done to them.
No known document makes even the vaguest allusion to the Misquat Indians after
1772. From that date onward, the tribe effectively ceases to exist.
>ring bell
Ding.
A moment later, the gaunt and fishy-eyed librarian emerges silently from the
shadows behind the counter.
>ask librarian for horne
The librarian gives you a fishy look. Apparently, you are only allowed one book
at a time.
>give greene to librarian
Wordlessly the librarian takes the tome from you and spirits it back to the
shadowy depths of the reserved stacks.
>ring bell
Ding.
A moment later, the gaunt and fishy-eyed librarian emerges silently from the
shadows behind the counter.
>ask librarian for horne
Wordlessly the librarian retreats back into the shadows, only to reappear the
next moment carrying the book you requested. Dutifully, you sign the register,
and the librarian hands you the book before disappearing again.
>read horne
According to the author's foreword, the term "metempsychosis" means the
transmigration of souls -- that is, the reincarnation of a soul into another
body. The book, which was published in 1922, is an examination of various
traditions' explanations of how and why this happens. The author's tone is very
matter-of-fact; it's unclear whether he is approaching the subject from the
standpoint of a mythologist or if he actually believes in reincarnation and is
evaluating the various theories based on their "scientific" validity.
Flipping through the book, you find a passage that has been highlighted:
"Among tribes with a strong ancestor-worship tradition, one often discovers the
quaint notion that one may be reincarnated as one's own descendant. Asking such
people whether they must share a single body with the spirit of their ancestor
(inheritance), or if they themselves are in essence their own grandfather
(identity), is generally futile; among primitives, concepts of self-identity are
poorly defined at best. Often there exists no word in their native language to
express the idea. One can assume, however, that the primitive tribesman's
conception of the situation is probably closer to the latter option; otherwise,
over the course of generations one would have to contend with dozens of
ancestral spirits fighting for room within a single body. However, the theory of
identity also begs the question: how far back does the chain of reincarnation
go? One could conceivably be dealing with a tribe of 'first' men, present at the
day of Creation and renewing themselves over the aeons with each succeeding
generation."
>ring bell
Ding.
A moment later, the gaunt and fishy-eyed librarian emerges silently from the
shadows behind the counter.
>give horne to librarian
Wordlessly the librarian takes the tome from you and spirits it back to the
shadowy depths of the reserved stacks.
>look up benson
(in the dog-eared register)
Claudia Benson's name is up near the top of the page. She has checked out
several books in the last few weeks: A Historical Overview of Superstitions in
the Miskaton Valley Region by J. Arnsworth Frazer; The Righteous Invasion: a
History of Indian/Settler Conflicts in the Colonial Period by Warner Greene;
Mechanics of Metempsychosis by C. C. H. Horne; and N-Fold Transduction and the
Space-Time Barrier: a New Theory in Particle Physics by Lord Wheldrake. Strange;
you can't help but wonder why your real estate agent would have amassed such an
esoteric reading list.
>ring bell
Ding.
A moment later, the gaunt and fishy-eyed librarian emerges silently from the
shadows behind the counter.
>ask librarian for wheldrake
Wordlessly the librarian retreats back into the shadows, only to reappear the
next moment carrying the book you requested. Dutifully, you sign the register,
and the librarian hands you the book before disappearing again.
>read wheldrake
This is a very thin volume, more of a tract than a proper book. You notice with
some interest that it was published in 1918 by Miskaton University Press, though
who "Lord Wheldrake" was you cannot begin to fathom.
Even without a background in physics, you can immediately tell that this is
nothing but the purest pseudoscience. The author claims to have made "startling
advances" relating to a heretofore unknown medium through which energy can
travel. As far as you can tell, he performed no actual experiments; his entire
thesis is built on extrapolation from his own creative reasoning. One bit near
the middle has been marked with a highlighter:
"Having established the existence of the N-space medium, we can then reasonably
posit the existence of a special wave-length capable of traveling through that
medium; we will call this form of energy, appropriately enough, N-rays. Due to
the fundamentally extradimensional nature of N-space, N-rays cannot logically be
located at any one point of the electromagentic spectrum; they instead exist at
every point along the spectrum, traveling perpendicular it. Naturally, the
practical ramifications of being able to transmit extradimensionally are dwarfed
by the theoretical implications..."
Good grief, you can't help thinking. What drivel.
>quit
Are you sure you want to quit? y
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