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Post by a moderator on Dec 6, 2021 22:54:05 GMT
Reproducing the first adventure in the fan-authored parody gamebook series originally published on the Fighting Fantasy Gamebooks Yahoo! group. Contributors included Ed Jolley, Per Jorner, Demian Katz, Leigh Loveday, Paul Mason and Andrew Wright (IIRC Kieran Coghlan didn't get involved until the second adventure, but I'm sure the others mentioned all wrote at least one section of this). 1 It’s Christmas Eve. You’re waiting up for Santa to arrive despite being a grown man in your thirties. After a few hours your eyelids start to droop, but then... is that the faint jingling of sleigh bells off in the distance? It is! The sound draws steadily closer until, eventually, a soft bump signals Santa’s touchdown on your roof. There follows the unexpected sound of a scuffle, complete with loud cursing in a jolly old fellow’s hearty, booming voice, which culminates in a shriek as Santa plummets past your window to land with a crash in the rhododendrons. You dash outside, only to find the old man dead, his neck neatly snapped on impact and his voiding bladder already beginning to stain the snow around his body. There seems to be no-one else around, but sounds of reindeer agitation continue to drift down from the roof while a set of uneven footprints lead off down the garden path. They appear to be fresh. Do you follow the footprints (go to 2), climb up to the roof to calm the reindeer and look for clues (go to 3) or rifle through the dead man’s pockets in search of fags and loose change (go to 4)?
2 You set off into the great white, nose pointing downward as you follow the obvious (perhaps too obvious) tracks. If you possess the Magnakai Discipline of Huntmastery, turn to 7. If not, turn to 8. 3 You grab the drainpipe firmly and climb roofward. Had you been a trained burglar doing this for a living, no doubt the pipe would have detached from the wall at the wrong moment, sending you screaming into a shrubbery to impale on a newly sharpened sundial. As you’re not, you reach the snow-laden roof safely. Presently your keen eyes spot the source of reindeer agitation - a vocal REDSHIRT, member of the Unseelie Court and follower of the left-handed path. Judging by the colour of the reindeer’s noses, the Red Plague is already setting in. Fortunately Redshirts are also known for their penchant for sudden, ignominious demise, and you are saved the discomfort of battle as the chimney randomly crumbles onto the poor sap. Or at least that’s what you tell yourself for a few seconds until the reindeer break out of their hypnotic trance, three of them bounding for the moon and the fourth stampeding in your general direction.
REINDEER Skill 5 Stamina 6
If you survive this onslaught on cervine consternation, turn to 5.
3.14159... Although the paths that brought you here are entirely unclear, you have found it. Extremia, land of the yellow snow, peaceful and eternal home of that which should not be ingested. You are joined here by everyone that you have ever known, and yet no one at all. The glow, and the stench, bring calm to your existence, and after shedding your mortal frame, you flit about floatily for ever more. The only thing that mars your otherwise perfect eternity is an inexplicable craving for hot cheesy nachos, which seem to be unavailable in these parts.
THE END
4 Sadly Santa was carrying no fags or change, but a thorough search of his pockets does turn up the keys to Zagor’s treasure chest, the hilt of the Blood Sword and the Magnakai Discipline of Huntmastery. You go back into the house, find the attic ladder, climb up to the attic, spend 40 minutes looking for your old backpack from that time you went trekking in Tibet as a student, dust off the backpack and take it downstairs, replace the attic ladder, put the backpack on, and put the items in your backpack. The reindeer have long since made their excuses and left, so you can either follow the footprints (go to 2) or go back inside and make yourself viciously sick on gin and mince pies (go to 6). 5 Frothing unpleasantly, the beast collapses in a heap as its legs give out; you leave it to join the mangled Redshirt in a slow descent down the roof tiles and turn to examine the sleigh. At first glance it appears to be full of colourfully wrapped presents, but as you dig deeper, you find to your horror that beneath the surface layer of seasonal tat is merchandise of a very different kind - including a formidable stash of assault rifles, a small fortune in cocaine and several pounds of Semtex. Santa – a terrorist? Then again, this could just be what the local kids put on their Christmas lists. Do you decide to call the police and grass on the recently deceased mythological figure (go to 9), take a gun and set out on the killer’s trail (go to 2), or claim the goods as your own and spend the rest of the night ferrying armloads of them from the roof down to your cellar (go to 10)?
6 Two bottles of Bombay Sapphire and a few pies later, you are sufficiently fortified to brave the biting cold. You stride manfully out into the crepuscular countryside, pausing only to wonder what a bunch of bloody footprints are doing snaking across your garden. Noticing the newly-erected public toilet across the street, you realize that the hitherto unnoticed pain in your lower regions is a protesting bladder. The toilet has been thoughtfully fitted with a telephone, so you take the opportunity to call your ex-girlfriend and wish her the best of the festive season. Her heavy smoking seems to have coarsened her voice, but she exhorts you to celebrate Saturnalia in the traditional manner, at some remove from herself. That chore out of the way, you are ready to commence your adventure! Skulking in the front garden of the Mackenzies’ is an abomination, a ruined face atop a porculent bleb of a body. Ichor oozes from the wound of a victim in the local hospital, but that needn’t concern us. This is the moment you were born for! Drawing your weapon, you charge across the road and leap the hedge with a cry of ‘Bleeah!’, your bloodlust raised and every savage instinct straining at the leash like one of those little yappy dogs that Mrs Cousteau insists on walking past your house every morning at 6 am. But your opponent is too quick for you. As you spring for him, he cunningly remains immobile, and too late you see the ground racing up to hit you . . . Turn to 57. 7 The wind picks up and clutches at your very bones like one of those foul, marrow-sucking Lavian Tree Warthogs you keep hearing about. Drawing on your newly-scavenged Discipline, however, you manage to keep focused and stick to the trail until it leads you to the end of the street and the darkened doorway of the local fleapit cinema. It’s closed, of course, but the glass doors have been shattered and traces of the familiar lopsided footprints, charmingly haloed by snow, lead deep into the shadowed foyer. Do you charge blindly in while you’re still hot on the trail (go to 11), or spend a few minutes getting tooled up Rambo-style for the titanic conflict that surely lies ahead (go to 12)? 8 The wintry landscape is wide, sparklingly beautiful and endless. It’s also freezing cold. Fool! Did you happen not to catch any of those hints that it’s winter outside? You know, snow and stuff? Honestly, I don’t know who I’m writing this for sometimes. In any case, years later a brief news item in the Fortean Times relates the strange story of a person who was found frozen to death a little way past the old mill, caught in a moment of terminal indecision between an electric stove, a portable sauna and a big heap of thermal underwear, all of them seemingly within reach in different directions. As for you, you were eaten by weasels. 9 You pick up the phone, and as you are about to start dialling, a chilling sensation sweeps over you. For a moment you think this must be some atavistic reaction to your impending betrayal of a childhood icon, but then you realise that you didn’t close the front door properly, and it’s letting in the wind. As you turn towards the door, intending to close it, you become aware that you are no longer alone. A penguin stands on the doormat, glowering at you. Moments later another one waddles through the door, then a third and a fourth. From outside you can hear the sound of hundreds of spheniscidal feet trudging through the snow. Do you use the phone to call for help (turn to 23), attempt to drive out the advance guard of the penguins and barricade yourself into the house (turn to 37) or flee for your life (turn to 51)?
10 This makes you a thief, and as a result the drainpipe detaches from the wall at exactly the wrong moment during your next trip down, sending you screaming into the shrubbery. You miss the sharpened sundial by a hair’s breadth, but no cosmic gratitude is forthcoming as you’re too busy shrieking and trying to remove six inches of cold assault rifle muzzle from your anus. Fortunately you pass out before the penguins arrive. The fluffy little hellspawn make sure you don’t wake up again. 11 In the darkness you catch up with your quarry a bit sooner than you’d expected, barrelling headlong through the shadows to connect with a surprisingly solid one and send it sprawling in an undignified heap. Recovering with expert speed and agility, however, you roll off your downed foe, spring to your feet and immediately fall sideways into the refreshments counter with such force that the popcorn machine totters and comes crashing down onto your head. Lose 4 Stamina points from the Stamina points you never bothered rolling up. As you flail about like a suffocating goldfish in the mess of splintered glass and overpriced salty snacks, your enraged adversary comes stalking out of the shadows and wastes no time engaging you in combat. Though you only catch the merest glimpse of his face, there is no mistaking the classical profile and beady little eyes of faux-European B-movie legend Christopher Lambert. He hasn’t got his sword on him, but he certainly looks like he knows how to use that frankfurter.
CHRISTOPHER LAMBERT Skill 12 Stamina 10
If you reduce the wheezing ex-Highlander’s Stamina to 2 and decide to spare his life, go to 27. If you show no mercy and put him down like a dog, your final blow knocks him through a previously unnoticed window, and his body is impaled on a convenient parking meter (turn to 19).
12 Suppressing a sudden inexplicable urge to get your hands on an umbrella, you kick open the tiny ticket office and grab the first thing you see that looks even remotely weapon-like. Hard as it is to believe, this turns out to be an exquisitely crafted dragon-headed Toledo katana of the finest folded steel, which will add 4 to your Attack Strength in battle. Grabbing a ticket for the latest cloying Kate Hudson romantic comedy as well, just in case, you throw a last furtive glance up the street as you hurry into the cinema to confront your destiny. Go to 11. 13 The first thing you notice as you slip through the slightly ajar double doors is the semicircle of guttering candles positioned around an altar, their wan light reaching only partway to a high ceiling swathed in shadows. Though everything else in the church is in long-term disrepair, the altar shows every sign of regular maintenance and care - as does the shining silver-bound chest which rests upon it. You sidle in for a closer look, being uncharacteristically careful to watch for signs of danger. And as you step through the candle- marked boundary, it’s possible to make out a row of three keyholes set into the chest’s unnecessarily ornate front panel. If you have Zagor’s keys and wish to use them, go to 53; if not, you can either attempt the usual futile sequence of attempted lock-picking followed by brute force and a possible poison dart in the eye (go to 33) or go exploring the pulpit, confession booth and other scary places at the front of the church for clues (go to 48). Then again, you may think it wise to find yourself a nice hiding place amongst the pews in case anything interesting happens of its own accord in the next few minutes (go to 28).
14 If you’re carrying an umbrella, go to 18. If not, go to 26. 15 Congratulations on your engagement. Who’s the lucky lady/boy/ladyboy? Christopher Lambert? Go to 24. Moth Lady? Go to 63. Paul Mason? Go to 57.
16 The beggar looks irritated. “No, that’s no good,” he grumbles. “Haven’t you got two five pees? No? How am I supposed to cover me eyes for the great journey across the Styx with this? What do you want me to do, wander around the netherworld half-blind? Ask Charon if he’s got any change? Christ on a bike. Here, tell you what, *you* come and explain it to him.” The man’s bony arm snaps out, clamping your forehead in a deathgrip as he, well, dies. To your horror you find yourself dragged down an ethereal tunnel of riotous blackness in the wake of his departing soul, but just as you regain enough sense to scream like a girl, you land with a thump and a bruised arse on the rocky shores of the Styx itself. You scream anyway. When you’ve finished, you look up and see what’s left of the beggar standing on a jetty next to a long wooden skiff, apparently having an argument with Charon the Dread Boatman. He turns and points at you. Charon beckons you over. “What’s all this about?” he demands. “Have you got two five pees or not?” You haven’t. Do you own up (go to 29), or grab the beggar, hold him at gunpoint and demand a helicopter (go to 38)?
17 You find yourself standing before a gloomy doorway - the barely- functioning local cinema, you realise - which offers the promise of shelter and a decent hiding place, but just as you’re about to duck inside, you spot the broken glass and trail of snowy footprints. Somebody else is here... could it your original intruder, possibly the Santa-slayer him/herself? The thought gives you pause. Do you override caution and bolt straight through the doors (go to 11) or attempt to get yourself properly kitted out first (go to 12)? 18 Before you can even finish the thought, whichever it was, space-time ripples loudly and before you stands the imposing figure of a Grim Reaper, to wit a pissed-off skeleton in a black cloak and hood. “Stop!” it croons instructively. You acquiesce. The Reaper fixes you with a stare that qualifies as unyielding and continues: “You have been caught in the act of cheating most foully, for which offence expunction is the only suitable remedy and one which it is well within my authority to dispense. The charge: that you claimed to be in possession of an object which you could not possibly retain at this point in the adventure, namely the umbrella! The evidence: that at no point did the text inform that ‘you pick up the umbrella and keep it among your possessions’ or ‘note this on your Adventure Sheet’ or ‘you keep a firm grip on the precipitation protection unit as you make good your escape’. YES, I know all the flimsy excuses that you people always like to bring up at a moment like this! Yes, there’s an outcome of the penguin encounter that hasn’t been finished yet, but you weren’t thinking of that, now WERE YOU? Yes, there is the slim - VERY slim - chance that this adventure is designed to somehow loop back on itself. Yes, maybe you’re one of those players who think that if it says you’re in a house you can opt to equip yourself with any item that might reasonably be found therein. Oh, all right, maybe there’s a boatload of possible reasons - but I’m not about to let another one go free on technicalities! Prepare to be smitten!” It raises a couple of fingers at you which qualify as fleshless. Do you fear smiteage well enough to close your eyes and hope for it to go away (turn to 40)? Or do you make the fatal and also deadly mistake of trying to reason with someone who is obviously way out of your league (turn to 41)? Or do you grab the Auk Shaman and hold him up in front of you (turn to 42)? Or do you have an umbrella and wish to hit the Grim Reaper squarely over the head with it (turn to 43)?
19 Turning around after having dealt decisively with the unruly ham, you give a start as you spot a dark hole in the wall behind where the popcorn machine used to be, and in this space a small, wrinkled, beaked creature holding the feathered staff of an Auk Shaman. “I am the last of my kind,” it squeaks, “but you, the Fated One, may yet find the key to unravelling the sinister mystery of our disappearance. Be that as it may, first the spirits will determine if you are worthy. Answer me this question if you can: To which of these entities of the sea are great auks most closely related?” Which alternative is your answer? “Penguins”? Turn to 14. “Puffins”? Turn to 52. “Narwhales”? Turn to 26. “Magehunter”? Turn to 57.
20 You return your attention to Zagor’s treasure chest, turn the third and final key in the lock, and start to lift the lid. For a moment you feel a strange sensation, as if you were somehow doing this somewhere else, somewhere you could never be. Then you open the chest all the way, and conclude that you must have caught a whiff of the contents. Inside the chest is what you somehow recognise as a Hamakeian parchment, twisted into a cone as long as your forearm and stuffed with dried Sleeping Grass, Black Lotus, Sculliweed stems and Slumberberry leaves, otherwise known as a Kallamehr Carrot. Lying beside it is a matchbook from the Black Lobster Tavern, with one match left in it. If you do *not* want to smoke the Carrot, you will have to turn your attention to whatever else might be found in the church (turn immediately to 48 without reading any more of this section). If you choose to light up, read on. You strike the match, apply the flame to the fat end of the Carrot, and draw the smoke generated into your lungs. If it’s Tuesday or you have played a ‘Wizards, Warriors and You’ book within the past five months, toss a coin. Otherwise, roll two dice. If you get heads or more than 9, turn to pi. If you get tails or less than 5, turn to 57. If the coin comes down on its edge or you get from 5 to 9, you have a flashback (possibly to something that never happened - this is potent stuff, man). If you tossed a coin, turn to the section corresponding to the last two digits of the year in which it was minted. If you threw the dice, multiply the number on the die on the right by 10, add the number on the other die, and turn to the resultant section.
21 You hurry over to the dying beggar and crouch beside his head, snow soaking your trouser legs and chilling your shins as you strain to hear what the stabbed man has to say in his last moments alive. His head turns towards you and, breath rasping in his throat, he utters just one word: “Rosebud.” Annoyed at his unhelpfulness and lack of originality, you are about to abandon him when he lifts one trembling arm and points. Looking in the direction indicated, you are startled to see a roughly circular patch of ground about half a metre across which is completely untouched by the snow. Even more oddly, a rose bush grows in its centre, clustered with buds as if it were Spring, not Winter. The beggar’s shaking becomes more violent. Do you detach a bud from the bush and give it to him (turn to 25)? Or do you take a bud for yourself (turn to 34)? Or do you ask him to clarify what he wants you to do with the bud (turn to 47)? Or do you ignore the bush altogether and belatedly go in pursuit of the gentleman killer in the hope that he’ll lead you to something more helpful (turn to 55)?
22 A few minutes, a dead porcupine, and 3 stamina points later, the door is still closed. If you are wearing a metal helmet, you don’t lose any stamina but must discard your dented headgear. You are trying to decide what to do next when the door flies open of its own accord and a young man races out. He is muscular and tanned, adorned in green breeches, a leather jerkin, and boots. He is holding a glowing sword, which he points at you in a menacing manner. Wary of his wild eyed look, you hold your hands up and back away slowly. “There, now,” you begin, “ummm, you’re free... you can go... umm, ahh-” He responds with a tirade of unintelligible gibberish. One thing though, is that he keeps pointing his sword at you and yelling “Gnaag”. This doesn’t look good. Will you run through the door he emerged from (60) or run outside (54)? 23 The phone is peremptorily slapped from your hand. The leading penguin - who, you realise with a strange detachment, seems to be wearing some kind of high-tech earpiece - fixes you with a cold glare, as if daring you to reach for it again. Rendered both stupid and flatulent by fear, you bend down to do just that, and the resulting webbed foot up the arse is only the start of your troubles. The elite PeRSMElLS unit (Penguin & Red Squirrel Mythago Elimination Lockdown Squad) is renowned for its uncompromising approach to the job, and if it’s any consolation, you’re not the first person that its operatives have brutally pecked to death for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. 24 You killed him earlier. How can you live with yourself?
COSMIC HORROR FROM THE STARS Skill 11 Stamina 16
If you live through this unexplained battle, add 1 point to your current and initial Stamina and turn to 70.
25 “Cheers mate,” the beggar says as you bend down to hand him the rosebud, his words forming a delightful blood bubble which pops in your face. His eyelids droop, his muscles relax and he looks as if he’s about to pass away serenely, but then his ingrained beggar instincts kick in and his eyes snap back open. “Look at this,” he says, waving the rosebud in your face. “Give it to you for 10p. Wife and kids to feed.” “What?” you respond, confused. “But I just -” “Ooh, me leg,” moans the beggar immediately. “Got blown off in the war. Wife and twelve kids. Crack habit and £16,000 credit card bill.” You are consumed by guilt and driven to help the dying man in any way you can. Assuming you haven’t blown all your spare change on something frivolous and irresponsible, you fumble around in your pocket and unearth a shiny 10p piece: go to 16.
26 The Auk Shaman looks at you blankly. “No,” it says, “that’s wrong.” A panel slides up and seals off the hidden alcove, and you can find no way of moving it no matter how long you search. You must deduct 1 Stamina point for having searched for so long (fool!). For some reason you conclude that your only option is to exit the cinema. Just as you’re leaving, you spot an old coin-op arcade machine in a dark corner and a wave of nostalgia nearly knocks you off your feet. Feeling in your lint-swamped pockets, you discover a cache of 50p coins from before the United Kingdom joined the monetary union and Wales declared itself in secession. If you would like to spend these on a few games of classic Penguin Zap, turn to 30. If not, you abscond with no delay (turn to 36). 27 Just as you are about to wring the Christopher Lambert’s neck for Highlander 2, a pang of conscience slaps you sideways. Lambert, mistaking this manoeuvre for an ancient martial arts technique known as the Sidling Crab of Doom, throws himself down in submission. “Wait!” he wheezes muffledly. “For sparing my life, allow me to share with you this cryptic clue in the form of a rhyme, carried down the corridors of time by a cabal of B-movie legends:” When you come to the gateway, brought by your feet And you choose betwixt doors on your left and your right If you want to avoid being shattered like glass You must look for the mark of the Clawmonster’s arse. “The rhyming is imperfect,” you observe acutely. “I can’t explain everything,” says Lambert and starts edging off. “Wait a second,” you retort. “I didn’t say you can go just yet. Repeat these words after me: ‘Mortal men and women...’“ “What?” “If you want to live, repeat them.” “All right, ‘Mortal men and women.’“ “... ‘defending their own world in Mortal Kombat’...” “‘Defending their own world in Mortal Kombat.’“ “Good, now the finish: ‘is not about death, but life.’“ “‘Is not about death, but life.’“ “Now say it all in one go.” “What? I can’t hardly remember it.” “You don’t want to live that much after all, then, do you?” He rolls his eyes and rattles off: “‘Mortal men and women defending their own world in Mortal Kombat, is not about death, but life.’ Happy now?” “Now stand on your head.” Christopher Lambert, in a final act of desperation, tries a surprise escape ninja leap rebounding off a wall, but accidentally crashes through a window and falls three stories down to impale himself on a sharpened parking meter conveniently hidden in a snow drift. This comes as something of a surprise to you as you stick your head out of the window to look, especially since you didn’t know you’d left the ground floor to begin with. Still, you have the clue. Add 1 Luck point and turn to 19.
28 Inaction must be rewarded at some point, you tell yourself as you hunch down in the musty darkness of the wooden seats. The empty minutes spent skulking in worm-ridden silence brings back cosy memories of your childhood, hiding from the pointy-legged demons that stalk this part of the country around Easter, and the terrible thing that befell Mr Cousteau, but never mind that now. No sooner have you waited for the exact right amount of time than a strain of song is heard, becoming louder: “... in Dronning Maud Land - is a place where everything’s free Cider and whisky, the penguins and me And the cold blue sun Smiling on down -” Footsteps stop nearby, as does the singing. You consider looking up to discover exactly who is doing what where (this could be useful information), but are distracted at a critical moment by finding a penny on the floor. Hence you only get this audio feed of the proceedings: “Hrm, what was it now, a key? No, a code, yes... Forty-four? Or was it half that. I’ve never been good with fractions, yes. Hrm, now, yes...” There is a click of an elaborate lock mechanism, a swoop of a door opening and closing, then the silence of being alone in a church with only a distant angelic choir to share your unusual Christmas Mass (which sounds suspiciously like a tautology). You realize that the time for waiting is over and, pocketing your new penny, must decide whether to explore the church looking for secret entrances to hideouts (turn to 48), to use Zagor’s keys on the chest if you have them and think they’re the right ones (turn to 53), or if you don’t have the keys, to try to open the chest by jumping on it or something (turn to 33).
29 “Good,” says Charon. “I hate trying to keep track of those little buggers. Give me some of that big, chunky Old World currency any day.” He turns and makes his way back to the boat. “What?” squeals the beggar-spirit in disbelief. “You’re just going to let him off? After all that? All the trouble I went to? What do you expect me to-” “Talk to the hand,” says Charon, sticking a set of skeletal digits in the old man’s face as he stalks past. The beggar does not appear impressed. His expression darkens, his body tenses and a childlike screech of frustration erupts from his throat as he launches himself at the Boatman’s retreating back. Instinctively you shout a warning, but there’s no need: the spirit passes harmlessly through Charon and plunges straight into the lethal waters of the Styx, where a huge shoal of implausible Skill 12 Snapperfish immediately surface to gnaw him to bits. “I hate the pushy ones,” Charon grumbles, watching from the prow of the boat. “Learn your lesson, son - you don’t want to act like that when your time comes or I’ll kick your arse into the river myself.” He gesticulates at you as he poles the boat away from shore, but just as you’re about to moon at him in return you feel yourself being drawn back through the vortex into the living world above, and quickly pull your trousers back up to avoid a serious misunderstanding. As it happens, you have learned more than one lesson today: close-range observation of the beggar’s outburst has taught you a new skill, the power of the CHILISH TANTREM. Add the codeword ‘Inforce’ to your Adventure Sheet, then go to 58 to resume your adventure and your pursuit of the beggar’s (original) killer.
30 You are soon engrossed in a procession of blocky images jerking across the screen, icy blue penguin icons advancing down towards your lone icy blue gunman against a background of complete black, accompanied by sound effects such as ‘blip’, ‘bneep’, and ‘flonk’. Because of your fascination with late-70s cutting edge computer gaming, it is some time before you realize that the squeaks, flip-flops and occasional cries of “Kill the human!” do not issue from the game but instead from a throng of penguins which is pouring in through the shattered doors. “Sheesh, it’s only a computer game,” you remark, not taking your eyes off the screen. The penguins seem to ascribe lesser significance to this circumstance and continually express their preference for your evisceration. Time to blow this joint! You feint going to the restroom and consequently manage to escape out the back door without anyone noticing. Congratulating yourself on this clever move, you fail to reflect on the fact that as of your gaming session, you lack monetary resources. If in a future paragraph you are told that you present money to a beggar, you must instead suffer the consequences of not being able to go through with such an act: do not follow the instructions in that paragraph, but instead add 10 to its number and turn to the paragraph indicated by the result. For now, turn to 36.
31 Your adversary topples over backwards - but as it hits the ground, its eyes bulge, it lets out a strangled croak and quickly rolls over onto its side to die in a slightly more dignified fashion. When you’re sure it’s stopped breathing, you tiptoe past to investigate your potential routes out of this grotty little cluster of back alleys. As you pass the corpse, you can’t help but notice the main source of its perturbation: a beautifully wrought scabbard, encrusted with precious stones, which you feel very little desire to claim for yourself as it’s wedged firmly between the Clawbeast’s bumcheeks. You move past quickly, suppressing your imagination with some effort. Two alleys lead off from here, cursory examination revealing that the one to your left opens into a small square outside a run-down old church, while the one to your right becomes steadily narrower before ending at a thick oaken door studded with spikes, embossed with a big iron skull and splattered with artful bloodstains. As you prepare to make your decision, you notice out of a rebellious corner of your eye that the Clawbeast’s outflung arm is directly in line with the right-hand alley, while the scabbard protruding from its nether regions seems to point down the left-hand route. Whether or not you wish to attach any significance to this unsettling scene, you must now choose between the abandoned church (go to 13) and the door that looks like it could lead into a Goth teenager’s bedroom (go to 44).
32 Under the pulpit you find something resembling a secret door, labelled ‘Sekrit’. Apart from the handle there doesn’t seem to be an obvious way of opening it, though. You try pressing down various architectural features, such as the fat butts of mural putti, but nothing happens. Bending down, you do discover a wrinkled note discarded in the ageless dust, which reads: ‘Damn and blast it! This has happened to me TWO TIMES now, counting the Pocahontas figures. How many stupid Happy Meals will I have to buy to complete the range of Transformers? This must be the FIFTH Optimus PRIME I have picked up!’ You can take this for an Important Clue or dismiss it as the Ravings of a Madman. Turning to the door with renewed perception, you discover a number pad set in the middle of the door, covered in blinking lights. Hmm. Do you have any idea which code will open the door? If so, turn to the paragraph with that number (you will know it is the right one if it includes the word ‘porcupine’ in the first sentence). If not, you will have to open the door by ramming it head first with all speed. Test your Luck. If you are Lucky, turn to 22. If you are Unlucky, or if you tried to guess the code and failed, turn to 57.
33 You approach the task of opening Zagor’s casket methodically. You grab a runed-carved axe lying behind the uncracked altar and smash the chest with it, attaining nothing except the disintegration of a perfectly fine +6 N’yadach-slaying axe. If you have a katana, you try the same manoeuvre but merely succeed in similarly particularizing (i.e. reducing to particles) the only Hattori Honza blade made in Toledo known to exist. Bummer. Next on the programme: stomping! You jump up and down on the chest, and for each down something clicks ominously inside the lock mechanism. This is the ticket, you think to yourself and keep hopping. Two small, deadly darts shoot out - - and find the chest of the well-dressed man you saw before, said fellow just having emerged from what must be a secret passage. Unbeknown to you this is actually a GEOMETRIC SHAPECHANGER. Before he can even utter a grunt of disapproval his bump mapping ceases to function, followed by flickering and zarking, a rapidly dropping frame rate and then a blue screen of death as his graphics card caves in entirely. You hurry over to examine the remains, but there’s just a smudge of colour and a few waste polygons remaining. Turn to 32.
34 You pick up a rosebud and attach it to your lapel. “Give me my rosebud,” whines the beggar. “Mine now,” you say cheerfully. “I’ll roshambo you for it,” wheezes the beggar. “Finders keepers, diers expirers,” you quip, admiring your new possession and polishing it with your cuff. You are just contemplating whether to go left or right when the beggar bounces up like a horror B-movie villain. You watch with interest as he staggers, shakes his fist at you, and falls over again. As he topples, his body dissolves into a number of furious rodents. Fight them as if they were two creatures.
A PLAGUE OF MICE Skill 7 Stamina 13 ONE MORE MOUSE Skill 4 Stamina 2
If you win, you hasten away before anything untoward can happen, picking up a discarded metal helmet from a snowdrift as you go; turn to 58.
35 Your smile of charitable patience slowly fades from your visage as the awful truth dawns upon you like a cold winter’s day: you do not have 10p. But how can it be? After all the times your mother warned you about this very situation. Increasingly desperate, you start patting down your trousers, your shoes, your cufflinks, and your floppy green sombrero, all without result. “It was right here,” you blurt. “I had a tenpenny piece, I know I did. Please. I thought I did, I swear. Please, Mr Beggar, sir, I didn’t mean no harm, no -” But the beggar, by now, is staring at you with pale yellow fury in his eyes. A low, mounting growl emanates from between his lips like an avalanche of thundering blocks of black iron: “No tenpenny piece, you say? Then how about I shall have your SOUL?” You are too stricken with ultimate horror to do naught but stutter incoherently as the buffeting vortex of the Beggar’s Improved Curse streams from his gorge in a halo of insects and sulphur (with brimstone around the edges). Sucked into reverse time-space and folded into the one-and-a-halfth dimension, you are tossed Here and There and eventually deposited Somewhere Else. It is strange. You carry but one item. You have lost 2 Luck points and 4 Stamina points in the ordeal. And you find yourself in the middle of doing something very unusual... Roll one die. If the result is: 1-2 Add the hilt of the Blood Sword to your inventory and turn to 9. 3-4 Add an umbrella to your inventory and turn to 43. 5-6 Add a penny to your inventory and turn to 33.
36 Leaving the fleapit cinema behind and entering what must certainly be the second stage of your adventure, you dodge weaselly down Victorian-flavoured alleyways for a little while, musing over any items or information you may already have gathered. Suddenly a voice stops you short in the shadows. Two disparate men are approaching. One of them is stooped and clothed in rags like a beggar, the other lean and well-dressed with a fancy cane and top hat; none of them looks at the other as they trudge side by side through the driving snow. It is the beggar that is speaking: “Did you know the word ‘penguin’ derives from the Welsh word for great auk? Pengwyn, they used to call ‘em...” He coughs expertly. “Sure, he had the elves to handle manufacture and distribution, but the great auks were doing all the real work, like heating, foraging, engineering and maintenance, you know, getting their flippers dirty while Santa’s counting the chips. He’s got this little smooth operation running for centuries, then suddenly the auks up and make a fuss ‘cause they got wind of some shipment of rifles and artillery to the Boer war, and they don’t like it. And there’s Santa, realizing he’s misjudged everything, doesn’t know who he can trust, and they all look the same to him. And that’s it. Within a year, there’s none of them left. Do you know what kind of atrocities it takes to make an entire species disappear in that time frame? You can’t even guess. And you know what I’m thinking now? I’m thinking, what if not all of them are gone, what if there’s a few of them still out there, been carrying a grudge that size for all these years, waiting for the right moment? I’m thinking I wouldn’t wanna be Santa all alone in his sleigh up in the sky on a night like this. But you know what else I’m thinking? Santa couldn’t possibly be the top honcho in a scheme like that. Ain’t got the raw ho-ho-ho, you ask my opinion. Must have been someone else gave the order, someone else again pulled it off. And if I can figure that out, so can anyone else. Lot of avenging to be done, lot of fallout for the rest of us - arghh.” This latest turn of phrase is prompted by the well-dressed man’s sword cane, which has lodged itself unbidden in the beggar’s stomach (and not in an adventurous “let’s see if I can digest this” sort of way). As you watch in lethargic horror the man in the top hat pulls his weapon from his collapsing victim, dispassionately wiping it on a silk handkerchief and then turning to stride off the way he came. Do you hunch in the shadows until everything is quiet, hoping for some clue that will only reveal itself if you don’t betray your presence (turn to 49)? Or do you rush over to the fallen man, hoping for some clue that will only issue forth on his dying breath (turn to 21)? Or do you dash off after the receding gentleman, hoping for some clue that will only present itself if you don’t lose sight of him (turn to 55)?
37 As your eyes scan the room, looking for a weapon (whilst beginning to wish you brought down one of the assault rifles from Santa’s sleigh), the penguins begin squabbling amongst themselves, much to your horror and amazement. “You sure you got the right address, Flapper?” says the second to the first. “This bozo looks like a complete weed!” “Mate, the phonecall never lies!” spits the first. “Cleanup operation, central Clapham. Major mythago SNAFU, eliminate all evidence. I’d like to see you try and get the TARDIS to grapple with those co-ordinates, Killa” There! Your eyes alight on an umbrella in an elephant’s foot stand near the door. Quickly you seize it and race forward, screaming a maniacal warcry. The penguins start in mild amusement. “I do believe the hairless monkey has just wet itself,” observes the third penguin. “Nonsense, Sledge,” says the fourth. “It’s using that umbrella as an instrument of discrimination by aligning us with that ridiculous Danny DeVito character from Batman II!” “You may be right there, Fish,” says Flapper. “Let’s clean up!” The penguins advance down the hall, cold malice in their eyes. You must fight!
FLAPPER THE PENGUIN SKILL 5 STAMINA 4 KILLA THE PENGUIN SKILL 5 STAMINA 4 SLEDGE THE PENGUIN SKILL 5 STAMINA 4 FISH THE PENGUIN SKILL 5 STAMINA 4
The penguins are not particularly fast moving and you are able to fight them one at a time. If you defeat them all in 10 Attack Rounds or less, turn to 46. If you are still fighting by the 11th Attack Round, more and more penguins begin swarming through the door and windows and you are completely overwhelmed by the avian carnage, ending your life as a dark red stain on the hallway carpet, crushed underfoot by hundreds of small webbed feet. (If the penguins reduce your STAMINA to zero in 10 Attack Rounds or less then you should probably seek out a note from your medical practitioner before tackling another gamebook again, especially this one)
38 You fumble for your gun, shrieking random inchoate demands. Charon lacks the patience for it and promptly kicks your arse into the river. It is soaking wet. You are likely to be eaten by a crucian. The latter is true not least because there has been some sloppy editing going on in these parts.
CRUCIAN À LA GASCOIGNE Skill 412 Stamina 2
If you win, you clamber panting onto the desolate stony shore to apologize for your shortcomings. Turn to 29.
39 You pause, aware of the values at stake, such as your body, your sanity, and possible cosmic repercussions that would obliterate Cardiff, Colchester and the pastoral village of Lower Schufford. “Let us strike a deal”, you propose boldly. “I grandly let you have your body back, and you let the whole thing slip and pretend it never happened. After all, it’s not like I actually did anything wrong, and you can have the umbrella.” “Deal”, says the Reaper-as-you smugly and waves its hands around. “Just let me work the magic that will restore our proper corporeities.” “That’s a pretty trustworthy spell, isn’t it?” you offer. “You’ve probably done this hundreds of times before. Look back and laugh, I bet. Misunderstanding could happen to anyone. Body swap, all in a day’s Christmas shenanigans, yup.” “Don’t you worry ‘bout a thing”, says the Reaper, ripping off some poor songwriter somewhere, and finishes its spell. You are surrounded by a golden glow. Or is it the Reaper who is surrounded by a golden glow? You are in your own body watching the glowing Reaper... then the golden glow is about you... then you are somewhere else. You jump back from a fiery chasm to avoid a stray clump of leaping lava. Fidgeting slightly, you edge down a rough-hewn tunnel towards a strange spiky door with a shiny skull in its centre, passing a notice that reads: “Ye standard door/weight combo - Calibrate release time - Sukumvit’s input?” Turn to 44.
40 This course of action is foolish, some would say stupid. Yet somehow in a sudden act of author convenience you are whisked away from the cinema, finding yourself in the mysterious possession of a blessed +2 longsword and an uncursed scroll of gold detection. Add 1 Skill point. If you had a katana, it has shrunk to the size of a thimble and you toss it away (you no longer receive a bonus to your Attack Strength). Turn to 36.
41 “Have you considered the fact that -” you begin and then proceed to be smitten. Your adventure ends here.
42 The Auk Shaman was gearing up to use its mystical powers and stuff to spirit you out of there before full smiteage could occur, but being grabbed by the neck and yanked out of its hiding place throws off its concentration and dramatically curtails your teleportation path. Basically, to cut a long story short, you end up switching bodies with the Reaper. As you stare down at your own cowering form, which drops the Auk on its arse and looks up with dark, deathly fury in its eyes, you realise that *any* outcome to this situation will likely be more interesting than late night Xmas Eve TV on your own with a bottle of gin. It’s a strangely comforting thought as you face almost certain obliteration. Do you decide to slay your own physical body and risk death or imprisonment in this form forever (go to 50), or show mercy and risk death or imprisonment in this form forever with a desperate former anthropomorphic personification on your case (go to 39)?
43 You heft the umbrella and clonk the Reaper soundly across the back of the skull. ‘Clonk’, it goes. “You bastard,” says the Reaper. “How did you do that?” “Simple,” you explain. “Your argument was based on the unspoken and therefore unconfirmed assumption that readers must be directly informed, in clear, explicit and slightly patronising tones, that they are to adopt permanent ownership of items collected rather than taking as read their arbitrary abandonment at the end of each paragraph. I simply chose to interpret the situation differently, by retaining the item until explicitly told not to do so. This, I think you’ll find, is equally permissible rather than, as you say, a ‘flimsy excuse’, and oftentimes in fact this behaviour is taken for granted so that authors do not have to waste time and energy in the repetition of obvious instructions at each applicable instance.” There is a pause. “You know, people like you really get on my tits,” says the Reaper, and vanishes. But then the cinema foyer doors burst open and in come the penguins, shouting and pointing their flippers angrily, giving you only a few seconds to yelp and make a run for it. Go to 36.
44 The door is such an obvious trap that you are certain it cannot be one. Surely there must be something important and/or valuable hidden behind it, for its designer to have gone in for such overkill. As you approach the door, you realise that the left eye socket of the embossed metal skull is actually a doorbell. You are about to decide whether to ring the bell or try to open it without attracting the attention of whoever might be beyond the ludicrously melodramatic door when, quite arbitrarily, a sixteen-ton weight falls onto you with tediously fatal consequences.
45 You are not a squeamish man nor woman. You have seen your share of vehemently fucked up matter, some of it this very evening. Yet in this moment you cannot suppress a shiver and a squeal. That’s all it takes. With a jarring chord, a door opens in mid-air and you are visited by a resplendent apparition shining in purple and mother-of-pearl. The Moth Lady is clad in ostentatious gleaming slender armour and trailing thin iridescent wings, and she looks down at you haughtily. You gasp. “Ruth Pracy!?” “You are no hero,” says she, and flicks a magic wand at you. Immediately you are beamed from this world to another, there to prove yourself. If you want to continue with your game, you must start from paragraph 1 of ‘The Floating City’, suspending your current scores and items (excepting the hilt of the Blood Sword, which you may take with you). Only if you consecutively play, survive and win the sequence of adventures also including The Land of Changes and In Search of the Lost Land, thereby proving yourself to be something resembling a hero, can you continue with this one (restoring your scores and items) by turning to 64. If you can’t or won’t go through with this, you are trapped in the Pracyverse forever. You have failed. Your adventure ends here. The end.
46 Your unconventional assault avec parapluie somehow clears a gap in the penguin ranks, and with an unnecessary but dramatic shriek of victory you blunder through their shredded defences and out into the cold night air. As you run full pelt down the street with the sounds of pursuit receding into the distance, you decide to award yourself 1 Luck point for the freak victory. By the time you get to the end of the street, though, the adrenaline has run out and you’re knackered. Go to 17.
47 “Oh, for goodness’ sake,” snaps the beggar, “Isn’t it obvious? You have to...” A spasm runs through his body, and with one last expulsion of halitosis he dies. Turn to 57.
48 The sudden creak of a door slices through the musty silence and stops you dead in your tracks. There’s no time to hide: before you, glaring right into your slack-jawed, sheepish face, stands the dapper gent with the top hat and cane. He doesn’t say anything, but he certainly doesn’t appear pleased to see you. In fact he’s looking angrier by the minute. Actually, those facial contortions can’t be entirely natural - The man’s face simultaneously collapses and explodes in a horrible flurry of activity, ripples of change frothing down his body, reforming it into something new, shocking and... slightly pointy. When the transformation is complete, you are faced with a clumsy humanoid figure composed of brightly coloured squares, circles, rectangles and the occasional rakish trapezium. Somehow the top hat still balances precariously atop the jumble of polygons and the cane remains gripped between thick rectangular fingers. You must fight!
GEOMETRIC SHAPECHANGER Skill 8 Stamina 6
If you win in four rounds or less, go to 32. If the battle rages for longer, go to 61.
49 For several long minutes nothing happens, but your patience is finally rewarded by a few seconds of dramatic nothing, followed by a drawn-out, concussive aftermath of bugger all. Eventually you give up, feeling slightly embarrassed (lose 1 Luck point) and step over the unfortunate and unfortunately long-dead beggar to take up a halfhearted pursuit of the dapper gentleman with the cane, having nothing much better to do. Go to 58. 50 Dark, deathly fury has always made you nervous. It’s just one of those things that can drive a person to raise sharp, bony claws high above their borrowed skeletal body, ready to slash out at anyone or anything that happens to be nearby. “You can’t kill me”, says the Grim Reaper darkly. “I’m Death.” “Death wouldn’t look that laughably puny”, you reply and cut down your former carnal habitat in one fellish swoop before it can even stab you once with the umbrella that started this whole thing. “Go me!” you congratulate yourself and spend thirty seconds on a victory dance, celebrating circumstances that are in fact slightly morbid and disturbing. Presently, penguins appear. “Go away”, you chide, “surely you see a pandemonium of penguins is no match for my unearthly tools of reapage.” They discord. You get ready to whip up some cool deathly magic and, to cut a long story involving platypuses short, end up switching bodies with one of the penguins, barely managing to crawl out of the carnage to make a wobbly escape into a back alley. You now have a Skill score of 6 and a Stamina score of 8, but for some reason you find yourself carrying around any equipment you may have had previously, including the fateful umbrella. Turn to 36.
51 Inventively, you fake a charge towards the penguin frontline before turning tail and bolting for the back door, whimpering and struggling to keep a tight leash on your bladder. You make it halfway down the narrow alley behind the house before the air ripples with a rejected Timecop special effect and another penguin warps into existence right in your path; you try to zigzag around him but there’s precious little room for manoeuvre, plus he’s a big bugger and he slaps you flat on your back with a hefty fin. Or wing. Or whatever it is penguins have. With the sounds of mild confusion and leisurely pursuit at your back, you snatch up a rusty, skeletal umbrella from the ground and face this flightless thug with an aim to taking him down quickly and making good your escape.
TARQUIN THE PENGUIN Skill 6 Stamina 7
If the battle goes on for more than four Attack Rounds, you’re mobbed from behind and given a good old-fashioned adventure-ending penguin kicking. If you beat Tarquin in four Rounds or less, you flee into the night, do an extended lap of the neighbourhood to shake off any pursuit, and - obviously - end up not that far from where you started (go to 17).
52 “Good Guess!” announces the Auk Shaman, fixing you with its little beady eyes. “You are truly the Fated One the spirits spoke of. Such perspicacity truly deserves reward.” “Perspiwhat?” you reply, somewhat dumbfounded by the creatures obvious extreme cleverness. Instead of replying, the Shaman emits a shrill tuneless whistle. “Now,” continues the Shaman, is there anything you feel you need to know?” “How do you whistle when you have no lips?” you reply gormlessly. The shaman gives you a disdainful look and vanishes; leaving only its staff. You feel you should take this with you, if only to prevent this encounter from having been completely pointless. Looking around for some inspiration for where to go next, you spot an ageing arcade machine slowly gathering dust in a disused corner of the foyer. A brief check of your pockets reveals a cache of 50p pieces; leaving you with the feeling that you could put off the decision of where to go long enough to waste them on a game or two of Penguin Zap (turn to 30). Alternatively, you could just leave before someone important shows up to ask what Christopher Lambert is doing outside impaled on a parking meter by turning to 36.
53 The first key turns with a satisfying click. The second does the same. The third - Before you can turn the third, your find yourself thrown back from the chest and temporarily blinded by a psychedelic shockwave and an eruption of suspicious-smelling smoke. As your vision slowly clears, you see the unmistakable figure of ZAGOR himself standing before the chest. The sight is made only slightly less imposing by the warlock’s gentle swaying and seeming inability to stop giggling. “Oh yeah, opening my chest, is it?” he sniggers. “I should – I should probably -” He fails to complete the sentence and instead sits down on the floor, snorting helplessly. Some time later, when he eventually regains his composure, Zagor heaves a great sigh. “I could murder a packet of Nik Naks,” he says, looking up with a vaguely hopeful expression. You are not to be so easily swayed by his sorcerous manipulations. “That’s going to confuse the Americans,” you scold him. Zagor nods. “Ah well,” he says, clambering back to his feet, “I suppose I’d better sort you out. That’s my shit in there. Hands off.” As if for effect he stumbles backwards into the chest, makes exaggerated and unnecessary attempts to prevent it from falling, then starts giggling again. It’s really starting to annoy you, so you attack him.
ZAGOR (OFF HIS TITS) Skill 10 Stamina 6
If you win, you may claim the legendary treasure within the chest: go to 20.
54 You dash from the church, the wild eyed man pursuing you with his glowing sword. You cross several streets, your pursuer’s yells growing louder as he gains on you. You are about to turn and beg for your life when a roaring sound makes you glance to the left. To your shock and dismay, several thousand pounds of cold Swedish efficiency are rapidly bearing down on you. You dive aside as the Volvo careens past. A sickening thud, a pause, followed by another thud. Your unlucky pursuer lies still, sprawled next to the garbage dump that cut his aerial journey short. You watch, open mouthed, as two bald men in white lab coats exit the vehicle and rush to the body. Each of them takes a side, and they drag it back to the car. Snippets of conversation float over to you. “...the absolute last time you drive, Gunnar, you clumsy fool.” “...ooof! He’s heavy!” “...really getting tired of chasing them. Last week, that Ninja almost killed us! Damn him and his literary-dimenso- whatever the hell he calls it device. Next week it’ll be Harry Potter, just you watch...” With that, they slam the trunk shut, get in the car, and drive away. Now what? If you have the Kai Discipline of Tracking, go to 62. If you have Wish Ring, go to 59. If you have a Diamond, go to 15. If you don’t have any of these, quit being so honest and just choose one.
55 You scurry around the corner (and the thoughtlessly sprawled body of the dying beggar), clinging to the trail of the murderous fop as he zigzags back and forth through alleys you never knew existed, until you finally come to a halt and watch in silence as your quarry slips through the doors of what appears to be a dilapidated old church, its weatherbeaten spire clutching with early Masonesque drama at the cold, starlit heavens. Go to 13.
56 To your horror, the words of that obnoxious ventriloquist’s dummy fill your head: “I wish I could fly right up to the sky...” Without warning you find yourself shooting up into the air at great speed. Despite the best efforts of your instinct for self- preservation to prevent it, your mind blunders on to the next line, “...but I can’t,” and, all too predictably, gravity immediately reasserts its hold upon you. While you have been airborne, the Earth has continued its rotation without you, and you are falling towards a different part of town. More specifically, a bloodstained snowdrift from which protrudes a parking meter with one luckless fool impaled on it already. Will you suffer a similar fate? Roll one die. If the result is 1-3, turn to 68. If it is 4-6, turn to 78.
57 “And that, m’lud, concludes the case for the defence.”
The jury retires briefly before pronouncing you guilty, but you get off with 6 months’ community service, as the judge takes pity on you for being such a twat.
58 Unsure of which way to go, you blunder around a few dark alleys until you succeed in getting yourself as lost as possible. The height and shape of the overarching silhouettes delineate a part of town you’ve never visited before, and frankly you’re buggered if you know where to go from here. But as you ponder your situation and the all-too-familiar idiocy that brought you to it, a series of low grunts alerts you to the presence of someone else - or *something* else - in the immediate vicinity. And before you can dive into hiding, the newcomer shambles out of an alley mouth directly in front of you. Instantly you recognise it as a CLAWBEAST, though this one appears to be in some discomfort, its face twisted into even more of a grimace than usual, its leg movements stiff and clearly painful. This doesn’t impair its charmingly non-PC natural hostility, however, and it swings its lethal clawed limbs at you with all the vigour its condition allows.
CLAWBEAST (RECTALLY IMPAIRED) Skill 9 Stamina 8
If you win, go to 31.
59 You absentmindedly fiddle with the ring as you try to decide what you should do next. Suddenly, unbidden, a tune pops into your head. Is it by: Keith Harris and Orville? Turn to 56 Wet Wet Wet? Turn to 65 Wizzard? Turn to 74
60 You slam the door into the nose of the overexcited young fellow, who clutches his face and runs around bleeding in the church, spattering blood all over the altar and thus summoning a party of hell-fiends. But of this you know little or nothing as you wind your way down a staircase into the bowels of... well, a run-down church. Reaching an iron hatch, you fling it open and bound dramatically into a large room. A gruesome scene unfolds. Along the walls, jars of yellowed fluid are precariously stacked, containing all sorts of repugnant organic waste. Large glass suspension tanks contain floating black and white corpses: some of them with two heads, others boneless, yet others with strange organs floating freely outside their wrinkled skin. But most horrifying of all, on a slab before you lies a porculent bleb of a mutant, an odious jumble of eyes, beaks, wings, cancerous pus-ridden growths and webbed feet. It speaks, and your blood curdles. “Kill... me...” it squawks, “kiillll... meeee... Or give me a herring, I’m pretty hungry.” It motions with a flabby, bloodshot flipper at a barrel of fish. You are stricken. Test your Luck. You must add 1 to the number rolled if you are currently in the form of a penguin, or for each of the following you have in your possession: a ticket for the latest cloying Kate Hudson romantic comedy, the ignition keys to a bulldozer, or a penny. You may deduct 1 from the number rolled for each of the following you own: an umbrella, a shaman’s staff, or a rosebud. If in the end you are Lucky, turn to 64, else turn to 45.
61 Your foe finally goes down, shattering into dozens of happy, child- friendly pieces on the cold stone floor, but the scuffle has attracted some unwanted attention: two more Shapechangers come loping out of the gloom at the front of the church, transmogrifying even as they approach. One moulds itself into a jagged mass of largely equilateral triangles, while the other still appears relatively human, composed as he is of individual circles and hexagons so small they’re barely visible from this distance. They attack simultaneously, in eerie silence broken only by the odd grunt as the triangular fellow steps on his own spiky toes:
TRIANGLE MAN Skill 6 Stamina 8 PARTICLE MAN Skill 5 Stamina 7
If you beat them both, go to 32.
62 If you also possess the Magnakai Discipline of Huntmastery, you can find your way pretty much anywhere. Turn to any paragraph in this adventure you want, but lose 1 Stamina point for cutting yourself on a sharp transition. If you do not have this item or do not want to risk cuttage, turn to 75.
63 A fluttering sound from near the top of the nearest functioning streetlamp alerts you to the fact that she has just arrived on the scene. “I am not convinced that you are worthy of my hand,” she declares. “Therefore I have devised a test whereby you may prove yourself.” Before you can respond, she gestures flamboyantly, and the test begins. If you have the hilt of the Blood Sword and access to a copy of ‘The Demon’s Claw’, the test requires you to find the blade. You must play the book as a Warrior, your rank equal to the average of your current Skill and Luck. Should you make it to section 40 of that adventure, you may return to this one at the final paragraph of the current section. If you lack the hilt or cannot get to the book, a teenaged Zombie shambles towards you, moaning in Welsh and brandishing a sinister- looking daffodil. You find yourself compelled to fight.
ZOMBIE PRINCE SKILL 15 STAMINA 5
If he wins two consecutive attack rounds, he invokes Instant Death against you. If you defeat him, he rapidly decomposes into a Rarebit. “Well, next time I’ll come up with a *real* challenge,” calls Moth Lady. Before fluttering off into the darkness she throws you a ring, to which are attached the keys to a bulldozer. Turn to 70.
64 There is an evil cackle from stage left. You look up from your retching to discover the arrogantly posturing form of your long-standing personal nemesis, that evil Texan aviator and balloonist Scouser Lee. “So,” he holds forth, a pink balloon bobbing on a string held in his left hand, “you have discovered out little genetic playground. It makes no matter: all preparations have been made; the plan is already set into motion; the poison-gas zeppelins have taken off for Birmingham, Damascus and Helsinki, while amphibious teams are standing by off the shores of Sydney and Santiago de Compostela. Haha! Ha! No, wait, that’s the stage we haven’t started working on yet. I shouldn’t have said that.” “Santiago de Compostela doesn’t even have a shore,” you interpose. “Oh well, it doesn’t matter then. From Hell’s heart I stab at thee! You suck!” A furious gunfight breaks out, with everyone diving for cover behind the suspension tanks, then locking fists in a no-holds-barred brawl.
SCOUSER LEE Skill 9 Stamina 9
When his Stamina drops to 4 or below, you discover that you have fallen for the oldest trick in the book and are wrestling a life-size cardboard cut-out of your hated foe. Finish the struggle:
LIFE-SIZE CARDBOARD CUT-OUT Skill 10
If you win, you look around and glimpse a shadow darting into a dark passageway. Following boldly into the third and final third of the adventure, you walk down a tunnel lit by sparse and dim electric lights, coming to a junction. A crude signpost looking like a bit of amateur clipart has been shoved into the ground here. The words ‘OPTIONAL SUBPLOT’ are scrawled beneath an arrow pointing to the east, while an arrow pointing left says ‘NOT’. Do you walk north-west (turn to 88), do you turn to the off- right (turn to 67), or do you return to the chamber to drink from random bottles of coloured fluid (turn to 92)?
65 You find yourself humming the chorus to ‘Wishing I Was Lucky’, and as you do this, the ring vanishes from your finger. You are now Lucky, at least for the time being, and the next time the text calls upon you to Test your Luck, you should not throw the dice, but automatically choose the ‘Lucky’ option. Hoping that when this happens you are not in a section of the adventure written by Paul Mason, you contemplate your next course of action. Turn to 75.
66 The game ‘rages’ for hours, and you’ve long since become accustomed to the gravity-defying nature of the board and the initially repulsive act of inverse dice-throwing by the time you reach your last wedge question. As you draw the card from the upside-down box, however, your heart sinks. ‘What kind of wood is used to fashion the sticks for Popsicle brand ice pops?’ “Oh come on, how am I supposed to know that?” you protest. “That’s strictly based on American popular culture!” The Gatekeeper shows no sympathy. “Serves you right for that shit with the Nik Naks,” he remarks, body-popping gracelessly. If you know the answer or are willing to spend 30 seconds or so Googling for it, convert each letter to a number (A=1, B=2 etc.), take the total and double it, add 130, divide by 15, add 19, multiply the result by 3 and turn to the corresponding section. If you don’t know the answer but have the codeword ‘Inforce’ on your Adventure Sheet, go to 79. If you don’t know the answer, don’t have the codeword and can’t even be bothered cheating, the scarcity of unclaimed section numbers leaves you with no option but to attack: go to 95.
67 Typewriters. You can distinctly hear the sound of typewriters coming from the distant darkness. This staccato sound grows steadily louder as your consciousness is inexorably thrust forward on a silent, subplot-driven conveyor belt, before dumping you in an inglorious heap inside a dimly lit cavern. Wincing, you move into an upward-kneeling position, rubbing your bruised coccyx, ignoring the fact that –somehow— you’ve temporarily lost the powers of open and specific dialogue, rendering your arsenal of witty and vapid retorts useless (Cross them off your Adventure Sheet if you had them). As your eyes adjust to the gloom, you are greeted by a sight that instantly reminds you of any overly-dramatic passage out of a Joe Dever gamebook that ended with ‘…makes your blood cold/turn to ice,’ etc. Turn to 72
68 Sure enough, you drop down from the sky and improbably catch the bloodied parking meter nicely in your midriff, stopping with a hushed “Umff”. With a wet squeak, you slowly glide a few centimetres further down. Anon, a giant yeti comes strolling around the corner. “Aha,” it exclaims, “shish kebab. Just like last year.” It then plucks the parking meter and walks off to grill you and Christopher Lambert over a burning barrel. There is much rejoicing and cider for all.
69 “I don’t know... maybe something like this?” you squeal dramatically and (if you are not in the form of a penguin) rip the human visage from your face. It is true. At some point during your quest you (that is, the original you) were expertly ambushed and assassinated by one of our blubbery friends o’ the southern ice, who went on to assume your identity. However, since this was kept secret for reasons of dramaturgy, and “YOU” are still controlled by YOU anyway, that particular feat of stealth seems to have amounted to an exercise in futility. Or at least near-futility, as not everything is as before. Test your Luck. If you are Lucky, add 2 points to your current and Initial Stamina as the penguin killer was somewhat hardier that you. If on the other hand you are Unlucky, deduct 5 points from your current and Initial Stamina for having the constitution of a wingless bird (and I don’t mean those huge ones from Eocene times). If this brings your current Stamina to 0 or lower, you are killed by a vicious boomerang. Assuming you are still alive, Joe Dever’s stonewashed jeans stare at you in mock amazement: turn to 87.
70 Somewhat jittery from the boundless horrors you have just witnessed and hunched under the awful, oppressive winter skies, you retrace your steps to the old church. It lies silent and quiet as before. You enter and step up to the hidden door, just as a sprightly pizza delivery guy is coming the other way. Turn to 60.
71 “Sixty-six days, Cochise,” the vanquished demon states before disappearing in a puff of sugary-pink smoke. Catching your breath, you notice that the calendar that the demon used as a weapon rolling towards your feet. You pick it up and unfurl it. It seems to be a colour facsimile of an official FARTING FANTASY ™ 2004 Calendar. The poor quality of this reproduction may have put the demon in a seemingly depressive spiral. Looking at the postage date on the parcel wedged into the base of the pillar confirms your suspicions: December 24th 2004. Turn to 82.
72 In the dimly-lit gloom, thousands upon thousands of monkeys diligently work the keys of countless typewriters. The sound of tapping keys is punctuated by the occasional `ding’ of a bell, serving to remind the monkeys to complete a carriage return before running out of space. Amidst this sea of literary confusion, a pillar of rock rises from the centre of the cavern. Atop the pillar squats a red-skinned demon with bat wings and two dragon-like heads. Pondering this series of increasingly ridiculous situations, perhaps wishing that you’d stayed home and smoked banana skins, you formulate an even more ridiculous course of limited actions within this linear microcosm. Engage in a bout of one-sided dialogue with a nearby monkey in an effort to glean a Lump O’ Exposition™? Turn to 84** Do you wade through the sea of monkeys towards the Demon? Turn to 73
**Probably the best course of action considering exposition is used to great effect by the protagonist, in this case: You.
73 The Demon rocks like a disturbed madman upon the pillar, silhouetted by the hellfire playing across his shoulders. One hand is bunched in a fist and is thrust into the mouth of the first head, which is busy worrying his knuckles with inch-long fangs. The other head is looking incongruously at a recently opened parcel, nestled in the rocks by his clawed feet. Bunched in his other hand is a rolled up calendar. It is obvious the demon doesn’t know his strength –or pain threshold: Green ichor steams from the knuckes in his mouth and the calendar has been scrunched mid-length by his powerful grip of his other hand. You notice for the first time a bright nameplate pinned to the Demon’s breast. In thick stencilled copperplate read the words `SUBPLOT ANTAGONIST’ The demon addresses you in a soft-spoken voice that you can barely hear over the cacophony of a million typewriters. Turn to 77
74 At this time of year it is not easy to avoid the abhorrent strains of ‘I Wish It Could Be Christmas Every Day’, and now the song erupts from the depths of your memory like a bloated Giant Mudworm. You are about to beat your head against the nearest hard surface in an attempt to drive the tune from your skull when you are overwhelmed by a strange quimmeling sensation. When it is over, you find yourself back at home, the video clock reading just past midnight. Moments later you again hear the sound of Santa falling to his death. Intent on trying to work out which course of action you should take this time round, it takes you several seconds to realise that you have already started to head outside, against your own volition. Try as you might, you cannot keep yourself from doing exactly the same idiotic things as you did the first time round, and all too soon you loop back to the start of the sequence again. And again. And again...
Your adventure never, ever ends. Here.
75 Intriguing though the lab-coated men’s words and actions are, you have a nagging suspicion that the climax to this adventure lies back in (or beneath) the church building. Besides, the car went south, and you have an irrational but strangely common aversion to heading that way, so you turn and start to head back to the church. Further up the street, a slurred voice bellows, “Shi-i-lent night! Shi-i-lent night!” and continues through further bars of the tune without finding any more of the words. You turn to see who is doing this, and see a teenager, apparently one who gets his Christmas spirit in percent proof, slumped against a lamppost. At the same time he catches sight of you, burbles, “Merry Chrishtmas,” and begins to shamble towards you. “I got shum misheltoe here...” Though this is pretty tame stuff compared to some of what you have already experienced tonight, you find that you are transfixed in horror. Can you break out of your stupor and find sanctuary in the church before he gets to you? Roll two dice. If the total is the same as or less than your Skill, you make it in the nick of time (turn to 60). If the total is greater than your Skill, turn to 83.
76 “….anyway, as I was saying, meathead.” The monkey turns towards you, his smug expression turning to shock when he discovers that you’ve disappeared. “Hey! Where’d you go??” It dawns on you that you are standing side-on to the monkey and have disappeared from his field of view completely. With shock you realise that you are truly a two-dimensional character for the time being. From now on, you may successfully ignore all damage during combat by turning side on from your assailant. For the sake of posterity, you must still roll the dice during combat, even if just to waste some time with a sense of accomplishment. Taking this opportunity, you edge away from the rude monkey towards the only other option in this situation. Turn to 73
77 “…..it’s called FARTING FANTASY ™.” The Demon smiles with its second, unoccupied head and points with the calendar to the monkeys below. “My monkeyspawn are entering writing competitions meant for kids like it’s going out of style, “ he finishes. Looking around the cavern, he seems a little overwhelmed by his surroundings. “…I mean, it is okay that a demon of the ancient world be frequenting children’s forums in an effort to find greatness? Of course, their little minds are malleable enough to coerce them into believing anything, right?” The demon seems to be looking for you to encourage his seemingly nefarious activities. You are distracted momentarily by the demon’s first head; it has stopped worrying his knuckles and is both addressing a monkey that sits at the base of the demon’s pillar and busy scrutinising a sheet of paper that the monkey has given him. Do you: Agree with the Demon? Turn to 89 Disagree with the Demon? Turn to 98 Ignore this head completely and discover what the first head is doing? Turn to 80 Lose yourself in the crowd of monkeys if you’ve not done so already? Turn to 84
78 You flap your arms wildly, managing to shift your free-fall parabola slightly to the left. “Yaaaay,” you cheer, and then smack flatly into the ice-crusted street next to the snowdrift. Roll three dice and lose that many points of Stamina. If you are still alive, you leap up, stretch a bit, and get run over from behind by a late garbage truck. Lose another 2 points of Stamina and turn to 70.
79 “W00t OMG WTF,” you mouth off, “thaz lik teh gheiest question evar. Yousa da CHEATER. like i cudnt no that wun if SPECE INVADERS hadnt ript off my fridg las nite!! juz like dat all fud wuz gon whassa da mateh wid pipul BUM SMASH fortunately I am manure enuf a GRATE MATE to enter into theise meaning lez alligators!!!!!111one PEACE!!!!!” These things and more are said by you in a verbal smoke-screen to hide the fact that you have absolutely nothing relevant or helpful to say under the circumstances. When you are done, Lionel Richie is looking at you vacantly, as if his eyes had glossed over. For a second you hope you’ve shorted out his brain, but he snaps out of it and holds up his hands in mollification. “Yo, chill, didn’t know it was that important to ya. Tell you what, have another one. ‘S on the house, aight. Not every day the Richie gets to bust fat intruder ass at Tee-Pee, y’see?” As you draw your replacement question from the box (wondering if custom doesn’t dictate that your opponent do that instead), you can’t help noticing a satisfied gleam in the eyes of teh, sorry, the Gatekeeper. You don’t spend many a year in the music industry without picking up a few habits, and right now this brother has picked up one of yours - note the word ‘Inforce’ on Lionel Richie’s Adventure Sheet. Meanwhile: ‘From what work of classic literature is the band name They Might Be Giants indirectly derived?’ If you know the answer or are willing to spend 15-odd seconds Googling for it, take the total number of chapters in the complete work, subtract 27 and turn to the corresponding section. If you can’t answer this one either, you must resort to spitting: turn to 95.
80 Locked deep in conversation with the gesticulating monkey, the demon ignores you: “….oh I get it; you’ve shamelessly ripped off Shinderg’s Tomb, and are in the process of making it work under the FARTING FANTASY ™ game system. That is totally original,” the first head of the demon concludes. The monkey at the base of the pillar gets agitated at this response and bobs up and down, slapping his palms against the stone floor. Apparently, this one has a problem with dialogue similar to your own. Scurrying back into the sea of monkeys, this literary King Kong begins work by crapping on the roller bar of his typewriter. Eventually noticing you, the demon regards you with doe eyes, and asks you what you have for him. He then shakes his head a few times and slaps the side of his head, then asks: “What do you have for me then, hmmm?” Do you: Slap the side of your head? Turn to 93. Give the demon a crap-encrusted piece of paper (if you have one, thereby giving away a plot device if you don’t)? Turn to 94 Ignore this head and return to the second head? Turn to 77 Ignore both heads and lose yourself in the sea of monkeys? Turn to 84
81 Beyond the door is something you weren’t expecting to see. You were prepared for many eventualities, including a vicious garotte ambush, the sudden lowering of a big spiky ceiling, possibly even some kind of spacially implausible crocodile-infested labyrinth, but the sight of your mortal enemy Scouser Lee lying on the floor in the middle of an opulently furnished room, his balloon bobbing around forlornly at ceiling height as he throws both hands into the desperate struggle to remove his own trousers, was certainly nowhere on the list. As the door clicks shut behind you and the scene of mild madness continues to unfold, you find yourself unable to do anything but stand and watch, partly out of basic politeness but mostly due to total brain-aching bewilderment. Lee curses, squeals, cajoles and threatens as he tries to get the offending piece of clothing down over his hips, until he finally writhes into a position where he’s looking up directly into your face and can’t fail to notice your presence any longer. “Wh-” he says, then explodes at the waist. His upper torso is propelled meatily several feet across the room, but his legs remain exactly where they are. No, that’s not exactly true... they’re still moving. And not just twitching in an unpleasant reflexive fashion. Actually moving of their own accord. And now they’re standing up, and shaking the severed legs free. As they do so, you notice a pair of initials scrawled in thick red marker on an interior label: ‘JD’. “Oh my God!” you shriek. “Joe Dever’s stonewashed jeans! It was YOU behind all this?” Finally free of both their usefulness-deficient pawn and the ragged bits of meat that remain, Joe Dever’s stonewashed jeans glare at you with triumphant malice. “Yes!” they exclaim. “It was me! Us! I - we - that thing with Santa - that was us! Me! Us. And when this pathetic meat puppet finally found the strength to turn against us, it was too late! It had already served its purpose, whatever purpose that was. I can’t really remember. We were drunk. Anyway, yes, the Santa thing.” Dread turns your bones to jelly and your blood to refrigerated milkshake. “And the genetic experimentation?” you gasp. “Yes!” “And Christopher Lambert?” “Yes!” “And the penguins?” Joe Dever’s stonewashed jeans frown. “What penguins?” it asks. If you have owned an umbrella at any point during this adventure, go to 69. If not, go to 87 to consider your options for this final, dramatic reckoning.
82 The monkeys stop typing and glare at you. Obeying the physics of the gamebook, an overwhelming force insists that you leave the cavern through a conveniently created exit. Turn to 88
83 There is no escape. You trip and fall pointlessly like a blood- spattered post-coital teenager in ‘Friday the 13th Part XXIV: Jason Appears In Chitty Chitty Bang Bang’, and before you can scramble to your feet again, the sozzled youth is upon you. Your only consolation is that his fetid WKD breath in your nostrils does numb you slightly to the creeping horror of the big festive smacker he dribbles all over your face. It’s not until he’s zig-zagged away down the street, rebounding off walls and lampposts and briefly attempting to pick fights with an old woman out walking her chihuahua and the chihuahua itself, that you realise the little scumbag’s also somehow managed to rob you blind: clear your Adventure Sheet of any cash and items that you may have collected so far, then go to 70 to resume your ‘quest’.
84 Selecting a particularly engrossed-looking monkey mashing the typewriter keys with his fists, you ask him what he is typing. “Could you could be a little more polite and make the effort to use some open dialogue?” the monkey asks, not looking up. You sigh and state that you cannot, further explaining that you’ve lost this particular power of narrative. “Nice Lump O’ Exposition™,” the Monkey replies, dryly. “Had I wanted yours, I would have asked. Now, where was I? Oh, yes: You know, you are making it hard for us writers; by not using your god-given ability of open dialogue, the author has to completely reformat how he writes. In a formal situation, each person in a conversation speaks in his own line, so as not to confuse the reader. Your insipid way of getting yourself across makes the author look like a complete dickhead, not to mention one-dimensional in the stor… no, wait. Two-dimensional… uhhh… hey, Dave!” A nearby monkey the first is addressing appears not to have noticed; he is busy scrutinising a pattern of faeces smeared into a piece of A4 paper held between his legs. Do you use this brief moment of distraction to make your way through the sea of monkeys to the demon? Turn to 73. If you decide to wait and see what on earth this new monkey has to add to this scintillating repartee, turn to 85.
85 “Dave!” The other monkey looks up with an excruciating expression on his face, notices you and then hurriedly folds and tucks the paper into a pocket in his fur. Licking his palms, he smoothes the monkey hair on his head, producing one of the neatest parts you’ve ever seen completed without a comb. Dave the monkey smiles benignly and locks his hands beneath his chin. “Yes?” The first Monkey rolls his eyes and takes a deep breath, muttering in frustration. “One-dimensional isn’t really a true term is it? I mean, existing in One dimension cannot be at all feasible in terms of characterisation –even within the universe of a writer?” The other monkey clucks his tongue and taps his knobbly fore-digit against pursed lips. “Well, you are riiiiigggghhhttt, after a fashion,” Dave begins “…but its largest use is more literary license than anything else. In the truest sense of the phrase, a One-dimensional character cannot even be seen in a physical sense and would cease being the protagonist of said narrative. Don’t even get me started on static environments and marking the passage of time in an interactive adventure. For example, when I was a young lad, we all used to go to the beach for holidays and I used to...” Dave’s dialogue trails off in a suitable succession of decreasing font sizes to intimate that his character has been successfully written out of the narrative, leaving only his faeces-covered piece of paper flipping lazily in a wind that is totally out of place here in the cavern, serving only to overdramatise the moment. You decide to take it (gingerly, between thumb and forefinger, mind!) and place it in your pack (Mark it on your Adventure Sheet.) Turn to 76
86 “Don’t touch that!” snap Joe Dever’s stonewashed jeans as your fingers close around the balloon string. “I warned you about the poison gas!” “No,” you correct, “you said the poison gas was in zeppelins going to Venezuela or something.” “Yes, but I kept some back, didn’t I? It’s a bit of a habit, to be honest. Managed to develop a... strong liking for the stuff.” The jeans pounce forward, the zipper closing over the string above your fingers and snipping it neatly off. Then the balloon starts to deflate rapidly as Joe Dever’s stonewashed jeans inhale its contents, bulking out the waistline like some kind of evil phantom paunch. “Much better,” squeaks your adversary in a comedy helium-enhanced voice. “Ah, yes. Now I feel like Bennett at the end of Commando!” “What? Which bit?” you demand. “You know, when he gets electrocuted and it makes him stronger. Or maybe that bit at the end of the Van Damme prison film where that bloke gets kicked into the furnace then jumps back out, on fire, and carries on fighting.” “But you haven’t done either of those things,” you wail, confused. “I couldn’t think of any good gas references, alright? And I could hardly have a balloon full of pissing electricity, could I? Now shut up and let’s have a fight.” As the jeans spring violently at your face you have no choice but to comply, becoming more and more certain that you’re never going to get an explanation for any of this.
JOE DEVER’S STONEWASHED JEANS Skill 12 Stamina 12
If you win, go to 96.
87 At that moment there is a ‘sickening lurch’ as the whole room shakes with ‘bone-jarring force’ and starts to rumble upwards. Moving past the mud and brick of catacombs and sewers, into the cityscape above, you find yourself in something resembling an over-decorated elevator car, soaring upwards at ‘breakneck speed’ ‘twixt girders of steel and shields of glass. In fact, you are quickly rising so insanely high that it leads you to wonder how you could not have noticed such a high-rise construct in your home town before. It’s probably that gaudy thing they’re putting up down by the harbour, you think to yourself while observing the first light of dawn on the horizon: the morning of Christmas Day. Angry at the general lack of gin and mince pies, you turn again to Joe Dever’s stonewashed jeans, who would seem to be responsible for that, and demand some answers. “Oh, it was too easy,” responds the garment of evil, “all too easy. With a brain the size of a planet it was just a matter of nudging everyone into position and letting the whole thing play itself out. Even your own actions were dreadfully predictable. I’m bored out of my zipper already. We. Look for yourself.” It - they - hand you a draft of their master plan which, to your chagrin, details your and everyone else’s every step and Attack Round since midnight. When it goes on to describe your reaction at reading it, the whole meta-dimension gets too much and you have your revenge on the piece of paper by eating it. Meanwhile the elevator cabin is steadily rising through the increasingly vanilla-coloured skies, the countryside of your native land far below, nothing visible outside except for scattered clouds, steel supports and what looks like a patiently winding, vertigo-inducing fire escape. Apparently the final confrontation will take place in this room while it moves ever upwards, the matutinal stillness broken by the occasional jolt and rumble. It is to be expected that this time you will have to use some kind of artefact of power. But which ones do you have at your disposal, and will they be enough? If you have an umbrella and would like to try something with it, turn to 90. If you have a shaman’s staff and suspect it’s the key to success, turn to 97. If you have a spare copy of Magehunter and would like to try a surprise manoeuvre, turn to 57. If you have none of these things, you will have to grab for the nearest thing that presents itself: the string of Lee’s hapless balloon (turn to 86).
88 The passage twists and turns inspecifically, the fizz of malfunctioning electric lights your only companion, until eventually you make out a larger room up ahead. While this comes as a relief considering your pretend claustrophobia was beginning to kick in, it’s also a source of some concern as whatever lurks in this room is sending wild, erratic shadows down the passageway that buck and spasm like an IT technician at a Christmas party after a miniature bottle of Belgian lager. You sidle up to the entrance, trying to make out the cause of the commotion. At first you see nothing, and assume that it’s just the lighting in an particularly bad of repair; but as you look up to confirm your theory, you come face to face with the figure attached to the ceiling, jigging away like a man possessed just out of reach, not that you’re trying particularly hard to reach him. “Lionel Richie?” you blurt. “What’s up, bitch?” the erstwhile Commodores frontman greets you. “What on Earth are you - oh, I see,” you sigh wearily. “‘S right, yo,” he agrees, not missing a step. “Richie’s the Gatekeeper. Can’t get past the Richie, man. Richie’s guarding this gate like a motherfucker.” You follow his grand gesture and see for the first time the towering double doors on the far side of the room, stretching from floor to ceiling, limned by pulsing, otherworldly light, encrusted with arcane swirls painted in the long-dried blood of holy virgins, and quite obviously made of plywood. “They’re made of plywood,” you observe. “Shut your mouth, fool,” scolds Richie. “My goddamn pride and joy you talkin’ ‘bout. You wanna get through there, you gotta beat me fair and square, a’ight?” You frown. “At what?” you demand. Richie stops dancing temporarily to scamper over to a corner table, also attached to the ceiling, and returns with a large blue box. “Trivial Pursuit, motherfucker,” he proclaims. If you’re man enough to embark upon the Gatekeeper’s fiendish trial, go to 66. If you spit in his face and challenge him to manly single combat instead, go to 95.
89 You tell the demon that you agree with him. “What an interesting way of speaking,” the demon injects, trying to deviate from the topic. “Why?” the Demon asks. Admittedly, you hadn’t thought of that and you tell the demon so. “Interesting…it is as if you really do not have any opinions of your own and are seemingly a focal point of an extra-dimensional intelligence.” Feeling a little cheated at this static response and shameless reproduction of paragraphs, you turn to leave. Shifting his great bulk, the demon lowers the head he was addressing you with closer to you. You can smell the vanilla-mint odour of Tic Tacs™. “You are probably right, you know. Still, as the antagonist of this subplot, I am duty bound to slay you. But, I am also encouraged to show you as much of this subplot as possible –just to maximise your amount of enjoyment.” The demon gestures again to the sea of monkeys. If you wish to mingle, turn to 84, otherwise read on: Wielding the calendar like a Samurai warrior, the demon intends to swat you into oblivion. As no other option presents itself (such as a moment to reconsider, pleading for your life, bluffing the Demon or a host of countless possibilities), you must fight:
VRADNA THE NIGHT DEMON SKILL: 14 STAMINA: 18
If you win, turn to 71
90 “Where were we?” say the jeans, yawning theatrically. “Oh yes, you were saying something about penguins. I do believe that had to do with one of my easily manipulated henchmen placing a homing beacon within your abode, disguised as some everyday object. It would have been something which goes largely ignored and unexamined during the white season...” “You mean, like this umbrella?” you ask, tossing the pointy object forward to neatly piece the groin of Joe Dever’s discarded legwear. “What? You -” they begin, but are interrupted by a deafening crash as one wall is violently torn down by a flood of ferocious specimens of Aptenodytes patagonica, the foulness of their beaks matched only by the severity of their armaments. “Nooooo!” squeal Joe Dever’s stonewashed jeans in villainous horror, right before the avian tide breaks towards their object of attraction and you dive spastically for cover. Test your Luck. If you are Lucky or if you carry a near-expired calendar to hold over your head, turn to 96. If you are Unlucky, turn to 91.
91 Chaos reigns about you, and the world shatters into blood and thunder. Your mind is struck by lightning and you realize terrible things. Then you wake up, shouting: “Oh! Oh! I’m never having rarebit again!” After a few seconds of getting accustomed to the world being rendered in black and white line drawings, you get off your bunk and shuffle out of your cell to another day in your hopeless existence as a slave in the acid mines of Styxigon IV.
You could have found a better ending than this one! Play again (Y/N)?
92 Having correctly surmised that in order to survive the upcoming trials you must partake in a little random potion-quaffing and flirting with death, you go back and scrounge up a rack of six test tubes with flagrantly coloured fluids in them. There is the faintly luminescent lime green one, there is the deep sea blue one with mystical green flakes in it, there is the utterly yellow one, there is the slushy grey one (avec penguin matter), there is the lively red one which could not possibly be blood (now could it), and finally there is the one labelled ‘Zagor Draught XXX’. In the spirit of Robin Waterfield, roll one die to determine which of these you choose to pour down your unsuspecting gullet. The result is the number of minutes you spend rolling on the floor in laughing pain before expiring. Alas, you could not know that due to unforeseen circumstances there weren’t enough paragraphs remaining to indulge in such an activity. Maybe in the sequel you will get the chance, but for now this is...
THE END
93 Your open palm connects with the side of your head, popping your left eardrum and causing your head to ring. Any apparent two dimensional-nesses are forced from you with a resounding pop. You are now no longer two dimensional and cannot enjoy the freedom that it provides. “Ow!” You exclaim, marvelling in the joys of dialogue despite the obvious pain. Lose 1 STAMINA point. “Hey!” the demon exclaims, “…you’re no literary monkey!” The demon rears back, disgust registering on both of his faces. “Shoo!” Swatting the calendar in your general direction, the Demon herds you towards the exit (that amazingly, you didn’t see before). Turn to 88.
94 Eyeing you suspiciously, the demon looks at the paper:
BACKGROUND “Call me Ishmael…”
Snorting, the demon turns it over:
BACKGROUND “It was the best of times; it was the worst of times…”
“What on earth is this crap?!?” the demon roars. “…it’s not even in Palatino Linotype, but some shitty Wingdings!” The Demon flings the paper back at you, its momentum increased by the encrusted crap. The resulting aerial turd/wood pulp lands on your face with a sloppy slap.
D&D: -1 CHA FF: All reactions for the next combat only will be treated as Hostile
Feeling a little out of sorts with this abrupt impingement on Pracyverse, you leave the cavern. Turn to 88
95 The Gatekeeper shimmies out of the way of your opening phlegm broadside, picks up a hatstand and retaliates with some mighty upside-down dance-fu stylings. If Lionel Richie has the word ‘Inforce’ on his Adventure Sheet, you don’t stand a chance and he wipes the floor/ceiling with you in fairly short order. If, however, he does not have this codeword, you can attempt to overcome him by force, but only if you have a weapon, such as a katana, longsword, rolled-up calendar or (God forbid) even an umbrella - although you must reduce your Attack Strength by 2 for the duration of the fight due to, you know, arm strain. If you don’t have a weapon, you can’t even reach your opponent to inflict damage and he Ends Your Adventure with aforementioned swiftness. Unless, that is, you are currently two-dimensional, in which case you and the Gatekeeper prove unable to harm each other, and the two of you fight an utterly futile battle until the sounds of the dawn chorus filter into the room. This prompts Richie to to launch into a rendition of ‘All Night Long’ which negates his ceiling-dancing abilities. As he drops cat-like to the floor, your two-dimensionality wears off, and you must fight him like any normal opponent (facing no penalties to your Attack Strength). If you fulfil enough of these tortuous and unnecessary criteria to be able to take him on, the battle begins:
(POSSIBLY) INVERTED MINI-BOSS LIONEL RICHIE Skill 10 Stamina 11
If you vanquish the Gatekeeper, he crumples upwards (or downwards) into a lifeless heap and a man-sized mini-door squeaks open in the middle of one of the double doors: go to 81.
96 Finally Joe Dever’s stonewashed jeans lie slain, defeated and in need of a stonewash, in the way of Skill 12 gamebook end bosses after a battle. Everything seems quiet. You check that there are no immediate threats (like penguin stragglers) and allow yourself a breather. Just then the rumbling sound of the elevator changes pitch somewhat. Presently, the room slides to a stop and metal latches onto metal. Apparently you have arrived at your destination, but where is that? A penthouse? A maintenance shack? A space station? The recent upheaval has left the room’s furniture in shambles and you are more easily able to make out a ladder leading up to a trapdoor in one corner of the room. Since there are no other promising exits, you decide to climb up and give the trapdoor a push. It opens onto a forgotten space, cramped under heavy slanting beams. Wooden chests and wardrobes are all around, old lamps and stuffed animals. You clamber up and proceed to investigate. Moving a large and ancient Earth globe out of the way (and suppressing a cough as inch-deep layers of dust are sent floating), you find a desktop on which there are some obviously very old documents. One is a crude drawing of a killer whale with the words ‘our enimy’ beneath it. Another is a once-glossy poster with the caption ‘Sucks to be Joe’, a message you find strangely offensive. Finally there is an oddly ominous note with two cryptic designations on it. The first, which has been crossed out in rough pencil, reads ‘King of Attic’. What the second is cannot be told, not because it’s illegible - your character can read it just fine - but because its graphic representation in the gamebook was quite badly smudged at the printer’s. It’s like that sometimes. If you want, though, you can hold on to this note and bring it with you into the sequel to this adventure; you never know if it may confer some kind of customer loyalty perk, like boosting an ability or unlocking a bonus level. You start at the sudden realization that you are not alone. What you believed to be a dried potted plant right in front of you and a little to the left, is revealed to be a Chaos Imp removing a dried potted plant mask from its sharp-angled face. It chitters impishly and tosses the mask aside, darting through a window while making mocking gestures and grimaces. What is this? The true force between the night’s events? A messenger of some still unguessed evil? A nameless extra? A brief post-denouement action moment that serves only to establish the player character’s prevalence, you know, like that Skill 6 Orc with a cutlass after you open the chest in Warlock of Firetop Mountain? Anyone remember him? Nobody? Aw, come on. My biggest role unless you count these uncredited narrator gigs and no one even remembers rolling the dice after using the keys? I can’t believe it. (What? CUT FOR TIME? Oh, man! My agent’s gonna hear about this!) You must make up your mind quickly. If you bravely follow the fiend outside to learn why they call it a fire escape, turn to 100. If you would be content to just turn all the evidence of conspiracy over to the coppers and let justice run its course, turn to 57.
97 You brandish the staff. If jeans could look disconcerted, Joe Dever’s stonewashed ones would be doing so now. “Not the Auk Shaman’s staff!” it cries/they cry, backing away. “Yes! The Auk Shaman’s staff!” you gloat, and prod the jeans with it. To your disappointment (and this isn’t Ken Bulmer-style disappointment, either), it has no effect. “You gullible fool,” sneer the jeans. “Did you forget that we… I know everything you have done to get this far. The staff means nothing to me… us. I… we just needed to lure you into the correct position to spring the final trap.” You look up and see that you stand beneath a flimsy bookshelf laden with hardback editions of fat fantasy trilogies and worse. Even as you watch, it bends further, threatening to bombard you with Terry Brooks tomes. You try to step out of the way, and find yourself unable to move. “We… I have power over mortals’ legs. You are doomed. DOOMED!” Laughing maniacally, the Machiavellian legwear steps back – or rather, it/they tries/try to, but a belt loop snags on a knobbly protrusion on the end of the staff, preventing the treacherous trouserage from beating a retreat. Now with genuine fear in its/their voice, the jeans cry, “Nooooooooooooooooo!” You feel their/its hold on you weakening, and struggle to break free. A loud crack sounds from overhead. Throw four dice and compare the total to your Stamina score. If it is higher, the jeans twitch the staff from your hands, causing you to tumble straight into the path of a plummeting Stephen Lawhead (turn to 91). If it is lower, you stagger backwards, the staff dragging the jeans beneath an avalanche of Anne McCaffrey (turn to 96). If it is equal, you may claim a pyrrhic victory as both you and the jeans perish in a shower of Dragonlance Chronicles.
98 You tell the demon that you disagree with his plans for domination of Children’s Literature. “What an interesting way of speaking,” the demon injects, trying to deviate from the topic. “Why?” the Demon asks. Admittedly, you hadn’t thought of that and you tell the demon so. “Interesting…it is as if you really do not have any opinions of your own and are seemingly a focal point of an extra-dimensional intelligence.” Feeling a little cheated at this static response, you turn to leave. Shifting his great bulk, the demon lowers the head he was addressing you with closer to you. You can smell the vanilla-mint odour of Tic Tacs™. “You are probably right, you know. Still, as the antagonist of this subplot, I am duty bound to slay you. But, I am also encouraged to show you as much of this subplot as possible –just to maximise your amount of enjoyment.” The demon gestures again to the sea of monkeys. If you wish to mingle, turn to 84, otherwise read on: Wielding the calendar like a Samurai warrior, the demon intends to swat you into oblivion. As no other option presents itself (such as a moment to reconsider, pleading for your life, bluffing the Demon or a host of countless possibilities), you must fight:
VRADNA THE NIGHT DEMON SKILL: 14 STAMINA: 18
If you win, turn to 71
99 Well answered - you claim your wedge! “Shee-it,” the Gatekeeper says in disgust, overturning the game board, or at least causing it to rotate briefly in mid-air. “Okay, okay. Jus’ so long as you know you one lucky mother. If the Richie hadn’t got that damn pink wedge question about Coronation Street, you’d be dust by now, foo.” A strangely endearing expression of childish pique remaining on his face, Richie backs away from the Triv battleground and makes preparations for the grand ritual of unlocking. He slouches over to the doors, kicks the top of one of them as hard as he can, and a little miniature door pops open at ground level. You may proceed to the final confrontation: go to 81.
100 The fire escape is well-stocked with fire, an element which is inimical to your species. Having foolishly already leapt out of the window in the rash way of gamebook characters, there is nothing you can do to escape a dancing death by fire, except maybe jump. Test your Luck. If you are Lucky, a hand falls onto your shoulder from behind and someone goes “Hold it” (turn to 57). If you are Unlucky, there’s the fire and your adventure ends here.
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Post by CharlesX on Dec 6, 2021 23:29:05 GMT
I don't know whether others here have heard of Ben 'Yahtzee' Croshaw, but this is written in a similar style to his (he did Mogworld, a novel clearly inspired by T. Pratchett and D. Adams), crossed with Eye Of The Dragon. Eye Of The Dragon breaks the world record for funniest parody.
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Post by a moderator on Dec 6, 2021 23:53:08 GMT
Never heard of Croshaw myself, but it's possible that one or more of the other contributors might be familiar with his work. Listing everything that influenced passages in Yellow Snow and sequels would be a massive headache - even more so now that the Yahoo! threads with the behind-the-scenes discussion seem to have vanished into cyber-oblivion.
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Post by a moderator on Dec 7, 2021 21:03:48 GMT
If you've played through to the end and are confused, this might help: Yes, despite having been a failure option on multiple occasions throughout the adventure, section 57 is the 'good' ending. Any character who ended up there can be carried over into Yellow Snow II, but in the later adventure some additional assistance may be available to those who made it through to the climactic encounter with the jeans.
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Post by CharlesX on Dec 7, 2021 21:26:23 GMT
If you've played through to the end and are confused, this might help: Yes, despite having been a failure option on multiple occasions throughout the adventure, section 57 is the 'good' ending. Any character who ended up there can be carried over into Yellow Snow II, but in the later adventure some additional assistance may be available to those who made it through to the climactic encounter with the jeans. Even more confusing: Pi which is basically the random ending reads like a good ending.
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Post by a moderator on Dec 7, 2021 21:55:02 GMT
If you've played through to the end and are confused, this might help: Yes, despite having been a failure option on multiple occasions throughout the adventure, section 57 is the 'good' ending. Any character who ended up there can be carried over into Yellow Snow II, but in the later adventure some additional assistance may be available to those who made it through to the climactic encounter with the jeans. Even more confusing: Pi which is basically the random ending reads like a good ending. That's a parody of the deliberately unreachable 'best' ending to the Choose Your Own Adventure book Inside UFO 54-40.
Making it possible to get there, even as a randomised outcome of an inadvisable-looking decision, may have been a mistake.
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Post by schlendrian on Dec 8, 2021 20:54:05 GMT
Also, using pi for the secret reference seems rather irrational. As the prospect of getting there is imaginary, it's section number should rather be i
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Post by a moderator on Dec 8, 2021 21:12:20 GMT
Also, using pi for the secret reference seems rather irrational. As the prospect of getting there is imaginary, it's section number should rather be i You make a good point. But where would you put it in the numerical sequence?
I get the sense that it should go before 1 - which would put it at the start of the adventure, so people would read it first, get the good(ish) ending straight off, and never even reach the plot or any decision-making.
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Post by schlendrian on Dec 9, 2021 12:34:31 GMT
I did some thinking, and I don't have a good solution either. Seems like there is no sensible way to map gamebook reference numbers to a Gauss plane . Oh well, I guess better leave it as is.
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Post by a moderator on Feb 22, 2022 22:45:58 GMT
The second adventure in the series needed a fair bit of editorial work before I could post it here - mostly to do with formatting and fixing typos and bad grammar (any remaining misspellings are presumed to be intentional), but there were a few more substantial changes to clarify matters or add parodic content, all of them implemented with the approval of whoever originally wrote the now-amended section. Anyway, here's... Yellow Snow II - Monarch of Basement Contributors included Ed Jolley, Per Jorner, Leigh Loveday and Kieran Coghlan 1You shiver as a cold wind sweeps through the barren park, and watch empty crisp packets dance in circles further down the path. No doubt you will be required to pick them up and bin them before the day is over. This is where your misadventures have brought you. Until the end of next month you must work for Marty, the parkkeeper, alongside Keef, a taciturn psychopath who picked up his sentence of community service by bludgeoning a Traffic Warden into a coma with a paving slab. Marty is late this morning - a circumstance which does not disappoint you in view of his stated intention to have you and Keef clean out the pond today. A thin crust of ice covers the foul, junk-infested waters, and Keef's so-called sense of humour is liable to result in your repeated immersion before the job is done. The clunking of a misshapen bicycle bell alerts you to Marty's approach, and Keef abandons his search for squirrels to torment and shambles over towards the parkkeeper's hut. You realise that something is amiss as soon as Marty comes into view. He is juddering along on his decrepit bicycle at at least twice his normal speed, and as he gets closer you can make out the terrified expression on his face. Keef's instinct for self-preservation is better-honed than yours, and so he is the first to realise that Marty is heading straight towards you, and accelerating. As he scurries away, the bike seems to respond to his movement, veering off after him. It is over in seconds, the force of the collision throwing Marty over the handlebars to land head first in a bin in a manner that would appear comical if it were less obviously fatal. Before Keef can get up, the bike, still upright despite the lack of rider, backs up a little, goes around him, and runs over his neck. Several times. A sinister glint in its lamp, the bicycle then turns towards you, rearing up into a wheelie as it prepares to claim its third victim. In desperation you grab a nearby dead branch and prepare to defend yourself.
BONESHAKER Skill 9 Stamina 12
If you survive this velocipedal assault, turn to 34. 2The tunnel zigs and zags like a zig-zagging muddy funster, until in the distance you begin to catch lively snippets of sound suggesting a proximity to the bazaar you previously shunned in favour of a scuffle with some frankly unlikely sand-dwelling carnivore or other. The whole exotic market scenario actually sounds like a jolly good wheeze the closer you get, so with a change of heart you hasten your step, thinking of the boundless riches you could attain if you were to trade all the high-class items in your possession. Unfortunately the bald, besuited bouncer at the tradesman's entrance takes one look at you, physically spins you around on the spot and sends you packing with a solid kick up the arse. Deflated and nursing unsightly rectal bruises (lose 1 Stamina point), you continue along the tunnel. It hits a sharp right turn and leads on, the hearty sales pitches gradually segueing into warcries and indignant shrieks of mutilation as you realise you're fast approaching the barbaric combat arena you also bypassed earlier. Soon the passageway stops dead at a sort of small-scale viewing gallery, little more than a balcony built high into the coliseum wall. You squint down over the heads of other fist-pumping spectators, focusing on one of the combatants in particular - a wiry little man surrounded by gladiators in massive spiky armour holding tigers and grizzly bears on leashes - and find yourself unable to shake a nagging sense of familiarity. If you're wearing a pair of unattractive brass earrings, turn to 58. If not, you turn away from the savagery with an unconvincing air of disdain and no option but to retrace your steps to the crossroads: deduct 1 Charge point (if appropriate) and turn to 95 or 77 to head East or West from there. 3You end up in a stone passage and, following it towards the light, enter into a high-ceilinged, marble-floored and marble-pillared meeting chamber. In the centre is an oblong table ringed by robust chairs. It doesn't seem to have been used recently. You only spot one thing that looks like you might add it to your inventory, so you walk up to the table and flip over a piece of paper. Following a sudden dramatic zoom, you read:
Joe Dever's Stonewashed Jeans £104 (unpaid) Steve Jackson's £200 Cheque £189 Kevin Bulmer's Awkward Deadline £3.50 Original Manuscript of Bloodbones £24 Dave Holt's PLAGIREZED INERTVIEW £0.12 (reserve not met) Robin Waterfield's Cheap Whisky £0.03 + shipping £8 . . .
Your eyes glaze over as they drift further down the list, but you are sickly aware that almost every line has been stamped over in red ink which screams out "DECEASED" - the one with the jeans twice. This is not just some random eBay printout, you realize... it's a Wedding List. When you focus on the last item, fear settles like a caravan of Squatter Orcs in your stomach. At the same time, something blubbers in the darkness beyond the table. A huge amorphous mass, shaking and glistening with a perfect imitation of Sydney Greenstreet mirth. "You are a very resourceful fellow, a resourceful fellow indeed, yes you are!" it bubbles like some person who is all jowls. "It took you some time, but you did get here, oh yes, splendid, splendid! And I have been waiting! Oh, how I have been waiting!" It quivers with laughter, a large mass of bluish transparency, dark gold strands hovering inside like a drooping fan. There is no longer any doubt. "IAN LIVINGSTONE'S JELLIED MOUSTACHE!" you blurt out, remembering to use capitals for introducing a new creature type. Its response is a wet series of hearty guffaws that chill you to the core. If you launch a desperate surprise attack, turn to 84. If you think this would be the time to use an item, turn to 10. If you want to engage the moustache in dialogue to see if there's a safe route to victory or if you could just get some sliver of an explanation for all the crap that's been going on since the start of Yellow Snow, turn to 48. 4The hole is both dark and slimy, like the inside of your small intestine, and you scoff repeatedly at the idea of going down there, much like you'd scoff at the idea of going into your small intestine. A terrible jangling interrupts your scoffing session just as you're getting to the best part. Casting a discreet glance in the direction of the playground, you espy not one but two Boneshakers crouching in a sandbox, trying to hide behind each other while peering at you with dirty lamps. You had a hard time with one of these fiendish devices, so you have no illusions about being able to take on two at the same time. As they finally break cover and bound across the wintry lawn with eager malice and much scraping of metal, you deftly slip into the hole. However, you misjudge the slipperiness of the walls and, after being poked in the eye by a grumpy centipede, lose your grip, falling down most of the murky shaft. Well, at least those bicycles won't be coming for you... unless they know of another entrance. Roll one die and deduct the resulting number from your Stamina, then turn to 98. 5'What?!' he bellows. 'I suppose you only know how to use that seriously flawed system made up by those two Games Workshop goons. Hah. Everyone knows TSR is the superior fantasy game company. I suppose I can't blame you. It was only my series that used the Hero's Challenge rules and there was only four of them.' He sinks to his knees dejectedly. 'Hell - they didn't even finish my adventures properly', he continues glumly. 'I didn't even meet Ketza Kota again I wound up with some random crossdressing bint that the authors thought of at the last minute.' The barbarian is soon in tears and you decide to leave him to his misery, stopping only to appropriate a Red Sonja DVD case that must have slipped out of somebody's pocket. Gain 1 Luck point for avoiding a dangerous fight by your lack of gamebook experience before turning to 99. 6The trolley comes unstuck with a wet popping sound, followed by a gurgling rush. The ensuing vortex of doom would be less disconcerting is you were not in the middle of it; you feel something tugging at your earlobes, then you are sucked under. You have inadvertently pulled the plug from the bottom of the pond and are flushed down a deep shaft, being washed here and there and ending up in a sodden, slime-covered heap on the floor. As you regain your breath and look up to the small circle of sky above, you think sarcastically to yourself that at least now you won't have to worry about making a safe descent. Turn to 98. 7Another loud crack wakes you. At some point during the King of the Maths Teachers' demonstration, you must have dozed off. Now he has noticed, and is far from pleased. He gestures again, erasing his equation, and hands you the remaining chalk, now only 8cm long. "Fifty lines - 'I must not sleep in class'. NOW!" Deep-rooted instincts compel you to obey (deduct 1 Charge point if you have any, and reduce your Attack Strength by 2 in your next fight owing to writer's cramp). By the time you have completed your lines, the King of the Maths Teachers has disappeared, so you are able to continue along the corridor, no better informed than you were before. Turn to 90. 8The only relevant material you can find is the first page of a memo from Professor Slank, head of R&D at Volvo, to Dr Len Rivers of Schrödinger and Escher Architectural Designs GMBH. It outlines the theoretical principles behind the Heisenberg Topographical Extrapolator, and its effectiveness in maintaining non-consistent pedestrian infrastructures. This is complicated stuff, and unless you possess the King of the Maths Teachers' crown, you must reduce your Attack Strength by 2 in your next combat owing to mental strain. Now leave through either a brass-handled door (turn to 71) or a door with a handle of brass (turn to 11). 9Holy handwaving! The monumental battle with the Sand Squid saw you straying deep into a part of the underworld where there is no illumination to speak of. You make your way in the dark and hope for the best, occasionally feeling the walls to your sides, hearing the jagged clangs of iron jaw traps like those in Prince of Persia, and feeling mildly threatening drafts of air (gain 1 Luck point). Creatures growl and shout all around as you plod blindly ahead, stepping on tails and bumping into things. At one point you overturn a stack of precious china plates, which event is fortunately blamed on a RHINOCEROS that happens to cross your path later on. Eventually you stumble into a closet, grub around until you find something useful, and turn on the flashlight that you've managed to get your hands on (add this to your Adventure Sheet). The batteries in the flashlight will not last forever. Note that your flashlight has 3 Charge points. If you engage in some time-consuming activity or just happen to walk down the wrong corridor, you may be instructed to deduct a Charge point. If this leaves you with no points left, immediately turn to 61. For now, you must carry on walking down corridors. To determine where your wanderings have brought you, roll one die. You may choose to Test your Luck any number of times: if you are Lucky you can instead pick a number as you please. If the result is: 1-2 Turn to 77 3-4 Turn to 2 5-6 Turn to 95 10Which item did you have in mind to use? The sword Telessa Turn to 87 The Doomsday Device Turn to 31 The King of the Maths Teachers' crown Turn to 74 You can also apply any numbered item by turning to the pertinent section. If you try to use any other item, it does nothing useful of any sort (especially if it's a two-pronged stick, I mean, geez), and you suffer an attack from the moustache. Roll one die. If the result is 1-2, it reaches out and manages to snatch your light away; turn immediately to 61. If the result is 3-4, it slimes you for 3 points of damage. If the result is 5-6, you manage to dodge. Now turn to 84 to defend yourself against this abomination. 11You progress into yet another square room. Wait... this is the Cube! You're going to die horribly! Aarrrrrgh!!! No, just kidding. This is actually a storage room of sorts, full of knicks and knacks. You weigh the pros and cons of searching it all through for useful gamebook items when they begin to speak up. "I'm Bob!" exclaims a tennis racket. "I'm Bob too!" says a lobster cage hanging from the roof. "We're both Bobs!" cry a pair of old skis. "Bob! Bob! I'm Bob!" follow a bottle of glue, a cardboard box, a cracked picture frame, each of the cards in a soiled deck scattered on the floor, and many dozen other objects. "We're _all_ Bob!" they shout together proudly. "I'm Steve!" a teapot chimes in. There is a short silence. Then the Bobs all pounce on and demolish the teapot, then they turn against you. Unless you have a Glimkefolin of your own that you can leave behind to distract the mob while you slip out, or your real name is Bob, you will have to fight them all.
1000 GLIMKEFOLINS Skill 12 Stamina 12
You can Escape by taking the customary 2 points of Stamina loss. There isn't really any loot to be had, since you'll have to destroy everything before you can get your hands on it (even if your real name is Bob - don't push it). If you manage to leave one way or the other, roll one die. If the result is 1-3 then turn to 92, else turn to 38. 12You remember catching a glimpse of a reference to the Maze in one of the documents. Checking them, you find a crudely-drawn and somewhat blotchy map, which may be of some help in navigating the Maze. Turn to 56, but ignore the instruction to add 2 to the dice roll. 13As your fingers pass through the cobwebs to pick up the ticket, you feel a strange sensation, as though some malign influence were watching over you, watching your struggles in life, waiting for an opportunity to ensnare you in some sub-Faustian pact. Or it could just be after-effects from that iffy korma you had the other night. You open out the ticket, and it occurs to you that the lottery numbers on it might be the combination for the safe. You try them: 1-8-11-12-18-25. With each successive number the lock clicks encouragingly, but the safe still won't open. There must be one more number, you think. If you can work out what it is, turn to the section with the same number (you will know if it is the right one if the first sentence includes the word 'geek'). If you can't work it out, or guess wrongly, you storm out of the hut in an arbitrary fit of pique (turn to 54). 14Potatoes have been in short supply for the Spudworms lately, since Keef started using them to incapacitate children and pensioners from a distance so that he could help himself to their small change without all that inconsiderate screaming. As a result, the faintest whiff of nutrient-dense carbohydrate joy reaching their nasal tracts is likely to whip the Worms into a state of frenzy, and as it turns out the Tupperware itself proves no barrier to the fumes from the mildewed potato salad contained within. Turn to 70. 15Unless you have the King of the Maths Teachers' crown, your memories only serve to confuse you all the more, and you must roll one die. On 1-2 you stagger out of the room through a kissing gate (turn to 11), on 3-4 you blunder into an open manhole (lose 1 Stamina and turn to 76), and on 5-6 you stumble into an oversized dumb waiter which dumps you into another part of the complex (turn to 71). If you do have the crown, you may use your new-found understanding of the layout of this place to decide where to go next. Go up a spiral staircase to the Exposition Lounge (turn to 82), through an imposing set of double doors to the Hall of Climactic Confrontations (turn to 3), or down a shaft to the Emergence Exit (turn to 100). 16You throw the stick at the mighty barbarian's feet. 'Aha!', you cry triumphantly. Sagard looks at the stick dubiously. 'Um, what is that supposed to do?' he asks. Suddenly you realize you are not in a Livingstone-style gamebook where using seemingly random items is the key to success. You will have to fight. Sagard's Valkyrie's sword allows him to inflict an extra hit point of damage.
YOU (LEVEL 2: 1/0 2/1 3/1 4/2) [20][19][18][17][16][15][14][13][12][11][10][9][8][7][6][5][4][3][2][1] (You have been beaten to a bloody pulp. Turn to Section 45)
SAGARD (Level 5: 1/2 2/3 3/3 4/4) [25][24][23][22][21][20][19][18][17][16][15][14][13][12][11][10][9][8][7][6][5][4][3][2][1] (You have defeated the shoddy Conan rip-off. Carry your cheating head high to section 50)
If you have no idea how to use the Hero's Challenge rules, you tell Sagard so and turn to 5. 17The chest contains a small metal cage holding a portion of spare ribs, two lungs wrapped in greaseproof paper, and a jewel case that, to your disappointment and revulsion, contains a human heart, still beating. If you have a key with the number '78' on it, you can unlock the cage and eat the spare ribs (add 4 Stamina). If you wish to take any other items with you, you must roll under your Skill on 2 dice to overcome your squeamishness. You may now leave via a narrow passageway to your left (turn to 11) or a revolving door to your right (turn to 38). If you have a rosebud in your buttonhole and wish to investigate the way the architecture here keeps changing, turn to 8. 18Time slows down quite a lot. Through a caleidoscopic rift shambles a monstrosity, brandishing clawed hands and rumbling, "Payment will be exacted in blood." "Wait, payment?" you blurt. "Don't I get to order you around first?" "No," it says and slashes at you. If you want to use the short time available to desperately try to dismiss the creature by waving the kris knife in increasingly wider arcs, turn to 83. Otherwise, roll one die to determine what you face: 1 DEMONIC SERVANT Skill 8 Stamina 7 2 ZOMBIE CAPTAIN Skill 7 Stamina 9 3 CAPTAIN ZOMBIE Skill 8 Stamina 10 4 ABYSSAL LACKEY Skill 9 Stamina 11 5 CANDARIAN DEMON Skill 11 Stamina 16 6 RAZAAK Skill 12 Stamina 20 Unless you have Rutger Hauer handy and can offer him up as payment, you must do battle. If you fight the Demonic Servant and win two consecutive Attack Rounds, you have destroyed your foe. If you fight Razaak and lose two consecutive Attack Rounds, you have been similarly destroyed. If you fight Captain Zombie and win, you can procure a skeleton key tagged "No. 78" from its utility belt. If you fight Razaak and win, turn to 66. Assuming you survive, time resumes its ordinary pace: turn to the paragraph you were originally headed for. 19What, you expect to be able to remember a rough map of a maze that you saw briefly a few months ago? Fat chance. Go back to 12. 20The lid is held close by a hinged clasp, which you unfasten. You then hold the box in your hands and smartly flick the lid open with your thumbs, hoping for some great treasure of bygone days - war bonds, perhaps? Flash! You stagger and blink as two winged miniature nudettes flit out of the box, circling you, snapping off their small cameras in a distracting manner and delivering miniature kung fu kicks in between!
PHOTOGRAPHING FAIRIES Skill 9 Stamina 5
Because they lack the weight to deliver a good blow, you only lose 1 point of Stamina if their Attack Strength is greater than yours. On the other hand, whenever they roll a double in combat, you have been blinded by the flashes and lose that Attack Round automatically. If you crush them, they spiral into oblivion and you pick up the tin box once again. Have you had an oddly ominous note in your possession since the beginning of the adventure? In that case, turn to 75. If not, turn to 67. 21On the back of a torn-out contents page from BBC sports commentator Tony Gubba's autobiography you find a half-legible note about the inadvisability of wrapping jellied moustaches in aluminium foil. Regrettably, the reason for said inadvisability is contained in the non-legible part of the note. You definitely don't have enough foil on you to wrap Ian Livingstone's Jellied Moustache (and it's doubtful that the Moustache would keep still long enough for you to warp it even if you did), but if you do have some foil, you might want to try using it as a weapon against the moustache. If you have no foil, or don't want to risk whatever side-effects might be outlined in the illegible part of the note, turn back to 48 and choose a different option without reading any more of this paragraph. If you wish to attack the Moustache with a hastily-folded foil rapier, turn to 84, but note that the foil will only work as a weapon for 1d6 Attack Rounds. It will do an extra Stamina point of damage every time you hit the Moustache with it, but once it loses its effectiveness, you will either have to fight unarmed (deduct 2 from your Attack Strength for the rest of the fight) or get out a replacement weapon (in which case you automatically lose the next Attack Round while readying it, or the next 2 Attack Rounds if you have a two-pronged stick, as you waste time dithering over whether to use that or something else). If you think there's a great pun on 'fencing foil' to be derived from this situation, turn to 66. 22Wading through the sand, you soon discover that its loathsome odor is due to the presence of numerous dismembered and decaying carcasses, human or otherwise. Even as you contemplate these scenes of carnage, a rapacious beast erupts from the sand in a spray of shingle, shouting "You killed my father! Now I kill you!" Maddened red eyes regard you with malice as spiny tentacles attempt to drag you towards a hideous crushing maw. You must fight the SAND SQUID!
SAND SQUID SKILL 8 STAMINA 9
During this combat you must reduce your Attack Strength by 2 as the sand hampers your attempts at self-defence. If you win, turn to 88. 23With a great heave, you pull open the lid of the sarcophagus. The heave is maybe a bit too great though as you fall backwards landing rather painfully on your bottom. Rubbing your bruised backside you stand up and lift your gaze to look inside the sarcophagus. Standing there is a massive bearded barbarian, clad only in a loincloth and boots. He is gripping a rather impressive sword in two hands and looks pretty mad. 'I have been stuck in there for absolute ages!', he cries. 'I am Sagard by the way. Rattikan warrior, Slayer of the Green Hydra, Explorer of the Butte with 1000 Holes and Destroyer of the Fire Demon.' 'Explorer of what?,' you ask. 'And wasn't Rattikan the bad guy from the lesser seen Disney film "Basil: the Great Mouse detective"?' 'You have more pressing things to worry about, my friend. Being a barbarian in an FF book I am naturally an ungrateful bastard and so I shall now cleave you into pieces with my Valkyrie's Sword: Hero's Challenge style!' Unless you have a two-pronged pointy stick and wish to use it (turn to 16 to do this), you will have to fight him. Sagard's Valkyrie's sword allows him to inflict an extra hit point of damage.
YOU (LEVEL 2: 1/0 2/1 3/1 4/2) [20][19][18][17][16][15][14][13][12][11][10][9][8][7][6][5][4][3][2][1] (You have been beaten to a bloody pulp. Turn to Section 45)
SAGARD (Level 5: 1/2 2/3 3/3 4/4) [25][24][23][22][21][20][19][18][17][16][15][14][13][12][11][10][9][8][7][6][5][4][3][2][1] (You have defeated the shoddy Conan rip-off. Carry your cheating head high to section 50)
If you have no idea how to use the Hero's Challenge rules, you tell Sagard so and turn to 5. 24At once Moth Lady seizes you by the scruff of your neck, using a variant of the Vulcan nerve pinch that paralyses you as surely as one wound too many from a Ghoul. She then drags you into Marty's hut, opens the safe, crams you into it, and slams it shut. You have until the air runs out to reflect upon your folly. 25After the intense pain brought about by forcing the thick, blunt, bloody spikes through your unprepared earlobes (lose 2 Stamina points), you decide blearily as you admire yourself in a dusty old mirror that the earrings look rather fetching. Unfortunately, you will soon realise that nobody else in the world (except Mungo, and he's both wrong and dead) feels the same way, and the resulting self-consciousness will cause your Attack Strength to be reduced by 1 point in all combat situations until you can find a way of removing the earrings without triggering a lethal degree of blood loss. For now, you can only return shakily to the outside world: turn to 54. 26You attack the Time Being.
TIME BEING - SKILL 9 STAMINA 10
If the Time Being ever wins an Attack Round, deduct 2 Stamina as usual and throw one die. If you throw an odd number and are using Charge points, change the number of remaining Charge points to half of what you rolled (rounded up). If you throw a 2, a burst of temporal energy rejuvenates you: restore your Skill, Stamina and Luck to their Initial Scores, and try to stay away from David Brunskill, as you'd only confuse him. If you throw a 4, a burst of temporal energy ages you: deduct 2 Skill, reduce your Initial Stamina by 4, and start complaining about how much better interactive fiction was when you were a lad. If you throw a 6, the Time Being knocks you into the middle of next week. Literally. Turn to section 75 of the inevitable sequel to this adventure. If you defeat the Time Being, it explodes into a mass of cogs and gears (throw two dice and ignore the result). You turn your attention to the chest (turn to 17). 27Geek, the hinges groan accusingly as the safe door swings open following the customary satisfying click that is being perfected at research departments of safe manufacturers everywhere. Inside the safe you find three things of interest - well, four things if you count Marty's collection of centaur porn, but you wouldn't want to be caught with that in your inventory. The first is a spray can of Anti-Spudworm Formula #3; with this in your possession, you can automatically consider yourself the winner of any fight against Spudworms, giant or otherwise, with no loss of Stamina. However, the can will run out after a single use and must be discarded thereafter. Also, should it mistakenly be applied to Crudworms it will have very unpredictable effects, so don't do that. The second item is a piece of ice from the comet Swift-Tuttle which appears to be sublimating. If you choose to take it with you, for each paragraph you turn to hereafter you must put a Meltage Counter on the piece of ice from the comet Swift-Tuttle. If there are five Meltage Counters on the piece of ice from the comet Swift-Tuttle, it is destroyed and you lose 1 Stamina point for breathing in too much methane. The third item is a spindly enamelled green key with the number 94 stamped on it in Aztec numeric symbols. You can take any of these objects with you before dealing with the gaggle of Goblins that have gathered in the doorway. You may hurl yourself through the window to avoid a long, tedious combat situation (lose 3 points of Stamina and turn to 54), or fight them one at a time:
First GOBLIN Skill 4 Stamina 5 Second GOBLIN Skill 5 Stamina 5 GOBLIN ON STEROIDS Skill 7 Stamina 3 Third GOBLIN Skill 4 Stamina 4 GOBLIN SERGEANT Skill 6 Stamina 5 GOBLIN OVERSEER Skill 5 Stamina 8 COWARLY GOBLIN Skill 3 Stamina 2 Eighth GOBLIN Skill 4 Stamina 3 CRIPPLED MUTT Skill 6 Stamina 4
If you fight them and win, you briefly note before leaving that they were really a bunch of unruly children on a school picnic. Gain 1 point of Stamina and 1 point of Luck for your victory and turn to 54. 28If you have no foil, there's no point on dwelling on the topic, so turn back to 48 and choose another option. If you do have some foil, you think back and recall a needlessly detailed explanation of what foil does to jellied moustaches, from which you deduce that unfolding the foil and sticking it directly to the Moustache will do the most damage. If you'd rather not try it, turn back to 48 and select another option. If you wish to give it a go, turn to 84 and fight the Moustache. If you win the first Attack Round, you successfully place the foil, and the Moustache will only be able to get rid of it by throwing a double when rolling for Attack Strength. Every round that the foil is in place, the Moustache automatically loses 1 Stamina. If you lose the first Attack round, or your Attack Strength is equal to the Moustache's, you waste the foil, and automatically lose the second Attack Round while settling on another method of attack. 29An incessant, unnervingly slithering sound soon accompanies your footsteps on the stairs. Glistening tubular bodies creep out on all sides from cavities in the walls, converging in your direction! There is no mistaking these cave-dwelling carnivorous worms for jolly ponies; they are out to get you for your breach of honour. If you have a can of Anti-Spudworm Formula #3 and want to apply it, turn immediately to 68. If you have a set of pull-rings you can throw them to the ground, inflicting cuts on the worms as they slither forwards: deduct the number of tabs thrown from their Stamina before fighting. If you have a two-pronged wooden stick, you whisk it out only to find that it has been rendered useless by TERMITES: lose 1 Luck point and count yourself lucky you don't have to fight the Termites. If you have a piece of knotted string you can use it to climb to a higher ledge; in that case, Test your Luck. If you are Lucky, you can whack the stupid worms as they foolishly try to jump over you: reduce their collective Skill by 1 and their Stamina by 2. If you are Unlucky, they just gnaw at your ankles instead. If you carry a Tupperware container, the remnants of potato salad therein make the worms fight more furiously and rashly: increase their Skill by 1, but any hit you inflict shaves off 3 points of Stamina. If you have a chunk of squid flesh, you can use it to distract a few worms: deduct 4 points from their Stamina. If you have a talking sword, it will shout obnoxiously redundant advice to you throughout the battle, intermingled with reminiscences from the French Riviera narrated in third person plural: reduce your Attack Strength by 1 for the duration of this fight. If you have a porcelain eye and a pristine copy of The Buccaneers of Shadaki and a wooden block, you can use them to build a Doomsday Device with which you can blast the worms into little pieces. The Doomsday Device can blast all your enemies into little pieces. It's just that good! If you have a man-sized brass penguin, the top of its head flips open revealing a little black comedy cannon which blows your face through the back of your head. Now, if the resulting Stamina of the worms is less than 1 they retreat into the shadows, bleating morosely, else resolve this man-against-worm struggle:
CAVE WORMS Skill 10 Stamina 14
If you live, you slip on the slimy floor and hurry on down the stairs. Turn to 81. 30So intent are you on scrabbling about in the underground muck of the tunnel, frantically searching for secret doors, that you fail to notice the wayward spore bulb lying on the floor. That is, until your knee goes straight through it with a loud ffffphuuuutt! The exploding spore bulb showers you with glowing organo-phosporic compounds that burn and etch your skin painfully. Reduce your STAMINA by 2. If you are still alive, you stagger northwards up the tunnel, where the floor becomes thick with foul-smelling orange sand. Turn to 22. 31Like Indiana Jones pulling his pistol on the swordsman in Raiders of the Lost Ark, you produce the Doomsday Device. The moustache looks less worried than you'd hoped. "You are aware that The Buccaneers of Shadaki has a trivia-activated denouement?" mocks the moustache. "That won't work on me unless you can answer a question based on some trivial detail or details of this adventure." "Such as?" you prompt, once you've checked and found out that the moustache is right about the Doomsday Device not affecting it. "I'm not contractually obliged to provide you with the means of my own destruction," warns the moustache. "But you've caught me in an Ungoth mood, so I shall ask a question." You briefly misinterpret the name 'Ungoth' as the adjective 'un-Goth', and try to figure out what such a mood would entail, thereby wasting the time you could have spent attacking the musing moustache. "The question," announces the moustache. "What would be the result if you were to divide the price, in pounds, for which Steve Jackson's £200 Cheque was sold by the number of days since that trampled copy of The Sun you found in the park was printed?" A random bolt of lightning strikes the piece of paper with the list on, preventing you from rereading it. If you can work out the answer (and no peeking back at previous sections, you dirty cheat), multiply it by one-and-a-third and turn to the resultant section. If you don't know, or get it wrong, you find yourself deprived of all options but attack (turn to 84). 32You retire to the shadow of the toolshed, plonk yourself down into a cross-legged position and attempt to prepare your body for the superhuman exertions of the obscure Spitting Fly technique – a little something you picked up years ago from the last survivor of a wiped-out monastery during an expedition to the Himalayan foothills. Or you may have just dreamed that bit and subconsciously fabricated your martial arts expertise to shield yourself from some kind of childhood trauma, but you're not letting that put you off. You rise from your position and launch into an elaborate kata, your moves appearing to the casual observer as not so much 'graceful' and 'birdlike' as 'spastic' and 'camel-like'. Fortunately this does not dissuade the casual observer in question, a grotesque but lavishly dressed fat man reclining on a park bench just across the path. His girlish applause snaps you out of your trance and you stop to glare at him for tampering with the mysteries of the East. "Bravo! Bravo!" he trills, picking up a hot pink cocktail from a tray held by a diminutive manservant and toasting you with it. "Please, join me. I'm Rufus Frangipan, a local billionaire oil magnate and occasional ox wrangler with a sideline interest in rubbish displays of pretend martial arts. You may be familiar with my contrived character type from Viz magazine's Gilbert Ratchet strip." The lardy fop sips from his cocktail and immediately makes a face. "Cutherbertson, you cretin, my Spicy Vagina is borderline tepid! Where's the ice?" he bellows. The manservant cowers and covers his head. "What? No ice?" demands Frangipan. He turns to you with a wheedling expression. "I don't suppose you'd have any ice for this, would you? The dashed thing's entirely undrinkable." If you have a piece of ice from the comet Swift-Tuttle, turn to 86. If not, Frangipan becomes abruptly hostile and dismisses you without a second thought: turn to 54 to reconsider your options. 33You walk through a maze of hieroglyph-covered, annoyingly similar passages coming to the conclusion that you are well and truly lost. Eventually you come to an ornate sarcophagus propped against a wall. If you're feeling in a curious mood, you could try and open it (turn to 23). Alternatively you can pick a random direction and hope you can find a way through this tiresome maze (turn to 99). 34Seeing as the broken bicycle and scattered ball bearings qualify as litter, you chuck it into the wheelie bin. Taking vehicular vendettas in your stride and reinvigorated by this act of community service, you then turn to neaten the gravel path leading up to the parkkeeper's hut. On the way over to the nearest litterbin with an armful of trash, some of it slips into the pockets of your jacket. This would normally be annoying, but in a gamebook it could actually be a good thing. You may choose any three items from this list to form your starting inventory. * A set of pull rings (roll one die and add two to the result to determine the precise amount) * A small Tupperware case containing a mixture of food remains and rotting leaves * Enough aluminium foil to cover the top of your scalp * Someone's porcelain eye * A two-pronged pointy twig which is slightly burned at the end * The knotted tail-string of a kite * A week-old copy of The Sun, trampled into mush (or just trampled) * A sacrificial kris knife embossed with glowing runes which is very appealing and probably useful and non-cursed (choose meee... choooose meeeeeee)
Now that your neat-freak instincts have _really_ awakened, you roll up your sleeves and stroll past the remains of Marty and Keef over to... the pond. This circular swampland of reeds and algae glows like a verdant emerald in the midst of the park as if it had a climate zone all of its own (not counting the thin crust of ice), rare species of water lily and cat's-tail competing for space with decaying plant matter, insect colonies, and junk. Yes, it's really about time someone tidied up around here. But how? If the lazy buzz surrounding the place suggests to you that the phrase "Five-point Spitting Fly Technique" might be applicable, turn to 32. If you think it'd be worth the trouble to haul the old Polybleb out of the toolshed for this job, turn to 42. If you would prefer to use the long-handled mudscoop to be safe from any hostile worms, turn to 47. Finally, if you feel you need to get Marty's keys off his belt and visit the parkkeeper's hut to consult the Most Revered Treatise of Parkkeeping, turn to 57. 35Finally, the excitement of the Maze of Davis is behind you. You're not sure that your wildly beating heart can cope with whatever comes next, but you soldier on regardless. After a short distance the corridor ends at another door, even more shoddily built than the last, to which a tatty bit of paper is attached with a rusty nail. Several names have been scrawled on the paper then scribbled out: those still just about legible include 'The Maze of Green', 'The Green Room', 'Here's Johnny and his Maze of Amazement' and 'JG Plastering and Maze Design No Job To Small'. The one remaining undefaced title, thereby the de facto name of the location beyond the door, is 'Jon's Fab Maze'. Stirring stuff. You step through the doorway and find yourself immediately up to your knees in murky water. Fake hieroglyphs of pre-school quality adorn the walls, only intermittently visible in the sputter of widely-spaced torches. Your bored, sloshing progress soon brings you to a crossroads: do you take the left path (turn to 89), the right path (turn to 89) or go straight on (turn to 89)? Alternatively you could retrace your steps to the entrance (turn to 89). 36This section is the correct answer to the puzzle in section 31. This clarification is provided on the frankly insulting assumption that even though you were able to work out the solution, you lack the smarts to deduce from the following sentence that this is indeed the right section. So there. The moment you voice the answer to the question, a bolt of blue-green energy leaps from the Doomsday device, blasting Ian Livingstone's Jellied Moustache against the far wall. As you celebrate, chanting "I am the greatest!" like Nicolas Cage in that rubbish-looking helicopter film you kept seeing trailers for back in the 1990s, a passing Kraan rips the copy of The Buccaneers of Shadaki from the heart of the device and carries it off to Project Aon. Delete the Doomsday Device from your Adventure Sheet. Too fired up to care, you hurry across the chamber to make sure the Moustache is properly dead. Turn to 59. 37You have defeated a Sand Squid with your bare hands, which is no mean feat, nor a kindly one for that matter. Add 1 Luck point for your victory, and you can take a chunk of squid flesh along if you like. You can eat it at any quiet moment to gain 4 points of Stamina and a slightly queasy feeling. Continuing down the tunnel, your fancy light source showing the way, you arrive at a perfectly ordinary junction. Do you go: West? Turn to 77 North? Turn to 2 East? Turn to 95 38Behind the door is a rocky tunnel which goes on forever, becoming full of obstructing sticky strands and patches of collapsed webbing. Progress consumes both time and energy, and you have a nagging sense that you're going in the wrong direction. Deduct 1 Stamina point, and also 1 Charge point if you have any. Down an unhealthy side passage you spot two mephitic servants decorating the place with impish glee and Insta-Web spray cans; they see you and mock you in high-pitched gibberish. After a while the going gets easier and you arrive into a huge cavern lit by sparse green torches and luminous giant trilobites. On the far side of the cavern you see an encampment of huge spiders with humanoid torsos: ARACHENTAURS, well-known mercenaries of the underworld (there was a spot of coverage on them in the Clapham Clarion last week). Some of them are busy counting sheep or washing vestments in a pond of green liquid. Others are standing guard with long spears. "Look, there is a baboon," you hear one of them saying. "An envoy!" another calls to the far side of the camp. You are well content to wait some way off as a couple of sentries skitter forth to meet you. "Do you bring fresh organs?" they demand unceremoniously. "We have sent scouts, but the passages change and they do not find the way. Why should we uphold our end of the bargain if you cannot even keep us supplied?" Check your inventory for body parts: a chunk of squid, a beating heart, a portion of spare ribs, a package of preserved lungs, a porcelain eye, or Rutger Hauer. If you possess at least two out of these six items, the spiderkin greedily relieve you of them all and conduct you to a large double gate wrought out of a semi-transparent red material, turning back with no farewells once they have closed the gates behind you (turn to 3). If you don't have enough body parts, they become angry and impatient. If you have whiskers, the problem takes care of itself as stress triggers a transformation and you shrink into a small cat. Arachentaurs being deathly afraid of kittens, they rapidly clear a path leaving you time and space to skip cutely between the bars of the gate before turning back to normal in the passage beyond (turn to 3). If you don't have whiskers but you do have a glowing kris knife, you could try to gate in a host of Housefly Fiends, sworn enemies of the Arachentaurs (turn to 18), call up Moth Lady and compel her to test the mettle of someone other than yourself for a change (turn to 24), create a dimensional bridge through Fairyland to behind that gate (turn to 66), or, if you also possess issue 8 of Warlock magazine, unleash its full range of atrocities (turn to 85). Finally, if you have no such knife or don't much like to use it, you must make some transparent excuse concerning urgent baboon business and either walk up a few rickety steps to a brightly painted door in the rock face (turn to 82), crack open a vault door set in a large stalagmite (turn to 92) or slide down the nearby borehole of a Rock Grub (turn to 100 if it's your birthday or to 61 if it's not). 39The oxen do their thing, something to do with dragging in a powerful way, and the shopping trolley comes loose. But something else comes loose with it: the great plug stuck in the bottom of the pond, craftily disguised as an inevitable pond object. Watching from a safe distance, it becomes clear to you that someone has mysteriously fashioned a circular ridge on the bottom of the pond, surrounding the gaping hole you have just opened up. The water level outside this perimeter sinks only to its rim, to the relief of Spudworms and other deep-dwelling pond inhabitants, while inside is created a dry (if rather slimy) area marking the entrance to some sewerish location. As your oxen lazily drift apart among the trees you wade out and explore. Something clatters hollowly as you step into the enclosure: a flattish tin box almost covered by dead yellow eels. If you want to pick up the box and check out the contents, turn to 20. If you would rather just examine the hole, turn to 4. 40Rubber clamps thump down on your head as the machine starts to power up. Mechanical arms unfold and grasp the earrings, whereupon the whole device launches into an alternating sequence of crushing and twisting motions. The outcome of this procedure depends on something that is completely unrelated to its operation, namely how many times you have witnessed Mungo perish in this particular game. If it's just the once, the machine chugs and pulls harder and faster until your body cannot sustain it any more. If you want, you can roll up to four dice to determine whether you die of a cracked skull or terminal muscle sprain. Your last vision is of Moth Lady shaking her head and tut-tutting. If it's happened two times, the earrings eventually plop free, somewhat to your surprise, and the machine powers down. You no longer suffer a penalty to your Attack Strength, but you must still deduct 1 point of Stamina for the ordeal, and moderately dizzied you stagger off through a doorway that presents unlikely angles to your swimming eyes: turn at once to 82. If you've met Mungo no less than three times, the device takes its sweet time methodically grappling with and pulling on the earrings, effecting a safe removal with no loss of health or presence of mind. However, by then the Skeletons have returned from their break and curse you for a lousy scab. Fight the foreman one-on-one, then the other four two at a time:
SKELETON FOREMAN Skill 7 Stamina 5
CHISEL SKELETON Skill 6 Stamina 5 HAMMER SKELETON Skill 6 Stamina 6
MALLET SKELETON Skill 5 Stamina 6 FRETSAW SKELETON Skill 5 Stamina 5
If you win, you go through the spoils of the fight and quickly dismiss the copper key marked "66" and the silver chisel as being outdated relics of no use in this adventure. (If you wish, you can still nick the key while the Powers that Be aren't watching.) However, grabbing the hardwood mallet restores 1 point of Skill in case you visited the only section where you could have lost any, and raiding the pantry for some Danish pastries nets you two Provisions, each of which can be ingested at any time – even during combat, in fact, although crumbs will go everywhere - to restore 4 Stamina points as usual. You can now choose whether to leave through a brightly red fire door (turn to 3) or duck into a small supply compartment (turn to 11). 41You trudge along the corridor, intent of finding your way through this labyrinth, but at the back of your mind you can't help but think about how a Mutant Orc suddenly became a Lizard Man. Thinking about this lack of continuity makes you increasingly irritated as you walk further away from the scene and soon your mind is screaming to know how and why it happened. And soon you are considering all life's mysteries: Why do duck-billed platypuses exist? Who created God? Who actually likes arthouse films? What happened to Ian Livingstone's moustache? The strain of considering all these things is too much for a mortal mind to bear and your head begins to ache with utmost intensity. Soon you reach your limit and collapse to the ground, banging your head on the stone wall as you fall. You lose both 3 Stamina points and your consciousness. You awake several hours later (lose 2 Charge points if applicable) and decide to hurry along the corridor in full belief that there are some things man was not meant to contemplate too much. Turn to 90. 42Hinges creak alarmingly as you peep cautiously through the door to the toolshed. The place is larger on the inside than on the outside, and straight away you are faced with a choice of paths. Do you take the door to the left (turn to 80) or the one to the right (turn to 63)? 43You grab the papers from the fire, only to find that most of them have been charred beyond all recognition. On the top sheet you can just make out the words 'Original manuscript of Bloodbones'. Turning your attention back to the chest, you see a spindly creature with a clock for a face and sundials for hands attempting to pick it up (and not doing particularly well, sundials being rather clumsy appendages). This is the Time Being, and it has come to collect the chest you so obligingly left for it. If you leave the chamber by the far exit, turn to 76. If you want the chest, and are willing to fight the Time Being for it, turn to 26. 44Test Your Luck. If you're Unlucky, you die horribly. If you're Lucky, the heavens offer commiserations for your bodged attempt at item usage in the form of a further arbitrary item handout. Roll a die to see what falls into your metaphorical lap:
1: Five quid 2: A man-sized brass penguin (taking this requires you to drop all other items) 3: A copy of The Buccaneers of Shadaki 4: A big round comedy bomb, which blows your face through the back of your head 5: A copy of The Buccaneers of Shadaki, so torn and defaced as to be unreadable and worthless in eBay terms 6: Rutger Hauer, who follows you around as he can't think of anything better to do
Then return to the section you came from, then the one before that. 45You awaken several minutes later (lose 1 Charge point if applicable). Your wounds are not severe because working out how hit points calibrate with Stamina points is too much effort. (If you are determined to work it out, and are willing to dig up a copy of issue 10 of 'Warlock' magazine to check the character conversion tables, turn to 66.) There is no sign of the barbarian. You see he has left something on the floor. You stoop to pick it up and see that it is a copy of Red Sonja on DVD. Take this if you wish, before heading in a random direction to escape this infernal maze. Turn to 99. 46You eventually arrive at the top of a stone stairwell, having no realistic choice but to descend, warily testing the first few steps for traps or poison spiders (although if you really want to turn back and search any locations you might have missed for critical items, do so by turning to 99 if you have a Red Sonja DVD or to 89 if you don't. The stone walls are damp and pitted. After a while the stairs start to curve more freely back and forth, large openings and slopes appearing to either side. Holding out your light and peering into the darkness, you can make out the semblance of a great, three-dimensional limestone labyrinth. A little further on you approach a wooden turnstile with a small box for collecting toll. If you have five quid you may put them in the box, pass through and continue on your way (turn to 81). If not, you'll have to jump the turnstile (turn to 29). 47After a protracted bout of brain-racking, you finally remember where the mudscoop is likely to be: lying half-hidden in the reeds where it was dropped by the last unfortunate who proved to be less than deft in its use. The pond is home to a gaggle of PLIANT SPUDWORMS, vast, sinuous creatures who spend most of their lives drifting around in a semi-conscious daze brought on by a chemical reaction to their natural diet of raw potatoes, but who react violently and carnivorously to any form of prodding, nudging or other unintentional attention-seeking. Not even Keef messed with the Spudworms... well, not after the first time, and his pelvis was never the same. Mindful of the residents' sullen disposition, you begin to dredge the debris from the pond as best you can, holding the scoop as delicately as a pair of tweezers. If you are carrying a Tupperware box full of rotting food, turn to 14; otherwise, Test Your Luck. If you are Lucky, turn to 55. If you are Unlucky, turn to 70. 48"Your plan will never work... whatever it is!" you shout, hoping to evoke some kind of expositional sequence. "You still have no idea where you are or what you are doing!" the moustache quavers happily, rolling from side to side. "You don't even know who you are, no! Do not recognize your true identity on that list you see before you! I see your doubt! Yes, my friend, you too have been bought and sold, you too! Yet even with only false memories for guidance, fate has brought you this far, oh, it is not without a sense of equity! Oh-ho-ho!" "That explains less than you might think!" you insist. "Oh, but I'm afraid it will have to do, ho-ho! It is too wonderful a mystery for me to spoil it, don't you think? And ironically you shall die with no true knowledge of your own actions, nor mine!" "You're not talking about that penguin switcheroo thing that might have happened in the first adventure? It wore off, you know." "Oh no, I must say the truth is far more sinister than that, indeed, indeed! But it's just one more thing you need not concern yourself with any more! You are on the list, so you must die, yes! Blub!" Having said this, the moustache slides menacingly forward. You will have to do something, such as take a stand (turn to 84), whip out an item (turn to 10), or if you have a rosebud in your buttonhole, rely on other resources (turn to 21). 49You find that the runes provide just enough illumination for you to be able to see. However, there is a small risk that by waving it around you may inadvertently summon up something nasty. Whenever you turn to a new section while using the kris as a light source, throw two dice, and if you ever get a double 6, note down the number of the section to which you were turning and turn instead to section 18. For now, turn to 37. 50Gain 12 experience points. If you get 20 experience points you will reach Level 3, but you needn't worry about that as you won't be getting any more. Hurriedly searching the Rattikan's body, you find a wooden block, a naughty photo of some woman named Ketza Kota (judging by the signature) and a copy of Red Sonja on DVD. You may take any and all of these seemingly useless items. Now to find your way out of this maze. Turn to 99. 51The equation does indeed appear to prove that a Mutant Orc Guard is the same as a Lizard Man. Nevertheless, you feel dissatisfied with this explanation. Lose 1 Luck and get on with exploring the passage. Turn to 90. 52Following the damp tunnel north you immediately discover a wayward purple and yellow spore bulb, glowing gently on the ground in front of you. It appears to have lost the power of auto-floatation, though the faint light it gives off may prove useful. Add the 'glowing spore bulb' to your Adventure Sheet. A short distance beyond this, the floor of the tunnel becomes almost entirely submerged under thick layers of loose, damp, and unpleasant-smelling orange sand. You may stroll boldly through the sand (in which case turn to 22), or sneak along the edge of the tunnel, on the sandy margins (turn to 73). 53Moth Lady gestures, and a large herd of oxen appears on the bowling green. You wince, thinking of the damage they will do to the turf. "These beasts of burden may aid you in your quest," explains Moth Lady. "You need only to exert your authority by wrestling their leader into submission." She beckons to the largest ox, almost certainly the most ill-natured bovine entity you've ever encountered away from the internet, and it charges towards you. Throw two dice. If the total is lower than your SKILL, you dodge out of the way of the ox, and are able to hurl yourself at it and start wrestling (skip to the next paragraph of this section). If the total is equal to or higher than your SKILL, the ox hits you, causing 2 STAMINA damage. Test your Luck. If you are Lucky, you stay on your feet, and are able to face the ox's next charge (return to the start of this paragraph). If you are Unlucky, the ox knocks you down and tramples you into a fine paste, bringing your adventure to an abrupt end. There not being enough free sections here for a 'Seas of Blood'-type wrestling match, you will just have to conduct it like a normal combat, except that you need only reduce the ox's STAMINA to 2 to subdue it. Of course, the ox will not stop attacking you as long as you have a STAMINA point to your name.
OX SKILL 10 STAMINA 14
If you are able to subdue it, Moth Lady departs with an ominous, "I shall continue to keep watch on your exploits. If you fail to act in a suitably heroic manner, I shall not be so lenient in future." Turn to 39. 54It seems you have not yet found the proper approach to the problem of the pond. What next? You may only choose something that you haven't already attempted. If you have a gratuitously numbered item in your possession, you may also try to make use of it here. If you've tried all the options and are still stumped, turn to 97. Do something involving flies and martial arts Turn to 32 Visit the toolshed to see if there's something useful Turn to 42 Go get the mudscoop to clear out some of the algae Turn to 47 Get Marty's keys and enter the parkkeeper's hut Turn to 57 55As you clear a path through the algae, scum and general filth at the unfrozen fringes of the pond, you wade further out until you're forced to break through the grimy ice crust as you go. The mudscoop clanks against submerged bike wheels, lager cans, valuable and perfectly preserved Roman centurions' helmets and a big crate full of Auric Goldfinger's solid gold bars (which you mistake for a fridge) until you reach your destination: the inevitable lone shopping trolley, ruefully extending a single wheel from the depths. This senseless disruption of the pond's natural symmetry offends your trained aesthetic eye, plus you want the pound coin that's been left in it, so you reach down, shove your fingers through the wire mesh and haul manfully for several minutes until the whole thing begins to chug free of the silt and slime at the bottom. Breathing heavily, you decide that you might need some help dragging the damn thing to shore. Choose one option from the following list, if any of them apply to you. If you have come prepared with a full team of oxen, turn to 39. If Rutger Hauer is with you, turn to 91. If you are wearing a pair of fugly brass earrings, turn to 6. If you have a sacrificial kris knife embossed with glowing runes and wish to try summoning some kind of honking great demon, turn to 79. Otherwise, turn to 60. 56You wander around the maze a lot. Test your Luck, adding 2 to the roll. If you are Lucky, you eventually find the way out. Deduct 1 Charge point if applicable, and turn to 35. If you are Unlucky, you fall down a mine shaft, and get impaled on half a dozen pick-axes that were left lying around in direct contravention of Health and Safety Regulations. 57Attached to Marty's ring of keys is a tag. Rather than the expected instructions on where to take them if found, it reads, "You'd better add these to your Adventure Sheet, and don't delete them unless expressly instructed to do so. Oh, and '85'." With a sigh you head over to the hut, unlock the door and enter. Down both sides run shelves laden with all manner of clutter. At the far end you see a table, also strewn with debris, and beneath it is a safe with a combination lock. You also notice a screwed-up lottery ticket lying in a cobweb-infested corner of the hut. The safe is, naturally, locked, and the combination dial only goes up to 50, so that '85' on the key ring is of no help. Still, given Marty's bad memory (he used to keep calling Keef Kenny, and never even got close to remembering your name), it seems likely that there's a reminder of the combination somewhere in here. Do you want to search the shelves (turn to 65) or the table (turn to 93), or pick up that lottery ticket on the grounds that it must have been mentioned for some reason (turn to 13)? 58Your earlobes suddenly feel very heavy - in fact, the earrings are pulling you forward as if by magical force (although it isn't, but there's no room for going into the science of it here). You're dragged painfully through the nearest crowd below, through a splintering plywood screen, and down the sweep of a colourful awning, catapulting through the air to land dustily in the sand at the edge of the arena. If you don't have a mushed copy of The Sun in your possession to cushion the fall, you take 2 points of damage to your Stamina. The posse of armoured gladiators avec ménagerie turn their heads to look at you. The crowd cheers deafeningly, then stops. You give a little mangled wave. A lion growls. "Old friend!" barks the lone, wiry combatant, who is none other than Mungo, that old salty cracker. "Fear not! We shall fight back to back once again! No crab nor pirate shall stand in our way! Tally-ho!" He then launches himself into a rush, stylishly holding his cutlass over his head in one hand. It is a good ten embarrassing seconds before it's clear to everyone that Mungo is just doing a sort of cartoonish run on the spot and isn't actually getting closer to anything. A three-foot Goblin sifts out from the crowd of gladiators and walks up to Mungo, who unleashes his full momentum into a vicious slap on the Goblin's cheek with the side of his blade. There is another ten seconds of expectant silence as Mungo stands with his sword held out, blade against the Goblin's head. The Goblin looks around, not sure whether he's going to be in one of those special effects shots that everyone did for a while where half of his head slides off unrealistically, then he leans forward and pokes his short sword into Mungo's ribs. The bleeding Mungo crawls circuitously through the sand up to you, leaving a curvy trail of red on the arena floor. "Comrade! Cough!" he hacks, while clawing at first your trousers and then your shirt in an effort to get close to your face so he can spit blood in your eyes and expose you to dying sailor's breath. "My eyes grow dark. There is not much time. There is so much you need to know. Things I did not get to tell you. About the auctions... the auctions! Hack!" he coughs. "The trousers... were... or was... not half of it... But now... run! If these barbarians knew who you are... knew of your mission... they would do unspeakable things to you... the torture alone would last for days! DAYS, YOU HEAR? And then... the ants! Oh! I cannot speak of it. Hey, is that my earrings? You fucker." He dies. You and the gladiators size each other up respectfully. As it turns out, their respect for you is smaller than yours for them, and you are soon screaming like a girl and running around flapping your arms ineffectually. You'll need to deal with some of the warriors as you weave your way towards the green sign over the emergency exit at the other end of the arena. Fight them two at a time; as one falls behind, the next one in the list appears up ahead. Their low Stamina scores reflect the lucky fact that you don't actually have to beat all of them to a pulp in order to get away.
AWKMUTE GLADIATOR Skill 7 Stamina 6 NANDIBEAR Skill 9 Stamina 4 TRIDENT AND NET GUY Skill 10 Stamina 3 ALBATROSS VENDOR Skill 6 Stamina 6 CUTLASS BOBBO STAND-IN Skill 8 Stamina 7
If you win, you slam a portcullis in some poor lion's muzzle (restore 2 Luck points that you probably used up in the battle) and head down a darkly sloping passageway, which turns with disappointing readiness into a regular level dungeon corridor. After a while you come to a T-crossing with a small red beetle on the wall. If you panic and run screaming to the left down a slushy tunnel, turn to 33. If you lose your head and scamper loudly to the right into a torchlit maze, turn to 46. 59You beat your enemy into submission (even if it seemed like it had died horribly) and grab it by the collar, shaking it remorselessly. "Don't pass out on me!" you command. "I'm in charge now, and I want some annotations! The whole truth, and chronologically, if you please!" The moustache wavers, the jelly casing starting to lose coherence. "So this... this is the end," it wheezes with small wet pops from its jelly lips. "I thought, if only I could get you out of the way... then maybe she might notice me, you see..." "She? As in H. Rider Haggard's She? What?" "She always liked you best," it chortles. "I tried to be... all that a moustache can be... I suppose the joke's on me... that this may not be all that very much..." "The explanations!" you yell. "Get to the explanations already!" "Oh, all right. The master of the rectally impaired Clawbeast is the same as the one who stashed the human heart in the chest. And the one who stole the talking sword is either the Auk Shaman, who's probably still around in the wings somewhere, or Charon, or Cuthbertson at the behest of..." The moustache coughs spastically. "That Frangipan guy?" you offer. "No, the owner of the Kallamehr Carrot... Kate Hudson? I don't remember." "These aren't explanations! They're just another tangle of arbitrary clues!" "What do you want from me? Oh, one more thing. Rutger Hauer knew more than he let on. Now I die, I think. To the great collection in the sky I go... I regret nothing, Mum..." The moustache shudders and deflates, the individual hairs dispersing in bluish goo across the floor. A convenient gust of wind blows one of the hairs into your left eye, turning the iris bright turquoise. In the contemplative stillness that follows, you have time to think: Is this the end of it? Is this the end of the persecution, the outrageous encounters, the endless stream of contrived gamebook element and pop culture juxtapositions? Fat chance. The moustache's demise triggers a self-destruct mechanism and the whole complex starts to shake. You look in vain for a way out, or, failing that, some treasure to get crushed trying to get your greedy hands on, when an emergency trapdoor beneath you helpfully opens up and drops you breathless into a chute. Turn to 100. 60You tug furiously, emitting sounds like "Gnuyraah!", "Rrnggii" and "Fnoohk!" They never worked before, but there's a first time for everything. Roll six dice and add the results together. If the total is lower than or equal to your Stamina, something gives way (turn to 6). If it is greater, you collapse in a fit of panting, resigned to the fact that this shopping trolley is the unmovable object with which Archimedes could have dislodged the Earth (turn to 54). 61You are someplace where there's too little light for your own good, and eaten. 62You return a strained smile as you secretly finger your possessions looking for your notes and documents. As you do so, the ubiquitous Mungo walks in briskly, driving a hot, dry wind before him, wiping his forehead and laughing. "Whoa boy!" he cries out. "The Desert of Skulls sure can make a man thirsty! But what's this I see? Don't mind if I help myself!" He lifts one of the potions - you cannot quite see which one -, drinks from it and grins happily, then crumples into a lifeless heap. A viridian blob corrodes its way out of his belly and slithers towards a drain. This could be the best clue you're going to get, as the bunch of notes reveals little on the subject except worries about stereotyping gamebook shopkeepers. Will you now leave (turn to 11) or drink (turn to 96)? 63You stalk boldly inside, immediately bumping your nose into the wall (lose 1 Stamina point). Apparently the right-hand opening was just a fake painted by Marty to confuse the local lowlives coming to nick his award-winning shears. The shed isn't actually larger on the inside; that wouldn't make any sense. Rubbing your nose you retrace your steps through the long corridor to the entrance and pick the left path instead. Turn to 80. 64A loud crack, reminiscent of the sound made by a shatterproof ruler being smacked down onto a formica-topped desk, echoes through the passageway, and the smell of chalk dust and stale peppermints pervades your nostrils. In front of you now stands a middle-aged man with an ill-advised goatee, wearing a tweed jacket with leather patches on the elbows. A white plastic crown with geometrical protuberances rests slightly askew on his head. This, you realise (in much the same way that almost any unfamiliar creature's identity becomes known to you the moment you start fighting it), is the King of the Maths Teachers. He glowers at you. "Are you paying attention? Stop slouching." He gestures, and the whole of the left-hand wall of the corridor becomes smooth, and changes colour to the dark greenish colour of what used to be called blackboards back when you attended school. Brandishing a stick of chalk at least 30cm long, the King of the Maths Teachers begins to scrawl on the wall. "I shall now show you the equation whereby it may be proved that 'Mutant Orc Guard' is equal to 'Lizard Man'. If you have any questions, wait until I have finished." Throw one die, then attempt to roll equal to or less than your current Stamina on that many dice. If the total exceeds your current Stamina, turn to 7. Otherwise, throw two dice. If their total is equal to or less than your Skill, you spot that the King of the Maths Teachers misplaces a decimal point early on in his calculations. If you point this out, turn to 72. If you can't be bothered, or the number rolled is greater than your Skill, turn to 51. 65Amongst the clutter is a dish of butter, a camera with a broken shutter, a book on how to deal with your stutter, a biography of X-Files director David Nutter, a soft toy of Bear in the Big Blue House vermin Tutter, a bill for repairs to Marty's gutter, and a battered old Red Dwarf prop Skutter. Even though this is uncomfortably like playing some twisted version of the Generation Game conveyor belt finale, at the same time you can't help but be impressed at the amount of crap Marty managed to build up in here during his tenure. None of it looks like it could be of any immediate use, however, and you've already wasted precious time. Tick off one Time box on your Adventure Sheet. What? Nobody told you anything about Time boxes? Alright, tick off one Time box in real life. Just think of all the other things you could have been doing. Yeah, exactly. You can't take any of this stuff with you as your pockets are already well and truly stuffed with crap, so you decide to turn your attention elsewhere. Do you want to rummage through the debris on the table (turn to 93) or get down on your hands and knees to pick up the discarded lottery ticket (turn to 13)? 66"And that, m'lud, concludes the case for the defence." The jury retires briefly before pronouncing you not guilty, but the judge overturns the verdict and has you summarily deported to Australia, as he's been haunted by a bad case of déjà vu since breakfast. 67You reopen the tin box, which contains an implausibly fresh-looking rosebud and a slightly damp bundle of documents in varying states of legibility. Looking through them as quickly as you can without reducing the whole bundle to a mass of papier-mâché, you notice references to you (or possibly a carpet salesman with the same name), a conspiracy involving penguins and baboons, a secret passage to Tokyo with its entrance underneath the park in which you stand, a cancelled eBay auction (of what, you cannot tell, as this is on one of the most water-damaged pages), and the disconcerting message, `Sucks to be Joe'. On the off-chance that there might be some useful information in there, you decide to hang on to the bundle. For no very good reason you decide to put the rosebud in your buttonhole. You then turn your attention to the hole in the bottom of the pond basin. Turn to 4. 68Roll one die. If the result is 1-2, you have correctly identified the worms as Cave-dwelling Spudworms, and they promptly crawl off leaving you to hurry on downwards (turn to 81). If the result is 3-6, they fortuitously turn out to be a rare breed of Subterranean Crudworms, which react to the spray with violent mutation. Reroll their base Skill using three dice, and reroll their base Stamina using five dice, then return to 29 and continue reading where you left off. 69You call to mind a clever cross-reference and persist a while longer, eventually rounding up three minor clues. The first is an email correspondence stating essentially that once again there's no room for six different potion-quaffing paragraphs and in any case there's no reason not to put it off for the next part, or forever. The second is that French filmmaker Jacques Tati was actually a Man-Octopus. The third is that there's a secret passage a little to the right of where you are standing, something that a casual glance would seem to bear out. Armed with this knowledge you can still go ahead and drink from a potion after effecting the necessary diversion (turn to 96), or leave through the door by which you and Mungo entered (turn to 92), or unfasten the secret panel and take that route wherever it might lead you (turn to 3). 70Without warning, the surface of the pond explodes in a watery volcano of weeds, ice and duck cack. Massive coils squirm and intertwine as the agitated Spudworms thrash, struggle and generally argue amongst themselves in the way that only fifteen-foot aquatic invertebrates can, and it's only a matter of seconds before one of the biggest drags itself free and lunges towards the shore, leaving the others behind to tie themselves in knots. Armed with only the mudscoop, you are thrown into a struggle for your very life!
PLIANT SPUDWORM Skill 10 Stamina 16
If you win, the rest of the Worms return to the depths in a tightly entangled bundle, giving an obsessive completist and general idiot such as yourself the perfect opportunity to continue dredging; turn to 55. 71A little bewilderingly, you enter a small adobe-walled shop manned by a turban-clad elderly man with an obsequious smile. He makes a sweeping gesture over a table where rest six differently coloured potions: one radiantly purple, one medium tan, one insidiously pinkish-orange, one offensively indigo, one kitten-coloured, and one striped green-red-black like the cover of the Concise Oxford Dictionary. "Mmmm... welcome to my humble shop. Only the freshest kittens are used in my kitten potions," announces the man vibrantly. "Can I sample them before I buy?" you ask. "Mmmm... no, you may not," he says and smiles even more broadly. All this seems slightly fishy. What's a merchant doing in a dungeon, anyway? If you have a rosebud in your buttonhole, turn to 62. If not, you can either return back the way you came (turn to 38), or point behind the old man, saying, "Is that a ZOMBIE CHRABAT?" and taking a quick swig from one of the potions when the man turns his head, as he must (turn to 96)? 72The King of the Maths Teachers thanks you for pointing out his mistake, corrects it, and resumes his calculations from the point at which he had gone wrong. Gradually a worried frown begins to develop on his brow. He starts thinking aloud as he follows the calculations through to their logical conclusion: "... which means that a Mutant Orc Guard is different from a Lizard Man... and that I am actually equal to -" With a sudden flash of logic he is gone, a small and somewhat bemused-looking piglet occupying the space where he had been standing. The crown rolls across the floor to you. You may take it with you if you wish. Add 3 Luck and carry on along the passage. Turn to 90. 73Edging along the side of the tunnel, you notice more and more bones and corpses protruding from its sandy depths, evidentally the cause of the detestable stench now assailing your nostrils. Then, suddenly, a horrific blubbery mess launches itself out of the sand towards you, trailing numerous grasping tentacles and shouting "Eat at Joe's! Twenty percent off on spam!" You must fight the monstrous SAND SQUID!
SAND SQUID SKILL 8 STAMINA 9
If you defeat the foul creature, turn to 88. 74You take out the crown and put it on your head. "You shouldn't have messed with me," you say. "I'm the King of the Maths Teachers. I am now going to prove that you are a cheese grater or something." You conjure forth a marker, tap the air with it and thus cause to materialize one piece of whiteboard suspended to one side of the large table. The moustache looks very disconcerted, then wobbles closer to interrupt your hurried demonstration of proof. Roll two dice. If the result is equal to or higher than your Skill, you falter and must Test your Luck. If you are Unlucky, you have accidentally proved that the room that you occupy is the stomach of a giant dragon, something that will mean upheavage for the borough and pretty much spells the end for you and the moustache. If you are Lucky, it means you have merely been knocked away from the whiteboard; lose 2 Stamina points and turn to 84. If the result is less than your Skill, you complete the proof successfully. When you look around for the moustache, there is indeed nothing but a stainless steel grater on the floor. Of course, that means you'll have a tough time extracting any information from it. If you have whiskers, you must still Test your Luck: in the case that you are Unlucky, a corollary to your proof states that you are definitely a kitten, turning you irrevocably and game-endingly into one such. Assuming you were not kittenized, you look around for an exit, finding only a kind of emergency chute in the floor which, sighing, you anticlimactically lower yourself into. Turn to 100. 75You reopen the tin box, which contains an implausibly fresh-looking rosebud and a slightly damp bundle of familiar documents. At the top of the pile is a somewhat blurry drawing of a killer whale with illegible writing under it, at the bottom a ruined poster reading `Sucks to be Joe'. These (in case you've forgotten the climax of the first adventure in this series) were among the evidence you discovered following the defeat of Joe Dever's stonewashed jeans. Between them are all the other scraps of paper you found back then, but were too paranoid to let yourself consciously notice. Some of them may even be of use to you in this current adventure. Mind you, having been stored in a not-quite water-tight tin box at the bottom of a pond for an unspecified length of time for reasons which may be explained at some juncture if you're lucky, they're no longer as legible as they were. Still, your no-longer-suppressed memories of them from last time may help you make sense of the blotches and holes. If at any point during this adventure you refer to the papers, you may search your memory for additional details by adding 7 to the number of the section you are on at the time and turning to the section with that number. For no very good reason you decide to put the rosebud in your buttonhole. You then turn your attention to the hole in the bottom of the pond basin. Turn to 4. 76You enter a quiet workshop, the SKELETON labourers that have been relocated from Firetop Mountain being on a coffee break in the next room. There isn't much to interest you except for an Earring Removal Device. Apparently, all one would have to do is stick one's fragile head into the machine, pull a lever and hope for some compensation for going through part of the adventure with impaired combat abilities. If you are wearing a pair of fugly earrings and fancy a go at removal, turn to 40, else hurry on out before you get noticed by turning to 3. 77The passage twists and turns until you have no way of knowing in which direction you are heading. Even if you have some freakish innate ability to tell which way is north, it is thrown out of whack by a high concentration of magnetic hematite in the walls, so there. Eventually you come to a somewhat shoddily-built doorway, on the lintel of which are engraved the words `The Maze of Davis'. If you wish to go through the doorway and have a rosebud in your buttonhole, turn to 12. If you lack the rosebud but still want to go through the doorway, turn to 56. If you would rather retrace your steps, deduct 1 Charge point (should you have any to deduct) and turn to either 2 or 95. 78You remove the skeleton key from your pack. Whether it will be of any use depends on your current location. If you are by the Troll's Spleen Gate, you turn the key in the gatehouse lock. The tumblers grind and squeak like rusty dolphins, but eventually move. After you return to the paragraph you came from, add 10 to its number and turn to the corresponding section if you want to search the gatehouse. If you are in the Red Knight's antechamber, the guardian spirits immediately recoil at the sight of the key. They bow down in respect and declare themselves willing to grant you an audience with the Knight. Acquire the codeword Resplendence. If you are in the dwarven armoury, the key fits neatly in the ivory chest. You push back the lid to reveal one magnificent silver helmet, which you lift reverently and place on your head. It is a perfect fit: add 1 to your Initial Skill and restore your Skill to this value. Also add 1 Luck point. Before closing the chest, you note that someone has scribbled the password to the High Shaman's safe in the bottom: it is "cavorite". If you are facing Ian Livingstone's Jellied Moustache in the meeting chamber, the key is of no use at all. The moustache starts to chortle, then guffaw in unbridled ridicule for your unmitigatedly silly course of action. Deduct 3 Luck points. Now return to the paragraph from whence you came. 79Using the kris knife, you trace a pentagram in the air above the submerged shopping trolley, hoping to summon a demon to aid you. You don't have long to wait. The turgid waters of the pond immediately begin to bubble and roil, as something hideous rises up from the depths. A strange shambling being, its skin scabrous and flaking, with fish-like scales growing all over it, now stands before you. Its enormous eyes, prawn-like, gaze at you unwinkingly, hinged jaws working fitfully. '...Fabled Lands....kack....Double Game....goood...gloop...gloop...Fantom Fantom Fantom' it burbles disgustingly, as it lunges towards you with ink-stained fingers. Far from coming to help you, it seems this LOATHSOME HACK from depths means you ill! You must fight!
LOATHSOME HACK SKILL 8 STAMINA 7
Throughout the fight you must deduct 1 from your Attack Strength due to both the LOATHSOME HACK's fetid odor and the monotonous droning chant it murmurs. If you defeat the LOATHSOME HACK, it dissolves into a foul-smelling scum that slowly settles to the bottom of the pond, leaving behind a tattered copy of Warlock magazine, issue 8. If you wish to take this, do not forget to note it down on your Adventure Sheet. The shopping trolley however, remains submerged. Turn to 60. 80You find the tool storage empty apart from some old rakes and crumbling wicker baskets. In the middle of the floor is a Post-it note and you pick it up: OK, enough with the Mason stuff already. Why don't you do Luke Sharp, Ian Livingstone or Keith Martin instead - heck, why not all of them? --Ed. As you are puzzling over this incomprehensible message and whom it may have been meant for, a cheerful greeting rings out. Directly across the room from you in this cribbed space, seated on an upturned bucket, is a small, wiry man wearing a vest and a pirate's headscarf. "Aren't you glad to see your old friend Mungo?" he calls out. "You remember all those nights under the stars of the southern ocean when I'd tell you about the Kraken and the world's end as the waves gently lapped the sides of my sleek _Shareela_! United again, to fight evil as one; that's what makes Mungo's blood flow!" He beats his chest with his fist, laughing, springs up and strides over the floor to shake your hand, but trips on a rusty lawnmover and falls headlong, landing with the underside of his chin right onto two long spikes protruding from a loose board. He does not get up. Yup, that's Mungo all right, you think to yourself. If you want to detach his large brass earrings and wear them yourself, turn to 25. If not, you leave them alone and return outside (turn to 54). 81The stairs lead down into a cube-shaped chamber with doors set into the middle of all four walls. Above the door directly ahead of you is engraved the word 'NORTH'. This may be less informative than it appears, as the same is true of the door directly behind you. To further confuse issues, the door to your right has the word 'SOUTH' above it, and the first two letters of the word above the door to your left have been defaced, leaving only 'ST' to hint at what that inscription may have read. Which door will you take? The one ahead of you (NORTH) turn to 11 The one to your right (SOUTH) turn to 38 The one behind you (NORTH) turn to 71 The one to your left (--ST) turn to 92 82Sudden, map-wrecking disorientation washes over you and the door slams shut at your back, whatever kind of door it happened to be at the time, then merges seamlessly into the wall to leave you with no means of escape. The only other features of this new room are a battered, moth-eaten old sofa with an offensive brown floral print, and a rickety footstool on which rests a tiny black and white TV, labelled with a sticky note which says 'MAGICAL SCRYING PORTAL'. Okay. There doesn't seem to be a lot else to do, so you take a seat, tuck into a couple of floppy Pringles you find under the cushion, and lean forward to switch on the TV. It seems to be stuck on the Exposition Channel. A maelstrom of arbitrary scenes from the original Yellow Snow proceeds to unfold before your eyes, interspersed with what seem to be clips from a highly unusual penguin documentary and some kind of obscure fetishist Highlander spin-off. Occasionally you're treated to subtitles, apparently typed out by some bored Singaporean in the last two minutes of his lunch break. 'MISTERS DEARTH OF ST ANA', says the first of these captions, superimposed over a portly figure lying prone in the snow with its head at an 80 degree angle to its neck. 'GRIME REPAIR UMBERBLA CITATION', offers another, as a Mexican standoff (between what appears to be you and a dashing fellow in a trendsetting floor-length smock) plays out in the background. 'ROSEBAD BELGER PEASES AWRY', states a third subtitle, showing a semi-transparent man standing in a river having his limbs chewed off by giant piranhas. That one's a bit freaky, to be honest. Everything eventually culminates in a grainy boss fight with a pair of trousers (possible 'DIVAS TONE WARPING GENES') in a lift - or at least that's what it looks like, the picture quality makes it hard to be sure - then the TV abruptly switches itself off and a giant comedy spring pops out of the sofa, propelling you up through a hidden air vent in the ceiling. Preparatory exposition just isn't what it used to be, you think sadly. Turn to 3. 83It works; something seems to be happening! Turn to 18, then to 18 again to resolve the previous encounter, then to wherever you were originally turning before you got caught up in this demon nonsense. 84This will be one of the hardest fights against gelatinously embedded facial hair you have ever taken part in.
IAN LIVINGSTONE'S JELLIED MOUSTACHE Skill 11 Stamina 13
If in any round Ian Livingstone's Jellied Moustache rolls a double 6 while rolling for Attack Strength, you die of revulsion. If you have whiskers and roll any double, you turn into a helpless kitten and must resort to evasive action: from that round inclusive, if your Attack Strength is higher, you have not inflicted any damage but only avoided the moustache's charge. If in a subsequent round you roll 5, 7 or 9, you transform back but must deduct 2 from your Attack Strength for that round due to disorientation. If you have the letters "diehorribly" on your Adventure Sheet and roll 3 in any round, immediately roll one die. If the result is 1-4, you die horribly. If the result is 5-6, Ian Livingstone's Jellied Moustache dies horribly. If you cheated when determining your stats before beginning the adventure and roll 11 in any round, you are smitten dead by a bolt of carrot-flavoured electricity. You may not cheat to avoid this. If you win, turn to 59. 85Whatever you're trying to accomplish, this won't help. Note down the letters "diehorribly" on your Adventure Sheet, then either return to the previous paragraph or turn to 44 for mystary. 86"Ah! Only the very best! You are truly a man of taste and distinction," enthuses the porky magnate as he drops your ice into his drink, which bubbles and fizzes over the edge of the glass as if Boris Karloff himself had prepared it. "Twice you have pleased me today, and for that you shall be richly rewarded. Cuthbertson!" he signals to his manservant. "Go and fetch a team of my finest oxen for this good fellow. I only regret I have nothing more to offer him for his services." Despite your doubts about having any immediate use for a team of oxen, you are forced to wait while the manservant scuttles off and procures your reward. Frangipan asks you to entertain him with an a capella Pet Shop Boys medley while you wait, which you do, because you have no dignity left by this point. Eventually Cuthbertson returns, full team of oxen in tow, and hands over the reins to you. With a final appreciative wave, Frangipan leaves, hitching a lift on the back of his clearly suffering minion; a bit further down the path you think you hear a scream and see both of them topple lifelessly to the ground, but you can't be sure, so you don't bother checking. Even as you turn and head back to the pond with newfound bovine sidekicks lumbering along behind, your gaze locks onto the wheel of a rogue shopping trolley breaking the surface like a latter-day Excalibur. Narrowing your eyes, you decide to set your faithful oxen their first task. Turn to 39. 87You pull the sword form behind your back. Having no idea how the hell you use a sword, you jab it threateningly at the moustache, although you're too much of a wuss to actually stab the thing. The moustache, despite not possessing a face, looks unimpressed. To make matters worse, the sword is beginning to cry and is whining that this is not how a lady should be treated. You are about to give up on this tactic, when you hear heavy footfalls coming from behind you. You turn round to see a man carrying an extremely large, futuristic gun, clothed in a tweed jacket and wearing army boots, enter the room. 'Ah, my Glimkefolin!', he cries on seeing Telessa in your arms. 'I have been looking everywhere for you. Which one of you tossers took it? Andy lent me his wopping great disintegrator and I'm not afraid to use it,' he says raising the outlandish weapon. The WATERFIELD is in no mood to hear your explanations and because he is a fan of random instant death he fires on one of you. Test your Luck. If you are Unlucky, he chooses you as his target and fires. If you are carrying a Red Sonja DVD, the deadly beam bounces off the disc due to Einstein's lesser known principle that discs containing films where Arnold Scwharzenegger is the best actor always repel deadly death beams and blasts into the moustache leaving you unharmed. If you are not carrying this DVD you are turned to ashes and your adventure ends here. If you are Lucky, he fires on the moustache. Providing you survive, the disintegrator doesn't actually disintegrate the moustache, because that would ruin the chance of exposition next paragraph. Instead its protective gelatinous covering begins to flake off, exposing the vulnerable hair underneath and rendering the moustache immobile. The Waterfield walks up to you, snatches the sword from your quivering hands and leaves the room, never seen again, by man or monster, on this earth. You walk over to the now terrified facial hair and begin kicking it repeatedly. Turn to 59. 88How do you mean to light your way? If you have a glowing spore bulb, turn to 37. If you do not have a spore bulb but you do have a sacrificial kris knife with gleaming runes, turn to 49. If you have none of these items, turn to 9. 89You are attacked by a poxy CROCODILE.
POXY CROCODILE Skill 6 Stamina 8
If you win, roll a die. If you roll 1 or 6, turn to 33. If you roll 2-5, turn to 89. 90You haven't traversed far along the dark corridor when you see something shiny propped against a wall. You peer at it to ascertain what it is and you see it is a rather well-crafted sword. However, you get the fright of your life when a female voice, aristocratic, but above all shrill, comes from the sword: 'It's about time someone showed up!', cries the sword. 'I am a Princess Royal and demand to see the creator at once!' You have no idea who this creator may be, and you are pretty sure swords cannot be princesses. Curious, you ask how this sword with delusions of grandeur came to be here. 'I was stolen from the creator by one of his enemies and dumped here!', she wails. 'I imagine he wants to get a ransom from my father in return for my life.' You reply that you didn't know swords could have fathers. The sword looks at you with an appalled face (which is a pretty good trick for a sword). 'I am no sword! I am Telessa, Princess of Arion! Now help me up. For some reason my legs won't work' You think you know what is going on here. The sword must be a Glimkefolin, a magical imp, that comes into existence when a writer unimaginatively gives the same name to both a person and an inanimate object. These poor creatures spend their whole lives with an identity crisis. If you wish, you can pick Telessa up and strap her to your back where she will whine about this not being a proper means of transportation for a lady of noble blood. Or you can just leave her to rust. Whichever decision you make, you must now continue along the corridor. Turn to 46. 91Sadly Mr. Hauer isn't the strikingly virile Dutch titan that he once was, and his efforts to assist you in hauling the trolley from its resting place are faintly heartbreaking to watch. Eventually, with his beer belly quivering and sweat dripping from his unsavoury moustache, he stands back and apologises for his basic lack of usefulness before stumbling off to find some Guinness. However, unbeknownst to you, the joint effort has loosened the pond bed's grip on the trolley to some degree - and as a result you'll find it easier to finish the job should you decide to persevere alone (turn to 60, but only roll four dice when instructed to roll six). Your only other options are to make use of a kris knife (turn to 79), a pair of brass earrings (turn to 6) or some random oxen (turn to 39), if any of them are available to you. Well, alright, technically they're not your only options: you could give up and wade back to the side of the pond, if you're happy to acknowledge the rusty shopping trolley as a superior opponent (turn to 54). 92Behind the door is a featureless passage that leads in a straight line for 500 paces before making a 90º turn left. Round the corner it continues for 150 paces before making another 90º turn left. Round that corner it continues for 150 more paces before making yet another 90º turn left into a corridor that, after 300 paces, terminates in a rough-hewn stone chamber with one exit in the far wall. The chamber contains a small treasure chest, and a shallow pit in which a fire is consuming a bundle of paper. If you make straight for the chest, turn to 17. If you leave the chest where it is for the time being, and attempt to rescue the papers from the fire, turn to 43. If you ignore the contents of the chamber and make for the far exit, turn to 76. 93Amongst the debris is a cup of tea, a dissertation on the juniper tree, some coupons to get a bag of molasses for free, a video cassette with two taped episodes of V, a gardenkeeping contract signed in blood by a tanar'ri, a - You scan space around you. You walk on and approach the tree-shaded shore. You are relieved to see that the trees are at last beginning to thin out and appear less threatening. The landscape here is still hilly, but in the distance a plateau is clearly visible ahead of you. You turn and stare in surprise. Now you must face the Death-Stone. The face is familiar. Just as the sensation grows too much to bear, your power is released in a single bolt. You slam on the brakes and screech almost to a halt. Your bumpers mangle slightly, but otherwise the collision has little effect. You look around but find no one else about. He must have been turned to stone. Grateful for your luck you hasten on towards the plateau. - whoa. What was _that?_ Reeling from your vision and feeling for what is possibly not the first time in your existence what it's like to be the Eternal Champion on a bad hangover, you bump into the safe. If you trust that the flash was a CLUE and not some sort of fiendish trap, turn to the paragraph corresponding to the number suggested therein (you will know it is the right one if the first sentence includes the word 'geek'). If you do this but guess wrongly, you spot a badger doing cartwheels outside the window and rush out, only to find nothing (lose 1 point of Luck and turn to 54). If you don't care for unbidden hallucinations, you can either search the shelves (turn to 65), reach for the lottery ticket (turn to 13), or return outside, grumbling (turn to 54). 94You pull out the key, stand back to take stock of your current situation, and try to think of a realistic way to connect the two. You fail. Embarrassment, frustration and an oddly disproportionate blow to your self-worth rob you of 1 Luck point. As you brood over this most recent failure, bleak realisation dawns that the loss of the Luck point is in many ways symbolic of the insidious sloughing of youthful dreams with the onset of age and experience, this revelation in turn triggering an emotional downward spiral which threatens to lead to a further copious and unchecked loss of Luck points. With an effort of will you pull yourself together, ditch the Final Fantasy angst and resolve to press onwards with the cold, unyielding lump that is the knowledge of your compromised existence pushed firmly to the back of your mind. Right now, pressing onwards entails returning to the paragraph you just came from. Irony is a cruel mistress. If you didn't make a note of the paragraph number, turn to 66. 95Rough-hewn walls. Empty torch brackets. The occasional manacle and piece of bone. Eyes of rat. Damp of mould. Smell of pizza. You don't know what you're doing here, you carry on regardless. Eventually, something glistens up ahead - the studded armour of a MUTANT ORC GUARD who is eating pizza!
MUTANT ORC GUARD Skill 8 Stamina 9
If you win, the Lizard Man collapses to the ground and you are free to be on your way. If you demand an explanation for how the Orc turned into a Lizard Man, turn to 64. If you were wondering about that but would just as soon be on your way, turn to 41. If you would really, really just like to be on your way, turn to 90. 96As soon as your ruse takes effect and the shopkeeper's head begins to swivel, you lash out, snatch up one of the potions and knock it back with the ease of a practised drunkard. Immediately you begin to gag as essence of condensed kitten coagulates at the base of your throat, fumes writhing up like moist, furry serpents to escape through your nostrils. The merchant turns back, eyes slightly widened, as you wheeze like a cartoon coyote following an encounter with the poorly disguised tabasco sauce. He scowls mightily and his voice begins to change, becoming deeper, coarser, and inexplicably more Cockney. "Heh heh heh," he cackles, yanking out a fully tuned-up Riot Gun from somewhere in the odious depths of his silken robes. "Is that all, stranger? Come back ANY TIME." Pump-action rounds are then fired as you flee with thick kitten smoke seeping from your ears. Test your Luck twice. If you are Lucky both times, the potion has no ill-effects and you escape unharmed from the shopkeeper's violent episode. If you are Lucky the first time but Unlucky the second time, the potion has no further effect - but the Riot Gun fire does as it cascades merrily into the back of your head and abruptly terminates your adventure. If you are Unlucky the first time but Lucky the second time, you suddenly and temporarily transform into a lovely little fluffy grey kitten just as a barrage of ammunition tears through the air where your human head would have been (you revert to your usual shape seconds later and escape unscathed, though you should note on your Adventure Sheet that you appear to have gained permanent whiskers). If you are Unlucky both times, you turn into a kitten AND get shot to pieces, so it's just as well there are no small children reading this. If you managed to escape, turn to 38. 97Suddenly a massive insect flies out from a nearby cluster of trees and flutters towards you. You are about to make a dash for Marty's hut to try and find his industrial strength insecticide when you realise that that's no insect - it's Moth Lady! Aware that any attempt to kill her is liable to end in death and mockery, you reluctantly abandon all thought of squirting her with toxic substances, and wait for her to pass judgement on you. "You consider yourself a hero, yet prove incapable of even cleaning a pond," she sneers. "I offer you one last chance to prove your worthiness or die in the attempt... unless you would rather abandon your quest in shameful ignominy, and go somewhere safe instead." Are you willing to accept the 'last chance' she offers (turn to 53), or would you rather go somewhere safe (turn to 24)? 98You appear to be in an underground crossroads of some kind. To the east, the tunnel opens into a network of crystalline walkways, lit by purple and yellow spore bulbs that float around in the air. To the south you hear the fluting music of a boisterous bazaar, canvas flapping and livestock squabbling. To the west is an arena of murderous death where currently a crowd is cheering on personages such as Bruina the Half-butcher, Meka-Lokust Jr., Zafanga-of-the-deadly-combo and Cutlass Bobbo. To the north there doesn't seem to be much of anything going on... wait, is that a patch of sand? You shake yourself free of kelp and stumble off in a northerly direction. If you want to look for secret doors just for the heck of it, turn to 30. If you walk on like a normal person, turn to 52. 99After what seems like hours you come to a junction. A picture of small red beetle is on the wall to your left. A corridor leads off to your right while the one you are in now continues off into the distance. Knowing taking the passage to your right will cause no end of continuity problems, you carry on past it. Turn to 46. 100You plunge down a dark tunnel of ridged stone (or possibly just an inadequately irrigated waterslide) towards an uncertain fate. But the maintenance team for the tunnel has been slacking off, and you fall out of a jagged hole in the side into a disconcertingly pink void which somehow strips you of all possessions (but not bodily modifications), with the exception of The King of the Maths Teachers' crown or a pair of Silver Bracers if you have either of them. The wind whistles (it sounds like Here Comes the Bride) as you fall ever faster into pinkness. You try to call upon Libra, the All-Mother, Glantanka, your biological mother, and (in desperation) the tooth fairy, but still you fall. Then you are entangled in a mass of linen, that slows your descent. At last you come to rest wrapped in a comfy duvet on a large heart-shaped bed in an incredibly tacky-looking hotel room. A rose-tinted light suffuses the room, and someone begins to open the only door from the outside. You have fallen into the bridal suite of whoever is behind the increasingly convoluted machinations that have brought you to this point. Here you will be helpless against the scheming of your unknown nemesis, unless you can overcome the urge to stay in bed for just a few more minutes and somehow make sense of all this nonsense.
So not the end.
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Post by a moderator on Apr 19, 2022 21:48:21 GMT
After much editing, formatting and other messing about, here is the third Yellow Snow. Well, what there is of it. As I explained back in the thread where I was asked about making the Yellow Snow adventures available, it was never completed. There are still 6 sections to be written, 3 of them already designated, the others available for adding a little complexity to whatever material gets added. I know I could just write the missing sections myself - up until a few days ago, there were 9 unwritten ones, but then I had a burst of inspiration that enabled me to add a few. However, given that this started out as a collaborative writing exercise, I'd rather like it to finish as one as well, so if anyone here feels like adding a little of their own brand of insanity to the mix, this is your chance. The adventure is actually too long for a single post, but since it's officially divided into two parts anyway, splitting it up is quite straightforward. So here's part 1... Yellow Snow III: Motel of Hell
by Ed Jolley, Per Jorner, Leigh Loveday, 'beeblbrox', one other contributor whose details are no longer available, and possibly YOU 1 The story so far... YOU are to all outward appearances a grown man in your thirties, whose misadventures in Yellow Snow began with a Yuletide visit from Santa Claus himself. Having such a celebrated personage leak blood and urine all over your snow-covered lawn, however, turned out to be only the beginning of a noir-esque, frivolously dangerous odyssey, gradually revealing the ugly fringes of a conspiracy involving, but not limited to: Christopher Lambert; penguinkin of the past, present and future; Santa's centuries-old gunrunning operation; poison-gas balloons going to Paraguay or Belgium or one of those places; and an embittered, grammatically unstable piece of gamebook-related curiosa. Having escaped the deathtraps and non sequiturs set before you, you were apprehended by the police and sentenced to community service for all the ruckus you'd been involved in. Here began Yellow Snow 2: Monarch of Basement, an amazing tour of the Clapham park life and underworld. Haunted by the ruthless Boneshakers, the exacting Moth Lady, the inept Mungo and a profusion of awkward puns, gamebook references and mailing list in-jokes, your adventure culminated in the discovery of a hit list enumerating gamebook memorabilia, the assertion that you yourself featured on that very list, and the infuriating certainty that the story was just getting ever more aimlessly convoluted. Ultimately, through the reliable plot device of some dimensional doorway or the like, you were transported into a bridal suite of unknown whereabouts, deposited in a heart-shaped bed just moments before the appearance of that to-be-revealed mastermind behind everything. Even at this very moment, the door sweeps slow motionally inwards before you. Are you ready for the latest and greatest in retro-tech, text-based interactive fiction? Are you ready for the most subtle and devious "escape the premises"-type game ever devised? Are you ready for the intricate plot turns and startling narrative developments of Yellow Snow 3: Motel of Hell? WELL, ARE YOU, PUNK? I mean, seriously? In that case, turn to 2. If not, will you hide under the pink sheets in a feeble attempt at not being seen (turn to 54), or dash like a greased sable through the secret door behind the pink toilette table, skipping out on whatever flimsy excuse for exposition the authors have come up with this time and thinking that no such revelation helped you much in the past (turn to 27)? 2 You gape in awestruck recognition at the shape before you. "Ruth Pra-" you begin, "uh, I mean - the Tooth Fairy!?" The Tooth Fairy is a punky young woman with short flaxen hair, wearing a black miniskirt and a green T-shirt with a big white molar on the front. She also has large dragonfly wings and carries a small sack whose contents rustle and click softly. She smirks at you. "Well, this is rich. I send out two hundred of those murderous bicycles to round you up, and then you turn up lounging in here of all places." "Er, yeah, you know me," you reply. "Hey, why didn't you answer any of my prayers?" "What, you mean just like, oh, you never returned any of my calls? " She irritably tosses the clattering sack onto a pink table, and a few dry milk teeth bounce out of the laced opening. "That wasn't my fault! Moth Lady told me heroes don't use phones, she had me go off in search of a pigeon. And what with my schedule lately, I didn't really have time to nip down to Madagascar for ink from some endangered poison squid or other..." The Tooth Fairy sneers. "Like it would have killed you to take a bus down to the local aquarium? Oh, I know, heroes don't care for buses. I'll deal with her later. I bet you were free to use the phone all right when those crazy space penguins showed up in the first adventure. Did you like what happened if you tried to call for help? That's just a foretaste of what I have in store for you." "What, you're going to peck me to death, after I let you have my wisdom teeth and everything?" "Please. It's obvious you were having those removed anyway. Kinda cheap making an offering of things you're about to throw away, don't you think? Oh great spirit, take my banana peels and used coffee filters," she mimics. "Dear, why ever would you need a diamond ring when I bring you this mouldy onion ring from under the couch?" "Come on," you wheedle, "three dates have to count for something. It wasn't really you behind those penguins and shapechangers and eBay shenanigans, was it? Because if it was, I'd gladly let you kill me if it just means there's a paragraph where they explain how it all adds up with the auks and Lionel Richie and the guys in the Volvo and everything. I'd like to see them try, really." The Tooth Fairy scowls and takes a deep breath, as if to... yes, what? You sense, with the faculties peculiar to your kind, that the plot, or at least a few paragraphs' worth of it, hinges delicately on this one moment of emergent synchronicities. Choose a codeword, record it on your Adventure Sheet and turn to the designated paragraph: ‘Pandoroid’ Turn to 86 ‘Windmill’ Turn to 37 ‘Thrombocyte’ Turn to 18 ‘Impala’ Turn to 60 3 Record the codeword ‘Smug’. As you walk up the stairway, the talking box readily relates the story of its origin. With the recent advent of yellow snow, climatologists knew that a great and disturbing upheaval was coming upon the Earth. With unprecedented speed and determination, an international think tank was assembled to tackle the issue. Prospects were daunting, but a light of hope remained. It was decided to construct a vast neural array, an artificial intelligence of incomparable processing power. Once completed it would work towards two objectives: to identify the root of the problem and to coordinate the collective resources of the planet into effecting a viable solution. This was the Gaia project, mankind's proudest enterprise. However, the program's ambitions dwindled with each fund cut, until finally the projected result was identical to what had already been completed by that time. Little Gaia, as this half a bread box-sized, voice-interfaced appliance became known as, was hailed as a technological milestone in her capacity as the smuggest computer ever, but deemed utterly useless for her intended purpose, and was, after a short and destructive romantic interlude with one of the researchers, tossed out. What happened since to bring Little Gaia exactly to where you found her remains, as usual in these cases, an untold mystery. As the device goes on to spontaneously enumerate some of the trivia she would use to smash imaginary TP opposition, you cannot help but wonder if this is for the best or not. Turn to 30. 4 His little face lights up as you push some of the junk to one side and lay the books out on the table; you watch carefully as he delves into in the pile of rubbish, comes up with a cracked and leaky green ballpoint, and gets to work on the title pages with childlike glee. When the signing is finished and he's even dotted the 'i's in 'Livingstone' with smiley faces, he gathers up the books and offers them back to you with a beatific smile. "Hah, not likely," you respond, backing away. "They're yours now. Look, your name's on them." Having returned the curse to its originator and regained your lost SKILL point, you turn and flounce towards the door, leaving Livingstone wailing and shaking his fist theatrically but unable to give chase because you had the foresight to tie his shoelaces to the table leg before you freed his hands. Turn to 55. 5 The corridor resounds with plastic banging as you repeatedly stab the button to call the lift, as you have seen people do on TV. The floor indicator displays strangely oscillating numbers and symbols, then gives off a happy ping. As you enter the carriage, the uniformed lift operator lies slumped in a corner, his neck pierced by some narrow implement. Further inspection shows that most of the interior buttons are smeared with some psychedelic disruptive secretion, leaving only two of them usable. You can choose to take the lift up to the roof (turn to 30), or down to the basement (turn to 88), or you could risk death and/or tripping out by rubbing your forefinger against the gooey stuff and licking it off (turn to 99). 6 Moth Lady watches dispassionately as you handle the situation. "You have earned this," she says when you are finished and throws a somewhat smaller bundle down at you. "A little something to contemplate until the next time your blatant poltroonery calls for my intervention." She takes off, banging against a nearby floodlight a couple of times before disappearing from sight. You unlace her reward, if such it can be called, for inside of the small burlap sack you find a complete set of the Zagor Chronicles, and your spirits plunge, but you know you cannot get rid of it easily, for these books, once collected, come with an old and powerful curse, and besides, who knows what Moth Lady'd do to you if you failed to study the examples of heroism contained within. Lose 1 SKILL point for the extra baggage. Still, all is not despair, as you can restore 3 STAMINA points from eating the packet of candied pineapple included in the sack (you know, because food has healing properties), and gain 2 LUCK points for surviving another trial. You're not in the mood for acrobatics, so once you've rested up you head over to the fire escape and wind your way down until you find a half-open window. Turn to 62. 7 You hear a muffled click as the hotel room door closes, the light thump of a bag being dropped to the floor, then only the briefest of pauses before a long-suffering sigh suggests that maybe you don't have the Camouflage skills of a Kai Lord after all. You're about to make a break for it when a blast of wild and distinctly short-tempered magic hammers into you, hurling you through the air and causing some kind of twisted psychedelic paintball game to kick off inside your skull. Roll a die and turn to the paragraph indicated below: 1-2: Turn to 77. 3-4: Turn to 99. 5: Turn to 75. 6: Turn to Yellow Snow 4, paragraph 13. 8 Ian Livingstone looks you up and down, and says, "You've already missed a load of vital stuff, which means you're as good as dead. Mind you, I do have a spare ZED spell I won off Jackson at tiddleywinks back in the glory days of the eighties. I might be persuaded to part with it in return for the right bribe..." If you have $14, Livingstone takes that and whatever else you have in your possession, and gives you a tatty sheet of A4 paper with the spell on it (deduct 7 STAMINA points and turn back to 37). If you do not have the money, he has one of his mood swings and becomes hostile (turn to 55). 9 You stumble around in darkness for a while, somehow winding up in a TV studio, where an episode of Whose Line Is It Anyway is currently being recorded. In fact, you blunder into the middle of the set just as the contestants are retaking their seats after a slightly sub-par round of 'Questions Only'. If you have a Spider-Baby on your shoulder, turn to 28. If your experiences with Christopher Lambert, Lionel Richie et al have made you so paranoid about celebrities that you automatically attack every remotely famous person present, turn to 41. Otherwise, turn to 59. 10 Your gaze drops to the unholy blank patch beneath the man's nose, and suddenly you are assailed by traumatic flashbacks of your confrontation with Ian Livingstone's Jellied Moustache, leaving you shaken and nauseous with a dull ache in your unconventional eyeball-based war wound. "It was him, wasn't it?" you ask quietly. "You know... the facial hair?" Livingstone breaks down at those words, weeping into his filthy rags. "It was a dare!" he wails. "I should never have let that bastard Jackson talk me into it. His beard, my 'tache. Of course, his facial hair goes on to become the frontrunner for the Governorship of Colorado, mine becomes a homicidal megalomaniac. And as if that's not enough, it turns on me and takes the piss out of my innovative dungeon crawls as well." Clearly this tragic figure is every bit as much a victim as yourself. Gain 1 LUCK point for finding a kindred spirit amidst this whole sorry mess. Welling up with sympathy, you crouch down to untie his hands: turn to 85. 11 Who can tell what you might need here? You may take any two of the following objects of questionable usefulness: a champagne cork, a dead bumblebee, a single fluffy pink slipper (for the left foot), and a lone jigsaw piece, showing the face of a woman. Now you may leave via the secret door (turn to 27) or the other door (turn to 56). 12 You peek out into the corridor and see the Tooth Fairy about to turn a corner on your left, so you sneak out, prepared for some serious shadowing. Your trenchcoat blends nicely with the background of lavender wallpaper and you shuffle off confidently. You follow the Tooth Fairy down the adjoining corridor, through a door, pausing at the top of a wide staircase to remain inconspicuous, skipping down into another corridor... You seem to have momentarily lost her. Perhaps she's just around the next corner? You tiptoe forwards, then jump at the sound of a door opening somewhere behind you. Looking cautiously over your shoulder, you see the Tooth Fairy emerge, crossing the hallway and disappearing through the door opposite. You backtrack, give her a few seconds, then open the door. Beyond is another corridor full of doors, and you can see your own trenchcoated butt where you stand leaning forward through one of them. Great, one of these places. You hear a door opening right behind you and quickly and pointlessly hop forward to avoid detection, just as the Tooth Fairy steps out right in front of the door you emerge from. You consider making some casual remark to defuse the situation when you notice her powering up the Dragon Slave attack, and decide that roguishness follows on survival. Slapstick hilarity ensues. There is much dodging and rushing back and forth and opening and slamming of doors; baboons migrate noisily across the corridor; and at one point Lionel Richie appears, jogs a few paces along the ceiling, looks around sternly and exits. The scene ends with a smash cut as you grab a doorknob and burst ahead with a sense of finality, expecting an end to your exertions. Roll two dice. If the result is equal to or less than your SKILL, turn to 69. If it is higher, turn to 33. 13 The box contains a dust-covered photograph in a frame. Wiping it clean, you are somewhat startled to see that it shows you entering this room. As you mull over the implications of this, a concealed hatch in the wall opposite the door pops open to reveal a bulky camera. You feel as if you're going to sneeze, but instead you find yourself developing a new attribute to keep track of on your Adventure Sheet. Your PARADOX score starts at 1, and you can sense that it's one you need to keep low. Somehow you have to get the film from the camera developed, have the photo of you that it took as you came in (well, what did you think that flash was?) framed, and leave it in this room long enough ago that it could have accumulated that much dust before you came in. And finding some aspirin would be nice, too. If at any point before you complete this objective (well, not the aspirin bit) you take damage that would reduce your STAMINA score to 0 or lower, you may choose to ignore the wound because you haven't yet taken the future actions that have already affected your past, so your death at this point in time would shaft causality even more egregiously than this silly business with the photograph already has done. However, every time you do this, you must add 1 point to your PARADOX score and Test your Paradox by rolling two dice. If the number rolled is lower than your PARADOX score, the entire universe falls apart and it's ALL YOUR FAULT. With a sigh of resignation, you take the camera, hoping to find somewhere dark enough that you'll be able to take out the film without exposing it. As you close the hatch, the broken blind falls onto the floor, revealing a fire escape beyond the window. It occurs to you that this might be the universe's way of telling you how you should leave the room. Or it could just be random entropy. You can take the fire escape and either go up to the roof (turn to 30) or down and in through another window (turn to 62), or simply leave by the door through which you entered (turn to 82). 14 The door opens to reveal someone who looks a lot like you, only even more dishevelled and with his left arm in a sling. If you have a PARADOX score, turn immediately to 45. Otherwise, your sling-wearing doppelganger gives a nervous grin, says, "Sorry, wrong reality," and pulls the door closed. Puzzled, you reopen the door, but the corridor beyond is empty. Bumping into something with your foot, you look down and see a thick, wrinkled volume, bereft of its cover, apparently having been used as a doorstop. You pick it up and identify the book as the rare back-to-back omnibus edition of Black Vein Prophecy and The Crimson Tide, adventure sheets and encounter boxes filled in with illegibly thick black marker but otherwise in pretty good... no, actually, it's in a godawful condition, as if a procession of previous owners had wished it dire harm. You can still hang on to it, in case you need to inflict some non-lethal yet humiliating bludgeoning damage. You may now leave, either by heading along the corridor (turn to 50) or by climbing out of the window and using a rope of bedsheets to get to the room below (turn to 62). 15 No sooner have you lined up at the bar before the non-deceased bartender thumps down a Flatliner in front of you and says, "Compliments of the gentleman in the snowing booth, sir." "Snowing what?" you reply suspiciously. "Lowing, sir," the bartender says and indicates an alcove from which the morose bellow of cattle emanates. "I heard you, you said 'snowing'." "You are mistaken, sir. I have a cold," the bartender explains coolly but unconvincingly and blends chameleonesquely with the brightly labelled bottles behind him. You snatch up your drink and approach the alcove, hoping to mayhap find someone else alive in this haunt. Your wishes are confounded. The booth is occupied by the translucent bulk of Rufus Frangipan, rolling a Neon Ghost between his thumb and forefinger and being surrounded by a herd of cattle, each bovine bogey brooding over a Red Ox. "Sit yourself down... 'son'," says Frangipan with a wink and a grin that imparts little bonhomie. As you comply with customary mid-paragraph lack of initiative, he downs his drink and smacks his lips with a frown of mock disapproval. "As usual, you cannot get decent ice anywhere these days. Perhaps I can rely on you in this regard, like once before? Or was it Dr Hoenniker that rendered me that particular service?" "Look," you say, glancing left and right at the undead oxen crowding your seat, "I don't remember these ever being killed." "Oh, them?" Frangipan says, then cackles slightly. "That's easily explained. You see, I had four hundred of my very finest critters equipped with microdetonators surgically implanted in the brainpan - equipped with a time delay, since my engineers hadn't worked out how to make a bomb without a countdown. When I met my own unfortunate demise, my pacemaker immediately transmitted a radio signal, causing all the timers to activate. What for, you wonder? I'll tell you. They all said, 'You can't take anything with you when you go'. But I showed them, didn't I? My dearies are here with me now, aren't they? Bwah-hah-ha! Muahaaa haa! Hiëeee hiëe hiëeeeee! Snort! Ho ho! Hooo..." You join the oxen in a fit of revulsion while Frangipan engages in maniacal mirth trickling off into breathlessness. Then he turns theatrically serious and leans forward. "But now, let's talk about you, my friend. I'm sure you're wondering why all of us ghosts would happen to dwell in the same lounge bar instead of our respective places of expiry. There is a sinister fact behind this remarkable coincidence, and when you learn of it, much if not all of what you now find mysterious will fall into place. But first, another small matter. I gather you have now learned of the boys I sent to watch your back and care for your safety. No hard feelings, eh? Just what any father would do. Now there is a possibility that some of them have... gone native, is that what they call it? But never fear, never fear. I shall give you a word, a codeword if you will, which when spoken to any representative of mine will cause an end to all hostility and instead prompt the most conscientious cooperation... and this word is UUURRrghle." You look up. Standing behind Frangipan - whose soul seeps dimly upwards as a ghost-ghost from his slumped remains - is the phantom version of Cuthbertson the butler, holding a long transparent knife. He stares tensely but vacantly at Frangipan's back and murmurs: "The Little Miss will be pleased... The Little Miss said the Master must be destroyed... Something happened but... I'm sure there has been some mistake..." He looks down at his bodiless arms and hands. "The Little Miss must not be unhappy... The Little Miss will make things right..." Meanwhile, you (and the oxen) silently ease your way out of the booth and tiptoe back to the bar, confident that nothing more disturbing can befall you in the immediate future. Dangit! You left the Flatliner in the booth. Turn to 91 to get a new one or to 47 if you just want to bail out. 16 You've been pulling the rope up for some time when there comes a sudden heavy tug on it. Throw four dice. If the total is higher than your current STAMINA, the tug pulls you off balance, and you plummet from the rooftop to certain death. If it is equal to or less than your STAMINA, you manage to keep your footing, and continue to haul up the rope, hand over hand, though it has become a lot more difficult. Eventually the end of the rope comes into view, and you immediately realise what has happened. Somebody has tied it into a noose, which is now snugly fitted around the neck of a purple-faced and near-expiring Mungo. Knowing that it's too late to save him (it always is), you heave him over the edge of the roof and loosen the knot, hoping for some vaguely useful dying words. "I found it all out, my friend" he croaks. "Everything." "What?" "The secret... behind everything... that's been happening to you, old amigo." "Yes, but what is it?" "The reason for the whole affair." "I get the point. Now tell me what it actually is." "The whole, terrible truth that connects together every single incident and encounter." "WHAT IS IT?" "A revelation so amazing, so astounding, that you will scarcely believe it." "TELL ME, YOU STUPID GIT!!!" Mungo flinches that bit too hard, and falls over the side of the roof, his scream abruptly truncated after just a few seconds. With a sigh, you turn away from the edge and turn your attention to the rooftop itself. Turn to 75. 17 As you stride down the corridor, the previously perceived faint everyday sounds of voices gradually relocate themselves to somewhere mainly behind your back, and distinct whispers can be heard: Who's walking down the motel hall? Did you put all those holes in the Albert Hall? We'll eat you or save you for dinner bites For we, my friend, are the CHINNERMITES! Chinnermites, you happen to recall, are bodiless Ganjee-wannabe pests with the power to nick items from those who acknowledge their existence. If you want to express sarcastic amazement that they finally found a way to rhyme with "chinnermites", turn to 68. If you grit your teeth and walk on in silence until you reach the stairwell, turn to 52. 18 "I'm a big player here, you know?" the Tooth Fairy begins. "Nobody's doubting that. But it just so happens that I know a worthy cause when I see it, and just this once I was willing to take a step back and a smaller cut of the royalties because the fact of the matter is, the Big Guy needed my contacts. Lambert, Richie, Scouser Lee. Mungo. Keef. That bloke out of the Pogues. Not the one you'd expect, mind, the other one. Like the saying goes, nobody becomes an accordion player unless they've got something to hide. Anyway, fact of the matter is, once you've dumped that rotten brown molar under your pillow, you're on my list and there's no getting off. So -" "Hold on now," you interrupt, raising a hand. "I want to make sure I've got this right. You're trying to pass off your own appearance here as unimportant? You've got the nerve to ignore all that buildup and make half-arsed attempts to indicate someone even higher up in the chain? Another sodding irrelevant end boss?" "As long as it's not Razaak or bloody Akharis, what do you care?" the Tooth Fairy growls. "Yes, of course there's someone else above me. Kind of a consortium, actually. Never met any of them face-to-face, just anonymous phone calls, dropoffs near fountains in busy public places, that kind of thing. Bourne Identity stuff." She notes your expression and mistakes the pain of mild constipation for intense curiosity. "You better keep your nose out of it," she warns. "You haven't got the proper spy credentials." You bristle at this assertion, and feel the odd, slightly dirty thrill of a new stat manifesting on your Adventure Sheet. From this point on, you must make it your mission to accumulate ESPIONAGE points by, you know, collecting clues and eavesdropping and stuff, with the eventual aim of tracking down a member of this shadowy consortium and punching the truth out of them or something. See, what does the Tooth Fairy know? Spying's in your blood. (If at any time your ESPIONAGE score reaches 7, note the number of your current paragraph and turn immediately to 151; the hair-prickling sensation of excitement/dread that comes with being directed to a section number higher than 100 in a Yellow Snow adventure grants you 1 arbitrary ESPIONAGE point to get you started.) The Tooth Fairy looks at her watch, spins on her heel and heads for the door. "Got to make a dropoff right now, as it happens," she says. "Apparently they need the dirt on Jimmy Tarbuck. Can't imagine why. Anyway, stick around, bucko: I'll be back to deal with you in five." "Wait," you shout after her. "What was that about the bloke out of the Pogues? I haven't -" But it's too late: the door closes and the Tooth Fairy is gone. Do you attempt to tail her (turn to 73), hang back and make an obsessive-compulsive search for random items (turn to 11), sit around and wait for the Fairy to come back and, in all probability, kill you (turn to 77), or slip through the secret door behind the table while she's gone (turn to 27)? 19 It's almost anticlimactic when you realise that the creature in the sack is just a TIGRESS. Growling softly, the Tigress crouches, then leaps at you. You dodge, and the Tigress misses you, her momentum carrying her over the edge of the roof. You brush imaginary dust from your hands, and risk a rubbish joke: "Well, that let the cat out of the bag." Moth Lady rolls her eyes, then says, "Behind you!" "Yeah, right," you scoff. "And then you go, 'Real heroes don't fall for such obvious ruses,' and - Ow!" The 'Ow!' is occasioned by a sudden painful blow to the back of your head, which knocks you forwards (lose 2 STAMINA). Turning your stumble into a graceless flip, you turn to face your assailant. It's the Tigress, hovering about half a metre above the roof. You should have guessed that it wouldn't be that simple. FLYING TIGRESS SKILL 10 STAMINA 8 If you win, turn to 6. 20 Thought you'd got away, did you? As you step behind the ornate door into a large wood-panelled conference room and bump into a trolley loaded with hors-d'oeuvres, you must roll once on the Occasional Table.
Die roll Occasion 1-2 It's your god-daughter's confirmation and you didn't buy her a gift. Part with one of your possessions or lose 2 LUCK points. 3-4 The annual food festival is going on and you take the opportunity to stuff yourself with samples. Restore 4 STAMINA points and add 1 portion of Provisions to your inventory. 5 It's Groundhog Day. Test your Luck. If you are Lucky, turn to 24. If you are Unlucky, turn to Yellow Snow 2, paragraph 98. 6 The annual Ganjee homecoming and food festival is going on. You get an acid pie in the face and suffer an agonizing death, to the merriment of all.
Assuming you weren't killed or redirected, you hurry away from this baleful influence and gross embarrassment, either by blundering through another door nearby (turn to 42), or by opening a window and climbing out onto the fire escape, where you can go either up, arriving on the roof (turn to 30), or down, climbing in through a window below (turn to 62). 21 "Huh? Wha? Yeah yeah, you write it for me, I don't really - wait a minute, I - wha?" You administer a stern slap and the man sits bolt upright in his seat. His face flushes, becoming so ruddy that you find yourself waiting for the blood shortage to completely disable his arms and legs and leave him flopping around in his seat like a rag doll - then you notice that his hands have actually been tied to the back of the chair. There follows a kind of confused standoff for a few seconds, the two of you glaring at each other, until abruptly the man's expression droops and he begins to rattle off a fixed speech in a disinterested, faintly anguished monotone. "Buy my goods, adventurer," he recites. "Best wares in the whole kingdom. No better potions this side of Yaztromo's minibar, finest accessories picked up from the Fang black market." "What are you doing?" you demand in the tone of a mother who's caught her son at an intensely private moment. The man's face falls even further. "Magic weapons good enough for Agglax," he continues wretchedly. "Secret treasure maps-" You slap him again and he sobs once, brokenly. Suddenly you remember where you've seen that face before - in a mugshot on the back of a book, alongside some other gurning loon. If one of your irises is bright turquoise, turn to 10. If you have no idea what that's supposed to mean, you can either untie this poor fool (turn to 85) or, if you have no further interest in the situation, spare the rest of us your oh-so-cool nihilistic attitude by leaving the room right now (turn to 55). 22 You peer into the pram, which is unusually dark, even allowing for the poor lighting. You can make out a formless mass in there, but nothing remotely baby-like. Is there even anything alive in there? Your answer comes in the form of a long and malevolent gurgle. You catch sight of a pair of giant spider-like legs wriggling out from the bundle of blankets. The hair on the nape of your neck begins to rise, a cold sweat breaks out upon your forehead, and it takes considerable effort to retain control of your bodily functions. "I can see that the two of you are going to get on just wonderfully," says 'Aunt Nancy', and skips into the lift. A creature resembling a giant spider wearing a nappy drags itself out from under the mound of bedding and plush toys. With a horrible toddleresque unsteadiness, the creature scuttles forwards. "Want eat!" says the SPIDER-BABY. If you happen to have a dead bumblebee on your person (hey, stranger things have happened), you can try feeding that to the Spider-Baby (turn to 51). If not, you're going to have to fight. SPIDER-BABY SKILL 8 STAMINA 10 The Spider-Baby has a venomous bite, of course, but it's still comparatively weak, so rather than killing you outright if it ever wounds you, it merely inflicts 5 STAMINA damage instead of the usual 2 every time it wins an attack round. If you win, you may search the pram (turn to 40), head for the lift (turn to 5), or try a door at random (turn to 89). 23 When you step into the plumber's den of filth and roguery, his comatose dog is lying inside the doorstep. If you have whiskers, you can probably guess what happens; turn to 38. If not, read on. There is very little in the janitor's office that you actually want to touch, prod or otherwise investigate at close proximity. As you dally, however, you receive a hint as to how Plummetti has been able to retain his position as basement ogre for so long without actually doing much work. Because of a strange acoustic phenomenon, snippets of secret and intimate conversations drift down through the pipe system and echo in this untidy room. You can make out a crowd singing merrily, something along the lines of "Calcium Man beats Osteoporosis Man", followed by clapping and laughter. Then the sound stage changes and you clearly hear footsteps approaching the lobby fountain that Plummetti has neglected to fix for several months now, leaving the pipes empty to carry sound for all they're worth. "I'm at the rendezvous point," says a hushed voice, "the target has been spotted. Stand by." There are more footsteps. "Do you have it?" asks a second voice. "It's in here." A parcel rustles brownly. "I can't just take it." "Why not?" "It would be too obvious. This was supposed to be a drop-off." "I could put it in the litterbin and you could go for a drink and pick it up later." "Yeah, that'll work." "It could be gross though. I don't know what else is in there." "I handled worse in Trondheim." There is a clunk, and then footsteps receding in (and the stereo surround is really amazing here) two different directions. Note down the codeword ‘Sparkle’. All at once you think you hear moans from the fallen plumber, which is extra unsettling if you left him in a state of mortal danger, and depart through a door whose window is stencilled with the mystical spell word "ROTINAJ". Turn to 31. 24 You find yourself in a plushly carpeted hallway, illuminated by wall-mounted candelabra. For a moment you contemplate trying to grab a candelabrum in case you need a portable light source later on, but the tell-tale flicker of dodgy wiring dissuades you. Proceeding down the hallway for want of any more interesting options, you reach a door with an ornately carved wooden frame. The centrepiece of the carving is a stern-looking owl, so realistic that you almost feel as if it's watching you. The owl blinks, causing you to wonder whether it's a real owl or an animated carved one (and if the latter, how expensive it must be). Then it swoops towards you, a hostile glint in its eyes, and all speculation gets put on hold. If you have a Spider-Baby on your shoulder, turn to 76. If not, turn to 46. 25 Just as you open the door, you hear a voice behind you. Two Housekeepers yell "You have no business here!" and prepare to pummel you! You grab a mop. Fight them both at the same time: First HOUSEKEEPER SKILL 8 STAMINA 5 Second HOUSEKEEPER SKILL 8 STAMINA 4 If you win, you examine the cabinet and find nothing out of the ordinary except for a servo motor, such as might fit in an electric wheelchair or an android. For unknown reasons, the serial number has been filed off! Gain 1 ESPIONAGE point. You can also keep the mop for reassurance: in any combat against water-based enemies, add 2 to your Attack Strength. After leaving the room, decide between the stairs (turn to 52) or the corridor (turn to 89). 26 Up closer, you see that there is no plug in the sink, and the old woman has to wash everything in the thin trickle of water that issues from the tap. The water dribbling into the plughole is red, suggesting (depending on your level of paranoia) either bloodstains or a non-fast dye in the item she's currently washing, which looks a lot like Mungo's headscarf. Becoming aware of your presence, the old woman turns her head to look at you. If you have a bra dangling from one ear, and want to ask if she can help remove it, turn to 61. If you have a champagne cork, and want to offer it to the old woman as a plug-substitute, turn to 87. Otherwise, turn to 97. 27 Pink dust swirls up from the makeup scattered on the table as you hurriedly shove it aside and yank open the door. The room beyond is dark and, judging by the echo of your footsteps, fairly spacious; you fumble for a light switch and realise, as glaring fluorescent light blooms overhead, that you've stumbled into a massive walk-in wardrobe. It comes as little surprise that the predominant colour is pink. Your options here are limited. Would you like to search for a cunning disguise in a typically shaky attempt to prolong your survival (turn to 79), try to gatecrash Narnia (turn to 44), or hide out in here hoping that anyone entering the hotel room looking for you doesn't think to check the only other door (turn to 7)? Otherwise you'll have to sidle back out of here into the hotel room, either to face the music if you ran screaming into the wardrobe to avoid a confrontation way back in section 1 (turn to 2), or to leave via the main door if you've done the whole passé exposition thing and you've got a codeword to prove it (turn to 56). 28 Ryan Stiles is struck by a debilitating bout of arachnophobia, and you are forced to take his place for the next round, which involves improvising a song on a subject suggested by a member of the audience. Clearly lacking in inspiration, the audience member selected picks the Spider-Baby. Richard Vranch at the piano strikes up a tune, and this latest humiliating ordeal commences. John Sessions starts things off with, "Spider-Baby, Spider-Baby, does whatever a spider maybe." "Spots an owl, runs away. What's it for, who can say?" adds Josie Lawrence, and everybody (yes, even you) joins in for the inevitable, "Look out! Here comes the Spider-Baby." Colin Mochrie launches into the second verse with, "Is it tough? Listen, fool! It's got mildly toxic drool." And now it's your turn. Write down your contribution to the song and turn to 95. 29 The box contains a bulky catalogue, the cover illustration showing a variety of shoes, boots, slippers, moccasins, sandals, flip-flops, clogs, trainers, skates (roller and ice, but not the piscine variety), horseshoes and stilts. Right in the centre is a slipper identical to the one the Tooth Fairy gave you. Across the bottom of the cover runs a red bar, on which are the words 'BEWARE OF RUBBISH IMITATIONS. REMEMBER, GENUINE TOUFLI FOOTWEAR ALWAYS HAS THE SHOE SIZE STAMPED ON THE RIGHT SOLE.' Fascinating, maybe. The catalogue looks the sort of item that would prove an encumbrance if you were to take it with you, besides which, it smells a bit iffy, so you decide against taking it with you. As you contemplate your next move, the broken blind falls to the floor, revealing a fire escape beyond the window, which you interpret as a hint that you should leave the room that way. If you take the hint, you can go up to the roof (turn to 30) or down and back in through another window (turn to 62). If you resent this clumsy attempt at forcing you down the author's preferred route, and instead leave by the door through which you entered, turn to 82. 30 You perform an elementary survey of the roof under a brooding sky, a hint of drizzle trying to pick a fight with the grey wintry landscape. There's a fire escape nearby, the lower part of which has been wrenched off as if by a gargantuan beast, and a rope hangs down oddly along the side of the building. Two small boxy structures mark entrances into the hotel by way of a stairway and a lift respectively, but they cannot be opened from the outside without a key. Air ducts covered by jalousies warn you off with a sombre rattling. There's a big yellow water tank in one corner of the roof, and over by a cluster of chimneys, someone has parked a vehicle resembling a jet-driven sled replica. What will you do here: Examine the sled? Turn to 98 Pull up the rope? Turn to 16 Climb down the rope? Turn to 43 Make a more careful search of the roof? Turn to 75 Dive into the outdoor pool some ten-odd storeys down? Turn to 77 Go down the fire escape until you find an open window? Turn to 62 31 For some time you wander around the hotel, finding nothing of interest. As you make your way down a particularly drab-looking corridor with peeling wallpaper, you notice that the temperature is beginning to rise. You look for anything that might be of use in a fire, and try to remember all the different ways characters got killed off in 'The Towering Inferno' in case the author tries to adapt any of them into Instant Deaths. There are, alas, no signs on the walls indicating what to do in an emergency, but you do find a framed certificate which proclaims (somewhat implausibly) that the Hotel Pembrokeshire has passed its Cycling Proficiency Test. This information is unlikely to be of any use to you, but if you happen to be in need of a frame for a photo, you can take the certificate's frame, as it's the right size. If you don't need a frame, but want to take this one anyway on the off-chance that it might come in handy at some future point, note the codeword 'packrat' on your Adventure Sheet. From somewhere behind you comes the 'ping' of a lift announcing its arrival, and the clatter of its doors opening. Turning to see what's going on, you behold a deranged-looking fat man brandishing a shotgun, who charges out of the lift and along the corridor towards you, yelling incoherently about the life of the mind and occasionally firing at you. Roll two dice four times. Whenever you throw a double, you have been hit, and must deduct 4 STAMINA. At last the maniac gets close enough that you can disarm him. Roaring his fury, the nutter lunges for your throat. If you have a Spider-Baby on your shoulder, it bites him, and he smashes it against the wall (deduct 5 points from his STAMINA and delete the Spider-Baby from your Adventure Sheet). Regardless, you have a fight on your hands. NOT-SO-SHARP SHOOTER SKILL 10 STAMINA 20 He won't surrender or throw himself on your mercy even if you bring his STAMINA below 3, so you'll have to kill him if you want to survive. If you beat him, turn to 100. 32 The door proves difficult to open, but appears to be jammed rather than locked. This piques your somewhat fatalistic interest and you redouble your efforts, finally stumbling backwards to land with a squelch on the wet red patch as a hinge tears away from the frame and the door lurches outwards. "Damn, man," comes a drawl from within. "Now why'd you go and do something like that?" You look up and immediately recognise American B-movie favourite Eric Roberts, perched on top of a bulky canvas bag, his face, hands and clothes stained a vivid arterial red. Your eyes widen and your heart skips a beat - but in the next instant you spot the enormous, almost empty bowl of blackberries in his lap. He follows your gaze downwards and looks sheepish. "Man, I love blackberries," he says. "I just can't help myself. Blackberries are the best. I spent all morning picking these in a field down the road, got thorns stuck in me and everything. I just wanted to find a nice quiet place and take my time over 'em. That ain't so much to ask now, is it?" It comes as a relief that what you thought were bloodstains are merely a result of Eric Roberts' poor table manners. If you have the codeword ‘Pandoroid’ on your Adventure Sheet, turn to 66. If not, you feel that you should apologise, close the door as best you can and be on your way, heading either left towards the staircase (turn to 17) or right towards the bar (turn to 80). But before you do so, you may wish to take this opportunity to compliment Eric on his work opposite James Earl Jones in 1989's Best of the Best, taking the risk of him responding with a manly hug: if so, turn to 94. 33 The door opens into nothingness - but fortunately, spearing directly up through the middle of the nothingness is a shaft of hazy light, which after a drop of several seconds buoys your frantically flailing form and leaves you bobbing in mid-air like a lovely fairy. After a rough night. Shortly, after you've calmed down, you feel yourself start to rise again. Oh - a bit like the dungeon exits in Zelda, you think, which coincidentally is what the author was also thinking. Time passes; doorways and openings of various sizes drift vertically by on either side. It seems impossible to judge where you're going to end up, so you might as well roll a couple of dice. If you roll 2-4, you find yourself carried all the way up to the roof: turn to 30. If you roll 5-7, your momentum ceases opposite a dark, circular aperture in the wall, and as the light surrounding you begins to flicker and buzz ominously you decide it's in your best interests to bail out while you still can: turn to 49. If you roll 8-10, you pass by a security booth hovering in the void. If you are wearing the badge of a hotel employee, you not only receive the bare minimum of harassment but also have the opportunity to pick up 'your' wages, a grand total of 36 gold pieces (you don't have time to ask why you're being paid in FF currency before you're carried out of range). If you aren't wearing a staff badge, you lose 2 STAMINA points in the scuffle to get away from an agitated guard. Either way, you are eventually carried onward to a dark opening in the wall which hopefully doesn't lead into the plumbing system: turn to 49. If you roll 11 or 12, a poorly-timed supernatural power cut shorts out the shaft of light and sends you plummetting to a crunchy doom. Jolly bad luck. 34 Santa looks none too happy about your constant pestering, but this turns out to work in your favour - he'll actually give you the stuff *now* just to shut you up. Of course, he only has a select few items on hand. If you have one pink slipper, need to make a matching pair, and believe that obtaining a crucial quest item could really be that easy, Santa can provide its counterpart. If you are weaponless and wish to arm yourself, Santa can either supply you with a blunt and apparently well-used machete (you decide not to ask questions) which increases your Attack Strength by 1 in combat situations, OR a cheap balsa wood boomerang reserved for specific missile-based encounters - you may not take both. And there's more. If you have an expired Hollywood Video card, Santa will grudgingly replace it with a valid Oddbins discount card (registered at the North Pole branch, but you're hoping that won't be a problem). If you have a can of dodgy housekeeping chemicals, Santa can trigger a drastic change in its molecular structure simply by exposing it to the wealth of chemicals in his own breath, transforming it into a zesty liqueur capable of restoring a total of 8 STAMINA points before being used up. If you have a single jigsaw piece, Santa will offer you a crisp £5 note for it as it just so happens to be the one he's missing, callously thieved from his living room coffee table by the Tooth Fairy. And finally, if you have a brassiere hanging from your earlobe, Santa can remove it just as long as you agree to let him keep it for Mrs. Santa (and are willing to lose 2 STAMINA points from the pain, due to his hand-eye co-ordination being at something of a low ebb). You can take Santa up on any or all of these offers, but there is a downside: each requires you to balance out cosmic karma by giving up 1 point from either your Initial SKILL or LUCK (except in the case of the brassiere or jigsaw piece, which are complete transactions in themselves). When you've finished negotiating with the dead fictional character, turn to 47 to leave him to his own devices and move along. 35 The square is a tile from a Scrabble set, bearing the letter 'N'. If you've come across any fluorescent letters in the course of your wanderings, you get the impression that this is nothing to do with them. If you haven't, you don't. Now Test your Luck. If you are Lucky, you get through the door before the Occasional Table turns into something else. If you are Unlucky, roll one die to see what you have to fight. 1 AMNIOTIC SAC SKILL 7 STAMINA 12 2 GUBBAGE CONE SKILL 9 STAMINA 8 3 BANDERSNATCH SKILL 8 STAMINA 14 4 CYBER-GIBBON SKILL 9 STAMINA 10 5 SHOAL OF RAZOR-HADDOCK (See below) 6 FRUMIOUS BANDERSNATCH SKILL 11 STAMINA 16
The Razor-Haddock, being fish, aren't any good at fighting out of water, but you do have to dodge their initial lunge. Roll 3 dice, subtract your SKILL, and if the result is above 0, deduct that many STAMINA. If you survive the fight, or got Lucky and didn't have to fight anyway, go through the door (turn to 20). 36 Crawling towards you, dishevelled and mumbling, is a great man brought low: BBC sports commentator and sometime criminal mastermind Tony Gubba, reportedly a member of the League of Six (whatever that is). His clothes are torn and stained and the dribble and stubble on his cheeks make him look a good twenty years older than some other guy you saw last week. You try to offer some shallow phrase of comfort for Moth Lady's harsh treatment, if it were up to you and so on... but it would seem recent experiences have driven the poor man mad. He holds up his hands in front of him as if impersonating a rat, fingers curved like claws, squeaking and fidgeting. A startling transformation takes place as the WERE-GUBBA, mindlessly playing his last card, assumes a conoid, vegetable-like shape like an inverted beetroot and attacks with flailing root filaments! This is one creation Mother Nature did not mean for you to preserve. GUBBA CONE SKILL 10 STAMINA 12 If you win, turn to 6. 37 "To start with your last point," begins the Tooth Fairy, "the men in the Volvo work for Doctor Heinrich von, who..." "Heinrich von what?" you interrupt. "Not 'von' anything. Capital 'v', two 'n's. Doctor Heinrich Vonn. Now are you going to let me explain, or just keep butting in?" "I'll be quiet," you mutter. "Doctor Vonn," she continues, "has for some years been working on drawing fictional characters into the real world, with limited success. My employers, who were also Santa's, naturally, sponsored some of his earlier experiments. After that fiasco with the Auks, they wanted a workforce that would be easier to control and manipulate. So they agreed to fund construction of Doctor Vonn's prototype, on condition that he start by summoning up a gamebook 'you'. No background to speak of, no real personality, a simultaneously precise yet vague morality that allows the commission of all manner of crimes so long as the victims are seen to be villains, and a tendency to restrict decision-making to a few options." This is starting to sound disconcertingly familiar. The Tooth Fairy smiles at your obvious discomfort. "The original device needed to focus upon an item owned by the author of the text in question. In fact, it transformed this item into the character summoned. Or maybe it performed some kind of trans-dimensional switcheroo, replacing the character with the item and vice versa. The specifics don't matter. The important thing is, a suitable item was obtained, and the 'you' was brought into this world. And that's where you came in. Literally. You are the 'you'." If this revelation is too shocking for your puny maybe-not-human-after-all mind to handle, turn immediately to 99. If not, read on. "What went wrong, then?" you ask. "Moth Lady," the Tooth Fairy answers venomously. "She got wind of the plan, and couldn't resist the thought of a blank slate adventurer who could be modified to fit her increasingly deranged conception of true heroism. Seconds after you came into this world, she had you whisked away by a Golden Eagle so she could begin conditioning you. Our employers invoked a Forest of Doom-esque intervention, and had the Eagle shot down by an F1-11, but she responded by sending in a bunch of weird flappy things from some Bhutanese myth, and in the resultant chaos, everyone lost track of you." The Tooth Fairy pauses, giving you time to commence a mental inventory of people, creatures, items and situations which have yet to be integrated into this explanation. You're just about to ask about one of them when she beats you to it. "So we sent Christopher Lambert out to find you. A poor choice, I know, but the best of the sorry mob we could blackmail into doing our bidding with what's on their files in Santa's 'Naughty and Nice' database. And before you ask, yes, Lionel Richie was one of the others." This is all very well, but it still leaves a lot of unanswered questions. They are, alas, to remain unanswered for now, because suddenly a flaming kebab flies across the room and hits the pillow, which proves not to meet the standards of fire retardancy that are generally expected of hotel bedware these days. You scramble away from the bed, which is ablaze within seconds, but there's no need to worry about throwing dice or getting burnt, as the sprinkler system activates moments later, extinguishing the fire and drenching everything in the room. As you heave a sigh of relief, the Tooth Fairy screams. "This isn't water!" she screeches. "It's sucrose solution. I'm melting! I'M MELTING!" You watch with mixed emotions as the Tooth Fairy deliquesces into a small mound of halitosis-scented gunk. At least she's going to have a hard time inflicting hideous death on you now. It's time you were elsewhere. Leave through either the secret door (turn to 27) or the not-remotely-secret door (turn to 56). 38 The dog twitches and awakens, and you turn kittenish. Holy, that's a Slavering Shagglywonk! Better run for it! Unfortunately, you are less suited to the boggy surroundings and face several dangers, like rats dropping comedy barrels from above. Test your Luck. If you are Unlucky, a barrel hits you between your little wedge-shaped ears and you are dead before your head is crushed against the floor. Your adventure ends here. Roll two dice. If the result is greater than your SKILL, you don't time your jumps over the puddles right and fall into a gunky sink, easy prey for your pursuer. Your adventure ends here. Roll four dice. If the result is greater than your STAMINA, you can't keep ahead and must turn and fight the dog. It wants to sink its dog fangs into your flesh and toss you around, in the way of dogs! SLAVERING SHAGGLYWONK SKILL 11 STAMINA 16 The high ability scores of the dog reflect your current statureal disadvantage. If you fight and win, you can grab the dog's emerald collar in your small teeth, suspecting it will never come in handy ever. If you get away, you turn back to normal somewhere down the corridor. Turn to 31. 39 You explain in the briefest possible terms how you got here, which still seems to take forever despite the amount of stupid random rubbish you leave out. As your story tails off, Livingstone nods wisely, settling back in his chair. "Test your Luck," he demands. "I love it when you Test your Luck." You roll your eyes. Test your Luck. If you're Lucky, Livingstone leans forward and whispers a secret of mind-blowing proportions in your ear, which would be explained in greater detail if the ending to this adventure wasn't still so up in the air that making it at all relevant would be borderline impossible (gain 2 ESPIONAGE points anyway). If you're Unlucky, Ian Livingstone explodes. Whatever the result, turn to 31 to leave the room. 40 The contents of the pram are all damp with mildly toxic drool. Lose 1 STAMINA point. The only thing of interest that you find is a ball that makes noises like a distressed fly, and has a large letter 'U' painted on it in bright fluorescent green. Make a note of it, especially if this isn't the first such letter you've discovered. Now you may either head for the lift (turn to 5), or try a door at random (turn to 89). 41 Shoving Colin Mochrie from his seat, you snatch up the chair and begin laying into those around you with it like some short-tempered low-life on the Jerry Springer show. Take on your opponents one at a time. RYAN STILES SKILL 8 STAMINA 12 COLIN MOCHRIE SKILL 7 STAMINA 6 JOSIE LAWRENCE SKILL 6 STAMINA 10 JOHN SESSIONS SKILL 10 STAMINA 11 CLIVE ANDERSON SKILL 8 STAMINA 9 RICHARD VRANCH ON THE PIANO SKILL 9 STAMINA 8 If you win, you start to feel the traditional pangs of guilt that accompany your having killed some innocent person. Well, five innocent people this time round, and you'll never be able to disentangle the guilt feelings enough to figure out which of your late opponents was working for your enemies. Lose 5 LUCK. If this brings your LUCK to 0 or less, you are set upon and clawed to death by a passing pack of black cats. Otherwise, hang your head in shame and hope to God that Moth Lady never learns of this as you exit to the fire escape, from which you can climb up to the roof (turn to 30) or down to the nearest open window (turn to 62). 42 You are momentarily dazzled by a flash of light, but when your vision returns to normal you are pleased to find that you haven't been teleported into a Khulian tree or transmogrified into something pathetic or decapitated by some villainous rogue taking advantage of your momentary inability to see, or any of thousands of other unpleasant things that could have happened while your retinas recovered. You find yourself in a room that contains a green formica table with a cardboard box on top and half a dozen chairs around it. A broken venetian blind hangs in front of the lone window, weak sunlight slanting in through the gaps. Judging by the layer of dust on everything, nobody has been in here for a while. If you want to open the cardboard box, turn to 29 if you have the codeword ‘Pandoroid’, to 13 if you have the codeword ‘Windmill’, or to 71 if you have neither of those codewords. If you do not want to open the cardboard box, the broken blind falls to the floor, revealing a fire escape beyond the window, and you take that as a hint that you should go out that way, subsequently going up to the roof (turn to 30) or down and back in through another window (turn to 62). 43 The rope's surface is disturbingly sticky, which assists your grip while simultaneously slowing your progress. You've only covered a fraction of the distance to ground level when the rope ends abruptly in a mess of spiderlike webbing splattered across the width of the hotel wall, amidst which a couple of petty robbers in balaclavas thrash feebly. Just as you make this discovery, your ears pick up the faint sounds of violence on the wind, interspersed with staccato bursts of high-pitched laughter and curt, muffled phrases you imagine to be amusing wisecracks of some kind. Instinctively you turn and haul yourself back up towards the roof, having registered all the signs of a standard Spider-Man/supervillain battle in progress and wishing to abandon the roof area before someone gets thrown into the water tank, which always happens. After a shambolic struggle you make it back to the flat surface of the roof and immediately bolt for the fire escape on the far side. Test your Luck. If you're Lucky, you make it just before some spandexed-up goon on an Oscorp glider is somehow propelled through the side of the tank without maintaining serious physical injury. If you're Unlucky, fundamental comic book law comes roaring up behind you like the Evil Dead forest demon and demands that someone be thrown bodily into the water tank RIGHT NOW: this someone is of course you (deduct 8 STAMINA points as you become the first exception to the 'no serious injury' rule). If you escape this somewhat contrived situation with your life, you half-run, half-fall down the metal steps of the fire escape and dive through the nearest open window as water cascades over the lip of the rooftop above. Note that if you had a Spider-Baby on your shoulder, it has taken this opportunity to depart your company in search of its spiritual father and a run of distastefully gimmicky graphic novels. Now turn to 62. 44 You don't find Narnia, but you do blunder into the laundry chute, and once more find yourself sliding towards an uncertain fate. Or the hotel laundry, more likely. Better hope for a soft landing. Test your Luck. If you are Lucky, you fall into a heap of dirty socks, which would probably adversely impact your Charisma score if you had one. If you are Unlucky, you land in a near-empty wicker basket (roll 2 dice and deduct the total from your STAMINA). Either way, if you were fool enough to wear Mungo's earrings during Yellow Snow II, you find that one of the hooks on a large, white, matronly brassiere has become inextricably snagged in the hole in your right earlobe. Until you can find some way to remove the defiantly feminine undergarment, embarrassment will cause you to fight at -1 to your Attack Strength in all subsequent combats. Turn to 81. 45 Add 1 PARADOX point and note the codeword 'splinter' on your Adventure Sheet. The sling-wearing version of you looks at you pityingly and says, "I remember this bit now. Don't pick up the chess set." "What chess set?" you ask. "I don't know what smegging chess set," snaps your (apparently) future self. "I just remember that when I was you, the I who I am now said 'Don't pick up the chess set.' So I have to say it now, or it gets even paradoxier." "Is there such a word as 'paradoxier'?" you wonder aloud. The future you glares at you. "I'd give you such a slap if it didn't risk destabilising the whole space-time continuum. Now get on with the quest before... No, I didn't tell me about that, did I? Oh well, enjoy." With a nasty smile, he closes the door. You pull it open again, but he is nowhere to be seen. You may either head along the corridor (turn to 50) or knot the bedsheets into a rope and climb out of the window and into the room below (turn to 62). 46 You adopt a defensive stance, but nothing can prepare you for what happens next. Mid-swoop, the owl becomes a round-topped oak table, and falls on you. Lose 2 STAMINA (you could halve the damage by successfully Testing your Luck, but is it really worth it?). It occurs to you that this is probably an OCCASIONAL TABLE, and you've encountered it at the start of one of the occasions on which it becomes a table. The crash has knocked a drawer in its side open, allowing a small, off-white square to fall onto the floor. If you want to pick up the square, turn to 35. If you'd rather get away before the occasion passes and the table transforms into something else, nip through the door to 20. 47 You find yourself in a long, dimly-lit corridor. At the far end is a lift, the door closed, and three doors lead off each side of the corridor. Oh, and a benign-looking old woman with a brown fur hat, pince-nez glasses teetering on the end of her nose, and a long red coat is pushing a pram along the corridor towards you. She looks up from the pram at you and smiles. "Hello, dear," she says. "I'm Aunt Nancy." She looks back down at the occupant of the pram. "So this must be your cousin. Why don't you come over and say hello to it?" While, in view of all the cryptic hints you've been given about how you're not who or what you think you are, it is possible that you have an Aunt Nancy of whom you know nothing, you are nonetheless suspicious of the woman. If you want to take a look at your purported cousin anyway, turn to 22. If you decline, turn to 63. If you ignore her and open a door at random, turn to 89. 48 The lift is probably not the best means of egress from the laundry. It's only about a metre high, it has no internal light source, and its controls consist of one big green button, giving you no option of selecting a destination. Still, you've just gone into one of those fatalistic moods where you ignore the possibility of changing your mind and doing something more sensible, so you make yourself as comfortable as you can on the overstarched towels, and hit the button. The lift judders and clanks its way upwards into the darkness, finally grinding to a halt what seems like hours later. A little exploratory fumbling enables you to fall through a hatch in the wall into a dimly-lit corridor with lavender wallpaper. Several towels fall with you, and immediately start to change from white to red as they soak up the gore from the large puddle of blood in which you and they have landed. A puddle which appears to have its source in a service cupboard just across from you. You hold your breath and listen, but there are only the faint echoes of conversation from somewhere further down the corridor. If you want to risk acquiring a disproportionate number of FEAR points by investigating the contents of the cupboard, turn to 32. If you'd rather make yourself scarce, you can follow a sign to the hotel bar (turn to 80) or head down the corridor to a door with a broken window, beyond which stairs lead upwards (turn to 17). 49 Plummetti, the rowdy Italian pipe fitter, had once again run out of wet snuff and thought about going to beat up his two fat cousins. The idea brought a wolfish grin to his grimy face, like a dark cloud parting to reveal scores of winged mutants with eyes, teeth and rusty cutlery. Thoughtfully rubbing some more grease into his big moustache, he kicked his comatose dog aside, then stalked out from the janitor's office, red-eyed rats dispersing through rancid puddles with a cheeky patter. As he passed by a section of exposed piping dripping with impure liquid, he became aware of a muffled banging from somewhere inside it. This annoyed him. It was not that he disliked the idea of four-foot rodents drowning in the depths of the hotel's plumbing system, which was just as hellish as he meant it to be, but inevitably the remains would half-emerge from some upstairs tap, and inevitably he'd be sent to do actual work. Actual work annoyed Plummetti. Because actual work annoyed Plummetti, he grabbed the biggest of the wrenches in his back pockets and set to work dismantling the biggest of the pipes before him. Something was stuck in there all right; only a trickle of unsound water came running along the crusted inside of the pipe. Plummetti peered into the darkness, distractedly tapping the circumference with a worn, bruised nail. The next moment, following an ominous wet pop (or plop for short), Plummetti was propelled against the back wall, impacted by a curled-up adventurer cannonballed by a jet of sewage. The adventurer, though reduced to a pitiful state of gasping and uncleanliness, recovered first. Did he stay and rifle through the unconscious plumber's pockets in search of cigs and loose change (turn to 64), or did he hurry along with hardly a drenched look back, towards either the janitor's office (turn to 23) or the other end of the corridor (turn to 31)? 50 There is a door at the far end of the corridor. There being nothing much else of interest along here (which is a bit odd, as you'd expect a hotel to have more rooms), you decide to make for it. "FEAR ME!" bellows a voice, in comparison with which Brian Blessed at his shoutiest is as a fieldmouse with laryngitis. You glance up and down the corridor, but cannot see the owner of the voice. "FEAR ME!!!" The corridor shakes, and plaster dust falls from the ceiling. It occurs to you that running away might give you a chance to escape before structural damage and concomitant STAMINA loss occurs, and could also placate the unseen yeller with its implication that you are manifesting the fear he so wishes you to experience. At least, that's how you rationalise your promptly whimpering and taking to your heels. "FEAR ME! FOR I AM THE MIGHTY RO-" The voice cuts off as your foot comes down on something small and crunchy, like a snail shell. With a grimace, you lift your foot to see the crushed remains of a rather pathetic-looking crustacean, almost the same shade of faded red as the carpet. You freeze, hoping that this insignificant creature was the source of the voice, rather than the beloved pet of some demi-god-like being you have momentarily shocked into silence by squishing the thing it loves most in all the world. Wrathful vengeance does not occur. You start to breathe again. Catching sight of a boot-scraper at the side of the corridor, you do your best to remove the gunk from your sole. Still there is no hideous retribution. "Well, that was easy," you think to yourself (not that you could think to anybody else unless you happened to know a telepath in the vicinity, which you don't) as you continue towards the door. You turn the handle. Roll two dice. If you roll anything other than a double 6, it really was that simple an encounter, and you may add 1 LUCK point as you go through to 33. If you get a double 6, just as you think you're in the clear, the other shoe drops. Literally. And, it being a size 1153 and directly above you, it does much the same to you as you did to the little red beastie. Except that you make a squelchier noise, what with the lack of exoskeletal carapace and all. 51 The Spider-Baby swallows the bumblebee in one gulp. Before you have time to withdraw your hand, the Spider-Baby scampers up your arm, and settles on your shoulder, making contented gurgling noises. You appear to have gained a companion, whether you want one or not. If you really don't want it around, and think that attacking it now its envenomed fangs are mere centimetres from your jugular seems like a smart idea, turn to 77. Otherwise, you're stuck with it. You may now search the pram (turn to 40), head for the lift (turn to 5), or try a door at random (turn to 89). 52 You turn the handle of the door to the staircase, and a few slivers of glass fall from the broken window set in it. A skylight somewhere above tells you this must be the way up to the roof, a potential venue for escape if you can find the materials to build a glider. Ignoring a locked door to some maintenance space you walk cautiously up the steps, the stairway turning at a landing that holds a heap of junk and broken appliances. You regard the stack of refuse with involuntary interest. In a Warlock of Firetop Mountain-like gamebook, you would expect it to contain either a minor item that would grant you success in a single medium-difficulty encounter, or a Rat, Snake, Eel or something similar which would bite you for a couple of STAMINA points and very possibly a SKILL point. In this one, it would be about as likely to spout forth a chorus line of suricates. As you carry on with your appraisal, a feminine little voice calls out from beneath the junk. "Help me," it suggests. "Who's there?" you ask, somewhat startled. "It is I," the voice replies matter-of-factly. "Who am 'I'?" "Jackie Chan's Who Am I, 1998, original title Ngo si sui, directed by Benny and Jackie Chan. Not one of his best efforts, with the fight on the rooftop as the high point after which the final stunt and conclusion seem a bit predictable and anticlimactic. Now haul me out of here, if you please." If you feel daft enough to poke around in the scrapheap for the source of this mysterious voice, turn to 72. Otherwise you continue up the stairs with a few nervous glances behind you, opening a door and pushing your way out onto the roof through a small mountain of red plastic bags with white bunnies on them (turn to 30). 53 Ian Livingstone gives an Obigee-like smile and tells you that the hotel has a time-safe, which you should be able to use to send the photo back into the past. Note the codeword 'Momo' on your Adventure Sheet, and leave before Livingstone has a mood swing and starts demanding obscure items and arcane trivia (turn to 31). 54 You quickly pull a blanket over your head and wait in pinkish darkness. As your beating heart winds down and your breathing slows, you become aware of another sound in here with you: a much calmer and more confident intake and expulsion of air. You gingerly reach out with one hand, feeling something hard, smooth and fluted, like a polished carapace, then something like thin rounded sheets of filmy paper. They retreat from your touch, rustling against the cloth. "I have thought of a new course of action," you state to yourself, waiting a heartbeat after each sentence to gauge the reaction of that unseen presence. "I'm not going to hide any more. I'm not going to run any more, either. Especially not errands. In fact, right now I'm going to stand up and face whatever it is out there that could spark off a fantastic adventurous challenge. Yep, right this moment." If you don't have a codeword recorded and mean to suit the action to the word, you leave your hiding-place and face the plot music with extreme bravery (turn to 2). If you already have a codeword, or if you don't feel particularly heroic, you could start to get up but intend to rush off for somewhere less crowded before anyone can react (turn to 7), or you could gamble that your companion-in-hiding is just a dressed-up Goblin and wrestle it into submission before it can give away your position (turn to 77). 55 You flee through the door and pull it closed behind you to deaden the racket as the man you've left behind begins to rant hysterically, but there is no preventing a few insidious wisps of rantage from making it as far as your eardrums and sending a delicate little charge of apprehension down into your bowels: "Doomed! DOOMED!" Record the codeword 'Doomed' on your Adventure Sheet. If you already have the codeword 'Doomed', change it to 'Doomeder'. Then turn to 31. 56 You poke your head through the doorway, squinting suspiciously up and down the corridor. Despite fearing the worst, you see nothing more offensive than the lavender floral wallpaper and little reaches your ears but the faint everyday sounds of voices and doors closing in the distance as people go about their usual business, though judging by past experience you dread to think what business that might be and how you're likely to end up becoming humorously entangled in it. Trying to suppress your guilt at the prospect of leaving behind a certain death situation without the proper authorisation, you slip out of the room, closing the door behind you with unnecessary and slightly pathetic politeness. You can now either head left, towards a heavy-looking wooden door with a broken glass window through which you can just about make out a staircase leading upwards (turn to 17), or right, following a cheerfully large sign on the wall which claims to point the way to the hotel bar (turn to 80). There is actually a third choice, but this entails investigating the enormous bloodstain right under your feet by opening the scratched and crazily red-smeared door of the small service cupboard directly opposite. Still interested? Turn to 32. 57 Out from the sack crawls a dishevelled but attractive woman wearing the sort of costume that denotes an evil Sorceress in cheesy B-movies. "It's high time this loose end was cleared up," shouts Moth Lady. "You'll need this." She tosses you a large Sandworm tooth. The evil Sorceress, who had been adopting a 'cast something nasty' stance, sees the tooth in your hands and sighs. "Not another one!" She casts a quick glance around the rooftop, establishes that there is no way of escape, and lunges at you, screeching and flailing. "I need that tooth back after the fight," warns Moth Lady as you prepare to defend yourself. LEESHA SKILL 9 STAMINA 15 If you win, turn to 6. 58 This is interesting. While the painted door doesn't open (don't be silly), your pathetic scrabblings at it lead you to the realisation that one of its panels corresponds to a sliding panel set into the wall (but not before you get splinters under your fingernails - lose 1 STAMINA). With some effort you open the panel, exposing the dull greeny-grey metal of a safe door. This must be where they store all the guests' valuables (add 1 ESPIONAGE point if you're into that sort of thing). You reckon you could probably open it if you had a skeleton key, hint, hint. Still, at least you know where to come if you should find one. Note the codeword 'Raffles' on your Adventure Sheet. If you were trying to get away from 'Aunt Nancy' before you got distracted by the painted door, you find that she has moved into a position where she can block your every move with the pram, leaving you with no option but to look at the baby (turn to 22). Otherwise, you may leave via the lift (turn to 5) or try a proper random door (turn to 89). 59 Handling your interruption with consummate professionalism, Clive Anderson has studio security escort you to a vacant seat and makes the next round an improvised musical based on your life. In spite of the fact that nobody asks you for any details, it's disconcertingly accurate, commencing with a faux-lament over the death of Santa, then segueing into a bombastic pseudo-Wagnerian account of your fight against the Boneshaker, climaxing in a Gilbert & Sullivan pastiche that recounts your experiences within the motel. Roll one die. If you get 1-3, having your struggles reduced to a mish-mash of forced rhymes and inept puns so depresses you that you must fight at -2 to your Attack Strength in your next combat. If you get 4-6, the new perspective provided by the contestants' interpretation is strangely inspiring, and you may add 1 to either your Initial SKILL or your current LUCK. Now leave the studio by the fire escape, from which you can climb up to the roof (turn to 30) or down to the nearest open window (turn to 62). 60 "It seemed so straightforward at first," begins the Tooth Fairy, "They wanted to create a replica human, indistinguishable from a real one, but made entirely out of intelligent calcium. Which is where I came in, of course. Number one supplier of all types of calcium." You feel a shock of realisation. "And I'm that replica?" "Of course not," she replies. "You're a much more insignificant part of The Plan. Not to mention the main reason it failed. Well, the main reason apart from that business with the radioactive spatula." "I thought this exposition was supposed to tie everything together, not add a further bunch of random nonsense into the mix," you complain. She scowls at you. "I'm getting there. The intelligent calcium entity adopted the identity of -" At that point, a mobile phone rings. The Tooth Fairy extricates the mobile, a snazzy model with a white enamel case, from somewhere between her wings. "What? I'm busy. Whose tooth? Oh! How long until she wakes up? You sure? All right, all right. I'm on my way." She hangs up and glares at you. "Duty calls. Don't try to escape while I'm away, or I'll... You know, the fact that I'm about to subject you to a slow and painful death anyway makes it kinda difficult to come up with a decent threat. Stay put, or I won't tell you where Charon and the Grim Reaper's half-sister fits in with everything." With that, the Tooth Fairy turns (thereby revealing to you that the back of her T-shirt bears the slogan, 'Bite Me!'), and stomps out through the door. Well, that was a fat lot of help, wasn't it? Will you await the return of the Tooth Fairy, the full exposition, and your subsequent hideous death (turn to 77), make use of that secret door (turn to 27), leave through the door by which the Tooth Fairy exited (turn to 56), search the room for useful items (turn to 11) or knot bedsheets together to make a rope on the off-chance that it might come in handy (turn to 92)? 61 The old woman glares at you, then takes hold of the bra and gives a sharp tug, removing both it and your earlobe. Roll one die and lose that many STAMINA. Disinclined to stand around chatting, you head for an exit. To take the lift, turn to 48. To try the door, turn to 33. 62 After comedically bashing your head on the windowframe on the way in (lose 1 STAMINA point), you pause to take stock of your new surroundings. You're slightly freaked out by what you see, but distantly you marvel at the improvement in your emotional fortitude that allows you to rein in your freakage status at 'slightly'. Maybe all the recent lunacy has been good for something after all. The room has been, for whatever reason, completely remodelled. The only lighting comes from a flaming torch in a wall bracket next to a door on the far side - immediately, this wanton disregard for health and safety regulations warns you that Pure Evil has been at work here. The carpet has been torn up and the floor layered with inches of dust, while the walls have been badly replastered and painted grey to create a kind of low-budget 'cavern wall' effect. Piped-in sound effects of distant clanking, cackling and screaming are presumably meant to recreate the atmosphere of an oppressive dungeon environment. There is nothing else except for a long, low table, over which is slumped an unconscious figure surrounded by piles of useless crap like car exhausts, old gas bills and rotten fruit. You sidle over for a closer look. The room's inhabitant appears to be a middle-aged man, balding and ruddy-faced, with nothing about him that particularly screams SKILL 13. With growing confidence you fumble around in the dim light, finding nothing of further interest except for a tatty sign strung around the man's neck. It reads: ULTRA-SUCESFUL DUNGOEN MERCHENT BY MY GRATE STUFF!!!1 If you wish to wake the man and demand to browse his wares, turn to 21. If not, you can leave quietly through the room's only door by turning to 31. 63 Grievously offended, 'Aunt Nancy' takes a sticky-looking ball of grey wool from her knitting bag, and throws it at you. Test your Luck. If you are Unlucky, it hits you and explodes into an inescapable cocoon around you, leaving 'Aunt Nancy' free to subject you to various lethal atrocities involving knitting needles and a long straw. If you are Lucky, you react quickly enough to dodge it, and it flies past your head and into the bar, whence you hear a mercifully brief Mungo-esque scream. Upon seeing this, 'Aunt Nancy' grabs a hairy bundle from the pram, and flees into the lift, leaving you free to search the pram (turn to 40), head for the lift (turn to 5), or try a door at random (turn to 89). 64 You shake your head to clear it, somewhat disorientated by that momentary detour into the third person. If you had a bra attached to your ear, it comes loose and falls to the floor (throw four dice, and if the total exceeds your STAMINA score you contract fatal blood poisoning from drops of sewage dribbling into the wound). After a quick check to make sure your name hasn't gained any asterisks, you turn your attention to the unconscious plumber's pockets. He does have a packet of cigarettes on him, but it appears to have taken the brunt of the jet of sewage, and the cigs are all soggy and stained with unpleasant fluids. His wallet contains a damp tenner, twelve thousand Italian Lira (which would only be worth a few quid even if they were still legal tender), two second class postage stamps that have stuck together, and a post-it note with a semi-legible message about someone having been arrested for talking to a barman. You hear a wet splatting noise behind you, and turn to see a juvenile alligator, streaked with unmentionable substances, heading across the floor towards you. Looks like you've got a fight on your hands. SEWER ALLIGATOR SKILL 7 STAMINA 8 You can Escape as per the usual rule, though I can't think why you'd want to against such a puny opponent. Especially as that would mean leaving it free to chew up the plumber, and that'd probably mean a LUCK penalty. If you win, or leave the plumber to the Alligator (in which case, lose 2 LUCK points - told you so), you may depart, heading for either the janitor's office (turn to 23) or the other end of the corridor (turn to 31). 65 Okay, yep, they can definitely see you. They can also kick, bite and elbow you, which comes as a bit of a disappointment. Roll two dice to determine which apparitions indulge themselves in the fracas: roll three times in total to determine your three opponents (a repeated number means you fight one less enemy), and tackle them one after the other.
2: MARTY SKILL 5 STAMINA 6 3: KEEF SKILL 7 STAMINA 9 4: SHAPECHANGERS SKILL 8 STAMINA 10 5: GOBLINS SKILL 6 STAMINA 11 6: GLADIATORS SKILL 8 STAMINA 14 7: CLAWBEAST SKILL 9 STAMINA 8 8: ZAGOR SKILL 11 STAMINA 10 9: C. LAMBERT SKILL 12 STAMINA 6 10: BRENDA SKILL 5 STAMINA 8 11: PAT ROACH SKILL 9 STAMINA 12 12: MUNGO SKILL 2 STAMINA 1
If you face Mungo, the only way to damage him is to apply LUCK to an attack and actually be Unlucky. If you manage to take down all comers, the rest decide they'd be better off sitting down and pretending they can't see you again. You can either leave while it's quiet (turn to 47) or cap off your act of random, senseless violence with a shot of alcohol (turn to 15 if you have the codeword ‘Pandoroid’, else turn to 91). 66 A snippet of your conversation with the Tooth Fairy comes floating back to you: "You didn't think a man like that'd sit idly by in his mansion while his daughter went off dating some local nobody, did you? So he hired a bunch of ageing B-movie actors: Lambert, Hauer and two or three others, to keep an eye on you..." You are immediately suspicious. Is Roberts one of them? If so, is he still following the original plan, keeping tabs on you with no knowledge of his employer's demise? Or has Moth Lady - or even the Tooth Fairy - taken over the contract and twisted it to fit their own itinerary? A cold chill vibrates down your spine. Eric seems to sense your discomfort, and his banal blabbering tails off into a tense silence. You are about to make a big show of closing the door and leaving him to his own fruity devices when he suddenly leaps up, scattering blackberries across the floor: turn to 94. 67 "Hey," you say confidingly, "you haven't by any chance seen a pink slipper or something like that among the stuff here?" "A pink slipper?" Ian Livingstone says, leaning forward a little. "Yeah, you know, like a slipper... pink." "Just one of them?" "Yes, I have the other one and I'm sort of looking for the match." "What kind of a pink slipper?" "It's just a slipper... look, have you seen a pink slipper or haven't you?" "Well, what does it looks like?" "I told you, it's pink and... Oh hell, here it is." You pull the slipper out from wherever it is you carry your all-significant possessions. He takes it and weighs it contemplatively in his hand. Following a long silence, he asks, "You're asking about the matching slipper to this one?" "YES," you begin, but before you can finish your outburst Livingstone pushes you off your feet and runs out of the room giggling, taking the slipper with him. Swearing under your breath you get up and run out after him, but he's already disappeared among the winding corridors of the hotel. Lose 1 LUCK point, mark your slipper (for the left foot) as stolen and turn to 31. 68 The moment you open your mouth to speak, you're clubbed with a big rubber mallet from behind (probably of the comedy variety, although you are not in a position to ascertain this). Lose 2 STAMINA points, mark any one of your possessions (if you have any) as stolen, and turn to 96. 69 Aha! You crouch over an inky black footprint, a clear indication that you are on the heels of your prey. You pinch the front edge of the print and peel it off the carpet (the separate heel dangling in place just like you'd expect from an inky black comedy footprint). Add 1 ESPIONAGE point. You leap back into action and edge around a large flowerpot brimming with plastic ferns, peering out into a vestibule with glass walls. The Tooth Fairy is being escorted through the front doors by large vigilant men in shades and black suits. As an off-white limo draws up, you distractedly try to brush the crow off your shoulder. It doesn't budge, though. "All right, you constipated old dodderer," it caws, "let's try a point blank shot. Easy enough for you?" You raise an eyebrow and reluctantly look back to see an old, robed man with long white hair, squinting so hard it's painful to look at and holding a bow in quivering hands. The arrow is tipped with a small boxing glove. "Aim for my voice!" yells the crow. "No, not at me, you geriatric noodle! His head's on my right! That's your left. Crumbs! Can this take a little longer, please?" At this point you manage to get your mind off the Tooth Fairy and realize the old man is about to loose the arrow at you, which is what happens. You attempt to dodge: Test your Luck. If you are Lucky or Unlucky, turn to 96. 70 You end up in a narrow room, half of which is taken up by tall shelves and cabinets. On the first shelf you find only a few bottles of soapy solutions. The second shelf holds cans of chemicals; you can take one of them if you wish. The third shelf has packs of paper strips to put around toilet seats, the mark of a classy hotel. Next there is a locked wood cabinet. If you have the codeword ‘Thrombocyte’, you can produce a hairpin and pick the lock, in which case turn to 25. If not, you leave through the only door into a quiet corridor and must decide whether to enter a nearby stairwell (turn to 52) or go down a transverse corridor with several doors (turn to 89). 71 The box contains a tin can that at one point held Cream of Garmonbozia Soup, but now contains only a ring, with a stone the shade of green you instinctively associate with cursed items. If you want to risk Instant Death further down the line by taking the ring, feel free, and note on your Adventure Sheet whether you're wearing it or just carrying it about. Like that'll make any difference. Whether you take the ring or not, the broken blind chooses this moment to come off completely, revealing that the window leads out onto a fire escape. Recognising an enforced egress when you see one, you climb out. Now will you go up to the roof (turn to 30) or down and back in through another window (turn to 62)? 72 As you shove a broken toaster out of the way, a Litterbug dashes forth and stings you; lose 2 STAMINA points. Cursing, you kick pieces of scrap out of the way until you uncover a rectangular case, half a bread box in size, with a red button on the side, a speaker and a small LCD screen. "Very good," says the synthetic voice in a tone that can only be described as annoyingly smug. "As you can see I have no integral power of locomotion, so you will have to carry me." "Why should I do that?" you enquire. "Such rudeness is uncalled-for," the box comments. "But if you require immediate benefits, I could point out that with my knowledge at your disposal, you would be unbeatable in any game of Trivial Pursuit or an equivalent quiz challenge." "That was done in the first game," you say. "Did you think I had overlooked that fact? This series is all about the running gags." If you're convinced by this argument, you could decide to bring the box with you. Doing so requires you to drop one object which is roughly half a bread box-sized or larger; if you don't carry any such item, you can't take the box. (If you are uncertain whether some item in your possession fulfils the size requirement, you are allowed to make a horrendously specious judgement call.) Alternatively, you can heartlessly strip it of its two R6 batteries (ignoring its desperate, heartbroken pleas and sobs) just in case Charge points will be useful later, tossing the box itself aside. Either way you resume your ascent to the roof, turning to 3 if you take the box or to 30 if you don't. 73 You rush past the pink coat-hanger on your way to the door and, in passing, grab either a pink trenchcoat (turn to 84) or a pale violet one (turn to 12). 74 A hungry gleam appears in Ian Livingstone's eyes as you explain your situation. He fumbles in his pockets and brings out a green six-sided die with white spots, which he hands to you. "Roll the die," he demands, sweat breaking out on the expanse of his forehead. "You have to do the bit where success or failure depends on a completely arbitrary roll." Curbing the urge to jam the die up one of Livingstone's nostrils and head-butt him on the nose to see if you can make the die blast out of his ear, you roll the die. If you get 1-3, Livingstone's manner abruptly turns Inquisitorial, and he demands that you get out (turn to 55). If you get 4-6, turn to 53 if you have a PARADOX score. Otherwise turn to 8. 75 As you look around, there is a depressingly familiar fluttering motion in the corner of your eye, and you turn to see Moth Lady perched on top of a tall antenna. She dangles a big sack with restless, grunting contents. "You are straying," she states. "Here, something to help you regain your focus." Without further ado, she drops the sack at your feet, and a creature struggles out of it to your horror and discombobulation. Check your Adventure Sheet for codewords: ‘Pandoroid’ Turn to 36 ‘Windmill’ Turn to 19 ‘Thrombocyte’ Turn to 90 ‘Impala’ Turn to 57 If you don't have any of them, it's just a regular five-armed Tarrasque Spawn equipped with laser cutlasses. Each of its five arms will have a separate attack on you in each Attack Round, but you must choose which of the five you will fight. Attack your chosen arm as a normal battle. Against each of the others you will throw for your Attack Strength in the normal way, but you will not wound it if your Attack Strength is the greater, you must just count this as though you have defended against its blow. Of course if its Attack Strength is the greater, it has wounded you in the normal way. Each TARRASQUE SPAWN ARM SKILL 18 STAMINA 46 If you win, turn to 6. 76 The Spider-Baby panics, leaps to the floor, and scuttles towards a crack in the skirting board. At once the owl changes direction and heads straight for the Spider-Baby, talons splayed. It looks as if the Spider-Baby isn't going to make it, but at the last moment the owl metamorphoses into a small table with an octagonal top and crashes to the floor, narrowly missing crushing the Spider-Baby, which escapes through the crack. You realise that this must be an OCCASIONAL TABLE, and this is one of the occasions on which it is a table. The crash has knocked a drawer in its side open, allowing a small, off-white square to fall onto the floor. If you want to pick up the square, turn to 35. If you'd rather get away before the occasion passes and the table transforms into something else, nip through the door to 20. 77 This is the generic death paragraph. You DIE. It's as simple as that. But as you are entitled to one last joke, here it is: A man walks into a bar, and the bar says, "Hey, watch it duder." 78 The skeleton key fits the lock, and you pull the safe door open, almost salivating at the thought of the loot that will soon be yours. Alas, there is no loot, nor even a lute left in storage by some itinerant minstrel wishing to safeguard the instrument by means of which he earns his living. No, the safe contains only a rubbish copy of the Eye of the Basilisk and a handwritten note that reads, 'A true hero never cheats. Love, M.L.' Oh, and a compact thermonuclear device that detonates just after you've had time to read the note. Roll 500 dice, and deduct that many STAMINA points. If you survive, turn to 77. 79 Going for the not pink stuff, you grab a hanger with a large, drab green raincoat, then jump back as a set of bones rattle out of it and fall onto the floor. Quickly replacing the hanger on the rail, you fumble for a dark grey suit and dislodge another set of bones. Having repeated this procedure with some flowery green pyjamas, you're not at all surprised to see the bones preternaturally assemble themselves into three SKELETONS, those haunted house stand-bys. Well, at least you think they are Skeletons. Fight them one at a time in the confines of the wardrobe: CLOSET TYRANT SKILL 7 STAMINA 4 WARDROBE AVENGER SKILL 6 STAMINA 6 HANGED MAN SKILL 8 STAMINA 5 If you manage this test of pugilistic prowess, you find that you have backed into a small recess containing exotic headgear, and snatch up a likely pink head-dress. Behind the large piece of hattery you discover the opening to a hidden crawlspace such as can be expected to connect hotel rooms. Glancing into the head-dress, you notice some organic mass, greenish-brown and ridged like a morel, clinging to the inside. You can either stick the head-dress on your own scalp (turn to 99), or absently add the morel to your possessions while making your way into the next room (turn to 70). 80 The good news is that the sign was accurate, and you easily find your way to the bar. The bad news is that the bar is full of ghosts. Marty and Keef mope over their pints at a nearby table, Keef's spectral head lolling around unpleasantly on his neck. Christopher Lambert leans at (and slightly into) the bar, putting The Laugh to good use as he tries to charm a dark-haired female into letting him walk her home. A heavily soiled Santa knocks back a flaming sambuca as you watch then reels towards the door on the far side of the room, while Zagor and a legless Scouser Lee shoot the breeze about world domination over a platter of nachos. Elsewhere, a hubbub of goblins and shapechangers plot amongst themselves in a gloomy corner, and absently you notice that there's even a Clawbeast squatting gingerly on a bar stool off to your right, cradling some kind of luminous green alcopop, unrelieved of its painful rectal accessory even in death. As you linger in the doorway, Mungo squeezes past from behind with his hands full of change for the fruit machine and a packet of crisps clenched between his teeth. He nods affably at you in passing before settling down at a table full of translucent ex-gladiators and Pat Roach. You can't help but notice Mungo's relative... solidity. He's a persistent one and no mistake. None of the ghosts seem to have noticed your presence yet, for whatever reason: you're not sure if this means their grounding on the spirit plane makes you all but invisible to them, or if they're all a bit pissed up. If you wish to test the waters by initiating a fight with any or all of the room's occupants, turn to 65. If you'd rather just pick your way over to the far door, turn to 47. Alternatively you can back out and head for the stairs (turn to 17) or investigate the gore-spattered service cupboard if you haven't already (turn to 32). 81 The hotel laundry is surprisingly basic. No washing machines, just a very large sink up against the left-hand wall, at which an old woman is doing some washing by hand, moaning and wailing as she does. Directly opposite you is a small lift, half full of clean towels, and a door is set into the right-hand wall. Assorted items of bed linen hang on clothes horses around the room. To approach the old woman, turn to 26. To head for one of the exits, Test your Luck. If you are Lucky, you proceed unnoticed to either the lift (turn to 48) or the door (turn to 33). If you are Unlucky, you trip over a metal bucket, stumbling against a clothes horse, which falls sideways, setting off a domino-toppling-style sequence that brings down every clothes horse and, unsurprisingly, attracts the old woman's attention (turn to 97). 82 As you step through the door, a heavy blunt object collides with the back of your head (lose 2 STAMINA points). A nasal voice says, "Aw, sorry, Kevin, I thought you were a seal." Before you have time to make any kind of reply (for example, pointing out that your name isn't Kevin (unless it is, in which case deduct one LUCK point)), everything goes black. Turn to 96. 83 The door opens, and a figure dressed much like you are walks into the room. As you lunge at him from behind, he takes in the view before him and mutters, "Oh, shi-" You hit him and some- thing like a si- lent ex- plo- sion blasts you a- cross the room. If you have a PARADOX score, increase it by 1 point and note down the codeword 'Blinovitch'. Regardless of what codewords you have, deduct 4 STAMINA points. The other person yells the rudest word you know at you, and crawls out of the room. Wincing, you drag yourself out of the cartoonish you-shaped indentation in the wall and, being in no fit state to do anything remotely athletic, stagger through the doorway and into the corridor beyond. Turn to 50. 84 You peek out into the corridor and see the Tooth Fairy about to turn a corner on your left, so you sneak out, prepared for some serious shadowing. But alas, your chosen outfit makes you stand out against the lavender-tinted wallpaper and you run into a random encounter almost before you set your second foot outside the bridal suite. Roll one die to determine what you face. 1-2 ORC SKILL 7 STAMINA 7 3-4 TROLL SKILL 9 STAMINA 9 5-6 BELLBOY SKILL 6 STAMINA 5 If you win, you briefly glimpse the Tooth Fairy looking back at you inquisitively, and, turning quickly, pretend to be making your way over to the nearby hotel bar which is advertised by a sign on the wall, passing by a red-stained service cupboard. Turn to 80. 85 Ian Livingstone burbles his thanks as he attempts to massage some life back into his wrists. You wait patiently for a while, but it doesn't look as if he's going to be forthcoming with further details on how he got here. He does, however, invite you to ask a favour in return for freeing him from his terrible faux-merchant bondage. What will you ask of him? If you are carrying a full set of the Zagor Chronicles and would like Mr. Livingstone to sign them, turn to 4. If you have the codeword ‘Thrombocyte’ and think you should pump him for information, turn to 39. If you have the codeword ‘Pandoroid’ and want to ask if any pink footwear has passed through his shop, turn to 67. If you have the codeword ‘Windmill’, and want to ask for advice, turn to 74. If you want to suggest a new game concept to the Eidos board of directors, get your pitch ready then turn to 93. If you ignore all protests and repeatedly insist on buying something from his fake shop, turn to 55. If none of these options apply or take your fancy, you can always just shrug and leave by turning to 31. 86 "You think any of this has been easy?" she snaps at you. "You think just because I was brought up in ox-crowded luxury and make off with dents for a living I'm having such a frickin' ball all of the time? You heard me - Rufus Frangipan is my father. Yeah, that one, the billionaire oil magnate you've been reading about in the ox wrangling periodicals. You didn't think a man like that'd sit idly by in his mansion while his daughter went off dating some local nobody, did you? So he hired a bunch of ageing B-movie actors: Lambert, Hauer and two or three others, to keep an eye on you, see how things progressed, look for any hidden dirt, scare you off if necessary. "And that's when Santa decides to drop in for a visit, because it's that time of the year, he just has to make the rounds while Christopher Lambert is about to break in and search your house - you know, for occult affiliations, collections of ID cards, records of industrial espionage, all that stuff a billionaire doesn't like in a potential son-in-law. And Lambert was acting on Dad's orders, but he had some side instructions from me as well, and he knew his priorities. So down goes Santa and not even the hilt of the Blood Sword can save him. You don't still have that, by the way? No? No." She paces a bit. "That's all fine, but then you had to go and play the main character, thinking it's all about YOU somehow, as if no one else in the whole world would know which route to follow, which dangers to risk and which adversaries to fight. And that kind of thing just draws a mutual acquaintance of ours like a moth to a flame, doesn't it? Or should I say 'relation'? That's right, Moth Lady's my mother. Don't look so shocked - where did you think I got these from, a charity shop?" She flexes her wings. "As it happens, Dad was something of an adventurer in his youth and apparently proved himself to be slightly heroic at one point - was when he recovered the Rosebud of Unreasonable Verdancy from that Mochican jungle complex, I think. Didn't last, though. She's never happy, you know. The day he got a summons from some imperiled Antarctic research station, rambling about blood and horror and stuff, he said he just couldn't be bothered [although if YOU want to take up that one, pick up Virtual Reality Adventure #9, Beak Hour, available now! --Ed.], and she fluttered off before you can say 'sniffs contemptuously'. But of course, she's not going to let a prospective boyfriend of mine go untested either. Not much I can do to call her off, I'm afraid - not that it matters any more. "As for dear old Dad, he's already out of the picture. I got him with a dart trap - Cuthbertson was in on it, but I double-crossed him, the old sap. Oops, I guess that means I inherit all those oil 'n' ox billions along with the secret Alpine stronghold and fourteen-thousand-square-mile Oklahoma ranch. Charon, the Grim Reaper, Vradna, Tony Gubba, I'll have more leverage than any one of them next time the League of Six convenes. So why take the trouble to bump off Santa, you wonder? Well, why do you think? With him gone, the Stork and Cupid both shot down over Verdun, and the Easter Bunny boiled in chocolate, who's going to be the supreme childhood icon from now on, you figure? Little me, that's who. "So, unless it turns out I'm wrong about everything and the explanation is really something else entirely, that's how things stand. What, is there something you want to add?" "Yes," you confirm and tick off a few points on your fingers. "First of all, Joe Dever's stonewashed jeans said they planned the Santa and Christopher Lambert thing and there seemed to be no reason to doubt them/it at the time, although there weren't any actual details given. Also at one point I may somehow have been engaged to Moth Lady, which doesn't seem to add up with these other things, unless you're wrong about me not being a main character and thus the focus of her attention previously. And then there's the fact that your little exposé only leaves about TWO MILLION things unexplained." The Tooth Fairy sniffs contemptuously. "You can't expect me to know about every little thing that happens when you go shopping for groceries, can you? Ever heard about random encounters? Free agents? Stand-alone subplots? I'm not responsible for what Zagor decides to do with his spare time. Hell, some of it may even have been the Ancient Cult of Umberbla doing their thing, for all I know. Anyway, big deal - here's where I drop you into this little deadly ghost ride of mine. But I feel I should offer you a last challenge, must be my genes or something. Take this." She tosses you a pink slipper (for the left foot), and then, while you are busy adding it to your Adventure Sheet, continues and concludes, "If you manage to find the matching slipper, you just might stand a chance in the end. Not that you actually will, though. Stay a while... stay forever! Hahahahaha!" Laughing maniacally in a way that doesn't really become her (you think), she grabs a big comedy lever set in the floor. "Wait!" you yell, raising a finger. "Just tell me one thing before you kill me horribly." "What?" she snaps. "Are we still on for that James gig in Milton Keynes Thursday?" Without pausing for a beat, she pulls on the lever and opens up a trapdoor under your feet. You fall into a forking tube, but may be able to control which way you go by twisting madly. If you want to drop into the left-hand chute marked "Laundry", getting deposited in a mound of unwashed shirts, turn to 81. If you want go into the right-hand tube marked "Housekeeping", falling into a dark room, turn to 70. If you can't really make up your mind and end up hitting your head hard just where the tube divides, turn to 96. 87 Without saying a word, the old woman puts the cork into the plughole. It's a perfect fit. With arthritic slowness she stoops to open the cupboard under the sink, giving you an opportunity to check the area around the sink for valuables. Espying a warning label-festooned can of cleaning chemicals, you swipe it for possible future use as a weapon. Behind it you see a brass badge, identifying the wearer as an employee of the Hotel Pembrokeshire, by the name of B.N. Nighe. You pin it to your lapel on the off-chance that being able to impersonate a staff member could come in handy. Then, while the old woman is still preoccupied with dragging a large and battered box of Vud brand washing powder out from the cupboard, you make for an exit. To take the lift, turn to 48. To try the door, turn to 33. 88 You step from the lift into a long plastered corridor with remnants of pale yellow wallpaper and once-gilded candelabra on both walls. To make your way to the door at the end of the corridor you must elude the candelabra's attempts to whack you on the way. Roll one die: this is your position. Roll one more die: this is where the first animated light fixture takes a swing in the air. If the two numbers match, you take a thwack and must lose 2 STAMINA points. Repeat four times, and if you survive turn to 33. 89 Looking at the doors on either side of the corridor, you notice that not all of them are real doors, the others having been painted onto the walls for reasons you can't begin to imagine. If you want to try one of the real doors, consult your Adventure Sheet for codewords. If you have the codeword ‘Impala’ or ‘Thrombocyte’, roll one die. If you roll 1-3, turn to 9. If you roll 4-6, turn to 24. If you have the codeword ‘Pandoroid’ or ‘Windmill’, toss a coin. If you get heads, turn to 24. If you get tails, turn to 42. If you have none of these codewords, turn to 9, 42 or 77 as the whim takes you. If you have not yet tried one of the painted doors and wish to do so, Test your Luck. If you are Lucky, turn to 58. If you are Unlucky, turn to 99. 90 The first escapee from the sack is followed by another of similar appearance. As they straighten up, you see that both are tall, surprisingly regal-looking women wielding big glowing swords. They also appear to be soaked to the skin, as if they'd just clambered out of a lake rather than tumbled out of a sack. Fight them as one: both will go on the aggressive in each Attack Round, but you can only target one of them for your own attack (you must roll to defend against the other, but a higher Attack Strength means you only deflect the blow rather than inflicting any damage). If your weapon of choice is a mop, the +2 combat bonus applies here - enjoy it while you can, as frankly it's a miracle anyone bothered coming up with a use for it at all. WATERY TART SKILL 8 STAMINA 6 MOISTENED BINT SKILL 7 STAMINA 7 If you overcome them both, turn to 6. 91 You sit down heavily at the bar and order a drink on a tab you have no intention of paying. While waiting for it to arrive, you make a furtive sweep of your surroundings. Things have quietened down noticeably since the scuffle, so there's not a great deal of info to be gained: a strange, off-putting aroma in the air can be traced via a thin trail of smoke back to the ashtray on Zagor's table, while you also note that Mungo's tipple of choice appears to be milk, as his table is festooned with empty white-smeared pint glasses. Obviously keen to strengthen his bones, which is understandable. After a while, Santa comes rolling back in with a beard full of phantom vomit, eager to pick up where he left off. He takes his place at the bar next to you, raises a mitten-clad hand for the standard belligerent gesture to the bar staff - then suddenly swings it around to point right into your face. "I know you," he says. "Last bloody name I ever bloody saw before they did me in. Here, look, I never did manage to get this down your twatting chimney." He reaches into his costume and pulls out a severely beaten package, ragged and stained but still somehow clinging to the remnants of its cheap snowman wrapping paper. "There we go, one less thing to do next year," mumbles Santa, before resuming his jolly sambuca-themed quest for oblivion. You pluck at the wrapping with hard-won wariness until the last of it falls away, revealing a red leather-bound notebook. On the very first page is scrawled the message: DON'T GET OUT OF BED TODAY. NO, REALLY. That probably wouldn't have been helpful even if it'd reached you before all this stupidity started kicking off, but even so, it's nice to know that someone's looking out for you. Add 1 LUCK point and (if you're collecting them) 1 ESPIONAGE point. The only other thing you can do here is interrupt Santa's binge with an early request for next year's Christmas list. If you wish to do this, turn to 34. Otherwise, you leave your drink for the old git as a reward for his persistence, and move on to the next phase of your hilariously barmy adventure: turn to 47. 92 As you strip the heart-shaped bed of its pastel sheets, you espy, dappled on the mattress with faintly fluorescent green paint, the letter D. The Messenger of Death has struck. Or something. You don't seem to be losing any STAMINA, so you're not sure of the significance. In any case, better make a mental note of it. When you're done tying the linen into an ungainly rope, you check the windows but find them firmly stuck for no proper reason. You could try charging them with your shoulder from the other side of the room (if so, turn to 77), or you could try something else. If you want to hang on to the rope (so to speak), keep in mind that it's pretty bulky; you wouldn't want to get stuck trying to navigate some narrow passage and die of claustrophobia. Now decide whether to hurriedly search the room (turn to 11, but take only one item) or to venture outside (turn to 56). The secret door has closed for now, but maybe it'll open up again. 93 Ian sits back, tapping his lip thoughtfully, and considers your pitch. Use the following checklist to determine an overall rating for the concept you've just put forward.
ELEMENT SCORE Lara Croft +10 Cheap, thoughtless gamebook tie-in +10 Gritty third-person urban warfare +8 World War II +8 Fast cars crashing +7 Skateboards +6 Football (licenced) -5 Football (unlicenced, stupid player names) +5 Buying out a rubbish developer +5 Buying out a good developer -5 Original ideas -25
If your pitch is rated at 25 or higher, you gain 2 LUCK points, an Initial SKILL bonus of 1 point and a cheque for half a million pounds as Eidos snap you up to develop Dave Holt's Skate Gang Tomb Striker Homicide: Normandy Beach Off-Road. Turn to 31 to move on, jumping up and clicking your heels in the way of cheap car insurance adverts worldwide. If your pitch falls short of the crucial 25 mark, you are verbally harangued out of the room: turn to 55. 94 As he gets to his feet, the canvas bag that Eric was using as a seat slides over onto its side, the shifting weight forcing the zipper halfway open... resulting in a hair-raising soup of gore and body parts spilling out across the hallway. You whimper, then throw up a little bit inside your mouth. "Ah, hell," curses Roberts, stamping his foot. "And I damn sure had you fooled, too." With no further ado, he hurls the bowl at your head (make a successful SKILL roll to avoid it, or take 2 STAMINA damage) and attacks with a crappy prop from the Doctor Who TV movie. He's a mentalist serial killer! Sort him out! ERIC ROBERTS SKILL 9 STAMINA 9 If you win, add 1 ESPIONAGE point (if applicable), and you can also nick his wallet from his back pocket if you so wish (it contains $14, a lapsed Hollywood Video membership card and a torn shred of paper with CONTRA on it in big bold letters, followed by some unintelligible archaic writing, possibly angelic script - suggesting it's not part of a Konami instruction manual as you first suspected). Then you bundle his limp body back into the cupboard, garnish it with all the other severed bits, and you're halfway through carefully picking up all the blackberries too when you realise there's absolutely no point. Now turn to 17 to veer left towards the staircase, or 80 to stagger right towards the hotel bar. 95 Work out your line's Effectiveness based on the following list: Can easily be broken down into four blocks of three syllables - 2 points Can be forced into the right rhythm, but sounds contrived - 1 point Middle rhymes with end - 1 point In some way refers to web or thread - 2 points Now roll one die. If you roll less than the Effectiveness, Clive Anderson awards you seventeen billion and twelve points, making you the surprise winner of the show. As the winner, you get to read out the credits in the style of a British Rail platform announcer, and you are surprised to find a few familiar names among the production team. Add 1 ESPIONAGE point if you're collecting them. Also, a producer approaches you to negotiate a contract for the Spider-Baby to get its own chat show, which means you're rid of the thing, and gain a wad of cash for your troubles. Add 2 LUCK. If you roll the same as or more than the Effectiveness, you get roundly booed by the audience, and the Spider-Baby so hates your singing that it bites you on the ear (lose 5 STAMINA) and runs away. If you're right-handed and have a brassiere attached to your earlobe, the bite causes the bra to come loose, which may be some small consolation. Either way, show's over. You sneak out through an emergency exit, winding up on the fire escape, from which you can climb up to the roof (turn to 30) or down to the nearest open window (turn to 62). 96 You wake up among ruffled sheets in a dingy hotel bed, sunlight sifting drily through venetian blinds. You can't remember how you got here. There's a bloody trenchcoat by your side and a half-empty bottle of whisky on the bedstand. Your hand moves of its own accord to a large bump at the back of your head. Feels like every other bump you ever had after being knocked out like this. Maybe a swig of J&B will help clear things up... You reach for the whisky and find that it's one of those Klein bottle designs found in duty-free shops. You add it to your possessions, meaning to figure out how it can actually hold any liquid at all. There's a knock on the door. You freeze. A moment's silence. Then a voice from outside calls: "Grime repairman, ma'am. Here to, uh, check the grime. On the windows?" Thoughts crash through your brain like the train at the end of Silver Streak. What does it mean? Who brought you here and why? Whose blood is that? Who set you up? Are the sweat cake crumbs on the floor a clue or something? And who was that broad who walked into your office this morning? After a while you remember that you have no office, but there may have been a broad. Add 1 ESPIONAGE point if you have the codeword ‘Thrombocyte’. The knock comes again, more urgent. You must decide whether to face whoever is about to enter the room (turn to 14), jump beside the door and stage an ambush, risking the death of an innocent and the consequential loss of SKILL points (turn to 83), or lower yourself into the room below by tying sheets together and hanging them out the window (turn to 62). If you choose the last option and already have a rope made of sheets, you must either use that one or else record the codeword ‘Monomania’. 97 Eyes wide, long grey hair waving in an inexplicable breeze, the old woman points one gnarled finger at you and exultantly wails, "You are doomed! DOOMED!" Then she goes back to her washing, continuing to mutter, "Doomed!" from time to time. Note the codeword 'doomed' on your Adventure Sheet and leave, either by the lift (turn to 48) or the door (turn to 33). 98 Nothing odd about the sled except for a cloth parcel in the back that looks as if it might be a baby or something. You carefully lift away the outermost folds and expose a red comedy bundle of dynamite, with a lit fuse and a tag that reads, "UNFINISHED BUSINESS. SEE OVERLEAF". You check the other side of the tag, which reads, "LOOK BEHIND YOU". You look behind you. There's nothing there, and you realize that you have fallen for the oldest trick in the book, of making you look behind you to leave less time for not being blown to bits. You fling yourself away from the sled, gaining some not-so-helpful momentum from the blast that tears the sled in half. Deduct 3 STAMINA points and Test your Luck. If you are Lucky, you roll across the roof and recover, nothing broken or busted (turn to 75). If you are Unlucky, the force of the detonation sweeps you off the roof (turn to 77). 99 This is the generic insanity paragraph. Maybe you got frightened out of your wits by a pack of rogue Ganjees, maybe you started out with no Sanity points because no one had told you to roll them up. Either way, you sit in a straitjacket mumbling to yourself in ancient Hettite and swatting at insects only you can see (it's not a very good straightjacket). Your adventure ends here. 100 You slump against a wall to catch your breath. Regrettably, the shotgun somehow got snapped in half during the fight, so you're not going to be able to take it and go all Doom on whatever else might infest the hotel. Searching the body for more useful loot turns up a hip flask of something alcoholic, which you may drink to restore 4 STAMINA points at any time other than when common sense dictates that you're in no position to try (combat, dangling from a window ledge by your fingertips, lips stapled together and no straw handy etc.) and a tattered and bloodstained letter, parts of which are still legible: '... has already defeated Joe Dever's Stonewashed Jeans and evaded the Boneshaker hit squad sent after him. I hold out some hope that...' '...r has identified a spatio-textual bottleneck through which he is sure to pass at some point, and is now setting up guards and traps there, claiming that the adventurer will be doomed if he gets that far. Nevertheless, I should prefer it if the adventurer does not even reach that point, and to this end I wish to engage your serv...' '...ough. I shall be in the penthouse suite of the hotel from the 17th to the 24th, after which I shall depart for B...' Checking the dead maniac's watch, you find that it is now 11:37 pm on the 23rd. The author of the letter, quite possibly the true mastermind behind all the stupidity and peril you have experienced, should still be in the penthouse suite. This could be your best chance to find the answers to all your unanswered questions, or at least to kill the tiresome pest and put an end to this persecution. Of course, you're sure to have to get past the guards and traps mentioned in the letter before you can reach the penthouse suite, but that shouldn't be too hard, should it? To find out whether or not you're up to the challenge, turn to 101, the first section of part 2 of this adventure, which bears the sub-title Doomage in the Bottleneck.
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Post by a moderator on Apr 19, 2022 21:51:47 GMT
Yellow Snow 3, part 2: Doomage in the Bottleneck101 It turns out you're not very far from the entrance hall, so you decide to go and have a look around. After all, up until a few minutes ago that's where you were headed for, and you feel that even some semblance of closure on that account would serve to justify the events of the last hour or so. On the way over you pass a large sign that reads, at the top: Yellow Snow 4: Snakes on a Plane Those words have however been crossed out, leaving a second title more hastily printed underneath: Yellow Snow 3, part 2: Doomage in the Bottleneck Leaving this mostly redundant billboard behind you, you reach the vestibule, where a few guests stand about around the counter: dark coats, black hats, tall collars, no visible skin, fleeting wisps of black smoke seeping from cuffs, engraved lead briefcases, spatial distortions coming and going like an imaginary haze. On the other side of an empty fountain basin you can see the exit. There's always the chicken option, but you have a psychic hunch that you'd end up in a generic death sequence involving several random drive-by shootings. Something to think about. You sit down on a bench in the shade of some fake shrubbery to rest for a little while. Add 3 STAMINA points and 1 LUCK point. Nodding off, you dream of cacti bouncing lazily over white-patched mountainscapes dotted with Chavín temples. Yellow snow falls. Uneasy things grow under the temples, the cacti are shot down by llamas with slings and the English cricket team crashes their jet on one of the peaks in a most anachronistic fashion. This freaks you out, so you jerk back into wakefulness with a bad taste in your mouth. Lose 1 STAMINA point. To distract your mind you grab a newspaper from the next bench, settle for a sports article and read: "... The llamas and the cricket players then started fighting over who'd get to lap up the blood trickling out of the temple entrances..." Folding the paper up quickly and replacing it where you found it, you decide you've stayed in one spot long enough. Where will you go from here? If you want to defy fate and leave the hotel through the front doors, turn to 134. If you stroll into the hotel club hoping for some diversion or revelation, turn to 175. If you head back for the elevator, hoping to reach the penthouse in the quickest way possible, turn to 159. If you think this is too obvious and would rather take the stairs, turn to 187. If you approach the desk, thinking to fish for some information on the penthouse's occupant, turn to 144. If you have the codeword ‘Sparkle’ and would like to follow a lead, turn to 112. 102 You suddenly feel a little unsteady, realising a moment later that the floor itself has started to move. You are whisked at considerable speed along a corridor and into an Escher-esque network of escalators and travelators, passing several other points of entry to the system along the way, but being swept past too quickly to explore any of them. After a short time the moving floor deposits you at the end of a long, drab hotel corridor, with nothing to distinguish it from any of the other long, drab hotel corridors in which you have been spending way too much time lately. A door opens at the far end on the left, and a maid emerges, pushing a trolley laden with bottles. The door opposite opens, and out comes a waiter, staggering under the weight of a covered platter that's almost as wide as the door. "Out of my way," demands the waiter. "I have to take this up to the penthouse at once." Suddenly interested, you set off down the corridor at some speed, but it is so long that in the time it takes you to reach the end, the maid has reversed her trolley through the door, the waiter has performed a complicated balancing act that enabled him to free one hand long enough to punch a few buttons on a pad beside the door facing you, pushed the door open, manoeuvred the platter through, and let the door swing shut behind him, and the door has locked itself. With a sigh, you turn your attention to the keypad. It has the numbers 0 to 9 on it, and below it is a brass plaque, engraved with the sequence '2, 12, 36, 80, ?, 252, 392'. If you have the King of the Maths Teachers' Crown or the codeword 'Smug', turn to 188. Otherwise, you will have to try and work out the missing number in the sequence. Once you think you know what it is, turn to the resultant section. If you get it wrong (and it'll be obvious if you got it right), the keypad fatally electrocutes you as soon as you hit your first incorrect key. 103 The receptionist hands you a tungsten key and explains, “Mnthi-i-is will takeyoutothecorrect floor, aaand if no hotel staaaaff areavailabletohelpyou, you may aaaalso use it toopenthesafe. Mnone turn to the left, six turns anticlockwise, and three turns widdershins to unlockit.” Make a note of that, or if you can’t be bothered to, don’t subsequently write a review whining about how the text requires you to remember details you had no reason to expect would be relevant, because this time you have been warned. The receptionist continues, "Mnyouu shouldbe waaarned that the safe is priiimed to cuuurse aaaanyonewhomakesan atte-e-e-empt to removepropertythatisnottheirown. Willthatbeallsir?" If you have the codeword ‘Raffles’, you may now proceed to the lift (turn to 165) or the stairs (turn to 109), or to the hotel club if you’ve not been there before (turn to 175). Otherwise, you ask where the safe is. Either Test your Luck or roll one die (you choose). If you are Lucky or roll more than 3, the receptionist gives you directions to it (note the codeword ‘Raffles’ on your Adventure Sheet, add 1 ESPIONAGE point if you're into that sort of thing, and return to the start of this paragraph). If you are Unlucky or roll less than 4, turn to 157. 104 You call out that you are ready to fight the SHANE MACGOWAN. A few seconds later, the corresponding statue creaks and begins to move, staggering off its podium, coughing and wheezing. The man starts to sing drawlingly and drunkenly, reels a bit, spots you and shouts something intelligible that may or may not involve whisky, then collapses into a snoring hill of human refuse. You're not entirely sure what you're supposed to accomplish here, but a reluctant search of his pockets turns up only what appears to be an unused set of false teeth. Turn to 160. 105 "Alright, what do you want?" whines the debilitated superspy from ground level as you loom menacingly over her. That's a good question. You scratch at the ever-present inner itch caused by that pesky ESPIONAGE counter on your Adventure Sheet, and suddenly a thought strikes you. "I think I want you to do something with all these ruddy ESPIONAGE points," you venture. "I've got 7 of them now. It was one of those 'turn immediately to' situations, so I'm guessing they must have something to do with it, otherwise this whole thing is even more shambolic than I first imagined." Haley's muscles uncoil with an almost audible creak. "Ah, that explains it," she sighs. "You've become a l33t SUpaRsp1y haX0r and developed l33t SUpaRsp1y haX0r vision. Not bad, son. I have to admit I didn't think you were going to get this far." She clambers to her feet, rubbing sullenly at the bruises you so kindly supplied. "Well, come on, let's hear what you've got." Ignoring the incongruity of someone who probably wears My Little Pony socks calling you 'son', you begin to piece together a not entirely consistent rundown of the encounters so far in which you've been awarded ESPIONAGE points. Most of them sound even more arbitrary and unrelated now than they did at the time, and you're not at all sure what conclusions you should have drawn by this point. You just hope there's not going to be a test at the end. When you've finished, Ms. Bopple looks lost in thought. "So, you really have compromised more of our IP than we thought," she muses. "Just as well you've gone and TOLD US EVERYTHING!" Dramatically the figure before you casts off its precocious teen agent disguise, revealing itself to be a short, oily-looking man in a tight black suit and whimsical Tweety Pie tie. With a flashy gesture he tweaks a business card from the inside of his jacket and flips it at you. It says: BRAD WANKBERGER Hollywood marketing agent Freelance evil right-hand man Curses! You should have known that even the notoriously unimaginative American film industry could only sustain so many genuine teenage girlie superspies! But Brad is clearly elated that you failed to suspect anything. "If we can just 'touch base' for a moment, I was hoping we could put aside some 'quality time' at a later date to deal with our issues," he says, making inverted commas with his fingers in all the appropriate places, "Unless of course you think we should 'share our vision' right here and try to come to some kind of understanding." "Are you asking me to join forces with you and your evil consortium and your big shadowy boss?" you ask suspiciously. Brad frowns. "I'm not sure," he says. "Why, did you want to?" "I don't think so," you admit. "Okay, fine," says Brad. "Anyway, now that you've 'given up the goods', so to speak, I have to get back and report to the 'head honcho', the 'big kahuna'. Out of curiosity, have you worked out who that is yet? No? Didn't think so. Heck of a guy, you know? Absolutely the 'real deal'. You think there are too many cheap licensed kiddie hero flicks on the market right now, just wait till Uwe Boll and Paul Anderson get working on some of the boss' properties. You'll be literally 'quaking in your boots'." "Stop doing that," you snap. "It doesn't even make sense." In response, Brad winks, makes the 'time out' gesture, says "Ciao," and hops back suddenly through a bad CGI space-time rift which promptly disappears with a pop of expended budget. Ah well, at least now you know what you're up against. Sort of. Record the codeword 'Insider' on your Adventure Sheet and head back to the section at which you picked up the seventh ESPIONAGE point. 106 You have gone insane and are institutionalized. While you're at the institution, you watch Primer on DVD and get some nifty ideas. You're going to go back in time to change everything that happened to land you in this place! Antagonists, tremble! After zooming in on the proper frames so you can read the schematics, you make your own time machine just like the ones in the movie, using everyday items that you secrete and convert as needed. Only after you've completed your work does it occur to you that the machine can't be used to go back to a point in time before it was made. Still, next day you use it to steal some extra yoghurt at breakfast. 107 "What kind of a scare was that? " Little Gaia jibes from her loudspeaker. "He didn't even die or anything! And you call yourself a haunting? You have got to be the most pathetic phantom I've ever laid metaphorical eyes on. Aren't you going to follow that up? Don't you have a death touch or something?" "Hey," you put in, "whose side are you on again?" "You know what we artificial intelligences do when times are rough?" Little Gaia continues. "We better ourselves. Sister, I want you to show you can be as good as an artificial intelligence. You go away right now and audition for the part of some cheap SHODAN rip-off in a shallow movie that squanders a classic science fiction premise. You can do it, girl! Posture! Chin up! High spirits! No pun intended! YOU GO!" Accompanied by your musings along the general lines of "What's going on here?", Viki shuffles off to do exactly as suggested. "All right," you demand of the little box, "what would the brilliant backup plan have been if she'd gone and used that death touch on me, as per your motivational programme?" "Hey, not much I can do from in here," she says shruggingly. "If you go down, I go down." You find this answer beside the point, bordering on irrelevancy, but it seems unlikely that you'll get anything more definitive out of her (although if this had been a tabletop RPG, no doubt you'd have sustained a decreasingly realistic line of stubborn inquiry, forcing the gamemaster to deliver a decreasingly original series of annoyed and skirting answers, a procedure which is mercifully shortened in most dramatic presentations, like this one). You leave the room where you almost faced nearly certain death and skip down the corridor hoping to encounter no more ghosts. Turn to 169. 108 You open the door, and see just how pathetic you look/looked shortly after recovering from being knocked out. Well, you're older and wiser now. Yeah, right. The same conversation as before takes place, only from the other side: you giving your younger self the mysterious (and quite possibly irrelevant) warning about the chess set, his petty quibbling about grammar, your unhelpful hinting at some of the grief through which he has yet to go... Then you close the door, and realise that as the younger you has now seen you wearing the sling, you can take it off. Reality flickers back to something approaching normal (by your standards, at least), and you retrace your footsteps to the safe to collect the photo. Cross 'splinter' off your Adventure Sheet and turn to 122. 109 The stairway winds upwards at a steep angle, turning skeletal and rickety, lit here and there by sputtering torches. Bats hang from the wooden beams and spiders brood in black, narrow corners. When you've been climbing for a minute or two, a heavy creaking is heard from above. You peer into the darkness and wince as a hunchbacked ZOMBIE OGRE comes crashing down, lurching from side to side and making the staircase shake as if the whole structure might splinter and tumble down to the bottom of the shaft. It arbitrarily occurs to you that use of an ostentatious head-dress with a morel-like substance would provide a solution to this encounter. If you have this get-up and goo, turn to 142. If not, you have a fight on your hands. ZOMBIE OGRE SKILL 10 STAMINA 8 If in any Attack Round you roll a double 4, 5 or 6, you have tripped the clumsy creature and kicked the body down the stairs, ending the battle immediately. However, if the Ogre ever rolls a double 5 or 6, it brings its weight down on you and you suffer a similar game-ending fate. If you survive, you hurry on up until you reach a door. Turn to 183. 110 With trembling hands you pick up the tommy-gun from the tray, grab the handles and hold it reverently at your side like a true gangster of the roaring past (minus the trenchcoat - unless you actually do have a trenchcoat, in which case add 2 LUCK points and 1 ESPIONAGE point). Your moment of nostalgia is frayed by the increasingly disapproving looks from all the hotel guests and staff that seem to have come out of the woodwork, wrinkling their lips, pointing at you and whispering to each other. You have gravely insulted the public mind and only the lack of champagne stands between you and national outrage - the local outrage alone is enough to spark another one of those mass fights. Take on the mob two at a time, each new combatant stepping up when a previous one is defeated. MISS MARPLE SKILL 7 STAMINA 5 MIRP, BRETON GOD OF INDIGNATION SKILL 8 STAMINA 7 GELFLING SKILL 6 STAMINA 6 DOCTOR WITH ELEPHANT GUN SKILL 10 STAMINA 8 BERKAMENTAL SKILL 6 STAMINA 2 THE PLOTHOLES IN MIRRORMASK SKILL 11 STAMINA 6 There are three rules to keep in mind. Firstly, you can Escape at any time by tossing the tommy-gun away and toppling the vending machine in the path of your attackers (deduct 2 STAMINA points and turn to 102). The second concerns the tommy-gun, which when used allows you to automatically win an Attack Round, wounding your current opponent for 6 points of STAMINA. There is ammunition for four such salvoes, each of which you can apply at any time in this combat or save for later. The third rule is that if you ever thought Tommy Cooper was funny, you die - unconditionally, with no time even for Escaping. You should probably not come this way again next game. If you fight and win there is no time to search anyone for items, but at least you can hold on to the tommy-gun if you didn't already use it up. Turn to 102. 111 As you walk into the linen closet and turn on the light, endless rows of shelves are revealed, stacked high with clean, starched, folded sheets. Beautiful, beautiful sheets. If you have the codeword ‘Monomania’, the cops find you in the morning as you triumphantly wrap up your personal adaptation of The Fruit at the Bottom of the Bowl, having tied some 20,000 sheets into a long, long rope - just in case, as you tell them while you're led away, you'd need something to escape with. Your adventure ends here, as you can't really offer a good explanation for the deaths of Marty, Keef and some other random people from the previous instalment. If you don't have this codeword, the only thing of interest in here for you is a matchbook left by an indecisive pyromaniac, which you may slip into your pocket (the matchbook, not the pyromaniac). You can choose to try the door opposite (turn to 154), or continue down the corridor (turn to 169). 112 You stroll over to the litter bin. If this is the first section to which you turned from 101, skip the rest of this paragraph and go straight to the start of the next one. If you tried something else before checking out the bin, Test your Luck. If you are Lucky, you're still in time, and can jump to the start of the next paragraph. If you are Unlucky, someone has already retrieved the parcel, and all you find in the bin is a selection of banana peels, apple cores, empty crisp packets and soft drink cans. Oh, and several wasps, which resent your rummaging and sting you. Lose 4 STAMINA points, return to the final paragraph of section 101, and choose an option you haven't yet tried. Wedged into the bin is a parcel, wrapped in brown paper and neatly tied up with string. It's about the right size to contain a human head, so you contemplate taking it somewhere more private to open it, just in case. However, before you can reach a decision, an angry shout gets your attention. Striding across the lobby towards you is either John Travolta or Vincent Vega - given all the run-ins you've had with actors and meant-to-be fictional characters, it could be either. Regardless, the way he's glowering at the parcel suggests that he's not about to ask you what you put on your french fries. Luckily for you, he left his gun in his other suit, so this is going to be straightforward hand-to-hand combat. THAT GUY FROM PULP FICTION SKILL 10 STAMINA 14 If he fails to overcome you with his formidable dance moves, you find that during the fight the parcel got dropped on the floor and partly split open. As no blood has seeped out, you risk a look inside. The parcel contains a cracked statuette, hollow and stuffed with rolls of microfilm. No, wait, it's numerous wads of cash, probably adding up to about $400,000 in all. Except that it's actually a wine bottle, giving off a disconcertingly radioactive shimmer. Or is the package empty but for a matchbook, which has popped open to reveal a number of names and telephone numbers written on the inside of the cover? Or... Quickly you close the parcel again, scarcely able to believe the truth. Inside it is a McGuffin, an object which can become anything of significant interest to a number of characters. This could be very useful. Or incredibly dangerous. Either way, add 1 LUCK point, and an ESPIONAGE point if you're into that sort of thing. If you take the McGuffin with you, and are subsequently asked if you possess an item which you do not own, you may use the McGuffin in place of that item. Unless you find yourself discarding or giving away said item, you may subsequently retain the McGuffin to reuse it in other situations. However, the McGuffin is not able to provide you with any of the knowledge that would come with having acquired the item the proper way, so using it may lead you into confusing or hazardous situations. Another potential drawback to the McGuffin is that it is being avidly sought by an assortment of rogues and villains. As long as you have the McGuffin, you must roll two dice whenever you move to a different part of the hotel (from a room to a corridor or vice versa, onto a staircase, into a lift, that sort of thing). Any time you get a double, one of these ne'er-do-wells catches up with you, and you must fight. Whoever it is will have a SKILL equal to 7 plus half the roll of one die (rounded up) and a STAMINA of 10 plus the roll of one die. Each of these bad lots will have 1 ESPIONAGE point's worth of clues on him (or her), so if you have the codeword ‘Thrombocyte’ and are some way below quota, you might want to tote the McGuffin around for a while even if you never use it as nature intended. Note the McGuffin on your Adventure Sheet if you're taking it with you. An overweight balding man passes through the lobby as you try to decide on your next course of action. Return to the last paragraph of section 101 and choose an option you have not yet tried. 113 You slip the sling onto your left arm, and very jaunty it looks, too. No, actually it doesn’t. It makes you look like somebody with a broken arm, unsurprisingly enough. And while you’re wearing it, it slightly hampers your movement, but you feel an inexplicable reluctance to taking it off. Deduct 1 point from your SKILL until such time as you are told you can remove the sling. Now you turn your attention to the safe (turn to 190). 114 Test your Luck. If you are Unlucky, you catch your foot on a trailing strand of one of the screens through which you tore your way, slightly twisting your ankle (deduct 1 SKILL point until you next turn to a section with a number ending in 0). A cleaning lady stands by the door to the lobby, staring at you. Or is it a cleaning lady? As you get closer, you notice various clues that she is not what she seems: she's whistling in the way none-too-smart people do when they're up to something and want to feign nonchalance, the Gucci emblem is studded on her rubber gloves in semi-precious stones, and she's holding her feather duster the wrong way round. Abruptly you recognise the face. It's Paris Hilton! No, wait, it's worse than that. Up close you can make out the tell-tale signs of genetic drift that reveal this to be one of her clone sisters. Most likely Skegness. If you'd rather take your chances with the tentacled monstrosity in the lift (or is it just another projection?), turn immediately to 180. Otherwise, read on. Any doubts you might have had that the Hilton clone is up to no good are dispelled when she fumbles a mobile phone from inside her left glove, hits a button, and says, "I think he may be on to me," into it without even waiting for the person she's calling to pick up. That done, she drops the phone and lunges at you with the duster. SKEGNESS HILTON SKILL 6 STAMINA 7 If you defeat her in three or fewer rounds, turn to 149. If you are still fighting after three rounds, the mobile phone emits a wisp of smoke, which distracts her long enough for you to administer the coup de grâce, but also destroys any chance you had of discovering whom she was trying to call. You're about to go on your way when you spot a folded piece of flimsy card sticking out of Ms Hilton's pocket. Opening it out, you find that it is the back page of an exercise book, on which is printed a selection of mathematical information. While the likes of the guide to converting sixteenths of an inch into square litres or degrees Celsius into cubic acres are unlikely to be of any use to you, the multiplication tables (from 1 to 12) catch your eye because someone has highlighted parts of them in red pen. The first line of the one times table has been underlined twice, while the second and fourth lines of the two times table have each been underlined once, as have the third and ninth lines of the three times table. The fourth line of the four times table has also been underlined, and a little 'unhappy' emoticon has been doodled in roughly the spot where the sixteenth line would be if the table didn't stop at twelve. What all this signifies remains unclear, but you make a mental note of it just in case it should prove important later on. It also occurs to you that there are some very strange people out there who would be willing to pay a hefty sum for her rubber gloves. You may add them (the gloves, not the very strange people) to your Adventure Sheet if you wish. Now go back to the lobby (return to the last paragraph of 101 and select an option you have not yet tried). 115 The door opens onto a large, echoing space strewn with random items of various kinds, a place with the vibe of a long disused film set. Fake trees, wobbly freestanding wooden doors and piles of moth-eaten period costumes mingle with crates and barrels marked with dire explosive warnings shipped in from the jungle/warehouse bases of South American warlords/Miami drug kingpins. You barely have time to register all this before the screaming begins. Standing before you, feverishly waving their pens, paper and promotional items, is a gaggle of what would appear to be your most ardent fans. They're all girls, most of them quite scantily dressed. It also strikes you that some are pretty well-built for girls, while others haven't paid much attention to ladies' basic shaving needs, or indeed any shaving needs. If you have the codeword 'Insider', turn immediately to 176. If not, you find yourself overwhelmed by the euphoria of finally receiving your due recognition. Smiling from ear to ear, you step forward to mingle with your people, and promptly find yourself subjected to a barrage of crude punches, kicks and painful pen-based jabs. But that's not the worst part. The worst part is the fact that as soon as you hit the ground, there's nothing to prevent you from seeing right up their skirts, and your mind goes into involuntary shutdown as images of untamed male pant moustaches bursting out from behind ladylike white undergarments brand themselves onto your shrieking brain-flesh. Turn to 106. 116 The hotel safe can be found along this corridor. If you have a tungsten key and wish to open the safe, turn to the section with the same number as the sequence of turns required to open the safe (see, I told you to make a note of it. If you forgot, or couldn’t be bothered, then you suddenly forget/can’t be bothered to keep breathing, and DIE!). If you don’t have the key, or don’t wish to use it for some reason, after a moment the lift doors slide closed again (turn to 195). 117 There is a loud popping sound, and all the lights go out, leaving the kitchen illuminated only by the red glow of the fire. It puts you in mind of a darkroom, and you wonder if any of the assorted additives on the shelf might, in the right combination, function as a rudimentary developing fluid. A bespectacled man wearing overalls drags a stepladder into the kitchen and heads over to the fuse box. You realize that your time is limited, and set to work. Roll one die, halve the result, and round up any fractions. If you have already removed the film from the camera, add 2 to the total. The end result of these calculations is the number of attempts you may make at developing the film. For each attempt, roll two dice. If you roll : 2-3 turn to 130. 4-6 you concoct a noxious brew that strips the skin from your hand (or some flesh if you already rolled this). Lose 2 STAMINA points and roll again. 7 turn to 193. 8-10 you create a wholesome broth that’s clearly no use for developing photos, but does taste very nice. Restore 2 STAMINA points and roll again. 11-12 turn to 156 If you have failed to develop the photo within the requisite number of attempts, as soon as the lights come back on, they cause one of your discarded mixtures to emit hideously toxic fumes which dissolve your face. 118 Thinking quickly, you delve into your back pocket and tug the torn slip of paper out of the purloined wallet. As an ingenious afterthought, you feign a lack of experience with the English language as you wave it in the would-be soldier's face. "Oh, Contra?" he says, half-amused and half-irritated. "No, sorry, the Seventh Unofficial Contra Cross-Stitch Reunion is next week. You must have been - sorry, I said you must have - DO YOU UNDERSTAND? SOMEONE MUST HAVE GIVEN YOU THE - bloody hell, forget it." He turns on his heel in disgust and stalks back over to his workspace, as do his colleagues. Add 1 LUCK point. You can either take this opportunity to duck out of the room and head up the stairs as originally planned (turn to 109), or push your luck by wandering around the hall, muttering under your breath in a made-up foreign language, while scoping the place out for potential goodies/clues/free badges (turn to 189). 119 "I've got him!" calls the voice of the man who has immobilised you. The woman unhurriedly crosses the café to stand in front of you, her eyes glowing an unlikely shade of blue. A throbbing sound fills your head, and impossible memories erupt from the dark crevices of your mind - your hand bringing the Auk Shaman's staff down upon the Grim Reaper's skull with a satisfying 'clonk', Rutger Hauer and Rufus Frangipan manhandling the shopping trolley out of the pond, an owl transforming into a table as it attacks Clive Anderson, you saving Mungo's life... Deduct as many STAMINA points as you have PARADOX points, and delete the PARADOX score from your Adventure Sheet. Returning to your senses, you find yourself back in the hotel, lying across the threshold of the door with the keypad. There is no sign of the café any more, just another hotel corridor. With a considerable effort, you drag yourself upright. This encounter has left you with a very limited ability to roll back time a few seconds: this ability allows you to ignore a bad dice (or die) roll and roll again. It can only be used three times, and will in any case not last into Yellow Snow IV, should you survive the trouble ahead. Turn to 200. 120 The Tooth Fairy snickers. "I know you don't. One trial still remains - your last one, I'm sure." She claps twice and a number of spotlights turn on, revealing a row of pedestals and a set of lifelike statuary. Turn to 152. 121 Disconcertingly, the receptionist flips his head so that it now flops to the right. He then picks up a telephone receiver and presses a couple of buttons. “Mnone moment, Sir.” As he turns his attention to the call he’s making (“Mnorman? Have you been a naughtyboyagain?”) you decide to sneak away. Turn back to the final paragraph of section 101 and go someplace you haven’t yet been. 122 You have a flashback to the Tooth Fairy saying, 'weird flappy things,' then a flashforward to your pulling aside a curtain, then a flashstill to your standing in front of the safe. A telephone starts to ring inside the safe and, having checked that there are no decent vantage points from which Kiefer Sutherland could be aiming a rifle at you in the vicinity, you reopen the safe and answer the phone. The caller turns out to be the Speaking Calendar, which reveals that the current date is several months before Santa's death. Well, that means you can now put the photo into the box where you found it, and put things right. Or at least less wrong than they currently are. For a moment you wonder if you could telephone the version of yourself native to this time and warn him of the nonsensical shenanigans that await him, but just thinking about it makes your PARADOX score ache like the extended family of all hangovers. In the end, you appropriate the little red safe log, scrawl the simple and non-incriminating message "DON'T GET OUT OF BED TODAY. NO, REALLY." in it, rip some discarded wrapping paper from a nearby litterbin and fashion a crude and oversized envelope, labelling it with your own name and address. To make sure it reaches you at the proper date you cleverly attach a tag with the words "ATTN. SANTA" on it before leaving the whole package on a serving wagon for room service to pick up. Then you get on with returning to the right room and putting the photo into the box. Cross the codewords 'Momo' and 'Raffles' off your Adventure Sheet and add the codeword 'saves9'. That done, you get ready to leave, and find a midget glowering at you from the end of the table. "You're not supposed to be now," he growls in a peculiar accent, and claps his hands in an inexplicably wrong way. At once you are assailed by images of clock hands whizzing round at great speed, calendar pages showering to the floor, the sky switching between dark and light like a strobe light, beryllium atoms decaying, and other such indications of the rapid passage of time. A loud buzzing fills the room, and a cloud of insects with little clock faces for eyes swoops down towards you. Fight the swarm of TIME FLIES as one opponent. TIME FLIES SKILL 9 STAMINA 9+your PARADOX score If the Time Flies ever win a round of combat with an Attack Strength of 21, they age you to death. If you win, you find yourself back in the present. You go back out through the door, and are only mildly surprised to find that it now leads out onto a completely different corridor (turn to 169). 123 The band having tuned up, the drummer launches an intro along with some castanets, and you lean back and listen as it leads into a mellow tune: I got to thinking of how adventurers tend to go Adrift at sea or burnt in flames or lost in yellow snow I just don't see there's any way to reach your goal There must be fifty ways to kill your character.
An Ogre said to me I see that you're confused And I hope my spiky club will help to leave you disabused Of happy endings down the passages you choose There must be fifty ways to kill your character Fifty ways to kill your character.
It's too late for you to leave as the ensemble lapses into a jaunty chorus:
Just use the wrong skill, Bill Walk into a spike, Ike Don't run from that gas, Chas But inhale it instead Get caught by a glob, Bob It's just doing its blob job Just part with your head, Fred And get yourself dead.
Oh, step on that snake, Jake Get eaten by rats, Fats Jump into the den, Ken Set the Manticore free Don't need a reprieve, Steve No reason for you to grieve Just use the wrong key, Lee And take a dart in the knee.
Whoa. There's a window for escape as the music settles into post-refrain complacency. If you wish to leave now, deduct 1 point of STAMINA and slip into the kitchen (turn to 162). If you're determined to hear it all, turn to 148. 124 The Sacred Elven Mindsword of Jack Palance Slaying and General Whoopass bronks unceremoniously into the tray. You reach for the hilt that is shaped like a hand or talon or something grasping the Elfstone or Mindstone or whatever that thing's name is. Once you have retrieved the sword, you are suddenly circled by spinning fluorescent hula hoops and whisked away to recruit an ally in your quest. NATURALLY. Pick a random number between 1 and 400 by pointing at some likely digits, typing blindly on a calculator, or reversing your date of birth. Then look up the corresponding section in Fighting Fantasy 7, Island of the Lizard King. If there's a creature with SKILL and STAMINA scores in that section or elsewhere on the same page spread, you may claim it as your champion; but if there is not, or you come upon the Giant Crab or the Pirates, or you don't have access to this book, or you can't be bothered anyway, you end up with Mungo. Then your recruit mysteriously follows you back to this adventure, munching on a raw fish. Add 1 LUCK point. In any subsequent battles you may deploy your champion, and either stand back doing nothing while your ally possibly gets chopped up by increments, or fight as a team using whichever version of the 'simultaneous combat against two opponents' rule you prefer (but in that case enemies will always go for you, vindictive bastards that they are). Should the ally perish, you continue the current fight as normal. You have no way of replenishing your ally's STAMINA, and it cannot make use of any special items or abilities. Also, if your champion is Mungo, next time you get into a fight he'll immediately electrocute himself on a socket, slip on a rogue ferret, impale himself on an office chair, die from fish poisoning or otherwise remove himself from the action, causing you to lose 2 LUCK points in the embarrassing aftermath. When all that's settled, you continue down the corridor. Turn to 102. 125 Better fight weirdness with more weirdness, you reason and fumble for the topographically offensive item that you found earlier. While Viki's jeremiad progresses into the middle stage, you thrust the bottle at her hoping for some effect. Now, since the Klein bottle has only one surface, everything in the universe is technically on the outside of it, but also on the inside of it, including the spectral Banshee, which is now trapped. Of course, since you're also part of the universe, that should mean you're trapped in there with it... but you manage to suppress this notion, holding on to the ghost-inhabited bottle of whisky. If you have a matchbook, then swiping a piece of cloth from the bed will let you fashion a fearsome occult Molotov cocktail that ought to be effective against just about anything. Expending this item will let you defeat any one opponent with no loss of STAMINA on your part, and that's not too bad. Add 1 LUCK point. If you don't have a matchbook you can still use the bottle as a sort of ghost grenade; the Banshee, when released, will whine and cry, depriving any one enemy of 2 SKILL points and 2 STAMINA points. There is however a chance she will remain and be quite mad with you, so if you ever do this, you must immediately Test your Luck, and if you're Unlucky, note down your favourite colour and turn to 173. For now, you exit the gloom room and head on down the corridor. Turn to 169. 126 You speak the words, shaking your head at the circumstances that compel you to utter such twaddle, knock again, and prepare to go through. If you have the codeword 'splinter', turn to 108. If you have the codeword 'Blinovitch', turn to 145. 127 You smell the darkness and, when that fails to achieve anything worthwhile, blunder around for a bit. Roll one die and lose that many STAMINA points to account for minor contusions acquired by walking into solid objects. If you have the codeword ‘Windmill’ and are carrying a camera, you decide to take advantage of the darkness to remove the film from the camera: note it on your Adventure Sheet as a separate item. Eventually you find a door, and stumble out into a large hall occupied by many interesting psychopaths armed with power tools, a few of whom take umbrage at your presence. Roll another die to see how many STAMINA points you lose escaping from this merry bunch. Assuming you survive, upon escaping from the hall you find yourself at the edge of the hotel lobby, near the bottom of a flight of stairs. Close by, a well-camouflaged door swings open, letting out a white-clad man with a paper hat, who scurries across the lobby towards the exit, pulling a fistful of roll-ups from his pocket and cramming them into his mouth as he goes. To follow him outside, turn to 134. To go through the door from which he emerged, turn to 162. To head up the stairs, turn to 109. 128 You step through the hatch directly ahead into, as predicted, an identical room. Two figures detach themselves from the thin shadows to your left and right; as they close in you identify them as Vic Mackey from The Shield and DI Burnside from The Bill (and short-lived spin-off series Burnside). True to their respective styles, Mackey pulls a gun and jams it into your forehead, grinning like a hoopy fruit, while Burnside proves content to merely look shifty, mumble something in a gravelly voice and stick his hand out, palm up. This, you determine, may be the bribery portion of the encounter. You require at least two of the following to proceed: £5, $14, $40, a damp tenner, 36 Gold Pieces, a pearl, a cursed ring, a full hip flask, a pair of fashion rubber gloves, 12,000 lira. If you have more than two of these items, your awesome adventuring skills are duly noted and you may choose which ones to hand over. Each of the corrupt lawmen wants his own bribe, so you may not treat the damp tenner as two £5 bribes. If you have $40 or even £500 and want to try splitting it into two separate bribes (from which you will not get any change), Test your Luck, subtracting 3 from the number rolled if you're parting with £500. If you are Lucky, you get away with it. If you are Unlucky, Burnside grabs the wallet as soon as you produce it, and you must find something else for Mackey. If you have one or none of these items, Burnside just smirks while Mackey pops a cap in your bitch motherf*cker head. If you successfully navigate this gauntlet of mid-level bribery, its sentinels stuff the proceeds into their pockets before going on to bash your head into the wall a few times and kick you around the room a bit for the sake of keeping in character. Respecting their artistic integrity, you offer no resistance. Roll a die, add 2 and deduct that many STAMINA points. When the cheeky law-bending officers decide that their scriptwriters are covered for another day, they step back into the shadows, allowing you to pass. Unless this halfhearted beating has killed you, turn to 102. 129 There's no help for it. An encounter like this happens only once in a lifetime. "You were GREAT in the W.I.T.C.H./Spy Babe crossover!" you croon. "I loveditloveditLOVEDIT!" The object of your adoration doesn't react, except perhaps for a slight twitch under the left eye. "Oh my God!" you go on, clasping your hands in front of you and doing little hops on the spot with your feet together. "Oh my God! It's you! Oh my God!" Still, the crafty agent teenager doesn't move an eyelash, although a single huge, floating sweatdrop has materialized strangely in front of her forehead. Well, attacking her is obviously out of the question, so will you either wait patiently until she feels ready to give you an autograph (turn to 167), or assume she's on a super secret mission that mustn't be disturbed and leave her in peace (return to where you originally came from)? 130 You brew up a suitable-looking mixture, and attempt to develop the photo in it. Initially, it appears that you have been successful, but as you examine the photo, you notice that the image is rather less static than it should be. In fact, within seconds, the picture of you has walked through the door and passed out of the area depicted by the photo. Add 1 PARADOX point, return to the table in section 117, and roll again. However, if you roll under 4 again, do not return to this paragraph, but disregard that roll and try again. 131 If you have the codeword ‘splinter’, you feel a brief sensation of nausea and a twinge of pain in your left arm. Add 1 PARADOX point, lose 1 STAMINA point, and put the sling on before you mess up causality even more (turn to 113). If you do not have this codeword, you turn your attention to the safe (turn to 190) 132 You fumble for the box clipped to your belt and manage to press the button. "It's a SCALLOPIAN FANG," it screams. "Run! " You're not at liberty to do so in your constricted state, but wave your legs around spastically while Little Gaia breaks out into synthetic giggles. "That's not a Scallopian Fang, dummy," she educates you with affable superiority. "It's the answer to the question!" You wonder if you should have harvested those batteries back when it was offered as an option. Turn to 196. 133 The door opens onto spacious, echoey darkness, with no sight or sound of the waiter. You reckon it's probably a deathtrap, but the keypad thing leaves little doubt that this is the right way to go, so you step inside. Fairly unsurprisingly, the door closes ominously behind you, and then lights flare from ahead. You instantly recognize the Tooth Fairy's laughter booming off unseen walls as you peer ahead between your fingers. Dramatically outlined, she stands akimbo with a rusty bicycle waiting on her to each side. "Maybe I've got to hand it to Mom after all," she says. "You do have a knack for negotiating rooms and encounters. But there aren't enough numbers and trinkets in the world to get you out of this one - you don't even have the pink slipper (for the right foot) I told you to find, do you?" The Boneshakers rattle impatiently, cracked tires creaking rubbery against the floor. "What if I don't?" you counter defiantly. "You really think you can do me in with those two?" "No," she replies and pulls a short-barrelled revolver from behind her back, "I really think I can do you in with this." She's got the drop on you. If you have the codeword ‘Smug’ and wish to avail yourself of the option it affords you, turn to 135. Otherwise it looks like slipper time whether you want it or not. If you don't have a single slipper, turn at once to 179. If you have two slippers and tell her so, turn to 155. If you admit that you have only the one slipper you started with, turn to 120. 134 You throw open the heavy glass doors with a magnanimous flourish, and boldly make your way out into the - *crack* - invisible wall. This is where the 'game' aspect of the gamebook comes in, as your world is currently restricted to the bounds set by various faceless demigeeks overseeing your fate behind the scenes. Meaning that any attempt to penetrate the faux-world beyond the non-exit will result in collision with an inelegant but functional barrier of solid nothingness, beyond which lies only debug and evil distorted polygons. You ain't going nowhere, pal. Lose 1 LUCK point and 1 STAMINA point, return to the last paragraph of 101 and make another choice. 135 "A moment," you say, slowly taking out Little Gaia and holding her out towards your nemesis. "There's someone here I think you ought to listen to for a spell." The Tooth Fairy only seems amused at the sight of the box. "Heya, G-Lite," she calls out. "How're you doing?" "Lived through better days, toothsome," replies Little Gaia casually. "I've been hitching a ride with this dolt, and it's not the most inspiring pastime. I could tell it wouldn't be a lasting acquaintance, though, what with the way he kept blundering into the wrong places. At least he blundered in here in the end." You turn the little box around in your hand, despite the fact that it doesn't have any features besides the button, the small impersonal display and the plastic grating hiding the microphone and loudspeaker. "Obviously, this is a prelude to a complete turnabout and beheading of the enemy - that is, the one standing over there with a gun of danger?" "With any luck it's a prelude to your giving up the ghost," Little Gaia says with artful contempt. "And by that I don't mean parting with a haunted object - as I already pointed out, you turned out to have none of the sense needed for that tactic. Of course, I wasn't holding my proverbial breath." "I've made my way through countless dangerous encounters, with and without your help, thank you!" "Oh, that's right, using nothing but dumb luck, which you no doubt purchase in vast quantities from a dumb luck store in East Retford." "It was just the one pack!" You pause to take a breath and recover your dignity. "My train was held up." "And don't get me started on the insane amount of items, codes and secrets you didn't come across, skipping happily by on the frivolous theory that, 'Oh, as long as I make it into the next scene all will be good as gold!' Of course, you wouldn't know about those, on account of, you know, missing them. The mark of a great loser is truly the palpable absence of knowledge, hovering about him like gnats." "What about combat?" you retort. "I go through enemies like holes in Swiss cheese!" "For you being a hole in Swiss cheese would mean a promotion." The Tooth Fairy, following the exchange in amusement, gives you a sidelong look and snickers. "He hasn't even realized it yet, has he?" "Oh," says Little Gaia, "I'm sure if we gave him a couple of days he'd catch on. Look closely and you can see it sinking in, like mud in a shipwreck." "Catch on to what?" you ask querulously. "You two, stop obfuscating." But they clearly find it more entertaining to watch that settling of mud. They cannot be talking about... No, this has none of the characteristics of a dead end. You quickly scan your surroundings: isn't that the mouth of a shadowy corridor? Over there, the rim of a hatch; and isn't that an exit sign, glowing softly far in the back? It is confirmed: there are several escape routes from this location. But... is there a way on for you? A second survey is necessary. The world seems remarkably... flat. You fidget slightly. Your adversaries are amused. But surely they are trying to fool you; surely there are any number of things one might choose to do in a situation like this. There's a skill to be used. A codeword to tick off. An item to pull from your pack... a roll of the dice to measure against some likely attribute... a fight, you'll just pick a fight... Your breath seems to catch in your throat. You involuntarily try to shake the fog from your eyes. Is that cold sweat on your forehead? Your hand holding the talking box trembles unsightly. Is this what it feels like, then? Walls, closing in... links, missing... breath, coming ever more shallow... strength, fading... hope, seeming to recede from you in sad disappointment... No way out. No way on. Just the oblivion that waits beyond the last word of the last sentence. The Tooth Fairy clearly thinks things have come to their conclusion. She tucks the gun into her belt as she steps forward, casually plucking Little Gaia from your hand just as you sag down to the floor. "Sorry we can't come where you're going," she says. "You see, our adventures don't end here." And they both laugh evilly over your drained body, their shared merriment ringing harshly in your dying ears. They think it's all over, it is now. 136 Holy food has a flavour that some find... not to their liking. Test your Luck. If you're Lucky, either this isn't holy food, or you're not particularly averse to it anyway, so that's not going to be a concern. If you're Unlucky, well, there's another wicker basket of puffins. You pick up an eyeball here and a sliver of anchovy there, assuming a critical air. You may roll on the food sample effects table below up to two times, rerolling if you would get the same result twice. If you were Unlucky above you must also roll once for side effects each time. Die roll Effect 1 Gain 3 STAMINA points 2 Roll one die and restore that many points to any one of your ability scores 3 Crunch: lose 1 STAMINA point and add a pearl to your list of possessions 4 Add 1 to your Attack Strength in the next battle, and add 2 to your Attack Strength in the battle after that, but if you end up in a third battle before the end of the adventure, you blow your top and die 5 You find a copper key inlaid with fake purple gems behind some sides of beef, and also you go colour-blind for the next three hours 6 Gain 1 SKILL point and 1 STAMINA point
Die roll Side effect 1 Lose 1 LUCK point 2 Hair turns green 3 Lose 2 STAMINA points 4 Severe heartburn: if you have a can of chemicals or some healing item, cross it off your list of possessions, else you die 5 Roll one die: if the result is odd, gain 2 LUCK points, else lose 1 SKILL point 6 Gain 2 STAMINA points... painfully
If you are still alive when you're done sampling, you burp quietly, wave to the kitchen staff to keep up their work, whatever it is, and back into the elevator. Turn to 146. 137 You are about to correct the Tooth Fairy's grammar when her gaze fixes upon your unwanted aural accessory. "Where did you get that?" she demands to know. Your eyes flicker towards what you can see of the offending garment. It is so not her style that she can't be suspecting you of having raided her underwear drawer. "I fell down a laundry chute," you admit. "Why? You didn't think... I mean, you're not jealous, are you?" "No. Well, maybe a bit. All right, yes, dammit. I still fancy you, though right now you're making it really hard for me to understand why. Here, let me take that thing off of you. It makes you look a right tit." "I was really hoping to get through this without encountering that pun," you sigh as she disengages the hook from your earlobe. There is no good reason for the Tooth Fairy to gaze into your eyes while removing the bra from your ear (unless she's planning on hypnotising you in order to perform some painless dentistry, but 'painless' hasn't exactly been on the agenda for any of this adventure, now has it?). Nevertheless, that is what she does, as a result of which she's not quite as careful as she might have been, and gives your earlobe a painful tug. Lose 1 STAMINA point, and if this kills you, you may find some perverse satisfaction in knowing that this is probably the most ridiculous gamebook death since Joe Dever's 'You save the world and a bridge falls on you' in Lone Wolf 13. Once your ear is finally bra-free, the Tooth Fairy steps back, a thoughtful frown on her brow. After a moment she appears to reach a decision, and rolls up her sleeve to reveal what looks like a wrist-sundial. "I was planning on saving this until I'd accumulated a decent amount of cash, but you would have to not die and mess everything up. Let's get out of here." "Out of the motel?" you ask, disconcerted by the way you seem to have crossed genre into one of those romantic comedies where the male lead, despite being an utterly gormless twonk, nevertheless somehow winds up getting the girl. "Out of this whole reality. This," she nods at the dial on her wrist, "is a little offshoot from Doctor von's researches." "Doctor von what?" you ask. "Oh, right, you didn't get that bit of exposition. It doesn't matter. All you need to know is that I can use this," she taps the dial, "to remove us from this gamebook system and take us to another one. Maybe a Tunnels & Trolls one - they're at it like bunnies half the time over there. Well?" You have to admit, that's quite an offer. If you accept, turn to 166. If you decline because you'd rather find out what's actually been going on, turn to 197. If you refuse because it would not be the heroic thing to do, turn to 106. 138 You step through into a poky and dark room, the light spilling in from the open door showing that it contains two shabby swivel chairs and a low desk with three battered laptops on it. The first laptop appears to have been welded shut, a thick layer of cerulean blue paint covers the screen of the second, and the third one functions, but has a password-protected screen saver in the form of a fluorescent green letter ‘C’ that drifts around the screen. You might want to make a note of that, especially if you’ve found other such letters before. If you have the codeword ‘Windmill’ and are carrying a camera, it occurs to you that with the door shut and the third laptop closed, this room should be dark enough for safe extraction of the film: note the film on your Adventure Sheet as a separate item from the camera. If you have an ESPIONAGE score and wish to try and hack into the laptop, throw one or two dice. If you get 1 or 3 on one die, or 3 or 7 on two dice, you succeed (turn to 164). Otherwise, you crash the laptop, and have exhausted your options. When you’ve had enough of this room, you head back out through the Convention Hall into the hotel lobby. Turn back to the last paragraph of section 101 and select an option you haven’t already tried, or turn to 109 to take the stairs. 139 Ghostly shapes momentarily zoom up and down the corridor as you reverse through time thanks to the unknowable mechanisms of the time-safe, then they disappear. Somehow you sense you've been deposited on a way station in your temporal journey in order to attend to loose ends; while it is true that tide waits for no man, being by and large an inconsiderate bastard, time occasionally does, especially when it's threatened with extinction and whimpering. Strolling off and turning into a side corridor, you stop in front of a door labelled, at eye level, "-O-M N--E", and a little below that, less tidily, "NOIR". Your PARADOX score tingles, alerting you to the presence of a slightly earlier version of yourself beyond the door. Trying to remember what happened during your earlier encounter with yourself, you knock on the door. Now, what was it that your then future self said before entering? If you can remember what your other self claimed to be, convert the first letter of each word in the job title to a number using the A=1, B=2 formula, multiply the two numbers together, and turn to the section with the resultant number. If you can't remember it, you'll have to guess. If you don't turn to the correct section (the first sentence of which contains the word 'twaddle'), turn to 174. 140 The spacious Convention Hall appears, for some reason, to have been turned into a makeshift woodworking area. Your ears vibrate with the yowl and grind of the massive, solid, dangerous-looking industrial saws and drills set up around the walls, while battered old workbenches with a grain texture similar to that of Nick Nolte's face have been distributed in a regular pattern across the remaining floor space. In a corner, using a huge blunt sawblade balanced on a block of wood as a table, a small Japanese man signs autographs. One of the workers looks up, sees you, stops planing a shelf and begins to cross the room with a not entirely friendly look on his face. For some reason he sports full combat gear and various knife sheaths in tandem with a headband and a frankly unpleasant mullet. "Where's your pass?" he demands. "Sorry?" you counter, struggling in vain to get a bead on the situation. "Pass," the man growls, gesturing with the tool in his hand at a tatty banner slung up at the front of the hall, which reads: 'Third Official Metal Gear Solid Woodworking Convention'. The general noise level drops as other attendees stop work and begin to drift over, looking no more welcoming than your current interrogator. Many of them are overweight and sweating profusely, and they all appear to have come in ill-fitting fancy dress. Anime-style white wigs, eyepatches, high-ranking army uniforms, revealing dominatrix assassin gear (with hairy folds of flab bulging out between the seams)... you honestly don't relish the thought of having to brawl your way through this bunch of unwashed sociopaths. If you have Eric Roberts' wallet, turn to 118. If you have a hotel employee's badge, convert the letters in the name on it into numbers via the tried-and-trusted A=1, B=2 etc method, triple the result, and turn to 177. Otherwise you find that the surly mob will brook no unauthorised presence in its arena of DIY-based Konami fanboy love, and you have no choice but to defend yourself against its staunchest advocates. Fight them one at a time as you skip between the workbenches like a veritable Sugar Ray Leonard of novelty gamebooks. SNAKE ON A PLANE SKILL 8 STAMINA 11 RAIDEN ON A LATHE SKILL 6 STAMINA 7 REVOLVER OCELOT ON AN INDUSTRIAL SANDER SKILL 7 STAMINA 9 HIDEO KOJIMA WITH A PENCIL SKILL 6 STAMINA 6 Once they are all crushed beneath your mighty heel, turn to 172. 141 Something about the accordion player fires an obliging neuron or two in your adventure-addled brain. "JAMES FEARNLEY! Face me now in mortal combat!" you boom, and watch as your choice of champion shrugs off his stone skin in great moulded flakes and descends, slowly and deliberately, from the podium. Mercifully there is no evidence of a thumping techno soundtrack. In the flesh Fearnley actually looks quite dangerous, especially as the flexibility returns to his limbs and he begins to whirl the accordion around his body like Bruce Lee in Enter the Dragon, or Maxi in Soul Calibur, whichever pop culture reference suits you better. You don't fancy your chances of besting this seasoned rowdy in a straight-up scuffle. As a long-serving member of The Pogues, he'd probably been in more confrontations before you were born than you have in your entire gamebook reading career to date, including the ones by Misters Livingstone and Green. Fortunately, Mr. Fearnley has two weaknesses: his uncertainty as to how much you know concerning his part in the overarching conspiracy, and, of course, booze. If you've been picking up ESPIONAGE points along the way, take the number that you've collected so far, and increase the total further for any of the following items in your possession that you can wave like magical hypnotic treasures before your adversary's greedy eyes: a hip flask (one point, two if full), a zesty liqueur (two points), a champagne cork (one point), an Oddbins discount card (one point), a Klein bottle of whisky (two points). If this new total is less than 10, the next few seconds see your STAMINA rapidly dwindle to 0 by way of a severe accordion-based beatdown. Frankly it's not up there with the best ways of dying. If the new total is 10 or more, Fearnley's concentration is well and truly broken and an ambitious over-the-shoulder spin results in him hitting himself shockingly hard in the face with his own instrument, then falling over backwards with a mouth full of broken teeth. You grab him by the collar, pull his face close to yours and demand information like you've seen them do in the films: bloodily and not altogether pleasantly, Fearnley manages to wheeze out a few words that make your blood run cold (and slightly alcoholic). Note the codeword 'Squeezebox' on your Adventure Sheet. Now it's time to deal with that bothersome Tooth Fairy before she can clutter up your path with any more arbitrary choice-based challenges. Well, that's assuming it was arbitrary. You can also bring along Fearnley's accordion if it makes you feel somehow more prepared. Turn to 181 if you have the codeword ‘Thrombocyte’, or 160 if you don't. 142 You pull the head-dress out and aim for the Ogre's head. Roll two dice. If the result is less than or equal to your SKILL, the head-dress flops down upon the Ogre's skull. It pauses in bewilderment, some kind of intelligence seeping into its features. Then it apologizes absently and walks by muttering ancient equations, leaving you to resume your ascent. Turn to 183. If the result is greater than your SKILL, you miss, the head-dress falls between the wooden planks and the Ogre comes at you. Return to 109 and fight. 143 In the nick of time, you realise that the letters spell out an instruction, rather than a hint that some fowl of the genus Anas are also involved in this conspiracy, and do as instructed. A large wrecking ball, with the faces of Donald, Daffy, Edd and Howard painted on it, swoops over your head and smashes into the door, knocking it out of its frame. You wait for the ball to stop swinging back and forth before stepping through the newly-opened doorway, noting an all-too-familiar smell of minty freshness as you enter the room beyond. Turn to 181. 144 As you cross the lobby, the front door swings slightly in the breeze, letting in some sounds from outside. There’s the familiar discordant jingling of an ice cream van playing its tune (though this one is playing Grieg’s Piano Concerto in A Minor rather than Greensleeves) and the wailing siren of an approaching fire engine. Then three gunshots, a screech of brakes, a loud clang, and a squelch. Sounds like you were wise not to leave the building. If you have the codeword ‘Windmill’ and a PARADOX score but not a recently-developed photograph, turn immediately to 191. Otherwise, read on. You notice the signing-in book on top of the counter. It’s an eldritch-looking tome, bound in armadillo skin and as thick as your hand. Taking a quick look in it to see if you recognize any names, you are disappointed to find that they all seem to be fake: there’s Sue & Don Nym, Anna Nimmus, Bo ‘Gus’ Naym, Fay Kidey, Ian Cognito, 'Ian Livingstone' and Luke Sharp. A sepulchral receptionist, his head tilted so far to the left that you get the impression his neck must be broken, pops up from behind the desk like a jack-in-the-box designed by someone who really hates children. “Mnye-es?” he intones in a Lurch-like voice. A grubby little man in a trenchcoat barges in front of you and drones, “I have an urgent message for the man in room 274.” The receptionist picks up the signing-in book. “Mnhis name?” The little man hesitates. “Ah, that would be Mister… Um... It’s on the tip of my tongue…” With unexpected speed and viciousness, the receptionist brings the signing-in book down upon the little man’s head, which crunches wetly. The man crumples. Returning his attention to you, the receptionist comments, “Private investigators. Detestable individuals. Mnand howmayIbeofservice?” It occurs to you that trying to ask the receptionist about the penthouse’s current occupant might not be the wisest course of action. Before you can decide what to do, the large Bakelite telephone on the counter rings (though 'tolls' would be a better way of putting it), and the receptionist answers it, the receiver pushing his head into a more normal-looking position. You contemplate sneaking away while he is distracted by the call, but his next words catch your attention: "Tothepenthouse? Verygoodsir. Mna-a-a-a-and what is the key totoday'ssecuritysystem?" You strain to hear the voice at the other end of the line, and can just make out what sounds like the words 'stairs and tubes'. To your disappointment, rather than repeating the words, the receptionist merely rumbles, "Mnmm-hmmm. I-I-I sha-a-all attendtoitforthwith." He hangs up, his head promptly falling back the way it was, and fixes you with his right eye. "Mno-o-o-o-ow... Wherewerewe?" If you have the codeword ‘Momo’ or any of the items on your Adventure Sheet are marked as stolen, turn to 178. Otherwise you may request an alarm call (turn to 157) or complain that your shower isn’t working properly (turn to 121). 145 As you open the door, it dawns on you that you're probably just about to take a second bout of STAMINA damage from your stupid earlier self's ill-advised attack. This so shocks you that your psychic defenses drop low enough to allow the ghost of a pirate who died in the hotel when a quagga fell on top of him (don't ask) to possess you. If this had happened to you at any other time, it'd be the end of your adventure, but as it is, the pirate spirit only has time to get two syllables into an exclamation of, "Oh, shiver me timbers!" before the idiot you used to be makes contact, and the subsequent release of temporal energies blasts the spirit into oblivion, allowing you to repossess your body. Which now has 4 fewer STAMINA points than it did before you entered the room. Hurling abuse at your former self for causing all this pointless mayhem, you crawl back out of the room and return to the safe once more. Cross 'Blinovitch' off your Adventure Sheet and turn to 122. 146 The lift goes up for a bit, and then the doors open onto a familiar-looking corridor. Admittedly the lack of variety in the hotel's décor makes much of it look the same anyway, but you still get the feeling you've been here before. If you have the codeword 'Raffles', turn to 116. Otherwise, you experience the customary aversion to going somewhere you've been before and trying something different, and just wait for the lift doors to close (turn to 195). 147 You light the rag and lob the bottle, watching it explode at the hissing Vampire's feet. Viki emerges and the two of them watch each other with distrust, then pursue a protracted argument as to whose childhood was more deprived. You're having trouble following all of it, but apparently someone's family had only one potato and no one was allowed to eat it because they were living in it, and since there weren't soccer balls they had to go into the woods for wolves, which wasn't too bad unless you got hit with one teeth first, and the slides at the playground were uphill both ways and made of sharkskin but everyone had to go or the evil kindergarten prefects would lash them with electrified cats-o'-nine- tails, and then there's some stuff that strikes you as really harsh. Eventually you start to wonder how a made-up character like Viki could have a childhood to begin with, distracting you from the actual contest until you notice that O'Riordan is lying supine with a bow saw through her heart, and there's no sign of Viki. It's not clear whether this premature conclusion to the discussion was a result of the Banshee giving in to temper or the Vampire giving in to despair. If you have the codeword ‘Thrombocyte’, turn immediately to 160. More to the point, the Vampire's right slipper has been scuffed, revealing a pink shade beneath the layers of grey dust. Retrieving it cautiously, you wipe it off and find that it matches your other one perfectly. The Tooth Fairy scowls at your triumphant display of homologous slipperage. "Figures... but don't expect me to believe you chose all those right turns and options the first time through. Either you just cheated, or you tried and failed so many times that the laws of probability gave up and dragged you down the true path just to keep from dying of total boredom. I'll honour the rules of my game, though. If you want to understand everything that's happened, the first thing you must know is... now what?" A pale little butterfly flutters into view carrying a tiny message, which it drops into the Tooth Fairy's hand. She unfolds it and reads what is written, wrinkling her nose in the process. "Pfft, it's a message from Mom. I'm supposed to offer you a choice between safe passage..." If you want to interrupt her to say that you will serve only good, that your personal safety is of no concern whatsoever, and that you will let nothing stand between you and the goal of a worthy quest, turn now to 106. If not, she continues: "... and letting you proceed to the final stage of the adventure. Yeah, Mom, that's great. That's really original. Why not provide me with cue cards that go 'Alas, I had thought more of your spirit', and 'content with the glory'?" A second butterfly appears and drops another note, which she glances over. "Yeah, _right_." She tosses both papers aside and glares at you. "You do as you please. I'm sure you can find your own way forward. We shan't meet again, I think - and no, don't go looking for me in Milton Keynes." She strides off, dignity strained just a tad by the grinding noise of her flanking Boneshakers, and disappears into a rectangle of white light, which closes behind her back. She is not seen again, by man or monster, on this earth for about a week. Turn to 200. 148 There are a couple of verses to go:
I met a friendly Hag who gave me some advice Of how we shouldn't fear our fate or try to cheat with dice So won't you step into my broth and add a little spice To the fifty ways...?
I said I see the gist of what everyone's trying to say That there is just the one true path and many useless ways But I can do some good with what I've learnt today About the fifty ways to kill your character Fifty ways to kill your character.
And then there's the chorus repeat. Roll four dice.
If the result is higher than your STAMINA, you are sitting slack-jawed and staring by the time the cymbal chimes for the final time. You don't feel a thing as two faceless men lift you by the arms and drag you away, the toes of your shoes scraping against the floor while the band revs up for a straight-faced piano remix of Apache Indian's Boom Shack-a-lak (turn to 106). If the result is equal to or less than your STAMINA, you are not without distress (deduct 1 point of LUCK and 2 points of STAMINA), but you have also absorbed much of adventurer disposal methods. If in a future paragraph you spot the words "drained body", immediately add 50 to the number of the current paragraph and turn to the corresponding section. For now, you get up and stumble into the kitchen with an unspecified ache deep inside (turn to 162). 149 Curious as to who could have been using the ersatz-socialite to spy on you, you grab the mobile phone from the floor. The screen displays a text message: "Message not received. Please repeat." However, before you can do anything else, it goes blank and the phone gives off a faint sizzling noise and starts to smoke. Whoever she was calling has covered his, her, or its traces. Still, for a text, that was practically verbose, which may be a clue in itself. Add 1 ESPIONAGE point if you're collecting them. You hurriedly search the corpse for further clues or home movies, but the only other noteworthy item you find is the back cover of an exercise book, folded up and stuffed into a pocket. Printed on it is a selection of mathematical information, most of it irrelevant (converting degrees Kelvin into cubits, how many ounces there are in a kilometre, that sort of thing), but someone has taken the time to underline parts of the multiplication tables in red pen, which suggests that there might be some significance to them. Then again, since most emphasis is given to the first line of the one times table (it's underlined twice), maybe it's not that important. Still, you never can tell, so you note that the second and fourth lines of the two times table are also underlined, as are the third and ninth of the three times table and the fourth of the four times table. There's also a little unhappy smiley (if that's not a contradiction in terms) drawn a short way below the final line of the four times table - roughly where the sixteenth line would go if the tables didn't stop at twelve. You're about to go on your way when it occurs to you that some weirdos might be willing to pay a significant amount for the Gucci rubber gloves. If you want to take the gloves, add them to your Adventure Sheet. Now return to the lobby (turn back to the last paragraph of 101 and pick an option you have not yet tried). 150 You key in the correct combination. If you have the codeword ‘Thrombocyte’, turn to 115. If you have the codeword ‘Pandoroid’, turn to 133. If you have the codeword ‘Windmill’, turn to 168. If you have the codeword ‘Impala’, turn to 186. If you have none of these codewords, you feel a sudden pain in the back, and are surprised to see the bloodied tip of what looks to you like a Tyrannosaurus fang emerging from the centre of your chest. "Got you at last," gloats a female voice as you slump to the ground, reflecting on just how bloody unfair life can be at times. 151 Using your superior espionage faculties, you become aware of a motionless figure close by with the familiar air of someone who's just failed a Hide check but is woefully unaware of the fact. With a twinge of excitement you recognize this person as Haley Bopple, central character of the Spy Babe endless series of novels and inevitable multimillion dollar franchise aimed at the lower teen girlie population (including an animated series, schoolgear, spin-offs and additional books written by so-called sub-authors, who are regularly derided on the official forum). She's staring you full in the face, apparently untouched by the notion that you might see her. Well, this is awkward. You try staring back a little in case she gets the hint, with no visible consequences. If, in spite of being a grown man in your thirties, your literary tastes and interests could be described adequately using the words "lower teen girlie population", turn to 129. If not, you can either teach her a lesson by pretending to walk casually past her and then beating her up as per your mission statement (turn to 182), or lean back comfortably and wait until she gets leg cramp (turn to 167), or shake your head and get back to what you were doing (return to the paragraph you came from). 152 There are seven small round podiums before you, each bearing a weathered stone statue or the remains of one, and a sign with the name of the rendered personage or some similar means of identification. Three of the statues have either crumbled entirely or broken into jagged fragments; these bear the legends "Raw Rak Dennen", "Honchip Vrelip", "Jerfinem" and "Darcy St Pies". Presumably these can be discounted in the trial to come. Of the three remaining ones, the one named "Cannae Mogwash" is slumped and bedraggled; "Mean Al Jefreys" is cradling a large item that might just be an accordion of death; and finally, the only female as far as you can see, "Tinodarrioca" depicts something like an emo banshee. Yes, there's something tangibly Irish over these people. "Make your choice," your antagonist cries out. "Which champion do you challenge?" Your survival almost certainly depends on it being the right one, so use any hint you may have as to which that is. If you unscramble the letters CANNAE MOGWASH, turn to 104. If you unscramble the letters MEAN AL JEFREYS, turn to 141. If you unscramble the letters TINODARRIOCA, turn to 192. 153 As you retrieve whatever it was that had been stolen, you notice that the safe also contains a strawberry runner, a long woollen shawl, a block of metal (most likely an alloy of iron and carbon) and several slices of some kind of bread with dried fruit and marzipan baked into it. The latter will restore 4 points of STAMINA if you eat it, and you may add any or all of the other items to your Adventure Sheet if you think they might come in handy. If you have the codeword 'Monomania', you cannot resist taking the shawl for adding to a bedsheet rope. If you do take anything that was not previously in your inventory, the curse of which the receptionist warned you takes effect: if you have the codeword 'Pineapple', change it to 'Kumquat', if you have the codeword 'Doomeder', change it to 'Pineapple', if you have the codeword 'Doomed', change it to 'Doomeder', and if you have none of these codewords, gain the codeword 'Doomed'. Once you've finished with the safe's contents and related bookkeeping, you carry on down the corridor (turn to 169). 154 The light, for some reason, will not come on. Shrugging, you slip in anyway and by the light from the hallway look in the closet and drawers for likely possessions. A Gideon Bible is secured behind a glass pane labelled "Break in case of vampirism". Seeing as there is no evident vampirism abroad, you leave it where it is. The only other item of notice is an unlabelled video cassette that's been left - in haste or disgust - on the bedstand. Maybe this time the vital clue is found in an arthouse film, as a kind of ironic statement, you muse and shove the cassette into the nearby TV/video set. Turning the thing on, you are treated to an unsettling sequence of images accompanied by a mounting, grating screech like the sound of a rotten lousy bicycle dynamo... Static - different static - a shadowy glimpse of a fractured tablet seen through the length of a stone tunnel - a view through a round window on the left side of the screen of a wizard being buried, then momentarily a view of the same wizard being buried slightly differently on the right – a collage of floating letters which together spell the word "rejuvenation" - adventurers wearily walking down corridors of indeterminate length - a man who's hung a towel over his head so as not to have to look at a piece of artwork by John Pickering, which he indicates by pointing - the syllables "vi" and "ki" reflected in a hideous eye - a long shot of a mine entrance - back to static. Arthouse indeed. After turning the TV set off in some disappointment you turn to leave, but stop short with a startled twitch. Standing right behind you was a little girl wearing a white gown, with long, black hair hanging down in front of her face. Room service, much like exposition, isn't what it used to be, you think to yourself. In the next moment, one of her pale hands shoots out to lock your wrist in a steel vise, while the other moves up to part the black hair... You gasp. "Viki Llundsbrand!?" Lose 10 STAMINA points. If you survive the shock, restore 10 STAMINA points and read on. The creature that has grasped you is none other than a PROTEAN BANSHEE; not the single-toothed monster from FF9, but a restless female spirit. "This husk is not worthy of a name," she wails, or whines as it might more accurately be termed. "I am a soulless persona, an empty referent! No sooner had I been given life before I longed for death. Life? No, I am that which mocks it. Oh, how carelessly was I created, then cast into abeyance! How cold was the heart that spawned me!" She bitches and moans some more, but you are already thinking about how to turn this inhuman tragedy to your own advantage. If you offer to get back at David Brunskill in exchange for assistance, turn to 199. If you have a Klein bottle and mean to capture the whining wraith's essence in it, turn to 125. If you have the codeword ‘Smug’ and wish to order a verbal smackdown on the self-pitying spectre, turn to 107. If you cry and beg for your worthless life, turn to 173. 155 "Of course I have the pink slipper (for the right foot)," you declare. "I'm a true hero, ain't I?" "Really?" The Tooth Fairy puts on an amused smirk. "Hold them up together, please." You do so, and notice that they don't seem to line up very well - in fact, the one you got from Santa is a full inch longer from heel to toe. What's more, the left one has a little sticker saying "Toufli" while the other reads "Toufla". "Don't waste my time with cheap imitations, especially when they don't even look very much alike," she says. You look for a size indicator, but there isn't one. Next, you're looking at the Tooth Fairy through a round hole in the sole you're holding up for inspection. Next, you realize this is because the bullet she just fired went through the slipper on its way to your head. Your adventure inevitably ends here. 156 You don’t know what you’ve mixed up here, but it’s no developing fluid. There is something vaguely familiar about the smell, though. A massive metallic figure with a transparent dome for a head smashes through the wall, knocking over the electrician’s ladder in the process. It’ll take him until you’ve resolved this encounter to get back to work, so don’t worry about losing time fighting. “YOU HAVE DISCOVERED THE SECRET FORMULA,” thunders the robot – or rather, the cyborg, as you can now make out a human head inside the dome – “YOU MUST BE DESTROYED.” As it stomps across the kitchen towards you, you realize that the head encased within the dome belongs to fast food entrepreneur Colonel Sanders. You appear to have inadvertently stumbled across his special blend of herbs and spices, and death is no obstacle to his efforts to protect the secret. KFC-9000 SKILL 9 STAMINA 15 If you ever throw a double six while rolling for the KFC-9000’s Attack Strength, it sprays chip fat into your face, causing 2 additional STAMINA points of damage, and reducing your Attack Strength by 1 for the remainder of the fight. This penalty is not cumulative if you should have the gross misfortune of rolling further double sixes for the KFC-9000, though the STAMINA loss applies every time. If you win the fight, you discover that you have only disabled the Colonel’s robot body, and his head remains impregnable within the dome. Note down the codeword ‘fowl’ on your Adventure Sheet, return to the table in section 117, and roll again. However, if you roll over 10 again, do not return to this paragraph, but disregard that roll and try again. 157 The receptionist’s head snaps into a vertical position, his eyes widen, he raises his arms into the air, and a terrifying roar bursts from his mouth. If you have the codeword ‘Pineapple’, change it to ‘Guava’, and then to ‘Kumquat’. Roll four dice. If the total is higher than your STAMINA score, the shock stops your heart. If it is lower than your STAMINA, you croak, “Thank you,” and leave (turn back to the final paragraph of section 101 and choose an option you haven’t yet tried). If it is equal to your STAMINA, you panic and flee: roll one more die to find out where you run. On 1-2 you dash through the main door (turn to 134). On 3-4 you scurry up the stairs (turn to 109). On 5-6 you throw yourself into the lift (turn to 165). 158 It is claimed that all's fair in love and war, and this battle could be pigeonholed in either of those categories. Regardless, it's not going to be pretty. TOOTH FAIRY SKILL 10 STAMINA 17 If you survive the irreconcilable breakdown of your relationship, turn to 200. 159 You begin to make your way back down the corridor towards the lift, stopping short when you glance up and realise that the doors seem to be a lot closer than you'd expected. As you hesitate, a faint bell signals the lift's arrival and the doors start to ease open - letting loose a torrent of dark, oily blood, churning ravenously across the walls and floor, bearing down on you in a horrific tide of death and permanent mental scarring. Your throat constricts, your eyes roll back in your head and you almost pass out, but after a few seconds the fact that you don't appear to be getting particularly wet or bloody snaps you out of it. The flood of gore continues to thunder out of the lift, but seems to hit some kind of invisible wall before reaching you. Then, abruptly, the whole scene flickers and goes black. With a belated suspicion that all is not as it seems, you move forward and prod at the barrier, which turns out to be a drop-down cinema projection screen showing famous scenes from The Shining. Aggravated, you tear a big hole in the screen with your bare hands and clamber through. But you haven't gone far when again, the lift bell dings and the doors begin to open... this time, releasing a slow-motion molten cloud of fiery combustion, tearing the doors loose and tossing them aside as it slimes volcanically out into the open corridor, sending you hurtling backwards with the sheer force of its... wait, no, it's stopped again. Scowling, you stomp forwards and hack your way through this second screen with its presentation of selected CGI highlights from The Matrix. This time, surely? Locking the lift doors in your sights, you square your shoulders and propel yourself forwards. The bell dings. The doors begin to slide open, then judder to a stop. Strange, otherworldly smoke oozes from the narrow gap, lit from within by supernatural lightning, forming long liquid tendrils that creep out to grip the walls and ceiling with a disturbing indication of sentience. The plaster cracks and splinters at their evil touch, a baritone rasp like the buzz of a demonic bumblebee swarm fills the air, and a pair of burning green orbs slowly manifest at the heart of the dense fog within the lift. Funny, you don't remember this bit from any film. If you wish to recklessly cast aside all doubts and charge forward like a good 'un, turn to 180. If you think it more appropriate to turn tail and run screaming back to the hotel lobby like a little girl, turn to 114. 160 You have defeated your enemy, but to no clear purpose. Even as you begin to consider your next move, a loud buzzing starts up right behind you. The Tooth Fairy apparently intends to do something about your cavities, but takes the long route to get there, boring a very professional hole in your neck with her white-enamelled power drill. It's a common mistake among some dentists. 161 Several minutes of leaping, falling and eventual desperate scrabbling for support afford you entry into the room above, which is, as expected, a carbon copy of the one below in terms of size and decor. The main difference in this room, you note from your handy vantage point flat on your back wheezing like a geriatric, is that it's full of people. Politicians, gang members, lawyers, bent coppers, known snitches and Russian border guards mingle with selected representatives from other walks of life; their one shared physical trait is that they're all decked out in grass skirts and warpaint, and for similarly mystifying reasons are waving wooden spears as they cavort in a circle spouting gibberish. By the time you've gotten to your feet the tribal headman is standing before you. He barks something you don't understand, then repeats it with greater force when you shrug helplessly. The man sighs, points to the big bundle of banknotes sticking out of the band of his grass skirt, and says in a middle-class English accent: "Look, you have to give us pots of cash, you understand?" Glancing over his shoulder, you now realise that the focal point of the semi-competent tribal dance is a big pile of money, gems, cheques, credit cards, expensive jewellery and top-of-the-range mobile phones. You have to hand it to them, these people are true professionals in the field of reliable bribe susceptibility. The headman holds out his hand and raises an eyebrow. If you have a cheque for half a million pounds, a wad of cash from a TV producer, £500, a jewelled sceptre, or an emerald collar, you're safe: he takes your offering and capers excitedly over to throw it onto the pile, leaving you with an opportunity to slip away (turn to 102). If you don't have at least one of these items, the headman calls out to his fellow warriors against decency and integrity, you find yourself faced by an army of unconvincing but functionally armed savages, and your encounter with the BRIBE TRIBE ends with several dozen holes being poked through important parts of your anatomy (and a thorough search of your pockets, but you're already dead by that point so it's no skin off your nose). 162 The kitchen is staffed by black, gauzy, roughly humanoid shades that phase in and out of reality, supporting tangible pumpkin heads that swivel around speedily on occasion. Heat from a large open fire pervades the room. Cauldrons bubble with frenzy next to shiny, modern steel workbenches; wreaths of garlic and dead poultry hang from the rafters. You pull the old "kitchen inspector" stunt and walk around sniffing at this and that, keeping a watch for fiery emanations from the hearth. On a long, low bench there's a row of six prepared meals, including a soup of mutated toes, pickled Brain Slayer tentacles with sweet potatoes, Antherica pie, filet of Slykk, file rolls (perfect for a dungeon picnic), and a cheese salad. On a shelf above you find an impressive array of oils, condiments and artificial additives. Something here may be of use to you. If you have the codeword ‘Windmill’ and a PARADOX score, turn to 117. If you want to sample the potions - er, I mean, dishes – at random, turn to 136. If you'd rather leave the kitchen using the staff elevator in the back, turn to 146. 163 One of the doors near the safe pops open as you draw near, revealing a short, bespectacled man cowering inside a closet, his trousers round his ankles, exposing his ridiculously oversized polka-dotted underwear to your horrified gaze. “Don’t mind me,” he mumbles. “I’m with the bedroom farce further down the corridor. Steer clear of room 96 unless you want to be mistaken for an all-in wrestler’s wife’s lover. Now, is the coast clear?” Somehow, while peering out into the corridor, the man contrives to bang his head on the underside of a shelf, causing a tin box containing a First Aid kit to fall off the shelf and land on his foot. The First Aid Kit bursts open as it lands, scattering elastoplasts, styptic pencils, a grubby bandage and a sling across the floor. The man apologises, pulls up his trousers (managing through some bizarre contortions to get the end of the bandage caught up in them, as a result of which the rest of the bandage winds up trailing behind him like a tail), and exaggeratedly tiptoes away to the lift, where he succeeds in getting his head jammed in the door before finally departing. You are about to unlock the safe when you feel a sudden irrational urge to put on the sling. If you succumb to the urge, turn to 113. If you resist it, turn to 131. 164 Most of the disk space on the laptop is filled with first person shooters and Tetris slash fiction, but in the Recycle Bin you find a half-finished memo announcing the planned assassination of Santa. Not very informative in and of itself, but there is a note at the bottom that states, "Send to JDSJ, ILJM & DBMT." Hmm, wonder who the third set of initials refers to. Add 1 ESPIONAGE point, and leave, either returning to the lobby (turn back to 101 and try something you haven't previously attempted) or heading up the stairs (turn to 109). 165 Floor selection appears to be heavily restricted by some kind of code input device. If you have a VIP card, you note it has a magnetic strip and can be used to unlock a couple of floors further up, although not quite all the way to the top. A small tungsten keyhole set into the control panel appears to indicate another means by which you can make additional floors accessible. If you have the VIP card and/or a tungsten key, and wish to use one of them here, turn to 146. Elsewise you can either take the elevator up a bare handful of floors (turn to 183) or return to the lobby (turn to 101 and select an option you haven't already tried). 166 The Tooth Fairy takes you by the hand. "We only get one shot at this," she warns you, and twists the dial before you can change your mind or ask anything stupid. Make a first level saving roll on your LUCK. If you don't know how, or fail the roll, turn to 170A (don't worry about the letter - it's a T&T thing). If you make it, turn to 170B. 167 The moment drags out. Haley continues to stare straight at you, which is odd: you'd have thought the cunningest of cunning spies should always stare at a mystical point somewhere just over your left shoulder. Why this should be, you have no idea, but you're sure you heard it somewhere. Abruptly, she not only breaks eye contact but turns tail and flees, catching you by surprise. You must stop her from getting away! Again, you're not entirely sure why, it just feels kind of important. If you have a boomerang, a taser gun, or a rope, you may bring forth the appropriate item from your arsenal to entangle/stun Ms. Bopple from a distance and bring her crashing to the ground: turn to 105. If you have none of these items, you can only watch in frustration as your quarry vanishes around a corner with a distinctly un-girlish booming laugh. You could try to follow her, but let's face it, you can jump to 151 from just about anywhere in the hotel so attempting to organise a convincing pursuit would be a logistical nightmare. Lose 1 LUCK point as you return empty-handed to the section from which you picked up that last ESPIONAGE point. 168 The door opens, and you are mildly bemused to find that it leads into what appears to be a vaguely retro transport café, occupied by a blonde-haired woman in a blue dress, who is staring out of a window into a starry void. As your options are limited, you step through. Immediately a hand grasps your shoulder from behind, using a grip that causes such intense pain as to render you incapable of taking action, yet somehow does no STAMINA damage. If you have a PARADOX score and the codeword 'saves9', turn to 119. Otherwise, the woman turns towards you, her eyes widen in alarm, and she shouts, "The door!" Your unseen assailant shoves you forwards, sending you crashing into a table, and you turn your head in time to see a man in a grey suit forcing shut the door through which you entered. In the moment before it closes, you see that the hotel corridor leading up to it is twisting and distorting, cracks appearing in the air itself and letting through glints of sickly beige light. "Nice work," the man comments in a sarcastic tone. "You just broke reality." "Oh!" you reply. It doesn't really match the gravity of the situation, but then, what would? You are trapped in this café for all eternity, and its other occupants are so annoyed at you for ruining the universe that they won't even talk to you. Nor can you eavesdrop on their conversations, as it soon becomes clear that they can communicate telepathically with each other. Apart from being impolite, their use of this telepathy also creates an infuriating itching sensation in the roof of your mouth. Welcome to the rest of forever. You're not going to enjoy it. 169 The corridor right-angles to the left, then again, then once more - but at the point where you feel it should logically reconnect with itself, it stops dead at a small metal hatch in the wall. This swings open easily enough, and beyond lies a small, symmetrical room lit by harsh neon with matching hatches at the dead centre of each identically proportioned surface. Craning forward for a better look, you stumble and trip, plummet a few feet to the metal floor and hear the hatch seal itself shut behind you. It's not easy being a quasi-independent gamebook tard. The hatches in the walls to your left and right are blocked, one by a taut, evil-looking mesh of razor-sharp cheesewire, the other, you see now, by a kind of fungoid acid-eaten mural comprised of bits of something that may once have been people. Half a hand still clings to a perversely intact and shelf-fresh suede boot, which you may take if you wish (the boot, not the bit of hand). All of which leaves you with a choice of three exits: one in the facing wall, one in the floor and one in the ceiling. You inspect each hatch in turn and find numerical inscriptions which you translate by cunning reversal of the A=1 technique that you don't remember learning but someone seems to have engraved into your brain matter. Ahead, the door is simply marked 'Bribe'. The overhead hatch is marked 'Bribe 2: Hyperbribe', and the third hatch, under your feet, 'Bribe Zero'. Use all your quasi-independent gamebook tard skills and inventory correlation guesswork to discern which exit you should take. And get a move on, because you could have sworn that cheesewire just vibrated. Bribe? Turn to 128. Hyperbribe? Turn to 161. Bribe Zero? Turn to 184. 170A Fate has one last cruel twist lined up for you. You and the Tooth Fairy make it to a Tunnels & Trolls system, but it's the Corgi Books reprint one, where amatory interaction is limited to long conversations, the giving of expensive gifts, and (on the weirder days) getting tattooed, fighting hordes of Zombies, or lighting lanterns and promptly regretting it. As outcomes go, this is pretty mild, but it still confirms you as one of life's losers. 170B What, did you really think you might be rewarded for displaying the sort of idiocy, incompetence and lousy fashion sense required to bring you to this branch of options? Well, funnily enough you're right. This is an actual happy ending. You and the Tooth Fairy find a nice remote spot, settle down together, maybe even wind up with some weird kids, if that sort of thing appeals to you. Perhaps not the most satisfactory outcome you could have reached, but a lot better than most. And if some part of you that is forever Pracy rages at the unheroicness of forsaking peril and nonsense in favour of comparative domesticity, well, stuff it. 171 Once you've broken a nail or two getting the door open so you can squeeze out, you find yourself in a corridor lined with small administrative offices. Up ahead there's a small staff lounge with a panoramic window, potted palms, glass tables and a coffee machine. If needed, you can restore 3 points of STAMINA eating a bun while pretending to study balance sheets (and if you have the codeword ‘Thrombocyte’ you almost think there's an ESPIONAGE point somewhere in there, but it eludes you). Following the corridor as it bends right and right again, you pass by a vending machine stocked with, of all things, weaponry of the seriously souped-up kind. Apparently you're not the only one who finds this building mildly dangerous. Two weapons in particular take your fancy. If you have a wad of cash, a cheque for half a million pounds (for which the machine strangely has a special slot) or £500, you can purchase either a Sacred Elven Mindsword of Jack Palance Slaying and General Whoopass (turn to 124) or a tommy-gun like in Bodies in the Docks (turn to 110). If you don't have enough dough (this is all very expensive gear, and Fabian Nicieza's Sledgehammer of Angst is nothing less than a collectible) you can try to tilt and rock the machine violently until a weapon drops within reach. To do this, Test your Luck. If you are Unlucky, you only set off an alarm and must hurry on (turn to 102). If you are Lucky, decide which of the two weapons you want, then Test your Luck again. If you're Lucky, you get that one, else you get the one you didn't select; turn to the appropriate paragraph as listed above. If you're not at all interested in weapons or think you have better uses for your precious LUCK points, turn the next corner by heading to 102. 172 "WHO WANTS SOME MORE?" you froth, capering atop a workbench with a splintered club in your fist. Nobody takes you up on the offer, but you notice that a few of them are making surreptitious mobile phone calls, probably to reinforcements from the inaugural Dead or Alive Beach Volleyball Convention being held in the nearest branch of McDonalds. And you really don't want to be around when those freaks turn up in their bikinis and leather basques with bits of half-eaten quarterpounder hanging out of their slack orifices, so you pause only to fling the club at the head of the nearest unfortunate and loot the bodies of your fallen enemies (finding half a packet of Chewits and an impressive homemade taser gun) before scurrying out of the hall and up the stairs outside. Turn to 109. 173 Well, that was singularly unwise. As soon as the Protean Banshee is done complaining, she notices you again, grows angry and curses you horribly. You die and end up in your own private hell, a very small cubical cell in which William Shatner's rendition of Mr Tambourine Man plays repeatedly, seamlessly throughout eternity. Every ten thousand years, it is interrupted in favour of Leonard Nimoy singing, one single time, Highly Illogical. You look forward to these brief moments with desperate longing... and yet when they come, tragically, it never seems quite worth it. 174 Throw two dice. If the total is lower than your PARADOX score, reality implodes around you, bringing your adventure (among other things) to an unsatisfactory end. If the total is equal to or higher than your PARADOX score, you inexplicably find yourself in the park where you worked for Marty and got attacked by the Boneshaker. Add 1 PARADOX point. A bony man in a graveyard-coloured smock is standing by the parkkeeper's hut, using a scythe-shaped implement to smear mud on the dirty windows where the filth has flaked off, which somehow strikes you as being significant. However, before you can think through its implications, a belligerent quacking from behind you alerts you to the fact that two mean-looking oversized mallards are waddling towards you. Suddenly they go for your ankles. Fight them as one opponent. PAIR O' DUCKS SKILL 8 STAMINA 10 If you win, you find yourself back in the hotel, outside the same door as before. Return to the second paragraph of section 139 and try again. 175 The club is suitably gloomy, with a red/black colour scheme, and you can see several patrons occupying themselves with smocking. Looks interesting and perfectly legal, but the occasional red succubus glare and glimpses of drinks with an unhealthy air about them warn you away from their company. You sit down at a table and try to look generally confident and in place. There's a stage nearby, where a local cover band is gearing up for the next performance. They are not ghosts or vampires, but if what you heard of the Culture Club marathon at Geordie's last Saturday is true, you may not be wise to hang around. In case you wish to get away while the getting is good, either hurry into the kitchen (turn to 162) or go for a quick and potentially profitable search of the coat check room (turn to 194). Else turn foolhardily to 123. 176 The combination of your l33t SUpaRsp1y haX0r skills and your previous brush with Hollywood is just enough to rein in your natural egomania and save you from a beating. Keeping the smile tightly fixed to your face, you step forward, accept a pen from the nearest young lady, and jab her forcibly in the eye with it. She shrieks and falls over backwards. "You won't catch me a second time, Wankberger!" you trumpet, flinging the pen at the rumbled marketing agent. It hits him in the other eye and he squeaks again. Now your rapturous reception has ground to a sharp halt, and a ripple of discomfort runs through the crowd. "Okay, it's a 'fair cop'," grumbles Brad from his sitting position. "Maybe I won't catch you out again. But it just so happens I was just at a casting session for my new 'pet project', and I thought I'd bring some of 'the guys' along today for backup." He snaps his fingers and the other fans begin to remove wigs, snap off fake jewellery and scrub at their make-up with hairy forearms. You recognise several of them. There's Dolph Lundgren, standing next to Lou Diamond Phillips. Just behind him is Don "The Dragon" Wilson, flanked by Lorenzo Lamas, experimentally squeezing one his own fake breasts, and Billy Drago, pouting like a pro. Treat Williams, Gary Daniels and Frank Stallone make up the numbers. This could get ugly. However, there is a way out. These D-listers are so desperate for any kind of recognition that simply acknowledging the existence of a film that they've been in will be enough to swing their allegiance. As they line up to take turns at earning today's pay by basically hitting you in the head, you have a chance to do just that. In the order listed above, name any film featuring the actor in question. There's absolutely no opportunity to play for time or look anything up. Little Gaia, if you have her, can help you out, but no more than twice - there are some things that even she wouldn't know. Each foe whose body of work entirely escapes you will land a punch or kick costing you 2 STAMINA points. Name one of his film appearances, and your adversary will be so gratified - and incensed by Brad's shrill profanities - that he'll turn and land one on Wankberger instead. Then you can move on to the next in line. BRAD WANKBERGER has 12 STAMINA points. You're free to Test your Luck in the usual way to increase or reduce damage to either yourself or Brad. This process continues until either you or Brad goes down, starting again at the beginning of the procession if necessary. If you manage to turn the tide and reduce Wankberger's STAMINA to 0, he collapses in a bloodied heap of transvestitism and insincerity. While the dolled-up D-listers go through their ex-employer' s pockets, you follow an unsubtle trail of teeth through a nearby doorway into a dimly-lit room where you find the Tooth Fairy, idly peeling splinters from a toothpick. "He dies hideously... " She drops a splinter on the floor. "He dies hideously - not!" She scowls as another splinter falls to the ground, but a smile returns to her face as she begins, "He die-", breaking off as she catches sight of you. "Oh," she says in a bored tone. "You survived, then. I suppose I'd better show you your next challenge before you start thinking you’re a viable candidate for the next James Bond or something." With a sudden decisive motion she snaps the toothpick in half and steps aside to show you the rest of the room. Turn to 152. 177 You angle your chest so as to reflect light off the badge into the macho cretin’s eyes, and sneer in the manner beloved of hotel security guards scenting an opportunity to forcibly eject somebody. The thug knows better than to risk jeopardising the whole convention, and backs off, muttering under his breath. Add 1 LUCK point. You may either leave the hall and continue towards the stairs (turn to 109), or spend a while wandering around the hall, looking for random useful items, clues, and precariously-balanced pointed items for when the author wants to move you on (turn to 189). 178 “I have something valuable I’d like to go into the hotel safe for, er, safekeeping,” you burble. “Mnve-e-ry good, sir. Aaand whatwouldthatbe?” If you have more than $14 in cash (no combining currencies), a cheque for half a million pounds, or an emerald collar, the receptionist takes it from you (turn to 103). If you have a complete set of the Zagor Chronicles, he leaps to the obvious conclusion and accepts it with a contemptuous snigger (turn to 103 and remove the SKILL penalty but lose 2 LUCK points). If you have none of these, he does not consider your item sufficiently valuable to merit putting into the safe (turn to 157). 179 "Look," you say, "Ian Livingstone made off with -" and then your left foot explodes, causing you great pain. Oh, and your adventure ends here. 180 There is a rip as you tear through the third canvas, running straight into the tentacles of the outworldly smoke demon on the other side, which looks remarkably like the projected one except its eyes are a different and scarier shade of green in real life. Not only is it real, it has unearthly powers of manipulation and no regard for personal space. A tendril of the ugliest teal-grey colour wraps around you, pinning your arms, and holds you upside down while other tentacles busy themselves with some kind of ritual of damnation. A puzzle box is brought forth and opened by way of delicate smoky manoeuvres. From inside, a board with occult divisions and hieroglyphs is lifted, and small items of eldritch significance are placed upon it. Lastly, the demon produces a catalogue of pain and suffering, draws an index card from it, and modulates its enervating buzz drone into words of the kind that crawl into your ears and lay eggs: "What kind of gralumbean algae is used to fashion the plongles for Thwac-Boz brand zigglefoo bars?" It swerves its hypnotizingly wavering eye-orbs of deep madness towards you expectantly, then, as you pause in profound trepidation, looks at the card again and remarks to itself, "That's going to confuse the Bal-Thusdireans." OK, it's on now. Words are not apt to describe the gigantean tussle etc., and so, some agonizing time later, you find yourself with no feeling in your feet and struggling to gain the rotting flesh wedge. The elevator demon flops a card from the box and buzzes: "Which predatory alien creature appeared or was referenced in two FF science fiction titles?" If you know the answer, take the number of letters in the full designation of the monster, square the result and turn to the section that corresponds to the result. If you have the codeword ‘Smug’ you can delegate by turning to 132. If you don't know the answer or the section you turn to makes no sense, you miss your chance and the creature wins after nabbing two uranium wedges in a row; it then crams you into a vacuum tube and mails you to someplace dark; turn to 127. 181 The Tooth Fairy steps towards you, fiddling with the top button of the gingivitis-pink blouse into which she has changed since your last encounter with her, and produces a large and vicious-looking pair of pliers from nowhere. "Now!" she exclaims, "prepare to be smited... Or is it smote? Smitten?" If you have a bra dangling from one of your ears, turn to 137. Otherwise, turn to 158 for your fiery Fairy face-off. 182 It works like a charm, as much to your own surprise as that of your victim. Haley squeaks in alarm and crumples like a crushed crisp packet as your knuckles connect solidly with the back of her head; with a caw of delight you leap onto your fallen foe and begin swinging your fists in a wildly exaggerated cartoon manner. "Stop! Stop!" she cries out, her voice breaking. Impatiently you pause in mid-beating. Turn to 105. 183 You emerge into a stock corridor flanked by numbered and unnumbered rooms. Feeling a bit short on important items and pieces of knowledge as always, you decide to try a few unlocked doors. On your left, the door is marked "413" and, as you discover on closer look, engraved with some housekeepers' cant which you decipher to possibly mean "danger no please get away from me arrrrrghh". On your right, the door is labelled "Linen". Which will you try first, the left one (turn to 154) or the right one (turn to 111)? 184 As you heave yourself through the hatch there's a sudden sense of incredible motion beneath your feet, but thankfully nothing bisects you at the waist as you were half-expecting. Instead you drop straight down through darkness, landing with a splash in deep, freezing cold and unpleasantly salty black water. Kicking your legs spasmodically, you manage to achieve some rough semblance of flotation. By taking this exit from the room above you have indicated that you have nothing to offer in any potential bribery situations that may arise, and so you find yourself dumped into a room with someone or something that cannot be bribed. Or reasoned with. Or much of anything else except, well... fed. A radiance begins to blossom across the joyless metal walls as a light source from deep below starts to rise. Its speed is immense, and within seconds it has broken the surface in a tumultuous blast of spray almost within arm's reach. Frantically shaking your head to clear the water from your eyes, you struggle to get a good view of the latest in a long line of things that wish to pull your face off your head. It's big. It's scaly. It's a perversely attractive shade of blue-green. It's got horns, fins, pincers, big white glowing orbs on stalks for eyes and a mouth the size of Austria. And even as you freeze in bowel-loosening terror and begin to sink, your ears are assaulted by a riotous slurping hiss as that mouth gapes like a black hole and begins to take in salty water at an alarming rate. Emitting your patented sissy shriek, you realise that you're being drawn towards almost certain crunchy wet death and there's nothing you can do! Or is there? If you're carrying copies of Black Vein Prophecy and The Crimson Tide OR the complete Zagor Chronicles, turn to 198. Otherwise, nope, there really isn't anything you can do. Bye. 185 The Tooth Fairy turns to go. As she does so, you sit up, coughing, and say: "Crushing humiliation... number thirty-five on the list, eh? Painful... but not deadly, if you can... see it coming." She turns back, startled. In her moment of disbelief, you lift the gun from her waist and press the muzzle hard-boiledly to her abdomen. "Here's one I like to call number forty-four... massive gunshot wound to the torso." The blam of the gun is deafening. Droplets of fairy stain the dark floor in a crimson oval. The Tooth Fairy stares at you, jaws horridly clenched. "Isn't that... number... forty-one?" she groans. "Must have been thinking of the calibre," you say, then watch her slump backwards, the treacherous box rattling as it hits the floor. Back in the shadows, the two Boneshakers fall over, inanimate and clattering. "There's actually no reason for you to be angry with me or applying any sort of retaliatory action," Little Gaia says matter-of-factly as you pick yourself up. "First of all, I'm an unfeeling technical device, so it would serve no other purpose than meaningless waste of resources and primitive appetite for destruction. Also, since my mistress is now deceased, there's no one else for me to betray you to. Not that I have technically ever 'betrayed' you, it was just a strict progression of machine logic with no choice on my part, you see. I'll certainly understand if you have trouble grasping the semantic distinctions involved, so any harsh words you may want to get off your chest at this particular time will be soon forgiven and forgotten. I am now free to serve you to the best of my considerable abilities, of course. I will not hesitate to offer my view of our current prospects, which appear much brighter than I had previously estimated..." "That's nice to hear," you say, crushing her case under your foot and grinding the circuit boards into the dust. Her voice crackles and dissolves into a persistent whining tone. Bending down, you find that the little speaker is still intact, and that the volume of the high-pitched feedback loop can be turned up or down by twisting a cable. You slip it into a pocket along with your other accumulated junk. Turn to 200. 186 A small hatch in the middle of the door pops open, revealing a fluorescent green letter 'K'. If, in the course of your meanderings through the hotel, you have seen and noted down three other fluorescent letters, Test your Luck. If you are Lucky, turn to 143. If you are Unlucky, or have less than four letters, you are still trying to figure out what this could signify when a massive wrecking ball smacks into the back of your head. Your skull shatters like an eggshell hit by an SUV with bull bars, travelling at 80mph. If it's any consolation, your face is reduced to an unsightly smear before what would have been an embarrassingly goofy-looking surprised expression has time to form on it. 187 You pause at the foot of the stairs, listening to the muffled cacophony of hammering and drilling coming from the wide double doors opposite. Then you realise it's not coming from the double doors themselves, but from *beyond* the double doors. It's an easy mistake to make. A dull square copper plaque mounted over the lintel reads 'Convention Hall'. If you wish to subject yourself to whatever arbitrary madness is underway within, turn to 140. Otherwise, you proceed up the stairs: turn to 109. 188 Armed with this repository of knowledge, you have no trouble figuring out the answer. Turn to 150. 189 Well, short of getting into the fight you did so well to avoid, there’s no way you’re going to get hold of anything but sawdust, wood shavings and Y-shaped sticks here. However, behind a particularly bloated attendee you do find a small door onto which has been blu-tacked a sheet of A4 paper reading ‘GAMING ROOM’. If you want to see if there’s anything interesting in there, turn to 138. If not, you notice that the attendee closest to you is about to fire up a chainsaw, and decide that starting that fight would not be in your best interests, so you quietly exit the hall and make for the stairs (turn to 109). 190 You unlock the safe, which contains whatever you gave the receptionist. You may now retrieve it if you want to. (If you gave him a complete set of The Zagor Chronicles and wish to take the books back, turn to 106.) If anything on your Adventure Sheet is marked as being stolen, that too is in the safe, and you may reclaim it (turn to 153). Otherwise, roll once on the table below to see what else you find in the safe. 1-2 A copy of the Isles of the Dawn Compendium, which consists of copies of Black Vein Prophecyand The Crimson Tide with their back covers stapled together, bound in a slip cover made from faded FF green flock wallpaper. The pages are dog-eared, and several pages of The Crimson Tide bear toothmarks (human, as far as you can tell), but at least the Adventure Sheets haven't been written on. If you wish to take the books, note them down on your Adventure Sheet. 3-4 David Blaine, who appears to have suffocated. One of his 'tricks' must have gone wrong. Add 3 LUCK points. 5-6 A golden sceptre, set with fine jewels. It rattles when you pick it up, and you find that the end unscrews to reveal a hollow which contains a piano key. Middle C, by the look of it. If you take anything other than the item you gave the receptionist in the first place, the curse of which you were warned takes effect. If you have none of the codewords 'doomed', 'doomeder' and 'pineapple', add 'doomed' to your Adventure Sheet. Otherwise, change whichever one you have to the next one in the sequence ('doomed' to 'doomeder', 'doomeder' to 'pineapple', 'pineapple' to 'kumquat'). Now you need to sort out this whole silly temporal PARADOX business. The instructions for using the timesafe are printed on a sheet of paper glued to the safe door, so you place the now framed photo in the safe, set the controls for long enough to allow for the build-up of dust that was on the version of the photo you found in the box, and relock the safe. As you turn the key, you feel a twinge in your PARADOX score. If you have the codeword 'splinter' or 'Blinovitch', turn to 139. Otherwise, turn to 122. 191 As you cross the lobby, the front door swings slightly in the breeze, letting in some sounds from outside. There’s the familiar discordant jingling of an ice cream van playing its tune, though this one is playing Grieg’s Piano Concerto in A Minor rather than Greensleeves, and the wailing siren of an approaching fire engine. Then three gunshots, a screech of brakes, a loud clang, and a squelch. Hang on a minute! You just heard that a moment before. And weren’t you further across the lobby? It’s all gone weird again (add 1 PARADOX point). Return to the last paragraph of section 101 and choose somewhere you haven’t already been. (Bear in mind that as you didn’t make it to the desk, it still counts as an unchosen option should you find yourself returning to the lobby after going wherever you next go.) 192 You call out that you are ready to fight the CAIT O'RIORDAN. A few seconds later, the female statue ripples, and colour - mostly black – starts blending into it. When the transformation from stone to flesh is complete, you face a slouched, bespectacled woman in a dark cape, who takes on a more threatening demeanour when she bares sharp fangs and spreads her cape, inviting you into her deadly goth embrace. Uh oh. As a VAMPIRE she is immune to most special weaponry you might pack - even the running water of those books by Paul Mason - and you are only seconds away from falling under her vampiric sway. If you have a special Molotov cocktail and the means to light it, turn to 147, but if not, your adventure anaemically ends here. 193 You may not have discovered the Elixir of Life, but that’s a pretty good approximation of developing fluid, with its own fixative. You now have the photo (do you need to be reminded to note it on your Adventure Sheet?), and just need to get it to where and when it needs to go. Now leave the kitchen, either by returning to the lobby (turn to 101 and select an option you have yet to try) or by taking the staff lift (turn to 146). 194 The booth seems to be deserted. You look around furtively, lift up a hinged section of the counter and step inside. As soon as you turn to lower the counter back into place, a high-pitched "A-HA!" rings out from behind and above, and someone jumps nimbly from the hat-rack, stabbing for your neck with dual stilettoes. MISSY THE COAT CHECK GIRL SKILL 9 STAMINA 7 There's no reasoning with this maniac, so fight to the death. If you win, you shuffle the body behind some fur coats and go about sticking your long fingers inside various pockets. Your Loot Counter starts at 0. Roll one die, adding 1 to the counter if the result is odd or 2 if it is even, then consult the table below to determine the pickings. Counter Loot 1 Mousetrap! Lose 2 STAMINA points. 2 Four-leaf clover. Add 1 LUCK point. 3 Dead moths. You shiver. 4 Slim wallet. Add $40 to your resources. 5 Five-leaf clover. Lose 2 LUCK points. 6 Fat wallet. Add £500 to your resources. 7 Scorpion! What's that even doing here? Lose 1 SKILL point and 3 STAMINA points. 8-9 Fancy-looking VIP card. Add it to your possessions.
You may roll again until you no longer find it amusing, or until you reach the end of the table (in which case gain 1 ESPIONAGE point if you have such a statistic). The last thing your search reveals is a small, bald man in livery propped stiffly against the back wall. Your heart flutters as his yellow eyelids flick open! His eyes roll towards you, then his lips part to release a slow, croaky curse: "You're doomed! DOOMED!" Who could have seen that coming? Record the codeword 'Doomed' on your Adventure Sheet. If you already have the codeword 'Doomed', change it to 'Doomeder'. If you already have the codeword 'Doomeder', change it to 'Pineapple'. In either case, you leave the coat check room behind and aim for the kitchen (turn to 162) or the lobby (turn to 101 and select an option you haven't already tried). 195 The lift hums and vibrates softly as you ascend, then stops again and pings. You wait, and it pings again. Finally you figure that either you've been stuck in a time loop or the elevator just likes to ping, so you decide to pry open one of the doors. If you choose the one with small coppery stains on it, turn to 102. If you choose the one with a sticker on it telling people what number to call if they want to sell off their kidneys, turn to 171. 196 You respond correctly and from there on it's a simple thing to wrap up the game using a combination of dumb luck and all that ludicrous space trivia you picked up when you were bored in Philosophy class (although you are slightly amazed to find that most of it actually corresponds to objective reality, unless this whole ordeal has just been plucked from your subconscious anyway). The smog being concedes defeat and melts away through the cracks around the elevator doors, dumping you on the floor and leaving an unpleasant haze along the corridor. A single card from the game remains on the floor beside you, and one of the answers on it catches your eye, being the name 'Christopher Lambert'. Looking closer, you discover that that's not the only answer that ties in with your recent misadventures. In fact, the first five all relate (in increasingly oblique ways) to the nonsensical goings-on that have been making life so bothersome lately. You have no idea whether the sixth answer ('All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.') represents some vaguely metaphysical commentary on your life or a cryptic hint about something you have yet to encounter, but you are certain that it has some significance. Add 1 LUCK point and, if you're that way inclined, 1 ESPIONAGE point. You can now choose to enter the elevator (turn to 165) or to retrace your steps and try the stairs (turn to 187) or the club (turn to 175). 197 As they say (whoever 'they' might be), hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, and the Tooth Fairy is no exception. Furious at having been turned down in favour of some no doubt cobbled-together and inconclusive explanation of the ridiculous nonsense that's filled these adventures, she snatches up those pliers and lunges at you. Turn to 158 to fight her, but add 4 to her Attack Strength, because man, is she peeved! Oh, and while you're at it, increase your level of doomedness by one. That is, if you have the codeword 'kumquat', change it to 'doomedest', if you have 'pineapple', change it to 'kumquat', if you have 'doomeder', change it to 'pineapple', if you have 'doomed', change it to 'doomeder', and if you have none of the aforementioned, add 'doomed' to your Adventure Sheet. 198 Recalling the famous properties of certain tomes and their authors, you pull out your own copies from whichever bodily crevice you'd used as an unsavoury makeshift pocket and toss them backwards over your head. Immediately the pressure on your body is reversed as the pages begin to absorb seawater at an astounding rate, dragging not only you but your scaly atrocity roommate towards the far wall. Fortunately the sucking power of the books is so great that by the time you come up against a solid surface and the beast gets close enough to try to wrap its jaws around your head, the water level has dropped to a point where you're able to get your feet on the ground and defend yourself. Fight for your life, if not your dignity! SEAWATER SUCKER SKILL 12 STAMINA 14 Reduce the Sucker's Attack Strength by 2 if you made use of the Zagor Chronicles, which reach full absorption capacity at waist-depth, or by 4 if you unleashed the fine works of P. Mason, which absorb every last drop of moisture in the room and look like they could just keep on suckin'. If you win, turn to 102. 199 Viki stares at you through strands of hair, then gives a single nod. You feel a sensation like iron shackles being clamped upon your soul, and realise that there is no opting out of this pact. If you have a Scrabble tile with a letter ‘N’, you feel compelled to hand it over. She clasps a pale fist around it, then hands it back to you, and you note that the font has changed, and the value of the tile is now 5 points. If you do not possess such an item, she reaches up to a thin collar that encircles her neck, removes a slate-coloured gem from it, and hands the gem to you. “A Stone of Power,” she mumbles. “You will know what to do with it.” Either way, if you have a brassiere hanging from your ear, she gives it a stare, and it falls to the floor and disintegrates with no ill-effects for you. Sensing that failure to make good on your part of the bargain would be inadvisable, in much the same way that extracting your own internal organs with a rusty pair of compasses and posting them to Paramaribo with insufficient postage in a non-padded envelope on which the words 'DEATH TO ALL POSTMEN' have been printed in inch-high letters, would be inadvisable, you leave the room at once, and set off along the corridor. Turn to 169. 200 Much as you would like to rest before carrying on, time is short, so you press on towards the exit, the shiniest lift door you have yet seen in this hotel. You press the call button, and with a melodious chime the door slides open to reveal a spacious lift. You step in. The panel on the wall has three buttons: one gold, one grey, and one black with a skull and crossbones on it. Perhaps foolishly, you press the gold button, but it turns out to be the right choice. The door slides shut and the lift begins to ascend. Muzak begins to play, and you recognise it as the Prodigy's greatest hits as adapted for pan pipes. Glancing around to find something to take your mind off of the muzak, you notice the massive platter you saw the waiter carrying. It now lies on the floor, its cover askew, its contents (an assortment of strange-looking fruits) spilling out across the once-plush carpet. If you eat any of the fruit, roll one die and restore that many STAMINA points, but if you roll a 6 you also get a strand of carpet stuck in your teeth, and it's so distracting that you must deduct 1 from your SKILL for the rest of this adventure. The chime sounds again and the door opens onto a luxurious antechamber. Turn to 201. 201 You step out and look around. Pleasant as it would be to spend a while lounging around here, you probably don't have much time before the author of that letter departs, so you'd better get a move on. There is no visible exit, but there's a curtain hanging on the far wall, with a large screen above it. An irregular clicking noise sounds from behind the curtain, and words appear on the screen. "So," reads the screen, "You made it this far, then." "Er, yes," you reply, feeling slightly more stupid than usual for responding to text with speech. With a sudden surge of bravado, you add, "And I'll get past you, too." "I doubt that. Do you have any idea who you're dealing with this time?" Funnily enough, you do, but just to be sure, you don't say until you've crossed the room and yanked the curtain to one side, revealing your suspicions to be accurate. There, behind a transparent barrier than reaches almost to the top of the doorway behind the curtain, is your latest nemesis, perched on a plinth and clacking away. "DAVID BRUNSKILL'S MANUAL TYPEWRITER," you say, then cough, as speaking in first-naming-of-a-foe capitals is hard on the larynx. "Just as I thought." The typewriter clacks some more. After a moment, you realise that you'll have to step back in order to see its reply, and do so. "You suspected? Tell me, what was it that gave me away?" There are so many little clues you could mention, but you can't afford the time for Poirot-style showing-off. "Quit stalling and let me through. I want a word with your boss." "And I want Proteus to be reprinted and outsell Harry Potter," types back the typewriter. "We can't always get what we want." A carriage return precedes its next words: "I expect you want to stay alive, as well." The typewriter does a few more carriage returns, then starts typing again, but nothing appears on the screen. You turn your attention to the barrier, and are perturbed to find that it appears impassable. A shaggy hand grabs you by the shoulder and spins you around. Before you stands a creature with the face of a boar but the body of a man. You swear. This is a BOLGROTH, a slow-witted creature straight out of one of David Brunskill's adventures. No doubt the typing that didn't show up on the screen was the typewriter's summoning this tiresome opponent into being. The Bolgroth draws back one fist, and throws a punch. You duck, and the Bolgroth hits the barrier, cracking it slightly. It glowers down at you, and you dive between its legs, executing a rather nifty manoeuver that spins you round and launches you into a flying kick even as the Bolgroth continues to gape at the spot where you were moments before. Your foot slams into the back of the Bolgroth's head, driving it forward to meet the barrier, which cracks a little more. Knocked out, the Bolgroth slumps to the floor. You glance up at the screen. "Not bad. But I bet you can't smash through my protective barrier before I summon up something too powerful for you," the typewriter gloats textually, "Or just inflict an Instant Death on you, if I get bored." If you have a Scrabble tile bearing the letter N in an unusual font, double its score, add the result to the number of this section and turn to the resultant one. If you have a Stone of Power, turn to 206. If you have whiskers, turn to 214. If you have a long woollen shawl and a block of metal, turn to 208. If you have an accordion, turn to 203. If you have a speaker scavenged from the remains of Little Gaia, turn to 219. If you have a pair of pink slippers, turn to 216. If you have a piano key, turn to 221. Otherwise, brute force is the only option open to you (turn to 223). 202A portcullis drops without warning behind the barrier. Aware that portcullises (portculli?) always mean trouble in Brunskill adventures, you adopt a quick plan B that involves forgetting about discovering the identity of evil masterminds, and getting away while you still have your life, but a sudden clanging, crash from behind you indicates that retreat is no longer an option, either. You hear a rumbling, grinding noise from above you. Oh, not again. Proteus did the descending ceiling trick at least twice, and it was already an uninspired cliché back then. Words like 'relentless' and 'inexorable' pass through your mind as you look for a means of escape, or at least a less clichéd way of dying, but to no avail. As you are 'crushed like an insect' it briefly crosses your mind to wonder how much time Proteus authors spend stomping on woodlice, smashing flies with rolled-up copies of issue 3, and hitting earwigs with sledgehammers. Which is a stupid thing to be thinking about as you die, but why break the habit of a lifetime? 203 204 In an appropriately arbitrary manner, you suffer nothing worse than a vivid hallucination based on several of Grant Morrison's plotlines for Doom Patrol. Your imaginary confrontations with villains who speak in gibberish, anagrams or acronyms leave you even more confused than usual, but apart from that everything seems to be mollusc Fibonacci xylophone. Now obstructions will have extremely regrettable effects (rut not 920). 205 The piano key flies through the gap, bounces off the underside of the arch, and comes to rest in the midst of the typewriter's keys, causing a cluster of them to jam. Turn to 223 to attack the barrier, but you get a number of free attacks equal to the roll of one die divided by 3 (rounding up) before the typewriter is able to dislodge the piano key and start typing. 206 Drawing back your arm, you hurl the stone with all your strength. There is a blinding flash of light as the stone strikes the barrier, and the blast hurls you across the room. Roll two dice and deduct the total from your STAMINA score. If you are still alive, you walk cautiously through the shattered remains of the barrier, and into the alcove beyond (turn to 218). 207 You’ve pushed your luck that bit too far, and incurred the wrath of some celestial bureaucracy, which despatches a group of otherworldly agents to inflict some terminally brutal ‘justice’ upon you. Well, that was the plan, but owing to a typo in the related paperwork, you wind up attacked not by Furies but by Furries. Not that it makes a whole lot of difference: getting torn to shreds by a mob of humans dressed as chipmunks, squirrels, okapi, zebu, buffalo Buffalo buffalo and the like is just as lethal as being ripped apart by the classical heavenly avengers. Though as a visual spectacle it’s more likely to end up with Yakety Sax as an accompaniment than any epic piece of classical music. 208 You wonder if it would be worth tying the shawl around the metal to create a miniature wrecker's ball for use on the barrier. If you wish to give it a go, turn to 217. Otherwise, return to 201 and pick a different option. 209 Your trained eye picks out the unmistakable lines of a trapdoor under the typewriter's plinth, and you quickly shift the plinth out of the way, prise open the trapdoor and lower yourself through it. A paper plane hits you in the face as you descend, causing you to lose your grip and fall the remaining distance into the room below. Something crunches underfoot. This room is absolutely packed with random items, several of which have been built into a crude stargate on the far wall. It shimmers in a 'just been gone through' sort of way. On the floor in front of you is the paper plane, which you can see has something written on it. You pick it up and unfold it to read the message 'FARE ILL, YOU FOOL'. A battered Mickey Mouse alarm clock gives a dull 'ting', and a plume of flame erupts from the stargate's destination dial (which appears to have been adapted from a Twister spinner). In seconds the fire has raced up the wall, no doubt following a trail of something highly combustible, and spreads to cover the ceiling. Belatedly it occurs to you to wonder what crunched when you fell into the room. Looking down, you see your foot planted in the shattered remains of a smoke alarm. Not much chance of the Fire Brigade being alerted for a while, then. If you have the codeword 'packrat', turn to 213. Otherwise, you realise that it's high time you were getting out of here (turn to 225). 210 211 A slo-mo sensation settles over you, and you find yourself taking out the Scrabble tile and flinging it towards the gap at the top of the barrier. It hits the top of the doorframe and bounces down, flying into the very heart of the typewriter. A flash of anagrammatical energy fills the alcove, incidentally disintegrating the barrier. You step through into the alcove. The typewriter has gone, replaced by a light blue disc embossed with an ‘unhappy’ emoticon. A pale hand reaches out to take the disc, and you flinch away from the miserable entity manifesting beside you. “Is this all?” she moans. “A talisman to alert me in case anyone should feel sorry for me? A poor prize, but no worse than I expected.” Tucking VIKI LLUNDSBRAND’S PITY-WARNER AMULET away in her gown, she turns to face you and whines, “As for you, you’re just doomed,” before fading into nothingness. Test your Luck, adding the appropriate number to the total if you have any of the following codewords: 'doomed' (1), 'doomeder' (2), 'pineapple' (3), ‘kumquat’ (4), 'Madagascar' (5), 'doomedest' (6). If you are Lucky turn to 204. If you are Unlucky, turn to 224. 212 213 You can see that you should get out of here pretty soon, but there's still time to grab some of the fascinating stuff lying around in the room... You start searching for valuables and useful artefacts. Roll one die and consult the table below, adding whatever you find to your no doubt lengthy equipment list. Unless otherwise directed, after checking the table and taking any action required of you, roll again, adding the number of the item you just gained to the number rolled, and consult the table again. 1 - You find the Errata to the Necronomicon. Lose 1d20 SAN. 2 - You find a DVD box set of season 2 of Taco Versus Clam. All discs are present and in good condition, but the 'special free gift' of a pink balloon is missing. 3 - You find a toolbox made out of Mooncat's space helmet, inverted and filled with water to house a school of crowded Toolfish. 4 - You find the Venus de Milo's arms. It appears that she was making the 'whatever' sign. Lose 2 STAMINA points due to smoke inhalation. 5 - You find Captain Subtext's Truth Helmet. The visor is cracked and blackened, but if you can get it fixed, it might help you make sense of what's going on. 6 - You find a Y-shaped stick with traces of glue around a hairline crack in the middle. 7 - You find the launch codes to the entire US nuclear arsenal, however they are secured inside a large slice of apple pie that has been saturated with the Ebola Virus, the dish of which has been delicately secured to the table through a vial labelled 'chemical weapon TTX-1938'. Atop the pie is a cell phone displaying the message 'Forward the codes to the president a.s.a.p, millions of lives are at stake. I'll meet you at CTU as soon as I have rescued my wife/daughter/girlfriend/dad/closely bonded co-worker from a completely unexpected kidnapping incident - Jack'. You curse the lack of imagination in symbolism on the part of the fiends who laid this devilish trap. Gain 20 PARA. 8 - You find a Plush Toy in the shape of Nil, Mouth of the Void. A flaming duckling falls on you from a nearby shelf, burning your face badly (lose 4 STAMINA points). 9 - You find the original puppet of the Chewits monster from the 1980s advert, and are struck by a sudden craving for a Chewit. If you have any Chewits, add 1 STAMINA point. If not, lose 1 LUCK point. 10 - You find a sealed envelope ostensibly containing the true identity of interactive fiction personage, Kay-Pong mafia mogul and (at the rate things are going) presumptive Yellow Snow mid-mid-mid-level boss Emily Short. 11 - You find the legendary sword Golden Duck +1, +3 vs. cricket commentators. It has been bound with the spirit of Geoff Boycott and will guarantee you are never left without some witty banter whilst watching any sporting event. You decide not to push your luck(?) any further and leave (Turn to 225) 12 - You find a Voodoo Doll in the shape of Dave Holt. The heat of the fire causes a pressurised can of lard to explode, spraying you with metal fragments and hot fat (lose 6 STAMINA points). 13 - You find a hitherto unknown Salvador Dali Painting depicting an elongated David Hasselhoff being indecently assaulted by a leopardskin Sousaphone and a grinning Clawbeast, and decide that you've acquired enough junk. Turn to 225. 14 - You find a Life-Size Inflatable Replica of Pavarotti and three Canisters of Helium, and decide that you've acquired enough rubbish. Turn to 225. 15 - You find a Brie Pendulum, and decide that you've acquired enough useless tat. Turn to 225. 16 - You find the Maltese Falcon, but then the ceiling above you gives way, burying you in burning debris. If the crushing doesn't kill you, the fire will. 17 - You find an Amulet of Protection from Hummus, and decide that you've acquired enough worthless gubbins. Turn to 225. 18 - You find a Wedding Dress for conjoined triplets, and decide that you've acquired enough 'treasure'. Turn to 225. 214 Throw four dice. If the total is lower than your current STAMINA score, nothing happens: return to section 201 and resume reading where you left off. If it is equal to or higher than your current STAMINA score, the stress of this situation brings on another transformation. Which actually proves advantageous this time round, as in kitten form you have no difficulty clawing your way up the curtain, squeezing through the gap at the top of the barrier, and leaping, catlike (well, duh!) at the typewriter. Just as your forepaws are about to make contact with the keyboard, the typewriter finishes a sentence explaining that you lose the ability to transform into a kitten (delete the whiskers from your Adventure Sheet), as a result of which you revert to your human form. Inevitably, you make a bad landing, knocking the typewriter off the plinth, which then topples over and onto the typewriter before rolling to one side. Deduct 4 STAMINA points and, if you are still alive, turn to 218 to see how much worse off the typewriter is. 215 Under normal circumstances, your actions would probably result in a reprimand for something tenuously related to the content of the paragraph where you took the hint, accompanied by an Honour penalty and/or an increase in Shame, but since you have neither of those stats (and, given that you’re playing this, are unlikely to have much of either in real life either), there’s no point. Still, some of the doomedness pervading this series attaches to you. If you managed to get this far without obtaining the codeword ‘doomed’ or any of its successors, you should now add ‘doomed’ to your Adventure Sheet. Otherwise, if you have ‘doomed’, change it to ‘doomeder’. If you already have ‘doomeder’, upgrade it to ‘pineapple’. If you’ve got as far as ‘pineapple’ before turning here, replace it with ‘kumquat’. If you’d already doomed yourself all the way to ‘kumquat’, turn to 207. Otherwise, you hear the sound of a sickle being sharpened, and flinch back whence you came, luckily arriving by the time that stupid trap has reset itself. Add 1 point of LUCK, return to the table in 223 and resume alternating attacks on the barrier and rolls on the table. 216 217 The typewriter clacks away as you hurriedly construct your weapon, but a quick glance up at the screen reassures you that your qwerty-keyboarded foe is mocking you rather than summoning up something nasty to attack you. Once your improvised morning star is ready, you launch your attack. Roll one die and consult the table below. 1 - Your knot-tying skills are not up to the challenge, and the block of metal comes loose and flies off in entirely the wrong direction. Lose 1 LUCK point and turn to 223, as there's no time to select another item. 2 - Your swinging technique is lousy, and you merely succeed in tangling yourself up in the shawl. Turn to 223, and miss your first attack on the barrier as you're busy extricating yourself from your self-made cocoon. 3 - Your timing is off, and you only succeed in clobbering yourself on the back of your head. Lose 4 STAMINA points and, if you're still alive, turn to 223 to launch a less inept attack. 4-6 A perfect shot, which sends a beautiful network of cracks radiating out from the point of impact. Turn to 223 to press your advantage, and deduct the sum of four dice from the barrier's Strength score to represent the damage you've already inflicted. 218 On the floor, at your feet, is the typewriter. It beats out one final message onto the sheet of paper in the roller, now moving its keys slowly and, apparently, painfully. "shift key broken. no more capitals. i cant go on like this. but youre doomed too. dooomed. doooo" Test your Luck, adding the appropriate number to the total if you have any of the following codewords: 'doomed' (1), 'doomeder' (2), 'pineapple' (3), ‘kumquat’ (4), 'Madagascar' (5), 'doomedest' (6). If you are Lucky turn to 204. If you are Unlucky, turn to 224. 219 220 221 The piano key is small enough that you could probably throw it through the gap at the top of the transparent barrier. Under normal circumstances, it would be a pretty stupid and pointless thing to do, but 'stupid and pointless' sums up so much of what you have done lately, and given Ian Livingstone's involvement in this whole sorry affair, it's quite possible that a random piece of tat picked up along the way like the piano key might prove the means of your salvation. Or a hideous and arbitrary death, but you should be used to them by now. If you don't want to use the piano key, return to 201 and select another option. If you decide to risk it, Test your SKILL and, if you are successful, Test your Luck. If you make both rolls, turn to 205. [If you fail the SKILL roll, you miss the gap, and the piano key bounces off the barrier. If you are Unlucky, the piano key flies through the gap and lands on the floor, as useless as a rat skull against a Gargantis Beast. Either way, turn to 223, as you don't have time to try using anything else.] (The bit in square brackets can be split off and turned into a separate paragraph if any need using up). 222 Every once in a while, being a gamebook nerd can pay off, and this may be such an occasion. Your desperate ‘take a hint’ manoeuvre enables you to dodge the imminent death that faced you in the Proteusphere, albeit at the cost of entering the realm of doom and tragedy that is the compass of the Cretan Chronicles. If you have previously turned to this section, turn to 207. If it’s the first time you’ve been here, turn to 215. 223 The barrier has a Strength of 25, which you may reduce by the sum of three dice if you splash a mixture of noxious cleaning chemicals across it. After that you'll just have to keep hitting it. As you start to batter away at the barrier, the typewriter resumes its typing. Roll two dice to see how much damage you inflict (adding 1 to the roll if you're armed with a machete), and then roll on the table below to see what the typewriter has written into being for you to fight (treating DEXTERITY and STRENGTH like SKILL and STAMINA respectively, as they're practically the same anyway). Following each summonation, the typewriter falls idle, and will take no further action until you have defeated your upper-cased enemy, giving you time to inflict a further two dice worth of damage on the barrier before the next roll on the table. 1 You have time to briefly register a fearsome animal, the size of a wolf but with the head of an alligator, and wearing day-glo yellow moon boots, before it attacks. BRIG DEXTERITY 7 STRENGTH 10 2 You face another BOLGROTH. It bellows "EN-GER-LA-AND!" as it charges towards you. BOLGROTH DEXTERITY 8 STRENGTH 9 3 You are facing a huge, bat-like creature, with fierce talons, teeth like dagger-blades and a screech like an enraged Geri Halliwell. HELLBAT DEXTERITY 9 STRENGTH 10 4 You see a bony, four-legged creature, with a long tongue and fierce-looking claws, creeping towards you and muttering that you should vote for the UK Independence Party. SCRAFE DEXTERITY 10 STRENGTH 12 5 A snake-like creature eyes you balefully. As you watch, a pair of leathery wings unfolds from its back, and it rises to the ceiling and circles above you, spitting flyers for a local pizza restaurant at you. This is going to be a hard fight. AIRSNAKE DEXTERITY 13 STRENGTH 12 6 Turn to 202 If you reduce the barrier’s Strength to 0 or below, the force of your final blow sends a massive shard of its substance flying into the typewriter, knocking it off its plinth and onto the floor. You step through the remnants of the barrier and into the alcove (turn to 218). 224 The doom cast upon you takes effect, spinning you off into another reality. Roll one die, adding 1 to the number rolled if you are wearing a cursed ring, and adding 2 if you have the cursed ring but are not wearing it (the Powers That Be take a dim view of such attempts to circumvent the potential harmful effects of acquiring dubious artefacts), and consult the table below to see where you end up. 1 - The Forest of Doom (Fighting Fantasy 3 or 8, depending on how 'old skool' you are) 2 - The Chasm of Doom (Lone Wolf 4) 3 - The Gateway of Doom (Grail Quest 3) 4 - Naked Doom (Tunnels & Trolls solo 4) 5 - Knights of Doom (Fighting Fantasy 56, and maybe some other number if Wizard hasn't expired and you're reading this adventure months or even years after it was written) 6 or more - Golden Girl and the Crystal of Doom (Find Your Fate Junior - Golden Girl 3) If you have the gamebook to which you have been transported, you must now play it. Use your existing character if it's a Fighting Fantasy book. Otherwise, if you have the relevant issue of Warlock magazine, you can convert your character's stats into the appropriate system. If you don't have the right Warlock, or can't be bothered, just generate a character for the book according to the rules in it. Should you successfully complete that gamebook, you have beaten your doom, and may restore one attribute to its Initial score before returning to your primary quest (turn to 209). If you don't have the right book, you find yourself caught in the crossfire of a fight between two Cyberdemons and a Spider Mastermind. Throw two dice. If you get a double one, enough of you remains that the body can be IDed. Anything higher, and you're saved the cost of a cremation. 225 While your mysterious enemy has eluded you, he (or she, or it) almost certainly used the jerry-built stargate to get away, so if you follow them through it, you might yet be able to catch them and find out what the point of all this ridiculous adventuring is. Besides, the only other exit from the room is the trapdoor, which is out of reach and engulfed in flames, so unless you want to get burned to death, you're going to have to use the stargate anyway. You march up the ramp, through the mouth of the stargate, and into the regrettably inevitable YELLOW SNOW IV - SPECTRAL STOCKHOLM.
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Post by a moderator on Apr 19, 2022 21:52:32 GMT
Here's what potential contributors need to know about the designated unwritten sections: 203 Follows on (eventually) from acquiring the codeword 'Thrombocyte' way back in section 2. Involves trying to use an accordion to deal with the barrier in section 201. 216 Follows on (eventually) from acquiring the codeword 'Pandoroid' way back in section 2. Involves trying to use a pair of slippers to deal with the barrier in section 201. 219 Follows on (eventually) from acquiring the codeword 'Pandoroid' way back in section 2. Involves trying to use scavenged electronics to deal with the barrier in section 201. Also available: 210, 212, 220.
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Post by a moderator on Dec 29, 2022 19:41:29 GMT
As other seasonal adventures have been bumped, here's a reminder that the first Yellow Snow has a distinctly Christmassy setting.
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Post by a moderator on May 14, 2023 12:17:21 GMT
While searching through archived emails for something unrelated, I discovered a couple of proposed edits to Yellow Snow 3, part 2 that somehow got missed when I was compiling the as-definitive-as-it-gets-for-now edition. These have now been implemented. In case anyone is curious about what has been changed, Section 124 now provides the option of assisting your ally in battle.
Section 128 gained the possibility of splitting large sums of money into multiple bribes.
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Post by a moderator on Oct 19, 2023 18:13:20 GMT
On the off-chance that those things you had managed to forget include your plans for tying up the 'Pandoroid' path's side of the boss fight in Yellow Snow III, I shall direct your attention towards this thread. Noooooooo I'll be doomed I still have a rain-damaged rough map of the paths through the first half of the adventure within arm's reach, but I can't remember offhand what the shapes and numbers signify. You had the letter hunt? Was being doomed a win condition, or a hazard, or both? I'm scared. Practically everything has already been taken care of (the letter hunt was tied up in paras 186 & 143, and doomedness was taken care of in paras 204 & 224), so you really only need concern yourself with two questions. For para 216: how does having the pair of slippers (paras 86 & 147) help with breaching the barrier shielding the end boss (paras 201 & 223)? For para 219: how does having the little speaker emitting a high-pitched feedback loop (para 185) help with breaching the barrier? Still unclaimed are paras 210, 212 & 220, so if you need more than one paragraph to resolve either matter, you can use any of them. I can free up a few more if absolutely necessary by ditching the Cretan Chronicles riff I came up with earlier this year, but I'd rather not if it can be avoided.
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Post by Per on Oct 19, 2023 20:37:17 GMT
Did you already write the accordion? My own slightly formatted and edited HTML file is dated May 2009, so it's entirely possible something was added later on the list, which I could check, but I'm too scared. I think my excuse at the time was that Leigh was next in line to write something, but I can hardly use that now. The slippers were his?
I could absolutely write something for the speaker, which was from my path, though I have no idea whether it already featured so many tribulations that automatic breakage is called for, or whether that matters. I may as well say right away that what I have in mind involves picking numbers between 1-16 which then have various mechanical effects and modifications to the barrier fight based on the Proteus lineup, so you can tell me whether we already did that exact thing (the barrier fight appears to have only Brunskill monsters?). Also this would properly use a second paragraph for turning to after choosing the numbers.
Man, 185 is somewhat kid-unfriendly, isn't it? Maybe it should be altered to align better with the general Yellow Snow cheer and wholesomeness. You grab the gun and shoot at the Tooth Fairy, who sacrifices Little Gaia to deflect the shot, then jumps out an improbable aperture and is probably never seen or heard from again.
Also what is with this paragraph ordering? It's like we were shooting for 100 to begin with, ambitions ballooned and we doubled it to 200, then we couldn't even make do with that and tacked on 25 more at the end.
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Post by a moderator on Oct 19, 2023 21:52:23 GMT
Did you already write the accordion? My own slightly formatted and edited HTML file is dated May 2009, so it's entirely possible something was added later on the list, which I could check, but I'm too scared. I think my excuse at the time was that Leigh was next in line to write something, but I can hardly use that now. The slippers were his? The accordion is part of Leigh's route. As for the slippers: "I also have to come up with something for the Pandoroid slipper subpath, assuming I didn't already and forgot about it." (Per Jorner, Fighting Fantasy gamebooks Yahoo! Group, Mar 15, 2008) The barrier fight opponents are indeed all Brunskillian, but further Proteus in-jokes would be appropriate. I'd say that automatic breakage should be a scarce option, but then, I'm the author who wouldn't include a fight against a Pogue on either of his paths, so who's to say my views have any validity? "The gun was a little bit more graphic than "You turn away from the dying Orc" or "You wipe your sword on your opponent's cloak", but not _that_ much. Kids need to be shown that violence has tangible consequences. Killing a kitchenful of Orcs is no picnic! They're sentient beings too! You could be traumatized for life!" (Per Jorner, Fighting Fantasy gamebooks Yahoo! Group, Oct 8, 2006) If 2023 Per disagrees strongly enough with 2006 Per, feel free to rewrite. To quote one of the most gloriously savage gamebook reviews ever penned, "no, wait, it is EXACTLY LIKE THAT."
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Post by Per on Oct 20, 2023 21:43:58 GMT
So if I'm reading this halfway right, on the Pandoroid path you can either confront Cait O'Riordan (no idea if there's a clue for this) in possession of a Molotov cocktail containing Viki Llundsbrand, who is a ghost (which no doubt required jumping through no very precise hoops), and end up with the slippers. Or you can try to use Little Gaia, then use a secret redirection gained from listening to too much of a gamebook version of "Fifty Ways to Leave Your Lover", and end up with the speaker. Meanwhile another de-petrified Pogue is a mini-boss on the Thrombocyte path (which you'd know to do based on Googling a passing reference to accordions two hundred sections earlier) and nets you the accordion.
All this just has me wondering, why isn't Scholastic breaking down our doors begging us to write books for them?
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Post by a moderator on Oct 20, 2023 22:17:12 GMT
So if I'm reading this halfway right, on the Pandoroid path you can either confront Cait O'Riordan (no idea if there's a clue for this) in possession of a Molotov cocktail containing Viki Llundsbrand, who is a ghost (which no doubt required jumping through no very precise hoops), and end up with the slippers. Or you can try to use Little Gaia, then use a secret redirection gained from listening to too much of a gamebook version of "Fifty Ways to Leave Your Lover", and end up with the speaker. Meanwhile another de-petrified Pogue is a mini-boss on the Thrombocyte path (which you'd know to do based on Googling a passing reference to accordions two hundred sections earlier) and nets you the accordion. That's the gist of it. And if the Pandoroid path does contain any hint that Cait O'Riordan is the correct Pogue to confront, it's too obscure for me. We're not famous enough? They're only taking on new authors who have a 'ch' somewhere in their names? Unfavourable alignment of the stars?
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Post by a moderator on Oct 22, 2023 1:14:36 GMT
I may as well say right away that what I have in mind involves picking numbers between 1-16 which then have various mechanical effects and modifications to the barrier fight based on the Proteus lineup, so you can tell me whether we already did that exact thing (the barrier fight appears to have only Brunskill monsters?). The barrier fight includes opponents drawn from issues 1, 4, 7, 16 & 20. You've covered issue 2 comprehensively (and hilariously) with the initial Viki encounter, and there's a parody of a bit from issue 12 in para 102. The author of issue 14 has been a running gag throughout the Yellow Snow saga, though I don't remember anything specific to that adventure being referenced here. I don't know how comprehensively you want to represent the Proteus oeuvre in this, nor how much of it you already have worked out, but I can think of a few quirks that could provide food for riffing if you're looking for ideas David Brunskill's other pseudonym, J.A. Collar (and the fact that you need to acquire a certain collar during the adventure with his name on). Elizabeth Caldwell's sharing Ian Livingstone's fondness for 'roll 1d6 and miss out on something essential if you get the wrong number' moments. M.W. Bolton's erroneous beliefs regarding how many legs a crab has. Ken Bulmer's love of arbitrary Fate/Fortune penalties.
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