A Deed Without A Name

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<div class="player"><table><tr><td valign="top" padding="0px" white-space="nowrap"><img width="108px" src="image/Candle-0.png"></td><td valign="bottom" padding="0px" width="100%"><center><a href="https://archive.org/details/A-Deed-Without-A-Name/Atrium+0.mp3#" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">[MP3 at Archive.org]</a> <iframe src="https://archive.org/embed/A-Deed-Without-A-Name/Atrium+0.mp3#" width="100%" height="40" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen="" ></iframe></center></td><td valign="bottom" padding="5px"><h1>PROLOGUE</h1></td></tr></table></div> “Nigella is gone.” The words hit you hard in your chest as you try to get your bearings. You’re in the atrium of a large house. The water is softly burbling in the fountain. And Nigella is gone. Anastasia is turning to look at Mercymorn, looking solemn in her fine tweed suit, patched at the elbows. Mercy’s wearing glasses (which seems odd—why would a necromancer need glasses?) and her hair is in a strict schoolmarm bun. “Gone?” “We’re still sorting out what happened, exactly, and why, but that appears to be the case.” “How awful.” Mercymorn’s mouth twists as she pulls her apricot-colored cardigan around her apricot-colored shoulders, her face looking a bit like she’d smelled some curdled milk. “Oh, and we happen to have a world-famous detective and her assistant here. Just in time to explore a mysterious disappearance at our little weekend getaway. How lucky are we? Pah.” “You seem bothered. Nervous about what we’ll turn up?” Anastasia’s expression is mild as Mercymorn shoots Anastasia a look that is positively thunderous. “Don’t you dare put words in my mouth.” She tosses up her hands in frustration. “I suppose you’ll be questioning everyone here?” “Naturally. I must confer with Samael, but that’s the plan.” Mercy sniffs, patting her hair in a distracted gesture.“Well. I hope you get to the bottom of whatever has happened. Poor Nigella.” That last part seems tacked on and perfunctory, but it is Mercymorn, after all. She has always been rather awful at expressions of sympathy, remorse, or really anything other than disgust. The fountain continues to burble gently in the center of the room, and the fog is swirling a little menacingly outside–you can see it through the thick glass panes, and you’re glad to be out of the clamminess and cold. Mercy raises an arch eyebrow. “Does the Master of the House know, yet? About Nigella?” “No. He’s still up in his impenetrable little fortress of a penthouse. I suppose Teacher might call him, he’s the one who told me, but I haven’t spoken to our host directly.” Mercy sniffs. “Typical. He’s a rather poor host, leaving us to our own devices. Not even joining at dinner.” “Indeed. We’ll chat later. I’m sure we’ll have plenty to talk about.” “…Indeed.” Neither of them seem to notice you. You are rather grateful they do not, as you do not particularly wish to be noticed at the moment. <<link "A. Remain in the Atrium with Mercymorn." "Atrium 1">><<set $hour++>><</link>> <<link "B. Follow Anastasia into the Pool Room." "Pool 1">><<set $hour++>><</link>> <<link "C. Go into the Dining Room." "Dining 1">><<set $hour++>><</link>> <<link "D. Go into the Mirror Room." "Mirror 1">><<set $hour++>><</link>> <<link "E. Go out onto the Garden Terrace." "Terrace 1">><<set $hour++>><</link>> <<link "F. Explore a House’s Quarters." "Quarters 1">><<set $hour++>><</link>>

A DEED WITHOUT A NAME

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<<script>> var passages = document.getElementById("passages"); passages.scrollTop = 0; <</script>>  <<if tags().includes("title")>> <<elseif tags().includes("credits")>><h1>CREDITS</h1> <</if>>

<<set $hour to 0>> <<set $hand to 0>> <<set $sgcount to 0>> <<set $won to false>> <<set $sg1 to false>> <<set $sg21 to false>> <<set $sg22 to false>> <<set $sg3 to false>> <<set $sg4 to false>> <<set $sg5 to false>> <<set $agl to false>> <<set $agr to false>> <<set $ap to false>> <<set $bo to false>> <<set $augdi1 to false>> <<set $augdi2 to false>> <<set $sw to false>> <<set $chalk to false>> <<set $dew to false>> <<set $pop to false>> <<set $dabart to false>> <<set $nuts to false>> <<set $mug to false>> <<set $recipe to false>> <<set $wl to false>> <<set $danse to false>> <<set $magpie to false>> <<set $gt to false>> <<set $ring to false>> <<set $vanitas to false>> <<set $journal to false>> <<set $psych to false>> <<set $law to false>> <<set $devils to false>> <<set $taxo to false>> <<set $tea to false>> <<set $key to false>>

<div class="player"><table><tr><td valign="top" padding="0px" white-space="nowrap"><img width="108px" src="image/Candle-1.png"></td><td valign="bottom" padding="0px" width="100%"><center><a href="https://archive.org/details/A-Deed-Without-A-Name/Atrium+1.wav#" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">[MP3 at Archive.org]</a> <iframe src="https://archive.org/embed/A-Deed-Without-A-Name/Atrium+1.wav#" width="90%" height="40" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen="" ></iframe></center></td><td valign="bottom" padding="5px"><h1>HOUR 1</h1></td></tr></table></div> Gideon stalks grimly into the atrium, the chandelier above making his red cropped hair gleam like a close-fitting bloody helmet as the medals on his chest catch the light, sparkling. He is tightly wound, his shoulders viciously straight, his posture precise, the creases in his uniform knife sharp. “Mercymorn.” The Saint of Joy turns to Gideon, her mouth pre-emptively twisting to an expression of impatience. “Duty calls,” she drawls, adjusting her cardigan primly and looking at him over her glasses. “You heard about poor, dear Nigella yet? Missing? So tragic.” “Mmm.” “Verbose as always, I see.” Gideon looks around before leaning close to Mercymorn. He reaches into his pocket, pulling out a scrap of paper, clutching it tightly in one of his hands. “Got up early this morning. Heard talk of her being gone. The door to her room was open. Nothing appears to be missing except for her scarf. The one she wore on her wedding day. She didn’t even take her shoes.” You remember the scarf. It was a buttery yellow, with small, hand-painted dots in a cheery pink scattered around it. Silk. Such an indulgence, but it set off her hair so nicely… “This was in a drawer,” he adds. He thrusts the scrap towards Mercy, who takes it gingerly, as if she’s been handed a flattened dead mouse. She unfurls it with a light touch, sniffing as she does, the feel of the paper clearly something she finds distasteful. “Ew. What? Pah.” She holds the note between thumb and forefinger as it flutters mournfully in the breeze. You can just make out the following: <blockquote><code>Somerset is that a dagger or a crucifix I see? just according to keikaku</code></blockquote> “That’s not all. The line to John is cut. Done sometime last night. And then she leaves. Coincidence? There’s a plot afoot.” Mercy laughs, then. It is not a joyous or pleasant laugh. It manages to be mocking and hollow all at once. “A plot! Oh, my. Whatever shall we do? I suppose you’ll swoop in and save the day, Duty. But what’s this about Teacher’s line? I thought it was just out due to the weather.” “Far from. Cut with a knife. No messages getting in or out. And none of us have access to his private elevator. We’re on our own.” “How lovely for us all. Well, if he deigns to descend from his little panopticon and grace us with his presence, we’ll be sure to catch him up on all that he’s missed out on. I don't suppose you might worry about Nigella in all of this, could you? God’s fingers, but you are a cold one.” “I seek answers. If there is a plot, she may have allies.” “Well. I hope for all our sakes that she’s just been lost in the fog, and will find her way back, and then you can interrogate her as much as you please. It’d be a shame to lose her.” “Hmph.” “She was one of the first disciples at Teacher’s knee, after all. There right from the start, standing shoulder to shoulder with us. And you think she’s capable of something so underhanded? Ugh. Go on, Captain. Go dig up dirt where there isn’t any. Leap at shadows. It’s what you do best. Oh, and let’s not forget that your first impulse was to dig around in her drawers. Filthy. Suspicious little ferret.” “So you think it’s someone who came along later, then? Attempting a frame-up? Mmm.” Mercy rolls her eyes. “Paranoid idiot.” <<link "A. Follow Gideon into the Pool Room." "P2">><<set $hour++>><<set $sg22 to true>><<if visited("Atrium 1") is 1>><<set $sgcount++>><</if>><</link>> <<link "B. Follow Mercymorn into the Dining Room." "D2">><<set $hour++>><<set $sg22 to true>><<if visited("Atrium 1") is 1>><<set $sgcount++>><</if>><</link>> <<link "C. Remain in the Atrium." "A2">><<set $hour++>><<set $sg22 to true>><<if visited("Atrium 1") is 1>><<set $sgcount++>><</if>><</link>>

Thank you so much for checking out this fanwork. If you would like to leave a comment on this work, or browse other Pod_Together offerings, you can head to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/69013841/chapters/178830686" rel="nofollow">this fanwork's AO3 page.</a> <h2>A Deed Without A Name</h2><h3>The Sentient Hive</h3>AirgiodSLV, CompassRose, elle-ja-bell, epaulettes, kitkat50311, mahons_ondine, minnabird, sisi_rambles Concept & Project Lead: AirgiodSLV Story Development: AirgiodSLV, kitkat50311, & minnabird Writers: AirgiodSLV, kikat50311, & minnabird Sound Editing & Soundscaping: elle-ja-bell, epaulettes, & kitkat50311 Twine Design & Coding: epaulettes Beta Readers: AirgiodSLV, mahons-ondine, & epaulettes <<message ' ➤ Web Assets' btn>>Game Template: <a href="https://nyehilism.itch.io/sugarcube-template/" rel="nofollow">Sugarcube Template by Nyehilism</a> Custom Macros: <a href="https://twinelab.net/custom-macros-for-sugarcube-2/#/" rel="nofollow">Chapel's Custom Macro Collection</a> Fonts: <a href="https://noblenico.tumblr.com/post/776749612109266944/" rel="nofollow">We Do Bones by noblenico</a>             <a href="https://fonts.google.com/" rel="nofollow">Google fonts</a> Banner assets: <a href="https://www.canva.com/" rel="nofollow">Canva</a> Candle graphics: <a href="https://www.dreamstime.com/gemenacom_info" rel="nofollow">@Gemenacom</a> | <a href="https://www.dreamstime.com/stock-photos" rel="nofollow">Dreamstime.com</a> Art selections: M. C. Escher's Italian period | <a href="https://mcescher.com/gallery/italian-period/" rel="nofollow">mcescher.com</a><</message>> <<if $won is true>><<message '➤ Author's Notes' btn>><h2>Author’s Notes (AirgiodSLV):</h2>It surprises exactly no one that I love a good spreadsheet. After attending Sleep No More and Life and Trust, I became fascinated by the idea of tracking characters and storylines across a labyrinthine hall of secrets. And what better setting for such an experience than Canaan House? If you've made it this far, it won't spoil you for me to admit that I'm a devotee of the Sixth House. I love the theories and surprises that surround it, and was glad to have an excuse to delve into one of its greatest mysteries. In the spirit of The Locked Tomb series, this game is filled with Easter eggs. There are quotes and references hidden all over the text. In homage to Sleep No More, many of these are from Shakespeare plays or Hitchcock films, along with the Christian Bible, and our own version of TLT's memes: Fandom in-jokes. If you think you recognize a line here or there...chances are, you probably do. I hope you have fun piecing the clues together, and discover a few old friends within the text. <h2>Author’s Notes (kitkat50311):</h2><ul> <li>Several of us were able to go to a production of “Sleep No More” together shortly before it closed. It was a truly transformative experience, and I’m glad we went.</li> <li>From the start, I knew that because this story was taking place in the River, I wanted Teacher to be a weird, haunted, multivoice abomination that no-one ever commented on or acknowledged. It just makes sense that his multiple souls would ‘come out’ in a funky way while in the River, and I am so deeply tickled by how it turned out. There was a slightly different mix of voices in nearly every scene, meaning he sounds a little different every time, which is equally joyful for me. It’s honestly the most haunted thing I’ve ever done, and I legitimately cackled the first time I mixed the various voices together and heard the result.</li> <li>The fact that John is referred to by a few characters as “Teacher” throughout and Teacher additionally exists as a separate character is hopefully not horribly confusing, but this is a Locked Tomb piece, so a little bit of confusion is to be expected, really.</li> <li>We took a page from Harrow’s experience in Harrowhawk the Ninth while in her alternative Canaan House reality. Here, the characters in this story with the most awareness of what was truly going on were the ones who had died before Cassiopeia faced the Resurrection Beast (Anastasia and Samael). We figured Alecto would likewise be in a space of liminal awareness due to her being… well… Alecto, and that Teacher would also be a little more self-aware for similar reasons.</li> <li>One fun small detail is that because Alecto is Alecto, she’s also a little displaced in time–Gideon asks her questions in their scene together, and she answers him, but in two totally different scenes, one of which happens before she meets up with him.</li> <li>One thing I wanted to explore in Facilities was the fascinating theory Redditor influencethis posited about Cassiopeia as possibly being associated with Aim/The Messenger/The Angel’s implant, if not actually being the implant herself. (Google Cassiopeia locked tomb implant, it’s wild.) We only indirectly allude to it, but it was fun to play with.</li> <li>As a team, we had far too much fun with the “Witching Hour” happening in Hour 6. We had a lot of stories we wanted to tell–the Agatha Christie mystery whodunnit as Cassiopeia’s way of indirectly processing loss and guilt, the empty room ephemera exploring the themes of the River and her past, and the Facilities sequence to examine her memories of dawning realization of what Lyctorhood entailed and her subsequent radicalization. We also wanted to include a psychological exploration of the Cost of Lyctorhood. The idea for the Witching Hour 6 developed as a way to tell that story. We were also inspired in part by the dance party/orgy the witches threw during “Sleep No More” – it was a jarring assault to the senses that was stunning and so deeply weird. The different experiences of each Necromancer and Cavalier, their varying level of understanding and complicity in what they were doing, and the ultimate toll it would take was something we chose to explore as a common thread in a single wild hour. It was a truly inspired break in reality. I cannot praise AirgiodSLV enough for conceiving of it, and writing most of it. It was audacious, bold, unhinged, and whimsical, and I think it’s the best part of this entire piece.</li></ul> <h2>Author’s Notes (minnabird):</h2>The other author’s note laid out most of the rest of the thought process, so I wanted to take a moment to talk about hymns and our Ophelia-esque Alecto. We wanted to have her know more than others, but be unable to communicate clearly, and part of that ended up being her using a collage of songs. For the scenes I wrote, that included a lot of hymns, and they ended up reflecting my own traditional Episcopalian/Anglican musical upbringing rather than a Catholic NZ one more than is ideal, but I tried. I did some research into what the National Liturgy Office in Auckland recommended as worship music at various holidays and "Now the green blade rises" and I believe "Hark! a herald voice is calling" and "Let all mortal flesh keep silence" were pulled from those lists. I have lost the exact ones I used, unfortunately. I'm not quite sure how I stumbled on the exact lyrics I did for Hark! a herald voice, because they're not the ones from the hymnal I grew up with (which has a "thrilling" voice). For the other texts, I do know I couldn't get my hands on the songbooks listed by the National Liturgy Office (I looked for both "Sing Praise" and "Catholic Worship Book II"; "Alleluia Aotearoa" was available but didn't have the songs I was looking for). So then I think I just defaulted to the lyrics I knew, which may or may not be correct for Gaius’ cultural context, but feel right for the vibe of TLT; Muir has deliberately used more outdated/traditional and portentous sounding translations in a few places, such as the Ruth quotation Gideon uses at the end of GtN. "Rejoice! rejoice believers" I know for a fact I couldn't find attested for the Catholic church in NZ but the lyrics were too fun to twist for this purpose. Also, on a personal note, this is the first year I was involved in building out the concept pre-outline, and it was a lot of fun! Thanks to my co-writers for having me along, and I think this Hive story will have a special place in my memory with how much of it was born in times I got to see Hive members in person.<</message>> <<message '➤ Songs' btn>>- “I’ve Got You Babe” by Sonny and Cher - “The Wellerman,” Traditional - “And Will He Not Come Again,” Traditional - “Hark! A Herald Voice is Calling,” lyrics attributed to Edward Caswall (translator), tune “Merton” by William Henry Monk (version found in Together in Song: Australian Hymn Book II) - “Let All Mortal Flesh Keep Silence,” lyrics attributed to Gerard Moultrie (paraphraser), tune “Picardy,” Traditional (version found in The Hymnal 1982) - “Rejoice! Rejoice, Believers,” lyrics by Laurentius Laurenti, translated by S. L. Findlater, tune “Llangloffan,” Traditional (version found in The Hymnal 1982) - “Mā is White,” Traditional - “Seven Wonders” by Fleetwood Mac - “Love Is Come Again” (“Now the green blade riseth”), lyrics by John Macleod Campbell Crum, tune “Noël Nouvelet,” Traditional (version found in The Hymnal 1982) - “I Got You Babe” by Sonny & Cher - “Don’t Go Breaking My Heart” by Elton John and Kiki Dee - “Bang Bang (My Baby Shot Me Down)” by Cher - “Believe” by Cher - Selections from Igor Stravinsky's The Firebird [K010], 1910 version - “Mother Dearest Mother Fairest,” Traditional - “The Lonely Goatherd” (from The Sound of Music), Rodgers and Hammerstein - “Hungarian Dance No. 5 in G minor,” Brahms - “Requiem: Dies Irae,” Mozart - “Ave Maria,” Schubert<</message>> <<message '➤ Individual Scene Credits' btn>>1. Introduction Writer kitkat50311 Cast Narrator: kitkat50311 2. Prologue Writer kitkat50311 Cast Narrator: sisi_rambles Mercymorn: CompassRose Anastasia: kitkat50311 3. Hour 1: Atrium Writer kitkat50311 Cast Narrator: kitkat50311 Mercymorn: CompassRose Gideon: elle-ja-belle 4. Hour 1: Dining Room Writer AirgiodSLV Cast Narrator: kitkat50311 List: sisi_rambles Coffee mug: AirgiodSLV Recipe book: mahons-ondine 5. Hour 1: Mirror Room Writer kitkat50311 Cast Narrator: AirgiodSLV Alecto: minnabird 6. Hour 1: Pool Room Writer kitkat50311 Cast Narrator: sisi_rambles Anastasia: kitkat50311 Samael: epaulettes 7. Hour 1: Garden Terrace Writer minnabird Cast Narrator: ell-ja-belle Augustine: mahons-ondine Cytherea: sisi_rambles 8. Hour 1: House Quarters Writer AirgiodSLV Cast Narrator: ell-ja-belle Journal: kitkat50311 Pop art: epaulettes Oil painting: minnabird 9. Hour 2: Atrium Writer AirgiodSLV Cast Narrator: epaulettes Diary Y1: mahons-ondine Message: kitkat50311 Photograph: AirgiodSLV 10. Hour 2: Dining Room Writer minnabird Cast Narrator: sisi_rambles Anastasia: kitkat50311 Mercymorn: CompassRose 11. Hour 2: Mirror Room Writer minnabird Cast Narrator: sisi_rambles Augustine: mahons-ondine 12. Hour 2: Pool Room Writer kitkat50311 Cast Narrator: kitkat50311 Samael: epaulettes Gideon: elle-ja-belle 13. Hour 2: Garden Terrace Writer minnabird Cast Narrator: epaulettes Cytherea: sisi_rambles Alecto: minnabird Teacher: The Sentient Hive Nigella: kitkat50311 14. Hour 2: House Quarters Writer AirgiodSLV Cast Narrator: sisi_rambles Still life: kitkat50311 Dyptich: minnabird Tryptich: epaulettes 15. Hour 2: Facilities Writer kitkat50311 Cast Narrator: kitkat50311 Mercymorn: CompassRose Augustine: mahons-ondine 16. Hour 3: Atrium Writer kitkat50311 Cast Narrator: mahons-ondine Gideon: ell-ja-belle Alecto: minnabird 17. Hour 3: Dining Room Writer minnabird Cast Narrator: sisi_rambles Anastasia: kitkat50311 Augustine: mahons-ondine 18. Hour 3: Mirror Room Writer AirgiodSLV Cast Narrator: mahons-ondine Academic paper: AirgiodSLV Message: kitkat50311 Comic panel: sisi_rambles 19. Hour 3: Pool Room Writer kitkat50311 Cast Narrator: minnabird Samael: epaulettes Teacher: The Sentient Hive 20. Hour 3: Garden Terrace Writer minnabird Cast Narrator: epaulettes Cytherea: sisi_rambles Mercymorn: CompassRose 21. Hour 3: House Quarters Writer AirgiodSLV Cast Narrator: kitkat50311 Journal p. 3: AirgiodSLV mahons-ondine Journal p. 8: AirgiodSLV Journal p. 12: AirgiodSLV 22. Hour 3: Facilities Writer AirgiodSLV Cast Narrator: sisi_rambles Nigella: kitkat50311 23. Hour 4: Atrium Writer minnabird Cast Narrator: ell-ja-belle Teacher: The Sentient Hive Mercymorn: CompassRose 24. Hour 4: Dining Room Writer kitkat50311 Cast Narrator: sisi_rambles Gideon: ell-ja-belle Augustine: mahons-ondine 25. Hour 4: Mirror Room Writer minnabird Cast Narrator: sisi_rambles Anastasia: kitkat50311 Alecto: minnabird 26. Hour 4: Pool Room Writer AirgiodSLV Cast Narrator: sisi_rambles Message: kitkat50311 Blank overlay: epaulettes Poem/Song: mahons-ondine 27. Hour 4: Garden Terrace Writer minnabird Cast Narrator: CompassRose Samael: epaulettes Cytherea: sisi_rambles 28. Hour 4: House Quarters Writer AirgiodSLV Cast Narrator: kitkat50311 Letter: CompassRose Right half of paper: sisi_rambles Parchment: AirgiodSLV 29. Hour 4: Facilities Writer kitkat50311 Cast Narrator: AirgiodSLV 30. Hour 5: Atrium Writer AirgiodSLV Cast Narrator: kitkat50311 Diary Y3: mahons-ondine Graffiti: epaulettes Chalk marks: sisi_rambles 31. Hour 5: Dining Room Writer minnabird Cast Narrator: sisi_rambles Gideon: ell-ja-belle Message: kitkat50311 Augustine: mahons-ondine 32. Hour 5: Mirror Room Writer minnabird Cast Narrator: mahons-ondine Alecto: minnabird Teacher: The Sentient Hive 33. Hour 5: Pool Room Writer kitkat50311 Cast Narrator: minnabird Anastasia: kitkat50311 Samael: epaulettes 34. Hour 5: Garden Terrace Writer kitkat50311 Cast Narrator: kitkat50311 Gideon: ell-ja-belle Cytherea: sisi_rambles 35. Hour 5: House Quarters Writer AirgiodSLV Cast Narrator: sisi_rambles Tea tin: AirgiodSLV Message: kitkat50311 Key: epaulettes 36. Hour 5: Facilities Writer kitkat50311 Cast Narrator: sisi_rambles Augustine: mahons-ondine Nigella: kitkat50311 37. Hour 6: Atrium Writer AirgiodSLV Cast Narrator: kitkat50311 Gideon: ell-ja-belle Pyrrha: CompassRose Wake: mahons-ondine 38. Hour 6: Dining Room Writer AirgiodSLV Cast Narrator: kitkat50311 39. Hour 6: Mirror Room Writer kitkat50311 Cast Narrator: elle-ja-belle 40. Hour 6: Pool Room Writer AirgiodSLV Cast Narrator: sisi_rambles 41. Hour 6: Garden Terrace Writer AirgiodSLV Cast Narrator: mahons-ondine 42. Hour 6: House Quarters Writer AirgiodSLV Cast Narrator: sisi_rambles 43. Hour 6: Facilities Writer kitkat50311 Cast Narrator: AirgiodSLV 44. Atrium 7 Writer minnabird Cast Narrator: kitkat50311 Augustine: mahons-ondine Alecto: minnabird 45. Hour 7: Dining Room Writer kitkat50311 Cast Narrator: AirgiodSLV Samael: epaulettes 46. Hour 7: Mirror Room Writer kitkat50311 Cast Narrator: sisi_rambles Gideon: ell-ja-belle Mercymorn: CompassRose 47. Hour 7: Pool Room Writer kitkat50311 Cast Narrator: sisi_rambles Anastasia: kitkat50311 48. Hour 7: Garden Terrace Writer AirgiodSLV Cast Narrator: epaulettes Gisant: kitkat50311 Transi: sisi_rambles Mourning ring: minnabird 49. Hour 7: House Quarters Writer AirgiodSLV Cast Narrator: epaulettes Handwritten note: kitkat50311 Left half of paper: sisi_rambles Sticky notes: The Sentient Hive 50. Hour 7: Facilities Writer kitkat50311 Cast Narrator: epaulettes Cytherea: sisi_rambles Teacher: The Sentient Hive 51. Deneouement Writer kitkat50311 Cast Narrator: ell-ja-belle Mercymorn: CompassRose Augustine: mahons-ondine Alecto: minnabird Teacher: The Sentient Hive Anastasia: kitkat50311 Cytherea: sisi_rambles 52. Epilogue Writer kitkat50311 Cast Narrator: AirgiodSLV Anastasia: kitkat50311 <</message>><</if>> <<link "➤ Return" $return>><</link>>

<div class="player"><table><tr><td valign="top" padding="0px"><<if $hour is 0>><img width="108px" src="image/Candle-0.png"><<elseif $hour is 1>><img width="108px" src="image/Candle-1.png"><<elseif $hour is 2>><img width="108px" src="image/Candle-2.png"><<elseif $hour is 3>><img width="108px" src="image/Candle-3.png"><<elseif $hour is 4>><img width="108px" src="image/Candle-4.png"><<elseif $hour is 5>><img width="108px" src="image/Candle-5.png"><<elseif $hour is 6>><img width="108px" src="image/Candle-6.png"><<elseif $hour is 7>><img width="108px" src="image/Candle-7.png"><<elseif $hour is 8>><img width="108px" src="image/Candle-Denouement.png"><<elseif $hour is 9>><img width="108px" src="image/Candle-Epilogue.png"><</if>></td><td valign="bottom" padding="5px"><h1>ITEMS OF INTEREST</h1></td></tr></table></div> <div class="item-list"><ul><<if $sgcount > 1>><li><<link "Some mysterious messages. Are these in code?" "SOURCE GRAM">><</link>></li><<elseif $sgcount is 1>><li><<link "A mysterious message. Is this in code?" "SOURCE GRAM">><</link>></li><</if>> <<if $nuts is true>><li><<link "A strongly worded note." "Nuts">><</link>></li><</if>> <<if $mug is true>><li><<link "A well-loved coffee mug." "Mug">><</link>></li> <</if>> <<if $recipe is true>><li><<link "A hand-bound book of recipes." "Recipe">><</link>></li> <</if>> <<if $ap is true>><li><<link "A page from an academic paper on a timely subject." "Aca paper">><</link>></li> <</if>> <<if $ap is true && $bo is true>><li><<link "This sheet of flimsy has the same dimensions as an acadmeic paper's page..." "Blackout">><</link>></li> <<elseif $bo is true>><li><<link "A sheet of flimsy with curious rectangular holes..." "Blackout">><</link>></li> <</if>> <<if $wl is true>><li><<link "A photograph of the house at its most splendid." "Wonderland">><</link>></li> <</if>> <<if $sw is true>><li><<link "Notes on some esoteric graffiti." "SW">><</link>></li> <</if>> <<if $chalk is true>><li><<link "Someone wrote this in necromantic chalk." "Chalk">><</link>></li> <</if>> <<if $augdi1 is true && $augdi2 is true>><li><<link "These two diary excerpts look to be written in the same hand..." "Aug Di">><</link>></li> <<elseif $augdi1 is true && $augdi2 is false>><li><<link "Some kind of diary fragment?" "Aug Di">><</link>></li> <<elseif $augdi1 is false && $augdi2 is true>><li><<link "Some kind of diary fragment?" "Aug Di">><</link>></li> <</if>> <<if $journal is true>><li><<link "Excerpts torn from your own journal, with marginal comments in a familiar hand." "Journal">><</link>></li> <</if>> <<if $gt is true>><li><<link "Notes on some funerary sculptures found on the terrace." "G+T">><</link>></li> <</if>> <<if $ring is true>><li><<link "A mourning ring with an unreadable inscription." "Ring">><</link>></li> <</if>> <<if $dew is true>><<if $hand gt 1>><li><<link "A fragment from a journal written in another familiar hand." "Dew">><</link>></li> <<else>><li><<link "A fragment from a journal written in a familiar hand." "Dew">><</link>></li> <</if>><</if>> <<if $pop is true>><li><<link "Pop art featuring an oversized baby blue insect." "Pop">><</link>></li> <</if>> <<if $dabart is true>><li><<link "An oil painting featuring your favorite flower." "DABart">><</link>></li> <</if>> <<if $agl is true && $agr is true>><li><<link "These torn pieces of paper line up perfectly!" "Alias Grace">><</link>></li> <<elseif $agl is true && $agr is false>><li><<link "A sheet of paper torn on the left side." "Alias Grace">><</link>></li> <<elseif $agl is false && $agr is true>><li><<link "A sheet of paper torn on the right side." "Alias Grace">><</link>></li> <</if>> <<if $key is true>><li><<link "A long, saw-toothed key." "Key">><</link>></li> <</if>> <<if $tea is true>><li><<link "A recently used tea tin." "Tea">><</link>></li> <</if>> <<if $devils is true>><<if $hand gt 1>><li><<link "A note written in another familiar hand." "Devils">><</link>></li> <<else>><li><<link "A note written in a familiar hand." "Devils">><</link>></li> <</if>><</if>> <<if $taxo is true>><li><<link "A series of sticky notes in several hands." "Taxo">><</link>></li> <</if>> <<if $danse is true>><li><<link "A comic panel featuring comical skeletons." "Danse">><</link>></li> <</if>> <<if $magpie is true>><li><<link "A disconcerting nursery rhyme." "Magpie">><</link>></li> <</if>> <<if $vanitas is true>><li><<link "A series of vanitas paintings with some notes on their interpretations." "Vanitas">><</link>></li> <</if>> <<if $psych is true>><<if $hand gt 1>><li><<link "A letter written in another familiar hand." "Psych">><</link>></li> <<else>><li><<link "A letter written in a familiar hand." "Psych">><</link>></li> <</if>><</if>> <<if $law is true>><li><<link "A real piece of parchment with ink-splattered writing." "Law">><</link>></li> <</if>></ul></div> <<link "➤ Return" $return>><</link>>

<style> #ui-bar {display:none;} #passages {width:100vw;margin:0;background-image:var(--banner-top),var(--banner-bottom);background-repeat:no-repeat;background-size:50%;background-position:top center, bottom center;overflow:hidden;scrollbar-width:none;font-family:var(--header-font);transition:0s;padding:0;} ::-webkit-scrollbar {width:0px;} .passage {text-align:center;transition:0s;} #passages a:before {content: none;} #story {margin-left:0;} h1 {text-align:center;margin-top:17vh;} @media screen and (max-width: 800px) {#story {margin:0;}} </style> <a data-passage="Atrium 0"><h1>A DEED WITHOUT A NAME</h1></a> <center><a data-passage="Atrium 0"><img src='image/title.png' onmouseover="this.src='image/title-wave.png';" onmouseout="this.src='image/title.png';" width="40%" style="border-radius: 10px;"></a></center>

<div class="player"><table><tr><td valign="top" padding="0px" white-space="nowrap"><img width="108px" src="image/Candle-1.png"></td><td valign="bottom" padding="0px" width="100%"><center><a href="https://archive.org/details/A-Deed-Without-A-Name/Dining+1.wav#" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">[MP3 at Archive.org]</a> <iframe src="https://archive.org/embed/A-Deed-Without-A-Name/Dining+1.wav#" width="90%" height="40" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen="" ></iframe></center></td><td valign="bottom" padding="5px"><h1>HOUR 1</h1></td></tr></table></div> The dining hall is a rustic amalgamation of a Norse god’s banquet room and a military mess hall. Trestle tables and benches are laid out in neat rows, with far more seats available than there are people to fill them. A glass cathedral ceiling stretches to a point high above, framing a rose window at the front of the room. Larger-than-life portraits loom from the walls. The tapestries and painted canvases are large enough to park a shuttle on. Their subjects keep a somber and unsmiling vigil. Framing the doorway, serene pastoral landscapes draw the eye, as if to say, ‘don’t you wish you were here instead?’ Truly, the contrast of rolling green hills and majestic mountains with the dreary room inspires a desire to be anywhere else. It’s noticeably cooler the farther away you are from the atrium. Perhaps it’s the watery, washed-out quality of the natural light, lacking any sunny warmth. Perhaps there’s a chill from the kitchen area and fridge. In one corner of the room, the wooden floorboards are cut into a large rectangle. A square brass plate with a handle squats on one side. This hatch is not supposed to be here, and yet here it is. The access door is locked. Do you have a key? <div class="border-image-box"><<linkreplace "➤ Investigate this room.">><<set $nuts to true>><h2>Items of Interest</h2> List pinned on the kitchen door<dl><dt>Banned from the mixed nuts tin:</dt> <dd>Peanuts - For the sound they make when God shells them during meetings</dd> <dd>Walnuts - I don't care if they have omega-3s, they look like little brains</dd> <dd>Acorns - It's not funny, no matter what M. says, I'm only 2 inches shorter than A.</dd> <dd>Pistachios - Not worth the ratio of effort involved to get to them</dd> <dd>Macadamias - Reached the limit on U's ‘m-academia for m-academics’ jokes</dd></dl> <<linkreplace "➤ Investigate this room further.">><<set $mug to true>>Coffee mug Red with white lettering and a small chip in the handle. The words printed on the side read: <blockquote>I can't face the world in the morning. I must have coffee before I can speak.</blockquote> <<linkreplace "➤ One last look around?">><<set $recipe to true>>Recipe book The cover is decorated with hand-drawn vegetables in bright colors. Bubble captions from their mouths read, ‘You’re my sweet pea!’ and ‘Mes petits chouchoux!’ A bowl of salad in the center proclaims, ‘Remember, Caesar, thou art mortal!’ Recipes: Black pudding Blutnudeln Bún bò huế Cabidela Civet de Boeuf Dinuguan Hone-senbei Mélas zōmós Osso buco Remouillage Sangrecita Saksang<</linkreplace>><</linkreplace>><</linkreplace>></div> <<link "A. Remain in the Dining Room." "D2">><<set $hour++>><<set $nuts to true>><<set $mug to true>><<set $recipe to true>><</link>> <<link "B. Explore a House’s Quarters." "Q2">><<set $hour++>><<set $nuts to true>><<set $mug to true>><<set $recipe to true>><</link>> <<link "C. Go to the Atrium." "A2">><<set $hour++>><<set $nuts to true>><<set $mug to true>><<set $recipe to true>><</link>> <<if $key is true>><<link "D. Explore the Facility." "F2">><<set $hour++>><<set $nuts to true>><<set $mug to true>><<set $recipe to true>><</link>><<else>><<linkreplace "D. Explore the Facility.">><<dialog>>You don't have a key. Yet.<</dialog>><strike>D. Explore the Facility.</strike><</linkreplace>><</if>>

<div class="player"><table><tr><td valign="top" padding="0px" white-space="nowrap"><img width="108px" src="image/Candle-1.png"></td><td valign="bottom" padding="0px" width="100%"><center><a href="https://archive.org/details/A-Deed-Without-A-Name/Terrace+1.wav#" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">[MP3 at Archive.org]</a> <iframe src="https://archive.org/embed/A-Deed-Without-A-Name/Terrace+1.wav#" width="90%" height="40" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen="" ></iframe></center></td><td valign="bottom" padding="5px"><h1>HOUR 1</h1></td></tr></table></div> The garden is grey. Fog clusters densely in the distance, encroaches on the terrace. Your cheeks are instantly clammy. Cytherea lounges magnificently under a wholly unnecessary sunshade. Her hair is a spill of carefully designed curls, brighter than the morning, and she wears a dress of frothy white lace. The effect is interrupted by the shawl she has been obliged to wrap around her arms. Augustine stands at the balustrade, a cigarette held at a rakish angle in one hand, its cherry glow the one spot of color near him. “Dreadful,” he says, and takes a long drag. “The weather? Or the circumstances?” “Quite. Have a cigarette, my dear girl. On second thought, perhaps not, I rather like your lungs in one piece.” He stubs his cigarette out on the railing with a stabbing motion and turns around. He glances at you, but settles at Cytherea’s side in a lazy sprawl. “How shall we take our minds off it?” “Who’s Hottest,” Cytherea says instantly. You can hear the capital letters. Augustine groans, and they sit in silence for a few moments. Finally: “All right. You first.” Cytherea gives him a small, catlike smile. “Nigella.” Augustine returns the smile with interest. “Wicked girl. But rather obvious, don’t you think?” “You, then. Somebody who’s here.” You wonder if they’ve forgotten you, standing like a mouse at the door. They stopped inviting you to play this game long ago. “Go on, then, shock me,” Cytherea prods, when he’s apparently taken too long to think. “Gideon, then.” “Gideon!” “Did you see him last night at dinner? Looked like he would kill every single one of us. Now, I’d be the first one to say he looks like an old shoe, but one likes a thrill, now and again.” “That was only because he was so tetchy about Teacher not coming down to eat with us…poor Nigella looked so disturbed when he started making noises about a plot. He does get so paranoid.” Augustine smooths his hands over his lapels, arching as if to show off his skinny chest. “Oh, yes, would you like to interrogate me? You'll have to work to make me scream.” Cytherea is overcome briefly with giggles, pleased with this little show. “Not Mercy? She looks like she wants to stab you with a fork at every meal.” “And with all the threat of a wet dishrag. No, not Mercymorn. Besides, she’s the wrong kind of weird. I’m starting to wonder if she’s going the way of Alecto.” “Oh? Why is that?” “Such tones of concern. Nothing, only—do you know what she might have been doing with the line to reach John? I bumped into her there last night, and she skittered off like a rat the moment she saw me.” Cytherea reaches out to pat Augustine’s arm. “I’m sure she just had some things to say to him she didn’t want you to hear.” “You think?” Augustine says. “Oh, go on. Choose someone who isn’t Nigella. Be serious, Cyth.” “Samael, don’t you think? A slab of quiveringly loyal goth beefcake—you can’t say you wouldn’t enjoy being worshipped by that.” “Sickeningly loyal, that’s the word you’re looking for.” Augustine makes a noise of disgust. “Don’t say the word quivering to me again.” You leave them to their bickering. You never did like this game. <<link "A. Follow Augustine to the Mirror Room." "M2">><<set $hour++>><</link>> <<link "B. Remain on the Terrace with Cytherea." "T2">><<set $hour++>><</link>> <<link "C. Explore a House’s Quarters." "Q2">><<set $hour++>><</link>>

<<if visited("A2") is 1>><<set $sgcount++>><<set $hand++>><</if>><div class="player"><table><tr><td valign="top" padding="0px" white-space="nowrap"><img width="108px" src="image/Candle-2.png"></td><td valign="bottom" padding="0px" width="100%"><center><a href="https://archive.org/details/A-Deed-Without-A-Name/Atrium+2.wav#" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">[MP3 at Archive.org]</a> <iframe src="https://archive.org/embed/A-Deed-Without-A-Name/Atrium+2.wav#" width="90%" height="40" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen="" ></iframe></center></td><td valign="bottom" padding="5px"><h1>HOUR 2</h1></td></tr></table></div> The atrium reaches out in all directions, through doorways that lead outside the building and deeper into the interior. It is the heart of the house, with arteries that run into every wing. Chandeliers hang overhead, blocky art deco monoliths like ornate missiles hurtling towards the earth. Their gaudy ornamental trappings block nearly as much light as they produce. Twin grand staircases spill velvet carpet runners down their lengths, so plush it almost seems a crime to set foot on them. The architecture drips carvings and metalwork from every surface, as though the entire room is a wax candle slowly melting toward the floor. A fountain splashes noisily in the center of the room, spitting water over the heads of white marble amphibians. The pool at the base is tinged green and smells faintly of algae. Salt is forbidden in this room. Alabaster swan vases are set in recessed niches atop marble pedestals. Flower arrangements in rich reds and purples sprout from their backs and wings. Several stems protrude unattractively from their backsides like ruffled tail feathers. You do, however, admire the smoothness of the matte white glaze and the detail of the impressed marks. <div class="border-image-box"><<linkreplace "➤ Investigate this area.">><<set $augdi1 to true>><h2>Items of Interest</h2> Torn page from a diary, Year One “...foolish to build on a seacliff, but God's primary concern is to get away from the damned thing. A.L. wants badly to get to it. The rest of us have agreed this is a terrible idea.” <<linkreplace "➤ Investigate this area further.">><<set $sg1 to true>>Message 1 of 5 <code>CARGO SERUM for underneath an alehouse' paltry sign the darkness still has work to do one does not simply walk into Mordor</code> <<linkreplace "➤ One last look around?">><<set $wl to true>>Framed photograph A black-and-white print of the house in its completed glory, towering above the sea. <center><img src="image/Escher-Canaan.png" width="80%"></center>A handwritten note in the bottom right corner reads: <blockquote>We all go a little mad sometimes</blockquote><</linkreplace>><</linkreplace>><</linkreplace>></div> <<link "A. Remain in the Atrium." "A3">><<set $hour++>><<set $augdi1 to true>><<set $sg1 to true>><<set $wl to true>><</link>> <<link "B. Explore a House’s Quarters." "Q3">><<set $hour++>><<set $hour++>><<set $augdi1 to true>><<set $sg1 to true>><<set $wl to true>><</link>> <<link "C. Go to the Dining Room." "D3">><<set $hour++>><<set $hour++>><<set $augdi1 to true>><<set $sg1 to true>><<set $wl to true>><</link>>

<div class="player"><table><tr><td valign="top" padding="0px" white-space="nowrap"><img width="108px" src="image/Candle-4.png"></td><td valign="bottom" padding="0px" width="100%"><center><a href="https://archive.org/details/A-Deed-Without-A-Name/Atrium+4.wav#" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">[MP3 at Archive.org]</a> <iframe src="https://archive.org/embed/A-Deed-Without-A-Name/Atrium+4.wav#" width="90%" height="40" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen="" ></iframe></center></td><td valign="bottom" padding="5px"><h1>HOUR 4</h1></td></tr></table></div> “There you are!” Mercymorn catches up to Teacher as he oversees the cleaning of the atrium floor, which people have been tramping over with muddy feet. He turns to give her his full attention. “I apologize for apparently being so difficult to find.” He twinkles at her. “What may I do for you?” “You may cease smiling at me immediately and give me access to Augustine’s room.” His smile does not dim. “Ah, but I cannot do that. It is my duty to guard the privacy of each of the guests, even in such trying times as these.” “Privacy! Privacy!! Don’t talk to me of privacy, you withered old prune. There is a murderer running about these halls.” “Is there a reason why you ask to see Augustine’s rooms in particular? If you have information, you ought to bring it to the investigators.” Mercymorn makes a derisive noise. “As if that stuck-up bluestocking and her pet dog have any more authority than the rest of us.” She starts towards the stairs. “Very well. I shall go break down his door, and you will have to deal with the splinters.” Teacher starts forwards and catches her wrist. She looks at his hand as if it is a dead toad, then up at his face, and he ducks his head a little. “A moment.” She shakes his hand off and folds her arms, waiting. “Nigella’s bed was not the only one unslept-in last night—I witnessed Augustine returning to his room in last night’s clothes this morning while I was making the rounds of the rooms. He was in there only long enough to dress, and then he went to breakfast. Unless he had something very small and inconspicuous to hide, I do not think there will be anything to find in his rooms.” Mercymorn looks electrified. “Out all night! Anything might have happened.” Teacher turns worried eyes to her. “I hadn’t wanted to say anything. It is not an unusual state of events for Augustine, but if there is some other reason to suspect something untoward…” “I’ll have his guts. Give me the God-forsaken key, Teacher, or I’ll hold you responsible for keeping this little tidbit hidden.” “I can’t do that.” They stare one another down for a few seconds, and then Mercy lets out a little incoherent wail of rage. “I’ll squeeze it out of him—like juice if I have to!” Teacher is left in the atrium, looking older than usual, a still point among the servitors still polishing the floor until it gleams. “How dreadful. I do hope it isn’t murder after all…what God has joined together, let no one separate. Not even one of the disciples themselves. Oh, dear, oh, dear.” <<link "A. Follow Mercymorn into the Dining Room." "D5">><<set $hour++>><</link>> <<link "B. Follow Teacher into the Mirror Room." "M5">><<set $hour++>><</link>> <<link "C. Remain in the Atrium." "A5">><<set $hour++>><</link>>

<<if visited("A5") is 1>><<set $hand++>><</if>><div class="player"><table><tr><td valign="top" padding="0px" white-space="nowrap"><img width="108px" src="image/Candle-5.png"></td><td valign="bottom" padding="0px" width="100%"><center><a href="https://archive.org/details/A-Deed-Without-A-Name/Atrium+5.wav#" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">[MP3 at Archive.org]</a> <iframe src="https://archive.org/embed/A-Deed-Without-A-Name/Atrium+5.wav#" width="90%" height="40" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen="" ></iframe></center></td><td valign="bottom" padding="5px"><h1>HOUR 5</h1></td></tr></table></div> The shuttle dock sprawls out across a hundred landing pads, just outside the atrium door. You can’t remember ever needing room for that many ships. Most of the pads stand empty: flat painted targets that glow under the landing lights. The bulky silhouettes of God’s shuttles cast shadows onto the ground around them. Beyond them, you can hear the ocean. It sounds much closer than you know it is. You can hear the waves break as clearly as if you were standing at the base of the seacliff, with the wind in your hair and salt spray on your lips. The rush and roar of the water echoes as it bounces off the foundations of the house. It sounds like it’s all around you. You can almost taste it. High above, behind pristine, whitewashed walls, there is a light on in the Tower. <div class="border-image-box"><<linkreplace "➤ Investigate this area.">><<set $augdi2 to true>><h2>Items of Interest</h2> Torn page from a diary, Year 3 “Asked about A.L. again. God said we know who a boy's best friend is, then laughed. None of us got the joke.” <<linkreplace "➤ Investigate this area further.">><<set $sw to true>>Graffiti Spray paint splashed across a nearby ship’s hull depicts a shining white orb with a craggy, pockmarked surface. The structure is made up entirely of human bones. Where the ship’s name and registration should be, the painter has written: <blockquote>That’s no moon. It’s a space shuttle.</blockquote> <<linkreplace "➤ One last look around?">><<set $chalk to true>>Chalk marks Written on the edge of a docking pad in white necromantic chalk, partially erased by the rain: <blockquote>Our flesh and blood is grown so vile…</blockquote><</linkreplace>><</linkreplace>><</linkreplace>></div> <<link "Stay and watch the show." "A6">><<set $hour++>><<set $augdi2 to true>><<set $sw to true>><<set $chalk to true>><</link>>

<div class="player"><table><tr><td valign="top" padding="0px" white-space="nowrap"><img width="108px" src="image/Candle-6.png"></td><td valign="bottom" padding="0px" width="100%"><center><a href="https://archive.org/details/A-Deed-Without-A-Name/Atrium+6.wav#" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">[MP3 at Archive.org]</a> <iframe src="https://archive.org/embed/A-Deed-Without-A-Name/Atrium+6.wav#" width="90%" height="40" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen="" ></iframe></center></td><td valign="bottom" padding="5px"><h1>HOUR 6</h1></td></tr></table></div> WAKE: Gideon. Gideon. Gideon! [A series of thumps and crashes, as of boxes falling and a lamp being knocked over] [The snap and hiss of a lighter] WAKE: [exhaling] We're getting good at that. GIDEON: Will you let me stick around this time? WAKE: Don’t be sentimental. We both have work to do. Aren't you sleuthing around on a case, detective? GIDEON: I'm on a mission from God, Wake. WAKE: Yes, that’s what I said. I'll see you soon. [Fabric rustling, a buckle clinking, the zzt of a leather belt pulled through metal teeth] GIDEON: You'll call me? WAKE: If you don't catch up with me first. GIDEON: That hasn’t happened yet. WAKE: None of this has. GIDEON: What? WAKE: Never mind. [A door shuts] [A door opens] WAKE: I was wondering if you'd drop by. PYRRHA: I don’t have much time. He'll notice if I’m here for long. WAKE: We'd better make the most of it, then. Smoke? PYRRHA: I'd prefer to keep my hands free. [Fabric rustling] WAKE: Why, Officer. PYRRHA: It’s Detective now, actually. WAKE: Is it? PYRRHA: Here’s the badge. WAKE: Detective Pyrrha Dve. Congratulations. We should celebrate. PYRRHA: That’s why I want to keep my hands free. [Jangling handcuffs] WAKE: Why, Detective, are those for me? Whatever have I done to warrant an arrest? PYRRHA: I'm sure we can think of something. [Fabric rustling] [A car engine, growing louder and then sputtering out] WAKE: Wait, stop. Did you hear that? PYRRHA: What? WAKE: The ute. Dammit, I thought he was gone. PYRRHA: Gideon? WAKE: Yes, you'll have to hide until he leaves again. Quick, get in the closet. [A light, creaky door opens] PYRRHA: I hope you're aware of the irony. [A creaky door slams] [Jangling metal] [A creaky door opens] WAKE [hissing] Take the handcuffs! [Jangling metal, a creaky door slams] [A door opens] GIDEON: I forgot my detective's badge. WAKE: [slightly out of breath] We can't have that, can we? GIDEON: I see it over there. WAKE: I'm glad that's…ahh. Wait! GIDEON: What is it? WAKE: [loud and deliberate] Before you get your badge, there on the nightstand… GIDEON: Yes? WAKE: Kiss me again. [Kissing sounds, a door creaks slowly open] [The kissing breaks off, the door is swiftly closed] WAKE: Again! I can't get enough of you. GIDEON: If only there were two of me, one could stay here with you. WAKE: If only. [Kissing sounds, a door creaks open, then clicks shut] WAKE: [breathless] There! And here's your badge. Exactly where you saw it. Have a good day, Detective. GIDEON: I will return soon. WAKE: Not too soon, I hope! [A door closes] [A car engine starts, rumbling until it fades away] WAKE: He's gone. [A door creaks open] PYRRHA: That was a little risky, don't you think? WAKE: Life is a calculated series of risks. Now, where were we? [Jangling metal, handcuffs snapping closed] WAKE: My my, Officer, what could I possibly have done to deserve this? PYRRHA: I think you know the answer to that. WAKE: [gasp] Is that a gun in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me? PYRRHA: I think you know the answer to that, too. [A series of metallic clunks] WAKE: Three guns, oh my. PYRRHA: You can never be too careful. WAKE: You really are happy to see me. PYRRHA: I always am. [Fabric rustling, kissing sounds] PYRRHA: You taste like cigarettes. WAKE: I did offer you one. PYRRHA: I'd rather have this. [A car engine, growing louder and then sputtering out] [Kissing sounds break off] WAKE: Wait, wait. Damn it, he's back again. PYRRHA: Are you sure it’s him? WAKE: Nothing else sounds like that ute. PYRRHA: I'll get back in the closet. WAKE: Wait, uncuff me first! [A long pause] PYRRHA: I can’t find the key. WAKE: What do you mean? PYRRHA: It must be in my clothes somewhere. WAKE: Quick, lock the door! [A deadbolt shoots home] [Clothes hitting the floor, a belt buckle jingling] WAKE: Where is it? PYRRHA: I’m looking. [Doorknob rattling] [Knocking] WAKE: Oh, just…put a pillow over it. Hide the cuffs. PYRRHA: My badge. WAKE: Take your clothes! [Knocking] GIDEON: [muffled] Wake? [A creaky door shuts] WAKE: [whisper-shouting] Unlock the door! You have to unlock the door! [A door creaks swiftly open] PYRRHA: Then what? [Knocking] WAKE: Then hide somewhere. PYRRHA: I’ll never make it back to the closet. WAKE: Behind the curtains. [A deadbolt is unlocked] [The fast scrape of curtain rings across a rod] [A door opens] GIDEON: Why did you lock the door? WAKE: To surprise you. [Fabric rustling] GIDEON: I can’t stay. I just forgot something. WAKE: What a pity. What is it this time? GIDEON: A tie. Did I leave one here? WAKE: No, I don’t think so. GIDEON: Last time, you used my tie to… WAKE: Oh. I remember now. I suppose it might be under the bed? GIDEON: Could you look? WAKE: You look under the bed. I’ll check the headboard. [Muffled handcuffs rattling] GIDEON: Are you missing a key? I found one under here. WAKE: How strange! GIDEON: It looks like the key to my police handcuffs. WAKE: Perhaps you dropped it. GIDEON: I’ll take it with me, just in case. WAKE: No! That is, it might be for something here. Why don’t you check first? GIDEON: I don’t see the tie. Did you hang it up in the closet? WAKE: In the— oh, I really don’t think so. [A door creaks open] GIDEON: There are clothes all over the floor. WAKE: Is it necessary to comment on my housekeeping? [Metal hangers scraping] WAKE: [hissed] Hide! [Curtain rings scrape] PYRRHA: Where? WAKE: Anywhere! [A series of thumps] [Muffled handcuffs rattling] WAKE: Gideon? GIDEON: There’s a police badge. WAKE: Is there? I bought some things at a thrift store. GIDEON: Pyrrha Dve. WAKE: Who? GIDEON: This is her badge. She used to be my partner. WAKE: What a funny coincidence! Were you reassigned? GIDEON: She’s dead. She took a bullet for me. WAKE: That’s sad. And...unexpected. GIDEON: I should keep this. In her memory. WAKE: Come back for it later. You’re going to be late. Did you find a tie? GIDEON: No. I’ll go without one. WAKE: I’ll see you again soon. GIDEON: You’re not going to see me off? WAKE: Why don’t you come kiss me here? I’m feeling ornamental. [Kissing sounds] GIDEON: Goodbye. [A door opens and closes] [A car engine starts and rumbles away] [A sigh] WAKE: That was close. Pyrrha? [Silence] WAKE: Pyrrha? <<link "A. Follow Gideon into the Mirror Room." "M7">><<set $hour++>><</link>> <<link "B. Remain in the Atrium." "A7">><<set $hour++>><</link>> <<link "C. Explore a House’s Quarters." "Q7">><<set $hour++>><</link>>

<div class="player"><table><tr><td valign="top" padding="0px" white-space="nowrap"><img width="108px" src="image/Candle-2.png"></td><td valign="bottom" padding="0px" width="100%"><center><a href="https://archive.org/details/A-Deed-Without-A-Name/Dining+2.wav#" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">[MP3 at Archive.org]</a> <iframe src="https://archive.org/embed/A-Deed-Without-A-Name/Dining+2.wav#" width="90%" height="40" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen="" ></iframe></center></td><td valign="bottom" padding="5px"><h1>HOUR 2</h1></td></tr></table></div> “This is quite beyond the pale, you know.” Mercymorn’s nails dig into the edge of the dining table. Anastasia, across from her, pages blandly through her notes. “To coerce me. To blackmail me. At a party!!” “At the potential scene of a crime.” Anastasia squares the edges of her notes, then regards Mercymorn with a quirk of her lips. “And it’s only a few photographs. I’m not at all ashamed of them myself, and I must say, your impulse towards hiding things does not bode well for getting at the truth.” “Your lack of shame has nothing to do with me,” Mercymorn hisses. “Look at this—this indulgent little spectacle. You’d go so far just to get your silly little interview. You’re enjoying this. You’re getting off on it. Maybe we should be questioning you.” “Do you have any questions?” Anastasia looks mildly interested, in the way of a teacher greeting I can explain with Go ahead. “Yes. Can I have the pictures now?” “After you’ve answered my questions. And frankly, I don’t understand why you are so reluctant to do so that I had to lean on your embarrassment about what I thought was a very diverting evening to get you to sit down and talk to me.” Anastasia uncurls from her crisp demeanor, leaning across the table to catch Mercymorn's eyes. “Do you understand how that looks to us, if you say nothing else?” Mercymorn takes a sharp breath, and Anastasia seems to see the same thing you do: that all the fluffled-up feathers and fuss are a thin veneer over a glossy-eyed fear, a pre-emptive grief she has no interest in facing. Anastasia’s face softens, and her voice is gentle as she goes on: “When was the last time you saw Nigella?” In a moment, Mercymorn has pulled herself together, all signs of that vulnerability disappeared, but she does answer. “At that perfectly awful dinner. She and Augustine were already there when I arrived, then you two came, then Gideon with Alecto, and Cytherea was last excepting our illustrious host—but of course, he never actually came down to dinner. Left us poor disciples desolate, and Gideon started with his stupid nonsense about somebody plotting against Teacher. Nobody had any fun with that, except perhaps Gideon, who maybe enjoys being an asshole who sees revolutionaries in every shadow, who knows. “And then I went to my room and read. I’m sure somebody saw the light under the door because at some point somebody banged into my door and then shuffled off, although I wished they’d shuffle right off this mortal coil entirely, because really, at that time of night—no, I don’t know who it was. I didn’t open my door.” “When was that?” “I wasn’t looking at the clock.” Mercymorn pauses to search her memory. “After midnight. I remember the clock chiming, and thinking about how I ought to stop.” “Did you see anything the rest of that evening that gives you pause in light of this morning’s events?” Mercymorn’s mouth tightens. “No. But I don’t think she’d have gone off alone. She’s never alone, is she?” <<link "A. Follow Mercymorn to the Terrace." "T3">><<set $hour++>><</link>> <<link "B. Remain in the Dining Room with Anastasia." "D3">><<set $hour++>><</link>> <<link "C. Go to the Pool Room." "P3">><<set $hour++>><</link>>

<div class="player"><table><tr><td valign="top" padding="0px" white-space="nowrap"><img width="108px" src="image/Candle-3.png"></td><td valign="bottom" padding="0px" width="100%"><center><a href="https://archive.org/details/A-Deed-Without-A-Name/Dining+3.wav#" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">[MP3 at Archive.org]</a> <iframe src="https://archive.org/embed/A-Deed-Without-A-Name/Dining+3.wav#" width="90%" height="40" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen="" ></iframe></center></td><td valign="bottom" padding="5px"><h1>HOUR 3</h1></td></tr></table></div> Anastasia clears her throat. Her notes are in neat piles on the table with a clean sheet ready, her pen in one hand as she waits for Augustine’s attention. He’s standing in the window, one finger twitching the curtain aside to watch through the gap. “Anything interesting happening out there?” she says, raising one eyebrow. “Hmm? Oh, no.” Augustine turns from the window, tucking his hand loosely in his pockets. He is still not looking directly at her. Her lips tighten briefly, but she readies her pen. “When was the last time you saw Nigella?” “Dinnertime,” Augustine says. There’s a long moment of silence. Anastasia waits; Augustine disappoints. Finally, she sighs. “Will you walk me through dinner and where you went afterwards?” He gives much the same sketch of events everyone gives: everyone gathered around seven in the dining room; there was grilled fish and “a very inferior wine, I thought”; their host was late, and then a servitor appeared to announce that he would not be joining the others for dinner, and that he would be in his tower and unavailable. “Gideon made a stink like a skip bin in summer, so nobody wanted to linger over dessert,” and everyone went their separate ways. “Where did you go?” Anastasia watches Augustine, but he only shrugs. “I found a better wine and kept drinking. I don’t remember much, but you could ask Mercy or Cyth.” “Oh?” “I made a fool of myself at Mercy’s door sometime…oh, before midnight. Wailing to be let in like a wet cat. She’ll tell you, if only because I come out of it looking rather pathetic. “As for Cyth, I went to her sometime in the wee hours, two or three maybe, and she made sure I wouldn’t have to be scraped off the floor in the morning. I was with her the rest of the night.” “What about the time in between?” Augustine makes a careless shrug. “How should I know? My brain was marinating in enough wine to down an elephant by that point.” He narrows his eyes, then points one finger at her like a gun. “Something that may interest you. On the way into dinner, I ran into dear Nigella coming from the direction of the Pool Room with a face like a thundercloud. She wouldn’t tell me anything except that she’d had some kind of argument. Is that the kind of thing you’re looking for?” He smiles at her long, cool glance. It looks like mockery. Anastasia caps her pen pointedly and tucks it into her breast pocket. “I wish you would take this seriously.” “I am treating this with the seriousness it deserves.” For the first time since she cornered him here, Augustine looks grave. “She’s either dead or she has her own reasons for leaving as she did—but questioning me won’t help you find her.” “I only wish I could be sure of that.” <<link "A. Follow Anastasia to the Mirror Room." "M4">><<set $hour++>><</link>> <<link "B. Remain in the Dining Room with Augustine." "D4">><<set $hour++>><</link>> <<link "C. Go out onto the Terrace." "T4">><<set $hour++>><</link>>

<div class="player"><table><tr><td valign="top" padding="0px" white-space="nowrap"><img width="108px" src="image/Candle-4.png"></td><td valign="bottom" padding="0px" width="100%"><center><a href="https://archive.org/details/A-Deed-Without-A-Name/Dining+4.wav#" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">[MP3 at Archive.org]</a> <iframe src="https://archive.org/embed/A-Deed-Without-A-Name/Dining+4.wav#" width="90%" height="40" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen="" ></iframe></center></td><td valign="bottom" padding="5px"><h1>HOUR 4</h1></td></tr></table></div> “Patience.” Gideon’s voice cuts through the air, sharp as a rapier. Augustine groans, stubbing out a cigarette in his coffee. “Can’t a gentleman enjoy his vices in peace?” he grumbles. “The facts are as follows. Nigella is missing, and her disappearance is being looked on with suspicion. As are the rest of us.” “Knew that. Just got grilled by Anastasia. She said I ‘wasn’t taking this seriously.’ What a pill.” “The line to John has been cut. Intentionally.” Augustine pauses. “Really?” “I found a note in her quarters.” He shoves the paper towards Augustine, who deigns to lean over enough to read it. The angle is challenging, but you catch one of the lines. <blockquote><code>MORGUE SCAR the Castle at St. Alban's, Somerset is that a dagger or a crucifix</code></blockquote> “Hah,” Augustine replies. “How delightful. And I thought we were already plenty gothic around here.” Augustine’s eyes flit up to Gideon’s. “It seems rather cruel to mock Cristabel like that. If that’s what it’s referring to. I can’t make out the rest of it.” He gestures lazily. “I never was very good at codes and cryptex. Crypti? Cryptexes.” Gideon’s expression is calculating, the cords on his neck standing out with the effort needed to maintain his rigid posture. Meanwhile, Augustine lolls around on the dining room bench, looking for all the world like he hadn’t a bone in his body. “You think it’s referring to Cristabel? Mercy didn’t mention it.” “Oh. You’ve already… well, I mean, nun, crucifix, you have to admit. Although she didn’t prefer daggers. Such a masterful swordswoman. Apologies. I think that’s the only connection, and it’s a weak one at best. Perhaps it’s just random words? It doesn’t look like Nigella’s handwriting regardless.” “You really aren’t serious about anything, are you?” Augustine laughs bitterly. “Here comes the pile-on. Don’t you realize, Gideon darling? Nothing matters. Nothing at all. The only certain thing in life these days is taxes, and taxes are boring.” “Right.” Gideon turns on his heel in military precision and strides out. “You really must have a doctor look at that enormous stick in your ass, Duty,” Augustine calls out after him. “Sanctimonious prick,” he mutters in Gideon’s absence, pulling out another cigarette to light it. <<link "A. Follow Gideon out onto the Terrace." "T5">><<set $hour++>><<set $sg21 to true>><<if visited("D4") is 1>><<set $sgcount++>><</if>><</link>> <<link "B. Remain in the Dining Room with Augustine." "D5">><<set $hour++>><<set $sg21 to true>><<if visited("D4") is 1>><<set $sgcount++>><</if>><</link>> <<link "C. Explore a House’s Quarters." "Q5">><<set $hour++>><<set $sg21 to true>><<if visited("D4") is 1>><<set $sgcount++>><</if>><</link>>

<div class="player"><table><tr><td valign="top" padding="0px" white-space="nowrap"><img width="108px" src="image/Candle-5.png"></td><td valign="bottom" padding="0px" width="100%"><center><a href="https://archive.org/details/A-Deed-Without-A-Name/Dining+5.wav#" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">[MP3 at Archive.org]</a> <iframe src="https://archive.org/embed/A-Deed-Without-A-Name/Dining+5.wav#" width="90%" height="40" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen="" ></iframe></center></td><td valign="bottom" padding="5px"><h1>HOUR 5</h1></td></tr></table></div> By the time Mercymorn enters, Augustine is flat on his back on the dining room bench, one arm flung over his eyes. You wonder if he intends to nap there. Mercymorn flings the door open so loudly he jolts and barely stops himself from falling off the bench. Making a quick recovery, he sits up, elbow propped on one knee. “Shall I get the spackle, Joy, or is there no wall left behind that door at all?” he says, his voice dangerously sweet. “Where were you last night?” “Oh, wonderful. A trifecta. I’m going back to sleep.” He begins to lie back down, but Mercymorn is across the room before he can get comfortable, seizing him by the lapels and hauling him upright. To get the leverage, she has to put a knee on the bench beside him. Augustine takes in their relative positions—he with his back to the wall, she half in his lap—and gives her a slow smile. “Is that how it is? Tired of your cold bed?” Mercymorn winds back and slaps him across the face. It’s more noise than pain, judging by the way he barely rocks with the blow. Augustine works his jaw, then raises a single finger, places it in the center of her chest, and pushes. Mercymorn stumbles backwards, her face flaming. She draws herself up. “Teacher said your bed wasn’t slept in.” “Which could mean anything.” “Not on the night Nigella disappeared!!” “Yes, in fact, it could mean anything any night, because I had no idea what was happening.” Augustine’s temper has risen to meet Mercymorn’s at last; he’s gripping his knees so hard that his knuckles are white. “So you admit something happened.” “Any fool knows that something happened by now.” “You argued after dinner.” Augustine goes still, just for a moment, but Mercymorn knows him well enough to catch it and he knows it. “We did. And who was cruel enough to share that morsel with you? Who’s stirring the pot with that one?” “Cytherea.” He goes white, then laughs. It’s a soft, defeated sound, and he crumples, his head in his hands. “Good old Cyth. Trustworthy Cytherea. I don’t suppose you’d believe me if I told you the last time I saw Nigella, she was very much alive? That whatever happened, it happened after we argued?” “What was the argument about?” “No, Joy.” His voice is colorless, and he isn’t looking at her anymore. “That’s none of your business, and even if it was, I wouldn’t tell you, you apricot nightmare.” “Where were you, you murdering piece of stinking refuse?” “Stones and glass houses. Where were you last night? As I recall, you were hanging around the phone line up to the tower. Funny thing. I could swear Gideon just told me the line was cut. I wonder who that could have been?” He stands. It seems to take more energy than it should. As he approaches her, Mercymorn backs up another step. He smiles thinly. “That’s the difference between us. My conscience is clear. But you…I wonder what Gideon would do if I were to tell him what I know?” Mercymorn opens her mouth, but he waves her off. “Steady on. Luckily for you, I don’t care.” “What do you want for your silence.” “I want to be left alone.” Augustine gives her a long, unreadable look. She seems to read some code in it, because her posture winds tighter, then relaxes. “I didn’t sleep well last night. I’m too tired to fight. Aren’t you?” “I can’t let this stand.” “No. If we can’t have justice—if we can’t have her life—” Whatever pact is made or ceasefire struck, it happens in silence and the twitch of their mouths. <<link "Stay and watch the show." "D6">><<set $hour++>><</link>>

<div class="player"><table><tr><td valign="top" padding="0px" white-space="nowrap"><img width="108px" src="image/Candle-7.png"></td><td valign="bottom" padding="0px" width="100%"><center><a href="https://archive.org/details/A-Deed-Without-A-Name/Dining+7.wav#" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">[MP3 at Archive.org]</a> <iframe src="https://archive.org/embed/A-Deed-Without-A-Name/Dining+7.wav#" width="90%" height="40" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen="" ></iframe></center></td><td valign="bottom" padding="5px"><h1>HOUR 7</h1></td></tr></table></div> Samael is dressed in his tan suit, although his hair is a little damp. Seeing the room is otherwise empty, he turns to face you. He pulls a flask out of his jacket pocket and takes a swig before offering it to you. You freeze, uncertain, before reaching for it. The metal is cold beneath your fingers. The initials on it are Anastasia’s. The liquor burns as it goes down your throat, and you cough and splutter a little before offering it back. He takes it, turning it so the initials catch the light, looking down at it thoughtfully. “She gave this to me before our split, you know. We used to be partners back in the day. This is the first time we’ve teamed up again to solve a case in a while.” He grins, running his thumb over the engraving, before taking a deep breath and letting it out. “Anastasia and I used to be thick as thieves. You couldn’t fit a piece of paper between us. It was… beautiful, working together. Profound. And we were so close to building the perfect partnership together. Her magnum opus. I wonder, sometimes, just how close we were. What we could’ve done together if she’d been able to finish her work. But there’s no changing the past. And when we pushed things too far, one of us had to go, and I was an acceptable loss. I always was, in a way. Not to her, mind you. Hell, she was the one working overtime to keep me around, at any cost. But to the guy upstairs? Yeah. He had priorities, and I wasn’t it. So, he split up our team. Kept her around, showed me the door. And then, out of the blue, I get this invitation to come here to this weekend getaway, and seeing her again, it’s like I never left. It’s intoxicating, to be so close to another person like that. Indelible. You never forget it. Not even in your darkest moments.” He pauses, his eyes so sad. “Does that help?” he asks gently, before shaking his head and lowering his gaze. Your chest aches all of a sudden—a deep, groaning kind of pain. He looks back at you, eyes glistening. “Thank you for this. It’s been fun. Weird, but fun.” The bell rings. He reaches for your hand, and you take it. “Come on. Let’s go. These sorts of things always have a grand reveal at the end, don’t they? Wouldn’t want to miss it.” <<if visited("FLDenouement")>> <<link "Remain in the Dining Room for the Denouement." "Denouement">><<set $hour++>><</link>><<else>> <<link "Remain in the Dining Room for the Denouement." "FLDenouement">><<set $hour++>><</link>><</if>>

<<if visited("M3") is 1>><<set $sgcount++>><</if>><div class="player"><table><tr><td valign="top" padding="0px" white-space="nowrap"><img width="108px" src="image/Candle-3.png"></td><td valign="bottom" padding="0px" width="100%"><center><a href="https://archive.org/details/A-Deed-Without-A-Name/Mirror+3.wav#" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">[MP3 at Archive.org]</a> <iframe src="https://archive.org/embed/A-Deed-Without-A-Name/Mirror+3.wav#" width="90%" height="40" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen="" ></iframe></center></td><td valign="bottom" padding="5px"><h1>HOUR 3</h1></td></tr></table></div> The mirror room must have a more official name. The hall of mirrors? The mirror maze? The spooky carnival fun house? With people around, it might be less unsettling. A training room to practice sword forms and off-hand techniques. A dance studio, a rehearsal space. While it’s empty and silent, the effect of the mirrors is eerie. You catch glimpses of movement out of the corner of your eye, only to realize it’s you, fragmented and captured from a dozen different angles. You look away quickly before you meet your own eyes. The floor is sprung wood, giving way slightly beneath your feet with every step. A flagstone dais stretches along one side of the room. A wooden chest sits atop it, reflected in the silvered glass. Everything in this room is reflected in that glass. This isn’t a room you remember spending much time in. When you did, it was curiosity that drew you here, and the lure of your own reflection. Actors and artists will spend hours in front of a mirror, studying their own face. In some ways, you’re a little bit of both. <div class="border-image-box"><<linkreplace "➤ Investigate this room.">><<set $ap to true>><h2>Items of Interest</h2> Academic paper <code>“Thalergetic decay itself produces thanergy, which in a strong enough concentration pro- duces - to some degree - the preservation of the soul. Imagine this amplified to ten, fif- ty, a thousand souls, all undergoing the same thanergetic trauma. When the body experiences a natural death, the soul dissipates into the River, losing its former coherent identity. Violent death, however, shocks the soul into the reaction we have witnessed. Whether that results in a ghost or a revenant may depend on the manner of death, necromantic ability, or even the condition of the flesh left be- hind. The one thing we can be certain of is that there are instances of the soul survi- ving beyond death. The results may be frag- mented or corrupted, but their origin is un- disputed. We have been made heir to an im- mense responsibility: The destruction and disposal of those souls which cling to life beyond the body’s expiration.”</code> <<linkreplace "➤ Investigate this room further.">><<set $sg5 to true>>Message 5 of 5 <code>SCOURGE ARM priests pray for enemies, but princes kill the knotted chord's untying it's over 9000!!!</code> <<linkreplace "➤ One last check around the room?">><<set $danse to true>>Comic panel ‘Danse macabre’ A hand-colored illustration of skeletons cavorting around a gaming table. Their bony hands hold cards, shake cups of dice, and throw their own knucklebones. The text below is laid out like an illuminated manuscript, complete with inky flourishes and tiny skeletal animals. It reads: <blockquote>Remember! To Die</blockquote><</linkreplace>><</linkreplace>><</linkreplace>></div> <<link "A. Remain in the Mirror Room." "M4">><<set $hour++>><<set $ap to true>><<set $sg5 to true>><<set $danse to true>><</link>> <<link "B. Explore a House’s Quarters." "Q4">><<set $hour++>><<set $ap to true>><<set $sg5 to true>><<set $danse to true>><</link>> <<link "C. Go to the Pool Room." "P4">><<set $hour++>><<set $ap to true>><<set $sg5 to true>><<set $danse to true>><</link>>

<div class="player"><table><tr><td valign="top" padding="0px" white-space="nowrap"><img width="108px" src="image/Candle-4.png"></td><td valign="bottom" padding="0px" width="100%"><center><a href="https://archive.org/details/A-Deed-Without-A-Name/Mirror+4.wav#" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">[MP3 at Archive.org]</a> <iframe src="https://archive.org/embed/A-Deed-Without-A-Name/Mirror+4.wav#" width="90%" height="40" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen="" ></iframe></center></td><td valign="bottom" padding="5px"><h1>HOUR 4</h1></td></tr></table></div> Alecto and Anastasia make a strange pair for a standoff. Alecto looks serene and vague, sitting cross-legged on the floor as she braids strange bits and bobs into her hair: dinner forks and paper folded into the shapes of roses, a paintbrush, a bright red string. Anastasia stands between her and the door, her arms full of papers and her pen tucked behind one ear. “Just a few questions,” she says. “Tahi is one, rua is two, toru number three…Whā is four…Hmm?” Alecto takes notice of Anastasia at last. As she lifts her head, the paintbrush slips from her hair and falls to her lap. “I wanted to ask you a few questions about last night and Nigella, pet,” Anastasia says, coming to crouch down in front of Alecto. Wordlessly, Alecto hands the paintbrush to Anastasia. She examines it, confused. “Where did you get this?” “She doesn’t miss it, so I suppose it doesn’t matter who has it,” she says. “Nepenthe. Eternal Sunshine. A bonk on the head should set it right.” “It’s Nigella’s?” Anastasia asks, frowning. Alecto only shakes her head, curling her knees up to her chest. “Hers—not hers—Nightingale! Nocturne! Necropolis! N, it’s all the same N—, isn’t it?” Anastasia looks thoughtful and troubled, her lips compressed into a line. “I’ll ask a more specific question. Try very hard to tell me, please, if you can. Where did you go after dinner?” Alecto gives her a long look, her eyes more like fire than honey, her doll’s face drained of color. “You and I both know who his biggest threat is.” This brings Anastasia up short, a frown between her eyebrows. “I’m not sure who you mean,” she says, but she uncaps her pen and jots down the tidbit. You wonder if she is only humoring Alecto, or hoping to make some sense of her cryptic speeches. “Tahi is one…” Alecto hums a snatch of the Westminster Quarters, then a single note. “One o’clock?” Anastasia leans in urgently, straining for meaning. “One in the morning? What happened then?” Alecto smiles at her. “The First wasn’t God, it was me, Annabel.” “Alecto.” Anastasia looks down at her few notes on this encounter, then reaches out trembling hands for Alecto. She stops just short of her face. “I can’t tell if this is really you—but if it is, you know, too, don’t you? Who killed Nigella? But you can’t say it any more than I can.” Alecto turns her head, catching Anastasia’s hand and pressing it to her mouth. For a moment, you’re not sure if she means to kiss or bite. To devour. “Dead and risen and now—” Alecto releases Anastasia, who snatches her hand back as if burned, and looks straight at you. “Life is pain, highness.” Her burning eyes are an inferno, begging you to step in. “Anyone who says differently is selling something.” <<link "A. Follow Anastasia to the Pool Room." "P5">><<set $hour++>><</link>> <<link "B. Remain in the Mirror Room with Alecto." "M5">><<set $hour++>><</link>> <<link "C. Go to the Atrium." "A5">><<set $hour++>><</link>>

<div class="player"><table><tr><td valign="top" padding="0px" white-space="nowrap"><img width="108px" src="image/Candle-3.png"></td><td valign="bottom" padding="0px" width="100%"><center><a href="https://archive.org/details/A-Deed-Without-A-Name/Pool+3.wav#" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">[MP3 at Archive.org]</a> <iframe src="https://archive.org/embed/A-Deed-Without-A-Name/Pool+3.wav#" width="90%" height="40" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen="" ></iframe></center></td><td valign="bottom" padding="5px"><h1>HOUR 3</h1></td></tr></table></div> Samael is scribbling studiously in his notepad when Teacher comes shuffling in. Samael looks up, smiling. “Ah, Teacher. The last person on my list. Good, good.” “It really is most disconcerting, the house being so out of order,” Teacher replies. “Mrs. Shodash missing, my employer out of contact, I don’t care for it. Everything’s off-kilter. Miss Alecto is in one of her moods.” Samael winces at the mention of Alecto. “I don’t suppose it’d be particularly pleasant for you, given it’s your job to keep order.” Teacher inclines his head. “One does what one must under such circumstances, one supposes.” You find the use of the singular pronoun quite ironic, given who’s expressing it. Samael clears his throat. “Right. So. I know it’s a saying, you know, ‘the butler did it! Hah hah!’, that kind of thing, but you needn’t be worried. We don’t have any suspects at the moment, we’re mostly just trying to sort out what happened. The timeline of it, you know?” “Well. You were at dinner, so I suppose you were privy to the goings-on there. I cleaned up after, and ensured the house was secure for the evening. The Master had retired to his quarters before dinner, and when he ascends, he is not to be disturbed, so I simply went about my typical routine when there are guests.” Teacher continues to describe his evening in a methodical, polite way. He’d made the rounds, turning down the lights and ensuring the exterior doors were all secured. He’d brought Alecto to the tower and ensured she was in her rooms for the evening. He’d then brought a nightcap to the good detective and Sir Samael, as Sir Samael was well aware, and they’d had a conversation. He didn’t see anything otherwise unusual. Teacher had retired for the evening, and then emerged ‘a touch before dawn,’ as he put it, to find the door to Nigella’s room open, her bed cold and unused, and the front door wide open. Miss Alecto was also up and awake quite early, as was her habit, but she was not forthcoming about anything she might have seen. “She left us quite abruptly. I cannot help but fear the worst.” Samael nods in agreement. “It’s an awful business, that’s for sure. Much appreciated.” <<link "A. Follow Teacher to the Atrium." "A4">><<set $hour++>><</link>> <<link "B. Follow Samael out onto the Terrace." "T4">><<set $hour++>><</link>> <<link "C. Remain in the Pool Room." "P4">><<set $hour++>><</link>>

<<if visited("P4") is 1>><<set $sgcount++>><</if>><div class="player"><table><tr><td valign="top" padding="0px" white-space="nowrap"><img width="108px" src="image/Candle-4.png"></td><td valign="bottom" padding="0px" width="100%"><center><a href="https://archive.org/details/A-Deed-Without-A-Name/Pool+4.wav#" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">[MP3 at Archive.org]</a> <iframe src="https://archive.org/embed/A-Deed-Without-A-Name/Pool+4.wav#" width="90%" height="40" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen="" ></iframe></center></td><td valign="bottom" padding="5px"><h1>HOUR 4</h1></td></tr></table></div> The pool room reeks with the aroma of chemical water treatment mixed with stale sweat. Kettlebells and free weights are clustered with a vague sense of order on metal shelving against the walls. Folded mats are piled in stacks or laid out on the tile floor. White fencing gear is racked on the far side of the room, ready for the next practice bout. The overbearing spectacle of the atrium is visible through one hallway. An odd choice to put the training room here, in full view of the entrance hall. Off to the side, a set of double doors leads into a hall of mirrors: a carnival fun house for sadomasochists wielding swords. In the center of the room, dappled by sunshine from the skylight overhead, is the pool itself. Olympic size, a word you know without remembering the context attached to it. It might have something to do with swimming. Possibly it’s the name of a very large fish. There’s not enough light for you to see your reflection in the water. So you tell yourself, anyway. You don’t actually look down. You’re afraid of what you might see there, looking over your shoulder. You’re afraid of what else might be lurking in the water. <div class="border-image-box"><<linkreplace "➤ Investigate this room.">><<set $sg3 to true>><h2>Items of Interest</h2> Message 3 of 5 <code>ORGASM CURE hath made the wizard famous in his death of a million unheard souls that's rough, buddy</code> <<linkreplace "➤ Investigate this room further.">><<set $bo to true>>Blank overlay A sheet of flimsy, with rectangular holes cut out of it at intervals. It’s the same size as the pages you remember seeing printed for academic papers. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX <<linkreplace "➤ One last check around the room?">><<set $magpie to true>>Poem written inside a book cover One for sorrow Two for joy Three for ghouls Four to destroy Five for marrow Six for bone Seven for disciples never to grow old<</linkreplace>><</linkreplace>><</linkreplace>></div> <<link "A. Remain in the Pool Room." "P5">><<set $hour++>><<set $sg3 to true>><<set $bo to true>><<set $magpie to true>><</link>> <<link "B. Explore a House’s Quarters." "Q5">><<set $hour++>><<set $sg3 to true>><<set $bo to true>><<set $magpie to true>><</link>> <<link "C. Go to the Mirror Room." "M5">><<set $hour++>><<set $sg3 to true>><<set $bo to true>><<set $magpie to true>><</link>>

<<if visited("Q3") is 1>><<set $hand++>><</if>><div class="player"><table><tr><td valign="top" padding="0px" white-space="nowrap"><img width="108px" src="image/Candle-3.png"></td><td valign="bottom" padding="0px" width="100%"><center><a href="https://archive.org/details/A-Deed-Without-A-Name/Quarters+3.wav#" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">[MP3 at Archive.org]</a> <iframe src="https://archive.org/embed/A-Deed-Without-A-Name/Quarters+3.wav#" width="90%" height="40" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen="" ></iframe></center></td><td valign="bottom" padding="5px"><h1>HOUR 3</h1></td></tr></table></div> You stand in a room with black slate walls. Necromantic theorems are chalked onto their surface, dusty white lines of equations and speculation. Chalk is made of compressed organic remains. Nothing else will do for drawing sigils to control the dead. Someone has painted a message in red on the door through which you entered. You wipe your clammy hands on your shirt. The paint looks tacky and fresh. You tell yourself it is paint. It reads: <blockquote>HELL IS EMPTY</blockquote> It is not philosophy. It is a warning. There are necromantic seals across the windows and doors. They are unbroken. You wonder, now, how you got in here without disturbing them. You move slowly through the room. You do not touch the walls, aware of what skitters within them. You do not disturb the blood wards and chalk lines. Your only mistake is looking into a mirror. The others are covered, but the black cloth draped over this one has slithered loose, allowing a shard of glass to peek through. The face in the mirror has been corrupted. The pointed grey tongue lolls over a sagging jawbone. The cheeks are sunken into a skull mask. The eyeballs have been replaced by writhing tongues ringed with teeth. You feel your cheeks stretch wide and your mouth split open, and in the mirror, your ghastly reflection smiles. <div class="border-image-box"><<linkreplace "➤ Investigate this room.">><h2>Items of Interest</h2> A torn page from an open journal, p. 3 “...but that avoids the ethical question. Manipulation and removal of the soul outside the body risks the same complications as a transplant, even if the soul is then restored to its original host. We are not God, only playing Him.” Note in the margins in different handwriting “More importantly, what are we naming the damned thing? It's only a matter of time before Cris & Alfred call it 'soul sucking' and there's no way back.” <<linkreplace "➤ Investigate this journal further.">>A torn page from an open journal, p. 8 “...certainly something strange. No sign of deterioration, but unfortunately they will suffer during the change. We all know of what coral is made. Ding-dong, bell.” <<linkreplace "➤ One last page?">><<set $journal to true>>A torn page from an open journal, p. 12 “...risk for it to act as a kind of transfusion-associated graft-versus-host disease, but no one else here is a first-degree relative. As brothers, they might succeed where no one else can.”<</linkreplace>><</linkreplace>><</linkreplace>></div> <<link "A. Explore another House’s Quarters." "Q4">><<set $hour++>><<set $journal to true>><</link>> <<link "B. Go to the Pool Room." "P4">><<set $hour++>><<set $journal to true>><</link>> <<link "C. Go to the Dining Room." "D4">><<set $hour++>><<set $journal to true>><</link>>

<<if visited("Q4") is 1>><<set $hand++>><</if>><div class="player"><table><tr><td valign="top" padding="0px" white-space="nowrap"><img width="108px" src="image/Candle-4.png"></td><td valign="bottom" padding="0px" width="100%"><center><a href="https://archive.org/details/A-Deed-Without-A-Name/Quarters+4.wav#" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">[MP3 at Archive.org]</a> <iframe src="https://archive.org/embed/A-Deed-Without-A-Name/Quarters+4.wav#" width="90%" height="40" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen="" ></iframe></center></td><td valign="bottom" padding="5px"><h1>HOUR 4</h1></td></tr></table></div> You enter a sitting room, with walls that appear white, blue, or gray, depending on how the light hits. It’s a miniature atrium, with doors leading into rooms at right angles on every side. It’s angular, but you don’t feel boxed in. There are high ceilings and tall windows that make the room feel open and airy. If you had to guess your position in the house—which you do not—you would assume that you were somewhere in the central tower, overlooking the unbroken horizon above the sea. The attached bedroom is a mix of clutter and austerity. One side of the room is spare and tidy, while the other is a magpie’s nest of scarves and jeweled pins. It’s a distinctly feminine space, framed by gauzy frilled curtains. A clothbound book on the vanity is imprinted with the initials C + M. You trace the letters on the cover. Your fingertips stop before the final line. <div class="border-image-box"><<linkreplace "➤ Investigate this room.">><<set $psych to true>><h2>Items of Interest</h2> Handwritten letter “...said women make the best psychoanalysts until they fall in love, and we know what happens then” <<linkreplace "➤ Investigate this room further.">><<set $agr to true>>Right half of a torn sheet of paper cotton kerchief printed with it’s mine. She’s lifting up her hands to me for mercy. <<linkreplace "➤ One last check around the room?">><<set $law to true>>Folded sheet of ink-spattered parchment “Subject to pre-conditions being satisfied [...] may terminate this by giving prior written notice. This [...] will then terminate on [...] without prejudice to the rights of either party against the other for any [...] and that of any third party or the right to [...] of the notice and from the date of such [...] in advance for any period beyond the expiry of the notice.”<</linkreplace>><</linkreplace>><</linkreplace>></div> <<link "A. Explore another House’s Quarters." "Q5">><<set $hour++>><<set $psych to true>><<set $agr to true>><<set $law to true>><</link>> <<link "B. Go out onto the Terrace." "T5">><<set $hour++>><<set $psych to true>><<set $agr to true>><<set $law to true>><</link>> <<link "C. Go to the Atrium." "A5">><<set $hour++>><<set $psych to true>><<set $agr to true>><<set $law to true>><</link>>

<<if visited("Q5") is 1>><<set $sgcount++>><</if>><div class="player"><table><tr><td valign="top" padding="0px" white-space="nowrap"><img width="108px" src="image/Candle-5.png"></td><td valign="bottom" padding="0px" width="100%"><center><a href="https://archive.org/details/A-Deed-Without-A-Name/Quarters+5.wav#" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">[MP3 at Archive.org]</a> <iframe src="https://archive.org/embed/A-Deed-Without-A-Name/Quarters+5.wav#" width="90%" height="40" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen="" ></iframe></center></td><td valign="bottom" padding="5px"><h1>HOUR 5</h1></td></tr></table></div> You walk into a bedroom that smells of cigarettes and gun oil. It is a shared suite, as evidenced by the twin beds pushed up against the walls. A step down from the bedroom leads to a study cluttered with piles of books and the debris of daily life. The suite is comfortably cluttered with chairs, tables, and benches. It is not messy, but there is no surface left entirely clear. The open stone floor to one side is the sparest area of the suite. It holds a rack for swords, a rack for guns, and a dark green cabinet for ammunition. You try the handle and find it locked. The study feels like a classroom. Each bench is equipped with chalk, tools, diagrams, and laminated binders. This is not the work room of a single theorist. It belongs to a working partnership. <div class="border-image-box"><<linkreplace "➤ Investigate this room.">><<set $tea to true>><h2>Items of Interest</h2> Tea tin Loose leaf, black, in a silver canister. Flowers and birds on the sides create a vaguely Victorian motif. A metal spoon leans haphazardly against the side, still dusted with crumbled leaves. Printed text on the lid reads: <blockquote>Beneath the music from a farther room</blockquote> <<linkreplace "➤ Investigate this room further.">><<set $sg4 to true>>Message 4 of 5 <code>MACRO SURGE sword, hold thy temper; heart, be wrathful still a moment of forgetting pull the lever, Kronk</code> <<linkreplace "➤ One last check around the room?">><<set $key to true>>Key A long, saw-toothed key, threaded onto a plain wire ring. It does not open the gun cabinet.<</linkreplace>><</linkreplace>><</linkreplace>></div> <<link "Stay and watch the show." "Q6">><<set $hour++>><<set $tea to true>><<set $sg4 to true>><<set $key to true>><</link>>

<<if visited("Q7") is 1>><<set $hand++>><</if>><div class="player"><table><tr><td valign="top" padding="0px" white-space="nowrap"><img width="108px" src="image/Candle-7.png"></td><td valign="bottom" padding="0px" width="100%"><center><a href="https://archive.org/details/A-Deed-Without-A-Name/Quarters+7.wav#" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">[MP3 at Archive.org]</a> <iframe src="https://archive.org/embed/A-Deed-Without-A-Name/Quarters+7.wav#" width="90%" height="40" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen="" ></iframe></center></td><td valign="bottom" padding="5px"><h1>HOUR 7</h1></td></tr></table></div> The room you find yourself in is a familiar one. A sloping, sunken floor creates the illusion of a womb, safeguarding its occupants. Windows extend from the stone floor to the low ceiling, filling the room with shadowy, indirect light. Your feet know the rise and run of this slope, and the patches of darker shadow cast by the overhanging shuttle dock outside. You can’t see the ocean from here, but you can hear it, the water crashing against the foundation of the house. The room is decorated in dark jewel tones, with delicate black crystals dripping overhead from iron chandeliers. The lighting is dim, but it is a soft, welcoming gray. The bathroom is more ornate. Marble floors and an enormous silvered mirror set an extravagant tone. All of the fixtures are polished to a bright, brassy shine. The space is dominated by a clawfoot porcelain tub. You don’t spend long in the bedroom. It feels too cold, too empty despite the opulence, and you’re troubled by the thought that you should know why. <div class="border-image-box"><<linkreplace "➤ Investigate this room.">><<set $devils to true>><h2>Items of Interest</h2> Handwritten note inside a book cover “Pray to the devils; the gods have given us over.” <<linkreplace "➤ Investigate this room further.">><<set $agl to true>>Left half of a torn sheet of paper Around her neck is a white blue flowers, love-in-a-mist, her face, she’s holding out <<linkreplace "➤ One last check around the room?">><<set $taxo to true>>Series of sticky notes: A Proposal for Necromantic Taxonomy <ol><li>Body (Physical) Necromancy <ol type="a"><li>Flesh Magic <ol type="i"><li>Blood Magic <ul style="list-style-type:none;"><li>Eugh!</li></ul></li> <li>Lymph Magic <ul style="list-style-type:none;"><li>Phleugh! <ul style="list-style-type:none;"><li>Not everyone is able to master the whole system at once <ul style="list-style-type:none;"><li>Blech!</li></ul></li></ul></li></ul></li></ol></li> <li>Bone Magic <ol type="i"><li>Marrow Magic</li></ol></li></ol></li> <li>Soul (Spiritual) Necromancy <ol type="a"><li>Ghost Magic <ol type="i"><li>Revenant Magic <ul style="list-style-type:none;"><li>Is this a separate category, or a question of location?</li></ul></li></ol></li> <li>River Magic <ul style="list-style-type:none;"><li>Should we bother with this one? No one can do it besides Cassy</li></ul></li> <li>Sense-Impression Magic <ul style="list-style-type:none;"><li>It might be possible, but it’s all still theoretical, unless you know something we don’t</li></ul></li> <li>Devil Magic <ul style="list-style-type:none;"><li>NO. <ul style="list-style-type:none;"><li>Ignoring it won’t make them go away <ul style="list-style-type:none;"><li>We’ll see about that</li></ul></li></ul></li></ul></li></ol></li></ol><</linkreplace>><</linkreplace>><</linkreplace>></div> <<if visited("FLDenouement")>> <<link "Go to the Dining Room for the Denouement." "Denouement">><<set $hour++>><<set $devils to true>><<set $agl to true>><<set $taxo to true>><</link>><<else>> <<link "Go to the Dining Room for the Denouement." "FLDenouement">><<set $hour++>><<set $devils to true>><<set $agl to true>><<set $taxo to true>><</link>><</if>>

<div class="player"><table><tr><td valign="top" padding="0px" white-space="nowrap"><img width="108px" src="image/Candle-2.png"></td><td valign="bottom" padding="0px" width="100%"><center><a href="https://archive.org/details/A-Deed-Without-A-Name/Terrace+2.wav#" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">[MP3 at Archive.org]</a> <iframe src="https://archive.org/embed/A-Deed-Without-A-Name/Terrace+2.wav#" width="90%" height="40" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen="" ></iframe></center></td><td valign="bottom" padding="5px"><h1>HOUR 2</h1></td></tr></table></div> Cytherea has a book laid in her lap and is flicking through it with a rather wicked smile on her face. “A good erotic scene does warm the blood on a morning like this,” she confides, giggling a little. “What good fun it would be to get the others to read this one aloud. The author has quite the way with words…imagine Mercymorn’s exclamations of disgust…Gideon, of course, would be simply awful at it.” She sighs and returns to reading. The silence is broken by a high scream, as of alarm or ecstatic joy. For a moment you think it might be some strange bird, but then Alecto comes onto the terrace in a mad dash, covered to the knees in mud, her hands similarly daubed. She stops beside Cytherea and reaches for her face, leaving silt-brown smudges behind when Cytherea pulls out of her grip. “What on Earth—” Cythera is interrupted as Teacher enters the fray, apologetic and clutching an apparent stitch in one side, his butler’s uniform rumpled. He puts a firm hand on Alecto’s elbow, but she shakes it off and takes one long step onto the low table between the patio loungers. Alecto and Teacher stand at an impasse, a small dumpy man-shaped apology and a statue of a goddess on a plinth, if there were a goddess who oversaw petty mischief. “Come inside, Alecto.” Teacher reaches for her, but she clutches her skirt in one hand and draws herself up taller. “It’s much too dangerous to run about in this fog. What if you had come to grief?” “Grief,” Alecto echoes, and laughs. “Where is Loveday?” She cocks her head, and bends down to look into Cytherea’s frozen face, resembling a bird more than ever. “Loveday?” “Gone.” Cytherea makes a brave attempt at a smile. “You remember. It’s been years. You were at the funeral.” “No, I don’t think so.” Cytherea opens her mouth to respond, but Alecto slaps a mucky hand against the center of her chest, smiling as she presses. Cytherea wheezes. Still leaning down, Alecto sings in a bright voice: “Now the green blade riseth, from the buried grain, Wheat that in dark earth many days has lain…” “Don’t talk to me of Resurrection as if that’s a comfort.” It’s as close as you’ve heard Cytherea come to snapping. “Love lives again, that with the dead has been: Love is come again like wheat that springeth green…” She trails off. Then, with another wet smack of her hand over Cytherea’s chest, missing her heart but thoroughly ruining her frock: “Love, Loveday. Who said Resurrection was a comfort? I believe in the life of the world to come…but what world…what life…” She shifts, and with it the balance of the table shifts and she nearly pitches backwards. Teacher catches her, then helps her off the table. “There now, let’s get you inside…” As Alecto is ushered away, she leans her head back over Teacher’s arm. “It is, Gideon, oh, it is. I miss him most keenly. It aches right here, like one of my ribs has been taken.” Cytherea bows her head, resting it delicately in her hands, and to your horror you realize she is crying. You stand mute witness as she sheds a few tears, then straightens as if nothing has happened. Smiling, she says, “I suppose I’ll be joining Loveday sooner rather than later…Damn Nigella for going to meet her first.” She gets laboriously up, taking her book with her. As she does, a folded paper she has been using as a bookmark falls from the pages, lighting on the ground. “Well, I had better get changed,” she says, starting for the door. Once she’s gone, you creep forward and pick up the note. It’s in Nigella’s familiar hand. <blockquote>Cyth— My darling, I am so sorry. May God and His angels keep you, even if I cannot. —N</blockquote> <<link "A. Follow Alecto to the Atrium." "A3">><<set $hour++>><</link>> <<link "B. Follow Teacher to the Pool Room." "P3">><<set $hour++>><</link>> <<link "C. Remain on the Terrace until Cytherea returns." "T3">><<set $hour++>><</link>>

<div class="player"><table><tr><td valign="top" padding="0px" white-space="nowrap"><img width="108px" src="image/Candle-3.png"></td><td valign="bottom" padding="0px" width="100%"><center><a href="https://archive.org/details/A-Deed-Without-A-Name/Terrace+3.wav#" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">[MP3 at Archive.org]</a> <iframe src="https://archive.org/embed/A-Deed-Without-A-Name/Terrace+3.wav#" width="90%" height="40" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen="" ></iframe></center></td><td valign="bottom" padding="5px"><h1>HOUR 3</h1></td></tr></table></div> The haze has begun to clear away, letting through a resentful sun and a distinct feeling that you are being steamed. Cytherea looks perfectly miserable, red and sweating even under her sunshade. Someone has brought a pitcher of lemonade with ice, however, and she clutches her glass between her hands like it holds all the answers to life’s problems. Mercymorn, sitting beside her, looks as if she has never sweated in her life and also like she’s not sure where to place all of her limbs on a lounge chair. She is not one of life’s natural loungers. “Is it all a little too loud in there?” Cytherea's voice is very kind, and Mercymorn makes a little face at it, as if she's bitten into something too sweet for her liking. “Tired of Anastasia's horrible detective routine. As if we were in some kind of radio play! Pfaugh! Uck! Who died and made her Miss Marple?” “Miss Marple, I imagine, whoever that is.” “Oh, never mind!” Mercymorn is up and pacing the next moment. Cytherea reaches up and catches her arm the second time she passes in front of her. Her grip is so limp it can't possibly have stopped Mercymorn, but she turns and catches Cytherea’s hand. She plucks it off her arm, but lays it carefully back on the armrest. “Now the fog's lifting, we should be out there looking.” “Oh, I wouldn't do that.” “No, you wouldn’t.” There's a long pause. “Mercy, I believe you are being perfectly awful because that is how you are feeling, so I will forgive you that comment. But it will be the last you make about my physical ability to help with this situation. I do not think blundering about in this uncertain weather and falling into marshes or, God forbid, going over a cliff into the sea is going to do her or anybody any good. Please sit, and have a glass of lemonade before the ice all melts.” Nobody has ever drunk lemonade with as much blank-faced spite as Mercymorn. “If there is anything to be found, it's in this house, I think.” Cytherea doesn't turn to look at it, but it looms behind her, a great white eagle hunched over a mouse. “Mercymorn, would you say Augustine is any good at hiding his antipathy?” Mercymorn snorts. “Exactly. After dinner last night, as I was on my way back to my room, do you know what I heard?” “Oh, go on and tell me, don't tease like this.” “Raised voices. The door was closed, and there's only so close I could get without making too much noise, you know, so my ear wasn't exactly pressed to the wood…but I heard Augustine say something in a normal voice, you know how you always know when it's Augustine, and then Nigella said, quite loudly, ‘How dare you?’—and then they both went quiet, but I had questions about it, given what we discovered this morning.” “Augustine argued with her.” Mercymorn sounds almost awed, but there's something fragile just under the surface of her dust-storm eyes. “I'm not so sure. If he was angry with her, could he hide it? He never does with you. Yet when I brought her up this morning, he didn't react at all.” Mercymorn only sips at her lemonade, nothing of her thoughts now showing on her tranquil face. “Excuse me,” she says, setting the glass down. Before the sparkling bits of lemon pulp and ice have quit swirling, she is inside the house again, and Cytherea is alone. <<link "A. Follow Mercy to the Atrium." "A4">><<set $hour++>><</link>> <<link "B. Remain on the Terrace with Cytherea." "T4">><<set $hour++>><</link>> <<link "C. Explore a House’s Quarters." "Q4">><<set $hour++>><</link>>

<div class="player"><table><tr><td valign="top" padding="0px" white-space="nowrap"><img width="108px" src="image/Candle-4.png"></td><td valign="bottom" padding="0px" width="100%"><center><a href="https://archive.org/details/A-Deed-Without-A-Name/Terrace+4.wav#" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">[MP3 at Archive.org]</a> <iframe src="https://archive.org/embed/A-Deed-Without-A-Name/Terrace+4.wav#" width="90%" height="40" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen="" ></iframe></center></td><td valign="bottom" padding="5px"><h1>HOUR 4</h1></td></tr></table></div> “A little to the left…perfect.” Cytherea smiles up at Samael, who is now positioned to block the sun from getting in her eyes. “Now, how can I help you?” “You and the…and Nigella…that is, how were things with…you?” “You mean did I bear a secret and poisonous hatred for her that caused me to push her into the sea, and that’s why we can’t find her anywhere?” Samael stammers his protest and Cytherea lets her shoulders and her smile drop. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t tease. Of course I couldn’t have done that, even if I wanted to…I can barely walk between my room and this terrace unassisted at this point.” “Of course.” “I suppose I could have used poison, but that doesn’t explain what happened to the body.” “...Did you use poison?” “Getting back to the question…” Cytherea tries to shift into a more comfortable position, winces, then gives it up. “If you must know, Nigella was working on some research on my behalf…if not a cure, then at least something to help push back. Well. My imminent death. So you see, another reason I couldn’t have killed her: I needed her.” Samael is quiet for a long, long moment. “Where…excuse me, but where did you go after dinner last night? Just so I can, you know, rule you out. Properly.” “I stayed in the dining room for a little while playing cards with Anastasia, and then she saw me to my room and I went to bed early.” “Can anybody verify that?...I mean, I know you don’t…share a room…” Cytherea looks down at her hands, twisting them together. “I’m afraid the only person who can verify my story probably doesn’t have very clear memories of the night. He was quite drunk…and he wasn’t with me for the early part of the night.” “Can I ask who?” “Augustine. I let him in about midnight. Nothing untoward, he simply needed somebody to take care of him. It is nice, sometimes, to be able to still do that.” Samael shifts from foot to foot, looking as if he’s trying to add two and two and coming up with five. “About Nigella. Did she…say anything to you, anything worrying?” “No, nothing like that. She’s solid as a rock, even if she does have an awful sense of humor. Well, we all do, in our own ways. You don’t think she might have done something?” “We can’t know.” Samael scratches the back of his neck. “I mean…we have nothing conclusive. It’s best not to, you know, narrow down all the choices too soon.” “Well, I wish you luck.” Cytherea leans forward, holding out her hands until Samael places his in them. She squeezes them, looking up into his face. “Find her for the rest of us, won’t you? If anyone has a hope of it, I think it’s you two. I know I won’t be able to rest until we know what’s happened.” <<link "A. Follow Samael to the Pool Room." "P5">><<set $hour++>><</link>> <<link "B. Remain on the Terrace with Cytherea." "T5">><<set $hour++>><</link>> <<link "C. Go to the Dining Room." "D5">><<set $hour++>><</link>>

<div class="player"><table><tr><td valign="top" padding="0px" white-space="nowrap"><img width="108px" src="image/Candle-5.png"></td><td valign="bottom" padding="0px" width="100%"><center><a href="https://archive.org/details/A-Deed-Without-A-Name/Terrace+5.wav#" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">[MP3 at Archive.org]</a> <iframe src="https://archive.org/embed/A-Deed-Without-A-Name/Terrace+5.wav#" width="90%" height="40" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen="" ></iframe></center></td><td valign="bottom" padding="5px"><h1>HOUR 5</h1></td></tr></table></div> Gideon perches stiffly on the edge of a rattan chair that is covered in cushions. He looks nervous that he might sink into the chair and disappear if he allowed himself, for one moment, to relax. “Are you sure you don’t want a lemonade, darling?” Cytherea says, daintily sipping on her own. “I know it’s not quite the weather for it, but it is refreshing, and we could all use a little pick-me-up. I believe there’s a decanter of spirits somewhere if you want to make yours a little spicier?” Gideon frowns, the lines cutting deeply into either side of his mouth. “Cytherea,” he begins. “Gideon,” she purrs in reply, offering him a frosty glass. “I’m far too weak to hold this up in perpetuity, you know.” He reaches for it begrudgingly, balancing it so the condensation doesn’t fall onto his neatly creased trousers. “I’ve been all caught up on the goings-on. Poor Nigella! I hope Samael and Anastasia get to the bottom of it. I’ve already told Samael everything I can recall from the previous evening.” “Ah. I’m here on a… related issue.” Cytherea laughs with a tinkling sound. “Oh! You looked so serious. I assumed you were just being extraordinarily thorough, as per usual.” He shakes his head. “The line to John has been cut.” Cytherea sits up straighter. “Really? That’d explain why he hasn’t been looking into this Nigella business. What a debacle! I wonder if Mercy saw something?” Gideon looks at her attentively. “Why should she?” Cytherea leans in, her eyes sparkling, her tone conspiratorial. “Oh, because she was using it last night. Augustine was complaining about how she was no doubt spreading nasty rumors about all of us, the awful busybody that she is. Such a typical Mercy thing to do. Our schoolmarm running off to tattle to the Headmaster. So she’d be able to tell you when it was last used, I’m sure, at the very least.” “Indeed.” Gideon’s reply is cold and stiff. He gets up abruptly, and sets down the glass on a nearby table. “Leaving so soon?” Gideon pauses, his jaw working. “I do have one more question." “Of course, whatever you need, darling.” “What was the research Nigella was stopping? I overheard the two of you last night.” Cytherea’s face resolves from a curious expression to a carefully shuttered one. “That’s rather personal. It’s only… well. She was looking into my condition, you see, and determined there were no other options. It is what it is, I suppose. I don’t blame her, of course, the dear tried her best. If she says there’s no remedy, I believe her.” Gideon looks at Cytherea with a brief acknowledgement, a nod of his head in sympathy. “Thank you for telling me. Sorry to hear of it. Good day.” “Oh! Well. Good day to you as well, good sir.” Cytherea watches him leave before settling back into her chair, an expression of weariness passing over her face. It’s been a long day, and she’s clearly tired. <<link "Stay and watch the show." "T6">><<set $hour++>><</link>>

<div class="player"><table><tr><td valign="top" padding="0px" white-space="nowrap"><img width="108px" src="image/Candle-7.png"></td><td valign="bottom" padding="0px" width="100%"><center><a href="https://archive.org/details/A-Deed-Without-A-Name/Terrace+7.wav#" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">[MP3 at Archive.org]</a> <iframe src="https://archive.org/embed/A-Deed-Without-A-Name/Terrace+7.wav#" width="90%" height="40" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen="" ></iframe></center></td><td valign="bottom" padding="5px"><h1>HOUR 7</h1></td></tr></table></div> The garden terrace is a violent, chaotic explosion of life, barely kept in check by the pruning shears of determined groundskeepers. At first glance, the trellises and hedges seem obedient and subdued, cultivated into blooms of color at precise intervals. Up close, however, the vines are tangled organic webs, flowers bent and straining in any direction that brings them closer to sunlight. For a house built on a seacliff, insistent on rising as far as possible above the crashing waves of the ocean below, there is a startling amount of greenery. Ornamental gardens and lawns ring the house. Some of the other terraces boast glasshouses and orchards. Small farm plots stock the kitchen. There are even fish ponds, shaded by small trees and crowned with bubbling fountains. Patio furniture and a glass canopy to keep off the rain are strategically placed for the enjoyment of those who seek out the comfort of this place, finding spiritual wholeness in the company of growing things and budding life. You don’t disturb their solitude whenever you see them out here, leaving them to their communion with nature. Sometimes, however, you feel that pull on your own soul. You slip off your shoes and walk barefoot in the grass, feeling the tickle of fresh dirt against the soles of your feet. You run your fingers over the flower petals, impossibly soft, exquisitely fragile in the way of anything living. It would be so easy to crush them. Hardly even a thought. Grapevines grow thickly over an arbor, heavy with ripe fruit. Dense leaves block out the sunlight, creating a shadowed space beneath the arch. It seems like a place for hidden things. That’s only an illusion, though. You think of Alecto in her element here, dirt on her hands and flowers in her hair, and her compulsive honesty. There is no room for secrets out among the plants. You turn your head to gaze up toward the white central tower, studded with uncovered windows. For He beholdeth the ends of the world and looketh on all things that are under heaven. <div class="border-image-box"><<linkreplace "➤ Investigate the gardens.">><h2>Items of Interest</h2> Gisant A stone tomb effigy laid out in classical robes and an artfully-draped shroud. The features are weathered beyond recognition, but the shape is that of a woman in peaceful repose. Eleven carved pleurants weep beneath the body, covering their faces with their hands. The inscription reads: <blockquote>The sacred storehouse of his predecessors</blockquote> <<linkreplace "➤ Investigate further.">><<set $gt to true>>Transi A cadaver monument carved from marble depicts a rotting human corpse. The ribs are visible, with worms emerging from the chest cavity. Flesh has melted from the skull. Fungus oozes from the hollow socket of one eye. The inscription reads: <blockquote>And guardian of their bones</blockquote> <<linkreplace "➤ One last look around?">><<set $ring to true>>Mourning ring A simple gold band with a cabochon jet stone. Human hair is threaded through the gold. An inscription inside the ring shows a date, but the letters beside it are difficult to make out. Instead of one set of initials, there appear to be two single letters, joined with an ampersand in the style of a wedding band.<</linkreplace>><</linkreplace>><</linkreplace>></div> <<if visited("FLDenouement")>> <<link "Go to the Dining Room for the Denouement." "Denouement">><<set $hour++>><<set $gt to true>><<set $ring to true>><</link>><<else>> <<link "Go to the Dining Room for the Denouement." "FLDenouement">><<set $hour++>><<set $gt to true>><<set $ring to true>><</link>><</if>>

<div class="player"><table><tr><td valign="top" padding="0px" white-space="nowrap"><img width="108px" src="image/Candle-Denouement.png"></td><td valign="bottom" padding="0px" width="100%"><center><a href="https://archive.org/details/A-Deed-Without-A-Name/Denouement.wav#" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">[MP3 at Archive.org]</a> <iframe src="https://archive.org/embed/A-Deed-Without-A-Name/Denouement.wav#" width="90%" height="40" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen="" ></iframe></center></td><td valign="bottom" padding="5px"><h1>DENOUEMENT</h1></td></tr></table></div> People filter into the dining room, drawn there by Teacher, who is ringing a loud bell in his gloved hands. Cytherea is already there, seated in a rattan wheelchair, propped up by pillows. She looks simultaneously exhausted and intrigued. Gideon stands behind one of the tables, arms crossed, rigid, and Augustine leans against a table without quite committing to sitting down all the way. Alecto wanders around the room humming to herself, and no-one else seems to pay her much mind. Mercymorn sits on one of the benches closest to Cytherea, legs crossed primly under her, and Samael occupies the bench opposite. Teacher goes to join him as Anastasia takes the floor. “Good evening, all. It’s been a rather long day, and I appreciate your patience as we do our best to understand the events of the previous evening. As it so happens, each of you either have a motive or something else to hide, but only one of you is responsible for Nigella’s death. Let’s go through some interesting discrepancies and lingering questions, shall we?” Mercymorn raises a hand. “So she is dead, then?” she asks, waspishly. “Not to be pedantic, but last I heard, she wandered into the mist.” “Yes,” Anastasia replies bluntly. “She is, I’m sorry to say.” Mercymorn leans forward as if expecting a further explanation, but Anastasia ignores her unspoken request and continues. “Gideon has an obvious motive, as he was suspicious of Nigella being involved in some sort of conspiracy, but no-one else saw him around after dinner, so he was either very quiet, or very innocent. We’ll come back to that.” Gideon glares at Mercymorn, who avoids his gaze. Anastasia continues evenly. “Nigella ran out late last night. She left at approximately…” “One,” Alecto calls out. “Bare feet slapping on the stone. She left at one o’clock in the morning.” “...As we thought. Thank you for confirming, Alecto. We believe Alecto was the last person to see her alive, from her window in the tower. So the time leading up to Nigella’s disappearance becomes rather important.” Anastasia shuffles her notes. “Our first little discrepancy. Augustine’s timeline. Cytherea has him arriving at her rooms at midnight, but according to Augustine himself, he didn’t make it there until two or three. Meanwhile, Mercy claims to have heard a bang against her door around midnight, but Augustine claims to have come by before midnight and was talking to her through the door, something Mercy did not mention. And despite Augustine wandering the halls at all hours, Teacher claims he saw nothing unusual. So. Who’s lying, and why?” Cytherea and Mercymorn exchange glances. “It was closer to two,” Cytherea admits sheepishly. “He did come by a little before midnight,” Mercy adds begrudgingly, looking rather as if she’d eaten an entire lemon. “The bump was about fifteen or twenty minutes after. He was just so… I didn’t feel it was pertinent.” “This was by no means unusual,” Teacher adds primly. “Therefore, there was no false statement made. One must be discreet regarding guests, mustn’t one.” “Exactly,” Mercymorn replies with fervor. “And where were you between a little before midnight and two?” Anastasia asks Augustine. Augustine sighs, rubbing his face with his hands. “Wherever I was, there’d be a bottle or two. And about half a pack of cigarette butts.” Teacher tightens his lips. “Sir might have an alibi, then,” he replies. “I certainly wasn’t in a place where I saw Nigella. Because if I had been, I would have stopped her from leaving.” He sits down then, and lights a cigarette. “Cytherea,” Anastasia continues, “your whereabouts before one o’clock are likewise in question.” Cytherea’s fair face turns bright pink. “I did go to see her around eleven or so,” she admits. “I wanted to talk to her about some research she was doing on my behalf, but she was in a mood, and didn’t want to speak with me, so I made my way back to my quarters. She didn’t say a word about leaving. I swear.” “So that brings us to the noise at Mercymorn’s door, a little after midnight. We solve who went bump in the night, we solve who killed Nigella.” She looks at Gideon and Cytherea before turning to you. “Are you ready, or do you need more time?” <<link "A. Follow Mercymorn and Gideon back to the Atrium" "Atrium 1">><<set $hour to 0>><</link>> <<link "B. Follow Anastasia and Samael back to the Pool Room" "Pool 1" >><<set $hour to 0>><</link>> <<link "C. Stay in the Dining Room" "Dining 1">><<set $hour to 0>><</link>> <<link "D. Follow Alecto back to the Mirror Room" "Mirror 1">><<set $hour to 0>><</link>> <<link "E. Follow Augustine and Cytherea back to the Terrace Room" "Terrace 1">><<set $hour to 0>><</link>> <<link "F. Go back to a House’s Quarters" "Quarters 1">><<set $hour to 0>><</link>> <<link "G. You are ready" "Epilogue">><<set $hour++>><</link>>

<div class="player"><table><tr><td valign="top" padding="0px" white-space="nowrap"><img width="108px" src="image/Candle-Epilogue.png"></td><td valign="bottom" padding="0px" width="100%"><center><a href="https://archive.org/details/A-Deed-Without-A-Name/Epilogue.wav#" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">[MP3 at Archive.org]</a> <iframe src="https://archive.org/embed/A-Deed-Without-A-Name/Epilogue.wav#" width="90%" height="40" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen="" ></iframe></center></td><td valign="bottom" padding="5px"><h1>EPILOGUE</h1></td></tr></table></div> Anastasia looks around the room. “Nearly everyone has an alibi if we take them at their word. But we do have one person whose movements we haven’t taken into account.” She looks back at you. “Where were you a little after midnight last night?” There’s some smattering of conversation in the room; some seem surprised, as if they hadn’t quite registered that you were there. Others are more curious—Alecto peeps at you from behind Teacher with a knowing look. Anastasia raises her hand for quiet. “Cassiopeia,” she adds, gently. “Think, dearest. Why are we here, in this place? Why now?” You remember the first words you heard as you entered the familiar halls of Canaan. Anastasia had spoken them, and they’d taken your breath from you. Nigella is gone, she’d said. Nigella is gone. Your wife. Your beloved. And you killed her. Not last night, though. A long, long time ago. A weight your soul has borne for centuries. And now… You hear the sound of a river rushing in your ears, a loud, wet roar, and there’s an even larger roar behind it rumbling in your chest. It’s felt like you’ve been here for weeks, roaming the halls, but it’s really only been about seven minutes since the beginning of the end. You’ve fought for every second of it, those seven minutes, but you’re so very tired, and the thing you’re fighting shows no signs of stopping, and you think to yourself in your second to last moment of existence, I wonder if I’ll be able to see her again. You wonder if you’re ready. <h1>THE END</h1> <<link "See full credits." "Credits">><<set $won to true>><</link>>

<<if $sgcount is 6>><div class="player"><table><tr><td valign="top" padding="0px"><<if $hour is 0>><img width="108px" src="image/Candle-0.png"><<elseif $hour is 1>><img width="108px" src="image/Candle-1.png"><<elseif $hour is 2>><img width="108px" src="image/Candle-2.png"><<elseif $hour is 3>><img width="108px" src="image/Candle-3.png"><<elseif $hour is 4>><img width="108px" src="image/Candle-4.png"><<elseif $hour is 5>><img width="108px" src="image/Candle-5.png"><<elseif $hour is 6>><img width="108px" src="image/Candle-6.png"><<elseif $hour is 7>><img width="108px" src="image/Candle-7.png"><<elseif $hour is 8>><img width="108px" src="image/Candle-Denouement.png"><<elseif $hour is 9>><img width="108px" src="image/Candle-Epilogue.png"><</if>></td><td valign="bottom" padding="5px"><h1>ITEMS OF INTEREST</h1></td></tr></table></div> <center><a href="https://archive.org/details/A-Deed-Without-A-Name/%5BTWINE%5D+BOE+all.wav#" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">[MP3 at Archive.org]</a> <iframe src="https://archive.org/embed/A-Deed-Without-A-Name/%5BTWINE%5D+BOE+all.wav#" width="90%" height="40" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen="" ></iframe></center> Messages 1 through 5<table><tbody><tr><td valign="top"><code>CARGO SERUM</code></td><td valign="top" >for underneath an alehouse' paltry sign</td><td valign="top" >the darkness still has work to do</td><td valign="top" >one does not simply walk into Mordor</td></tr><tr><td valign="top"><code>MORGUE SCAR</code></td><td valign="top" >the Castle at St. Alban's, Somerset</td><td valign="top" >is that a dagger or a crucifix I see?</td><td valign="top" >just according to keikaku</td></tr><tr><td valign="top"><code>ORGASM CURE</code></td><td valign="top" >hath made the wizard famous in his death</td><td valign="top" >of a million unheard souls</td><td valign="top" >that's rough, buddy</td></tr><tr><td valign="top"><code>MACRO SURGE</code></td><td valign="top" >sword, hold thy temper; heart, be wrathful still</td><td valign="top" >a moment of forgetting</td><td valign="top" >pull the lever, Kronk</td></tr><tr><td valign="top"><code>SCOURGE ARM</code></td><td valign="top" >priests pray for enemies, but princes kill</td><td valign="top" >the knotted chord's untying</td><td valign="top" >it's over 9000!!!</td></tr></tbody></table><<else>><div class="player"><table><tr><td valign="top" padding="0px"><<if $hour is 0>><img width="108px" src="image/Candle-0.png"><<elseif $hour is 1>><img width="108px" src="image/Candle-1.png"><<elseif $hour is 2>><img width="108px" src="image/Candle-2.png"><<elseif $hour is 3>><img width="108px" src="image/Candle-3.png"><<elseif $hour is 4>><img width="108px" src="image/Candle-4.png"><<elseif $hour is 5>><img width="108px" src="image/Candle-5.png"><<elseif $hour is 6>><img width="108px" src="image/Candle-6.png"><<elseif $hour is 7>><img width="108px" src="image/Candle-7.png"><<elseif $hour is 8>><img width="108px" src="image/Candle-Denouement.png"><<elseif $hour is 9>><img width="108px" src="image/Candle-Epilogue.png"><</if>></td><td valign="bottom" padding="5px"><h1>ITEMS OF INTEREST</h1></td></tr></table></div> <<if $sg1 is true>><center><a href="https://archive.org/details/A-Deed-Without-A-Name/%5BTWINE%5D+i2+BOE+1+of+5+-+Atrium+2.wav#" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">[MP3 at Archive.org]</a> <iframe src="https://archive.org/embed/A-Deed-Without-A-Name/%5BTWINE%5D+i2+BOE+1+of+5+-+Atrium+2.wav#" width="90%" height="40" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen="" ></iframe></center> Message 1 of 5 <code>CARGO SERUM for underneath an alehouse' paltry sign the darkness still has work to do one does not simply walk into Mordor</code> <</if>><<if $sg21 is true && $sg22 is true>> <center><a href="https://archive.org/details/A-Deed-Without-A-Name/%5BTWINE%5D+BOE+2+of+5.wav#" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">[MP3 at Archive.org]</a> <iframe src="https://archive.org/embed/A-Deed-Without-A-Name/%5BTWINE%5D+BOE+2+of+5.wav#" width="90%" height="40" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen="" ></iframe></center> Message 2 of 5 <code>MORGUE SCAR the Castle at St. Alban's, Somerset is that a dagger or a crucifix I see? just according to keikaku</code> <<elseif $sg21 is true and $sg22 is false>> <center><a href="https://archive.org/details/A-Deed-Without-A-Name/%5BTWINE%5D+i1+BOE+2+of+5+pt+1+-+Dining+4.wav#" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">[MP3 at Archive.org]</a> <iframe src="https://archive.org/embed/A-Deed-Without-A-Name/%5BTWINE%5D+i1+BOE+2+of+5+pt+1+-+Dining+4.wav#" width="90%" height="40" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen="" ></iframe></center> <code>MORGUE SCAR the Castle at St. Alban's, Somerset is that a dagger or a crucifix...</code> <<elseif $sg21 is false && $sg22 is true>> <center><a href="https://archive.org/details/A-Deed-Without-A-Name/%5BTWINE%5D+i1+BOE+2+of+5+pt+2+-+Atrium+1.wav#" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">[MP3 at Archive.org]</a> <iframe src="https://archive.org/embed/A-Deed-Without-A-Name/%5BTWINE%5D+i1+BOE+2+of+5+pt+2+-+Atrium+1.wav#" width="90%" height="40" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen="" ></iframe></center> <code>...Somerset is that a dagger or a crucifix I see? just according to keikaku</code><</if>> <<if $sg3 is true>> <center><a href="https://archive.org/details/A-Deed-Without-A-Name/%5BTWINE%5D+i1+BOE+3+of+5+-+Pool+4.wav#" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">[MP3 at Archive.org]</a> <iframe src="https://archive.org/embed/A-Deed-Without-A-Name/%5BTWINE%5D+i1+BOE+3+of+5+-+Pool+4.wav#" width="90%" height="40" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen="" ></iframe></center> Message 3 of 5 <code>ORGASM CURE hath made the wizard famous in his death of a million unheard souls that's rough, buddy</code><</if>> <<if $sg4 is true>> <center><a href="https://archive.org/details/A-Deed-Without-A-Name/%5BTWINE%5D+i2+BOE+4+of+5+-+Quarters+5.wav#" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">[MP3 at Archive.org]</a> <iframe src="https://archive.org/embed/A-Deed-Without-A-Name/%5BTWINE%5D+i2+BOE+4+of+5+-+Quarters+5.wav#" width="90%" height="40" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen="" ></iframe></center> Message 4 of 5 <code>MACRO SURGE sword, hold thy temper; heart, be wrathful still a moment of forgetting pull the lever, Kronk</code><</if>> <<if $sg5 is true>> <center><a href="https://archive.org/details/A-Deed-Without-A-Name/%5BTWINE%5D+i2+BOE+5+of+5+-+Mirror+3.wav#" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">[MP3 at Archive.org]</a> <iframe src="https://archive.org/embed/A-Deed-Without-A-Name/%5BTWINE%5D+i2+BOE+5+of+5+-+Mirror+3.wav#" width="90%" height="40" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen="" ></iframe></center> Message 5 of 5 <code>SCOURGE ARM priests pray for enemies, but princes kill the knotted chord's untying it's over 9000!!!</code><</if>><</if>> <<back "➤ Return">>

<div class="player"><table><tr><td valign="top" padding="0px"><<if $hour is 0>><img width="108px" src="image/Candle-0.png"><<elseif $hour is 1>><img width="108px" src="image/Candle-1.png"><<elseif $hour is 2>><img width="108px" src="image/Candle-2.png"><<elseif $hour is 3>><img width="108px" src="image/Candle-3.png"><<elseif $hour is 4>><img width="108px" src="image/Candle-4.png"><<elseif $hour is 5>><img width="108px" src="image/Candle-5.png"><<elseif $hour is 6>><img width="108px" src="image/Candle-6.png"><<elseif $hour is 7>><img width="108px" src="image/Candle-7.png"><<elseif $hour is 8>><img width="108px" src="image/Candle-Denouement.png"><<elseif $hour is 9>><img width="108px" src="image/Candle-Epilogue.png"><</if>></td><td valign="bottom" padding="5px"><h1>ITEMS OF INTEREST</h1></td></tr></table></div> <<if $ap is true>><center><a href="https://archive.org/details/A-Deed-Without-A-Name/%5BTWINE%5D+blackout+poetry.wav#" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">[MP3 at Archive.org]</a> <iframe src="https://archive.org/embed/A-Deed-Without-A-Name/%5BTWINE%5D+blackout+poetry.wav#" width="90%" height="40" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen="" ></iframe></center> Blackout poetry "Thalergetic decay itself produces thanergy,  which in a strong enough concentration pro-   duces - to some degree - the preservation of  the soul. Imagine this amplified to ten, fif- ty, a thousand souls, all undergoing the same thanergetic trauma. When the body experiences a natural death, the soul dissipates into the River, losing its former coherent identity.   Violent death, however, shocks the soul into  the reaction we have witnessed. Whether that  results in a ghost or a revenant may depend   on the manner of death, necromantic ability,  or even the condition of the flesh left be-   hind. The one thing we can be certain of is   that there are instances of the soul survi-   ving beyond death. The results may be frag-   mented or corrupted, but their origin is un-  disputed. We have been made heir to an im-    mense responsibility: The destruction and     disposal of those souls which cling to life   beyond the body’s expiration."               <<else>><center><a href="https://archive.org/details/A-Deed-Without-A-Name/%5BTWINE%5D+i2+blank+overlay+-+Pool+4.wav#" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">[MP3 at Archive.org]</a> <iframe src="https://archive.org/embed/A-Deed-Without-A-Name/%5BTWINE%5D+i2+blank+overlay+-+Pool+4.wav#" width="90%" height="40" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen="" ></iframe></center> Blank overlay A sheet of flimsy, with rectangular holes cut out of it at intervals. It’s the same size as the pages you remember seeing printed for academic papers. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX <</if>> <<back "➤ Return">>