Snippets from Threshold MUSH

What is this?

This is a companion piece to a blurb I wrote up on my diary section of this blog site, specifically here in My Diary #071 for MSotW #53. It consists of several snippets from my time at Threshold MUSH, saved from various log files and stuff that I have from one of my two stints there. Some are taken from 2001, when I played there on a character named Shiara, and some are taken from 2004, when I played there on a character named Ellyria.

In-game Description of the Game World

Threshold is an idea, a place, a nightmare…at least it may feel that way the longer you are here. Sucked through a portal from your own dimension and time, you now find yourself the prisoner of a house that defies imagination.

While the house appears Victorian in style, its architecture can best be described as uncanny. It may have once been a normal house, but its halls and stairs have now been twisted and corrupted by some unknown power. Could it have been caused by a man driven insane in his attempts to delve into arcane powers, or is it perhaps the private playground of an ancient god? Could it even be beyond our comprehension? Something wholly alien to our way of thinking? Can we really know what could have lead to the creation of such a place?

You will find that you are not alone here. Others were here when you arrived and continue to arrive after your appearance. Everyone around you is uniquely different, details causing one to stand out from another. Studious mingling with the other denizens of this place show that some are more distinctive than others, as if their time here has evolved a change in their forms. Some people seem to know exactly who they are, and others have no recollection, or only partial memories of their life before The House. Most of the others are powerless, but a few possess abilities that give them an edge over others.

Your searching will likely lead you to try and find a way out. But you will find that there is no way out. Or at least that is what your senses will tell you. Things that should be normal exits from a house offer you no possible escape. The front door you will find to be bricked in, windows boarded over. And can you be sure the house is not constantly shifting around you? Did you really just walk through a doorway into the Kitchen? Because when you turn around to go back the same way, you find yourself climbing stairs up to the attic. It is possible that exploration will keep your mind distracted from the nightmare of your situation, but it is the surprises that come along the way which will torture your very existence.

Just as you come from your own world, so does everyone here. This means that there is an infinite scope of possibilities in what sort of character you might be. Each character should have its own unique and rich background. Take the time to think out your character, with the realization that you may become anything you can imagine. Create a history for your character and a knowledge of their abilities and weaknesses. It is not necessary to develop your world in detail, but it is highly recommended that you do so with your character. The richer and more detailed your character is, the more rewarding the Rp you find here will be.

If you so choose, you may use &background me=<text> to set down these details.

Players here have a choice in how they wish to appear when they arrive:
PERIOD VICTORIAN: Somehow altered in the process of your imprisonment, you are now a human clothed from the Victorian Era. Trapped in another body, missing powers or skills you once had, you are severely handicapped by your new form. However, as time goes on, you find that you begin to slowly remember who you are, along with regaining some of the power you once had (if you had any). Changes that start to slowly return you to your previous self, bits of memories and features coming back to you. All of these changes will impact the roleplay of your character, intensifying and enriching your experience on Threshold.
TRUE SELF: You arrive in the game in whatever form you possessed in your original world. Characters can be anything you can imagine them to be, from human to alien to animal. (These PCs can also change over time, which is explained by the unknown powers of The House.

Almost a living, breathing thing, The House cannot be damaged in any way. Treat this place like you might a best friend’s home. Think of what would be allowed in a home where you are a guest, and what would not. Of course this is not your best friend’s home, but as far as the house is concerned, you are -only- a guest and it will NOT let you harm it in any way. This means that small items in the house may be utilized and manipulated, but if you try to take something, or even destroy it, it will only reappear again to where it belongs. With regards to more permanent fixtures in the house, ie chandeliers, armor, walls, pictures, they cannot be removed or destroyed.

Death does not exist in The House, or its environs. There is no escape from The House once it has a hold on you, not even in death. Players who enjoy acting out death scenes can take advantage of this aspect of the game, without worrying about the character having to disappear for good.
Once a scene has reached a point where a character would receive a death blow (or something akin), the player can then type +die and they will expire. When this happens, their body is returned to the Main Entry of The House completely unharmed. No matter how bad the wounds, or damage, was to the character, when they reappear, they are whole and healthy as always. This will happen no matter what realm the character was in originally.

Sample Room Descriptions

Victorian Manor – Main Entranceway

This room is the majestic, yet time-worn, entryway to the home you are now in. Wood paneled walls line the room and bleed over into the floor. Though coated with a thin layer of dust, the wood has been well taken care of, still looking rich with years of fine oil. A faded red carpet helps to muffle the padding of feet, and continues up the massive staircase directly opposite the impressive front door. Overhead, the wood of the walls comes to an abrupt end, pale cream colored cathedral architecture taking over. All that has taken up residence here is an old grandfather clock and marble busts of noble-browed men.

Several doors lead off from this room, one at each end of the room to the side of the front door, and one set under the stairs to either side of the great staircase. The only light in this room comes from a gangly chandelier overhead, its arms made of polished steel, with baubles of glass hanging from the gas lights. Though there is no breeze in this room, the glass tinkles now and then, adding a delicate chinking to the somberness of the room.

Rag Doll
Grandfather Clock

Obvious exits:
Carved Black Doors <C> Narrow Door <ND> Staircase <S> Dancing Couples <D> Glass Doors <G> Front Door <F>

You pull open the front door only to find yourself facing a brick wall!

This impressive clock looks ancient, but has been kept in excellent condition. Only the hands of a highly skilled craftsman could have elicited such fine carvings from the hard, dark wood. The face of the clock shines brightly, mother of pearl shimmering with a rainbow of colors. Delicate black hands tick patiently away at the time. Inside the glass case, the clock’s pendulum swings with it’s own unending rhythm.


This room marks the beginning of the descent into the bowels of the house. The floor that you step down onto is of rough, packed dirt. Tiny wisps of dust plume up at your steps, but very little sound do your footfalls make. It is dim here, lit only by one bare fluorescent bulb hanging from a cord that is kinked and frayed. There is a slight breeze down here, chilling your bones with the dampness it drives into you slowly. Now and then it makes the light sway, ominously causing the shadows to dance about you.

The walls here are bare. Exposed timbers that should be behind plaster, nails twisting through them, gaping like rusty, sharp fanged teeth that wish to chew you alive, are the only things that hold back the moldering stone of the foundation. Growths crawl forth from the stones, giving of an eerie glowing light that does nothing at all to illuminate the room. The sporey smell of the mold puffs to your nose. Aside from that the only things in this room are ways out. You can almost feel the claustrophobia starting to set in.

Obvious exits:
Ladder <UP> Archway <A> Rickety Wooden Stairs <R>

Banquet Hall

This dark and somber room is home to an exquisite formal dinning room. Walls paneled in beautifully polished cherry wood gleam in the sedate lighting of the room. Beneath your feet is a dark waxed wood, smooth and unmarred. Parting the wood like a sea, and running down the length of the room, is a plush red carpet. In the heart of the carpet is an enormous dining room table that could easily seat twelve guests comfortably. Each chair tucked under the table is magnificent oak carved in motifs of grapes, and interspersed with flagons of wine. The cushion of each seat is enveloped in the same deep red as the carpet.

There are several large candelabras placed down the center of the table, a delicate accompaniment to a formal dinner. From above, two huge chandeliers of wrought iron hold countless numbers of candle and gently cast their dim light about the room. At the very end of the room, behind the head of the table, is a massive stone fireplace carved of stark granite. Ominous burgundy ‘drapes’ hang over the fireplace obscuring whatever is beneath.

Obvious exits:
Swinging Door <S> Glass Doors <G>


You are suddenly surrounded by a vision of the past…a magnificent ballroom abounds with festive music. Creamy white walls waver and spin around you, gilded mirrors all around the room reflect back to you a multitude of dizzying images. The faces of gay men and women flash before you and swirl around you. The blinding flash of twinkling lights plays in front of your eyes, joined by the raucous laughing and twittering of those dancing about you.

A lengthy blink washes it all away. Hollow and empty, this cavernous dancing hall is lined with a beautifully polished hardwood floor, and is crowned above by a cathedral ceiling with strong curved beams. Evenly placed, three exquisite crystal chandeliers hang down, devoid of their candles, once the primary illumination of the room. Gazing down from behind them, a superior artist’s brush has created a lively canvas of pink-cheeked cherubs and soft, billowy clouds. Small benches and settees are tucked up against the walls, now faded and worn, but once sorely needed respites for tired feet. A few weary ‘instruments’ tucked into a corner are all that remain of a grand orchestra.

Black Mirror

Obvious exits:
Masquerade Dancers <M> Oak Door <O> Sliding Doors <S>

Billiard Room

Looking like a place to retire to after a good meal or a hard days work, this room holds all sorts of recreational comforts to unwind with. Dark wood paneling and soft lighting leaves the room faintly lit, and a tad gloomy. There is the cloying scent of cigar and tabacco pipe eminating from the plush green carpet and dark leather furniture.

A wet bar sits against the west wall, in easy reach of the impressive billiards table set smack dab in the center of the room. The walls near by hold cues, chalk, and other implements of play. A few colorful, less than classic, paintings hang on the walls, though not very many. Most noticeable of these is of dogs playing poker. Scattered in darkened corners are small card tables, with lamps to light the players’ hands. Even in the darkness, this room seems comforting…like an old friend.

Billiard Table

Obvious exits:
Masquerade Dancers <M> Vined Arch <V> Braided Arch <B> Plain Arch <P>


This room is frightfully silent and sparse. Most of the furniture has either been removed or put to the side. Squares on the pale green walls where paintings were once hung are faded and dark around the edges. A lonely pair of stately bookcases stand with hollow bellies. A single leather bound ledger sits ominously in the center of one shelf, mysteriously spared the layer of thick dust which cakes the rest of the room. On the opposite wall, shards of a broken mirror lay scattered on a mahogany desk. The writing kit, consisting of a quill, ink font, and blotter sits atop the desk, all lay out as if someone left the composition of a letter unfinished in mid-paragraph. A sheet of stationary has been impaled under one of the mirror’s shards. Unfortunately, it seems that part of the desktop is covered in wet ink, which prevents you from reading the contents of the alleged letter.

Jeweled Chest
Mirror Shard

Obvious exits:
Knotted Arch <K> Braided Arch <B>

This is an unusual silver box. It appears to be very shallow, not very deep at all. However, it is very wide and long, more rectangular than square. The metal is smooth and polished, with four tiny round feet propping the box up. The top of the box is decorated by colorful, precious stones. The colors and cuts are so vivid that the pattern created by the stones is very fetching. The box itself appears seamless. There is no latch with which to open the box, making its purpose a mystery.

Victorian Manor – Endless Hallway

A long and seemingly endless hallway stretches out before you. Or is it also behind you? Your sense of direction seems to fade as you are drawn into this warped corridor. Pairs of wooden doors sit across from one another, evenly spaced apart as they run down the walls, appearing to shrink in size the farther away they get. It looks as if there are over 20 pairs of doors stretching down the faded yellow walls.

In between the doorways, great suits of polished armor stand silent sentries over the hallway. Each suit is mounted on a pedestal of dark wood, and is armed with a different weapon. The suits do not match either. Each one is different in shape, and sometimes color, and most certainly material. There are some likely recognizable, but others extremely foreign, perhaps even otherworldly by the looks of it.

Obvious exits:
Straight <S> Gardenia <G> Jasmine <J> Rose <R> Violet <V> Downstairs <D>

Servant Dining Room

A bone numbing chill has settled so deep into this room that you can almost feel the pnuemonia creeping into your lungs. Perhaps that is why the servants are forced to eat here. There is a large fireplace in one wall here, its flameless hearth full of ashes, and it looks as if someone has just brought in a fresh pile of wood. The lifeless walls are unpainted, cracked and caked with cobwebs. There are no windows and the only light in the room comes from sconces on the wall.

There is one overlarge table for all of the servants to share. Each place has an uncomfortable looking worn wood chair, with no padding and a rigid looking back. Hanging over the fire is a large black cauldron that looks to have not have been cleaned in years. From the looks of it, only the near freezing temperature of the room keeps the smell of mold and the stink of grease at bay. Perhaps if you ‘light’ a fire, it will help lend more than just warmth to the room.

Old Fashioned Radio
Mantle Clock

Obvious exits:
Curtain <C> Flimsy Doorway <F> Staircase <S>

Victorian Manor – Kitchen

You have stumbled into the expansive kitchen of the house. The aromatic scent of spices tickles your nose from where they hang down in bunches from the ceiling. In the very center of the flagstone paved room is a large, simple wooden table with benches for seats rather than chairs. The surface of the table looks scarred and worn from countless days of chopping. Low ‘cupboards’ line two of the walls, providing clean, unfettered countertops for whatever cooking preparation might have been needed.

There is a kitchen sink with indoor plumbing set into one of the counter tops, but the stove used for most of cooking is set apart on a wall of its own; a great, black, pot-bellied, cast iron stove with pipes running up through the ceiling. Various copper molds, baskets and cooking pots hang from their hooks on the walls, creating an appealing mosaic of brown and silver. A solitary butcher block sits on one of the counters, devoid of the knives once housed there.

Obvious exits:
Curtain <C> Dumbwaiter <D> Plank Door <P> Swinging Door <S>

Artist’s Studio

Obscured by almost total darkness, vague and mysterious shapes lie in wait among the shadows of this room. A brief search reveals there is no switch or button on the wall, suggesting this room is without gas or electric lighting. Only the faint light of a moonless night trickling down through skylights set into vaulted ceilings above save the room from complete darkness. Pupils dialate as eyes adjust to the weak light, revealing that the floor is unfettered and one could explore what is hidden along the walls of the room in relative safety. Given a moment to look around, some of the darkness receding, at least one object sharpens into being. That of an easel standing in what appears to be the center of the room. Pinioned to the easel is a large canvas, close to 5 feet in height.

Stepping closer, the vague hues of an oil painting start to come together. In an unexpected and somewhat frightening moment, a flash of light overhead illuminates the violence of the ‘painting’.

Obvious exits:
Wooden Door <O>

Shiara reaches up to pull off the canvas from the lone easel, revealing a completed portrait underneath.

A pale and stunning beauty gazes out from her portrait with eyes so vibrant and full of life, they appear to hesitate on the verge of blinking. Golden blonde hair swept atop her head crowns a face so vibrant, even the artist could barely restrain the laughter behind her smile. Dark green velvet accentuates and enhances her pale beauty, the richness of the gown subtly hinting at the wealth of her family. A golden locket rests upon the swell of breasts and a slender brown book is tucked into her clasped hands. The portrait is that of a master artisan, archiving expertly and subtly with paint what words would do an injustice.

(Rare alternate) Shiara reaches up to pull off the canvas from the lone easel, revealing a completed portrait underneath.

The painting you glimpsed is one that emblazones its image upon your mind. The hauntingly beautiful subject of the painting had her arms oustretched towards the viewer with fingers curled like claws, as if she were actively struggling to climb out of the imprisoning painting. Whipping about her head, her long, blonde hair was streaked with strands of pure white, the strands blown or pulled by what appeared to be a violent wind. That same wind looks to have ripped and torn at her clothing til only strips of green fabric still clung indecently to her pale form. Discarded upon the floor, just barely visible in the shadows near her feet, lay a book whose pages were flipping in the wind, and the slight glint of a gold chain trapped under it. Sheer terror transformed her delicate features into the ragged look of one haunted. The way her eyes stare in horror can’t help but convey the feeling she knows why this is happening to her. Swirling in the dark behind her, an abyss of evil seemed to be sucking at her form, dragging her from where she stood. The very strokes of paint seemed to pulsate with anger, further adding to the violation and horror of the poor woman in the portrait.


The great stairs leading up from the main entry pause here and diverge to form two seperate staircases, which lead to the east and west wings of the house. A full view of the entry is visible from this vantage point, granting a feeling of lofty dominion over the room below. A great painting hangs on the wall at the top of the landing, rising up a good 20 ft into the air, with a girth to match. From his throne on the wall, a middle-aged man stares down over the house, his face dark, chiseled and cruel. Piercing blue eyes glare down on those looking up at him, almost as if they have a life of their own. Beneath the portrait is a brass placard labeled with the date 1824 and a dash, there is no completing date etched beside it.

Hanging over each branch of the staircase which leads upwards is an elegantly embroidered tapestry. Over the east, a hideous black demon descends with a fury into a firey pit of flame. Over the west, a calm blue sea parts to give way to a glorious white angel rising up into the air. Underfoot, the red carpet is faded and musty, dust driven into the air as pressure is placed upon it.

Guest Book

Obvious exits:
West Staircase <W> East Staircase <E> Down <D>

Victorian Manor – Sitting Room

This room must have been designed for excess and sloth, everything about it radiating decadent luxury. Overstuffed chairs and couches, upholstered in mutedblues and greens, sit near the walls, facing into the room. In between those, anumber of plush divans are grouped together, allowing for those reclining upon them to become the center of attention. An exquisitely woven rug has been laid down beneath the divans, the floor peeking out from around it hardwood like most of the house. There are no windows in this room and all the light comes from indirect, soft, and hidden sources. The room is silent, smelling faintly of old floor polish. There is a franklin stove here, long unused, its cold metal adds a chill to the room. Behind one of the rows of couches is a fully stocked wetbar, a vast wealth of multi-colored liquids contained in crystaline decanters above.

Large metal chest

Obvious exits:
Blue Door <B> Green Door <G> Red Door <R> Blackened Doors <BD>

This gilded, carved chest is open. Four triangular panels stick straight up into the air from the top of the chest, parts of the metal seeming charred. The surface of the chest is covered in glyphs and symbols, images undiscernable to the untrained eye. Several spots seem to be recessed into the walls of the chest, those places charred the most. Large enough to hold a small mountain lion, the chest is empty inside. No mechanism for opening or closing the chest is visible, and the panels will not budge when pushed on.

Guest Book entries

Up on that Landing description above, one can see a Guest Book item there. That book could be written in and then browsed by others afterwards. I believe that this book was not here in the 2001 version of the MUSH, but was in 2004, so I naturally put an entry in it. Mine was as follows:

My name is Ellyria. I think.

What to write? Many have come before me, and left their indelible prints in this book. Many voices, speaking into a tape recorder of the ages, signalling those that have been through here.. and some who still are. Many voices.. but where are they all?

Long have I wandered, though I feel I still have an even longer way to go. Many are the paths to roam in the house, though most of them cross each other. Is this someone’s idea of a game, housing us as an amusement like rats in a maze, watching us work together to find our way out? Or is there a deeper meaning to this? There are those I frequently stumble upon while wandering, and yet I hear of dozens of others I have not met yet. Is she right, when she says our paths will all eventually cross? Or perhaps.. perhaps, is there a way out of this place, and those that have disappeared have managed to find it?

This house rights itself.. crumpled bedspreads and dropped tomes revert to their original position when the room is empty, as though invisible unseen maids were cleaning up when there’s no one around.. I have yet to catch them at work, though. Doors don’t work as they should, and spooky things happen that cannot be explained.. I feel like something in the shadows is always following me, watching me, just staying out of sight of the corners of my eye.. everything I do is watched.. but for what purpose?

Many questions abound, but there are few answers.. but each question provides me with a potential path to travel. The answer comes when you choose the path to follow, and do it instead of overthinking, with decisiveness. But most paths lead to more paths, and can we be sure any of them ever end up at an exit? And how can you trust the paths.. in this house?

All I have is the physical me, and what I’m wearing. I don’t even have my memories. But that is enough to survive, and I will find out the answers to my questions, whatever it takes, and find out what this house is, and how to escape from this house. This I promise you, nefarious owner of the house, whoever you are.

There were also other people’s entries, of course. When I came by in 2004, I read through and archived every single entry for posterity. Because I believe very strongly in preserving guestbooks (and apparently I did so back then as well, archiving all this), the contents of that are listed below. Typoes and all.

You look through the entries:
Victoria   Guiliana   Karl
Nixie   Eva   Leander
Shenn   Tryakha   Erin
Dunkel   Sejast   Rowen
Fred   Ji   Tyrus
Syrant   Araluen   Simon
Aeii   Raleigh   Tabitha
Serai   Aurane   Ajil
Encarna   Keelee   Iselle
Allesandra   Michelle   Jannette
(type ‘view <entryname>’ to view an entry)

============================== Victoria writes: ==============================

Father and I arrived early this morning. I must say he was extremely pleased to receive your invitation. We look forward to the festivities you have planned for us. It has been a long time since I last saw you, I believe I was only 10 at the time. You have our sincerest congratulations on your wedding. We cannot wait to meet this young bride of yours.

============================== Guiliana writes: ==============================

In the odd happenstance that this ink might actually stay, I might as well leave a mark somewhere on this horrible prison. I’ve been here for a week or so now. Hard to tell more or less, as my time sense has never been acute and there’s no sight of the outdoors. I’ve seen the face of our captor, seen the ghosts of his servants and family. Ah, when madness runs through mortal magi veins, the result is monstrous indeed. Even my powers are diminished. Held under my skin. One wonders which generation ripped this frame from Earth’s history to set it here. Wherever here is.

-*-Guiliana di Grassi, Heir of York-*-

================================ Karl writes: ================================

From Brad Nuthatch, to the world at large. I can talk. Just because I’m silly doesn’t mean you shouldn’t listen to me, and I can argue presuasively if I really want to. Down with letchery. Yours truely. Karl. Or whoever I am.

================================ Nixie writes: ================================

What to write, what to write.. I know! A little about myself that I remeber.. but I wonder if people will be able to really read this.. oh well. Well first off, i’m a faerie.. always have been, always will be.. I think. I used to be a Hunter.. and one of the best ones too. I only had to answer to my Queen. I wish i could see her again.. maybe she’d help my mind.. I feel like it’s not my own anymore sometimes. I’ve been here months and months now.. one of the first few here, and I barely see those people anymore. Edward.. Amaris.. Blue-blaze.. some of the few that were here about the same time as me.. the rest are all newer. They are the closest I am with here. The rest wouldn’t understand me.. But Human’s haven’t seen my race in a very long time.. Edward.. I need to see him again. where can he be? He might look at others, but I know he looks at me differently.. and I look at him differently to.. it’s the beauty of what we have, but maybe someday we’ll talk about things.. Guess I’m praddleing on alot, aren’t I? But if i had seen this when I first got here, it’d probaly be different.. To all you people new here.. be carefull wherever you go, be carefull of all you see and everyone you talk to. Even be carefull of me, my temper can be short sometimes… and Most of all, BE CAREFULL OF YOURSELVES!! For that will be who you have the face the rest of your life.

================================= Eva writes: =================================

“Through me you pass into the city of woe… through me you pass into eternal pain… through me among the people lost for aye. Justice the founder of my fabric moved… to rear me was the task of power divine, supremest wisdom, and primeval love. Before me things create were none, save things Eternal, and eternal I shall endure. All hope abandon, ye who enter here.”

Once betrayed, once forsaken, and once forever… we are the Alpha and Omega, beginning and the end… the serpent that devours its own tail, lost in one another until Kingdom, or Oblivion, come. For long, confusion, but now, resolve. From the ashes a phoenix will rise, and though the shadows clamor like demons writhing at our ankles, we shall overcome. They can take much from us, but they cannot take the soul.

For it is prophesied… from their union shall come a refuge, a haven where the minds of men are their own, and their destinies what they choose to craft. An oasis, from which bubbles a wellspring of valor… a lyceum where knowledge is shared, not greedily coveted, and the souls of all might rest in peace.

=============================== Leander writes: ===============================

Blue-Blaze .. Green-Waters, bright maroon and gold with a tint of the deepest blue shade… a more shallow golden hue, with a stronger hint of the deep blue shade.. then at the end of it, very clear, some paler words, that are sparkling and even shining but harder to read.. all the thints of pink that are lately fading.


================================ Shenn writes: ================================

I feel so lost. I’m not sure if anything of this is real. Everywhere I look I see shadows move, I hear agents of the House speak only to remind me that this could not be real. I have spoken to the one who claims to be the House’s enemy, but I don’t believe what he says, no matter what he made me feel when he touched me. The only thing that seems solid were my candles. They stayed with me, but will they betray me as well?

I am afraid. Not of shadows but of the things I see in my mind. Are they mine? Was it me? Why was I in pain? The shadows do not frighten me, now. The guests say I was one of Them. They say I did these things to them when I was dead. I feel I am getting near to the great Answer, for the House to trick them this way, the deeper I dig, the longer I search. I am close. I can feel it. Their secrets, mine, revealed from the grave earth it resides within at last. I am close–

=============================== Tryakha writes: ===============================

“Weep for those who are no longer here; have they found the answers that so many long for? Laugh at those who are flesh and blood (presumably), standing before you; will they laugh back, and then leave?”

He talks to me. How odd.

================================ Erin writes: ================================

My name is Erin, and when I came here, I was around three months pregnant. At first I worried that the child might never grow, that it would stay in stasis like the rest of us. But it has grown. I think I must give birth in just a few weeks now, which has made me even more worried. How can I have a child in a place like this? I don’t even know for certain what’s inside of me. I wish there was a doctor here to help.

=============================== Dunkel writes: ===============================

Leap into abyss
Grants me no merciful death
But new twisted worlds.

This is an odd place. And I find it odd, to say the least, the way my ‘cellmates’ see it – concerned all both for the freedom of their bodies and memories, I am not surprised they haven’t found a way out yet. Deciding not to waste my precious strength and sanity so, I trust I shall find the way out of here first, only then to care for my lost memories. No, I shan’t lie – I fear that easily memories I lost might, once recovered, bring me down just as easily as they could aid me. Perhaps I should, for the time being, see how far I can go without them and keep them as a weapon of last resort.

I met several of the.. inhabitants of this place, and in truth I dare not trust them to be my cellmates. No less than two demons, a lioness-lady that claims herself to be of fae folk, another one that travels in lightning… they are no mortal humans, that much I am certain of. I wonder, what are their interests, their motives in the cruel play with me.

remembering only his name, Dunkel.

(P.S. I will have to think of some way to keep track of time. It might be futile, but it might also be useful someday.)

=============================== Sejast writes: ===============================

What is this place? -Sedge

================================ Rowen writes: ================================

They say that our desires
Are the source of all our pain.
If that is really true
Then I must want
The stars and the moon.
I don’t know who is my friend
Where I’m at or where I’ve been
But I know. . . .
I know what I know. . .
And what I know is that I don’t know.
My despair
Is like my hate
It’s very cold and very dry.
My hope
Is like my love
It shows its face
But never really comes.
My death
Always comes again and again
Because I hate who I am
My life
Has become a mess
Taking away the sun
In exchange for a life of sin.
That was something I had to write as I sit here. Just like everyone else here, I don’t know how much time has been since I have been here. Don’t know who I am. I am missing a huge piece of myself (as of everyone else here). I am robbed and violated of the most fundemental things which makes us human, and I must treasure taht which I still have. I busy myself with looking over this book, and I have decided to pick up the pen as well. As I walk through these halls, I begin to discover more and more about myself, just through my actions and my thoughts.
I constantly feel restless, anxious. To the point where I begin insulting others, to where I have to act what etiquette would deem “inappropiate”. I have listened to the horror stories of this place. Of the inhumane things that happens to the angels and devils here … and I feel myself thrilling at the prospect of meeting these encounters with the mansion head on. This is a place of endless adventure, limited only by dreams. A place unknown, meant for exploring and exploiting as best as we can. And through this extreme, I think “damn our old memories”, for we can become something stronger, evolving from the old shell that was our former lives…
But whatever. Time might just prove me a hypocrite.
–Sir Rowen the Unknown

*Written in the same heavy, spidery scrawl. There is an obvious space between these two paragraphs, to indicate a difference in when this was written.*
It is Hell that we choose. Therefore it is Heaven that will lose. It is a different time, and a different perspective for me. I have ceased to babble and stare everytime I see something unusual going on now. The warlocks and sorceresses. The angels and the demons. It is all passee now. Does that mean I’m starting to accept the absurdness, becoming jaded to the world I now dwell in? Or just accepting the fact that I may be crazy, and this is my fantasy that goes on in my head, as doctors keep me sedated, and locked away in the mad house. It is quite strange, looking at the person I am becoming. This place is so big, and yet so small. I have done everything I think I could have, and I have not been here half as long as some others. If I am not crazy, then perhaps I shall, waiting here in this new, dull, neverending world of the Mansion. If we have seen, and done all that this House has to provide in entertainment – I muse – then we must invent our own recreation. Whether that be from fornication, or creating some never ending drama between ourselves, of tears and woes. I cannot blame them. I have been trying to philosiphize, about what the effects of being cooped up will have on us. Of seeing the same, neverending walls, and the same people, over and over again. Of never being able to completely gain the fullfilling satisfaction of alcohol or food. All we have within these walls, in the end, is each other. And from then, we’ll either start to love, or hate each other, with equal passion. Whatever it be, we all must bond together, if we are to make it out of here, with our sanity intact. I do not wish to be the one that the others will find, gibbering and gabbering from cabin fever. And I will promise to remain true to my Humanity, and help protect my fellow brothers and sisters from that same fate, no matter my feelings for them. If this place offers no escape, then at least let us learn to co-exist, and support each other, as we are now, in a sense, a family. A family of despair, and imprisionment, but still we are brother and sister.
Thank you.

*More space. More scrawl that appears more spidery then the last entry, but still no doubt it is from the same hand*
What was I talking about when I wrote that last bit? I don’t think I’ll be contradicting myself too much as I write this. It has been several months now, in this eternal hell spot. My gads, what changes to this place has there been, at least to the people. To the men, and the women. I am beginning to detest my fellow man, and my fellow women. I am becoming sick of dealing with these retards and mentals. Bitches, and whores.
Aww, poor you – I’m not being nice to you. Poor little suck. I feel my hate festering for you, within these halls. Everything about my fellow man I am beginning to hate. And you cry, and whine (And SULK) when I’m not nice to you. You stick up your chin, and try to look down on me, because my words aren’t coated in sweet honey. These are my tears for you. I’ve started to toss aside formalities like bad habits, and adopted my arrogance like a second skin. Something is going to happen to me soon. I’m going to ascend. I feel it in these walls, and these shadows. Things pursue me, all the time. Shadows of some demon animals, which haunt and give chase of me as if a bad dream. It is only the fool that pretends to be a fool (and not pretend to be wise) that I find solice in, but even that person I am beginning to tire of.
I may be taking drastic actions soon.
Thank you, and happy living.

*another space. Handwriting a bit less of a scrawl then last time*
Sigh. Or maybe it’s me that’s the one whining? Heh, am I even getting bored of that? There hasn’t been any ascension for me. The shadows have begun to fade. All very cute and dandy. I wrote, “to remain alive, the joy in your soul must exceed the pain in your heart”, and I think I’ve forgotten what that means… I want to feel something again … I remember I used to feel, my problem is now, that I’ve forgotten what it is I’ve felt. That white hot fire that was inside of me… nothing but a black, cold, smoldering flame. I’m going to have to try and work on it… for myself, of course.
Thank you.

I was angry with my friend
I told my wrath, My Wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe
I told it not, my wrath did grow.
And I watered it in fears.
Night and morning with my tears
And I sunned it with my smiles
And with soft decitful wiles
And it grew both night and day
Til it bore an apple bright
And my foe beheld it shine
And he knew that it was mine
And into my garden stole
When the night had veiled the pole
In the morning glad I see
My foe outstretched beneath the tree.
That poem is running around, and around inside of my skull, like rats in the walls. I know I didn’t write it… but who did, and why do I constantly think it?

================================ Fred writes: ================================

This isn’t real. This can’t be real. It looks real. It feels real. But, this isn’t real. This can’t be real.

================================= Ji writes: =================================

At last, I am myself again. Having lifted the veil in front of my eyes I will seek the prize I came for. Enemies beware, for though I am diminished I am still a match for any who would dare to challenge me.

To those who wish to help me I say : Seek me out! My rewards will be more than enough to please you.

Ji Xuebai, The White Serpent

================================ Tyrus writes: ================================

I write this to monitor myself, to watch my descend into madness… or at least, allow you to. I’ve been here for awhile now, few memories have crept back into my head. I have little more to say, I pray that these words stay, and that they continue to hold truth for me. For when I no longer understand these words, I fear I’ll be further on my way down into madness.

=============================== Syrant writes: ===============================

As the days tick by in this place , my curiousity only beings me to be further entangled int he web of mysteries this house holds . It seems there will never be an escape , but I fear Ive not seen what has made so many here fearful of this houses powers , nor do I wish to . And on one final note , my friends , do not look at the wine cellar floor ! Your stomachs and eyes will thank you .

=============================== Araluen writes: ===============================

My name is Araluen, I came here sometime ago. I fell in love with someone here, and he is gone now vanished from the house, or banished I don’t know which. I search it nightly and daily, I am not really sure the time, the time is always so different. How can we know what time it is.

================================ Simon writes: ================================

4 o’clock, by the chiming of the clock…
A grand joke, fellows! I applaud you. I suppose you have left this here for me to find, hoping to frighten me, perhaps. Just for the record, it isn’t working. When I find the door I’ll give you something to be frightened of! Ha ha. And then, you can buy me a drink. I’m sure I’ve earned it. And for both of our sakes, I hope whatever drug you’ve given me wears off soon. I really can’t remember a thing!

================================ Aeii writes: ================================

I’ve been here for three days, as close as I can count it. I’m told that my first day was rather more ‘intense’ than is usual, and I truly hope that is the case – I cannot think that such a mad carousel can go on indefinitely. Or at least, I should like to believe that’s so.

I was here nearly a day, wandering by myself, before I encountered any other soul, and then it seems I encountered them all at once. But it seems I only find others when I am not looking for them. When I search, I become so quickly lost, walking through a door only to find that if I turn around and go back, I’m somewhere else entirely. Or I might walk straight only to find myself three rooms behind. I’m told there are other places that do not move, but I’m not certain I should believe it. After all, a house does not move, elves do not exist, and clocks do not chime thirteen times. I can only assume, then, that the problem is with me. Something is wrong with my mind, and moving to a different place will not fix it. What, then?

None of you are real. But perhaps if I listen to you and read your words for long enough, I will discover what is wrong with my perceptions.

=============================== Raleigh writes: ===============================

Poor deluded haybags and kecks, I must be stuck in the greatest lushery in all a’ London. Beefing bout bloody safety and sanity when four walls surround and clothes, no matter how poor abound. I care not if this is hell’s own vacation house as long as I not be hungry or worn yet. I am glad I cannot remember a Scratch blessed or blasted thing about me life. Being christened dumb again matters not to me. This may be heaven or hell, but at least I not be in Blue Bottle Brewry or the loon hatch. Looks like I was in quiet a wild party, but remain unbruised so life is good. Come and find me if yew can writers and worriers and maybe I’ll open your eyes.

=============================== Tabitha writes: ===============================

I arrived here today… this place is so odd. A man in a tuxedo and his guests wanted to eat me…. this place is so frightening…”

================================ Serai writes: ================================

I have only just arrived here… I think. What are these walls that imprison me? Everything is so odd. This clothing I wear, the items set everywhere, even the dusty smell of the rooms pervade my senses at all times. How did I get here? I close my eyes, intent upon remembering. Remembering what? Remembering anything other than these strange walls. Its presence is tangible, yet nothing comes, only the void of darkness past these eerie walls in my mind. I suppose I must stumble steadfastly, find my way, out? find my way back to… to what I cannot remember. I sigh now, my senses constantly on edge. Is there reprieve? Is there release?

I have met one, she was very kind if not as lost as I. Her eyes were daunting, frightening even, but her tone was calm and friendly. That gives me hope. How many are there, how many have found themselves here as I have.

May I be guided safely through this maze. Whoever I believe in… who?… well anyway… may they be with me.

=============================== Aurane writes: ===============================

As I set this pen to the paper I marvel at the fact that I remember how to write. Such a thing memory. I cannot for the life of me remember anything outside of these walls. In my mind, I have been alive only 24 hours. Even that is sketchy. Time slips through my mind as easily as anything, things I know I should remember simply unacessable. Who am I? What has happened to me? These questions, these things that make up a person, these things are denied me. And as I look, they seem to be denied to others as well. What horrors are within this strange house? Who’s eyes watch me from the shadows as I walk. Is anyone alive other than myself in this place? I write this to validate the fact that I even exist. These written words are undenyable proof, that should I die, a man named Aurane (I do not even know if this is my real name!) once lived.


*A wavey line has been drawn to separate this passage from the last. The handwriting is also a bit steadier.* Today I have found that I’ve been summoned for a dinner party which will never take place. And as such I am told I will never escape here. There is a certain frightening reality about such a statment. The rooms here continue to shift when I turn my back. I grow more lost by the moment. And firghteningly enough, I have found as I sleep, my location changes. I do not know if I existed a day ago, however it is apparent that I exist now. I can think, understand, and feel pain. These all lead me to believe that I /must/ be. I do not intend to give up my search on a way to escape. I refuse to admit that I am a inmate in a twisted prison forever. However I must accept I may spend most of my natural life here. I have also confirmed that there _are_ others who dwell here. I intend to seek them out, perhaps they have wisdom which I can use to help myself.

*rather jagged line separates this entry from the others* I have lost track of time. Walking till I fall from exaustion…screaming until my voice has given out. I can feel it. This place is begining to infect me. It’s begining to shape itself to hold me tighter. Dreams, I remember dreams now that i have when I fall from my exertions. Horrible gausy wings coming for me, the sound of laughter on the wind. God help me, the butterflies…do they know who I am?

*another more urgent line has been drawn, separating this entry from the last* I’m begining to have nightmares. Dreams of a cloud of butterflies that consume my flesh. I’m begining to behave more erratically, I’ve begun to have violent mood swings. Something is happening to me, I know it. Is this the way the House plays with me, tearing me down bit by but until I become a psycotic? No, I have to remain strong. I need to continue my search. A man I met told me that as long as there was something to do, we would not stagnate. I must find a task to consume my days and nights, least I begin to go mad.

*A simple straight line is drawn to separate this entry, but the handwriting looks shakey* The house has blighted my eye. For all of my blustering, the house…has blighted my eye. It bleeds and stings inside it’s socket…and it brings only madness.

*A nother line of waving spidery decoration has been added*

Has it begun already? My body is begining to reflect upon my time here. My blighted red eye now cuts through shadows as if they were not there at all. I admit this is a useful talent, but this eye cannot remain within my skull simply by earning it’s keep. It still sees nothing but death when it gazes, and it still bleeds and causes me torment. However…have I begun to grow used to this? Am I now becoming numb to this fact? A frightening thought. For if I accept my dissfigurment, what will stop me from accepting whatever else this house attempts to do to me? I must remain vigilant. Thalos has said that perhaps meditation…

*A jagged line full of fright has been slashes to separate this entry. Brushing your fingers agianst it you get the faintest thrill of the emotion.* Blood erupted from my eye today as I was looking for the empty places. Pain that I have never known wracked my from as a lance of thought was thrust into my mind. I see her still, her hair swirling about her legs, her smile…my smile. Her name…Aurane. Such wonder grips my being now. If she is Aurane, then who am I? Why do I carry her name? Perhaps she is a sister, a sibling…or …a lover? I must know. I MUST FIND WHO THIS WOMAN IS!

*a single scrawling line separates this entry from the others* Death truely is no escape from this horrible place. Death is…merely horrifying and painful.

================================ Ajil writes: ================================

Entry Number One Well. Er, Hi, I’m Ajil. I think I’m Ajil, Aurane told me that he wrote in this… and I think I shall, though my pennmanship maybe as awful as my countanence! Though I must say I’m a terrible at spelling… Er, someone just walked in, I don’t know who it was however, perhaps I shall find out? Hmm, I wonder where Aurane is? He seems like a pleasent fellow to get to know, same with Ms. Mercy, though he seems to have put his eye on her. Oh well. Whoever reads this, hello! You may be trapped in this hellish abode, but don’t despair, for something is always there in which to make you smile. ~Ajil~

Entry Two: Well. Goodness me it’s been a devil of a long time since I’ve written in this. Well. I do believe I think I lost a small part of my mind, last night… I don’t know. I though there were people crowding outside the doors to the room Allesandra and Aurane and myself were in. It was truly a bizarre and terrifying experience. I wonder if you get a fruist basket for losing your sanity? Oh well. The score is House 1. Ajil 3.

=============================== Encarna writes: ===============================

Forgive me mine own, homely script. My dominant hand hath been scalded terribly by the knob on a door here within. To the best of my knowledge I am upon my second day here, and have encountered neither man, nor woman, nor child in my wanderings. The manor creaks and groans and shifts and I am forced to believe that I am asail on the ocean. This must be some grand barge, created by a miracle of engineering.

There is an unholy atrium here, in which a large fiery beast sits plump and self-satisfied atop ground that I fear shall fall out from beneath me. It roars something awful, and is unlike anything I have ever seen ere I arrived in this dismal locus.

Some quarters I am not then so afeared to enter. They bear an innocuous ambience, are colored prettily, and house innocent toys or games or decorations. But others are cloaked in trappings of such blasphemy that I cannot enter them again. There was a doll in one, with hair and eyes like mine and for the nonce all was familiar and warm. To my great sadness, the memory fled ere it had even fully rendered itself in my thoughts, and I was left with nothing but a raggedy scrap of doll, formed as some changeling creature, with only a mockery of my locks and orbs. As though it were goading me, cursing me, amused by me. I ran. Since, I have not desired to stop running, but my mortal limitations hold me in pause.



=============================== Keelee writes: ===============================

(in a messy, yet bubbly, happy script) So there are other people. I’ve just met two. I suppose I shall meet you all, yes? Well! I’ve just arrivded at The House… the carnival… whatever you want to call it, recently. It’s charming in its own way, isn’t it? But, it needs more color… well, I’m off to find paint!

=============================== Iselle writes: ===============================

<<There are not words here, so much as childish scribblings. It seems that the person who wrote this happened to open the book and, picking up the quill, attempted to mimic the writing of others. A few splotches of ink on the page suggests that the person in question was also unfamiliar with using a quill and ink well. At the bottom of the strange curly-cues and mimicked-writing, there is a relatively beautiful rendering of a young woman. Though the person was uneducated enough to know how to write or read, they apparently are rather talented with art. Perhaps it is a sort of signature.>>

============================= Allesandra writes: =============================


allesandra I arrived here merely moments ago, and this happened to be the first place I stopped. Well, after I’d opened the front door and found that there is now a brick wall there. I had looked around and *knew* something felt strange.. out of place even. I don’t know what.. hell, I don’t even know how I got here, or who I am past my name. Allesandra Sybelle, and even that seems wrong. Seems like a life I never belonged to before this. Is there even anyone else here besides myself? I’m so afraid I’ll get lost, I almost don’t want to leave the comfort of the entry way. But I know, after I end this entry, I’ll have to go and look for another way out. I don’t think I want to be here. This painting above me seems to be looking right inside of my soul. It’s quite disconcerting.


I wish the whispering within my head would stop. Just for a moment. Just let me breathe and get my bearings. God help me, but I don’t think I like it here already.

**** It has been sometime since I wrote the above.. so long ago, it seems, though in actuality, it couldn’t have been that long. I have walked this house thrice over it seems, and I have found no way out. There are those that believe there is a way out though, and perhaps others have found it.. people that we think have faded into the house. Maybe they just couldn’t come back and tell the rest of us.. though, I will. I shall tell everyone. I have also began to change into something I wish not to. I hope whomever reads this does not get scared by those words, but simply understands that we are all more than what we seem to be on the outside. We all need some sort of growth if we are to remain.. even if that growth isn’t pleasant. I feel love.. I feel pain. I taste the fear and the sorrow within myself, and those around me. And it haunts me. I wish it would go away. The clock says it will not though. The clock knows so much.. do not listen with closed ears, or you will not hear.

============================== Michelle writes: ==============================

A full day or night of searching, and I am hopelessly lost.


============================== Jannette writes: ==============================

entry The day begins, I’m in a sullen mood. I don’t know what to do to fill the idle vacant hours.

As you can see, there was a REALLY COLOURFUL cast of characters in the house, though not necessarily all (or even most) active at around the same time in the game’s lifespan. I recognize Nixie’s name from my stint in 2001, and maybe (not sure) Amaris, but everyone else was completely new to me, and many were gone as well. I did eventually end up meeting a few of them though, especially the ones that made the later entries.

Clippings from Around the House

In many of the rooms of the original house, newspaper clippings could be found. I’m not sure if I organized them all here, or if I missed a few, and some of them are riddled with typos as well, but I’ve added them here as a collection anyway, without correcting or changing anything. What’s the story behind these clippings, you say? No idea! These were taken from the 2001 version.


Ware you well where you peer, for in the glass may a haunting appear. Blue eyed devil. Black souled fiend. Who knows in what the true danger consists for those who cannot die.

Come to the carnival this weekend. See the haunted house, the ten in one, the carousel, and if the above interests you check out Mister Black’s house of mirrors if you have the stomach for having yoru soul layed bare. If you can find the right escape potions of eternal youth are for sale by the worlds oldest travelling healer and alchemist.

Artist’s Studio

A full page picture add of writing on a concrete wall in blood. Hard to read but when you squint you can make it out.

I tried to be nice. I’m not a nice person, but I tried.

I’m a killer. It’s my job. I kill people. But I tried. No..the were mean. Why were they mean?

I didn’t do anything..people change, right? I thought they were my friends! I don’t have any friends! Do I? Maybe I do. I can’t remember.
Do I even know who I am anymore? It’s hard to tell. Why?

Why did they do it? I guess being nice doesn’t work. I shouldn’t have tried. I’m not nice.

Now they’ll see.

It’s over.

No more games.

Servants Quarters

What follows is my interview with one of the guards at manor correctional facility. This is a follow up on last weeks prison break stroy. Though I have to admit if this was a break it is the oddest one I have ever reported on.

Me: Did you see th lonely one? I hear she was at the front gate today, is this true?
Anonymous source: Yes. She was trying to see if the gate was truelly stuck.
M: The gate is locked. Prisoners can’t get out!
AS: I know but one of the guards told her it must simply be stuck.
M: Really? Myabe the guards don’t know any better than to play these tricks. But I hate to see if the warden catches them.
AS: She then came down here and tried to open the door again. Hoping each time to see the outside. She only wants to feel the sunshine, not run away, or so she says.
M: I don’t think she’s ready for the outside. She’s institutionalised, they all are. I hope she never gets what she wants it would be bad for her. But maybe I hope she does. Do you think she might sunbathe if she gets to go outside?
AS: You have seen too many prison movies and only wish to see her nude.

Main Entranceway

I have failed on all fronts here upon my arrival to this accursed Mon-kiegh dwelling. Away from the songs and words of our people I find my path faltering. I stray down the path of corruption, truthfully I do not believe it will be safe for me to return to the home I miss so much. I’ve fallen to baser instincts, lusts and weaknesses of the flesh. This prison seems to be meant to test ones metal, and I have failed. Although in truth I now doubt that this place is meant to be a prison. The others here seem to be far to varied in breed for their selection to be mer random chance, I believe we are being collected. For what, or why I do not know, but I feel a puppet masters hand at work.

Abominations walks among us. The others do not understand what horrors they are, or the corruption they brings. It has already tainted a few of them, twisted their minds as much as their souls. Physical destruction is useless. Ashar give me the knowledge to purge this taint, before I to fall to it.

Wine Cellar

I managed to get an exclusive interview with the woman that many think are insane for her beliefs in resurection. However hearing her story I have nothing but belief. What follows is an interview that I almost hesitate to print.

Reporter: So what is this that I hear you say? The dead one has returned?
Mary: Yes. The dragon lady found her on the cross. I saw. Not dead after all. The master had finished with her.
R:I bet she wishe she as dead. The master had fun with her?
M: Not just her either. He got the dragon lady as well. Had her screaming in rage, then in pain. The dragon lady thought she could beat the master. He showed her though.

At this point Mary burst out laughing, and try as I might to stay objective I could not help but join her.


Seen below actual work from Manner Tattoos and Scarification.
A picture showing the back of a woman, in what appears to be a nuns outfit. Showing the back to the camera. Covered in a beautiful collection of pain: welts, blade cuts, scars, and burn marks all lovingly placed on pale skin.
Below this in scrolling scrypt are the words.
See what beomces of witches that are the type to walk through the conservatory of life looking at plants with the help of a Satyr but still claim purity and piety.

Stop by at…
The add is clipped to high to see the rest.


First and formost on the fasion scene was the galla event hosted by the generosity of the master of the manner. But first on our minds were a few questions after todays happenings.
What happens when an unstoppable force encounters and immovable oject? If you’re like me you’re asking who cares? A more pertinent question is-
What happens when a stron ruler meets an unrulable person?
The clothing designer and her leading model were heard to be argueing behind the runway during the show today. Afterwards both women seemed very tense.
We can only speculate what it was that the two were shouting about, but my guess is something over a dress design.
What kind of friction is rising amongst the masters guests? Is it just a clash of strong wills or does someone have a plan for this?

Rose Room

I’m beginning to get confused. I thought I had it all worked out..the tricks I’ve seen the house perform could have been pulled off by anyone with enough cash back home. Holograms, teleportation grids, and the like. But..after the ball room, I don’t know if that theory holds up anymore. The clothes they put us in were projection, at least of any kind I’m familiar with. And now..this place. It must be some kind of..null dimension, a dimension outside of all the other dimensions. A gateway perhaps. I remember learning about such things at the Acadamy..all theory of course. No one had ever been to another dimension, let alone outside all dimensions. I must admit, if only to myself, that I’m beginning to feel totally out of control..and it’s not a feeling I enjoy.


Dear Abbey;
….”I can’t deal with this anymore…I’m going mad…out of my mind!…things…appearing…disappearing…people dying…voices talking that are not there.
Nothing is safe…nowhere is safe…./noone/ is safe…mummy loves me….daddy loves me…they take care of me…but where are they?
Sheets move….she talked to it…the walls…they came out of the walls….gifts and violence….everyone is mad…I’m not the only one…
…Pain….burning pain….blades…claws….dying…death…bodies laying around….gone like everything else… hurts…my head…these thoughts…make them go away!”

Just another guest.

What the fuck?!


Drawing Room

I managed to rather than eaves dropping for for once get an actual interview with one of the lieutenants of the woman heading up the missing persons searches. Of course my boss insisted on going along.
Lieutenant (speaking as we sat down): The lonely one is looking again.
Reporter (me): Looking for what?
L: The same boy, the one who is still hidden.
R: I see. Do you think she will find him?
L: Hm. She seems determined enough that I give her betting odds.
R: She is an odd one. She has befriended almost everyone. Even going so far as to take care of the one that attacks all the women. Never even thinking he might be the reason these people are missing.
R:Yes, healing his wounds as best as she can.
My boss (who couldn’t stay quiet): I have a swelling. Do you think she can heal that?
L: You damn pervert. She is too good for you.
MB: Yes but the attacker called her an angel. Maybe she will have mercy on me.
R: Sure. And the guests will someday leave.

This is the point that the interview subject walked away in disgust. And try as I might I could not help but join in my superiors laughter.

Children’s Toy Room

Downtown today on a busy street in broad daylight. A girl, police have not released her name, seemed to vanish into thin air. The most recent in a series of abductions. Says the girls mother-
“One minute she was right there with everybody else. Right there. Then we heard this gong and she was /gone/.”
The girl turned up again later seeming fine, but she refused to speak of who had abducted her or where they had whisked her off to to use her mothers terms. The Girl could not be reached for comment.


Advertisement for a dating hotline. The numbers after one nine hundred are blurred.
Actual overheard product demo.
“Did you see what happened?”
“The spirits invaded the lives of two couples, forcing them together and having their way with them.”
“Oh? What did they do?”
“They took great pleasure in tormenting them, whispering to their minds and playing with some of their bodies.”
“How did they play with their bodies?”
“Well one of the women, the small one, was with the satyr. It took her lusts and made them flesh. The spirits forced her to grow in most unnatural ways, her desires being fuel for th change.”
“That’s awful!”
“That one is used to change. She has endured far more sweeping transformation even if she does not speak of them.”
“What will become of her?”

To hear more call with a credit card number.

Big Game Room

Earlier today the woman most often known as the queen to those of us that know her showed that she had more courage than intelligence.
Attending a party for the master of the manor the dainty woman showed the passion she is made of by flying directly into the face of the house. Challenging the master to show himself or stop playing games. Moments later there was a gong and she was gone. Much like what happened to one girl yesterday, and has plagued our fair city.
However unlike yesterdays event this so far has no happy ending. The woman is still missing.

Random snippets from 2001

Although I don’t have RP logs from back then, I do apparently have random things that I saved, and I’m dumping them here too as a tiny snapshot into a long-forgotten past.

Faith nods. “This place can be lived within, but never lived in.”

A male voice speaks over your shoulder…”My my, the women in the shirt is a rather bold woman….I’ll keep the quiet one with the wings…”
Randall shrugs his shoulders and says, “That could be it… Or I could be smiling because I’m anticipating the rest of todays activities… These little reunions are always quite amusing…”
Carter says nothing, he merely listens closely, eyes darting back and forth like he’s reading the words instead of hearing them.
Nixie suddenly stiffens, and swallows, “Me? Keep me? Why?” she whispers softly, listening to the air about her.

The clock…the clock…when it strikes three we may all be free…don’t you see???…How many clocks are there? Five? No, not five, there are six…really? I’ve only ever seen five…fool…we’ve been walking around in the sixth for so long…what, the house?…no, not the *whole* house…

Dear diary…
…Where am I?…Why am I here?…But more importantly, what am I to do now?…If I were allowed to go free, would I?…Would I go home?…Is there even a home for me to return home to?…What if they don’t accept me back?…What if they accuse me of running away and then coming back because I couldn’t survive outside on my own?…They never really loved me anyway…always too busy running the bitter lands for me…always thought that I was a burden…useless…What if the others torment me about this?…They’ll never let me hear the end of it…no one would ever believe me…but my horse…ohh my horse…and my own little grove…how will you ever manage to survive without me…

You gaze into the mirror and see:
A middle-aged man stares back at you, his face dark, chiseled and cruel.
Piercing blue eyes seem to glare out at you and there is suddenly the feeling of immense danger.

Sam nods, “Well, there are good things. There are 5 billion other people who are just like you and me. Who just want to live their lives and love and eat their favorite foods and watch their kids grow up…” She smiles, “Truthfully, the good outweighs the bad…but it can be close sometimes…”

And the radio crackles to life.

…and that concludes the second episode, folks. Oooh, the suspense certainly is building, isn’t it? Imagine, treachery in the very house! Roberts and the other servants — plotting against the Master! The Lady of the House — will she really manage to escape? Will the gardener remember to leave the ladder at the balcony ledge past the French Doors? Will the Master and his friends really become too engrossed in their ‘games’ such that he’ll lose his guard and allow her a chance to escape? What if the Master catches them? What will happen to the lady and the servants? What will be the extent of the Master’s wrath? Questions, questions! Folks, tune in next time, same channel, to catch the exciting conclusion! Until then, play safe, and don’t touch that dial!

And the radio crackles away to silence…

Apparently I tried to do a diary entry for something or other back then too but it wasn’t very good. The grove and horse were things from my 2001 character’s background.

Snippets from a 2001 Plotline

This was a plotline (or TP — TinyPlot) where someone was given a list of rhyming poems and needed to match up the poems to characters for some reason or other. It would allegedly provide some sort of clue as to how to escape the house. I have no idea how this plotline ended.

Fardoc reaches for his jacket, taking a black leather bound book out, with an angry red pentacle on the front.

Fardoc says “Answer book. Only I can use it, but I can read this to you. The way out.”

Fardoc opens the strange book to the first page. “Are you ready?”

Fardoc intones, “In the darkened times men dreamed. And dreams became reality. Places formed of unconcious things, and each man built a home. These homes became all that man envisioned, and stepping from the dark men vanished into dream. Looking around men saw all things as they wished them to be, and they controlled all. So heady with power were they that it was years before they realized they were without thier friends, and missing them. Upon this realisation they sought the door.”

Fardoc continues. “The doors back into darkness where thier friends were. So despondent in the inability to find it never did they think that thier friends were gone from the darkness, and doing the same thing. The life of a god is not easy you see.”

Fardoc intones, “The men sat down and thought deep and hard. thinking if only they had a door this would be so much easier. It came to them at once, that despite what they once thought that doors were the key to their power, not creation and control. And it was those first doors that brought them pain, so another door could bring them pleasure.”

Fardoc opens the book back up and intones, “And it was those first doors that brought them pain, so another door could bring them pleasure. they set about finding the doors, but soon came to realize that there were none. So again they thought, and thought, and came to realize they had to create them. So they set about this. The task of the door was not easy. It still is not. Did they have the power? Within contains how they thought to open them, if they had the power the question still remains if those that follow do.” He then turns. “And that is what we are doing here. And how we will get home.

Fardoc continues his general ignorance of Shiara as he walks towards the carved door. “So do I. And lookf for a blond girl, small, with a name beginning with a D.”

He sent me a note afterwards. Some of the poems already had names written below them, apparently answers that he had already discovered.

1 From: Fardoc At: Fri Jun 1 20:03:10 2001 (Conn)
Fldr : 0 Status: Unread Fwd
To : Shiara
Subject: Paper (fwd from Fardoc)

The sole survivor, victim of the crimes.
Upon her body rests the crown of grime.
Just a scrap, enough to live.
More than that is all there really is.

The alien bieng is small and frail.
Without it’s help all will fail.
Do aliens sweat when the shift?
Find on her brow the greatest gift.

Find a symbiot, for chance find two
Though even now the quest is hardly through
One of finery, who’s eyes do shine.
Seek her words and in a jar them bind.
The other of power and noble grace
Seek the blood of colored face.

Seek the one different inside than out
It will know nothing about
Get from it what is will often miss
In hopes of bringing chaste like bliss

Another girl, noble but not fine
She has something she left behind
Within her mind rests a key
Of something that wasn’t, but should be

The queen is next, but not the one you think
One that shows not how much she feels you stink
Upon her back is a bit of flesh
A scale is all to make the test

Male and female come the cat
The sharpness with at which they bat
Getting the woman to part is hard
But all that is needed is but a shard

One man low, and one man high
They come together by the by
High must kneel, low must shout
All goes well they are almost out.

One you will find of a different breed
Loyalty in absentia will be her creed
From this one you need a peck
Of the mane above her neck.

Of fuel and fire to a different kind
Seek the man who’s passions bind
His fuel must spend into a jar
With that the exit is so very far.

Snippets from a 2004 Plotline

I don’t know how this one ended either, but I was involved in a few of the starter in-game mails about it with Scooby Doo trying to set them up after asking for some volunteers, so I’m including those mails here.

————————— MAIL: Folder 0 —————————-
[—–F-] 1 (4135) From: Scooby Doo Sub: TP Outline and Roles (fwd
[——-] 2 (1871) From: Scooby Doo Sub: Plot Update
1 From: Scooby Doo At: Thu Jan 22 15:27:48 2004 (Conn)
Fldr : 0 Status: Unread Fwd
To : Ellyria
Subject: TP Outline and Roles (fwd from Scooby Doo)
Hello everyone. Thank you for expressing interest in the TP Mojo and I created. Nojh and Alle @mailed first, and will be given the primary roles for that reason. We have developed a third role we would like to see filled if possible, but understanding time constraints, we can afford to wait a little to see how the TP progresses on its own first.

– – –
Nojh: You are the chosen host for this spirit, an unwilling participant with no choice but to accept this new fate. The spirit that is now inside you is predominant, taking over your natural personality, and supplanting its own dark desires in its place. You are now The Puppet Master. Everything and everyone around you is a toy, a potential victim, fodder for your malicious deeds. But it is not enough to have a new body, to regain the full measure of your power, you need someone to control. Literally. Getting familiar with your new body, taking possession of its memories, dreams and desires, you adopt his persona to mingle unnoticed, looking for the perfect puppet.
– – –
Allesandra: The Puppet Master has chosen you to be his Puppet. His power is so great that he siezes your mind and takes hold of you, controlling your every word and action. But his power is limited in that he cannot control your thoughts, or your feelings. He can only manipulate your body and what you say, just like a true puppet master brings his puppet to life. It is made worse by the knowledge that you are being controlled, that there are times when his attention wanes and you are yourself once more, only to be sucked back under his control when he is ready to put on a show.
– – –
Story: Rumor has it that the Puppet Master is not invincible. Or so the story goes. When it was imprisoned on its own world, and cast into the forbidden zone, it was believed ithe would be gone forever. That its spirit would be forever trapped on another plane, unable to harm anyone again. But now, it has arrived in The House. Can it be exorcised from its host and trapped once more? And once trapped, what shall become of it? These questions and more must be answered. The key to the Puppet Master’s power must be discovered. Its hold on its host and its victims must be shattered.
– – –
OOC Notes: This is a plot hook and storyline for you all, as players, to engage in and make your own. You can start either before the possession, and roleplay it out. Or start after both the possession and the enslavement have begun. This is not a BDSM TP. It is a horror TP. Whatever you guys do with it is ok by me, as long as it is ok with the players you are roleplaying with. The Puppet Master does not need to be in every scene where the Puppet is being manipulated. The Puppet’s player can also orchestrate mayhem on their own, but keeping it consistent with the fact that the PC is being controlled. The Puppet Master can also give the Puppet actions to perform on their own, as well as control them during a scene. Such as, make the Puppet attack someone they care about, dress them up, cause them to terrorize others, or simply torment the Puppet herself. The idea behind the Puppet Master TP is A) A possession by an evil spirit that needs to be exorcised, B) Chances to play new roles and let your characters grow, C) Conflict created for the Puppet’s character as they play dual roles and conflict for PCs involved who know one another, D) A mystery to solve, and E) Opportunities for tragic romance, angst, and even a hero to emerge.

I trust you will have questions, so please page or @mail me with them. I will send out some individual @mails at a later date with clues on how the Puppet Master can be destroyed. IF it is destroyed. I am sure that you players will have some ideas of your own on what to do with this TP. So run with it!
2 From: Scooby Doo At: Thu Jan 22 15:49:33 2004 (Conn)
Fldr : 0 Status: Read
To : Nojh, Sophie, Allesandra, Jennifer, Ellyria
Subject: Plot Update
Hello again 🙂

Nojh had some excellent questions after reading the first @mail, and so I thought I would address them, as well as expand on a few things. I will continue to send periodic updates as they are needed, and will throw out some plot twists and kinks as things unfold. I hope that everyone involves enjoys the plot.

The Puppet Master’s motivations are to instill chaos in those around it. To manipulate and destroy others. To create strife, to drive people mad, to corrupt and interfere in people’s lives, even to the point of death. It knows the memories of its chosen puppet, and as such, anything it sends him/her to do, it can relive through the memories. The Puppet Master feeds off the pain, fear, sorrow, and suffering of others.

Although The Puppet Master cannot control more than one Puppet at a time, it is possible for it to switch who it controls at a given time. At first, upon arriving in The House, it is too weak to control more than one person. But as it grows from the power it sucks off other’s suffering, it will be able to ensnare a second, or even a third Puppet. It cannot control more than one at a time, and it may switch back and forth between them, or use up one, then toss it aside to utilitize a new one for a time. No one knows if The Puppet Master can become strong enough to control several at once, but if it could, the potential for mass destruction would be imminent.

This means players participating in the plot can take turns (OOCly) as Puppets, and causing havoc of their own (as a player, of course). Any other questions.. send them my way! Also, Alle.. I need you and Nojh (as the primary characters right now) to send me brief updates of your activities. What’s been going on, what happened, character changes, etc. This way I can stay updated on the plot as it unfolds. Just a synopsis will do.


Documents dated: Mid 2001 to Early 2004.