check if they got one of the books I’m reading rn
When you go to examine the bookshelf, you realize it’s not actually a bookshelf, but a painting on the wall designed to look exactly like a set of bookshelves from precisely the perspective you were formally at. Oddly enough, all of the titles are books you have read before, but none are ones you’re currently reading.
Climb up the ladders
Though the lower ladder is initially intended for the bookshelf, it’s perfectly serviceable for climbing to the top of the shelf, and from there climbing up the other ladder up to the attic. Deeper into the attic, a pair of eyes reflect in the light, before the something scurries off into the darkness. It’s dusty and moldy up here, littered with cobwebs between the rafters and trusses. In the furthest back, though, sits a single locked chest. You kinda forgot you put that up here actually.
Just then, you hear a knock on the door. You flinch and slam your head on the roof. Rubbing your head in pain, you wonder who would be calling on you at this hour.
Have first breakfast and a rip of the ol hobbit herb
You whip up a large breakfast, fit for a hobbit’s first breakfast: eggs, bacon, toast, fruit mix, cereal and yogurt and milk, orange juice and a small brownie for desert. Before long the scent washes over the entire cabin and your belly grumbles in anticipation. You sit down to feast and enjoy the fatty, savory meats and the crisp and buttered toast, the fluffy eggs and the sugary cereal and milk.
All incredibly filling, you pat your nearly bloated stomach, satisfied with the meal. You emerge onto the porch for a quick smoke of the herb, letting the floating sensation wash over you as you watch the trees sway in the wind and the dew twinkle on the grass. By now it’s practically afternoon, just about time for second breakfast. Then again, you do have to tend to your farms and gardens; all this food comes from somewhere, no?
Breakfast had: 1/?
Pipes smoked: 1/30
Food stores: oooooxxxxx
See what’s in the fridge
Unfortunately, you don’t find a fridge in the room. You’re not sure where you got the idea from, as there never has been and most likely never will be a fridge in the room with you. Still, the image of a fridge against the wall haunts you like a particular bad sense of de ja vu; was there a fridge there before? Yes, you’re quite sure there was, and yet there wasn’t. You start to question your sanity; your psychiatrist would probably ask if you’ve taken your pills yet. Have you? They would have been in the fridge…
I go to the larder and gather ingredients to break my fast with some fried salt pork, eggs, and pan bread. Then I go outside to check the firewood stores. If they’re sufficient I’ll fire up the forge and begin work on a Damascus Billet that I have tentative plans to make into either a skinning knife or a small hatchet. With a Hickory Handle.
The larder contains the salted pork and bread, but you keep the eggs in the refrigerator to its left. Once gathered on the table, you head outside the door and check your firewood shack; it’s filled bottom to top with quarter cut firewood, of whatever varieties you could gather. You take a moment to thank your past self for gathering all this wood. The chill in the air shakes your bones, and you’ll need all the heat you can get to survive the coming winter.
Wood, check, breakfast ingredients, check. You get to work on cooking up a quick meal, frying the pork and eggs on your stove; soon enough, the aroma of smoke and fresh food engulfs the entire cabin. You pat your belly; it was a filling meal, but soon after you start to wonder if you could sustain that sort of habit. Winter is coming. With winter, there’s less prey, and less meat. Maybe you should start rationing more?
In any case, you push the thought of food out of mind for now, head towards the forge in the back of the cabin, and fire it up. This much should be fine, your wood stores are plentiful. There’s only one problem; your trusty anvil seems to have disappeared. You’re quite sure you left it sitting on the floor, right where the anvil shaped indent on the ground is, but it seems to have totally disappeared. Your plans for the billet are held back by the fact you have nothing to hammer on, which is odd because your hammer is still here. Where in the hells did your anvil go, and why just the anvil?
My anvil couldn’t have walked away on its own. I think I’ll check for footprints and other signs of where my Anvil could have gone.
You search the forge top to bottom, inside and outside, searching for any clues as to where it may have gone. The most obvious clue you find is a note stapled to the outside of the forge door; you’re not sure how you missed it the first time around. In poor handwriting and poorer grammar, the note says “Ur avil were repossessed. mist paymont. -avil mortgage coppany.”
This letter is obviously fake. For one, the premise is stupid. It’s inconceivable that an anvil mortgage company would just reposses your anvil off a single missed payment; they’d send an agent or letter reminding you first. For two, you’ve already paid your anvil-tgage this month, at least you’re pretty sure of it. Whoever left this note was making a clear attempt at delaying your search for the true culprit. You’ve got a sneaking suspicion who, or what, might have left this letter. After all, they’ve raided your supplies before. The real question is, why would they have taken the anvil of all things?
Those dastardly Squirrels! Again!
The squirrels. They’ve been your sworn enemy ever since you moved here, always raiding your pantry and gardens, but this latest ploy is befuddling. What use would a band of squirrels have for an anvil? And when did they learn to write? And how did they even move the anvil? It’s a deeply perplexing puzzle, quite a pickle you found yourself in. To be safe, you figure you ought to double check everything you own; maybe the anvil wasn’t the only thing they had taken…
Food: ooooooxxxx
Water: oooooooooo
Firewood: oooooooox
Ore & minerals: ooooxxxxxx
Anvils: 0/10
Hammer: 10/10
Relax for the first time in my life
Open all chests and drawers!
You have disturbed a mimic disguised as a jewelry box. It snaps and almost separates you from the fingers on your right hand.
I quickly close the drawer.
Didn’t I found anything at all?
A friend! =D
I’m taking some of the books. Sorry.
I look for something to eat.
The first place you would check is the fridge; the problem is, there doesn’t seem to be a fridge here. There’s a spot that seems like it would clearly house a fridge, but it’s not there. You could have sworn you saw it out of the corner of your eye before you turned towards it, but there’s no real point thinking about it now. Unless you count books or strange flowers as edible calories, your search turns up empty. Whoever was here before left no food.
The only place you hadn’t checked is the attic, but as you stare at the ladders ascending upwards, you get a most ominous sensation; chills creeping up your spine…
Maybe there’s an orchard or a vegetable garden outside? I look out a window.
You take a peek out of the windows. Just outside, there’s a home garden with plenty of radishes and… more radishes? Whoever planted those loved radishes apparently. Further beyond it, there’s a mailbox, with the little flappy thing up. The flappy thing that says you got mail when it’s up, whatever that thing is called. The red flappy bit. You’ve got mail! You think. Is that your mailbox? Is this even your cabin?
I try to get our to look at the mailbox. Maybe there’s a name on it?
You try the door, but find it locked. There doesn’t seem to be any locking mechanism on the inside, only a keyhole. Whoever designed this door obviously intended it to keep things inside instead of out. From the window, you try to shift your viewpoint in hopes the name will reveal itself from a different angle, but no dice. Even the windows themselves seem to be locked. You’re stuck, unable to escape from this cabin. You could even say that you’re cabin stuck.
Between this closed door and the startling attics, and needing coffee, I feel trapped and sick. I look for a key, a note, anything which could help me find the sense of all this.
I try to find some books regarding occult knowledge. I read them until the dusk (I’ll possibly also try to find candles as well as functional matches).
When dusk arrives, I start to do something else: I’m seeing a feather pen, so it implies that there’s tint somewhere, possibly black tint as the feather’s base is slightly stained in black. I push away those chairs and the table, I roll away that carpet, then I try to draw a big perfect circle on the floor (possibly using that ladder as an improvised drawing compass. Inside the circle, I draw the alchemical symbol for Saturn, perfectly centered over a diametric horizontal line (therefore, an underlined Saturn symbol). I draw six specific letters outside and around the circle, spaced exactly 60 degrees. Then I take that red notebook over the desk, and I start writing:
“Regina noctis, Dea dearum, Thine is my soul.” along with other sensitive content that involves a red liquid.
Then I place the red covered notebook exactly in the middle of the circle. I recite a specific Enochian mantra and I wait until a shivering presence starts.
cry
You feel an inexplicable urge to cry. The tears leak from your eyes before you even realize it. The sobs escape you despite yourself, and within moments you’re on your knees, sobbing and crying into your hands, unable to stop the tears.
Just as suddenly as the urge came, it disappears. The tears dry, and you rise to your feet. Alright, what now?
I say “pspspspspspsps”
deleted by creator
You whisper the ultimate cat call. It echoes over the empty cabin; nothing happens, and a profound sense of loss washes over you. You walk over to the shelf by the window and run your hand over it, staring at the one particularly worn spot on it for a moment. You walk over and check the litter box, but of course it’s clean. It always is nowadays. Old habits die hard after all. You cook yourself some breakfast and take a seat at the table, and try the call again. Nothing happens, as expected, not even when you open a can of tuna. Old habits die hard, but they die eventually. You spread the tuna on your bread and eat your meal, alone in the silence.
What the fuck dude
I came here for rpg, not
:.|:;
Stay alone
You’re alone, just as you wanted, just as you like, and you’ll stay alone as you please. The absence of human presence surrounds you, almost crushing you as you stand there, waiting for nothing. The only sound is the sound of your own beating heart and the ever so slight creaks of the wood as you shift on it. You’re alone. The thought resonates with the pressure of the emptiness around you. It bears down on you, crushing and squeezing you in a hug that tells you it’ll never let you go. You’re alone. It gnaws on you in a comfortable sort of way, the silence and loneliness. The room is as empty as your life and with a smile you embrace it all, feed yourself to the it that gnaws and comforts and crushes and hugs. You’ll stay alone, and the moment the thought drifts past your head a wave passes over you, a sensation in every joint and limb. It’s as though your body emptied itself, as though for the first time you’re feeling the warmth of yourself, because you know you’ll never feel the warmth of anything else ever again.
You’re alone. Just as you wanted. Always.
So like now except I don’t have to go to work?
That was very interesting, I appreciate the experience!
>Take key
You grasp at what you thought was a key at first, until you realize there isn’t a key there. Someone drew a key onto the floor with black chalk. In hindsight you realize you should have noticed that sooner, like before you even reached down towards it, especially since it’s not a particularly well drawn key; you could say it’s rather shit, and you can’t believe you fell for it.
Holy shit, I looked again and can’t believe the picture actually has a badly drawn key on the floor. I thought you were just pulling that out of nowhere.
Holy shit new ARG?
“I don’t like this game.”
>Quit
Error: Insufficient permissions. This attempt has been logged
Quit? What do you mean, quit? You’re not sure where the thought came from, or even what game you’re talking about. Confused, you wander outside, whereupon you find a tree stump with a harpoon stuck inside of it.
You revisit your earlier thoughts. Perhaps you do know what you meant by quit. Really, you always knew. After all, you said it yourself; you don’t like this game of life. You’re free of the cabin, yet you feel more trapped than ever. There is only one conclusion; your loneliness is your true prison.
There’s only one thing left to do, isn’t there?
GAME OVER
⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ - “It’s like the unofficial sequel to Disco Elysium.”
When does this game come to Steam?
I wonder if the poorly drawn key is a clue. I go looking for a real key, or alternatively, additional drawings similar to the poorly drawn key
You search the cabin top to bottom, searching for keys, real or otherwise, and anything that could hint to the mystery only you are aware of. The only other out of place thing you find is the anvil in the corner, mysteriously out of place, atop which is… another shitty drawing of a key. God dammit, who’s making these? You start to feel an insoluble sense of rage at this mysterious key perpetrator, but there’s no finding them unless you can leave the cabin. No one else is in here but you, that much you’re aware of.
I want to make sure if I can leave the cabin. I check if the door will open. If not, I check for other potential ways to leave the cabin.
MASTURBATE
based and rudeus grayrat pilled
*the cabin is sentient
That just makes me wank harder.
Goddammit that’s what I was gonna do
