Dudley's dungeon

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Monday, 19 March, 2007 by jsr
f - a magic markerThe pen is mightier than the sword.
        [ Richelieu, by Edward Bulwer-Lytton ]

Copyright (c) 1994, 1995, 1996 by the NetHack Development Team
Copyright (c) 1994 by Boudewijn Wayers
NetHack may be freely redistributed. See license for details.
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@ "Although, just because I can't write words..."
You write on the    
floor with a magic  
marker.--More--     
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What do you want to write? !
You see here a black
potionPOTABLE, n.  Suitable for drinking.  Water is said to be
potable; indeed, some declare it our natural beverage,
although even they find it palatable only when suffering
from the recurrent disorder known as thirst, for which it
is a medicine. Upon nothing has so great and diligent
ingenuity been brought to bear in all ages and in all
countries, except the most uncivilized, as upon the
invention of substitutes for water. To hold that this
general aversion to that liquid has no basis in the
preservative instinct of the race is to be unscientific --
and without science we are as the snakes and toads.
        [ The Devil's Dictionary, by Ambrose Bierce ]

Copyright (c) 1994, 1995, 1996 by the NetHack Development Team
Copyright (c) 1994 by Boudewijn Wayers
NetHack may be freely redistributed. See license for details.
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@ "It worked! Now I'll draw something to eat."
                    
                    
                    
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The black puddingThese giant amoeboid creatures look like nothing more than
puddles of slime, but they both live and move, feeding on
metal or wood as well as the occasional dungeon explorer to
supplement their diet.

But we were not on a station platform. We were on the track ahead
as the nightmare, plastic column of fetid black iridescence oozed
tightly onward through its fifteen-foot sinus, gathering unholy
speed and driving before it a spiral, re-thickening cloud of the
pallid abyss vapor. It was a terrible, indescribable thing vaster
than any subway train -- a shapeless congeries of protoplasmic
bubbles, faintly self-luminous, and with myriads of temporary eyes
forming and unforming as pustules of greenish light all over the
tunnel-filling front that bore down upon us, crushing the frantic
penguins and slithering over the glistening floor that it and its
kind had swept so evilly free of all litter.
        [ At the Mountains of Madness, by H.P. Lovecraft ]

Copyright (c) 1994, 1995, 1996 by the NetHack Development Team
Copyright (c) 1994 by Boudewijn Wayers
NetHack may be freely redistributed. See license for details.
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@ "And maybe after lunch, some art classes."


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