(Catacombs Chamber)/Text Variations

Storylet

AtD	Title	Description
1 - 25	The Empty Niche	You reach a dead end: […]. The wall before you is pockmarked with niches, each framed by a gothic fretwork of finger bones. Each niche, large and small, contains a bone: […]. All except for one. Its emptiness feels like an accusation; an incomplete puzzle, […]
26 - 50	Cradled by Stone	[…] The statue is haloed by serried ranks of femurs, arranged in concentric circles on the wall behind […]. The angel's face has been obliterated by time, but its pose is one of mute appeal – it holds out a single hand, […] to accept the gift of a supplicant.
51 - 75	A Cave-In	The path terminates in a cave-in, rubble and broken bone piled up […] to the tunnel ceiling. The air is dusty. The walls here have no supports. There is but a single gap […] Through the gap, a hint at the passage onwards taunts you with its impossibility.
76 - 100	The Arms of the Dead	[…] a single, open tomb[…] hewn from a single block of […] marble. A skeleton waits within, scrubbed by death of any identifying marks or features; […] The bones are arranged as if embracing something, but there is nothing but a hollow between those cradling arms.
101 - 125	Holy Rest	Reliquaries, stretching off […]. Each is tucked into its own sepulchre, making of this tunnel a glittering profusion of golden frame and spiderwebbed glass and the odd, profanely bloody ruby. You stop before one that catches your eye – it is empty.
126 - 150	Le Carrefour Des Morts	[…] a rotunda supported by a bulbous central pillar constructed […] out of skulls – a merry-go-round of cracked craniums. The floor is scattered with blackening teeth. There is a single gap in the array of deathly faces, large enough to accomodate a bone.
151 - 175	Ossa Arida	Gravestones litter this chamber[…]. A shovel, […] rusted […], lies discarded next to a mound of disturbed earth. An absent grave-robber has taken something from the catacombs, here, and profaned the shifting body of the Sous. The half-dug pit is empty as grief
176 - 200	Upon Absent Tongue	The skull is […] large, […] inhuman[…] You stand where once there would have been a tongue, long dead and rotted, in a jaw as large as St Fiacre's cathedral. […] you can see that it is littered with eyeholes. Your stomach rumbles. There is hunger on the air.
201 - 225	Foundation	[…] a model building sits on a raised dais. Whenever you blink there is […] grinding […], and […] the building is different. A scale model, perfect, […] Familiar places, hewn, briefly, from rock, and then replaced. Only one thing is constant. A hollow under the model[…]
226 - 250	The Tracklayer	[…] The bones are gray, and catch the light like an exposed engine. The skeleton […] constructed entirely of Bessemer steel, […] a perfect facsimile of death. […] hold together by some perversion of magnetism – it is frozen, reaching up […] as though grasping at your ankle.
251 - 275	The Bone Well	This chamber is dominated by a black, black well[…] a rough and ugly thing, made out of bone and rubble slapped together […] Weak torches flicker […], […] making the total darkness of the well-mouth all the more stark. You know what they say about wells. Make a wish.
276 - 300	Impossible Azure	[…] It is oddly bright, the light an unfamiliar tint— —surely not? But look up. A hole in the ceiling. All the way up. Blue, as blue as blue gets, a dream of lost sky, a terrible, devouring azure— Look away. That is no true sky.
301 - 325	Medusa	[…] a sprawling mosaic, bones mixed with coloured tiles. […] an entire skull is embedded into the wall, […] a nest of spinal columns […], each culminating in the skull of a snake. A squat, russet altar is positioned at the eye level of the central skull, empty[…]
326 - 350	The Bunker	[…] a peculiar room: concrete walls, concrete ceiling, concrete floor. […] a bed with yellow sheets, discarded tins, an empty book of matches. […] a single safe, gleaming […] The door is open. The dusty inside is scuffed, as though something had been recently removed.
351 - 375	Nightmare's Boudoir	The walls are wrong. The skulls are laughing. The bed is made, and it's made for you. Are those your teeth chattering? This place is ravenous for an occupant..
376 - 400	Flying Gant	[…] has arranged a bone-mosaic […] in the shape of a flag. Stars, with cores of vertebrae and rays of phalanges, litter the field. The canton is […] an awful, sucking colour that leeches coherence from […] around it – an absence begging for a symbol to fill it.
401 - 425	Tomorrow's Deaths	Shattered bones […] around a squat, grey tomb. The bones are yellow with age, and uncomfortably spongy underfoot. […] the dates of the occupant's death[…] are far in the future. The waxy nubs of candles and desiccated remains of flowers mark a spot for offerings..
426 - 450	A Mirror, Closed	This dead-end is ringed with tiny fragments of mirror, each placed before a bone-fragment. The room is a kaleidoscope of reflected bone; jagged images of skulls and ulnae and ilia. Only one mirror lacks an object to reflect; only one […] remains empty.
451 - 475	The Train Platform	You stand on a platform of polished ivory. Tracks run parallel to the edge, leading into walls of sheer rock on either side. If this is a station, it is a terminus in both directions.
476 - 500	The Undying	There is a body on the floor. Muscle and sinew grows back over exposed bone, the handiwork of death unmaking itself by slow and bloody degrees. But there are parts missing: gaps in the puzzle of remains that would, normally, comprise a skeleton.

Actions

AtD	Description
1 - 25	placing it in the empty niche. For a moment, nothing happens. Then, a growling in the silence, building from somewhere deep and distant. […] When the noises quiet and the earth stills, another tunnel leads deeper […] where no tunnel existed before. […]
26 - 50	placing it […] in the angel's outstretched hand. One by one, the individual femurs that comprise its halo fall, or crumble to dust, revealing a dark opening behind them. You leave the profaned angel behind, climbing into the hole left by its holiness.
51 - 75	wedging it firmly in the cave-in's single gap. The breeze from the blocked-off passage ceases, and the hairs on your arm settle. When you turn […], the single tunnel from which you came has multiplied. A new passage yawns, where there wasn't one before. […]
76 - 100	placing it gently into the skeleton's embrace. From deep within the catacomb emerges a keening cry, a shivering imitation of a lost child. […] When you turn back, the lover's tomb is nothing but a hole in the ground, leading deeper into the labyrinth. […]
101 - 125	cradling it in the reliquary's bed of jewels and velvet. […] the discordant crash of breaking glass echoes through the darkness. A shattered frame of gold and bone where once stood another reliquary reveals a crawlspace, leading deeper into the catacombs. […]
126 - 150	wedging it into the gap. […] the ground trembles […] as the curved wall of the rotunda shudders and rotates. The movement is not mechanical; the rock shifts in irregular flexes and starts, […]. When the walls are calm again, there are new exits to be found. […]
151 - 175	placing it in the hole and covering it in disturbed earth. If would be easier if the shovel were functional, […]. […] you are done, there are black half-moons of dirt under your nails, and the chamber's exits have shifted. You could not go back now, […].
176 - 200	placing it where […] this creature's tongue would have lain. The skull, bone creaking like a ship in a storm, snaps shut, around you and offering both. There is a roaring, like a waking dragon or an approaching train, and […] there is no trace of any skull. […]
201 - 225	placing it in the model's foundation. Space twangs like overstretched elastic, […] for a dizzying moment you are sure that you are the wrong size. You stand in a parlour of polished bone – a perfect replica of the Soft-Hearted Widow's, in white and death […]
226 - 250	wedging it into the metal skeleton's […] hand. The metal bones sloop and melt, […] into a mercury-sheened puddle. It should be hot; it is not. Your offering falls into the puddle of metal, as though it's seven leagues deep – and then you do, too. […]
251 - 275	dropping it into the ravenous black. You wait. You do not hear it hit the bottom. You wait longer. […] What possesses you, to climb down into the well? A desire to escape this chamber? A need to not be thwarted? A terrible, self-destructive impulse? […]
276 - 300	wedging it into the gap to block that awful blue. Darkness closes in, utter and entire. Reaching out with your hand, you find a way forward where before there was a wall of grinning skulls. You stumble on, into the dark.
301 - 325	placing it on the altar before the osseous gorgon. It turns to stone beneath its gaze, grey creeping over the white, and then to dust. It takes a moment, or a month, the empty stare of the spine-haired skull a void that eats the seconds. […]
326 - 350	placing it inside the safe and closing the door. […] A jaw-clattering tremor rocks the stone from above, as if this […] were a storm-tossed boat and not a room cosseted on all sides by solid rock. […] one of the concrete walls fractures; […] There's a dark hole behind, […]
351 - 375	tucking it inside the bed. The walls breathe a sigh of relief. The bones relax. The curtains mourn your passage, Tibiae unfurl like an ivory carpet, leading you ever-deeper into the catacombs.
376 - 400	affixing it to the flag's canton. Shrieks echo through the chamber, plaintive cries and anguished fury. Following the noise, you find a crevice in the rock, just wide enough to shuffle through. […] a note on the wall: 'The far country flies no flag.' […]
401 - 425	placing it alongside the candles. The wicks spark […] the flames […] an uncanny, backwards dance. Candlenubs grow […] as pooling wax snakes […] back […] and resolidifies […]. […] candles stand […] whole, […] the tomb is new and unmarked. […] inscription above the dates: 'Here lie the treacheries.' […]
426 - 450	arranging it so that the mirror will reflect it pleasingly. Except it does not: […] the reflection remains as empty as before. […] […] a reflected hand – not present in the real – reaches towards the mirror's surface. It shatters […], revealing a crawlspace […]
451 - 475	placing it on the tracks. The ground rumbles: the sound of an approaching train. […] […] The ground bucks like a wild mare. […] from within the rock, tearing through the […] walls […] […] the east wall of the platform lies in rubbled ruin, and tracks extend into the darkness.
476 - 500	placing it […] into the corresponding absence. Muscle, tendon, ligament and skin […] layer by layer, […] in reversal of decay. […] the body – now naked, whole, human but still dead – levers itself to its feet. It walks into the darkness. […] gestures for you to follow. […]