The Let's Play Archive


by Grimwit

Part 33: Day Two- Page 33

Questions? You have Questions?

Sally Forth posted:

Can we ask the proprietor about the trinket Edward sold him while we're at it? Unless that was the amulet he just gave us.

Ghostwoods posted:

Can we ask the proprietor about the obelisk?

Zoe posted:

This, but ask him about the black disk too.

Robindaybird posted:

Ask the shopkeep about Erich Zann

Well, let's go to the shopkeep with your questions!

A silvery bell jingles as you open the door.

The Cauldron

On the display case is a violin.

The proprietor watches you quietly from behind the display case.

>ask proprietor about lens
You can't think of anything to say about that for the moment.


>ask man about obelisk
You can't think of anything to say about that for the moment.


>ask man about amulet
"It's yours," says the proprietor. "You can keep it."

The proprietor picks up his violin and idly begins tuning it. After plucking out a few notes with his thumb, he sets it down again.


>ask man about edward's purchase
You can't think of anything to say about that for the moment.

Hmmm... I smell a hidden remark.

>ask man about edward
"A terrible tragedy. He visited my shop once, you know. Sold me a trinket. A nice young man, I recall, but troubled." The proprietor heaves a heavy sigh. "He tried, but he simply wasn't strong enough. He did try, though."

This we already know, but I needed to ask to do a noun search.

>ask man about trinket
"You know," the proprietor says, scratching his head, "I honestly don't remember what it was. I'm sure it's around here somewhere."

I'm guessing Edward sold the Amulet, then.

>ask proprietor about Erich Zann
The proprietor waves your question away lightly. "No one important," he says.

Okay, I'm impressed. As far as I know "Erich" isn't a name used in the game, which means the author foresaw someone making the Violin/Erich Zann connection and programed "Erich" as a name we could ask for. Otherwise, wouldn't he had just said something like "I don't know much about that."?

Let's try another name...

>ask man about Benson
The old man smiles and shrugs. "Can't tell you much about that, I'm afraid."

"Benson" is the name of our Real Estate Agent. Later we'll learn about her, but it's clearly a name in Anchorhead we know that isn't Verlac related.

I'm going to stick with my guess.

Let's head south. We can come back here later, if you guys want. I think the Cauldron is open all of Day 2.

The old man waves as you leave. "Come back soon," he calls.

Hidden Court

Twisting Lane
Narrow Street
Whateley Bridge
Town Square
Chilly Avenue


Deserted Lane
The gently winding lane makes its way through the birch woods south of town. New England foliage is famous for its splendid colors in the fall, but the oppressive weather and pervading murk have leached these trees of most of their tint. The road continues south into the increasingly dense forest, and in the other direction heads back to town. A paved walk also leads east through the trees.

Two ways to go. South and East. We'll check both, of course.


Down the Road
The forest grows denser as you go, crowding thickly up to either side of the road. The groping, tangled branches block out what little sunlight there is left. Your footsteps are muffled; whispering leaves and the slow drip of water are the only sounds you can hear. Beyond the watching trees, the shadows are impenetrably thick. The road stretches interminably, north to south.

From deep within the forest, you hear the deranged cry of a lone whippoorwill.

Whippoorwills? Dunwich Horror reference? Must be.

You walk a bit farther down the road, but it doesn't seem to lead anywhere, and the shadows grow thicker the farther down you go. After a while you turn back, unable to suppress a shiver.

In the distance, you can hear the lonesome keening of a train whistle drifting on the wind.

From deep within the forest, you hear the deranged cry of a lone whippoorwill.

Hmmm... Nothing else here for now. I guess Miranda doesn't want to walk all the way to King's Port anyhow.


Deserted Lane


A low, wrought-iron fence, its spike-tipped bars bent or leaning at crazy angles, surrounds the overgrown yard of this dark, abandoned church. A gap in the fence leads back west, while a bare path beaten through the groping weeds leads around the church to the southeast.

Ah, the Church. This is the last town location to explore.

>look at fence
The fence is about chest-high and topped with nasty iron spikes. Weeds and ground vines wind up through the bars, most of which are bent and some of which are missing altogether.

>look at church
The hoary structure towers over your head, built of massive, ancient stones that are now black with age and nearly buried beneath an invading tide of ivy. The doors and windows are boarded shut. The steeple is a jagged silhouette against the brooding sky.

>look at path
You needn't worry about that.

You say that, Game...

>look at weeds
You needn't worry about that.

But not that long ago, I had to search through thickets to find a hatch.

The path bends northeast, around the side of the church.

Behind the Church
The forest encroaches right up to the iron fence here, some of which is literally buried in the tangled underbrush. There are no doors on this side, although a wooden trap door over by the corner of the building probably leads into a cellar. A path leads southwest, around to the front of the church.

>look at trapdoor
The boards are old and warped, but still quite sturdy. It is locked with a heavy padlock.

>look at padlock
The padlock, which is the size of your fist, is so thoroughly rusted that it looks like one huge homogeneous lump of corrosion. Although it's still quite strong, you might be able to break it if you had something heavy enough.

Hmmm... What does Miranda have that's heavy?

You are wearing an amulet, a silver locket, your trenchcoat, your clothes and your wedding ring.

The pockets of your trenchcoat contain a puzzle box (which is open but empty), a strange black disk, a strange metal flute, an animal's skull, a keyring, on which are three keys (an old-fashioned iron key, a key to the house and a key to the cellar), a flask (which is closed), a styrofoam cup, a newspaper, a family album, your umbrella, a torn journal, a book of matches with six matches left, a flashlight (providing light), a lantern, a bundle of soggy pages, a towel, The Compleat Manual of Wardes and Seales, a jewelry box (which is closed), a typewritten notice and an old tin (which is closed).

Of course! The Manual!

>hit lock with manual
(first taking The Compleat Manual of Wardes and Seales)
You can't get in a good blow with The Compleat Manual of Wardes and Seales; you need something heavier.

Something heavier than a book of spells? This is serious!

>put manual in coat
You slip The Compleat Manual of Wardes and Seales into the pocket of your trenchcoat.

>punch lock
You won't be able to break it with your bare hands.
>kick lock
You won't be able to break it with your bare hands.
>yell at lock
I only understood you as far as wanting to yell.
That's not a verb I recognise.

Blast and bugger it all!
We'll have to come back here when we find, I donno, a rock? Sledgehammer?
I'll leave it to you guys. For now know that, no, Miranda doesn't have anything heavy enough.

Alright, I'm going to skip to the chase and head to the only other place that's changed from Day 1.

The path bends northwest, around the side of the church.

Deserted Lane
Chilly Avenue
A flurry of dead leaves goes skittering along the ground, swirling past you in the wind.


Vacant Lot

An old man dressed in dirty rags sits on his mattress, muttering to himself as he stares intently out to sea.

A gust of wind blows your hair into your face.

>Look at sea
You can't see any such thing.

Uh... Then what was he staring...

>look at man
This pitiful creature might once have been a successful and healthy man, but alcohol and mental illness have dragged him down irretrievably into degenerate squalor. His clothes are filthy tatters; his hair is a matted, knotted mess; his body reeks of booze and urine. He sits on his mattress, seemingly oblivious to you or the rest of the world, and that's where he'll stay until either Death or the next drink comes around.

The old bum is clutching a small object to his chest; he rubs it and turns it in his hands constantly, as though it were some sort of relic or charm. It's hard to tell, but it appears to be a key.

Is that a key?

>look at key
(the small copper key)
"Mine!" the old man hisses, clapping his hands onto his chest as though you were about to frisk him for it. "It's mine, and I won't let it go!"

Miranda wants a key.

>ask man about Anchorhead
The old man squints at you with bleary, cunning eyes. "Don't know too much about that," he quavers. "Memory's not what it used to be... I'm so thirsty, Miss, so thirsty..."

>ask man about himself
The old man squints at you with bleary, cunning eyes. "Don't know too much about that," he quavers. "Memory's not what it used to be... I'm so thirsty, Miss, so thirsty..."


Not a puzzle, per se, but nifty. Someone else to talk to.

Line up them questions. Line them up in bold!

Next update, Hobo Talk, with Miranda Carter.
Sponsored by Elder sign.


In Trenchcoat