Closed Circles
by M. M. Kathrel (2010)


action: %
response: Welcome to the IF story "Closed Circles".

Before heading into the story there are a few things to be mentioned to help you get the richest possible experience of the tale.

You will enter the story as a story character, free (within limits) to interact with the elements of the story and the story world. Your story character - the protagonist - will come with ideas, a personal history, and a general outlook on life that you may not agree with, but which you cannot alter. You as a reader are invited to accompany this character and to an extent decide his actions. You will be challenged, both as the story character and as a reader to make up your mind about what is going on, and what is the appropriate response to what the protagonist experiences.

If you at any time wish to be reminded of the most common ways of interacting with the story (commands that are available to you) you can type "help" to bring up a separate banner window with a static list of options. There will be other ways of interacting with the story too, but it is up to you to find them. Pay attention to what the story suggest that you do. That way you will be pointed in the right direction.

"About" will bring up the story's cover art. "Credits" will give you the acknowledgments of the game. If nothing you type bring any reactions from the window, take a glance at the status bar at the bottom of the screen. You may be inside a narrative that prompts you to hit the space bar to continue, like this screen.

Now when you are ready, you can hit the space bar and be transported to where the story begins. When you do, this introduction will be cleared from your window. Remember; "help" will bring up a separate banner window with a sample list of options.

SPECIAL NOTICE: To my best estimate this intro is about 15% of the story as it will eventually be, and it is intended for the IF IntroComp only. The submission consists of 7 rooms, several objects, but no NPCs. When you reach Part II of the story the narrative stops mid-stride, but you can go back and forth to discover more of the content, for as long as you like. My apologies in advance for all those bugs and other ugliness that is bound to crop up.

You are transported through time and imagination to a dark and cold place, and you slowly become aware of your surroundings. In particular a most annoying voice:

"Time and time again the world has developed through the opposition of new ideas against old ones," someone says. "It is an ageless war where the old ways are bound to lose on the trivial grounds that victory inevitably is defined by the survivors. And in its widest sense the core of progress is to act in the interest of self preservation."

The words seem to drone meaningless and disembodied around in your mind, uttered from afar, or perhaps remembered. Somehow they seem important. You are not really sure why; right now rest holds more appeal than lectures. But the churning wont't stop;

Conflict. Progress. Self preservation. Duty. It goes on and on.

"Go to hell," you think, but the thought appears automatic and without context.

A loud clatter from somewhere nearby makes you start, and the movement provokes a wave of nausea. You curl up and retch emptily with your face down into trampled grass, and agony explodes inside your chest with sudden brutality.

Self preservation.

You open your eyes again, recognizing that self preservation as a practical excercise drives home a much harder lesson than a lecture.



A swath of downtrodden grass (lying on the ground)
The sky is dark and chasing clouds are gathering into black mountains defined by the blinking stars they blot out as they build. Cold wind puts a vast ocean of surrounding grass into swaying motion. The moon is up, and its bleak presence reveals a grotesque scene: Wooden debris is scattered across a swath of partly downtrodden grass. Clothes are trampled into the dirt. A looming silhouette turns out to be a broken stage coach, tilting towards you on three wheels. The missing wheel is nowhere in sight. A body hangs out of a window next to an open door swinging in the wind, and suitcases and bags are lying around, open, their contents spilled on the ground.

The grass is trampled in a corridor to the north, outlining a track of sorts.

You grit your teeth; your rib cage feels like a conflagration, and something is wrong with your right leg.
action: You look at right leg
response: A long cut runs across your right tigh. Judging from the clotted blod on your pants it bled profusely.

The coach door whines quietly as it swings on its hinges, occasionally accentuated by a clatter as a particular strong gust of wind pushes it against the coach wall.
action: You open coach door
response: The door is already open.

The coach door whines quietly as the wind makes it swing on its hinges.
action: You look at the coach
response: The wagon is a large, built-in stage coach with doors and windows.
The roof has cramps bolted to it and a low railing runs all the way around it. A piece of black material is stuck in the railing, flapping in the wind. The driver seat is outdoor, placed a little lower than the roof so that the front wagon wall becomes its backrest and provides a little shelter. Its front axle is broken, and the left front wheel is missing.

The rustle of grass bowing to the wind is everywhere.
action: You look at the black material
response: Its hard to make out any details from down here, but it could be a coat.

The coach door whines quietly as it swings on its hinges, occasionally accentuated by a clatter as a particular strong gust of wind pushes it against the coach wall.
action: You look
response: A swath of downtrodden grass (lying on the ground)
The sky is dark and chasing clouds are gathering into black mountains defined by the blinking stars they blot out as they build. Cold wind puts a vast ocean of surrounding grass into swaying motion. The moon is up, and its bleak presence reveals a grotesque scene: Wooden debris is scattered across a swath of partly downtrodden grass. Clothes are trampled into the dirt. A looming silhouette turns out to be a broken stage coach, tilting towards you on three wheels. The missing wheel is nowhere in sight. A body hangs out of a window next to an open door swinging in the wind, and suitcases and bags are lying around, open, their contents spilled on the ground.

The grass is trampled in a corridor to the north, outlining a track of sorts.

The coach door whines quietly as the wind makes it swing on its hinges.
The agony in your ribs is bothering you. The cut in your thigh isn't making things any better either.
action: Yeah i'D say we need to examine the the coat
response: The word "yeah" is not necessary in this story.

(If this was an accidental misspelling, you can correct it by typing OOPS followed by the corrected word now. Any time the story points out an unknown word, you can correct a misspelling using OOPS as your next command.)
action: Inventory
response: You are carrying nothing, and are wearing some clothes: a pair of shoes, a pair of pants, and a shirt.

The rustle of grass bowing to the wind is everywhere.
action: About yourself
response: Your skin is pale and dirty, and the knuckles on your right hand are bloody. A pale mark encloses your right ring finger at the base, obviously a ring used to be there. The dull ache that throbs in every joint and limb doesn't quite drown out the burning sensation around your chest. By the feel of it several ribs might just be broken. You realize that you are cold. Very cold. With this realization comes a reflex jerk as your body attempts to curl up to preserve body heat, and in response the movement sends jolts of agony from your right leg to your brain.

The coach door whines quietly as it swings on its hinges, occasionally accentuated by a clatter as a particular strong gust of wind pushes it against the coach wall.

It would probably be a good idea to find some warm clothes.
action: You look at the cut
response: The cut is long, but shallow, and it doesn't bleed anymore. The edges are clean, almost as if it was a knife or a sword wound.
action: You look at the clothes
response: Most of the clothing are mens' clothes. Shirts, socks, a tie, pants and a torn cloak and a ruined coat as well. There's a shawl here too, a dress, panties, and at least one stocking is in clear sight.

The rustle of grass bowing to the wind is everywhere.
action: You get up
response: You get up with some difficulty.

The coach door whines quietly as the wind makes it swing on its hinges.
You shiver from the cold wind.
action: Search clothing
response: A man in his thirties perhaps, slight, and well clad, but his eyes stare into eternity with no means to convey what they see. The limbs are stiffening, suggesting that he has been dead for some hours. The cause of death is obvious... a clean cut across his throat.

The word "clothing" is not necessary in this story.
action: You examine black material
response: Its hard to make out any details from down here, but it could be a coat.

The rustle of grass bowing to the wind is everywhere.
action: You examine coach
response: The wagon is a large, built-in stage coach with doors and windows.
The roof has cramps bolted to it and a low railing runs all the way around it. A piece of black material is stuck in the railing, flapping in the wind. The driver seat is outdoor, placed a little lower than the roof so that the front wagon wall becomes its backrest and provides a little shelter. Its front axle is broken, and the left front wheel is missing.
action: You enter the coach
response: You limp over and push yourself into the coaches' dark interior.

The inside of the wagon is very dark, and the floor tilts in a steep angle toward the front left side. A lifeless body hangs out of a window. Padded seats face each other with just enough place to store small bags under them, and over the seats a shelf runs along the wall. A laced umbrella juts out from the shelf in the front right corner, and an embroidered bag is stuck under the same seat. Otherwise the coach is empty. The windowpanes on both sides are broken.
action: You examine bag
response: The bag is made of cloth, embroidered with tiny stitches in a floral pattern. It has been turned inside out, and nothing remains inside.

The chill saps your strength; you need warmer clothes.
action: Go outside
response: (out of the the interior of a broken stage coach)
You step out of the coach.

The sky is dark and chasing clouds are gathering into black mountains defined by the blinking stars they blot out as they build. Cold wind puts a vast ocean of surrounding grass into swaying motion. The moon is up, and its bleak presence reveals a grotesque scene: Wooden debris is scattered across a swath of partly downtrodden grass. Clothes are trampled into the dirt. A looming silhouette turns out to be a broken stage coach, tilting towards you on three wheels. The missing wheel is nowhere in sight. A body hangs out of a window next to an open door swinging in the wind, and suitcases and bags are lying around, open, their contents spilled on the ground.

The grass is trampled in a corridor to the north, outlining a track of sorts.

The coach door whines quietly as the wind makes it swing on its hinges.
action: Up
response: You use the door as step and groan from the agony in your chest as you heave yourself onto the coach roof.

The roof tilts precariously to the southeast and you have to struggle to keep your balance. The railing around the sides provides a convenient handhold just as it once served to keep bags and suitcases securely in place. From this elevated position you can see further around, but all you see in the flickering moonlight is the grassy plain, stretching in all directions.

A piece of black material is stuck in the railing, flapping in the wind.
action: You take the material
response: You take the material.
action: You take the coat
response: You are already carrying the material. You shiver from the cold wind.
action: Wear coat
response: Much to your relief you feel the coat take the sting out of the wind as you button it up.
action: You examine the coat
response: It is a thick, woolen, coat. The double seams and inside lining shows its quality. It has a single row of buttons down front, with big outside pockets.

The rustle of grass bowing to the wind is everywhere.
action: You examine the pockets
response: The pockets are roomy with ample room to warm your hands, or to carry stuff around.
action: You look in pockets
response: The pocket contains an envelope.

The windchill is uncomfortable, and you shrink into the coat as well as you can.
action: Look around
response: The roof tilts precariously to the southeast and you have to struggle to keep your balance. The railing around the sides provides a convenient handhold just as it once served to keep bags and suitcases securely in place. From this elevated position you can see further around, but all you see in the flickering moonlight is the grassy plain, stretching in all directions.

The rustle of grass bowing to the wind is everywhere.
action: Go downward
response: You painfully climb down, using the door as steps.

The sky is dark and chasing clouds are gathering into black mountains defined by the blinking stars they blot out as they build. The blowing wind puts a vast ocean of surrounding grass into swaying motion. The moon is up, and its bleak presence , and its chill presence reveals a grotesque scene; Wooden debris is scattered across a swath of partly downtrodden grass. The looming silhouette of the broken wagon tilts away from you on its three wheels. The missing wheel is nowhere in sight, but a dead horse with a broken leg lies next to the wagon. It is still in its harness, but three other harnesses lie on the ground around it.
action: Go inside
response: (first opening the door)
You limp over and haul yourself up into the coaches' dark interior.

The inside of the wagon is very dark, and the floor tilts in a steep angle toward the front left side. A lifeless body hangs out of a window. Padded seats face each other with just enough place to store small bags under them, and over the seats a shelf runs along the wall. A laced umbrella juts out from the shelf in the front right corner, and an embroidered bag is stuck under the same seat. Otherwise the coach is empty. The windowpanes on both sides are broken.

You feel exhausted.
action: You take the bag
response: You can't take that.

You realize that the coach is your best choice for the night, but consider it with mixed feelings. The chilly wind makes the outside a bad choice.
action: You open the bag
response: That is not something you can open. Enough. Under the circumstances you'll just have to suffer the company of the dead man.
action: You take the umbrella
response: You can't take that.

The relief from being out of the wind and behind the relative security of walls makes you sit down on the seat. Your body, almost as if by its own volition then slumps into a lying position, and all thought of anything but sleep is gone.
action: You open envelope
response: You break the seal even as you realize that the letter is not for you.

The dream started chaotically, tossing you between memories. Then it seemed to gain purpose and all of a sudden it placed you somewhere you did not want to be:

"Unacceptable!" My mothers outrage was tangible, making the expensive earrings jingle as her head shook. I fervently wished I had concealed my plans better, but no way out now. The confrontation was a fact. I felt like a naughty schoolboy caught at a prank and hauled in to stand to justice. Her panelled office gave people that feeling, quite intentionally, no doubt.

"You are doing no such thing!"

The walls in the office started to wave in and out of focus.

"I already have." I was trying to keep my calm, but the familar tension had started to build somewhere down in my stomach.

A large bell rang and the office faded out, and I was standing in a square looking up at the university clock tower.

"Aahh, there you are my boy! Did you finish the assignment on the Trade balance with Belgium?" Professor Asunac's nasal voice intruded and made me cringe.

"I'm sorry sir, but I attended a class at Institute of Astronomy last night... I haven't finished it yet." The professor raised his eye brows, but didn't comment directly. Instead: "Does your mother know you are flunking classes in Buisness in favor of star gazing?" He didn't even attempt to disguise his disapproval.

Stomach tension building up again. The sky above the clock tower turned into night, and the familar constellations of the Northern hemisphere swirled around me, impossibly fast.

You wake with a start and blink in bewilderment for a moment before recalling where you are and what happened.
action: You look in the envelope
response: The envelope contains a letter.
action: You read letter
response: (first taking the letter from the envelope)
You smooth out the paper and start reading:

Dear Ms Dabowe,
I am sending this letter of introduction with my good friend Mark Dunne,
who has received his first appointment as Lighthouse Manager with
this
assignment to the Great Plains Lighthouse. I know that Stacangers harbor master
already has notified you about the appointment, and I know that you will take
as good care of him as you do of the household. I wish to let you know that
I have trained him in his duties personally, and even if he is inexperienced
he has been a dilligent student and I vouch for his abilities.
You can trust him as you would trust me.

Your friend,
Charles Smitherhill.
Stacanger Lighthouse Manager

Yes, this is the letter Charles gave you that night, and the coat must be the one Charles gave you so you wouldn't stand out. Damn nice of him to write that letter. Now you just have to remember what he showed you about the lighthouse machinery so you don't make a fool of yourself... You better, but the lessons from the crash course he gave you doesn't quite manage to penetrate your headache right now.

You fold the letter again and put it back into the envelope, slightly regretting that you broke the seal.

A brilliant light sweeps over the coach, leaving you with a glittering negative image on your eyes.
action: Go outside
response: (off of the seat)
Okay, you're no longer on the seat.
action: You go outside
response: (out of the the interior of a broken stage coach)
You push out of the coach to the east, and dropping to the ground you raise the coats lapel to shield yourself from the windchill.

The sky is dark and chasing clouds are gathering into black mountains defined by the blinking stars they blot out as they build. The blowing wind puts a vast ocean of surrounding grass into swaying motion. The moon is up, and its bleak presence , and its chill presence reveals a grotesque scene; Wooden debris is scattered across a swath of partly downtrodden grass. The looming silhouette of the broken wagon tilts away from you on its three wheels. The missing wheel is nowhere in sight, but a dead horse with a broken leg lies next to the wagon. It is still in its harness, but three other harnesses lie on the ground around it.

The coach door whines quietly as it swings on its hinges, occasionally accentuated by a clatter as a particular strong gust of wind pushes it against the coach wall.
action: You examine the horse
response: The horse in the harness is a typical stage coach animal, sleek, well built, with a long strong back. Its tan coat is dry, altough there is evidence of sweat under the harness. It's front left leg is quite obviously broken, but what killed it is a mercy bullet to its head.

The coach door whines quietly as the wind makes it swing on its hinges.

A sudden brilliant light from the east puts the coach in stark silhouette, and is gone as quickly as it appeard.
action: You examine the harnesses
response: The harnesses appears to have been cut open and thrown off the animals that are no longer there.

The rustle of grass bowing to the wind is everywhere.
action: Inventory
response: You are carrying an envelope, and you're wearing some clothes: a pair of shoes, a pair of pants, a shirt, and a coat.

A sudden brilliant light from the east puts the coach in stark silhouette, and is gone as quickly as it appeard.
action: Go east
response: You limp over to the other side of the coach.

The sky is dark and chasing clouds are gathering into black mountains defined by the blinking stars they blot out as they build. Cold wind puts a vast ocean of surrounding grass into swaying motion. The moon is up, and its bleak presence reveals a grotesque scene: Wooden debris is scattered across a swath of partly downtrodden grass. Clothes are trampled into the dirt. A looming silhouette turns out to be a broken stage coach, tilting towards you on three wheels. The missing wheel is nowhere in sight. A body hangs out of a window next to an open door swinging in the wind, and suitcases and bags are lying around, open, their contents spilled on the ground.

The grass is trampled in a corridor to the north, outlining a track of sorts.
action: You examine the body
response: A man in his thirties perhaps, slight, and well clad, but his eyes stare into eternity with no means to convey what they see. The limbs are stiffening, suggesting that he has been dead for some hours. The cause of death is obvious... a clean cut across his throat.
action: You take the body
response: You can't take that.

The coach door whines quietly as it swings on its hinges, occasionally accentuated by a clatter as a particular strong gust of wind pushes it against the coach wall.

A beam of light from the east sweeps over the grass before it disappears.
action: You look at the sky
response: You appear small and insignificant compared to the vast sky with its shifting display of chasing clouds.

The coach door whines quietly as the wind makes it swing on its hinges.
action: You go to the east
response: You decide to follow the lightbeam in the hopes of finding somebody that can help in the other end. If your luck have taken a turn for the better this is the powerful beam of the Great Plains Lighthouse.

You set off into the dark, a little uneasy. Packs of wolves are not unheard of on the plain, not to mention bandits and the like.
Limping, you trudge on, determined to make it through the night.

Slowly, almost unnoticeable in the start, the stars start to pale and the sky begins to turn a lighter shade of gray. Dawn arrives, and its bleak light reveals what your hoped for, a towering lighthouse stretching toward the sky like an admonishing finger. Relief wash over you as you finally totter into a courtyard and hear the sound of gravel crunch under your feet.



A lighthouse teethering on the edge of a tall cliff rises defiantly into the air. Its weathered white wash is covered by a thin layer of gray salt, making it look dingey and old. Behind it to the east an ocean stretches out into a blue haze where the rolling waves meet the gray sky above. Beyond boulders to the west a wide open expanse of plains stretches as far as you can see, using a palette of green and amber, making it an ocean of a different sort. A patch of gravel serves as a courtyard and is fenced in by the two wings of the lighthouse, sensibly shielding it from the brunt of the weather.

Shrill shrieks from the seagulls sailing on the wind above pierce the constant din of waves breaking on the beach far below the cliff.

Far to the west a flock of birds circle over a fixed spot in the plain.
action: You examine Lighthouse
response: The lighthouse seems quite old, but it could be that the exposed position between the sky, the sea and the plains stretching out to the east weathers the paint quickly. A daring seagull swoops down with an angry shriek.
action: You enter
response: (first opening the front door)

The hallway is narrow and dusty, but well lit due to the tall window to the east. Old paint comes off the rough wooden walls, and the ceiling once white, now has a gray layer of salt on it. A few pegs have been hammered into the wall next to the main door and serve as a simple place to hang a coat. Two doors stand shoulder to shoulder on the west wall, and another is next to the window on the east wall. To the south, a stairwell with spindly stairs leads straight up.

An old cloak lies on the floor, partly covering an old boot, apparently having slipped off its peg.
action: You look at the cloak
response: The cloak is made of black oiled cloth, of the kind fishermen use when they are out in stormy weather. It is stiff from salt and full of sand.
action: You take the cloak
response: You take the cloak. You pick up the cloak and give it a shake, spraying fine sand all over yourself in the process.
action: You examine the boot
response: The boot has obviously seen better days. Its dirty sole is partly coming off.
action: You take the boot
response: As you pick up the boot you hear something jingle inside. You take the old boot.
action: You look in the boot
response: The old boot contains a key.
action: You look at the key
response: The key is quite small and made of dull metal. The key head is circular so it can be fitted onto a key ring.
action: You take the key
response: You take the key.
action: Look around
response: The hallway is narrow and dusty, but well lit due to the tall window to the east. Old paint comes off the rough wooden walls, and the ceiling once white, now has a gray layer of salt on it. A few pegs have been hammered into the wall next to the main door and serve as a simple place to hang a coat. Two doors stand shoulder to shoulder on the west wall, and another is next to the window on the east wall. To the south, a stairwell with spindly stairs leads straight up.
action: You examine the cloak
response: The cloak is made of black oiled cloth, of the kind fishermen use when they are out in stormy weather.
action: You go east
response: You can't go that way. Obvious exits lead south; west; and out, back to courtyard.
action: You look at the door
response: Which door do you mean, the main door, the right door, or the left door?
action: Main door
response: It's a heavy wooden door, once painted bright white. It's open.
action: You close the door
response: You close the main door.
action: You close main door
response: The main door is already closed.
action: You examine the right door
response: It's been painted to match the walls, and quite narrow. Perhaps a closet door of some sort. It's closed.
action: You examine the left door
response: It's in dire need of paint, and quite narrow. Perhaps a closet door of some sort. It's closed.
action: You examine the window
response: The window is tall, reaching almost from floor to ceiling. Its windowpanes are horrendously dirty, and only a pale gray light filters in through the thick layer of salt covering the outside. The windowsill is extremely dusty and full of dead flies.
action: You go south
response: A stair rises straight up through a hole in the ceiling, winding about a center pole that is as thick as a tree. There's a railing on the outside of the steps all the way up. It looks like a rickety structure, but both steps and railing seems worn from long use, so it must be reasonably secure. It is quite dark. The light from the rooms to the south and north shine through, but this room has no light source of its own.
action: Go south
response: You can't go that way. The only obvious exit leads north, back to A narrow hallway.
action: Go outside
response: (first opening the main door)

A lighthouse teethering on the edge of a tall cliff rises defiantly into the air. Its weathered white wash is covered by a thin layer of gray salt, making it look dingey and old. Behind it to the east an ocean stretches out into a blue haze where the rolling waves meet the gray sky above. Beyond boulders to the west a wide open expanse of plains stretches as far as you can see, using a palette of green and amber, making it an ocean of a different sort. A patch of gravel serves as a courtyard and is fenced in by the two wings of the lighthouse, sensibly shielding it from the brunt of the weather.

Shrill shrieks from the seagulls sailing on the wind above pierce the constant din of waves breaking on the beach far below the cliff.

A sudden gust of wind sends ripples of motion through the grass on the plain.
action: Go east
response: You can't go that way. Obvious exits lead west, to tall grass; and in, back to A narrow hallway. A daring seagull swoops down with an angry shriek.
action: You go to the west
response: As you set off into the featureless plain you realize that the lighthouse serve as directional beacon for sea and land travel alike.

An overcast sky thick with chasing clouds stretches in all directions and closes down on the distant horizon in a haze where green blurs into gray. Cold wind puts a vast ocean of surrounding grass into swaying motion. The bleak daylight reveals a grotesque scene: Wooden debris is scattered across a swath of partly downtrodden grass. Clothes are trampled into the dirt. A broken stage coach is tilting towards you on three wheels. The missing wheel is nowhere in sight.
A body hangs out of a window next to an open door swinging in the wind, and suitcases and bags are lying around, open, their contents spilled on the ground.

The grass is trampled in a corridor to the north, outlining a track of sorts.
action: You go to the north
response: You limp north along the track.

An overcast sky thick with chasing clouds stretches in all directions and closes down on the distant horizon in a haze where green blurs into gray. The blowing wind puts the vast ocean of surrounding grass into swaying motion, and trampled grass reveals that a coach and horses went past this way not long ago for sure. Strange though, because there are no sign of a road, or even a path.

A wooden chest lies on the side, halfway hidden by the grass.
action: You examine the chest
response: The chest is undamaged, and its lid is closed and locked with a heavy padlock. It is made of wood, with iron casting along its edges.
Maybe that's why it made the fall from the coach without breaking. It's closed.
action: Open chest
response: The wooden chest seems to be locked.
action: Unlock chest
response: What do you want to unlock it with?
action: You take the chest
response: You take the wooden chest.
action: Go north
response: You realize that you are in the middle of nowhere with no sense of direction. Better stay within sight of the coach.
action: Go south
response: You limp south along the track.

An overcast sky thick with chasing clouds stretches in all directions and closes down on the distant horizon in a haze where green blurs into gray. Cold wind puts a vast ocean of surrounding grass into swaying motion. The bleak daylight reveals a grotesque scene: Wooden debris is scattered across a swath of partly downtrodden grass. Clothes are trampled into the dirt. A broken stage coach is tilting towards you on three wheels. The missing wheel is nowhere in sight.
A body hangs out of a window next to an open door swinging in the wind, and suitcases and bags are lying around, open, their contents spilled on the ground.

The grass is trampled in a corridor to the north, outlining a track of sorts.

The rustle of grass bowing to the wind is everywhere.
action: You search the body
response: You overcome your aversion and search through the body looking for anything that can identify the traveller, but no such luck. He doesn't even have a pen knife. Obviously whoever caused his death beat you to the search.

The coach door whines quietly as the wind makes it swing on its hinges.
action: Search clothes
response: You rummage through the tattered clothes, but what you find is either torn or too flimsy to be of any use.

The coach door whines quietly as it swings on its hinges, occasionally accentuated by a clatter as a particular strong gust of wind pushes it against the coach wall.
action: You go inside
response: You limp over and push yourself into the coaches' dark interior.

The inside of the wagon is very dark, and the floor tilts in a steep angle toward the front left side. A lifeless body hangs out of a window. Padded seats face each other with just enough place to store small bags under them, and over the seats a shelf runs along the wall. A laced umbrella juts out from the shelf in the front right corner, and an embroidered bag is stuck under the same seat. Otherwise the coach is empty. The windowpanes on both sides are broken.
action: Inventory
response: You are carrying an envelope; some clothes: a cloak and an old boot; a key; and a wooden chest. You're wearing some clothes: a pair of shoes, a pair of pants, a shirt, and a coat.
action: You examine the shelf
response: This is a typical hat shelf, and it wouldn't hold anything large. It is just big enough to hold the few personal items that would be covenient to have at hand over a long trip.
action: You examine the umbrella
response: The umbrella is purple, and judging from the frills and lace it looks more like a sun shield than anything suited to keep bad weather at bay.
action: You think about yourself
response: Purple. And you're HURTING! It's all purple.
action: You think about Lighthouse
response: Your destiny lies ahead of you in the shape of your new position as lighthouse manager at the Great Plains Lighthouse, you are sure. Far away from your mother, the family company and business studies. The whole sky above you and the perfect vantage point for studying the stars. You are looking forward to it with an anticipation that is only slightly checked by your anxiety regarding the actual job. But how hard can it be...? According to Charles it's all a breeze.
action: You think about Charles
response: It was Charles who provided the miracle that let you escape the choking chains of family duty. Great friend. The two of you had made many a narrow escape from whatever insanity either of you had gotten into. A few years your elder and coming from nowhere to his position Charles had the brain smart to back his street smart, and more street smart than anybody else you knew.
action: You think about the coach
response: The woman was really cute.
action: You think about the business
response: Huh. Not really a very interesting topic.
action: You think about key
response: Hmm. Hard to be conclusive.
action: You think about letter
response: Breaking the seal was probably not your smartest move, but considering the circumstances you can explain it with reason. You wonder what this Ms. Dabowe is like.
action: Y.
response: Goodbye, and welcome back.