To the south is the entrance to an imposing stone building, which extends a long way eastwards.
>s
Indoors, the tall arched hall extends north and south to doorways in opposite faces of the building. An archway to the east leads into darkness. Above the eastern archway is carved the words: "Les Faces de la Mort".
>e
The dark, foreboding corridor stretches eastward farther than you can see. West lies the arched hall. The walls bear relief carvings at regular intervals.
There is a sign here.
>read sign
"An exhibition of carvings after the etchings of Hans Holbein the Younger, of Old Earth."
>e
A carving on the wall shows a war-torn city, in which the dead have taken up arms against the living, and far outnumber them. Warbots, tanks, and high-tech gun emplacements are to be seen, yet most of them are wrecked, and the hordes are reduced to fighting with clubs and stones; yet their zeal is undiminished. Above is the title: "The Bones of All Men". Below is a carved scroll. The corridor continues east into the gloom.
>read scroll
The scroll is written in an antique tongue:
Malheureux qui uiuez au monde
Tousiours remplis d'aduersitez,
Pour quelque bien qui uous abonde,
Serez tous de Mort uisitez.
Someone has chalked a graffito on the wall, perhaps a translation of the scroll: "Life's a bitch and then you die."
>e
The carving shows the Emperor on his throne, commanding all that he surveys, while DEATH takes his helmet and lasrifle, and turns his mecharmour to rust. The corridor continues to the east, getting darker.
>read scroll
De ta maison disposeras
Comme de ton bien transitoire,
Car là ou mort resposeras,
Seront les chariotz de ta gloire.
Someone has chalked a graffito on the wall: "You can't take it with you."
>e
The carving shows a noble lady being attired by her serving maid, who is DEATH, and garlands her with a necklace of bones. The corridor continues to the east, getting darker. This is a depressing place. Why not return to the sunshine outside?
>read scroll
En biens mondains leurs iours despendent
En uoluptez, et en tristesse,
Puis soubdain aux Enfers descendent,
Ou leur ioye passe en tristesse.
Someone has chalked a graffito on the wall: "You may forget DEATH, but DEATH won't forget you."
>e
The carving shows the Miser in his counting house, the heavy doors locked from within, when lo! DEATH enters and takes hold of his treasures. The corridor continues to the east, getting darker. Tendrils of fear entwine your pounding heart, drawing you further into the gloom.
>read scroll
Ceste nuict la Mort te prendra,
Et demain seras enchasse'.
Mais dy moi, fol, a qui uiendra
Le bien que tu as amasse'.
Someone has chalked a graffito on the wall: "You really can't take it with you."
>e
The carving shows the Physician, surrounded by the tools of his art. Though he learn to prolong human life for centuries, yet still DEATH shall come for all his patients, as he comes now for him, nor shall his remedies save him. The corridor continues to the east. The gloom thickens.
>read scroll
Tu congnoys bien la maladie
Pour le patient secourir,
Et si ne scais teste estourdie,
Le mal dont tu deburas mourir.
Someone has chalked a graffito on the wall: "We're all DOOMED."
>e
The carving shows two lovers in the crux of passion, oblivious that DEATH shares their bed. Still the corridor continues to the east, breathing darkness.
>read scroll
Telle joye aux humains est bonne,
Et a l'homme tresuiste semble.
Mais la fin d'elle a l'homme donne,
La Mort, qui tous pecheurs assemble.
Someone has chalked a graffito on the wall: "Rightly is it called the little DEATH."
>e
The gloom has become oppressive, almost tangible. It is difficult to breathe. With a pounding heart and a cold sweat, you struggle to make out the carving. You see an old woman hobbling, bent double by age, when DEATH lays his hand on her shoulder and gives her weariness the only end she can hope for. The corridor gets even darker and gloomier to the east. Perhaps you should stop here and go back.
>read scroll
En peine ay uescu longuement
Tant que nay plus de uiure enuie,
Mais bien ie croy certainement,
Meillure la Mort que la uie.
Someone has chalked a graffito on the wall: "Better DEATH than such a life."
>e
The blood roars in your ears; you are dizzy and barely able to stand. By touch as much as by sight, you laboriously decipher the carving. It displays a coat of arms. The shield bears the face of DEATH, supported by Everyman and Everywoman. Above, an hourglass with the sands run out; two skeletal arms raise a stone to dash the glass in pieces. The effort has exhausted you: you collapse to the ground, gasping for breath.
>read scroll
Sitting on the ground, you run your hands over the carved scroll. With much effort, you eventually decipher it all. It says:
Si tu ueulx uiuve sans peche'
Voy ceste imaige a tous propos,
Et point ne seras empeche',
Quand tu t'en iras a repos.
Someone has scratched a graffito into the wall:
| Shall | We | All | Die |
| We | Shall | Die | All |
| All | Die | Shall | We |
| Die | All | We | Shall |
>e
In your confusion, you stagger into a wall and collapse to the ground, panting heavily.
>e
In your confusion, you stagger into a wall and collapse to the ground, panting heavily.
>e
It is pointless to leave; just as pointless to stay. DEATH shall come like a thief in the night, and none can stay his hand. Stones shall turn to dust; even the stars will go out in the end. Your body weakens day by day, your life will reach its final stave; your latter days pass fast away, nothing awaits you but the grave. You sink to the ground in torpor and depression. It is pitch dark, yet the darkness within is darker still.
>look
You can't see, the Night is too Dark!
>help
Help! Ha! Nobody can help you here.
>e
Why bother?
>e
You are too depressed to move.
>sw
Better to just lie here and die.
>n
You're already dead, why keep moving?
>s
Dying is just as pointless as living.
>ne
You stumble on the skeleton of someone else who stopped here. Bones crunch into powder under your foot. Whose bones? What does it matter?
>se
You trip over a pile of junk. Groping at it blindly, you identify it as a rusted-out robot. Even robots get depressed and die, it seems.
>d
You collapse to the ground, beating your fists helplessly against the unyielding stone in the darkness.
>e
For a moment there is a faint glimmer of light, so faint you can't even be sure it was there. You almost feel inspired to look for it again.
>e
In a surprisingly short distance, you come to a door at the end of the corridor and pass through into the sunshine outside. The brightness and fresh air reinvigorate your spirits, yet the memory of the Dance of Death stays with you, darkening your soul.
To the west stands the museum.